Page 33 of Frog

“It’s nice that you’re making demands,” he told me.

At which point I realized how ridiculous I was being. “Shit. I—”

“No—” His voice hardened. “—you can’t take it back.”

“But I have no right to say anything to you at all.”

His hands lifted to my face, and he eased me down to him. “I say what you do and don’t have, cowboy.”

I didn’t want to argue with him, so I kissed him instead.

ITWASnice to sit and listen to everyone talk. Even listening to Ross chime in, as he was funny and engaging, was okay. I sat between Carolyn and Cy on the couch, had a cup of tea, enjoyed the sound of the rain pounding on the roof and the glass, and reveled in being inside, warm and clean and safe. I watched the dogs lying beside the crackling fireplace and decided that someday I would have the same thing. Smaller and probably just one dog, but the same warm family home. It was my dream.

“You’re smiling,” Angie said out of the blue, which brought the conversation to a halt as she zeroed in on me.

“Yes, ma’am.” I sighed, so comfortable with Cy leaning on me, his thigh and knee pressed to mine.

“Why?”

“It’s just nice to be inside on a rainy night, makes you thankful.”

Her breath quavered. “Yes, it does.”

“Where is your family, Weber?” Mr. Benning asked me.

“I don’t have any family to speak of, sir.”

“Oh?”

I shook my head.

Cy cleared his throat. “Weber’s mother passed away when he was fourteen, and his father, who was a roughneck on an oil rig, was killed in an accident a year later.”

Angie’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at her son. It was nice to see her worry for me.

“Weber and his older brother Spencer were alone after that, and so Spencer, who was seventeen at the time, looked after Web.”

“And where is Spencer now?” Mr. Benning asked his son instead of me.

He cleared his throat. “Spencer was killed in Iraq when he was twenty.”

The room was silent until Angie coughed softly.

“You must have things of your mother’s and your father’s and your brother’s kept somewhere, don’t you, Weber?”

“Oh yes, ma’am,” I smiled at her. “I have a storage space in Abilene that I used my brother’s life insurance money from the army to pay for. It gets paid automatic every month and will for another ten years or so. But at least I know it’s all safe.”

She nodded. “And if, heaven forbid, anything should happen to—”

“I have the address,” Cy told her, “and the spare key.”

“Your son is my emergency contact in my wallet.” I smiled at her. “If I get trampled or shot or gored or—”

“Stop,” he cut me off. “She gets it.”

She nodded fast.

“Well, if I die, someone’ll call Cy, and he can dispose of things as he sees fit.”