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“Any longer and may aswell serve the poor lass the sole of my shoe, but then I suppose cow leather will make her feel right at home.”
    Aunt Cait sighed, gaze flicking from Rosie to Logan and back. Her lips twitched at the obvious clamp of his jaw. “All right then, Rosie—we’ll be right in.”
    The elderly housekeeper shot Logan a smug smile on her way to the door.
    Logan tossed the newspaper on the table and snatched his dinner jacket off the back of the chair, slipping it on with a growl. “Blast it, Cait, why do you let the help push you around?”
    â€œRosie is not just the ‘help,’ and well you know it. For goodness’ sake, the woman’s been an anchor in my life since I was born. Besides,” she said with a half smile, “she pushes you around, not me.” She rose. “And heaven knows I’d be lost without her.”
    Logan extended his arms with a grunt, adjusting his sleeves for comfort. “Then it’s high time you ‘found’ yourself, Caitlyn—it is your house, after all, and you should have the final say when dinner is served. I can tell you one thing, if it were my house—”
    â€œBut it’s not, now is it?” Aunt Cait said softly, standing her ground with a lift of her chin as always when Uncle Logan pushed too hard.
    His jaw began to grind, a symptom with which Cassie was all too familiar when her outspoken uncle attempted to restrain his tongue, and she couldn’t help but bite back a grin. Poor Uncle Logan—a powerhouse attorney used to getting his own way—except with Aunt Cait.
    â€œBlast it, Cait, she doesn’t like me.” He tunneled a hand through perfectly groomed hair, bludgeoning until several strands toppled askew.
    â€œOf course she likes you,” Aunt Cait said in a soothing tone.
    â€œNo, she doesn’t,” Alli called from across the room, studyingher cards. She glanced up, her face the picture of innocence. “She says Uncle Logan’s a pain in the posterior.” She gave him a wink. “Of course, the term she actually used may have been ‘rump’ . . .”
    â€œAwk, pain in the rump, pain in the rump . . .”
    â€œSee?” Logan stabbed a finger in Alli’s direction, his voice reduced to a hiss. “She’s even turned the blasted parrot against me and my nieces and nephew as well.” He scowled. “First you, the parrot, then my own flesh and blood.”
    Aunt Cait stepped toward him and adjusted his tie. “Don’t be silly, Logan, nobody’s against you . . .”
    â€œWe all love you, Uncle Logan, don’t we, Cass?” Alli called, taking a trick in whist.
    Cassie’s smile was angelic. “Absolutely. Who else would have taught us poker?”
    â€œGood gracious—you taught them poker ?” Aunt Cait took a step back, hand to her chest.
    A loud whistle pierced the air. “Awk, ante up, ante up . . .”
    â€œTraitor.” Uncle Logan glowered at Cassie, the semblance of a smile tugging his lips.
    â€œAnd don’t forget the shell game and darts and spoon on the nose . . .” Alli bobbed her head in cadence while shuffling the cards.
    â€œAwk! Whoop-whoop—eye on the shell, eye on the shell . . .”
    Logan winced.
    Tugging on a ruffle of her mother’s dress, Maddie glanced up. “I love Uncle Logan too,” she said with childlike wonder. “He taught me how to make money by pitching pennies.”
    â€œAnd ghost stories that kept me up at night,” Meg said with a giggle.
    Aunt Cait folded her arms. “Gambling? Horror stories? You are nothing more than a juvenile delinquent, Logan McClare. It’s a wonder these children turned out at all.”
    He offered her his arm with a boyish smile. “That would be your influence, Cait. But their spirit of fun and adventure?” He waggled a