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his sleeve if he hadn't caught the warning look from his mother. "He said it was sixteen hands."
    "Did he?"
    "I was raised on a farm in Jersey."
    "Seems stupid to be a writer, then," Ben commented as he scraped the bottom of his bowl. "Must be boring, like being in school all the time."
    "Some people actually enjoy using their minds. More, Mr. Crosby?"
    "A little." He took another scoop. Though he wasn't a talkative man, preferring to listen, he found himself compelled to justify his profession to the boy. "You know, when I write I get to travel a lot and meet a lot of people."
    "That's pretty good." Ben made patterns on the bottom of his bowl with his fork. "I'm going to travel, too. When I grow up I'm going to be a space marauder."
    "Interesting choice," Dylan murmured.
    "Then I can fly from galaxy to galaxy and loot and pil… pil…"
    "Pillage," Abby finished for him. "Ben's fond of crime. I've already started saving up bail money."
    "It's better than Chris. He wants to be a garbage man."
    "Not anymore." The fire was in Chris's eyes as he talked through his last mouthful of chili.
    "Don't talk with your mouth full, love." She scooted Ben's milk in front of him as a reminder. "We visited Maddy in New York last year. Chris was fascinated with the garbage trucks."
    "Dumb." Ben's voice dripped with scorn as he looked at his brother. "Real dumb."
    "Ben, isn't it your turn to wash up?"
    "Aw, Mom."
    "We made an agreement. I cook, you guys take turns with the dishes."
    He sulked a moment, but then a wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. "He's living here now." With a jerk of his head, Ben indicated Dylan. "He should have a turn, too."
    Why was it, Abby wondered, that Ben was only logical when it was to his advantage? "Ben, Mr. Crosby is a guest. Now—"
    "The kid has a point." Dylan spoke casually, but he was rewarded by a grin of approval from Ben. "Since I'm going to be around a while, the least I can do is follow the rules."
    "Mr. Crosby, you don't have to humor the monsters around here. Ben will be glad to do the dishes."
    "No, I won't," he muttered.
    "You know, when someone cooks you a good meal, the least you can do is pitch in and clean up the mess."
    As he pushed away from the counter, Dylan saw Ben hang his head. "I'll take the shift tonight."
    Ben's head came up immediately. "No fooling?"
    "Seems fair to me."
    "Great. Come on, Chris, let's go—"
    "Do your homework," Abby finished. She watched Ben's mouth open and close. He knew better than to press his luck. "Then you can watch television." With a clatter of feet, they were down the hall and racing up the stairs. "Such unpretentious children," she murmured. "I suppose I should apologize for their lack of manners again."
    "Don't bother. I was a kid once myself."
    "I suppose you were." With her elbows on the counter, Abby dropped her chin onto her hands and looked at him. "It's difficult to imagine certain people being small and vulnerable. Would you like anything else, Mr. Crosby?"
    "Your kids don't have any problem with my first name. We've had a meal together now, and we're going to be together for a number of weeks. Why don't we try something a little less formal? Abigail?"
    "Abby," she corrected automatically.
    "Abby." He liked the pretty, old-fashioned sound of it. "It suits you better."
    "Dylan's an unusual name."
    "My father wanted something solid, like John. My mother was more romantic, and more stubborn."
    He was staring at her again in that cool unblinking way she'd already determined meant questions were forming. She wasn't ready to start answering them yet. "My parents always preferred the unusual," she began as she slid off the stool to stack dishes.
    "That's my job."
    Abby continued to clear the bar. "I'm sure you've earned Ben's undying gratitude for getting him off the hook. But you don't have to fed obligated." She turned with a stack of bowls in her hands and all but ran into him.
    "A deal's a deal," he said very quietly, and reached out to take the bowls