Yank groaned. “Sophia Francesca Jordan!” he bellowed. “Get in here now.”
“You don’t have to yell, Uncle Yank. I’m right here.” Sophie’s voice sounded from beneath the card table.
The little sneak. How had she gotten underneath there without them noticing? he wondered.
She tried to stand too soon and bumped her head. “Ouch!” Finally she stood in front of him, guilt written all over her little face. Her cheeks were pink and her blue eyes too wide and innocent.
“Give the boys back their cigars,” Yank demanded.
Her eyes filled with tears. “But…”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t take them. What else would you be doing sneaking ’round under there?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“What were you going to say?” Spencer asked in a surprisingly kind voice considering he’d nearly strung Yank up alive for stealing his cigar. Faced with the midget culprit, his tone gentled as it always did around Sophie. He had a soft spot for the middle kid.
Sophie clasped her hands behind her long flannel nightgown. “The Surgeon General says smoking’s bad for your health. It’ll turn your lungs black and clog your arties.”
“Arteries, doofus,” Annabelle said, walking in from the doorway. “Sorry, Uncle Yank. I fell asleep and forgot to watch her. It won’t happen again.” She grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled, trying to drag her from the room.
“Stop,” Sophie whined. “I’m right and they all know it.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re guys and guys smoke,” the third Musketeer chimed in, surprising them all by walking in from the kitchen. In her hand, Micki held the ashtray with all the men’s cigars.
“Hey, it took a long time for me to collect those without them noticing,” Sophie said.
“But they weren’t yours to take.” Annabelle walked around the room, handing each man a used cigar.
In all likelihood nobody got the right smoke and Yank cringed. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”
“If Lola had come, none of this would have happened,” Annabelle said. “She’d have kept Sophie busy in
the kitchen.”
“If Lola had come, she’d be sprayin’ Lysol around all our heads,” Yank muttered.
“That’s not nice, Uncle Yank.” Micki smacked him on the shoulder with her little hand.
“See?” he said to his friends. “This is why I won’t git married ever. I already got three little women telling me what to do.”
Curly shook his head. “It’s more like with three little girls, you couldn’t find a woman in her right mind who would have you.”
“Except Lola. But Yank’s not bright enough to know a good thing when he’s got one,” Spencer said with a laugh.
“This from someone who’s already got one divorce under his belt.”
Sophie pulled the sleeve of Spencer’s sweater. “Really? You were married? To who? When? How?”
“None of your business, little girl.” He softened his words by patting her on the head.
“Like that’ll satisfy her. Sophie needs to know all details about all things.”
“What’d she look like? Why’d she leave? Or did you leave?”
Yank chuckled. At least she’d stopped harassing them about the cigars. Though given Sophie’s inquisitive nature and need to control everything and everyone around her, he should probably lock up the Cubans. Heaven help the man who had to deal with her when she grew up.
CHAPTER ONE