Liars (Licking Thicket 2)

“What did the chicken detective say when leaving the crime scene?”

I rolled my eyes and leaned my head back on his shoulder. “I don’t know, my darling. What did the chicken detective say when leaving the crime scene?”

Diesel was already consumed with laughter—I could feel it in the ripple of his biceps and the puffs of air against my cheek—and his joy made me giddy. “He said… ‘I suspect fowl play.’” He waited a beat. “Get it? Get it? Fowl play.”

I couldn’t help it. I gave in to the urge to laugh, not at the terrible joke, but at how freakin’ great my life was. So great, it brought tears to my eyes I had to wipe away.

“In retrospect, Marigold, buying your Daddy The Great Big Book of Dad Jokes at Kinder-potamus was what we call a tactical error,” I informed the baby, lifting her up and pressing a kiss to her cheek before she could fuss. “Wasn’t it? Hmm?”

I was totally lying. The look on Diesel’s face when I’d handed him the book in bed the other night and told him he’d need to work on his humor now that he was a dad had been worth all the many, many (who the hell knew there could be that many?) puns I’d heard since.

“I feel like Papa protests too much, doesn’t he, baby girl?” Diesel brushed a hand over Marigold’s riot of curls. “‘Specially since we overheard him telling your uncle Beau one of those very jokes about a duck getting up at the quack of dawn.”

“That… was done ironically,” I sniffed. “Besides, everyone knows duck jokes are a superior form of humor to chicken jokes.”

“Sure they are. Especially when you tell them. Your duck jokes are like… poultry in motion.” Diesel pressed his smile to my shoulder.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” I groaned, leaning my head back against his broad chest. “No one should be allowed to be so sexy and so dorky at the same time.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Butterfly Boy,” he said softly. “I personally think dorky guys are the sexiest. Take my husband for example.”

What little bit of me hadn’t already turned to goo melted into a puddle at his feet, and I turned around, keeping one hand braced on Marigold, to kiss Diesel Church just as thoroughly as he deserved.

He squeezed me tightly for a second before letting go. “You gotta get going, right?”

I nodded. “I wanna be in before nine. Colin’s kiddo has a stomach bug, and if he has to stay home, I might have to drive out to the courthouse and coordinate with one of the building inspectors myself. The store opening is getting down to the crucial stages. What about you?”

“Jim Orson’s coming by with his wrecker in…” Diesel flipped my wrist to look at my watch. “Twenty minutes. Marigold and I will have to go down and let him in. You wanna duct-tape some pants on this girl before you go? Or de-oatmeal the kitchen?”

I looked down at myself in my sleeveless undershirt and slacks. “I pick the one that’s less likely to ruin another work shirt.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to be more specific than that,” Diesel teased, and I laughed out loud.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever laughed as much as I had this week. Being with these two made me joyful and grateful every day, and I was nearly bursting with the need to tell Diesel I loved him.

Soon, I told myself.

“I pick dressing Marigold,” I clarified. “So scoot. Don’t forget to text me some pictures from Crafty Tuesday.” As he left the room, I called out, “And let me know if you want me to pick anything up for dinner. Maybe some eggplant so we can make that veggie lasagna again.”

“Sounds good.”

I snagged the leggings from the floor and had just put Marigold down to finish dressing her when the doorbell rang, and I sighed. “So much for twenty minutes, huh?”

Marigold was as outraged as I was and showed this by drooling all over herself even more than she already had been.

“We’ve got it,” I called to Diesel as I made my way to the door with the baby, clad in nothing but a diaper and half a sweater, propped on my hip. The living room was a bit of a disaster, with stacking rings strewn around the carpet from our morning playtime, and my cold coffee on the table behind the sofa where Mari couldn’t reach. I kicked Diesel’s boots out of the way and pulled open the door.

“Morning, Jim. You’re earl—” The words died on my lips as I spotted our caseworker. “Terry? What are you doing here?” I looked over his head at the older man and woman behind him on the little front porch. “What’s going on?”

Terry hitched up his baggy pants and looked vaguely uncomfortable. He tapped the badge around his neck. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Parrish, but I’m here to do an unannounced home visit.”