“Pretty sure. Somebody’s living there, definitely female if the romance novels lying around are any indication. And it’s so neat and orderly, I don’t know why, but she immediately sprang to mind.”
“You call the cops?”
“I want to give her a chance, Mason. You know what will happen if the cops show up. She’ll either make a run for it and wind up God knows where, doing God knows what. Or she’ll get caught and lost in the system.” Mason was too young to remember when they were taken into care, but Spencer did, and while he knew foster care worked for a lot of kids, he and Mason hadn’t been so lucky. He’d spent nights clinging to his brother, terrified that the other kids would hurt them again. Or that an adult would punish them for being too loud, or too slow, or too fucking present. It had only been for a few months, but it was the first time in his life that he’d appreciated his parents and the fact that life could be a whole lot worse.
“Where do you intend to put her? Finding a place for her at this time of night will be almost impossible.”
“I’ll call Oom Herbert or Father O’Grady about finding shelter for her tonight, and then we can figure out something more permanent in the morning.”
“I don’t know, Spence, it seems crazy.”
“She deserves a chance, Mase.”
“Maybe the best chance we can give her is to let the system take care of her.”
“I’m not calling the police,” Spencer insisted. He refused to budge on this issue—the girl needed someone in her corner.
“Have it your way, but you’re not traipsing out there alone tonight. You know nothing about the girl, she could be part of some gang. There could be others with her.”
“She’s alone.”
“You’re irrational. I’m coming with you.”
“Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt this intense conversation.” Daisy looked at Mason questioningly, and he shook his head abruptly.
“Later,” he said curtly in response to her look, and she raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips, clearly displeased with Mason for the terse response.
“Anyway, as I was saying, sorry to disturb, but dinner will be served in just a minute, so if you don’t mind taking a seat, Spencer,” she said with a gracious smile, which disappeared when she looked at Mason. “Your brother and I will bring out the food.”
She flounced away, and Mason face-palmed.
“You shouldn’t have snapped at the little woman, there, brother,” Spencer said gleefully. Not in the least bit sympathetic, especially since he was a bit frustrated with his brother as well for not seeing his point of view on the situation with the girl.
He joined the rest at the long dining room table, making sure he grabbed the seat next to Daff before Chris could, which was stupid, since she had taken a center seat and the other man could easily have sat down on her left. Instead, Chris slanted Spencer a knowing smile and moved to the other side of the table, graciously seating himself between Tilda and Lia and directly opposite Daff, which was still not ideal.
Mason and Daisy returned from the kitchen, serving dishes in hand; they both looked relaxed and Daisy was smiling, so Spencer assumed that Mason had done some smooth talking in the kitchen.
“We had something fancier planned,” Mason explained and then directed an affectionate smile at his fiancée. “But Daisy wasn’t feeling too great today, so you can’t enjoy her awesome cooking and will have to be content with my meager offerings instead.”
“Stop,” Daisy begged, flustered, her cheeks flushed. “I was going to bore you all with a roast lamb. Mason’s beef goulash is so much better.”
“Your roasts are fuc . . . uh, freaking amazing, angel,” Mason complimented sincerely. Spencer knew he meant it—his brother couldn’t stop rhapsodizing about Daisy’s cooking and baking. Especially her baking. And Spencer had to admit, her breads were pretty good. Daisy looked like she was about to respond, but she was interrupted.
“Oh for God’s sake! Feed your guests instead of your egos, people,” Daff snarked, and Spencer bit back a chuckle. She was entirely irreverent and had no absolutely no patience with the mushy stuff.
Daisy shot her sister a look but said nothing in response to Daff’s outburst and merely placed a steaming dish of fragrant goulash in the center of the table, along with a basket of fresh, delicious-smelling bread. Mason added a green salad and a bowl of jasmine rice to the fare and uncorked a couple of bottles of pinot noir. He went around the table filling glasses as required, and after he and Daisy were seated at each end of the table, they smiled at each other like lovesick teens.
Spencer was reaching for the bowl of salad when Mason spoke, and he sat back with a sigh as he recognized that it was a speech of some sort.