Because it was Sunday, Ari’s family had come over to help build the goats' new pirate boat adventure thing we’d bought them. Well, kind of. In reality, the women read the instructions out to the men, the men put it together incorrectly, they took it apart and put it back correctly, and Erica and Linda worked on setting up lunch because they didn’t want to ‘be a part of that shit storm.’ They also had the fun job of looking after the younger kids while the ones old enough to play chased after the goats and jumped over the tires we’d put in the ground for them yesterday. It was chaos but of the perfect kind.
Now, Cole, Tate, and Archer were manning the barbecue while everyone else cooled down inside. I’d decided to stay outside with Noah, Hurst, and a bottle of beer to watch the goats playing with Noah’s daughter, Jamie.
“Things going okay with you and Ari?”
We’d been discussing Sadie’s car and all of the work needing to be done on it, so Hurst’s question came out of the blue.
Holding the bottle loosely between my thumb and index finger, I fought back the huge grin that wanted to break free. “They are.”
“She seems more settled and definitely happier,” Noah mused, frowning as he watched his daughter bend over every couple of feet as she followed the goats to grab something and put it in the pocket of her pink shorts.
That observation broke the fragile hold I had on my smile. “I’m doing my best to keep her that way.”
“Gotta say, son, I’m relieved to see you looking happier and more settled. It’s a good look on you,” Hurst muttered.
“Sunshine!” Jamie screeched, throwing her hands up in the air.
“Ah, fuck. Again?” Noah groaned, looking over at Hurst. “You take her this time.”
“Hell no. She’s your kid.”
All three of us stood up and walked over to her, the two of them still arguing about who was going to deal with her. I had no idea what her definition of sunshine was, but apparently, neither of them wanted any part of it.
“I don’t get what the issue is?”
Falling back behind his grandson, Hurst grabbed my arm to let Noah go on ahead of us to where Jamie was now bending over again to pick something up.
“Sunshine’s what she says when she needs to s-h-i-t, so you’ve got to sing Pocketful Of Sunshine for her while she does it.”
Hearing that, I was glad he’d pulled me back. I hadn’t really had to deal with that side of kids, so I wouldn’t have a clue what to do.
As we got closer to her, we heard Noah asking her what she had in her pockets. Looking around his broad shoulders, I could see how stuffed they were now that we were closer to her. What the fuck was she picking up?
“I gotta pocket full o’ s’nshine, daddy,” she squealed, whirling her dirty hands in the air.
Figuring she was talking about the song, I grinned and watched the happy little girl as she skipped around us in circles.
“That’s adorable,” Hurst snickered. “Makes you wonder what she’s really got, though.”
I went through the possibilities in my head, but the only one that seemed feasible was dirt. There wasn’t anything else she could’ve found.
“Okay, baby, let’s clean your pockets out, and I’ll take you for a sunshine,” Noah said gently, squatting down to help her out.
The second his hand got close to her, though, she squealed and moved away from him. “No, daddy. Tha’s my s’nshine.”
All three of us looked at each other and then back down at her. Something wasn’t adding up here.
With his eyes narrowed, Noah asked gently, “Can I see some of your sunshine?”
These were the right words because she reached in and brought out a handful of whatever it was in her tiny little fist and thrust it right into his face. The second she opened it and revealed what it was, Noah stumbled backward in his squat and fell flat on his ass to get away from it.
“See, s’nshine. Like raisin!”
A hand closing around my forearm tore my focus off the horror in front of me, and I glanced to the side and saw Hurst staring at it with his mouth open.
“Jesus Christ, that’s not sunshine. That baby’s got a pocketful of shit,” he hissed, watching her warily as she kept thrusting it into her dad’s face.
Yup seems she’d found a trail of goat poop and was stuffing her pockets full of it.
“Baby, why don’t we empty your pockets and go inside—”
“And burn those damn shorts,” Hurst mumbled.
“—to find Momma,” Noah suggested, his hand raised out in front of him like he was surrendering.
“And wash her hands,” I added to Hurst, who nodded his head quickly.
“No, wanna keep the s’nshine, Daddy,” Jamie protested, her hands clamped down on her pockets to protect their contents.