Between a Fox and a Hard Place (Fox Family, #1)

by Mary Frame

“I’ll tell the whole town about that time you microwaved your pee.”

According to him, she had tried to run the poor guy over with her truck.

After that failure, Oliver had tried again, sending two more of his lackeys, but apparently Finley threatened them with a shotgun.

I heft Jacob up until I’ve got him in my arms, bridal style.

I don’t think it was Satan’s plan to send in a seducer to convince me to sell.

“Why? Why are you fixing it?” He rubs his bristled jaw. “Because I don’t want you to shoot me?”

Her mouth drops open. “I’m an excellent reader of people.” Exasperated, I give her the side-eye. “Taylor. You joined a cult.”

“The tires still have winter air in them. Can you take it to get switched out with some of that spring air?”

He asked me to check the size of his coveralls, and as soon as I was behind him, he ripped the biggest fart I’ve ever heard.

“I might respect you more if you stop sending me to get things like fallopian tubing or spirit level bubbles.”

“Only six inches?” Bonnie turns away, releasing my hand.

“It’s a doctor’s appointment,” I explain to her, handing over my credit card. “Itching for a long time down there isn’t normal. We need to get this guy checked out right away.”

“Thank you for the office supplies too. I love daisies.” “I noticed.”

“It’s the normal part that’s weird.”

“Are you offering to poison me?”

I grab a book from the shelf in the bedroom I’m in, but it’s an old V.C. Andrews novel, and I’m creeped out by page three.

It doesn’t go away. The pain, the grief. It never goes away; it just changes shape.”

My mother’s illness is not a conversation to be had under the dusty lights of a casual-dining establishment while a kid with chocolate covering half his face stands in the booth next to us, hitting his dad in the head with a fork.

We passed some roadkill and she started crying. She was inconsolable. She kept saying, ‘Tell the deer to look both ways!’”

“I’m surprised you haven’t gone out there with your shotgun.”

“Are you going to murder me?” She sags down in the seat. “I guess that’s one way to solve all my problems. At least you want to get me warm first. You’re a considerate murderer.”

“Maybe one rule. Don’t throw the axe at me.” She sticks out her bottom lip in a pout. “Party pooper.”

“How did you get this scar? I keep meaning to ask.” Her finger traces over my eyebrow. “Bar fight.” Her eyes widen. “Really?” I chuckle. “No. I ran into a swing set.”

“Because I can’t handle being around you and not touching you like I want to. Like you’re mine.”

“The last thing I want to do is put clothes back on you.”

“I don’t know. I can’t think straight.” His eyes fall shut. “I really wish I hadn’t seen your ass.”

“I changed your diapers.” “And I’ll probably be changing yours someday.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I am not that much older than you.”

Seriously, this is like trying to herd a goldfish.

It’s like men become incapable of logical functioning because their dicks take over.

“Life is messy sometimes. Whatever happens, we clean it up together.”

But grief is the price we pay for love. Given the choice between grief and nothing, I’d choose grief. Every time.

“Mason will be there in thirty minutes. He’s about six foot three, two hundred pounds, dark hair, and he’s wearing—” he breaks off. “Seriously?” he chuckles. “He’s wearing a sparkly shirt with a unicorn-poop emoji on it.” Pause. “And jeans.”

“I knew you were the one when Jacob puked on your shoes and you laughed.”

“Can you walk on your own, or do we need to carry you?”

The movement is so fast, Ben’s head snaps back and he hits the ground before I’ve registered that Oliver punched him.

“I have more lawyers than you have teeth. Try it.”