“How come we don’t call you uncle?” Oliver asks.
“I don’t know.” But I can tell from his face that he’s lying. I smile down at Oliver.
“Sometimes, people don’t like to be called uncle if it makes them feel old.”
A notch appears between Oliver’s eyebrows. “‘Burke’ sounds like maybe he could just be your buddy. Uncle means he’s old enough to be—” Your dad, I almost say, but stop myself. “Your uncle.”
Margot smiles up at Burke. “You are old! You’re as old as Santa.” She says it matter-of-fact like, with a cute little grin, then shrugs and disappears into the castle.
Oliver follows.
I stare at the air-inflated castle wall for half a second, then take a few steps back so I can pretend to focus on the kids; I can see them jumping through a mesh spot on the wall.
“Santa does bring all the toys, huh?” he says.
I lift a brow, not taking my eyes off the kids.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware,” I lower my voice. “But that’s a myth. For children?” I smirk his way. “It’s actually the children’s guardian who does that.”
He steps closer to me. “And you want that to be you, huh? You’re the new Santa?”
I nod, not looking at his devil face. “I’m the new Santa.”
“I could buy them this, you know.” He steps closer, so close I can feel the heat of his big body. “I could put this in the backyard of their old house. More than one of them.”
“Because what children need is extravagant toys. That solves every problem.”
“It doesn’t, but you know what does?” he asks me.
“Benjis and sports cars?”
“No,” he deadpans. “Therapy. It’s expensive, and it’s hard to find a good psychologist unless you’re in a bigger city. I could do that, though.”
“Oh, yes, I have full confidence that you could pick a qualified therapist for children.”
“I could read reviews, June.”
It’s the first time he’s ever used my name. I swallow.
“They won’t need a therapist if they have someone present for them. Someone who spends time with them.” I can’t believe I’m doing this—that I’m arguing about this with him. “I’ll be here daily. I practically never travel. If I do, it’s to the beach with family. I’m a good cook, and I’ll offer them a stable home.”
“If you let them come back with me, you could pay the bank loan back on this place.”
I blow out a breath and cover my face. “And just why would you do that, hmm?”
“I want them in San Francisco. I want them to have the life my brother would have wanted.”
Anger tightens my throat. “What about the life my sister wanted?”
“She was raising them in California.”
“Yes, because your brother had to move back there!”
Oliver’s giggle interrupts us, and I realize he is hanging from the mesh wall, watching us. And listening, I realize when he shouts, “I don’t have a brother, silly goose!”
My face heats up. “No, of course not. But I do! Your Uncle Shawn. Did you know you’re going to meet him tonight?”
He frowns. “We have an Uncle Shawn?”
“Yep, just like Uncle Burke here. But Uncle Shawn has big trucks. Giant ones. Sometime soon, he’ll let you get into one.”
“I want to get in,” Margot says. She’s crouched beside her brother now, peeking at us through the mesh wall.
“Tonight, we’re going to the rodeo. And Uncle Shawn will sit with you. He used to ride on bulls, but now he’s retired, so he just sits in the stands.”
“Where will you be?” Burke asks.
I smile. “On my horse.”Chapter 6BurkeShe rides a horse? I guess should have known, but I’m surprised to hear her say it.
“Where’s the horse?” I ask.
“In the barn.”
“Where’s the barn?”
She gives me a look that screams city slicker. “Behind the house.”
“I want to meet him!” Margot bounces toward the castle’s exit. A second later, she’s pulling her shoes on, and Oliver is doing jumping jacks beside her.
“Can we see him now?”
“Sure,” June says. She keeps her gaze away from my face, like she’s trying to pretend I’m not here. “If you want to,” she tells Oliver.
“Can I ride him?” Margot asks.
“I don’t know.” June looks thoughtful. “He has to race tonight, but maybe you could ride him around my little dirt track one time. Would y’all like to do that?”
Both kids answer with screams of glee. June turns to me with a wide-eyed, arched-brow look, as if she’s trying to say, Okay, time for you to go.
I smile. “What’s the horse’s name? I want to meet him, too.”
Her lips press into a thin, annoyed line.
“Hot Rocket,” Ollie says, holding his arms out airplane-style and then pretending to take flight.
“Hot Rocket, huh?”
“I didn’t name him,” June mutters.
I turn to her, pleased that she’s addressing me. “What would you have picked?”
She scrunches her nose and gives sort of a huff. “Anything but that.”