Thirteen years later…
Desman watched his daughter sit in the gazebo with the boy that had come to visit — some thirteen-year-old sack of raging hormones with interest in his baby girl. They wanted to be alone, but Desman was damned if he was going to allow them to go up to Trish’s bedroom. So instead they sat in the gazebo in the backyard some hundred feet away talking and holding hands, and here he stood at the kitchen window watching every move the boy made.
“Des, come away from the window and leave them alone.” Morgan teased as she came into the room.”
“I gave them their privacy.” He said never taking his eyes off them.
“You’re lurking at the window watching them. That’s not giving them privacy.” She said coming to the window. “I’m surprised you don’t have your gun with you.”
Desma
