Five
“Well, don’t you three look…” Genevieve looked up from the computer in the corner of the kitchen as we tromped through the door. “…colorful.”
I was so exhausted I could barely lift my feet. Babe nudged past me to race inside and nearly knocked me over.
I might have said something that came out sounding like, “Gahungh.”
“Don’t even start, Gen,” Ty said as he set his Yankees cap—the only part of his wardrobe that wasn’t caked in mud—on the counter. “That Buttercup is a slippery girl.”
He tried to sound irritated, but a smile still hovered at the corners of his mouth. Ty was never far from a smile.
“Again?” Genevieve asked. “That’s three days in a row.”
Eddie, whose mud didn’t rise above knee level because he’d insisted on keeping the camera clean—I’d insisted he was a wuss, but h
