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“Which is why the yaks got him.” Trey heard himself—and saw Cinda’s startled expression. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
With a smile tugging at her lips, Cinda shook her head. “Actually, it was more funny than out of line.”
“Whew. Dodged that bullet.” Trey took hold of the soft and chubby little girl whose limbs were flailing wildly. “Come here, you.” He turned her in his arms and greeted her. “Why, hello there, Chelsi. How you doing, huh?”
The baby stuck out her tongue and gave him the raspberries, a rousing Bronx cheer, and chortled her happiness with her efforts.
“I think I deserved that,” Trey said mock seriously.
“Oh, God.” Cinda covered her eyes with a hand. “I am so embarrassed. Major Clovis taught her that.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Grinning, Trey focused on the baby. She was killer cute. He held her close to his face and turned toward Cinda. But the baby promptly grabbed two handfuls of his hair and, with more strength than he would have credited her with, pulled herself forward, her mouth open as if she meant to gnaw on his scalp. Making a sound of protest, Trey did his best to hold her at bay.
“You’ll have to excuse her. She’s teething,” Cinda explained benignly, not offering him any help. “Either that or there are cannibals in the Cavanaugh bloodlines.”
Trey was still fighting for his scalp, but this was just the opening he wanted. “Speaking of the Cavanaugh’s, what do you think? Do you see here the same thing that I do, Cinda?”
“If you mean a man trying to keep a baby from snacking on his head, then yes I do.”
“Not that. I meant not just any man and not just any baby.”
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