“My boy is home!” she exclaimed. “It’s almost a merry Christmas!” She smiled at Galen and reached to take her son in her arms. “Although it breaks my heart that your baby brother is still at the hospital. I’ll go see him tomorrow.” She looked up at Galen. “How is Riley?” “Our mighty little mouse,” he said. “Not much bigger than a mouse, squeaks like a mouse and sometimes makes faces like a mouse.” “Galen!” Rose gave her husband a reproving look, even though part of her wanted to laugh. She knew he was teasing—and yet it felt mean to tease about little Riley when he couldn’t be home with the family. “I’m sorry. I think of Mighty Mouse when I think of that sprig off the family tree. You know he’s going to grow up to be a cattle puncher or a monster rodeo cowboy.” “I hope so.” She gazed down at Mack, her father’s namesake. “My sons are growing like tigers.”
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