In the kitchen, he settled down at the counter and waited as Taylor went straight to the refrigerator and opened it, pulling out two amber bottles. Boone wasn’t really in the mood for a beer, but he accepted the proffered bottle nonetheless. He lifted it to his lips and took a quick sip as Taylor dropped down across from him. “How’s her hand?” Boone shrugged. “Called you. She’s got twenty stitches—twenty. Shit.” Taylor grimaced. He was silent a moment and then said, “I suppose I should say thanks for taking her. It was more my job than yours.” “You are better equipped to deal with the baby.” Boone took another drink and then focused on the bottle rather than the man in front of him. He couldn’t really explain that he’d been all but overcome by the surge of protectiveness that had insisted he take care of Sloane. “You seem to do okay with her.” From under his lashes, Boone saw Taylor shrug. “You’re her uncle. You’ve been helping out with her since she was born.”
