Denn wrapped sandwich halves in plastic and shoved them into an insulated lunch tote, added a container of unsweetened orange juice and a baggie filled with cherry tomatoes and carrot sticks. Luna would either toss them out or, being the enterprising child she was, sell them to one of the other kids. This time of year, fresh vegetables were damned expensive, too. But he had to try getting decent food in her instead of the junk she preferred to eat. “Luna, let’s go. Five minutes. Or else you hoof it,” he called out. There hadn’t been a peep from her in at least a half hour, which either meant pouting or she’d gone back to sleep. He’d have to drag her out of bed by her toes. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I’m sick.” The faint words floated along the hallway, uttered in a voice like doom. Denn huffed out an impatient breath and set the tote aside. He strode down the hallway into Luna’s room, stepped around clothes and shoes scattered over the floor.
