Free Just Not Mine by Rosalind James Page A

or an assassin either. Though drug dealers probably had families. Assassins, she wasn’t so sure about.
    He did look familiar. Maybe she’d seen him on some TV show about persons of interest? Hard to tell, under all that beard and hair. His disguise, maybe. But no, that was ridiculous. Cora Middleton had seemed thoroughly respectable, not somebody who’d leave these kids in the care of anybody that dodgy. In any case, Hugh seemed much too straightforward to be anything that complicated, and anyway, it wasn’t her business, not as long as he weren’t actually a criminal, and she sincerely doubted it. She gave a mental shrug and concentrated on finishing the job with Charlie’s help.
    “Here we are,” she said when he’d finished spraying the entire surface of the new patio with the hose, concentrating so fiercely on getting every squa re meter wetted down, his clever little face so intent that her heart went out to him. “Look at you. You helped build a whole patio today. You spread the sand, laid the brick, brushed the mortar. Bet you didn’t know you could do that.”
    He brightened, his chest swelling a bit, and she smiled at him. “Let’s put my table and chairs on,” she suggested. “And have a look.”
    He helped her carry them, and they stood together and admired their handiwork.
    “Calls for a cup of tea, don’t you think?” she asked him. “Lord and lady of the manor, surveying our domain?”
    “Yeh,” he said. “Except could I have cocoa instead? If you have it,” he added politely.
    She laughed, light with accomplishment and the satisfaction of a job done. “You could. You can have as much cocoa as you can drink. You earned it.”
    * * *
    She and Charlie had their swim, a quick one down the road at Torpedo Bay, because the water was still springtime-cold, but that and a shower renewed her energy for a visit to New World.
    “You’ re a good shopper,” she told Charlie when he’d returned to the trolley with a bag of green beans.
    “That’s because I have to help Hugh,” he said.
    “Oh. Because of his hand.”
    “Not just his hand,” Charlie said . “It’s that he doesn’t know how to do things. The sorts of things grown-ups usually know. He forgets to buy stuff, like washing powder. He forgets to do the washing. He can’t cook too well either. We had pizza two times already this week, and hamburgers one time. Grownups usually cook more grown-up things, but he says he can’t. He can do hamburgers, though. And he can do eggs. I have to help him with that, too.”
    “Well, helping’s good,” she said cheerfully, selecting tomatoes, throwing in a couple avocados, some spinach and rocket. Salad, that was nice and easy. “I helped my mum and dad growing up, and that’s why I do know how to cook, and to do the washing, and all sorts of quite handy things. And I should get your brother some beer,” she realized as they left the veg aisle. “Bet he likes that.”
    “I think so,” Charlie said. “Not if he’s driving, but he hasn’t got to drive, because you live next door and we can walk. It isn’t good to drink beer if you’re driving.”
    “No, it isn’t, but he doesn’t have to drive tonight, so I think we’ll risk it. What kind’s his favorite?” she asked, stopping in front of the extensive selection.
    He considered. “Dunno. Maybe that green one. I think he’s had that.”
    “Monteith’s Original? Sounds reasonable. Not a big drinker, eh.” She pulled a six-pack down and set it in the trolley.
    “Nah. Because of work. He can’t.”
    Which made the drug dealer idea less likely, but then, it had never been likely. Still left assassin open, though. Assassins probably had to keep their wits about them.
    “Run get me two liters of trim milk, please,” she told Charlie, abandoning the question.
    He was back with it in a flash. “I think I used to help my mum, too,” he told her as he handed it to her. “I don’t remember too well, though.”
    Josie glanced