With a Little Luck Read Free Page A

blonde with green eyes smiled back at him — his mother, and easily the most beautiful woman Toby had ever seen. Not that he remembered her. He had been a baby when she died — six years ago today. His gaze strayed in the direction of his father’s bedroom. Sighing, he closed his eyes.
     
    SHORTLY AFTER EIGHT the next morning, Toby woke up. He lay there for several minutes before he finally yawned and climbed out of bed to stretch. Twenty minutes later he had brushed his teeth and washed, combed his hair and found a clean pair of jeans and a yellow T-shirt to wear.
    Leaving his bedroom, he paused in the hallway to look in on his father. Luck McClure was sprawled across the bed, the spare pillow clutched by an encircling arm. Toby quietly closed the door, although he doubted his father would be disturbed by any noise he made.
    In the kitchen, he put a fresh pot of coffee on to perk, then pushed the step stool to the counter and climbed it to reach the juice glasses and a cereal bowl in the cupboard. Positioning the stool in front of another cupboard, he mounted it to take down a box of cornflakes. With orange juice and milk from the refrigerator, Toby sat down to the kitchen table to eat his breakfast of cereal and orange juice.
    By the time he’d finished, the coffee was done. He glanced from it to the pitcher of orange juice, hesitated, and walked to the refrigerator to take out a pitcher of tomato juice. Climbing back up the step stool, he took down a tall glass and filled it three-quarters full with tomato juice. When he returned the pitcher to the refrigerator, he took out an egg, cracked it, and added it to the tomato juice. He stirred that mixture hard, then added garlic and Tabasco to it. Sniffing the end result, he wrinkled his nose in distaste.
    Taking the glass, he left the kitchen and walked down the hallway to his father’s room. He hadn’t changed position in bed. Toby leaned over, taking great care not to spill the contents of the glass, and shook his father’s shoulder with his free hand.
    “It’s nine o’clock, dad. Time to get up.” His statement drew a groan of protest. “Come on, dad.”
    With great reluctance, Luck rolled onto his back, flinging an arm across his eyes to shield them from the brightness of the sunlight shining in his window. Toby waited in patient silence until he sat up.
    “Oh, my head,” Luck mumbled, and held it in both his hands, the bedcovers falling around his waist to leave his torso bare.
    Toby climbed onto the bed, balancing on his knees while he offered his father the concoction he’d made. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”
    Lowering his hands part way from his head, Luck looked at it skeptically.
    “What is it?”
    “Don’t ask,” Toby advised, and reached out to pinch his father’s nose closed while he tipped the glass to his lips. He managed to pour a mouthful down before his father choked and took the glass out of his hand.
    “What is this?” Luck coughed and frowned as he studied the glass.
    “It’s a hangover remedy.” And Toby became the recipient of the glowering frown and a raised eyebrow.
    “And when did you become an expert on hangover remedies?” Luck challenged.
    “I saw it on television once,” Toby shrugged.
    Luck shook his head in quiet exasperation. “I should make you drink this, you know that, don’t you?” he sighed.
    “There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen.” Toby hopped off the bed, just in case his father intended to carry out that threat.
    “Go pour me a cup. And take this with you.” A smile curved slowly, forming attractive grooves on either side of his mouth — male dimples — as he handed the glass back to Toby. “I’ll be there as soon as I get some clothes on.”
    “I’ll pour you some orange juice, too,” Toby volunteered.
    “Just straight orange juice. Don’t put anything else in it.”
    “I won’t.” A wide grin split Toby’s face before he turned to walk swiftly from the room.
    With a