Quinn walked in and found a couch near the door and sprawled into it. He looked up at the ceiling and his brow furrowed.

Gideon looked over at him. “Not going in?” he asked.

Quinn sat up a little. “Nope. I can hear fine from right here.” He lay back down.

Gideon edged over a little. “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice.

“Huh?” Quinn blinked. “Oh, I’m fine. It’s Lindsey.” He paused. “My girlfriend, something’s not right. I mean, I don’t think it’s bad but something is off and I can’t quite remember what it is, like I should know it and it’s right there on the tip of my tongue.” He paused. “You ever had that feeling?”

“Once or twice, not related to a girl though.” Gideon shrugged a shoulder. It’d been a long while since he’d had a girlfriend. And his last one hadn’t been too hard to figure out. Gideon moved back to the door.

Quinn sniffed. Jumped up, went over, and got the front door.

Morgan smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said.

Quinn smiled back at her. A few more Club members by their kuttes slipped in the door behind her.

“Yes, thank you Quinn. Finally found a good use for you,” Houston said. He wiped his hands on a rag, tucked the rag into his back jeans pocket and then caught up with Morgan. “Here, let me take that,” he said and took the pan from her. “Bartender, I’ll have an orange soda, on the rocks.”

Morgan snorted. “Like that makes it any more sophisticated.”

“You can’t go wrong with orange soda.” Houston grinned. He walked into the room and set the meal on the table. “You know though, there is something wrong with this picture.” He tapped his chin. “Ah hah! No plates!” He ducked back out the door. “Quinn, continue making yourself useful and fetch dinnerware!” he said and went back inside. He found a seat near Savannah. “Is this chair taken?”

“Of course not,” Savannah said. “Welcome to the table.”

Quinn’s attention however had been fixed on Morgan. His brow still furrowed. Lindsey didn’t smell right. She smelled good, but she didn’t smell exactly like she usually did. And the appearance of Morgan reminded him of that smell for one reason or another. It suddenly hit him, and his face cleared and he grinned. Morgan always smelled like that when she was pregnant. Therefore, Lindsey was pregnant! His face lit up. He and Lindsey were going to have a baby!

Houston’s orders finally sunk in and he jumped. He continued to grin and headed off towards the kitchen. He hummed a song under his breath. A baby! A little bundle that ate, slept, pooped, and made funny noises, and this was wonderful. He gathered dishes, still grinning and humming happily to himself. A baby!

Morgan walked around the table and kissed her father on the cheek. She looked up and paused. “I didn’t make that,” she said of the cake pan.

“Bentley’s contribution,” Ted said.

“Nice of her to contribute, is it edible?”

“We don’t know.” Savannah poked the cake pan again. “And no one thinks that the prospect trying it to see is a good idea except me.”

Brand took a sip of coffee. “Because we want to keep the prospect,” he said.

“You were the one asking me if I was giving him a hard time.” Savannah narrowed her eyes. “This is giving him a hard time.”

“By giving him food poisoning?” Morgan asked.

Savannah raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

Morgan half smiled and shook her head. She kissed Ted’s cheek again. “Have a good meeting, Daddy. Flint and I are taking the pups to the park.”

“I heard about a possible seventh,” Ted rumbled.

“We haven’t decided.”

“Your mother seems happy about the idea.”

Morgan grinned and stood up.

Ted continued, “Why don’t I get any input in this?”

“You’re the grandfather, not the father?” Brand asked.

Ted and Eberron both shuddered.

Whitney came in, and put an orange soda and a glass of ice next to Houston. Houston looked up at her. “Thank you,” he paused. “And you are?”

“Whitney.”

“Whitney!” Houston repeated. “Thank you, Whitney, you are a lady and a gentleman.”

Whitney giggled and walked around and set a beer in front of Eberron. She looked at Morgan.

“I’m not staying,” Morgan said. She turned back to her father. “And the reason you don’t get any input is your input is usually ‘no.’” Morgan crossed her arms.

“You’ve got six.”

“You said the same thing when there were three of them. And you love all your grandchildren.”

“Course I do. I didn’t know I was going to have this many of them.”

Brand coughed.

Padre walked in the room. “Ahh, there is the bartender. Coffee, please.”

Whitney slapped a hand on her forehead. “I forgot. I’m sorry, Padre,” she said and dashed from the room.

“You’re forgiven, my child,” Padre said after her. He sat down at the table. He looked at Ted and Morgan. “What are we discussing?”

“Grandchildren,” Ted grumbled.

“Children are a blessing from God.”

“She’s working on a football team,” Ted said.

“A football team from God,” Padre intoned. “May they have many touchdowns.”

Savannah started shaking. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

“Thank you, Padre,” Morgan said serenely.

Quinn paused in the door, his hands full with plates and a grin still on his face. He came around and started setting out plates. Whitney came in and set a cup of coffee next to Padre.

Spike came in holding a glass of iced tea. “There wasn’t anyone at the bar, I served myself,” she said and sat down.

Whitney made a small noise of dismay and dashed from the room. “Sorry! Sorry!”

Brand watched her go, amused. “Saying sorry for all the wrong things,” he murmured.

“She’s young,” Savannah said.

“Says the one who never tended bar,” Ashley replied.

Morgan looked upwards and interrupted before Savannah and Ashley could turn Savannah’s membership into yet another argument. “I’ll let you know when Flint and I decide,” she said. “I’ll tell you first. Now, I do have to go.” She walked out.

“Better tell me first,” Ted muttered. “Who does she think is going to be the one helping with yet another nursery?”

Quinn nodded at what Ted said, his mind still on the fact that he was going to have his own baby.

Ted’s brow furrowed. “What are you grinning about?”

Quinn almost dropped the plate. “Nothing,” he said. “Yet. Just, nothing.” He set the plate down and left the room for silverware. Ted snorted, not believing Quinn at all. Quinn didn’t get far. Kirby grabbed his arm. Whitney stood right behind him, holding his small glass of whisky.

“Lead a young feller into the meeting room,” he said.

Quinn grinned and turned around, putting Kirby’s hand on his other arm. “Yes, Kirby.”

Whitney followed behind them with a grin on her face.

Kirby patted his arm. “I’d ask the prospect to do it, but he’s busy guarding his dinner.”

Gideon grinned. “Hello, Kirby,” he said.

Quinn led Kirby into the room and pulled out a chair for him.

Kirby sat down. “Thank you.”

Quinn nodded and dashed back out.

Brand picked up his coffee mug. “If we get too many more people, we’ll have to move rooms,” he said.

Savannah turned around in her chair. “There’s more of a crowd outside than are coming in.”

“Everyone’s a busy body.” Kirby nodded. “Especially me!” He laughed and slapped the table. “Now where is that girl with my whiskey?”

“Right here, Kirby,” Whitney said.

“Are you going to ask him?” Savannah asked. “You should ask him.”

“No.” Whitney made a face and bounced out before Savannah could poke at her more.

“She wants to be called an adult,” Savannah said off-handedly to Brand.

Brand grinned into his coffee cup. Kirby made a raspberry noise.

Quinn came back in. He laid pre-prepared things of silverware next to each plate.

Dana stuck his head in the door. “How many at the table?” he asked.

Whitney pushed his head out of the way and thus his entire body into the room. She had a tray on her arm with a pitcher of lemonade and stacks of empty glasses.

“You could count,” Savannah said.

Whitney put the glasses and pitcher on the table and left quietly.

“Nine,” Eberron said.

“Okay, three left, we’re choosing lots,” Dana said and went back out.

“We can move,” Brand murmured.

Quinn left.

“Twelve is a manageable minimum,” Ted said. “Let them choose lots. Most probably don’t want a say, they want to know.”

Savannah peeked under the dinner tray. “Mmm, lasagna. It looks like it has spinach in it.”

“Did Quinn remember a serving spoon?”

“No.”

“Quinn! Serving spoon and napkins!” Houston shouted.

“Oh, Right!” Quinn shouted back. His mind was elsewhere.

“Feeling bossy today?” Brand asked Houston.

“I’m feeling my bossiness.” Houston nodded. “Since you noticed, I must be doing it correctly.”

Brand grinned. There was quarrelling outside. Brand looked over. “Am I going to have to go mediate?” he muttered.

“Ashley can do it,” Savannah said.

Ashley bristled. “Why not you?”

“Mediation is your job,” Savannah pointed out.

The quarrelling quieted and three more members of the Club entered the room and took the remaining seats. Brand looked at the clock. There was a minute to spare. Quinn darted inside the room with the requested napkins and serving spoon. He darted back out. The second hand hit the twelve. “Prospect, shut the door,” Brand said.

“Yes, sir,” Gideon said, reached in and closed the door with a thump.

Houston grinned. “He calls you sir.”

“I think I like it,” Brand said. He picked up a gavel next to his plate, reached forward and banged it against the table. “I hereby call this meeting to order. Pass the lasagna.”

“Yes, sir,” Savannah said. She took the cover off the dish and picked up the lasagna.

“Now don’t get snarky.” Brand looked down his nose at her. He handed her his plate.

She grinned at him and dished out a serving onto his plate. “But you like it.” She handed him his plate back and put a serving on her own plate before passing the lasagna to Houston.

Brand repressed a grin.

---

The door pulled open again. The man stopped in the doorway and took in the room. His longish brown hair fell into his eyes. The sun set his square face into shadows. He wore a black oiled canvas duster that fell to mid-calf over his t-shirt, kutte, and blue jeans. The man rested a hand on his belt buckle. “Now, what is the big to do?” he murmured and stepped into the Club, his duster swishing. He crossed to the chapel door.

Gideon stepped in front of him, automatically falling into a relative at ease but guarding posture. It would have been more forceful if he had a gun, but he made do with his stiff body language. “Meeting’s closed, sir.”

The man glanced at his wrist and then for a clock. “My wife does keep telling me I need to synch with Club time,” he said. “Just missed it.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Gideon said.

The man brushed it away. “No matter. I can take it up with Brand afterwards,” he said and smiled at Gideon.

Gideon smiled back at him. “Whitney is the purveyor of fine beverages, sir,” he said.

The man blinked, tilted his head, and looked Gideon up and down. “Sir? That is the third time you’ve called me sir,” he said. He half smiled. He didn’t mind the appellation. In fact, if it could be spread around a bit, it’d be useful. Though his wife would smack him upside the head if he insisted upon it.

Gideon raised an eyebrow. Well, it wasn’t like he knew the man’s name.

Quinn snickered.

Will took a step back, tilted his head in the other direction. “Aren’t you all stiff and shiny? You must be new,” he said and held out a hand. “Will.”

Gideon took it and they shook. “Gideon,” he said.

Will let his hand go. “Good to meet you. I see they’re going to have to work on those sharp edges.”

Esme entered the room. “Will!” she said, crossed over, and hugged and kissed him chastely on the lips. “What brings you back to town?”

“Oh, wanted to check in. You know, reassure all you fine folks that the little wifey and I were still alive.”

Esme looked around. “And where is Lou?” she asked.

“We’ve got a late foal,” Will said. “She refused to be moved.”

Esme squeezed his shoulders. “That sounds like her. Come on, we’ll get you a drink and you can tell me about your trip and how things are up at the ranch. Matador giving you any trouble?”

“I’ve got plenty of trouble, and Matador is more likely to fix it than cause it.” Will turned to Gideon. “Nice meeting you again,” he said.

Esme smiled at Gideon. ‘Good job,’ she mouthed at him.

Gideon shifted on his feet and resisted the urge to salute her. He winked at her instead. Esme led Will away.

“Now why aren’t you in your proper place at the table in the meeting?” Will asked.

“The Clarks have a new baby and Clara had questions.” Esme patted his back. “Brand does know how to handle things without me.”

“New prospect? Polite, refreshing,” Will said.

Whitney bounced around the table and hugged him. “Uncle Will!” she said. “I’ll get you a whisky.”

Will hugged her back. “Unlike other prospects,” he mock growled. Whitney merely giggled at him.

Esme ignored the exchange and answered Will’s question. “Last week,” Esme said. “We’ve got hopes.” She paused. “Brand has hopes.”

Will chuckled.