That Old Feeling. Cara Colter

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      So, she’d get bored, and then she would leave.

      “She’ll last two days,” he bet himself, and felt his black mood lift slightly. “Three at the outside.”

      “Poo-poo,” the baby commented, but he couldn’t tell if she was agreeing with him, or if she was “pooh-poohing” him. She was a female after all, and even a pint-sized member of the fairer sex was probably blessed with intuition. Perhaps his wee daughter sensed that the thing he was worst at—besides choosing girl clothes for a one-year-old—was predicting how anything was going to go once Brandy King was in the vicinity.