The Prodigal Bride. Beth Cornelison

To Pet, he said, “Okay, Squirt, time to eat. Wash your hands.”

      Pet ignored him, climbing on the sofa to launch herself onto the cushions again.

      Grasping Pet’s upper arm, he stopped her as she mounted the sofa the next time and looked straight into her eyes. “Petunia, it’s dinnertime. Go wash your hands and sit at the table.”

      “No! I’m not hungry.” Pet tried to pull free, and when he didn’t release her, she jumped up and down in place with a haughty smirk on her face.

      Gage took a deep breath and knelt in front of his niece, using both hands to hold her as still as a five-year-old monster could be held. “Pet, do you want time-out?”