Picket Fence Surprise
Picket Fence Surprise
Kris Fletcher
They weren't expecting this…Heather Jacobs has a lot in common with Xander Sorenson: they've each got a great kid they adore, and neither of their paths to parenthood started out easy. So he’s the perfect guy to help her with her plan to seek joint custody of her daughter. But the perfect guy for her? Not so much, especially when she’s not convinced his reckless ways are behind him. Plus, he brings out a side of her that she’d rather keep in check. And then the impossible happens…
They weren’t expecting this...
Heather Jacobs has a lot in common with Xander Sorenson: they’ve each got a great kid they adore, and neither of their paths to parenthood started out easy. So he’s the perfect guy to help her with her plan to seek joint custody of her daughter. But the perfect guy for her? Not so much, especially when she’s not convinced his reckless ways are behind him. Plus, he brings out a side of her that she’d rather keep in check. And then the impossible happens...
When was the last time that had happened?
Not just the laughter, but the ease, the banter, the feeling that it was okay to be himself? Xander couldn’t remember. The only certainty was that he had missed it. He liked it.
And even though he knew it was a bad idea, he wanted to know what else might go so well between Heather and him.
And from the way she suddenly wouldn’t meet his gaze as she walked him to the door, he had a feeling that she might be doing some wanting and wondering of her own.
“Thanks again,” she said, her tone oddly formal after their earlier laughter. “You’ve been a lifesaver with this.”
“My pleasure. And thanks for dinner. Cajun-blackened stir-fry has never tasted so good.”
Her laugh this time was a little higher, a little more strained. Like she was...nervous. Maybe a little shy.
Maybe a little uncertain as to what should happen when they reached the door.
Dear Reader (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4):
I have a confession: I never intended for Xander to have his own book.
When I introduced him in A Family Come True, he was simply someone who had to be there, the catalyst that put the story in gear. (True story: his name is Xander because all through the first draft of that book, he was simply X.) He was supposed to show up when I needed him, do his part and disappear.
Except he never got the memo. And he kept horning his way into scenes. And then Piya Campana (aka Editor Extraordinaire) dropped a not-so-subtle hint that she would love to see his story.
Once that decision was made, the next question was to find the right partner for him. I auditioned a number of characters for the part but none felt right. Who would have the insight and experience to get involved with someone with Xander’s background? At last I realized that the only woman who could truly understand Xander was one who had something even more challenging in her history. With that, it became abundantly clear that there was only one possible match for him in all of Comeback Cove.
I hope you enjoy Xander’s story! Please visit me at www.krisfletcher.com (http://www.krisfletcher.com) to sign up for my newsletter, learn about upcoming books and stay caught up with everything happening in Comeback Cove.
Yours,
Kris
Picket Fence Surprise
Kris Fletcher
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KRIS FLETCHER would like you to believe that her children’s science-fair volcanoes were all perfectly sculpted from papier-mâché, but the truth is that the mashed-potato episode of this book just might have a basis in fact. Ahem.
Kris grew up in Southern Ontario, went to school in Nova Scotia, married a man from Maine and now lives in central New York. She shares her very messy home with her husband, some of their many kids, two Facebook-fodder cats and a growing population of dust bunnies.
This book is dedicated to two very special individuals who taught me lessons that changed my heart.
To Kelli-Lee Howie, who helped me remember that there is so much more to this writing gig than daily pages and deadlines. It was my honor and privilege to learn from you.
And to my nephew Shawn-Man, who started our relationship down a whole new road with a simple Facebook question about writing. Our talks made me remember the joy and excitement of being a new writer and reminded me that words can open worlds. You showed me that courage, imagination and Fruity Pebbles can take us anywhere. Walking may indeed be overrated, but oh, sweetie, how I hope you’re dancing now.
Contents
Cover (#ua810e0a7-369a-55a9-a37e-4690bbf895c7)
Back Cover Text (#u03f6554a-6c46-51b4-9433-fd533c29eeda)
Introduction (#u41bdb3c4-84eb-5042-8662-75c29714b0d5)
Dear Reader (#u427b019d-5a2f-55a7-932b-1a9905f5d815)
Title Page (#u7d7e91a9-36f7-5d66-85a8-813e60b5f071)
About the Author (#u77e8755a-2c18-5a11-ba97-5e78f94fedfa)
Dedication (#u1053c42b-3532-5dfe-a4ff-7b41f58b96ed)
CHAPTER ONE (#u4c95e007-62c4-5da1-bbf8-d485bd3a43dc)
CHAPTER TWO (#ueeac5482-b083-51a9-953a-5b006bb5fd35)
CHAPTER THREE (#u920a3831-ae1b-54b8-88ea-2de7f724c471)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ua774cafe-4666-5abb-ac31-7181e2ff74dd)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4)
“MOMMY, I’VE DECIDED what I want for my birthday.”
Heather Jacobs paused in her conversation to focus on her daughter. Not that she had much choice: Millie had wrapped herself around Heather’s waist much like an octopus would wrap itself around lunch.
“Millie, I’m talking. You’re supposed to say ‘Excuse me,’ and wait.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s so perfect, and I’ve been thinking about it forever and I just have to tell you about it now!”
Heather glanced across the top of Millie’s head and shared a look of empathy with her friend Xander Sorenson, a fellow single parent and her main link to sanity at these extended family gatherings.
“Who else needs an apology from you?”
Millie wriggled with impatience, but offered a sincere, “Sorry, Mr. Sorenson.”
“Accepted.” He tugged on the end of Millie’s ponytail, narrowly missing the bright blue ribbon that Heather had woven into the curls to mark the festive occasion—the birthday party of Xander’s daughter, Cady. “So what’s such a perfect present that you figured it out already? Isn’t your birthday in the fall?”
“October 29. Almost Halloween. And, Mommy, what I want is...” Millie clasped her hands in front of her, twisting them together. “What I really want more than anything is for you and Daddy to share me more. Like Mr. Sorenson and Aunt Darcy share Cady.”
So much for Heather’s lifelong certainty that it was impossible for a jaw to actually drop.
It wasn’t that the question was unwelcome. On the contrary, it probably ranked right up there with Millie’s just-birthed howl, or the first time she’d said Mama. Heather had been yearning to hear those words, or a variation thereof, for almost nine long and lonely years.
But why had Millie chosen to make her request in the middle of a birthday party that was almost entirely populated by members of her ex’s very large, very nosy family?
Parenting Truth Number 614: Kids will always find the worst possible time to ask you anything.
And Heather had thought it was rough explaining tampon dispensers in public bathrooms.
“Mommy? Did you hear me?”
Thankfully, most of the adults in attendance were busy blowing bubbles for the pint-size guests. The back lawn of the North family home, usually an expanse of green reaching from the house to the bank of the St. Lawrence River, was today dotted with clumps of toddlers, their parents and enough balloons to decimate the world’s helium supply. No one was within hearing distance.
No one, that was, except Xander, her fellow North family outlier. Who, being no dummy, immediately shoved his hands in his pockets and began backing away.
“You know, I’m pretty sure I should be flipping burgers or something.”
Heather did a mental eye roll. Not five minutes ago, he had joined her beneath a towering maple, brushing glitter from his hair and shoulders—he’d been under the piñata when it had surrendered—and making jokes about getting out of the sun before he turned into a disco ball.
The truth, Heather suspected, was that he—like she—had needed a moment away from the crowd. The Norths were a large and loving family, one that didn’t hesitate to fold newcomers and outliers—and even exes such as herself—into their midst. It was one of their better characteristics. But for those not accustomed to the family, the effect could be most charitably described as overwhelming.
She waved him away, expecting him to escape as fast as his long legs could take him. But after two steps, he stopped and turned back.
“You know,” he said, “I heard there’s a turtle that’s been making an appearance near the dock these days. You guys might have time to catch it before lunch.”
“A turtle? Cool! Come on, Mom!”
Millie grabbed Heather’s hand and half dragged her across the lawn. The parts of Heather’s brain not occupied with making sure she didn’t trip over a clump of weeds sent a mental message of thanks toward Xander. He’d bought her both time and distance, and did it in a way that was guaranteed to ensure that Millie the junior scientist would be too excited to see how she’d been played.
Thankfully, the wild flight halted as they approached the shore, where Millie cautioned Heather to move slowly and quietly. They crept to the spot Millie decreed was the perfect place for a turtle to approach. Moments later, Heather found herself sprawled on the dock, her belly warmed by the sun-kissed boards and the back of her neck already tingling in a way that made her wish she’d applied more sun block. But early June was too soon for her summer instincts to have kicked in.
“We can’t stay too long,” she cautioned. “We’ll get burned.”
“I know.” Millie spoke absently, inching forward to peer into the water. “I don’t see anything. I wonder if it’s here?”
“Mills...” Heather hesitated, unsure how to begin.
Parenting Truth Number 471: Let the kid set the pace.
“Mills, when you said you want me and Daddy to share you—what do you mean?”
“Well, you know, Jason in my class, he spends a week with his mom and then a week with his dad. He’s always forgetting his homework at the wrong house, but he still has to do it.”
“Of course.”
“So I wondered how come he got to do it that way, but I only get to be with you a little. And then at Easter, we were hunting for eggs and Cady was here and I remembered that she gets to do something like that with her mom and dad, so I—Whoa! Did you see that?”
Millie pointed toward a series of circles rippling through the water from a spot a couple of arm’s lengths off the deck. She pushed herself forward enough that Heather grabbed her shirt.
“Back, kiddo.”
“But Mom—”
“Scooch back. Now.”
“Fine.” Millie complied with a sigh. “Jeez, Mom. I’m ten and a half. I know how to be safe.”
The part of Heather that would never be comfortable seeing Millie around water urged her to grab the child and march her off the dock. The part that had spent years learning to listen to her head instead of her gut reminded her to take a chill pill.
“Humor me.” With a deep breath, she did a fast mental recap of the conversation before the interruption. Jason... Cady...sharing.
Easter had been over two months ago. Which meant that this wasn’t a spur of the moment request.
“Honey, about me and Daddy sharing you. I—You know, sometimes things seem like they should be simple, but they’re actually complicated.”
Millie shielded her eyes, but Heather suspected it wasn’t against the sun, especially when her shoulders sagged. “Daddy said something like that, too.”
Wait. “Mills. Do you mean—did you already talk to Daddy about this?”
Millie’s shrug had nothing to do with indifference.
“Kind of.”
Oh God. Millie’s father was a good man, truly, fair and forgiving, but he didn’t do well when caught by surprise. If Millie had broached the topic with him the same way she had with Heather, it probably had not gone the way Millie had wished.
Which would also explain the long gap between a conversation with one parent at Easter and another conversation now.
“You don’t need to tell me things that are between you and Daddy,” she said, hoping she could find the right approach. “That’s private. But I have a feeling he maybe wasn’t as excited about the idea as you were.”
Millie shook her head and shifted her gaze to the water.
“Mills... I would love to have more time with you, more than anything, but it’s not something you can just wish for and make it happen, like getting your ears pierced. This as a two-parent decision. Daddy and I have to talk about this together and make sure we’re doing what’s best for you.”
“Why wouldn’t it be good for me? It’s good for Jason. It’s good for Cady.”
Heather had no idea what had happened between Jason’s parents, but she was almost positive that there was a lot less history—and hurt—between Xander and Darcy than there was between her and Hank. Negotiating joint custody was probably a lot easier when one party hadn’t inflicted the kind of wounds that Heather had. She had been amazed when Hank had been able to remarry. Amazed, and truly glad for him. He was a good guy. He deserved the happiness he had found with Brynn and their new son.
Heather would never have the guts to try marriage again.
“I know that it looks like it would be good, Mills, but there are things that adults have to discuss. Like schedules, and is this a good time to make this change, and how would we make it happen. And let’s face it. You and Daddy have something pretty special. He might need time to get used to the idea.”
Time, and maybe a large dose of a really strong sedative.
Because Heather knew what had gone through Hank’s head when Millie brought her request. He would have focused on their past. He would have relived—justifiably—the night when Heather had walked out on him and Millie. Walked out and hopped on a plane and put three-quarters of a continent between them.
How was Heather supposed to encourage Millie when every objection Hank could raise was true?
Millie turned away from the water, hands shoved in her pockets, and shuffled down the dock. “I don’t think the turtle is coming back today,” she said in a tiny voice.
Oh hell.
“Millie... Listen. I can’t make any promises, but we...well, we can try. But we have to take it slow. Give Daddy time. You do some more thinking about what you would like. I’ll figure out grown-up details and prepare my pitch, just like I would at work. And then when the time is right—” God give me strength “—I’ll talk to Daddy.”
“Okay.”
“And maybe for now, we can keep an eye open for extra days. You know, like, we could have an extra outing on a weekend when there’s some special girl thing happening.”
“Like when I need to do stuff for a badge?”
Heather was already a big fan of the Girl Guides of Canada for the experiences they provided Millie. But as she thought of the many opportunities for mother-daughter bonding that came with the group’s activities, she was triply glad that Millie had joined.
“Absolutely for a badge. Or to get your hair cut, or do some shopping for school or whatever. Daddy and Brynn are still getting used to life with baby Noah, so it will be good for you and me, and it will help them at the same time.” Inspiration hit like a flash of sunlight on the water. “And you know what else? We talked about painting your room at my place, but the time kind of slipped away. How about we start on that, now that the weather is nice?”
“That would be awesome, Mom! Can it be purple, maybe? Or do they make glow-in-the-dark paint for stars?”
“I bet we can find some stickers for that.”
“Okay. Is it time to eat yet? I’m hungry.”
Ah, that was far more like the optimistic girlie that Heather knew. She pushed to her feet, grabbed Millie’s hands to pull her up and tugged the child close for a fast hug and a kiss on the top of her head.
“Do you know how much I love you, kiddo?”
“To the moon and back.”
“You got it.”
Hand in hand, they followed their noses back to the gathering. Millie chattered and jumped and raced ahead and back like the friskiest of puppies, and Heather reveled in every minute of it.
Did she want more time with Millie? God yes. The problem—no, the challenge—would be in finding the way to make it happen without disturbing the peace.
Heather knew what it was to grow up in a home where the only constants were disruption and fear. Millie would never know anything as messed up as Heather’s childhood, thankfully, but that didn’t mean that Heather could be cavalier about upsetting the status quo—especially when she knew that Hank had already rejected the idea. She had to find a way to turn this into a logical, reasonable next step instead of a point of disruption. She had played hell with Millie’s life once. She would not do it again.
All she needed was a plan.
* * *
XANDER WAS A MAN who trusted his gut. And as he laughed his way through the party and helped Cady open more presents than any two-year-old could use, his gut kept whispering that he should check on Heather.
Not that anything was obviously wrong. She sang “Happy Birthday” with everyone else, talked to everyone, laughed and goofed around with Millie. But he couldn’t dismiss the way she had tensed up over Millie’s question. The wonder in her eyes hadn’t exactly meshed with the way she closed in on herself, arms and legs and everything pulling in tight. Like she was afraid that if she let anything free, she would lose it.
He pushed his worries to the back burner while the party was in full swing. Not only was this Cady’s birthday, it was the first time he’d celebrated it with her. A year ago at this time, he hadn’t even known she was alive. Now, though, she was the reason he was alive—or at the very least, the reason he was living this life. He wasn’t taking any of this for granted.
He memorized the sound of her squeals when she spotted her Winnie the Pooh cupcake. He soaked in the sight of her chipmunk cheeks as she tried to blow out her candles and bit back his laughter at the confusion on her face when her attempts left the candles blazing despite the hefty showering of spit she sprayed over the frosting.
Yeah, Darcy had been right to insist on Cady attacking an individual cake instead of the big one intended for sharing.
But when the candles continued to flicker and the twist to Cady’s mouth started the descent from gamely trying to core meltdown imminent, he squatted beside her and tapped her cheek.
“Want some help, Cady?”
Her quivering chin was his only reply.
On Cady’s other side, Darcy imitated his stance. “Here, sweetie. Let’s all do it together. You, me, Daddy and Ian.”
Darcy took Cady’s hand and extended the other toward her fiancé, who joined the circle.
Xander had never believed that line about it taking a village to raise a child until this moment, seeing how three adults were required to help a kid blow out two candles.
But then, the slightly-odd-but-definitely-working family they had built over the past year was almost a small village in itself. And none of them would be here, now, if not for the others.
If Xander hadn’t decided to spend a few weeks crashing with his old university roomie Ian...if Ian hadn’t been renting a garage apartment from Darcy...if Ian hadn’t been out of town the weekend Darcy’s rat bastard ex-boyfriend dumped her, leaving her in need of a shoulder, a stiff drink and some unexpected comfort...
None of it had been planned. Not him and Darcy ending up drunk. Or horizontal. Or—as he found out when he came back two years later—parents.
“One...two...” Darcy guided Cady forward.
Change any one of those factors, and none of them would be here. Because without that perfect storm of events and timing, Cady would never have been born. And Darcy would never have turned to Ian for help that became friendship that turned into something so real that they were getting married in a couple of months.
“Three!”
And if Darcy and Ian hadn’t been the understanding and forgiving people they were, Xander would never have walked out of a jail cell and into this family.
“Make a wish!” someone called. Xander checked on Cady, now clapping her hands while leaning against Darcy, and was pretty sure that his daughter had absolutely everything she could want at this moment.
But birthday wishes weren’t to be wasted. So as Ian reached across Darcy to bop Cady’s nose and the three of them laughed together, Xander closed his eyes and sent up his own wish.
That, please. I want something like that.
* * *
ONCE THE CAKE had been cut and the gifts opened, Xander prowled the edges of the party with his camera, gathering trash with one hand while sneaking in some candid shots of the birthday girl and her guests. Cleaning, preserving memories and casually working his way toward Heather, all at once. Who said men couldn’t multitask? Add in the way he managed to sneak a few peeks at Heather’s shorts—or, more precisely, what they covered—and he felt positively superhuman.
Well, except for the fact that Heather’s shorts—and, more precisely, what was in them—were strictly off-limits.
She was a damned fine looking woman who made him laugh. More than that, when he was with her, he felt he could relax more than with most folks. Maybe because she understood how it felt to be on the outside looking in. Maybe because she, like he, knew all about duct-taping a life back together after throwing it in the toilet.
Heather was a friend. And while Xander wanted someone to build a life with, these days he needed friends. So yeah. Off-limits.
But off-limits didn’t mean he couldn’t be a buddy. So when Heather finished saying something to Millie and sent the child off with a laugh, he raised his camera.
“Say cheese!”
He’d expected her to squeal and whirl away from him. Instead, she raised her hands to her head so they resembled antlers, wiggling her fingers while scrunching up her face.
He lowered the camera. “Seriously? You want me to take your picture when you look like a moose that ate a lemon?”
“It got you to stop, didn’t it?”
That was another reason why he needed to stay away from Heather. She would outfox him.
“Good one.” He scanned the area, saw that they were relatively alone and wandered closer. “That’s an interesting pile of sticks by your feet.”
“Sticks?” She glanced from him to the ground and back again, confusion evident on her face. “What’s in your lemonade, Xander?”
“Nothing. But if I act like I’m taking pictures and make a show of having the camera out, people are going to stay away while I ask if you’re okay.” He pulled the camera from his face for a second to meet her gaze. “After Millie’s question, I mean.”
“Oh.”
He waited, focusing in on the sticks as if he really cared about them. Patience had never been his favorite virtue, but he had learned to appreciate it during his time in jail. Proof that there was a silver lining to everything.
At last, Heather spoke, her words quiet—though not, he suspected, from fear of being overheard.
“She caught me by surprise.”
“I figured.”
“I’m not sure...” She sighed. “It’s not as simple as Millie believes.”
“Tell me a part of parenting that is.”
At that, she laughed, though not with her usual abandon. He crouched and adjusted his focus. There was a tiny dandelion poking through the sticks, a flash of yellow he would have missed if he hadn’t changed angles.
“How do you manage it?” she asked. “Sharing Cady must be hard.”
“Do you mean, like, the timing? The logistics?”
“For a start.”
“It takes a lot of communication. But you probably know that already.”
“Right.”
“If you want, I can give you a copy of the schedule we use. You couldn’t do the same times, not with school and all, but it would give you someplace to start.” And maybe she could accept it with more grace than he could. For while Xander understood the need for a schedule and was blown away every time he realized how close he had come to missing out on the miracle of Cady, a part of him still ached at the reality of needing a spreadsheet to mark his time with his daughter.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She crouched beside him and tugged on one of the sticks, tumbling the pile into a new arrangement. The dandelion vanished from his view. “Of course, I’m probably jumping the gun. Hank—”
She stopped. He raised the camera, using it as a shield so he had to watch out of the corner of his eye as the emotions played across her face. Hope, wistfulness, some kind of longing that made him feel he should reach over and squeeze her hand...
He hadn’t known Heather when she was married to Ian’s brother Hank, but he’d known about her, and them. He remembered Ian telling him about Heather’s abrupt departure from the marriage and Comeback Cove, and even during that self-absorbed point in his own life, he had wondered how a mother could willingly leave her child.
These days, knowing Heather, seeing how she glowed whenever she was with Millie, he wondered all the more.
“Anyway—” Heather clapped her hands as if dismissing the topic “—the other big issue would be work.”
“Isn’t Millie a bit young to have to think about a job?”
Yeah, it was a lousy joke. But Heather was the pacesetter here.
“You do know that when you’re all hunched over like that, it would only take one little push for me to send you over. Right?”
On the other hand, maybe he should take a stronger lead in the conversation.
“Sorry. Whatever. Why is work a problem?”
She adjusted her position so she was sitting on the ground. Guess her thighs weren’t up to the test.
Not that he was going to think about her thighs.
“The job itself isn’t the trouble. It’s the hours. Which are totally reasonable until you tack on the megacommute every day.”
“Gotcha. So you’re gone from, what? Eight to six?”
“More like seven thirty until about seven.”
He whistled. “Busting ass to impress the boss?”
“Busting ass to get the work done.” Her head swiveled. “And to let me leave early on Wednesdays, so I’m home when Millie finishes school.”
He didn’t have to follow her line of vision to know she was checking on the kid in question.
“You’re right. That doesn’t leave much time for anything, let alone having time with a kid.”
“I know.”
It was the way she watched Millie that caught him in the gut. Like she didn’t dare miss one action or one giggle, in case she might never get the chance again.
“What about getting a new job?”
This time when she laughed, it was like he’d said the silliest thing she’d ever heard.
“Right. Because Comeback Cove is overflowing with jobs.”
He bit his tongue to keep from reminding her that there were a lot more options for her than there were for someone who had, oh, a criminal record to add to the list of references.
No regrets, Xander.
Instead, he waved a hand toward the river and said, “I hear the town is looking for someone to help sell all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re creating a new position. Tourism director, or something like that. There was an article about it in the Comeback Cove Chronicle last week.”
She did a double take. “You read the Chronicle? I thought their only subscribers were the people who work at town hall. And maybe the folks who advertise in it.”
“Of course I do. I’m a concerned, involved citizen.” Who also happened to be trolling the community calendar for events where he might meet someone looking for a guy with an adorable daughter, a steady job and a slightly checkered past.
“You’re about twelve steps ahead of me, then. But...tourism? It’s a nice thought, but I don’t have any experience in that.”
He raised the camera to his eye and focused in on Cady, now spinning in circles with Millie. “You’re in marketing.”
“Sure, but—”
“Would it cost you anything to apply?”
“No.”
“If you got it, would it make things easier for you to have more time with Millie?”
This time, her silence went on long enough that he had to check to be sure she was still sitting in place.
“Yo, Earth to Heather.”
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
“I’ve heard that can be dangerous.”
She shook her head, seeming to cast off some spell that had gripped her. “What does that mean?”
“It means that there’s a time to think and a time to do. Take a chance. Go with your gut.”
Her head swiveled. Her gaze locked on Millie.
“My gut is the last thing I need to listen to.”
He had never understood people who didn’t trust their own instincts. How was a person supposed to navigate all the noise of the world without having some core sense of what to do and where to go?
Though on the other hand, refusing to listen to your gut was probably a lot safer than his specialty of acknowledging and then ignoring the truth he didn’t want to see.
“But,” she continued, “there is a certain logic to the thought.”
Ah, now they were getting somewhere.
“I doubt I could even get an interview, but you’re right. It would give me a deadline to update my résumé and get into job-changing mode. If nothing else, getting an offer from someplace else might give me some negotiating power. Shift my hours, arrange to work from home part of the time...something that could make things more possible.”
She turned a sunny smile in his direction, one that had his own gut suddenly tightening.
“Thanks, Xander. You’ve been a huge help.”
No problem. My pleasure. The smart and sensible response was clear in his head.
So why did he open his mouth to say, “You know, I’ve sat in on a good number of classes on résumé writing over the years.” Most recently as a guest—ahem—of the Province, but knowledge was knowledge, right? “If you’d like me to have a look at yours, just say the word.”
“Seriously?”
Xander, you idiot. What if she’s wearing those shorts again? “Anytime.”
“Thank you. I haven’t had to do this kind of thing in years. I just might...” She shrugged, not dismissively, but almost as if she were hugging herself. “I owe you.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for.” He pushed to his feet, stifling a groan as he straightened. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so smug about her choosing to sit instead of squat.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m going to stay here for a minute.” She nodded toward the house. “Watch the show for a bit.”
He followed her gaze and saw Millie doing an admirable imitation of a horse, galloping in circles around Cady. A soft neigh carried across the grass.
“Okay then. Let me know if I can help, and I’ll see you around.”
With that, he set off across the lawn, doing his best to stay focused on the crowd in front of him rather than the woman behind him. Forward. Onward. No regrets.
He managed to face away from her until he hit the deck, where Millie ceased her prancing long enough to pull up in front of him.
“Whoa,” she said to the air, then looked to him. “Hi, Mr. Sorenson. What’s my mom doing?”
He had to look back at her then, didn’t he?
Heather no longer sat cross-legged and contemplative on the grass. Instead, she was kneeling, hands moving on the ground.
Moving...a pile of sticks?
“Millie,” he said, resting his hand on her curls, “I can’t be certain, but I think your mom is giving hope to a weed.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4)
THE NEXT NIGHT, over on the other side of town, Xander buckled Cady into her high chair, set a sippy cup of milk on the tray and took a neat step out of the line of fire before his darling child could spray him.
“Drink, pretty girl. Daddy already had his shower today.”
Cady banged the cup on the tray. “Cookie, Daddy? Pease?”
“After you eat your real food.” In short order, he had a bite-size smorgasbord in front of her—pasta, peas, bites of cheese and chicken. Cady scowled at the assortment.
“Want cookie.”
“Cheese.” He snagged a piece and popped it into her mouth. “Chow down.”
As he’d expected, Cady frowned but obediently chewed before picking up a bite of pasta.
Confident that the meal was under way, Xander grabbed his bowl of beans and followed suit. He used to wait until Cady was done before he attempted to eat, but then she would need a bath. Or she’d pull something over. Or decide there were too many tissues in the box, and it was her God-given duty to empty it. He would race after her and food would be forgotten, and he would fall into bed at night and realize all he’d had since breakfast was a cup of coffee and a handful of Cheerios. Nothing that he couldn’t endure for a day, but definitely not a habit he wanted to build for a lifetime.
So he and Cady ate together now. Not that she was thrilled about staying in her chair until he’d had a chance to catch his breath and unwind a little, but c’est la vie.
And even if she shrieked, and he had to shovel his food in while praying the neighbors didn’t turn him in as a possible child abuser, it would be a more successful dinner than the one he’d shared last night with the latest Ms. Online Dream Date.
“Looks like we’re still in the market for a stepmommy, Cady. Hope you’re not disappointed.”
She dropped a cheese cube on the floor. Lulu, their scruffy but well-loved beagle blend, gave an appreciative whine as she snapped it up.
“No food on the floor, kid. Lulu already had her supper.”
“Ruru supper?”
“That’s right. She already ate. Don’t want her to get sick.”
“Ruru sick?”
“No.”
Cady’s tiny blond head shook back and forth. “No sick.”
Maybe he was going about this dating thing the wrong way. Maybe he should stop taking women to nice restaurants and coffee shops, and start arranging to meet at Bits and Pizzas. He could take Cady, the date could fall in love with her—or not—and depending on everyone else’s reaction, then he could worry about details like his feelings for the woman in question. Or how Ms. Online handled the revelation of his time in the Big House.
“Except I feel like I have to tell them up front,” he said to Cady. “If that’s gonna be a stumbling block, I want to know straight out of the gate. It wouldn’t feel right to keep that hidden.”
Which he supposed was rather ironic—the former convict worrying about doing the right thing. But it wasn’t like history was destiny.
“Did the crime, did the time, from here on in my life is mine. Right, Lu?”
Lulu paused in her nosing of a piece of pasta long enough to glance his way.
“I shouldn’t complain.” He spooned up more beans. “It’s not like things were going really well anyway. I mean, she was nice enough. She has a kid, told me all about him, really loved the pictures of you, Cady girl. So you know she’s smart.”
Cady raised her cup at an angle he knew too well.
“Uh-uh. No shower, remember?”
“Milk!”
“Drink it.” He tapped the cup. She peeked up at him. He plastered on a stern expression, she sighed and cup met mouth.
“The thing was, Cade, she didn’t laugh a lot. I can’t see how you build something with someone you can’t laugh with. And I’m not saying I’m Mr. Comedy,” he added when Lulu rose and turned away from him. “But I had some good lines in there and some funny stuff happened. Like when the guy at the next table got a call. You could tell he was in the middle of being dumped, and instead of taking it outside, he sat there saying ‘but...but...’ and then he came out with, ‘Damn it, I even paid for you to get your cat fixed!’ I was busting a gut trying to keep from laughing. She—Amanda—she kept sending him dirty looks and complaining about cell phones in public. Which, hey, I totally get it. Still, there was something freakin’ hilarious going on beside us, and all she could think about was the rule that was being broken.”
“Cookie? Daddy? Cookie?”
“Two more bites.” He pushed the necessary pieces in her direction. As expected, Cady ignored the small portion he’d set in front of her and raked up a handful from the remainder.
“Eat slowly, kid. Don’t want you to choke. Sloooooooooow.”
Which was advice he should have given himself last night. Instead, as soon as Amanda had finished commenting on the lack of consideration and broken rules, he had gone for the ultimate test and told her about his own experience breaking the rules. And the law.
To her credit, she had listened to the whole story—at least the thirty-second version he had perfected. She had nodded and said something about everyone making mistakes, and downed the rest of her wine pretty fast.
“But I really wasn’t surprised when she left to go to the ladies’ room and never came back.”
“Back?”
“She went bye-bye, babes.”
“Bye-bye,” Cady echoed. “Cookie? Pease?”
He checked the tray, then the floor. Either Lulu was getting faster or Cady really hadn’t dumped it all overboard. “Okay. You earned a cookie. Maybe even two, but don’t tell Mommy.”
“Mommy?” Cady swiveled toward the door. He needed to work fast.
“Mommy in the morning, Cade. After night-night. Look, here’s a cookie! Who do we have—is it a lion? Yeah, I think it’s a lion. What does Leo the Lion say?”
“Rawr.”
“Good trained monkey.” He dropped a couple of animal crackers on the tray and gave thanks that Cady wasn’t yet old enough to tell Darcy everything that went on at his place. Not that Darce would care about an extra hippo or tiger. She was into nutrition, but she wasn’t overboard. But he could live without having her hear about his Adventures in Dating from their daughter.
“The problem is, you’re too smart, kid. Pretty soon I’m going to have to keep all my stories for Lulu. Either that or find someone else to share them with.”
Of course, that was the rub, wasn’t it? If he had someone to share things with, he wouldn’t be off on these fiascos in the first place.
“Ah, well, Cady. I never thought I’d have you, and here you are.” He bopped the end of her nose. “And that right there makes me the luckiest daddy on the planet.”
She beamed up at him and whapped her cup against his arm.
“Ow!” He pulled the cup from her grasp and did the parental finger wag. “No hitting. Got it?”
She scrunched up her face in what he knew was the precursor to a wail.
“Tough, kiddo. You hit Lulu last week and now me. Not good.”
Tiny pink lips quivered.
“No. Hitting.” He squatted in front of her and tweaked her ponytail. “And no complaining when you do something and have to face the music.”
She searched his face and broke into a slow, sunny grin.
“Guess I’m not so good at taking my own advice, am I?” He returned to his chair, picked up his bowl. “I’ve been doing a lot of complaining myself. I’ve gotta move forward. Stop whining. Go with my gut.”
My gut is the last thing I need to listen to.
“You know, Cade, Heather didn’t send me her résumé.”
Cady picked up her second cracker and waved it in the air. “Rawr.”
“Technically, I don’t think giraffes roar, but what the hell.” He shoveled in another bite. “Maybe I should drop her a line, remind her that I was serious about the offer.”
The giraffe giggled.
“What? It’s a friend thing. Perfectly legit.”
Lulu barked sharply.
Xander sighed. “Yeah, I know, girl. It’s probably not a good idea.”
But Heather knew all about his past. It had never stopped her from hanging around with him at the North events.
“Of course,” he mused, “there’s a big difference between goofing around in a group and...and whatever.”
But she was so easy to joke with.
“And if I ask her out and she says no?” he asked Lulu. “I bet there’d be lots of jokes at Thanksgiving dinner after that.”
Yeah. Bad idea.
He tossed his bowl in the sink and grabbed a washcloth. Cleanup time. That was what mattered at this minute: cleaning and chattering and singing and pushing all thoughts of Heather from his mind.
It would have been a lot easier if she hadn’t been wearing those shorts.
* * *
HEATHER LOOKED AT the résumé on her laptop and blew out a breath of pure exasperation.
“All the years I’ve put into building you up, and this is how you thank me?”
It wasn’t a bad résumé. She was still objective enough to see that. It was a solid, administrative-type, semi-impressive recounting.
It was also as boring as a piano recital when your kid wasn’t one of the performers.
She grabbed her weekly bottle of root beer, raised it to her lips and breathed in. Ah, sweet bliss. Was there anything in the world that couldn’t be improved with root beer?
Then she blew out across the top of the bottle in a steady stream, making a sound much like a flute with indigestion.
In addition to the laptop, her kitchen table was littered with every book on writing résumés that the Comeback Cove library possessed. She hadn’t thought to check the publication dates until she got home and found that most of them still focused on the weight of the paper that the job applicant should use, and how to ensure that even the envelope left the right impression. Because every application still had to be snail mailed. Right.
Maybe it wasn’t as boring as she thought. She’d probably just been staring at it so long that she’d lost all perspective.
Which meant that, really, the best thing she could do would be to find some fresh eyes.
“Son of a sea biscuit.”
She slumped back in her chair, arms sagging, and stared up at the ceiling.
He made the offer totally voluntarily. It would be perfectly fine to shoot him an email and ask him to have a look.
Except...
Except she thought maybe he’d been scoping out her butt at the picnic.
In and of itself, that wasn’t a problem. She’d been checked out before, usually by guys who had their own theory as to the proper way to welcome a new transfer to the office. She had long ago perfected the fine art of saying no while keeping things friendly and light.
Except that deep down, beneath the logic and the sense, she kind of liked the idea of Xander finding her hot.
Nothing could ever come of it, of course. It didn’t matter that she liked hanging out with him at birthday parties and such. Or that when she bumped into him in town, she always walked away feeling a little happier. Or that watching him sneak peeks at her from behind the camera had made her want to assume the classic arms-back-head-tilted-breasts-forward bikini photo pose.
Or even—maybe mostly—that when she was with Xander, she felt like she was with someone who could understand how it felt to be living your second chance.
None of that mattered, though. Because she had spent the last hunk of her life easing her way back into Millie’s world, building a working relationship with Hank, doing everything she could to smooth the waters and prove that she wasn’t the same terrified woman who had thought that the best way to protect her child was to put most of a continent between them.
She was logical now. She thought things through and knew how to stop and step back and evaluate situations with her head, not her gut. She had systems and schedules and safeguards in place to ensure that she would never, could never play hell with Millie’s life again, even accidentally.
Doing anything more than sneaking a few peeks at Xander would be like typing up her schedules and systems and having them translated into Esperanto.
“Not because he went to jail,” she said out loud, because if any aliens were tracking her brain waves, she wanted them to be clear on this. “That’s not a selling point, but it’s workable.”
No. The issue was that Xander was too close. Too much a part of Millie’s extended family, and even more so in August when Darcy and Ian got married, and Millie and Cady became official stepcousins.
At least that was how Heather thought they’d be related.
A...whatever between her and Xander would be uncomfortable for everyone. It would shift the dynamics, and probably not in a good way. And when it ended—which was inevitable, given that she knew Xander was looking for Ms. Forever while Heather identified as Ms. Been There, Failed That, Never Again—it could get messy and lead to major awkwardness.
For herself, she could handle awkward. Seriously. She’d had plenty of practice over the years, what with attending events with her ex. And then his new wife. And now their new baby.
But Millie didn’t need that. Ten, even almost eleven, was way too young to have to deal with shifting loyalties and adult drama. Millie deserved peace and love and ponies and flowers, and a mom who made life easier instead of more complicated.
But if Heather wanted to be the mom Millie deserved, she was probably going to need to change jobs.
Which meant she really needed a kick-ass résumé.
Which meant that since most of her other trusted friends were her work contacts, she really should take Xander up on his offer.
Argh.
Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she typed up the email.
“Business business, see attachment, all business, thank you very much, I owe you forever—no, scratch that, business—and, send.”
There. There was no way anyone could mistake that for anything other than a grateful acceptance of a generous but semiprofessional offer. Not a hint of flirtation to be found.
At least, not until an hour later when she read his reply.
I took a quick look. I have suggestions, but it’s probably easier to do this in person. Are you busy tomorrow? I have Cady, but if you come over around naptime, I can give you my undivided attention.
Oh hell.
* * *
PROMPTLY AT 2:00 P.M. the next afternoon, Xander looked up from the front step where he was waiting and spotted Heather riding what seemed to be an ancient pink bike up the street. She looked athletic, like she had energy to burn.
Not that he could think of any way to help her expend that energy. Nope. He was operating in a strictly advisory-friend-helper capacity today, doing his duty and offering his suggestions and then moving along, all before naptime ended.
And if he’d had other possibilities in the back of his mind when he had asked Heather to come over—because yeah, for a few minutes there he had given in to Saturday night wildness—well, he’d come to his senses since then. There would be no checking her out. No discussion of anything more suggestive than experience and education. If his gut didn’t like it, then tough.
Because somewhere between last night and this morning—probably when he had stepped into Cady’s room to check on her before he went to bed—he had remembered why Heather was doing this. She wasn’t coming over for him. She was doing this for Millie.
All he had to do was crank the volume on the baby monitor he’d brought outside with him to remind himself that kids came first. Always.
She turned into the driveway, braked and hopped off the bike. He broke his vow just long enough to check. She wasn’t wearing the shorts from the party.
Thank God.
He pushed off the step and ambled down to the driveway. “Doing your part to reduce your carbon footprint?”
“That, and exercise, and I spend enough time in my car already. I wasn’t going to let a gorgeous day go to waste.”
She took off her neon blue helmet, shook her head and sent her short blond hair swirling around her face like a halo.
He dragged his gaze away. “Yeah,” he said. “Gorgeous things shouldn’t be wasted.”
“Is Cady asleep?”
“Probably. She went down a few minutes ago.” He tapped one of the smaller rust spots on the handlebars of her bike. “Family heirloom?”
“What can I say? I value function and frugality over fashion.”
“Yeah, but is it worth it when you have to have a tetanus shot every time you ride it?”
“Don’t insult Johnny.” She ran a hand over the duct tape holding the seat together. “We’ve had a lot of good times together.”
“Johnny?” He stepped back and eyed the bike, taking in the pink paint, the wicker basket in front and what looked like fading silver sparkles on the bars. “You named this Johnny?”
“For Johnny Cash.”
“Oh yeah. I see the resemblance.”
“It’s not because of the way it looks, okay?” Her lips twitched. “It’s because the first few times I rode it, I felt like I was sitting on a ring of fire.”
He burst into laughter. She joined in, so free and joyful that he snorted all the harder, sending himself into a coughing fit that had him bent over with his hands on his knees.
“Careful.” She patted his back, once, twice. “Breathe, okay? It wasn’t that funny.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Good.” She delivered another whack on his back. “Because honestly, you’re no good to me if you’re dead.”
He wheezed again before glancing up and sideways to catch her eye. He’d meant to simply nod to let her know that he was fine.
Instead, he caught her watching him with something that most definitely wasn’t concern.
And for the briefest of seconds, she ceased pounding his back. Instead, her hand flattened, her palm warming his skin through his T-shirt.
For an even briefer moment, he gave thanks that he was already crouched over.
She jumped back. He thumped his chest and straightened.
“Well,” she said. “Why don’t we get this résumé done so I can, you know, get out of your hair before I use up all of naptime?”
She’s here for Millie. Not you.
“Yeah. Right.” He rested a hand on the bike. “Do you have a lock for Johnny? Or do you want to put it in the garage?”
“Somehow, I don’t think this is high on anyone’s must-have list.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want anything to happen on my watch.” He hefted the bike and nodded toward the door at the side of the garage. “Can you get that?”
She scooted ahead of him, opened the door and stepped back. He deposited the bike beside his car and returned to the sunshine.
“Okay,” he said, brushing his hands together. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, after he’d finished spouting the résumé knowledge bullshit he’d used as an excuse to invite her over, he realized he’d gone through the entire schpiel on autopilot. His body was at the kitchen table, but his mind was stuck outside at that moment when he’d caught her looking.
It didn’t help that she was as unfocused as he was. She kept repeating herself, shaking her head and stopping midsentence. Like she was trying to work up the nerve to say something, but couldn’t quite do it.
He knew the feeling.
Come on, Xander. Résumé. Job. Focus.
He pulled his laptop closer and opened the alternate version he’d created, because yeah, he did have a few recommendations. “What I’d suggest is that you switch things around, set it up like this. See how much cleaner this one looks?”
“Oh, I like that. That font is crisper, and the way you’ve abbreviated the headings—that’s good. You’ve given it a really fresh feel.”
“The other thing is that these days, you have to assume someone is going to end up reading it on their phone.” He grabbed his phone and accessed both her original and his revision. “Check it out. See the difference?”
She leaned his way—so close that if he wanted, he could reach an arm around her and tuck his hand at her waist. Not that he was going to do it, but still.
“You’re right. It’s much cleaner now.” She swiped between the two versions, back and forth, back and forth.
The play of her fingers on the screen was almost hypnotic. He couldn’t look away from the length of her fingers and the careful simplicity of the rounded nails. There was something about them...some anomaly flashing in and out of his vision...
There it was. One nail—the left pinky—bore a faint coat of the palest pink.
“What’s that?” He asked before thinking, his own finger hovering over the nail in question but not quite touching.
“What’s what?”
“You have nail polish on only one nail. I was curious.”
For a moment, she seemed to pull in on herself, like a turtle retreating into its shell. The only sound was a soft sigh from Lulu, asleep in the patch of sunshine coming through the window.
Heather lifted her chin. “That’s something I started with Millie, when I was away. It’s so I always had something on me that I could look at and think of her.” She curled her hand in, running over the nail in question with her thumb. “Not that I needed the reminder,” she said softly. “But Millie loved seeing it on me.”
So why did you leave her?
The question burned on his tongue. It made no sense. Heather was obviously head over heels for Millie, and while he knew that jobs could be hard to find, he doubted that she had needed to go to the other side of the second-largest country in the world to find something.
But along with patience, prison had taught him the value of keeping his questions to himself.
He settled for a light tap on the nail. “That’s a good idea. Kind of makes me wish I could do something like that for Cady. Not that we have the long separations like you had. But sometimes...”
“Sometimes it feels like, even though you’re her parent, you’re still on the fringes of her life?”
Yeah. Heather got it. “Like she’s the Earth,” he said softly. “And I’m a satellite.”
She said nothing. Her dipped head, and the way she held her pinkie told him that they were in complete understanding.
It hit him that at some point over the conversation, one or both of them had scooted their chair closer. They were now sitting at the table, the tiniest width of the corner separating them. It would be so easy to slide his leg forward and bump her knee, so very easy to let his hand move from her fingernail to her hand and then make a slow ascent up her arm. He wouldn’t even have to stretch.
Nor would he have to channel his inner gymnast to lean across the tiny spit of laminate and kiss her. Gently at first, light and casual, slowly feeling his way into this until she decided which way they should go next.
Except that even as the thought tiptoed through his mind, she grabbed her papers and stood up, so fast that Lulu actually opened an eye.
If she was psychic, he was dead.
“Well. Thanks. You’ve given me some great suggestions, and I really appreciate it, but I should probably let you get back to—whatever.” She rose from the table and moved toward the door. All business. On a mission.
“Oh!” She stopped suddenly, three steps before the door. Thank God he’d been hanging back to watch the sway of her cheeks. Otherwise he would have landed flush against her.
Which probably shouldn’t sound as enticing as it did.
“This photo.” Her pink-tipped finger hovered over the glass of one of the few pictures in the room that didn’t feature Cady. “It’s...jeez. It has such a feeling to it. The way that door is covered by the vines, like it’s some dangerous secret.” Her laugh was pure self-deprecation. “It sounds so cheesy, but it’s really mesmerizing.”
“Thanks.”
She twisted around, eyes wide. “Did you take this?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Xander!” She looked from him to the photo and back again. “This is wonderful. Mysterious and enticing and forbidden...you have it all there. I don’t know how, but...wow.”
It shouldn’t matter that she’d honed in on the precise emotions he’d tried to convey when he took the picture. He shouldn’t feel like giving the universe a giant high five that she was the first one to catch what he’d been putting out there.
But he couldn’t stop himself from doing a tiny fist pump in the air when she turned back to the photo.
“Where did you take this?”
“Oh, that old place out on Becker. The one you can just see from Route 31. But only in winter when there’s no leaves.”
“Huh. I never... Wait.” Her head snapped up. “You mean the Cline place?”
He was pretty sure that was the name Ian had used when Xander asked about it. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Big brick place, lots of outbuildings? You have to go down Shannette Road to get to it?”
“That’s it. You’ve been there?”
“No.”
If he hadn’t got a clue from the clipped tone, he would have from the way she eyeballed him like he was some kind of biology project. “You know that nobody goes there, right? Except teenagers doing things they can’t do at home.”
Yeah, he’d got that idea from the bottles he’d spotted lying around. “I figured that might be the case.”
“What on earth made you go there?”
How to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself? “It looked... I don’t know. Interesting. And overgrown and everything, so, lots of good shots.”
“Until you crash through a rotting floor and break your camera. Not to mention your head.”
“I take Lulu with me.”
She shifted her attention to the snoozing dog. “Oh yeah. I see how she’d be a real help.”
“Well, she’s better than Lassie. She only helped when Timmy fell down a well. Anything else and the kid was out of luck.”
A smothered snicker was his reward. He suspected she would have gone full-out guffaw if she hadn’t felt obliged to lecture him.
Sure enough, her next sentence continued the warnings.
“Seriously, Xander. You really shouldn’t go there. Not alone, at least.”
“I’m careful.”
“Really.”
She didn’t have to say it. He could see the question in her mind, as clear as if he had developed abilities he didn’t believe in: As careful as you were when you broke the law?
Or maybe that was just his brain filling in the words his mother would say if she knew about his explorations.
“Well,” she said, turning back to the photo, “I guess I can’t be too hard on you, seeing as I like this so much. But don’t go again, okay?”
“Would you worry?”
Not a good question. He knew it. But damn it, a man needed some kind of clue.
“Of course. You’re my friend. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” She reached for the door and tossed a grin over her shoulder. “Especially when I might need you to give my résumé another tweak.”
“I feel so used.”
“You should.”
He should also feel a lot less excited at the prospect.
But he knew that wasn’t happening.
* * *
SHE WAS ALMOST home free.
Heather waited at the door to the garage while Xander went in to get the bike. Almost done. Just a couple more minutes and she would be riding old Johnny back to her place, her legs settling into the familiar tempo and the river breeze in her hair.
Except her pulse had fallen into a totally different rhythm. And no breeze could cool the low-level heat that had built inside her throughout her time at Xander’s table.
She had hoped—prayed—that heading outside, away from the potent blend of privacy and proximity, would slap some sense into her. But then she had seen the photo, whispering to her about hidden treasures begging to be uncovered. And then he had brushed past her on the way into the garage, and all the little hairs on her arm had stood up.
And now she couldn’t see anything but him.
The way his T-shirt hugged the muscles in his arms and chest when he picked up the bike with ease. The little bit of skin she could see when the shirt pulled away from his jeans, revealing what she was pretty sure was a tattoo. Either that or Cady had attacked him with Magic Markers.
But that was as far as she was going to explore. He was pushing the bike toward her. At any moment, he would emerge from the garage, and she would ride off into the sunshine alone.
Except when he glanced her way, he stopped walking.
And when she met his gaze, she stopped breathing.
For one crazy moment, she couldn’t move. Except—no. She could.
The wrong way.
Her stupid foot had inched her forward. Into the garage. Into the shadows. Away from the world.
Closer to Xander.
She had taken one full step before it registered. She took another while her body was catching up to her brain.
Then she took a deep breath and slammed into a wall of common sense.
“Here. I can get it.” She walked briskly toward the bike, took up residence on the opposite side from him and gripped the handlebars.
Except he didn’t let go.
And damn, she could feel every breath he took, all through her.
“Heather...”
She had to get out. Now.
“Thanks for all your help,” she said, and pushed the bike out the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4)
HEATHER’S FAVORITE COUNSELOR once told her that sooner or later, everybody screwed up. The real test of character was in what they did next.
Which was why Heather spent the following week staying far, far away from anyplace where she might possibly run into Xander.
Because a woman who was trying to convince her ex to even up the custody arrangement—a woman who wanted to make sure her child had a solid, stable life—probably shouldn’t find herself remembering the sound of a man’s laughter long after it had burst out of him. Even if—especially if—that woman hadn’t laughed with a man in a long, long time.
So a week after she submitted the résumé, when she received a request for an interview, she tamped down the urge to call him with the news. Email would be fine. And a couple of hours later when a call came in from his number, she deliberately let it go to voice mail.
The best thing she could do—for herself, for Millie, for Xander, too—would be to keep him on the fringes of her life.
To keep him as a satellite.
What she really needed to do was make a plan. She had raced home from work as fast as traffic would allow, made herself a grilled cheese sandwich and settled in at her kitchen table with her laptop and a notebook. Step one was to review the materials that had accompanied the email.
The selection process will go as follows:
Qualified applicants will have one month to prepare a sample plan for a community celebration.
Approximately one week after submitting the sample, applicants will be expected to discuss their vision for the Comeback Cove Tourism Department in an interview.
Second round interviews will take place approximately two weeks after the completion of the first round.
Assuming a qualified candidate has been found, the position is expected to commence in September.
Followed, of course, by the standard disclaimer that submissions would become the property of the town and the strong recommendation that it not be based on any actual events currently held in Comeback Cove.
Translation: “We want to see your work, but we don’t want you to sue us if we end up using something along these lines.”
She could live with that. It covered the town’s behind, and it gave her freedom to design an event she would love to see being commemorated—a celebration of the rumrunners who had spurred the town’s growth during Prohibition. There was something about a town growing out of illegal activity that appealed to her. It was like the whole town was the ultimate second chance story, and Heather was definitely about second chances. Especially one that also included a pair of ill-fated local lovers and the legend of a treasure they had left behind. Because who didn’t love a Romeo and Juliet fairy tale?
For a moment, right after she got the email, she had briefly considered immediately approaching Hank about custody, but she made herself hold off. Much as she wanted to follow through on her promise to Millie now, logic told her to get her ducks in order first.
Step by step. One piece at a time. That was how she had clawed her way back to this point, and that was how she would continue.
She opened a new, blank notebook and grinned. Eventually she would have to do all the support tasks associated with preparing such a campaign, market research and demographics and comparisons to events in neighboring towns. But for tonight, she had given herself free rein to daydream. To brainstorm. To simply create.
It was playtime.
Half an hour later she was lost in the process, scribbling notes as fast as she could, barely able to keep up with the firing in her brain. God, this felt good. The fatigue of work long forgotten, she moved from the table to the sofa, her feet tucked behind her as she drew pictures in the margins. There was an image lodged in her brain. She couldn’t identify it, but the image flitted in and out of her awareness, whispering that it was the perfect representation of what she wanted to create.
“Hidden things.” She bit down on the end of her pen. “Buried things. Undiscovered things. Secret—”
Her phone rang. She grabbed it from the coffee table, glanced at the display and went cold.
“Travis?”
“Hey, little sister!” Travis’s voice was booming and hearty, bearing none of the tenseness that had dominated their last conversation. She let out her breath—not completely, because with Travis, it was always better to hold a little in reserve—and propped her feet on the table.
“Long time no hear,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Not much. I figured it’d been a while since I called. Had to make sure you were still alive.”
The fact that he was the one more likely to risk losing life or freedom seemed to be lost on him.
“Everything’s good here. Except the other day, Millie brought home a review sheet for science that I could barely understand, and this is just grade four. I’m already getting the heebie-jeebies at the thought of high-school homework.”
“Same old Heather. Still overthinking everything and expecting the worst.”
Right. Because the worst had never, ever happened with Travis.
She could picture him stretched out in some kitchen chair, his arm hooked over the back as he stared out a window at whatever vista he might be seeing these days.
She wasn’t going to ask. Ignorance was the closest she could ever come to bliss.
“Go ahead and laugh at me, but do you know anything about—what was it—amplitude?”
“Not a bit,” he answered cheerfully. “But here’s what I do know. In the time you spend freaking out, Millie will have her own review sheet planned out, color coded and footnoted. That kid has enough brains for you, me and the rest of the family.”
Considering that the rest of the family was the father—fathers?—they had never known, and the mother who they would rather not know, Heather thought his praise could have been pitched a little higher.
Nevertheless, it was good to hear from him. It was even better that he was calling from his own phone instead of the prisoner pay phone like last time. “What are you...” She stopped. No. She didn’t want to ask what he was doing these days.
“Millie’s in Girl Guides.”
“She selling lots of cookies?”
“Oh please. There was a North family thing before Easter, and she sold enough boxes there to fund the troop for six months. Did I tell you she’s a big sister now? Hank and his wife, Brynn, had a little boy a couple of months ago.”
“Hank? Seriously? I thought he was too old for that kind of nonsense.”
“He’s only a year older than me, doofus. So that means he’s two years younger than you.”
“Yeah, but I know I’m too old for that kind of nonsense.”
She laughed, but there was a layer of wistfulness that she couldn’t quite hold back. Travis would have been a great dad. At least, he’d been an awesome big brother, and she was pretty sure that was a decent indicator.
“Well, congratulate him for me. So what have they got you working on at your fancy-pants job, there, Heather?”
She filled him in on some of the big picture stuff—a new account here, a new employee there—and told a few stories about some of her coworkers. He laughed in all the right places and gave her a few excellent comeback lines to use should the occasion ever arise. All the while, she fidgeted with her notebook and wished she could tell him about the things that really mattered.
Experience had taught her it would be a waste of time.
Travis would try to empathize, but their lives were too different. How was someone supposed to understand how it felt to negotiate shared custody when his life was spent negotiating plea bargains?
He told her a few safe stories, asked if she’d heard from any of their cousins. He didn’t bother asking about their mother. Neither of them had done that for years. Probably because they were afraid that the other would actually have heard from her, and then they would be back on the “contact her–stay the hell away from her” hamster wheel.
“Listen,” he said after a few minutes, “I should get going. I’ve got a sweet job working as a bouncer at a friend’s bar, and it’s almost time to report for duty.”
A bouncer. Well—at least it was legal.
Probably.
“Sure.” And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she blurted out, “Trav...you’re okay, aren’t you?”
“Right as rain, sunshine.”
Yeah. Like she hadn’t heard that line too many times to count.
“But listen, Heather—how about you? Are you okay? With, you know, Hank and his new kid and everything?”
Oh God. Everything that had happened in their lives and he was still the big brother who tried to stand between her and the world. Still the big brother who understood, better than she had, why their mother’s latest boyfriend had been so interested in fourteen-year-old Heather. Still the same big brother who had walked in on that boyfriend pressing Heather into a corner and ordering her to be quiet.
Still the same brother who had defended her the only way he knew how—with his fists. And who, after the boyfriend ended up in the hospital, had been taken away from her in handcuffs.
His last words to their mother had been an order to keep the bastards away from Heather.
She closed her eyes and gripped the phone, taking a moment to breathe past the tightness in her throat. “Yeah. It’s good. I’m glad for him, but I guess I’m like you. Too damned old for that nonsense.”
“You sure?”
Crap. He knew she was upset. He would never believe the truth—that it was worry about him that had her on edge.
“Right as rain, sunshine.” She flipped through the pages of the notebook, grounding herself in the safety of the one thing she could control—her work. “Right as rain.”
* * *
XANDER CLOSED DOWN his computer, cracked a few jokes with his fellow employees as they walked to the parking lot, got into his car and stared at the wheel. Where to now?
It was Friday night. He didn’t have Cady. He didn’t have a date.
He could call Heather...
But no. She’d been upfront, honest and determined. It wasn’t gonna happen.
Move along, Xander. Nothing to see here.
Some of his coworkers were getting together for a beer, but the couple of times he’d joined them had been enough. They were great people. Salt of the earth, easy to work with, and none of them gave a rat’s ass about what he had or hadn’t done before he landed at Northstar Dairy. If any of them needed help moving or decided to have everyone over for a barbecue, Xander would be glad to join in.
But they tended to fall into two groups: the ones who would close down the bar, and the ones who had to book off to get home to their families. He wasn’t either of those. And since he didn’t want to end the evening feeling either ancient or jealous, he opted to pass.
Instead, he sent Darcy a text. Going out for a ramble. Want me to take Lulu?
Her reply was swift: Perfect timing. She’s been whining at the fence all day, and I have to meet the florist. Come and get her.
Darcy had barely opened the door when Lulu bounded out of the house and ran in excited barking circles.
“Easy girl! Easy!” He squatted and scratched behind fuzzy ears. “You been driving Darcy crazy today?”
“Put it this way—we’re both ready for a little bit of time away from each other.” Her smile took any sting out of the words. “Ian already took Cady over to his mother’s. They’re having high tea, I believe. I’m supposed to meet them there after I’m done.”
“You mean Ian doesn’t have to sit through flower discussions? How’d he get so lucky?”
“Oh, trust me, he’s not getting a free ride. He got stuck figuring out the seating arrangements.” She tipped her head conspiratorially. “With both his mother and mine.”
“And he was still willing to go through with the wedding? Damn, Darce.” He whistled. “Now that’s love.”
She laughed and waved him away. “Go on. Lulu is going to claw the paint off your car if you don’t get moving.”
He retreated, opened the door for the whining, wriggling dog and hit the road. Fifteen minutes later, he bounced his way down a rutted, overgrown path and pulled up behind a bank of aging willows. He killed the engine, hopped out, stretched and opened the door for Lulu.
“There you go, girl. Stay close.”
She barked and bounded away. Probably hunting for squirrels, not that she would know what to do with one if she caught it. He watched her run for a minute, leaning against the car and letting the peace soak into him. Funny. At home, silence made him itchy, but it had the opposite effect out here in the boonies.
After a couple of minutes spent with his face tipped up to the sky and happy barks echoing in his head, he opened the trunk, grabbed his camera and headed for the sagging buildings beyond the willows.
He’d stumbled across this place by accident soon after he moved, when he got lost while trying to see the sights around his new home. He hadn’t ventured off the road that time. But something about the droop of the roof and the way the outbuildings were falling into piles of brick and stone had stuck in his memory. The next time he saw Ian—who had spent the bulk of his life in Comeback Cove—he asked about it.
“Sounds like the old Cline place,” Ian had said. “It’s been empty since I was in high school. Maybe even longer. It used to be the place to go on a dare. Or a date when you really wanted to impress someone with your bravery.”
Was it any wonder that Xander felt compelled to explore it after that?
The first few times he came out here, he hadn’t had an agenda. He’d simply wanted to get a feel for what it used to be like, to see what years of emptiness could do to a building. He always stayed outside, walking the perimeter, cupping his hands to peer through dust-coated windows. It looked as though even the teenagers had given up on the place. Raccoons and rodents seemed to be the primary occupants these days. He was, undoubtedly, a fool to continue poking around.
But he could never quite forget it. Especially after he started taking pictures that showed the layers of time between the house and the present—cobwebs over brambles over grasses—or those that captured spots where a listing step was bookended by wild roses.
Mesmerizing.
Yeah. Heather had nailed it. He was fascinated by the place, both in person and in pictures. It seemed to whisper to him, words only he could hear. Words and pictures of secrets waiting to be uncovered.
Xander had always been a sucker for secrets.
Camera in hand, he strode toward the house, taking care to whistle and make a healthy abundance of noise. Lulu’s barking had probably already alerted any critters to his presence, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He might be nosy, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.
“Hey, house. Mind if I have a look around?”
He had never ventured deeper than the front porch. That was close enough to poke his camera through the empty windows and get shots of lonely interior rooms. Once he’d stumbled over a nest of newborn mice, and one time his flash had sent something deeper into the shadows, scaring the crap out of him, but the pictures were worth the fright. After all, it wasn’t like he was facing down big game. He was more likely to go through a rotten board than to come face-to-face with any living danger.
Don’t go again, okay?
He wondered if Heather had noticed that he hadn’t answered.
He made his way up the now-familiar path to the tilted porch, stepping cautiously around weeds and rocks. The sound of panting from behind him made him pause, but only for a second.
“Back already?”
Lulu wagged her tail.
“Fine by me. I always did like your company.”
He made his way around the side of the porch. He knew the shot he wanted—the aging maple against the overgrown field, framed by the once-sturdy rail and ceiling of the porch. It took a few attempts from a handful of different angles, but he finally got one that came close to what he had in mind.
When he was done, he shot off a few more. Lulu rolling on the grass. A spiderweb stretched across a window. The patch of sky visible through a jagged hole in the porch roof.
But when he was done, he found himself staring at the overgrown door of the abandoned house.
He could still hear Heather’s hushed voice as she leaned closer to the photo of that entry.
Mesmerizing.
And some stupid part of him, some stubborn streak that refused to listen to sense and reason, kept wondering what would happen if he were to open it.
* * *
ONE WEEK LATER, Xander peeked at the clear blue of the sky, decided the weather forecasters had totally miscalled it when they predicted rain and grabbed the diaper backpack.
“Cady girl, it’s a summer afternoon, it’s sunny and I think we should blow off the rest of the chores and go play by the river for a while. Let’s go for a ride.”
Lulu’s ears perked up.
“Not this time, Lu. We’re biking it.”
Lulu whined and sank back to the floor, resting her head on her forepaws while giving him the evil eye.
“Damn it, dog, now I feel guilty. Here. Have a treat.” He stopped stuffing snacks into the backpack long enough to grab a dog biscuit from the box and toss it her way. She nudged it with her nose.
“Cookie?” Cady asked. “Cady have cookie? Pease, Daddy?”
God, he was such a sucker for that little voice. “One lion. Rawr.”
“Rawr!” she echoed while bouncing up and down.
With all his charges suitably bribed, he popped the diaper bag over one shoulder, scooped Cady onto the other and gave Lulu a nod.
“Make sure you scare the burglars before they toss you a steak.”
Fifteen minutes later, helmeted and laughing, they were zipping down the road as fast as Xander dared with his precious passenger. This was the life. Sunshine on his back, his kid giggling in his ear, sweet freedom all around. It didn’t get much better than this.
At least that was what he told himself as they flew past the turnoff to Heather’s place.
They bypassed the public beach—too many tourists this time of year—and landed at a little inlet where some of the locals liked to launch their fishing boats. It had stones to throw and sand to sift and the perfect blend of sunny openness and shady trees. Cady found a plastic bucket that someone had left behind and spent an hour hauling water back and forth from the river, pouring it into the channels that Xander dug with a stick. They chased birds and stacked stones, and Xander lost count of how many pictures he snapped before they retreated to the picnic table under the trees for a well-earned snack.
“Talk about a perfect afternoon, huh, Cady bug?”
Before she could answer, the sky let loose with a distance but unmistakable roll of thunder.
“Holy—”
He ran out from beneath the trees and looked up. Sure enough, storm clouds were rolling in from upriver. They looked nasty.
And here he was, half an hour’s ride from home.
He threw everything into the backpack, jammed helmets on heads and got Cady buckled into place in record time. If luck was on his side, they might just make it.
They hit the road.
The wind kicked in, pushing against him, slowing his pace.
The skies darkened. A drop of rain landed smack in his eye.
Cady whimpered in his ear.
“Hang on, kiddo. We might—”
Thunder broke through his words, a sudden crash that had him cursing and Cady shrieking. They weren’t going to make it home in time.
He glanced over his shoulder, checked the road and hit the turnoff to Heather’s.
Five long minutes later he wrestled a crying Cady out of her seat and sprinted for the door as the rain started in earnest. If Heather wasn’t home, he might have to break in and pray the place wasn’t alarmed. Heather would understand. Police, not so much.
He rang the bell, pounded on the door and huddled over to protect Cady from the wind. When Heather opened the door, he could have kissed her.
Purely in gratitude, of course.
“Oh my gosh! Come in, get in, are you guys okay?”
Heather fussed around them, asking for details and offering towels and doing her best to make a mother hen look neglectful. She was so busy bustling and exclaiming over the sudden slash of rain against the windows that it took a couple of minutes for Xander to notice the splotches of color decorating her face, arms and shirt.
“What’s this?” He pointed to a particularly large spot on her arm. “Are you trying out for a part in the next Dr. Seuss book?”
Heather swiped at a blotch of purple on her nose and grinned. “Sorry. Millie and I are in the middle of a project.”
“What are you—”
“Cady!” Millie clattered down the stairs, arms outstretched. “What are you doing here?”
Heather gave the condensed version while Xander eased Cady down to the floor and assessed the damage. Other than a few damp spots from the first bits of rain, Cady was relatively dry. His shirt was wet in the shoulders, but the backpack had done double duty today.
“Mom, can I take Cady out to the fun porch?”
Heather placed a palm over one of the purple spots on Millie’s shirt. “I guess you’re dry enough. Wash your hands first, though, and don’t let Cady get into your chemistry set.” She glanced at Xander. “Okay with you? I don’t think you’re going anywhere on a bike for a while.”
He winced as lightning flashed through the windows. “Hate to crash into your afternoon, but I think you’re right. Go ahead, Cady. Go with Millie.”
As soon as the girls departed, hand in hand and already giggling, he looked at Heather. “Did she really call it a fun porch?”
“Yep. Technically, it’s a three season room, but that’s where she keeps her art and science supplies, so, you know. Fun porch.” She waved at the stairs. “I need to clean up a bit, but do you want some coffee or tea or anything?”
“I’m good, thanks. But I’m dying to know what kind of project means you need to have—” he took advantage off the opportunity to look her up and down, giving thanks for every blotch that required scrutiny “—seven different shades of purple. Or is that one pink?”
Heather pulled her shirt away from her stomach and held it tent-style, frowning at the spot in question. “I think that one is Blushing Rose.”
“Good name.” Good color, too. He didn’t dare do an in-depth comparison, but he was pretty sure it was the same color as Heather’s lips, now tipped in a half smile more intriguing than that of the Mona Lisa.
“We’re going to paint Millie’s room, but she wasn’t sure what color she wanted, so we’re trying them on the walls. To see how they look in the light, and all that.”
“Gotcha.” And then, because he could hear Millie and Cady laughing and the evening was still early and he wanted to see this new facet of Heather, he said, “Can I see it?”
“Sure. Come on upstairs.” She turned in the direction of the childish laughter. “Millie, I’m showing your room to Mr. Sorenson.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“You know,” he said as he followed Heather up the stairs, lagging behind a step or two to better absorb the sight of her hips swaying as she climbed, “she doesn’t have to call me Mr. Sorenson. That makes me feel like my grandfather.”
“What should she call you? Xander? I don’t think so.”
“How about Mr. X?”
She burst into delightful ripples of laughter as she led him down a narrow hall made even skinnier by the bed frame and mattress piled along the walls. “Very mysterious.”
“Yeah, that’s me. One secret after another.” He ducked and entered a small room tucked beneath the roof. Too many slopes for his comfort, but they were countered by large windows on two sides—one looking out over a row of pines, the other over the river.
He let out a whistle. “I’m guessing that when it isn’t pouring, those are great views.”
“Yeah, I love this room. I told Mills she’s lucky it’s too small for my bed. Otherwise I’d have to wrestle her for it.”
He focused on the circles and swirls of color dotting the once-cream walls while she gathered brushes and buckets. “So these are the contenders?”
“Yep. You can see that with all the angles and corners in here, we wanted to try it in different places.” She gestured to indicate the entirety of the room. “Good thing, too. Millie’s favorite was the deep purply-blue, but over there, it’s way too dark.”
“Agreed.” He stepped back and squinted at the blotches, turning in a slow circle. Could he tell the difference between most of them? Not really. But one color did stand out from the others. “Me, I’d go with that one.” He pointed to the pinkish blob by the window before finding its counterpart in the darkest nook. “Everything else gets pretty gloomy back here, but that...”
He stopped as he realized he’d chosen the color that Heather had called Blushing Rose, the one that was a perfect match for her lips. A man could drown in that color. He shook himself. “It’s...you know. Cheery.”
“I see what you mean. You have a good eye.” She grinned. “Though I guess I knew that already. At least when it comes to résumés.”
Yeah, his eye was good all right. Especially when it came to picking out a pretty women with a smile that shot straight through him and made him think of things he had no business thinking about.
“Speaking of your résumé, how are you doing with—what was it that came next? A presentation?”
“Right. I have to present my ideas at the interview. And I’m having a blast pulling it together.”
“Maybe tourism is a better fit for you than you thought.”
“Maybe.” She flicked off the light and led him into the hall. “It’s been a while since I got to tap into my creative side. I still have to do the analytics, but I’m having way too much fun designing mock-ups of web pages and brochures.”
“Can I see them?”
“Really?”
“Sure.” He took the bucket from her hand, allowing himself one fleeting moment of contact. “I feel like I have a stake in this, too.”
“I guess you do. Maybe Millie should call you Mr. Headhunter.”
He’d been called worse.
She took a side trip at the bottom of the stairs and hovered at the door to what must be the fun porch, given the number of toys and bins stacked on the shelves. Millie and Cady sat on the floor, happily applying stickers to each other’s faces and arms.
“Oh God,” Heather said, but there was no true dismay in her voice. “And I thought the paint was bad.”
“Stickers come off easy.”
“Here’s hoping.” She raised her voice. “Mills, no more decorating the guest, okay?”
“’Kay, Mom.”
Cady leaned across the basket of stickers and carefully placed one over Millie’s mouth before breaking into giggles.
Xander was pretty sure he should say something parental. “Cady, don’t be mean to your...um...semicousin.”
Something that sounded like strangled snorts emerged from behind Millie’s mouth covering.
“Come on,” Heather said with a laugh. “Let’s get out of here before they start slapping stuff on us.”
She led him to the living room, pausing at a coffee table piled high with books, papers and art supplies. In contrast to the rest of the house, the only word to describe it was chaos.
“How do you find anything in that?”
“Easy. I know where everything is.” She shot him an impish grin. “Now turn around while I demonstrate how well I know the locations.”
He snickered but did as requested, rotating to face a line of photos marching across the top of a bookcase. Since he’d been banished, he figured he might as well take advantage of the opportunity to do some snooping in plain sight.
The bulk of the shots, of course, were of Millie. He saw her in a number of poses: dressed up as a mad scientist, wearing a parka and a red reindeer nose, showing off a front-toothless grin. There were some of Millie and Heather together, usually in a garden. One of Heather with a group of women he would bet were her coworkers. And one of Millie, Heather and a gaunt man who shared Heather’s caramel hair and Millie’s slightly pointed chin.
“Is this a brother?”
He felt, rather than saw, her approach from behind. “Yes. Travis.”
“Older or younger?”
“Three years older.”
There was a guarded quality to her responses that had his curiosity piqued. “Where does he live?”
“It varies.”
That was a “go no further” answer if ever he heard one. He risked a sideways glance and saw that she was holding herself rigidly, arms clasped tight over a notebook squashed against her chest.
Lucky book.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to give you the third degree.” He pointed to the shot of her with a group of women. “Are these people you work with?”
“Used to. They’re in the Vancouver office. And it’s okay, you weren’t prying. It’s just...” She fingered the edge of the book. “Travis...my brother...the thing is, the only time I’m sure where he is, is when he’s, um, in jail.”
Holy shit.
Two things struck him at once. The first was that now he got why Heather never flinched when he mentioned his time in the slammer.
The second was that this was the first time he’d ever seen her uncomfortable. And he wasn’t quite sure why. Surely she knew that he, of all people, wasn’t about to judge her brother.
“He have a long history with the prison system?”
“Since he was a teenager.”
Long enough.
“I didn’t run into him, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“I—oh. No. I hadn’t thought about that.”
Yeah, she had.
“We don’t talk a lot. That was the last time I saw him.” She nodded toward the photo. “It’s the only time he met Millie. He always wants to know about her, though. I guess in most ways he’s your typical adoring uncle.”
“Can’t blame him.”
Her smile was small but grateful. “He does his best,” she said softly, and Xander was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about Millie anymore. At least, not Millie alone.
“I don’t have any brothers,” he said, trying to ease the tightness around her eyes. “Just Bethie, and she’s almost seven years older than me.”
“So you were the baby. Were you the prince?”
“Nah. I was too much of a troublemaker for that. Mostly I was the easy target when Beth didn’t want to own up to something.”
“That, I can believe.”
A squeal from the other side of the house caught his attention, but as it was followed by a shriek of laughter, he was pretty sure Cady was fine. “How about you? Were you the princess?”
She snorted. “Oh please.”
Yeah, he didn’t think so.
“So do I get to see your work now?”
“Oh, right. I forgot.” Heather rolled her eyes and thrust the notebook in his direction. He took it automatically. Awkwardly, too, as he’d been so busy not letting himself look right at her. She pulled back a bit too fast, he grabbed again and his hand ended up closing over her wrist.
For a second they stood frozen, his fingers circling her wrist and her eyes wide. He saw surprise on her face, yes, but more. There was uncertainty and a hint of what sure looked like pleasure to him.
Though maybe that was just his own emotions reflecting back at him.
“Heather,” he began, only to be cut off by the shrill tone of the doorbell.
Heather startled and stepped back.
“The pizza!” That came from Millie, who had to be setting a new land speed record for racing from one end of the house to the other. Cady followed in her wake.
“Pizzi! Pizzi! Daddy! Pizzi!”
Heather patted her pocket. “I can’t believe I forgot. I placed the order before we started painting, just in case we got caught up in it, but I totally lost track of time and...”
She was nervous. Because he had touched her? Because she didn’t want him touching her, even by accident?
Or could it be the same reason his own senses had jumped to long-deprived life the moment his skin made contact with hers?
“Mom! Are you gonna come pay? Because I’m hungry.” Millie appeared, clutching the pizza box in front of her. “Mr. Sorenson, you and Cady can sit at the table while Mom pays. And maybe you could help me get some, because I always grab the piece with the cheese that stretches and stretches and never breaks, so it pulls off the piece beside it. Do you like cheese? If you don’t, you can have the piece that gets wrecked.”
“Thanks, Millie, but Cady and I should get going.” There. Contrary to what his grandmother had always insisted, he did have some manners.
“Seriously, Xander.” Heather appeared at his elbow, tucking a credit card into her pocket. “Pull up a chair. Cady can eat pizza, right?”
As if on cue, Cady slapped his thigh. “Daddy? I hungy.”
“It’s still raining.” Millie pointed to the window. “And we got a big one so I could have leftovers for lunch, but there’s still enough for you to have some as long as you’re not too hungry.” She frowned, eyes narrowing behind her glasses. “You’re not super starving, are you?”
“Millie!”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Then we’ll have enough. You sit there.”
Heather shook her head. “You might as well give in, Xander. There’s no escape.”
“In that case, let me get my little monkey cleaned up, and we’ll be glad to join you.”
He swung Cady onto his shoulder and carried her to the sink, pausing for a second to wink at the rain hitting the windows.
Thanks, Mother Nature. I owe you one.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4)
IT WAS, HEATHER THOUGHT, one of the most enjoyable meals she’d had in a long time.
That probably wasn’t a good thing.
Millie and Cady dominated the so-called conversation, with songs and silliness that had her and Xander snickering behind their hands. Millie made her pizza crust fly through the air. Cady, perched on Xander’s lap, picked up the grapes that Daddy had halved so carefully and tossed them across the table like she was skipping a rock across the water. Xander started laughing, lost control of his slice and sent a glob of cheese onto Cady’s head, which made Millie cackle so hard that milk came out of her nose.
In short, it was barely a step down from chaos. But that wasn’t what kept Heather from laughing quite as heartily as the rest of the diners.
It was all too easy. Too relaxed. And that scared the crap out of her.
Parenting Truth Number 316: The line between delight and disaster is very, very skinny.
She felt on edge. Like something was pushing at her from beneath her skin, poking over and over in search of an opening. After all these years, she could finally name it. Her old buddy anxiety had decided to pay a visit.
In the first years of Millie’s life, when Heather had still been in residence, she and anxiety—and his big brother, fear—were pretty well constant companions. She’d existed in a constant state of nervousness. The really fun part had been that her anxiousness had come in two flavors: certainty that she would do something wrong and hurt Millie, and certainty that if anyone knew how lost she was at caring for her child, they would take Millie away from her.
Talk about damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
She had learned how to manage her fear in the years after it drove her away from Millie. She had taken so many classes in child development and parenting, spent so much time in counseling and workshops, that she could have earned a second degree in Motherhood. It had taken years, but she was finally the parent she wanted to be, instead of trying to imitate Carol Brady while tamping down memories of her own mother’s lessons in neglect. She would never completely master the uneasiness, but she knew that it would never again build into the blind panic that had made her run.
Tonight, though, the pitchforks of anxiety were definitely poking. It wasn’t until the meal was almost over that she figured out the jabs had nothing to do with Millie.
They were because of Xander.
And hearing another adult voice—a deep one, the kind that commanded attention by virtue of its difference—at her table.
And seeing the way he listened to Millie, carefully and attentively, especially when the topic turned to how astronauts sleep in space.
And how it felt to look across the heads of two giggling girls and see her own mix of exasperation and wonder reflected in someone else’s eyes. Especially when the touch of that someone’s hand around her wrist had sent her pulse soaring and skidding.
Soaring and skidding had their place, but not for her. Not now. Not when Millie was counting on her.
She just wished to hell that having Xander at the table didn’t feel so good.
* * *
HEATHER WAS SO focused on breathing through the pitchforks that when Xander said something to her—her, not one of the kids—she had to blink and give herself a mental wake-up call.
“Sorry. I was still figuring out the logistics of space stuff. What was that?”
He pulled Cady’s hand off his face. “Ow. I said, we got distracted and I never got to see what you have planned for your presentation.”
“That’s right. Mills, can you get my notebook for me? The one on the table in the living room? And bring my laptop, too.”
“Sure, Mom. Can Cady come, too?”
“For the whole minute it will take you to go there and back?” Heather laughed. “If it’s okay with her dad.”
“Sure.” Xander gave Cady’s hands and face a fast wipe and set her on the floor. She waddled beside Millie, singing something about ducks and rain.
“They’re cute together,” Xander said. “Millie’s really patient with Cady.”
Jab jab jab.
“She’s had lots of practice with her new baby brother.”
The corner of his mouth edged upward. “You know, I missed Cady’s first year, but even I’m pretty sure that someone who’s—what, four months?—can’t be sitting around slapping stickers on his sister already.”
She was saved from needing to reply to her own inanity by the return of the girls.
“Here you go, Mom.” Millie handed over the laptop. Cady, who had been entrusted with the notebook, offered it up with a heart-melting shy smile.
“Thank you, sweetie.” Heather touched one finger to Cady’s cheek, reliving for the briefest moment the memory of Millie’s peach-fuzz cheek, Millie’s toddler smile. “You did a great job.”
She raised her head and caught Xander watching. God help her, it seemed he approved.
Stab stab stab.
“Didn’t I do a good job, too, Mom?”
Thank Heaven for mood breakers. “Of course you did, my goofy girl.” Heather grabbed Millie by the shoulders and bestowed a loud kiss on her forehead. “Now do me another favor and bring in that package of cookies, will you please?”
“The peanut butter ones? Yeah!”
“So here’s what I have in mind.” She grabbed the notebook quickly, before Xander could say or do anything that would fire up her jitters. Or anything else, come to think of it. “I’m going with an undiscovered treasures theme. You know. To capitalize on the story of Charlie and Daisy.”
He raised his hand. “Excuse me, teacher, but may I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“I’ve seen those names on places around town, but I’ve never figured out the back story. Can I get an explanation?”
“Oh, sorry. I assumed...okay. Back in Prohibition days, a lot of locals took advantage of the river and the islands to get contraband booze to all those thirsty Americans on the other side. One of them, Charlie Hebert, managed to meet up and fall in love with the daughter of one of the rich Yanks.”
“That would be Daisy?”
“Yes indeed. Young lovers being what they are, Daisy ended up, uh, in a family way.” Heather nodded toward Millie, running in to set the cookies on the table before grabbing one for herself and another to jam into Cady’s outstretched hand. “There was no way Papa Big Bucks would let his princess marry a rum-running Canuck, so Daisy and Charlie arranged to escape. But they knew they would need help getting away. Lucky for them, Charlie had an ace in the hole.”
“The treasure!” Millie called from the sofa, where she and Cady knelt in front of the window.
“Exactly.” Heather registered what she’d seen and turned back. “Mills, are you guys planning to draw on the windows?”
“Yes, Mom. But I double-triple checked. These are the safe markers.”
“Okay. Carry on.”
“Draw on the windows?” Xander’s hand hovered in midair, as if he’d been reaching for a cookie only to be frozen by fear.
“Don’t worry. They’re special markers. They wash right off.”
“Every time I think I have this parenting thing down...”
“Trust me, Xander. It’s a never-ending learning curve.” Heather grabbed a cookie. “Anyway, as you can imagine, the American authorities weren’t too fond of Charlie and his buddies. But at some point during his exploration of the area, Charlie found something.”
“A treasure?”
“So they say.”
“What was it?”
“Nobody—” Heather began, but Millie jumped off the sofa to join them.
“See, nobody knows for sure. But he found something, and he gave a piece of it to the police, and said, if you help me get away with Daisy, I’ll tell you where you can find the rest of it.” She sighed. “Except he got shot.” She formed her thumb and forefinger into a handgun. “Boom. Dead, just like that.”
“Boom!” Cady echoed, with a clap of her hands.
“Dead, eh?” Xander seemed suitably impressed. “Who shot him?”
Millie shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“No one was ever certain,” Heather said. “There was a shoot-out on the river. It was the middle of the night, and he pushed Daisy down in the boat, so she could hear but not see.” Heather spared a thought for poor terrified Daisy and what she must have gone through. “In any case, Daisy managed to get them here, to Comeback Cove, but he was already dead.”
“Let me guess.” Xander brushed crumbs from Cady’s shirt. “He died before he could reveal the location of the treasure.”
“Right,” Millie said. “He didn’t even get to tell Daisy. So it’s still out there.”
“Well, that seems unlikely.” Heather broke off a piece of cookie. “Those islands have been combed over and mapped and explored a lot since then. If something was there, it would have turned up by now.”
“It’s out there, Mom. I know it is.”
Xander raised an eyebrow. “Someone didn’t inherit your skeptical streak.”
Hadn’t had it drummed out of her by life and experience, more likely. And thank God for that.
Heather leaned down and grabbed a marker from Cady’s hand before it connected with Xander’s leg. “There’s a lot of legends and rumors around town, and every once in a while it will make the news or get featured in some article, and the loonies will descend. But mostly, people file it in the urban legend category.”
“After all this time, I can see why,” Xander said. “So what happened to Daisy?”
“She was taken in by Charlie’s family. Charlie Junior arrived a few months later. Her granddaughter still lives here. She runs Daisy’s Place—that bed-and-breakfast on Trillium Street.”
“I know that place.” He pointed to the laptop. “Okay. I like the idea. So show me what you’ve got.”
Heather pulled up a file. He scooted closer.
Purely so he could see better, she told herself.
“Here you go,” she said. “But I can’t make the margins and pictures line up the way I want. It should look like this.” She flipped through the notebook until she found her drawing. “I found tutorials on Google and YouTube, but I still can’t get it to come out right.”
“Let me see. You’re designing a trifold, right? Your layout looks clean. The balance is a bit off, but the rhythm is good. What are you putting in these spaces?” He pointed to empty boxes she had drawn in. “Photos? Treasure maps?”
“Yes. A treasure map on the front. How did you guess?”
“Logical conclusion.”
Of course. And that was good, she told herself. Better than thinking that they might be on the same wavelength.
“And those will be photos.” She pointed to the empty boxes. “Spots around town, of course, but one or two that aren’t as obvious. You know. Ones that convey that feeling of something hidden.”
“Yeah. Well, the good news is, this isn’t a difficult fix. You need to do a manual setup, I think, instead of one of the built-in templates. And you need to put in more breaks. But it shouldn’t be too hard to do.”
“It never is, until I actually have to do it.” She frowned at the laptop. “It’s so clear in my head. I hate to mess it up. And yeah, I know, a bit more practice and I should be able to do it myself, but I don’t have time to—”
Oh.
Parenting Truth Number 7: Sometimes, the answer is right in front of you.
“You did such a great job with the résumé. Could I hire you to work some computer magic for me? Make this as good as it is in my head?”
His grin was ridiculously boyish. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“You will? That’s wonderful.” She pointed at him. “But I am absolutely paying you this time.”
“Heather, it will take me half an hour, tops. It’s not worth payment.”
“Forget it. I’m not letting you have the files unless I can pay.”
He sighed and took another cookie. “Compromise. I tell you what half an hour of my time is worth, and you make a donation in that amount to the food bank.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Except it still struck her as taking advantage of him.
“Donation to the food bank and dinner. With real food this time.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to grab them by the echo and shove them back inside. What the hell was she thinking? She was too aware of Xander as it was, and if there was anything less seductive than pizza and store-bought cookies consumed to the tune of little voices singing “Old MacDonald,” she didn’t want to imagine it. But to have him come back? Without any kids to act as a buffer?
Travis always told her she was her own worst enemy. She hated to know he’d called that one correctly.
“Dinner, huh?”
Well, great. He liked the idea.
“I don’t think I could turn that down. But I tell you what—I’ll make the changes here, with you, so you can follow along. That way you’ll know what to do next time.”
Her pulse slowed a little. That sounded very businesslike. Efficient. Certainly not like he was dying to be alone with her.
Good. As it should be. A friend helping a friend, and she was an idiot to be panicking, and anyway, it only took two to tango, and a laptop would definitely count as a third party. She was totally in the clear.
“I know you need to get moving on this,” Xander said. “I’m busy the next few nights, but how about Tuesday?”
She ran through her schedule in her head. She had Millie until after dinner tomorrow, working late and then meeting Hank on Monday, Millie Wednesday... “Sure. Tuesday works.”
“Sounds great.” Xander picked up the notebook. “I can’t wait to see what we can do. With the brochure, I mean.”
Of course that was what he meant.
Note to self: do not, under any circumstances, serve wine with this dinner.
* * *
MONDAY NIGHT, HEATHER slid into the booth at Comeback Cove’s one and only Tim Hortons and set her favorite iced cappuccino in front of her. Across the table, Hank nodded over the rim of his mug.
“Hi,” she said. “Sorry I’m late. There was an accident on the 416 that slowed things.”
“Not a problem. Millie’s at craft night at the church for—” he checked his phone “—another three-quarters of an hour. We shouldn’t need that long. Besides, Brynn is still on her super-nutrition kick, so I’m enjoying every moment of this.” He gestured to his maple-dipped doughnut. Heather’s empty stomach rumbled.
“How is Noah?”
“Happy as a clam.”
“Is he eating solid foods yet?”
“Nope, and if he’s smart, he’ll wait until Brynn has moved on from the kale and quinoa special.”
Hank could complain all he wanted. The softness around his eyes told Heather that kale and quinoa were a small price to pay for the joy he’d found in Marriage 2.0.
She hadn’t been kidding when she told Travis she was happy for Hank. Everyone had a different path to bliss, and if his involved someone who made him goofy and besotted, then more power to him. But for herself? No, thank you. She’d tried it once and made a royal hash of it. Her focus now was on work—wherever that might be—and being the best mother she could to Millie. And that was enough.
A young woman in very high heels walked slowly past, paused and seemed to be scanning the shop. After a moment, she sat down two booths behind Hank, leaving a trail of some spicy perfume in her wake.
Whoa.
Hank’s nose wrinkled, and he pulled out his phone again. “So what does your month look like?”
With that, they set about what had become a new routine: comparing schedules, their own and Millie’s, making any necessary tweaks to ensure at least one of them would be at every concert, Guide outing or whatever other event parents could attend.
It was a routine that Heather could never have foreseen. Truth to tell, she had a sneaking suspicion that Brynn had been the one to suggest it after Heather moved back to the area. But Hank was the one who had agreed to go along with it, and she was grateful. Millie had as seamless a transition as was possible between their homes. Heather couldn’t speak for Hank, but for herself, she was amazed at how well they had learned to work together for their daughter’s benefit.
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Kris Fletcher
They weren't expecting this…Heather Jacobs has a lot in common with Xander Sorenson: they've each got a great kid they adore, and neither of their paths to parenthood started out easy. So he’s the perfect guy to help her with her plan to seek joint custody of her daughter. But the perfect guy for her? Not so much, especially when she’s not convinced his reckless ways are behind him. Plus, he brings out a side of her that she’d rather keep in check. And then the impossible happens…
They weren’t expecting this...
Heather Jacobs has a lot in common with Xander Sorenson: they’ve each got a great kid they adore, and neither of their paths to parenthood started out easy. So he’s the perfect guy to help her with her plan to seek joint custody of her daughter. But the perfect guy for her? Not so much, especially when she’s not convinced his reckless ways are behind him. Plus, he brings out a side of her that she’d rather keep in check. And then the impossible happens...
When was the last time that had happened?
Not just the laughter, but the ease, the banter, the feeling that it was okay to be himself? Xander couldn’t remember. The only certainty was that he had missed it. He liked it.
And even though he knew it was a bad idea, he wanted to know what else might go so well between Heather and him.
And from the way she suddenly wouldn’t meet his gaze as she walked him to the door, he had a feeling that she might be doing some wanting and wondering of her own.
“Thanks again,” she said, her tone oddly formal after their earlier laughter. “You’ve been a lifesaver with this.”
“My pleasure. And thanks for dinner. Cajun-blackened stir-fry has never tasted so good.”
Her laugh this time was a little higher, a little more strained. Like she was...nervous. Maybe a little shy.
Maybe a little uncertain as to what should happen when they reached the door.
Dear Reader (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4):
I have a confession: I never intended for Xander to have his own book.
When I introduced him in A Family Come True, he was simply someone who had to be there, the catalyst that put the story in gear. (True story: his name is Xander because all through the first draft of that book, he was simply X.) He was supposed to show up when I needed him, do his part and disappear.
Except he never got the memo. And he kept horning his way into scenes. And then Piya Campana (aka Editor Extraordinaire) dropped a not-so-subtle hint that she would love to see his story.
Once that decision was made, the next question was to find the right partner for him. I auditioned a number of characters for the part but none felt right. Who would have the insight and experience to get involved with someone with Xander’s background? At last I realized that the only woman who could truly understand Xander was one who had something even more challenging in her history. With that, it became abundantly clear that there was only one possible match for him in all of Comeback Cove.
I hope you enjoy Xander’s story! Please visit me at www.krisfletcher.com (http://www.krisfletcher.com) to sign up for my newsletter, learn about upcoming books and stay caught up with everything happening in Comeback Cove.
Yours,
Kris
Picket Fence Surprise
Kris Fletcher
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KRIS FLETCHER would like you to believe that her children’s science-fair volcanoes were all perfectly sculpted from papier-mâché, but the truth is that the mashed-potato episode of this book just might have a basis in fact. Ahem.
Kris grew up in Southern Ontario, went to school in Nova Scotia, married a man from Maine and now lives in central New York. She shares her very messy home with her husband, some of their many kids, two Facebook-fodder cats and a growing population of dust bunnies.
This book is dedicated to two very special individuals who taught me lessons that changed my heart.
To Kelli-Lee Howie, who helped me remember that there is so much more to this writing gig than daily pages and deadlines. It was my honor and privilege to learn from you.
And to my nephew Shawn-Man, who started our relationship down a whole new road with a simple Facebook question about writing. Our talks made me remember the joy and excitement of being a new writer and reminded me that words can open worlds. You showed me that courage, imagination and Fruity Pebbles can take us anywhere. Walking may indeed be overrated, but oh, sweetie, how I hope you’re dancing now.
Contents
Cover (#ua810e0a7-369a-55a9-a37e-4690bbf895c7)
Back Cover Text (#u03f6554a-6c46-51b4-9433-fd533c29eeda)
Introduction (#u41bdb3c4-84eb-5042-8662-75c29714b0d5)
Dear Reader (#u427b019d-5a2f-55a7-932b-1a9905f5d815)
Title Page (#u7d7e91a9-36f7-5d66-85a8-813e60b5f071)
About the Author (#u77e8755a-2c18-5a11-ba97-5e78f94fedfa)
Dedication (#u1053c42b-3532-5dfe-a4ff-7b41f58b96ed)
CHAPTER ONE (#u4c95e007-62c4-5da1-bbf8-d485bd3a43dc)
CHAPTER TWO (#ueeac5482-b083-51a9-953a-5b006bb5fd35)
CHAPTER THREE (#u920a3831-ae1b-54b8-88ea-2de7f724c471)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ua774cafe-4666-5abb-ac31-7181e2ff74dd)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4)
“MOMMY, I’VE DECIDED what I want for my birthday.”
Heather Jacobs paused in her conversation to focus on her daughter. Not that she had much choice: Millie had wrapped herself around Heather’s waist much like an octopus would wrap itself around lunch.
“Millie, I’m talking. You’re supposed to say ‘Excuse me,’ and wait.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s so perfect, and I’ve been thinking about it forever and I just have to tell you about it now!”
Heather glanced across the top of Millie’s head and shared a look of empathy with her friend Xander Sorenson, a fellow single parent and her main link to sanity at these extended family gatherings.
“Who else needs an apology from you?”
Millie wriggled with impatience, but offered a sincere, “Sorry, Mr. Sorenson.”
“Accepted.” He tugged on the end of Millie’s ponytail, narrowly missing the bright blue ribbon that Heather had woven into the curls to mark the festive occasion—the birthday party of Xander’s daughter, Cady. “So what’s such a perfect present that you figured it out already? Isn’t your birthday in the fall?”
“October 29. Almost Halloween. And, Mommy, what I want is...” Millie clasped her hands in front of her, twisting them together. “What I really want more than anything is for you and Daddy to share me more. Like Mr. Sorenson and Aunt Darcy share Cady.”
So much for Heather’s lifelong certainty that it was impossible for a jaw to actually drop.
It wasn’t that the question was unwelcome. On the contrary, it probably ranked right up there with Millie’s just-birthed howl, or the first time she’d said Mama. Heather had been yearning to hear those words, or a variation thereof, for almost nine long and lonely years.
But why had Millie chosen to make her request in the middle of a birthday party that was almost entirely populated by members of her ex’s very large, very nosy family?
Parenting Truth Number 614: Kids will always find the worst possible time to ask you anything.
And Heather had thought it was rough explaining tampon dispensers in public bathrooms.
“Mommy? Did you hear me?”
Thankfully, most of the adults in attendance were busy blowing bubbles for the pint-size guests. The back lawn of the North family home, usually an expanse of green reaching from the house to the bank of the St. Lawrence River, was today dotted with clumps of toddlers, their parents and enough balloons to decimate the world’s helium supply. No one was within hearing distance.
No one, that was, except Xander, her fellow North family outlier. Who, being no dummy, immediately shoved his hands in his pockets and began backing away.
“You know, I’m pretty sure I should be flipping burgers or something.”
Heather did a mental eye roll. Not five minutes ago, he had joined her beneath a towering maple, brushing glitter from his hair and shoulders—he’d been under the piñata when it had surrendered—and making jokes about getting out of the sun before he turned into a disco ball.
The truth, Heather suspected, was that he—like she—had needed a moment away from the crowd. The Norths were a large and loving family, one that didn’t hesitate to fold newcomers and outliers—and even exes such as herself—into their midst. It was one of their better characteristics. But for those not accustomed to the family, the effect could be most charitably described as overwhelming.
She waved him away, expecting him to escape as fast as his long legs could take him. But after two steps, he stopped and turned back.
“You know,” he said, “I heard there’s a turtle that’s been making an appearance near the dock these days. You guys might have time to catch it before lunch.”
“A turtle? Cool! Come on, Mom!”
Millie grabbed Heather’s hand and half dragged her across the lawn. The parts of Heather’s brain not occupied with making sure she didn’t trip over a clump of weeds sent a mental message of thanks toward Xander. He’d bought her both time and distance, and did it in a way that was guaranteed to ensure that Millie the junior scientist would be too excited to see how she’d been played.
Thankfully, the wild flight halted as they approached the shore, where Millie cautioned Heather to move slowly and quietly. They crept to the spot Millie decreed was the perfect place for a turtle to approach. Moments later, Heather found herself sprawled on the dock, her belly warmed by the sun-kissed boards and the back of her neck already tingling in a way that made her wish she’d applied more sun block. But early June was too soon for her summer instincts to have kicked in.
“We can’t stay too long,” she cautioned. “We’ll get burned.”
“I know.” Millie spoke absently, inching forward to peer into the water. “I don’t see anything. I wonder if it’s here?”
“Mills...” Heather hesitated, unsure how to begin.
Parenting Truth Number 471: Let the kid set the pace.
“Mills, when you said you want me and Daddy to share you—what do you mean?”
“Well, you know, Jason in my class, he spends a week with his mom and then a week with his dad. He’s always forgetting his homework at the wrong house, but he still has to do it.”
“Of course.”
“So I wondered how come he got to do it that way, but I only get to be with you a little. And then at Easter, we were hunting for eggs and Cady was here and I remembered that she gets to do something like that with her mom and dad, so I—Whoa! Did you see that?”
Millie pointed toward a series of circles rippling through the water from a spot a couple of arm’s lengths off the deck. She pushed herself forward enough that Heather grabbed her shirt.
“Back, kiddo.”
“But Mom—”
“Scooch back. Now.”
“Fine.” Millie complied with a sigh. “Jeez, Mom. I’m ten and a half. I know how to be safe.”
The part of Heather that would never be comfortable seeing Millie around water urged her to grab the child and march her off the dock. The part that had spent years learning to listen to her head instead of her gut reminded her to take a chill pill.
“Humor me.” With a deep breath, she did a fast mental recap of the conversation before the interruption. Jason... Cady...sharing.
Easter had been over two months ago. Which meant that this wasn’t a spur of the moment request.
“Honey, about me and Daddy sharing you. I—You know, sometimes things seem like they should be simple, but they’re actually complicated.”
Millie shielded her eyes, but Heather suspected it wasn’t against the sun, especially when her shoulders sagged. “Daddy said something like that, too.”
Wait. “Mills. Do you mean—did you already talk to Daddy about this?”
Millie’s shrug had nothing to do with indifference.
“Kind of.”
Oh God. Millie’s father was a good man, truly, fair and forgiving, but he didn’t do well when caught by surprise. If Millie had broached the topic with him the same way she had with Heather, it probably had not gone the way Millie had wished.
Which would also explain the long gap between a conversation with one parent at Easter and another conversation now.
“You don’t need to tell me things that are between you and Daddy,” she said, hoping she could find the right approach. “That’s private. But I have a feeling he maybe wasn’t as excited about the idea as you were.”
Millie shook her head and shifted her gaze to the water.
“Mills... I would love to have more time with you, more than anything, but it’s not something you can just wish for and make it happen, like getting your ears pierced. This as a two-parent decision. Daddy and I have to talk about this together and make sure we’re doing what’s best for you.”
“Why wouldn’t it be good for me? It’s good for Jason. It’s good for Cady.”
Heather had no idea what had happened between Jason’s parents, but she was almost positive that there was a lot less history—and hurt—between Xander and Darcy than there was between her and Hank. Negotiating joint custody was probably a lot easier when one party hadn’t inflicted the kind of wounds that Heather had. She had been amazed when Hank had been able to remarry. Amazed, and truly glad for him. He was a good guy. He deserved the happiness he had found with Brynn and their new son.
Heather would never have the guts to try marriage again.
“I know that it looks like it would be good, Mills, but there are things that adults have to discuss. Like schedules, and is this a good time to make this change, and how would we make it happen. And let’s face it. You and Daddy have something pretty special. He might need time to get used to the idea.”
Time, and maybe a large dose of a really strong sedative.
Because Heather knew what had gone through Hank’s head when Millie brought her request. He would have focused on their past. He would have relived—justifiably—the night when Heather had walked out on him and Millie. Walked out and hopped on a plane and put three-quarters of a continent between them.
How was Heather supposed to encourage Millie when every objection Hank could raise was true?
Millie turned away from the water, hands shoved in her pockets, and shuffled down the dock. “I don’t think the turtle is coming back today,” she said in a tiny voice.
Oh hell.
“Millie... Listen. I can’t make any promises, but we...well, we can try. But we have to take it slow. Give Daddy time. You do some more thinking about what you would like. I’ll figure out grown-up details and prepare my pitch, just like I would at work. And then when the time is right—” God give me strength “—I’ll talk to Daddy.”
“Okay.”
“And maybe for now, we can keep an eye open for extra days. You know, like, we could have an extra outing on a weekend when there’s some special girl thing happening.”
“Like when I need to do stuff for a badge?”
Heather was already a big fan of the Girl Guides of Canada for the experiences they provided Millie. But as she thought of the many opportunities for mother-daughter bonding that came with the group’s activities, she was triply glad that Millie had joined.
“Absolutely for a badge. Or to get your hair cut, or do some shopping for school or whatever. Daddy and Brynn are still getting used to life with baby Noah, so it will be good for you and me, and it will help them at the same time.” Inspiration hit like a flash of sunlight on the water. “And you know what else? We talked about painting your room at my place, but the time kind of slipped away. How about we start on that, now that the weather is nice?”
“That would be awesome, Mom! Can it be purple, maybe? Or do they make glow-in-the-dark paint for stars?”
“I bet we can find some stickers for that.”
“Okay. Is it time to eat yet? I’m hungry.”
Ah, that was far more like the optimistic girlie that Heather knew. She pushed to her feet, grabbed Millie’s hands to pull her up and tugged the child close for a fast hug and a kiss on the top of her head.
“Do you know how much I love you, kiddo?”
“To the moon and back.”
“You got it.”
Hand in hand, they followed their noses back to the gathering. Millie chattered and jumped and raced ahead and back like the friskiest of puppies, and Heather reveled in every minute of it.
Did she want more time with Millie? God yes. The problem—no, the challenge—would be in finding the way to make it happen without disturbing the peace.
Heather knew what it was to grow up in a home where the only constants were disruption and fear. Millie would never know anything as messed up as Heather’s childhood, thankfully, but that didn’t mean that Heather could be cavalier about upsetting the status quo—especially when she knew that Hank had already rejected the idea. She had to find a way to turn this into a logical, reasonable next step instead of a point of disruption. She had played hell with Millie’s life once. She would not do it again.
All she needed was a plan.
* * *
XANDER WAS A MAN who trusted his gut. And as he laughed his way through the party and helped Cady open more presents than any two-year-old could use, his gut kept whispering that he should check on Heather.
Not that anything was obviously wrong. She sang “Happy Birthday” with everyone else, talked to everyone, laughed and goofed around with Millie. But he couldn’t dismiss the way she had tensed up over Millie’s question. The wonder in her eyes hadn’t exactly meshed with the way she closed in on herself, arms and legs and everything pulling in tight. Like she was afraid that if she let anything free, she would lose it.
He pushed his worries to the back burner while the party was in full swing. Not only was this Cady’s birthday, it was the first time he’d celebrated it with her. A year ago at this time, he hadn’t even known she was alive. Now, though, she was the reason he was alive—or at the very least, the reason he was living this life. He wasn’t taking any of this for granted.
He memorized the sound of her squeals when she spotted her Winnie the Pooh cupcake. He soaked in the sight of her chipmunk cheeks as she tried to blow out her candles and bit back his laughter at the confusion on her face when her attempts left the candles blazing despite the hefty showering of spit she sprayed over the frosting.
Yeah, Darcy had been right to insist on Cady attacking an individual cake instead of the big one intended for sharing.
But when the candles continued to flicker and the twist to Cady’s mouth started the descent from gamely trying to core meltdown imminent, he squatted beside her and tapped her cheek.
“Want some help, Cady?”
Her quivering chin was his only reply.
On Cady’s other side, Darcy imitated his stance. “Here, sweetie. Let’s all do it together. You, me, Daddy and Ian.”
Darcy took Cady’s hand and extended the other toward her fiancé, who joined the circle.
Xander had never believed that line about it taking a village to raise a child until this moment, seeing how three adults were required to help a kid blow out two candles.
But then, the slightly-odd-but-definitely-working family they had built over the past year was almost a small village in itself. And none of them would be here, now, if not for the others.
If Xander hadn’t decided to spend a few weeks crashing with his old university roomie Ian...if Ian hadn’t been renting a garage apartment from Darcy...if Ian hadn’t been out of town the weekend Darcy’s rat bastard ex-boyfriend dumped her, leaving her in need of a shoulder, a stiff drink and some unexpected comfort...
None of it had been planned. Not him and Darcy ending up drunk. Or horizontal. Or—as he found out when he came back two years later—parents.
“One...two...” Darcy guided Cady forward.
Change any one of those factors, and none of them would be here. Because without that perfect storm of events and timing, Cady would never have been born. And Darcy would never have turned to Ian for help that became friendship that turned into something so real that they were getting married in a couple of months.
“Three!”
And if Darcy and Ian hadn’t been the understanding and forgiving people they were, Xander would never have walked out of a jail cell and into this family.
“Make a wish!” someone called. Xander checked on Cady, now clapping her hands while leaning against Darcy, and was pretty sure that his daughter had absolutely everything she could want at this moment.
But birthday wishes weren’t to be wasted. So as Ian reached across Darcy to bop Cady’s nose and the three of them laughed together, Xander closed his eyes and sent up his own wish.
That, please. I want something like that.
* * *
ONCE THE CAKE had been cut and the gifts opened, Xander prowled the edges of the party with his camera, gathering trash with one hand while sneaking in some candid shots of the birthday girl and her guests. Cleaning, preserving memories and casually working his way toward Heather, all at once. Who said men couldn’t multitask? Add in the way he managed to sneak a few peeks at Heather’s shorts—or, more precisely, what they covered—and he felt positively superhuman.
Well, except for the fact that Heather’s shorts—and, more precisely, what was in them—were strictly off-limits.
She was a damned fine looking woman who made him laugh. More than that, when he was with her, he felt he could relax more than with most folks. Maybe because she understood how it felt to be on the outside looking in. Maybe because she, like he, knew all about duct-taping a life back together after throwing it in the toilet.
Heather was a friend. And while Xander wanted someone to build a life with, these days he needed friends. So yeah. Off-limits.
But off-limits didn’t mean he couldn’t be a buddy. So when Heather finished saying something to Millie and sent the child off with a laugh, he raised his camera.
“Say cheese!”
He’d expected her to squeal and whirl away from him. Instead, she raised her hands to her head so they resembled antlers, wiggling her fingers while scrunching up her face.
He lowered the camera. “Seriously? You want me to take your picture when you look like a moose that ate a lemon?”
“It got you to stop, didn’t it?”
That was another reason why he needed to stay away from Heather. She would outfox him.
“Good one.” He scanned the area, saw that they were relatively alone and wandered closer. “That’s an interesting pile of sticks by your feet.”
“Sticks?” She glanced from him to the ground and back again, confusion evident on her face. “What’s in your lemonade, Xander?”
“Nothing. But if I act like I’m taking pictures and make a show of having the camera out, people are going to stay away while I ask if you’re okay.” He pulled the camera from his face for a second to meet her gaze. “After Millie’s question, I mean.”
“Oh.”
He waited, focusing in on the sticks as if he really cared about them. Patience had never been his favorite virtue, but he had learned to appreciate it during his time in jail. Proof that there was a silver lining to everything.
At last, Heather spoke, her words quiet—though not, he suspected, from fear of being overheard.
“She caught me by surprise.”
“I figured.”
“I’m not sure...” She sighed. “It’s not as simple as Millie believes.”
“Tell me a part of parenting that is.”
At that, she laughed, though not with her usual abandon. He crouched and adjusted his focus. There was a tiny dandelion poking through the sticks, a flash of yellow he would have missed if he hadn’t changed angles.
“How do you manage it?” she asked. “Sharing Cady must be hard.”
“Do you mean, like, the timing? The logistics?”
“For a start.”
“It takes a lot of communication. But you probably know that already.”
“Right.”
“If you want, I can give you a copy of the schedule we use. You couldn’t do the same times, not with school and all, but it would give you someplace to start.” And maybe she could accept it with more grace than he could. For while Xander understood the need for a schedule and was blown away every time he realized how close he had come to missing out on the miracle of Cady, a part of him still ached at the reality of needing a spreadsheet to mark his time with his daughter.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She crouched beside him and tugged on one of the sticks, tumbling the pile into a new arrangement. The dandelion vanished from his view. “Of course, I’m probably jumping the gun. Hank—”
She stopped. He raised the camera, using it as a shield so he had to watch out of the corner of his eye as the emotions played across her face. Hope, wistfulness, some kind of longing that made him feel he should reach over and squeeze her hand...
He hadn’t known Heather when she was married to Ian’s brother Hank, but he’d known about her, and them. He remembered Ian telling him about Heather’s abrupt departure from the marriage and Comeback Cove, and even during that self-absorbed point in his own life, he had wondered how a mother could willingly leave her child.
These days, knowing Heather, seeing how she glowed whenever she was with Millie, he wondered all the more.
“Anyway—” Heather clapped her hands as if dismissing the topic “—the other big issue would be work.”
“Isn’t Millie a bit young to have to think about a job?”
Yeah, it was a lousy joke. But Heather was the pacesetter here.
“You do know that when you’re all hunched over like that, it would only take one little push for me to send you over. Right?”
On the other hand, maybe he should take a stronger lead in the conversation.
“Sorry. Whatever. Why is work a problem?”
She adjusted her position so she was sitting on the ground. Guess her thighs weren’t up to the test.
Not that he was going to think about her thighs.
“The job itself isn’t the trouble. It’s the hours. Which are totally reasonable until you tack on the megacommute every day.”
“Gotcha. So you’re gone from, what? Eight to six?”
“More like seven thirty until about seven.”
He whistled. “Busting ass to impress the boss?”
“Busting ass to get the work done.” Her head swiveled. “And to let me leave early on Wednesdays, so I’m home when Millie finishes school.”
He didn’t have to follow her line of vision to know she was checking on the kid in question.
“You’re right. That doesn’t leave much time for anything, let alone having time with a kid.”
“I know.”
It was the way she watched Millie that caught him in the gut. Like she didn’t dare miss one action or one giggle, in case she might never get the chance again.
“What about getting a new job?”
This time when she laughed, it was like he’d said the silliest thing she’d ever heard.
“Right. Because Comeback Cove is overflowing with jobs.”
He bit his tongue to keep from reminding her that there were a lot more options for her than there were for someone who had, oh, a criminal record to add to the list of references.
No regrets, Xander.
Instead, he waved a hand toward the river and said, “I hear the town is looking for someone to help sell all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re creating a new position. Tourism director, or something like that. There was an article about it in the Comeback Cove Chronicle last week.”
She did a double take. “You read the Chronicle? I thought their only subscribers were the people who work at town hall. And maybe the folks who advertise in it.”
“Of course I do. I’m a concerned, involved citizen.” Who also happened to be trolling the community calendar for events where he might meet someone looking for a guy with an adorable daughter, a steady job and a slightly checkered past.
“You’re about twelve steps ahead of me, then. But...tourism? It’s a nice thought, but I don’t have any experience in that.”
He raised the camera to his eye and focused in on Cady, now spinning in circles with Millie. “You’re in marketing.”
“Sure, but—”
“Would it cost you anything to apply?”
“No.”
“If you got it, would it make things easier for you to have more time with Millie?”
This time, her silence went on long enough that he had to check to be sure she was still sitting in place.
“Yo, Earth to Heather.”
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
“I’ve heard that can be dangerous.”
She shook her head, seeming to cast off some spell that had gripped her. “What does that mean?”
“It means that there’s a time to think and a time to do. Take a chance. Go with your gut.”
Her head swiveled. Her gaze locked on Millie.
“My gut is the last thing I need to listen to.”
He had never understood people who didn’t trust their own instincts. How was a person supposed to navigate all the noise of the world without having some core sense of what to do and where to go?
Though on the other hand, refusing to listen to your gut was probably a lot safer than his specialty of acknowledging and then ignoring the truth he didn’t want to see.
“But,” she continued, “there is a certain logic to the thought.”
Ah, now they were getting somewhere.
“I doubt I could even get an interview, but you’re right. It would give me a deadline to update my résumé and get into job-changing mode. If nothing else, getting an offer from someplace else might give me some negotiating power. Shift my hours, arrange to work from home part of the time...something that could make things more possible.”
She turned a sunny smile in his direction, one that had his own gut suddenly tightening.
“Thanks, Xander. You’ve been a huge help.”
No problem. My pleasure. The smart and sensible response was clear in his head.
So why did he open his mouth to say, “You know, I’ve sat in on a good number of classes on résumé writing over the years.” Most recently as a guest—ahem—of the Province, but knowledge was knowledge, right? “If you’d like me to have a look at yours, just say the word.”
“Seriously?”
Xander, you idiot. What if she’s wearing those shorts again? “Anytime.”
“Thank you. I haven’t had to do this kind of thing in years. I just might...” She shrugged, not dismissively, but almost as if she were hugging herself. “I owe you.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for.” He pushed to his feet, stifling a groan as he straightened. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so smug about her choosing to sit instead of squat.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m going to stay here for a minute.” She nodded toward the house. “Watch the show for a bit.”
He followed her gaze and saw Millie doing an admirable imitation of a horse, galloping in circles around Cady. A soft neigh carried across the grass.
“Okay then. Let me know if I can help, and I’ll see you around.”
With that, he set off across the lawn, doing his best to stay focused on the crowd in front of him rather than the woman behind him. Forward. Onward. No regrets.
He managed to face away from her until he hit the deck, where Millie ceased her prancing long enough to pull up in front of him.
“Whoa,” she said to the air, then looked to him. “Hi, Mr. Sorenson. What’s my mom doing?”
He had to look back at her then, didn’t he?
Heather no longer sat cross-legged and contemplative on the grass. Instead, she was kneeling, hands moving on the ground.
Moving...a pile of sticks?
“Millie,” he said, resting his hand on her curls, “I can’t be certain, but I think your mom is giving hope to a weed.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4)
THE NEXT NIGHT, over on the other side of town, Xander buckled Cady into her high chair, set a sippy cup of milk on the tray and took a neat step out of the line of fire before his darling child could spray him.
“Drink, pretty girl. Daddy already had his shower today.”
Cady banged the cup on the tray. “Cookie, Daddy? Pease?”
“After you eat your real food.” In short order, he had a bite-size smorgasbord in front of her—pasta, peas, bites of cheese and chicken. Cady scowled at the assortment.
“Want cookie.”
“Cheese.” He snagged a piece and popped it into her mouth. “Chow down.”
As he’d expected, Cady frowned but obediently chewed before picking up a bite of pasta.
Confident that the meal was under way, Xander grabbed his bowl of beans and followed suit. He used to wait until Cady was done before he attempted to eat, but then she would need a bath. Or she’d pull something over. Or decide there were too many tissues in the box, and it was her God-given duty to empty it. He would race after her and food would be forgotten, and he would fall into bed at night and realize all he’d had since breakfast was a cup of coffee and a handful of Cheerios. Nothing that he couldn’t endure for a day, but definitely not a habit he wanted to build for a lifetime.
So he and Cady ate together now. Not that she was thrilled about staying in her chair until he’d had a chance to catch his breath and unwind a little, but c’est la vie.
And even if she shrieked, and he had to shovel his food in while praying the neighbors didn’t turn him in as a possible child abuser, it would be a more successful dinner than the one he’d shared last night with the latest Ms. Online Dream Date.
“Looks like we’re still in the market for a stepmommy, Cady. Hope you’re not disappointed.”
She dropped a cheese cube on the floor. Lulu, their scruffy but well-loved beagle blend, gave an appreciative whine as she snapped it up.
“No food on the floor, kid. Lulu already had her supper.”
“Ruru supper?”
“That’s right. She already ate. Don’t want her to get sick.”
“Ruru sick?”
“No.”
Cady’s tiny blond head shook back and forth. “No sick.”
Maybe he was going about this dating thing the wrong way. Maybe he should stop taking women to nice restaurants and coffee shops, and start arranging to meet at Bits and Pizzas. He could take Cady, the date could fall in love with her—or not—and depending on everyone else’s reaction, then he could worry about details like his feelings for the woman in question. Or how Ms. Online handled the revelation of his time in the Big House.
“Except I feel like I have to tell them up front,” he said to Cady. “If that’s gonna be a stumbling block, I want to know straight out of the gate. It wouldn’t feel right to keep that hidden.”
Which he supposed was rather ironic—the former convict worrying about doing the right thing. But it wasn’t like history was destiny.
“Did the crime, did the time, from here on in my life is mine. Right, Lu?”
Lulu paused in her nosing of a piece of pasta long enough to glance his way.
“I shouldn’t complain.” He spooned up more beans. “It’s not like things were going really well anyway. I mean, she was nice enough. She has a kid, told me all about him, really loved the pictures of you, Cady girl. So you know she’s smart.”
Cady raised her cup at an angle he knew too well.
“Uh-uh. No shower, remember?”
“Milk!”
“Drink it.” He tapped the cup. She peeked up at him. He plastered on a stern expression, she sighed and cup met mouth.
“The thing was, Cade, she didn’t laugh a lot. I can’t see how you build something with someone you can’t laugh with. And I’m not saying I’m Mr. Comedy,” he added when Lulu rose and turned away from him. “But I had some good lines in there and some funny stuff happened. Like when the guy at the next table got a call. You could tell he was in the middle of being dumped, and instead of taking it outside, he sat there saying ‘but...but...’ and then he came out with, ‘Damn it, I even paid for you to get your cat fixed!’ I was busting a gut trying to keep from laughing. She—Amanda—she kept sending him dirty looks and complaining about cell phones in public. Which, hey, I totally get it. Still, there was something freakin’ hilarious going on beside us, and all she could think about was the rule that was being broken.”
“Cookie? Daddy? Cookie?”
“Two more bites.” He pushed the necessary pieces in her direction. As expected, Cady ignored the small portion he’d set in front of her and raked up a handful from the remainder.
“Eat slowly, kid. Don’t want you to choke. Sloooooooooow.”
Which was advice he should have given himself last night. Instead, as soon as Amanda had finished commenting on the lack of consideration and broken rules, he had gone for the ultimate test and told her about his own experience breaking the rules. And the law.
To her credit, she had listened to the whole story—at least the thirty-second version he had perfected. She had nodded and said something about everyone making mistakes, and downed the rest of her wine pretty fast.
“But I really wasn’t surprised when she left to go to the ladies’ room and never came back.”
“Back?”
“She went bye-bye, babes.”
“Bye-bye,” Cady echoed. “Cookie? Pease?”
He checked the tray, then the floor. Either Lulu was getting faster or Cady really hadn’t dumped it all overboard. “Okay. You earned a cookie. Maybe even two, but don’t tell Mommy.”
“Mommy?” Cady swiveled toward the door. He needed to work fast.
“Mommy in the morning, Cade. After night-night. Look, here’s a cookie! Who do we have—is it a lion? Yeah, I think it’s a lion. What does Leo the Lion say?”
“Rawr.”
“Good trained monkey.” He dropped a couple of animal crackers on the tray and gave thanks that Cady wasn’t yet old enough to tell Darcy everything that went on at his place. Not that Darce would care about an extra hippo or tiger. She was into nutrition, but she wasn’t overboard. But he could live without having her hear about his Adventures in Dating from their daughter.
“The problem is, you’re too smart, kid. Pretty soon I’m going to have to keep all my stories for Lulu. Either that or find someone else to share them with.”
Of course, that was the rub, wasn’t it? If he had someone to share things with, he wouldn’t be off on these fiascos in the first place.
“Ah, well, Cady. I never thought I’d have you, and here you are.” He bopped the end of her nose. “And that right there makes me the luckiest daddy on the planet.”
She beamed up at him and whapped her cup against his arm.
“Ow!” He pulled the cup from her grasp and did the parental finger wag. “No hitting. Got it?”
She scrunched up her face in what he knew was the precursor to a wail.
“Tough, kiddo. You hit Lulu last week and now me. Not good.”
Tiny pink lips quivered.
“No. Hitting.” He squatted in front of her and tweaked her ponytail. “And no complaining when you do something and have to face the music.”
She searched his face and broke into a slow, sunny grin.
“Guess I’m not so good at taking my own advice, am I?” He returned to his chair, picked up his bowl. “I’ve been doing a lot of complaining myself. I’ve gotta move forward. Stop whining. Go with my gut.”
My gut is the last thing I need to listen to.
“You know, Cade, Heather didn’t send me her résumé.”
Cady picked up her second cracker and waved it in the air. “Rawr.”
“Technically, I don’t think giraffes roar, but what the hell.” He shoveled in another bite. “Maybe I should drop her a line, remind her that I was serious about the offer.”
The giraffe giggled.
“What? It’s a friend thing. Perfectly legit.”
Lulu barked sharply.
Xander sighed. “Yeah, I know, girl. It’s probably not a good idea.”
But Heather knew all about his past. It had never stopped her from hanging around with him at the North events.
“Of course,” he mused, “there’s a big difference between goofing around in a group and...and whatever.”
But she was so easy to joke with.
“And if I ask her out and she says no?” he asked Lulu. “I bet there’d be lots of jokes at Thanksgiving dinner after that.”
Yeah. Bad idea.
He tossed his bowl in the sink and grabbed a washcloth. Cleanup time. That was what mattered at this minute: cleaning and chattering and singing and pushing all thoughts of Heather from his mind.
It would have been a lot easier if she hadn’t been wearing those shorts.
* * *
HEATHER LOOKED AT the résumé on her laptop and blew out a breath of pure exasperation.
“All the years I’ve put into building you up, and this is how you thank me?”
It wasn’t a bad résumé. She was still objective enough to see that. It was a solid, administrative-type, semi-impressive recounting.
It was also as boring as a piano recital when your kid wasn’t one of the performers.
She grabbed her weekly bottle of root beer, raised it to her lips and breathed in. Ah, sweet bliss. Was there anything in the world that couldn’t be improved with root beer?
Then she blew out across the top of the bottle in a steady stream, making a sound much like a flute with indigestion.
In addition to the laptop, her kitchen table was littered with every book on writing résumés that the Comeback Cove library possessed. She hadn’t thought to check the publication dates until she got home and found that most of them still focused on the weight of the paper that the job applicant should use, and how to ensure that even the envelope left the right impression. Because every application still had to be snail mailed. Right.
Maybe it wasn’t as boring as she thought. She’d probably just been staring at it so long that she’d lost all perspective.
Which meant that, really, the best thing she could do would be to find some fresh eyes.
“Son of a sea biscuit.”
She slumped back in her chair, arms sagging, and stared up at the ceiling.
He made the offer totally voluntarily. It would be perfectly fine to shoot him an email and ask him to have a look.
Except...
Except she thought maybe he’d been scoping out her butt at the picnic.
In and of itself, that wasn’t a problem. She’d been checked out before, usually by guys who had their own theory as to the proper way to welcome a new transfer to the office. She had long ago perfected the fine art of saying no while keeping things friendly and light.
Except that deep down, beneath the logic and the sense, she kind of liked the idea of Xander finding her hot.
Nothing could ever come of it, of course. It didn’t matter that she liked hanging out with him at birthday parties and such. Or that when she bumped into him in town, she always walked away feeling a little happier. Or that watching him sneak peeks at her from behind the camera had made her want to assume the classic arms-back-head-tilted-breasts-forward bikini photo pose.
Or even—maybe mostly—that when she was with Xander, she felt like she was with someone who could understand how it felt to be living your second chance.
None of that mattered, though. Because she had spent the last hunk of her life easing her way back into Millie’s world, building a working relationship with Hank, doing everything she could to smooth the waters and prove that she wasn’t the same terrified woman who had thought that the best way to protect her child was to put most of a continent between them.
She was logical now. She thought things through and knew how to stop and step back and evaluate situations with her head, not her gut. She had systems and schedules and safeguards in place to ensure that she would never, could never play hell with Millie’s life again, even accidentally.
Doing anything more than sneaking a few peeks at Xander would be like typing up her schedules and systems and having them translated into Esperanto.
“Not because he went to jail,” she said out loud, because if any aliens were tracking her brain waves, she wanted them to be clear on this. “That’s not a selling point, but it’s workable.”
No. The issue was that Xander was too close. Too much a part of Millie’s extended family, and even more so in August when Darcy and Ian got married, and Millie and Cady became official stepcousins.
At least that was how Heather thought they’d be related.
A...whatever between her and Xander would be uncomfortable for everyone. It would shift the dynamics, and probably not in a good way. And when it ended—which was inevitable, given that she knew Xander was looking for Ms. Forever while Heather identified as Ms. Been There, Failed That, Never Again—it could get messy and lead to major awkwardness.
For herself, she could handle awkward. Seriously. She’d had plenty of practice over the years, what with attending events with her ex. And then his new wife. And now their new baby.
But Millie didn’t need that. Ten, even almost eleven, was way too young to have to deal with shifting loyalties and adult drama. Millie deserved peace and love and ponies and flowers, and a mom who made life easier instead of more complicated.
But if Heather wanted to be the mom Millie deserved, she was probably going to need to change jobs.
Which meant she really needed a kick-ass résumé.
Which meant that since most of her other trusted friends were her work contacts, she really should take Xander up on his offer.
Argh.
Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she typed up the email.
“Business business, see attachment, all business, thank you very much, I owe you forever—no, scratch that, business—and, send.”
There. There was no way anyone could mistake that for anything other than a grateful acceptance of a generous but semiprofessional offer. Not a hint of flirtation to be found.
At least, not until an hour later when she read his reply.
I took a quick look. I have suggestions, but it’s probably easier to do this in person. Are you busy tomorrow? I have Cady, but if you come over around naptime, I can give you my undivided attention.
Oh hell.
* * *
PROMPTLY AT 2:00 P.M. the next afternoon, Xander looked up from the front step where he was waiting and spotted Heather riding what seemed to be an ancient pink bike up the street. She looked athletic, like she had energy to burn.
Not that he could think of any way to help her expend that energy. Nope. He was operating in a strictly advisory-friend-helper capacity today, doing his duty and offering his suggestions and then moving along, all before naptime ended.
And if he’d had other possibilities in the back of his mind when he had asked Heather to come over—because yeah, for a few minutes there he had given in to Saturday night wildness—well, he’d come to his senses since then. There would be no checking her out. No discussion of anything more suggestive than experience and education. If his gut didn’t like it, then tough.
Because somewhere between last night and this morning—probably when he had stepped into Cady’s room to check on her before he went to bed—he had remembered why Heather was doing this. She wasn’t coming over for him. She was doing this for Millie.
All he had to do was crank the volume on the baby monitor he’d brought outside with him to remind himself that kids came first. Always.
She turned into the driveway, braked and hopped off the bike. He broke his vow just long enough to check. She wasn’t wearing the shorts from the party.
Thank God.
He pushed off the step and ambled down to the driveway. “Doing your part to reduce your carbon footprint?”
“That, and exercise, and I spend enough time in my car already. I wasn’t going to let a gorgeous day go to waste.”
She took off her neon blue helmet, shook her head and sent her short blond hair swirling around her face like a halo.
He dragged his gaze away. “Yeah,” he said. “Gorgeous things shouldn’t be wasted.”
“Is Cady asleep?”
“Probably. She went down a few minutes ago.” He tapped one of the smaller rust spots on the handlebars of her bike. “Family heirloom?”
“What can I say? I value function and frugality over fashion.”
“Yeah, but is it worth it when you have to have a tetanus shot every time you ride it?”
“Don’t insult Johnny.” She ran a hand over the duct tape holding the seat together. “We’ve had a lot of good times together.”
“Johnny?” He stepped back and eyed the bike, taking in the pink paint, the wicker basket in front and what looked like fading silver sparkles on the bars. “You named this Johnny?”
“For Johnny Cash.”
“Oh yeah. I see the resemblance.”
“It’s not because of the way it looks, okay?” Her lips twitched. “It’s because the first few times I rode it, I felt like I was sitting on a ring of fire.”
He burst into laughter. She joined in, so free and joyful that he snorted all the harder, sending himself into a coughing fit that had him bent over with his hands on his knees.
“Careful.” She patted his back, once, twice. “Breathe, okay? It wasn’t that funny.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Good.” She delivered another whack on his back. “Because honestly, you’re no good to me if you’re dead.”
He wheezed again before glancing up and sideways to catch her eye. He’d meant to simply nod to let her know that he was fine.
Instead, he caught her watching him with something that most definitely wasn’t concern.
And for the briefest of seconds, she ceased pounding his back. Instead, her hand flattened, her palm warming his skin through his T-shirt.
For an even briefer moment, he gave thanks that he was already crouched over.
She jumped back. He thumped his chest and straightened.
“Well,” she said. “Why don’t we get this résumé done so I can, you know, get out of your hair before I use up all of naptime?”
She’s here for Millie. Not you.
“Yeah. Right.” He rested a hand on the bike. “Do you have a lock for Johnny? Or do you want to put it in the garage?”
“Somehow, I don’t think this is high on anyone’s must-have list.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want anything to happen on my watch.” He hefted the bike and nodded toward the door at the side of the garage. “Can you get that?”
She scooted ahead of him, opened the door and stepped back. He deposited the bike beside his car and returned to the sunshine.
“Okay,” he said, brushing his hands together. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, after he’d finished spouting the résumé knowledge bullshit he’d used as an excuse to invite her over, he realized he’d gone through the entire schpiel on autopilot. His body was at the kitchen table, but his mind was stuck outside at that moment when he’d caught her looking.
It didn’t help that she was as unfocused as he was. She kept repeating herself, shaking her head and stopping midsentence. Like she was trying to work up the nerve to say something, but couldn’t quite do it.
He knew the feeling.
Come on, Xander. Résumé. Job. Focus.
He pulled his laptop closer and opened the alternate version he’d created, because yeah, he did have a few recommendations. “What I’d suggest is that you switch things around, set it up like this. See how much cleaner this one looks?”
“Oh, I like that. That font is crisper, and the way you’ve abbreviated the headings—that’s good. You’ve given it a really fresh feel.”
“The other thing is that these days, you have to assume someone is going to end up reading it on their phone.” He grabbed his phone and accessed both her original and his revision. “Check it out. See the difference?”
She leaned his way—so close that if he wanted, he could reach an arm around her and tuck his hand at her waist. Not that he was going to do it, but still.
“You’re right. It’s much cleaner now.” She swiped between the two versions, back and forth, back and forth.
The play of her fingers on the screen was almost hypnotic. He couldn’t look away from the length of her fingers and the careful simplicity of the rounded nails. There was something about them...some anomaly flashing in and out of his vision...
There it was. One nail—the left pinky—bore a faint coat of the palest pink.
“What’s that?” He asked before thinking, his own finger hovering over the nail in question but not quite touching.
“What’s what?”
“You have nail polish on only one nail. I was curious.”
For a moment, she seemed to pull in on herself, like a turtle retreating into its shell. The only sound was a soft sigh from Lulu, asleep in the patch of sunshine coming through the window.
Heather lifted her chin. “That’s something I started with Millie, when I was away. It’s so I always had something on me that I could look at and think of her.” She curled her hand in, running over the nail in question with her thumb. “Not that I needed the reminder,” she said softly. “But Millie loved seeing it on me.”
So why did you leave her?
The question burned on his tongue. It made no sense. Heather was obviously head over heels for Millie, and while he knew that jobs could be hard to find, he doubted that she had needed to go to the other side of the second-largest country in the world to find something.
But along with patience, prison had taught him the value of keeping his questions to himself.
He settled for a light tap on the nail. “That’s a good idea. Kind of makes me wish I could do something like that for Cady. Not that we have the long separations like you had. But sometimes...”
“Sometimes it feels like, even though you’re her parent, you’re still on the fringes of her life?”
Yeah. Heather got it. “Like she’s the Earth,” he said softly. “And I’m a satellite.”
She said nothing. Her dipped head, and the way she held her pinkie told him that they were in complete understanding.
It hit him that at some point over the conversation, one or both of them had scooted their chair closer. They were now sitting at the table, the tiniest width of the corner separating them. It would be so easy to slide his leg forward and bump her knee, so very easy to let his hand move from her fingernail to her hand and then make a slow ascent up her arm. He wouldn’t even have to stretch.
Nor would he have to channel his inner gymnast to lean across the tiny spit of laminate and kiss her. Gently at first, light and casual, slowly feeling his way into this until she decided which way they should go next.
Except that even as the thought tiptoed through his mind, she grabbed her papers and stood up, so fast that Lulu actually opened an eye.
If she was psychic, he was dead.
“Well. Thanks. You’ve given me some great suggestions, and I really appreciate it, but I should probably let you get back to—whatever.” She rose from the table and moved toward the door. All business. On a mission.
“Oh!” She stopped suddenly, three steps before the door. Thank God he’d been hanging back to watch the sway of her cheeks. Otherwise he would have landed flush against her.
Which probably shouldn’t sound as enticing as it did.
“This photo.” Her pink-tipped finger hovered over the glass of one of the few pictures in the room that didn’t feature Cady. “It’s...jeez. It has such a feeling to it. The way that door is covered by the vines, like it’s some dangerous secret.” Her laugh was pure self-deprecation. “It sounds so cheesy, but it’s really mesmerizing.”
“Thanks.”
She twisted around, eyes wide. “Did you take this?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Xander!” She looked from him to the photo and back again. “This is wonderful. Mysterious and enticing and forbidden...you have it all there. I don’t know how, but...wow.”
It shouldn’t matter that she’d honed in on the precise emotions he’d tried to convey when he took the picture. He shouldn’t feel like giving the universe a giant high five that she was the first one to catch what he’d been putting out there.
But he couldn’t stop himself from doing a tiny fist pump in the air when she turned back to the photo.
“Where did you take this?”
“Oh, that old place out on Becker. The one you can just see from Route 31. But only in winter when there’s no leaves.”
“Huh. I never... Wait.” Her head snapped up. “You mean the Cline place?”
He was pretty sure that was the name Ian had used when Xander asked about it. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Big brick place, lots of outbuildings? You have to go down Shannette Road to get to it?”
“That’s it. You’ve been there?”
“No.”
If he hadn’t got a clue from the clipped tone, he would have from the way she eyeballed him like he was some kind of biology project. “You know that nobody goes there, right? Except teenagers doing things they can’t do at home.”
Yeah, he’d got that idea from the bottles he’d spotted lying around. “I figured that might be the case.”
“What on earth made you go there?”
How to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself? “It looked... I don’t know. Interesting. And overgrown and everything, so, lots of good shots.”
“Until you crash through a rotting floor and break your camera. Not to mention your head.”
“I take Lulu with me.”
She shifted her attention to the snoozing dog. “Oh yeah. I see how she’d be a real help.”
“Well, she’s better than Lassie. She only helped when Timmy fell down a well. Anything else and the kid was out of luck.”
A smothered snicker was his reward. He suspected she would have gone full-out guffaw if she hadn’t felt obliged to lecture him.
Sure enough, her next sentence continued the warnings.
“Seriously, Xander. You really shouldn’t go there. Not alone, at least.”
“I’m careful.”
“Really.”
She didn’t have to say it. He could see the question in her mind, as clear as if he had developed abilities he didn’t believe in: As careful as you were when you broke the law?
Or maybe that was just his brain filling in the words his mother would say if she knew about his explorations.
“Well,” she said, turning back to the photo, “I guess I can’t be too hard on you, seeing as I like this so much. But don’t go again, okay?”
“Would you worry?”
Not a good question. He knew it. But damn it, a man needed some kind of clue.
“Of course. You’re my friend. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” She reached for the door and tossed a grin over her shoulder. “Especially when I might need you to give my résumé another tweak.”
“I feel so used.”
“You should.”
He should also feel a lot less excited at the prospect.
But he knew that wasn’t happening.
* * *
SHE WAS ALMOST home free.
Heather waited at the door to the garage while Xander went in to get the bike. Almost done. Just a couple more minutes and she would be riding old Johnny back to her place, her legs settling into the familiar tempo and the river breeze in her hair.
Except her pulse had fallen into a totally different rhythm. And no breeze could cool the low-level heat that had built inside her throughout her time at Xander’s table.
She had hoped—prayed—that heading outside, away from the potent blend of privacy and proximity, would slap some sense into her. But then she had seen the photo, whispering to her about hidden treasures begging to be uncovered. And then he had brushed past her on the way into the garage, and all the little hairs on her arm had stood up.
And now she couldn’t see anything but him.
The way his T-shirt hugged the muscles in his arms and chest when he picked up the bike with ease. The little bit of skin she could see when the shirt pulled away from his jeans, revealing what she was pretty sure was a tattoo. Either that or Cady had attacked him with Magic Markers.
But that was as far as she was going to explore. He was pushing the bike toward her. At any moment, he would emerge from the garage, and she would ride off into the sunshine alone.
Except when he glanced her way, he stopped walking.
And when she met his gaze, she stopped breathing.
For one crazy moment, she couldn’t move. Except—no. She could.
The wrong way.
Her stupid foot had inched her forward. Into the garage. Into the shadows. Away from the world.
Closer to Xander.
She had taken one full step before it registered. She took another while her body was catching up to her brain.
Then she took a deep breath and slammed into a wall of common sense.
“Here. I can get it.” She walked briskly toward the bike, took up residence on the opposite side from him and gripped the handlebars.
Except he didn’t let go.
And damn, she could feel every breath he took, all through her.
“Heather...”
She had to get out. Now.
“Thanks for all your help,” she said, and pushed the bike out the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4)
HEATHER’S FAVORITE COUNSELOR once told her that sooner or later, everybody screwed up. The real test of character was in what they did next.
Which was why Heather spent the following week staying far, far away from anyplace where she might possibly run into Xander.
Because a woman who was trying to convince her ex to even up the custody arrangement—a woman who wanted to make sure her child had a solid, stable life—probably shouldn’t find herself remembering the sound of a man’s laughter long after it had burst out of him. Even if—especially if—that woman hadn’t laughed with a man in a long, long time.
So a week after she submitted the résumé, when she received a request for an interview, she tamped down the urge to call him with the news. Email would be fine. And a couple of hours later when a call came in from his number, she deliberately let it go to voice mail.
The best thing she could do—for herself, for Millie, for Xander, too—would be to keep him on the fringes of her life.
To keep him as a satellite.
What she really needed to do was make a plan. She had raced home from work as fast as traffic would allow, made herself a grilled cheese sandwich and settled in at her kitchen table with her laptop and a notebook. Step one was to review the materials that had accompanied the email.
The selection process will go as follows:
Qualified applicants will have one month to prepare a sample plan for a community celebration.
Approximately one week after submitting the sample, applicants will be expected to discuss their vision for the Comeback Cove Tourism Department in an interview.
Second round interviews will take place approximately two weeks after the completion of the first round.
Assuming a qualified candidate has been found, the position is expected to commence in September.
Followed, of course, by the standard disclaimer that submissions would become the property of the town and the strong recommendation that it not be based on any actual events currently held in Comeback Cove.
Translation: “We want to see your work, but we don’t want you to sue us if we end up using something along these lines.”
She could live with that. It covered the town’s behind, and it gave her freedom to design an event she would love to see being commemorated—a celebration of the rumrunners who had spurred the town’s growth during Prohibition. There was something about a town growing out of illegal activity that appealed to her. It was like the whole town was the ultimate second chance story, and Heather was definitely about second chances. Especially one that also included a pair of ill-fated local lovers and the legend of a treasure they had left behind. Because who didn’t love a Romeo and Juliet fairy tale?
For a moment, right after she got the email, she had briefly considered immediately approaching Hank about custody, but she made herself hold off. Much as she wanted to follow through on her promise to Millie now, logic told her to get her ducks in order first.
Step by step. One piece at a time. That was how she had clawed her way back to this point, and that was how she would continue.
She opened a new, blank notebook and grinned. Eventually she would have to do all the support tasks associated with preparing such a campaign, market research and demographics and comparisons to events in neighboring towns. But for tonight, she had given herself free rein to daydream. To brainstorm. To simply create.
It was playtime.
Half an hour later she was lost in the process, scribbling notes as fast as she could, barely able to keep up with the firing in her brain. God, this felt good. The fatigue of work long forgotten, she moved from the table to the sofa, her feet tucked behind her as she drew pictures in the margins. There was an image lodged in her brain. She couldn’t identify it, but the image flitted in and out of her awareness, whispering that it was the perfect representation of what she wanted to create.
“Hidden things.” She bit down on the end of her pen. “Buried things. Undiscovered things. Secret—”
Her phone rang. She grabbed it from the coffee table, glanced at the display and went cold.
“Travis?”
“Hey, little sister!” Travis’s voice was booming and hearty, bearing none of the tenseness that had dominated their last conversation. She let out her breath—not completely, because with Travis, it was always better to hold a little in reserve—and propped her feet on the table.
“Long time no hear,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Not much. I figured it’d been a while since I called. Had to make sure you were still alive.”
The fact that he was the one more likely to risk losing life or freedom seemed to be lost on him.
“Everything’s good here. Except the other day, Millie brought home a review sheet for science that I could barely understand, and this is just grade four. I’m already getting the heebie-jeebies at the thought of high-school homework.”
“Same old Heather. Still overthinking everything and expecting the worst.”
Right. Because the worst had never, ever happened with Travis.
She could picture him stretched out in some kitchen chair, his arm hooked over the back as he stared out a window at whatever vista he might be seeing these days.
She wasn’t going to ask. Ignorance was the closest she could ever come to bliss.
“Go ahead and laugh at me, but do you know anything about—what was it—amplitude?”
“Not a bit,” he answered cheerfully. “But here’s what I do know. In the time you spend freaking out, Millie will have her own review sheet planned out, color coded and footnoted. That kid has enough brains for you, me and the rest of the family.”
Considering that the rest of the family was the father—fathers?—they had never known, and the mother who they would rather not know, Heather thought his praise could have been pitched a little higher.
Nevertheless, it was good to hear from him. It was even better that he was calling from his own phone instead of the prisoner pay phone like last time. “What are you...” She stopped. No. She didn’t want to ask what he was doing these days.
“Millie’s in Girl Guides.”
“She selling lots of cookies?”
“Oh please. There was a North family thing before Easter, and she sold enough boxes there to fund the troop for six months. Did I tell you she’s a big sister now? Hank and his wife, Brynn, had a little boy a couple of months ago.”
“Hank? Seriously? I thought he was too old for that kind of nonsense.”
“He’s only a year older than me, doofus. So that means he’s two years younger than you.”
“Yeah, but I know I’m too old for that kind of nonsense.”
She laughed, but there was a layer of wistfulness that she couldn’t quite hold back. Travis would have been a great dad. At least, he’d been an awesome big brother, and she was pretty sure that was a decent indicator.
“Well, congratulate him for me. So what have they got you working on at your fancy-pants job, there, Heather?”
She filled him in on some of the big picture stuff—a new account here, a new employee there—and told a few stories about some of her coworkers. He laughed in all the right places and gave her a few excellent comeback lines to use should the occasion ever arise. All the while, she fidgeted with her notebook and wished she could tell him about the things that really mattered.
Experience had taught her it would be a waste of time.
Travis would try to empathize, but their lives were too different. How was someone supposed to understand how it felt to negotiate shared custody when his life was spent negotiating plea bargains?
He told her a few safe stories, asked if she’d heard from any of their cousins. He didn’t bother asking about their mother. Neither of them had done that for years. Probably because they were afraid that the other would actually have heard from her, and then they would be back on the “contact her–stay the hell away from her” hamster wheel.
“Listen,” he said after a few minutes, “I should get going. I’ve got a sweet job working as a bouncer at a friend’s bar, and it’s almost time to report for duty.”
A bouncer. Well—at least it was legal.
Probably.
“Sure.” And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she blurted out, “Trav...you’re okay, aren’t you?”
“Right as rain, sunshine.”
Yeah. Like she hadn’t heard that line too many times to count.
“But listen, Heather—how about you? Are you okay? With, you know, Hank and his new kid and everything?”
Oh God. Everything that had happened in their lives and he was still the big brother who tried to stand between her and the world. Still the big brother who understood, better than she had, why their mother’s latest boyfriend had been so interested in fourteen-year-old Heather. Still the same big brother who had walked in on that boyfriend pressing Heather into a corner and ordering her to be quiet.
Still the same brother who had defended her the only way he knew how—with his fists. And who, after the boyfriend ended up in the hospital, had been taken away from her in handcuffs.
His last words to their mother had been an order to keep the bastards away from Heather.
She closed her eyes and gripped the phone, taking a moment to breathe past the tightness in her throat. “Yeah. It’s good. I’m glad for him, but I guess I’m like you. Too damned old for that nonsense.”
“You sure?”
Crap. He knew she was upset. He would never believe the truth—that it was worry about him that had her on edge.
“Right as rain, sunshine.” She flipped through the pages of the notebook, grounding herself in the safety of the one thing she could control—her work. “Right as rain.”
* * *
XANDER CLOSED DOWN his computer, cracked a few jokes with his fellow employees as they walked to the parking lot, got into his car and stared at the wheel. Where to now?
It was Friday night. He didn’t have Cady. He didn’t have a date.
He could call Heather...
But no. She’d been upfront, honest and determined. It wasn’t gonna happen.
Move along, Xander. Nothing to see here.
Some of his coworkers were getting together for a beer, but the couple of times he’d joined them had been enough. They were great people. Salt of the earth, easy to work with, and none of them gave a rat’s ass about what he had or hadn’t done before he landed at Northstar Dairy. If any of them needed help moving or decided to have everyone over for a barbecue, Xander would be glad to join in.
But they tended to fall into two groups: the ones who would close down the bar, and the ones who had to book off to get home to their families. He wasn’t either of those. And since he didn’t want to end the evening feeling either ancient or jealous, he opted to pass.
Instead, he sent Darcy a text. Going out for a ramble. Want me to take Lulu?
Her reply was swift: Perfect timing. She’s been whining at the fence all day, and I have to meet the florist. Come and get her.
Darcy had barely opened the door when Lulu bounded out of the house and ran in excited barking circles.
“Easy girl! Easy!” He squatted and scratched behind fuzzy ears. “You been driving Darcy crazy today?”
“Put it this way—we’re both ready for a little bit of time away from each other.” Her smile took any sting out of the words. “Ian already took Cady over to his mother’s. They’re having high tea, I believe. I’m supposed to meet them there after I’m done.”
“You mean Ian doesn’t have to sit through flower discussions? How’d he get so lucky?”
“Oh, trust me, he’s not getting a free ride. He got stuck figuring out the seating arrangements.” She tipped her head conspiratorially. “With both his mother and mine.”
“And he was still willing to go through with the wedding? Damn, Darce.” He whistled. “Now that’s love.”
She laughed and waved him away. “Go on. Lulu is going to claw the paint off your car if you don’t get moving.”
He retreated, opened the door for the whining, wriggling dog and hit the road. Fifteen minutes later, he bounced his way down a rutted, overgrown path and pulled up behind a bank of aging willows. He killed the engine, hopped out, stretched and opened the door for Lulu.
“There you go, girl. Stay close.”
She barked and bounded away. Probably hunting for squirrels, not that she would know what to do with one if she caught it. He watched her run for a minute, leaning against the car and letting the peace soak into him. Funny. At home, silence made him itchy, but it had the opposite effect out here in the boonies.
After a couple of minutes spent with his face tipped up to the sky and happy barks echoing in his head, he opened the trunk, grabbed his camera and headed for the sagging buildings beyond the willows.
He’d stumbled across this place by accident soon after he moved, when he got lost while trying to see the sights around his new home. He hadn’t ventured off the road that time. But something about the droop of the roof and the way the outbuildings were falling into piles of brick and stone had stuck in his memory. The next time he saw Ian—who had spent the bulk of his life in Comeback Cove—he asked about it.
“Sounds like the old Cline place,” Ian had said. “It’s been empty since I was in high school. Maybe even longer. It used to be the place to go on a dare. Or a date when you really wanted to impress someone with your bravery.”
Was it any wonder that Xander felt compelled to explore it after that?
The first few times he came out here, he hadn’t had an agenda. He’d simply wanted to get a feel for what it used to be like, to see what years of emptiness could do to a building. He always stayed outside, walking the perimeter, cupping his hands to peer through dust-coated windows. It looked as though even the teenagers had given up on the place. Raccoons and rodents seemed to be the primary occupants these days. He was, undoubtedly, a fool to continue poking around.
But he could never quite forget it. Especially after he started taking pictures that showed the layers of time between the house and the present—cobwebs over brambles over grasses—or those that captured spots where a listing step was bookended by wild roses.
Mesmerizing.
Yeah. Heather had nailed it. He was fascinated by the place, both in person and in pictures. It seemed to whisper to him, words only he could hear. Words and pictures of secrets waiting to be uncovered.
Xander had always been a sucker for secrets.
Camera in hand, he strode toward the house, taking care to whistle and make a healthy abundance of noise. Lulu’s barking had probably already alerted any critters to his presence, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He might be nosy, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.
“Hey, house. Mind if I have a look around?”
He had never ventured deeper than the front porch. That was close enough to poke his camera through the empty windows and get shots of lonely interior rooms. Once he’d stumbled over a nest of newborn mice, and one time his flash had sent something deeper into the shadows, scaring the crap out of him, but the pictures were worth the fright. After all, it wasn’t like he was facing down big game. He was more likely to go through a rotten board than to come face-to-face with any living danger.
Don’t go again, okay?
He wondered if Heather had noticed that he hadn’t answered.
He made his way up the now-familiar path to the tilted porch, stepping cautiously around weeds and rocks. The sound of panting from behind him made him pause, but only for a second.
“Back already?”
Lulu wagged her tail.
“Fine by me. I always did like your company.”
He made his way around the side of the porch. He knew the shot he wanted—the aging maple against the overgrown field, framed by the once-sturdy rail and ceiling of the porch. It took a few attempts from a handful of different angles, but he finally got one that came close to what he had in mind.
When he was done, he shot off a few more. Lulu rolling on the grass. A spiderweb stretched across a window. The patch of sky visible through a jagged hole in the porch roof.
But when he was done, he found himself staring at the overgrown door of the abandoned house.
He could still hear Heather’s hushed voice as she leaned closer to the photo of that entry.
Mesmerizing.
And some stupid part of him, some stubborn streak that refused to listen to sense and reason, kept wondering what would happen if he were to open it.
* * *
ONE WEEK LATER, Xander peeked at the clear blue of the sky, decided the weather forecasters had totally miscalled it when they predicted rain and grabbed the diaper backpack.
“Cady girl, it’s a summer afternoon, it’s sunny and I think we should blow off the rest of the chores and go play by the river for a while. Let’s go for a ride.”
Lulu’s ears perked up.
“Not this time, Lu. We’re biking it.”
Lulu whined and sank back to the floor, resting her head on her forepaws while giving him the evil eye.
“Damn it, dog, now I feel guilty. Here. Have a treat.” He stopped stuffing snacks into the backpack long enough to grab a dog biscuit from the box and toss it her way. She nudged it with her nose.
“Cookie?” Cady asked. “Cady have cookie? Pease, Daddy?”
God, he was such a sucker for that little voice. “One lion. Rawr.”
“Rawr!” she echoed while bouncing up and down.
With all his charges suitably bribed, he popped the diaper bag over one shoulder, scooped Cady onto the other and gave Lulu a nod.
“Make sure you scare the burglars before they toss you a steak.”
Fifteen minutes later, helmeted and laughing, they were zipping down the road as fast as Xander dared with his precious passenger. This was the life. Sunshine on his back, his kid giggling in his ear, sweet freedom all around. It didn’t get much better than this.
At least that was what he told himself as they flew past the turnoff to Heather’s place.
They bypassed the public beach—too many tourists this time of year—and landed at a little inlet where some of the locals liked to launch their fishing boats. It had stones to throw and sand to sift and the perfect blend of sunny openness and shady trees. Cady found a plastic bucket that someone had left behind and spent an hour hauling water back and forth from the river, pouring it into the channels that Xander dug with a stick. They chased birds and stacked stones, and Xander lost count of how many pictures he snapped before they retreated to the picnic table under the trees for a well-earned snack.
“Talk about a perfect afternoon, huh, Cady bug?”
Before she could answer, the sky let loose with a distance but unmistakable roll of thunder.
“Holy—”
He ran out from beneath the trees and looked up. Sure enough, storm clouds were rolling in from upriver. They looked nasty.
And here he was, half an hour’s ride from home.
He threw everything into the backpack, jammed helmets on heads and got Cady buckled into place in record time. If luck was on his side, they might just make it.
They hit the road.
The wind kicked in, pushing against him, slowing his pace.
The skies darkened. A drop of rain landed smack in his eye.
Cady whimpered in his ear.
“Hang on, kiddo. We might—”
Thunder broke through his words, a sudden crash that had him cursing and Cady shrieking. They weren’t going to make it home in time.
He glanced over his shoulder, checked the road and hit the turnoff to Heather’s.
Five long minutes later he wrestled a crying Cady out of her seat and sprinted for the door as the rain started in earnest. If Heather wasn’t home, he might have to break in and pray the place wasn’t alarmed. Heather would understand. Police, not so much.
He rang the bell, pounded on the door and huddled over to protect Cady from the wind. When Heather opened the door, he could have kissed her.
Purely in gratitude, of course.
“Oh my gosh! Come in, get in, are you guys okay?”
Heather fussed around them, asking for details and offering towels and doing her best to make a mother hen look neglectful. She was so busy bustling and exclaiming over the sudden slash of rain against the windows that it took a couple of minutes for Xander to notice the splotches of color decorating her face, arms and shirt.
“What’s this?” He pointed to a particularly large spot on her arm. “Are you trying out for a part in the next Dr. Seuss book?”
Heather swiped at a blotch of purple on her nose and grinned. “Sorry. Millie and I are in the middle of a project.”
“What are you—”
“Cady!” Millie clattered down the stairs, arms outstretched. “What are you doing here?”
Heather gave the condensed version while Xander eased Cady down to the floor and assessed the damage. Other than a few damp spots from the first bits of rain, Cady was relatively dry. His shirt was wet in the shoulders, but the backpack had done double duty today.
“Mom, can I take Cady out to the fun porch?”
Heather placed a palm over one of the purple spots on Millie’s shirt. “I guess you’re dry enough. Wash your hands first, though, and don’t let Cady get into your chemistry set.” She glanced at Xander. “Okay with you? I don’t think you’re going anywhere on a bike for a while.”
He winced as lightning flashed through the windows. “Hate to crash into your afternoon, but I think you’re right. Go ahead, Cady. Go with Millie.”
As soon as the girls departed, hand in hand and already giggling, he looked at Heather. “Did she really call it a fun porch?”
“Yep. Technically, it’s a three season room, but that’s where she keeps her art and science supplies, so, you know. Fun porch.” She waved at the stairs. “I need to clean up a bit, but do you want some coffee or tea or anything?”
“I’m good, thanks. But I’m dying to know what kind of project means you need to have—” he took advantage off the opportunity to look her up and down, giving thanks for every blotch that required scrutiny “—seven different shades of purple. Or is that one pink?”
Heather pulled her shirt away from her stomach and held it tent-style, frowning at the spot in question. “I think that one is Blushing Rose.”
“Good name.” Good color, too. He didn’t dare do an in-depth comparison, but he was pretty sure it was the same color as Heather’s lips, now tipped in a half smile more intriguing than that of the Mona Lisa.
“We’re going to paint Millie’s room, but she wasn’t sure what color she wanted, so we’re trying them on the walls. To see how they look in the light, and all that.”
“Gotcha.” And then, because he could hear Millie and Cady laughing and the evening was still early and he wanted to see this new facet of Heather, he said, “Can I see it?”
“Sure. Come on upstairs.” She turned in the direction of the childish laughter. “Millie, I’m showing your room to Mr. Sorenson.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“You know,” he said as he followed Heather up the stairs, lagging behind a step or two to better absorb the sight of her hips swaying as she climbed, “she doesn’t have to call me Mr. Sorenson. That makes me feel like my grandfather.”
“What should she call you? Xander? I don’t think so.”
“How about Mr. X?”
She burst into delightful ripples of laughter as she led him down a narrow hall made even skinnier by the bed frame and mattress piled along the walls. “Very mysterious.”
“Yeah, that’s me. One secret after another.” He ducked and entered a small room tucked beneath the roof. Too many slopes for his comfort, but they were countered by large windows on two sides—one looking out over a row of pines, the other over the river.
He let out a whistle. “I’m guessing that when it isn’t pouring, those are great views.”
“Yeah, I love this room. I told Mills she’s lucky it’s too small for my bed. Otherwise I’d have to wrestle her for it.”
He focused on the circles and swirls of color dotting the once-cream walls while she gathered brushes and buckets. “So these are the contenders?”
“Yep. You can see that with all the angles and corners in here, we wanted to try it in different places.” She gestured to indicate the entirety of the room. “Good thing, too. Millie’s favorite was the deep purply-blue, but over there, it’s way too dark.”
“Agreed.” He stepped back and squinted at the blotches, turning in a slow circle. Could he tell the difference between most of them? Not really. But one color did stand out from the others. “Me, I’d go with that one.” He pointed to the pinkish blob by the window before finding its counterpart in the darkest nook. “Everything else gets pretty gloomy back here, but that...”
He stopped as he realized he’d chosen the color that Heather had called Blushing Rose, the one that was a perfect match for her lips. A man could drown in that color. He shook himself. “It’s...you know. Cheery.”
“I see what you mean. You have a good eye.” She grinned. “Though I guess I knew that already. At least when it comes to résumés.”
Yeah, his eye was good all right. Especially when it came to picking out a pretty women with a smile that shot straight through him and made him think of things he had no business thinking about.
“Speaking of your résumé, how are you doing with—what was it that came next? A presentation?”
“Right. I have to present my ideas at the interview. And I’m having a blast pulling it together.”
“Maybe tourism is a better fit for you than you thought.”
“Maybe.” She flicked off the light and led him into the hall. “It’s been a while since I got to tap into my creative side. I still have to do the analytics, but I’m having way too much fun designing mock-ups of web pages and brochures.”
“Can I see them?”
“Really?”
“Sure.” He took the bucket from her hand, allowing himself one fleeting moment of contact. “I feel like I have a stake in this, too.”
“I guess you do. Maybe Millie should call you Mr. Headhunter.”
He’d been called worse.
She took a side trip at the bottom of the stairs and hovered at the door to what must be the fun porch, given the number of toys and bins stacked on the shelves. Millie and Cady sat on the floor, happily applying stickers to each other’s faces and arms.
“Oh God,” Heather said, but there was no true dismay in her voice. “And I thought the paint was bad.”
“Stickers come off easy.”
“Here’s hoping.” She raised her voice. “Mills, no more decorating the guest, okay?”
“’Kay, Mom.”
Cady leaned across the basket of stickers and carefully placed one over Millie’s mouth before breaking into giggles.
Xander was pretty sure he should say something parental. “Cady, don’t be mean to your...um...semicousin.”
Something that sounded like strangled snorts emerged from behind Millie’s mouth covering.
“Come on,” Heather said with a laugh. “Let’s get out of here before they start slapping stuff on us.”
She led him to the living room, pausing at a coffee table piled high with books, papers and art supplies. In contrast to the rest of the house, the only word to describe it was chaos.
“How do you find anything in that?”
“Easy. I know where everything is.” She shot him an impish grin. “Now turn around while I demonstrate how well I know the locations.”
He snickered but did as requested, rotating to face a line of photos marching across the top of a bookcase. Since he’d been banished, he figured he might as well take advantage of the opportunity to do some snooping in plain sight.
The bulk of the shots, of course, were of Millie. He saw her in a number of poses: dressed up as a mad scientist, wearing a parka and a red reindeer nose, showing off a front-toothless grin. There were some of Millie and Heather together, usually in a garden. One of Heather with a group of women he would bet were her coworkers. And one of Millie, Heather and a gaunt man who shared Heather’s caramel hair and Millie’s slightly pointed chin.
“Is this a brother?”
He felt, rather than saw, her approach from behind. “Yes. Travis.”
“Older or younger?”
“Three years older.”
There was a guarded quality to her responses that had his curiosity piqued. “Where does he live?”
“It varies.”
That was a “go no further” answer if ever he heard one. He risked a sideways glance and saw that she was holding herself rigidly, arms clasped tight over a notebook squashed against her chest.
Lucky book.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to give you the third degree.” He pointed to the shot of her with a group of women. “Are these people you work with?”
“Used to. They’re in the Vancouver office. And it’s okay, you weren’t prying. It’s just...” She fingered the edge of the book. “Travis...my brother...the thing is, the only time I’m sure where he is, is when he’s, um, in jail.”
Holy shit.
Two things struck him at once. The first was that now he got why Heather never flinched when he mentioned his time in the slammer.
The second was that this was the first time he’d ever seen her uncomfortable. And he wasn’t quite sure why. Surely she knew that he, of all people, wasn’t about to judge her brother.
“He have a long history with the prison system?”
“Since he was a teenager.”
Long enough.
“I didn’t run into him, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“I—oh. No. I hadn’t thought about that.”
Yeah, she had.
“We don’t talk a lot. That was the last time I saw him.” She nodded toward the photo. “It’s the only time he met Millie. He always wants to know about her, though. I guess in most ways he’s your typical adoring uncle.”
“Can’t blame him.”
Her smile was small but grateful. “He does his best,” she said softly, and Xander was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about Millie anymore. At least, not Millie alone.
“I don’t have any brothers,” he said, trying to ease the tightness around her eyes. “Just Bethie, and she’s almost seven years older than me.”
“So you were the baby. Were you the prince?”
“Nah. I was too much of a troublemaker for that. Mostly I was the easy target when Beth didn’t want to own up to something.”
“That, I can believe.”
A squeal from the other side of the house caught his attention, but as it was followed by a shriek of laughter, he was pretty sure Cady was fine. “How about you? Were you the princess?”
She snorted. “Oh please.”
Yeah, he didn’t think so.
“So do I get to see your work now?”
“Oh, right. I forgot.” Heather rolled her eyes and thrust the notebook in his direction. He took it automatically. Awkwardly, too, as he’d been so busy not letting himself look right at her. She pulled back a bit too fast, he grabbed again and his hand ended up closing over her wrist.
For a second they stood frozen, his fingers circling her wrist and her eyes wide. He saw surprise on her face, yes, but more. There was uncertainty and a hint of what sure looked like pleasure to him.
Though maybe that was just his own emotions reflecting back at him.
“Heather,” he began, only to be cut off by the shrill tone of the doorbell.
Heather startled and stepped back.
“The pizza!” That came from Millie, who had to be setting a new land speed record for racing from one end of the house to the other. Cady followed in her wake.
“Pizzi! Pizzi! Daddy! Pizzi!”
Heather patted her pocket. “I can’t believe I forgot. I placed the order before we started painting, just in case we got caught up in it, but I totally lost track of time and...”
She was nervous. Because he had touched her? Because she didn’t want him touching her, even by accident?
Or could it be the same reason his own senses had jumped to long-deprived life the moment his skin made contact with hers?
“Mom! Are you gonna come pay? Because I’m hungry.” Millie appeared, clutching the pizza box in front of her. “Mr. Sorenson, you and Cady can sit at the table while Mom pays. And maybe you could help me get some, because I always grab the piece with the cheese that stretches and stretches and never breaks, so it pulls off the piece beside it. Do you like cheese? If you don’t, you can have the piece that gets wrecked.”
“Thanks, Millie, but Cady and I should get going.” There. Contrary to what his grandmother had always insisted, he did have some manners.
“Seriously, Xander.” Heather appeared at his elbow, tucking a credit card into her pocket. “Pull up a chair. Cady can eat pizza, right?”
As if on cue, Cady slapped his thigh. “Daddy? I hungy.”
“It’s still raining.” Millie pointed to the window. “And we got a big one so I could have leftovers for lunch, but there’s still enough for you to have some as long as you’re not too hungry.” She frowned, eyes narrowing behind her glasses. “You’re not super starving, are you?”
“Millie!”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Then we’ll have enough. You sit there.”
Heather shook her head. “You might as well give in, Xander. There’s no escape.”
“In that case, let me get my little monkey cleaned up, and we’ll be glad to join you.”
He swung Cady onto his shoulder and carried her to the sink, pausing for a second to wink at the rain hitting the windows.
Thanks, Mother Nature. I owe you one.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u443b3482-4926-54c4-8d8a-ed6bb24f93d4)
IT WAS, HEATHER THOUGHT, one of the most enjoyable meals she’d had in a long time.
That probably wasn’t a good thing.
Millie and Cady dominated the so-called conversation, with songs and silliness that had her and Xander snickering behind their hands. Millie made her pizza crust fly through the air. Cady, perched on Xander’s lap, picked up the grapes that Daddy had halved so carefully and tossed them across the table like she was skipping a rock across the water. Xander started laughing, lost control of his slice and sent a glob of cheese onto Cady’s head, which made Millie cackle so hard that milk came out of her nose.
In short, it was barely a step down from chaos. But that wasn’t what kept Heather from laughing quite as heartily as the rest of the diners.
It was all too easy. Too relaxed. And that scared the crap out of her.
Parenting Truth Number 316: The line between delight and disaster is very, very skinny.
She felt on edge. Like something was pushing at her from beneath her skin, poking over and over in search of an opening. After all these years, she could finally name it. Her old buddy anxiety had decided to pay a visit.
In the first years of Millie’s life, when Heather had still been in residence, she and anxiety—and his big brother, fear—were pretty well constant companions. She’d existed in a constant state of nervousness. The really fun part had been that her anxiousness had come in two flavors: certainty that she would do something wrong and hurt Millie, and certainty that if anyone knew how lost she was at caring for her child, they would take Millie away from her.
Talk about damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
She had learned how to manage her fear in the years after it drove her away from Millie. She had taken so many classes in child development and parenting, spent so much time in counseling and workshops, that she could have earned a second degree in Motherhood. It had taken years, but she was finally the parent she wanted to be, instead of trying to imitate Carol Brady while tamping down memories of her own mother’s lessons in neglect. She would never completely master the uneasiness, but she knew that it would never again build into the blind panic that had made her run.
Tonight, though, the pitchforks of anxiety were definitely poking. It wasn’t until the meal was almost over that she figured out the jabs had nothing to do with Millie.
They were because of Xander.
And hearing another adult voice—a deep one, the kind that commanded attention by virtue of its difference—at her table.
And seeing the way he listened to Millie, carefully and attentively, especially when the topic turned to how astronauts sleep in space.
And how it felt to look across the heads of two giggling girls and see her own mix of exasperation and wonder reflected in someone else’s eyes. Especially when the touch of that someone’s hand around her wrist had sent her pulse soaring and skidding.
Soaring and skidding had their place, but not for her. Not now. Not when Millie was counting on her.
She just wished to hell that having Xander at the table didn’t feel so good.
* * *
HEATHER WAS SO focused on breathing through the pitchforks that when Xander said something to her—her, not one of the kids—she had to blink and give herself a mental wake-up call.
“Sorry. I was still figuring out the logistics of space stuff. What was that?”
He pulled Cady’s hand off his face. “Ow. I said, we got distracted and I never got to see what you have planned for your presentation.”
“That’s right. Mills, can you get my notebook for me? The one on the table in the living room? And bring my laptop, too.”
“Sure, Mom. Can Cady come, too?”
“For the whole minute it will take you to go there and back?” Heather laughed. “If it’s okay with her dad.”
“Sure.” Xander gave Cady’s hands and face a fast wipe and set her on the floor. She waddled beside Millie, singing something about ducks and rain.
“They’re cute together,” Xander said. “Millie’s really patient with Cady.”
Jab jab jab.
“She’s had lots of practice with her new baby brother.”
The corner of his mouth edged upward. “You know, I missed Cady’s first year, but even I’m pretty sure that someone who’s—what, four months?—can’t be sitting around slapping stickers on his sister already.”
She was saved from needing to reply to her own inanity by the return of the girls.
“Here you go, Mom.” Millie handed over the laptop. Cady, who had been entrusted with the notebook, offered it up with a heart-melting shy smile.
“Thank you, sweetie.” Heather touched one finger to Cady’s cheek, reliving for the briefest moment the memory of Millie’s peach-fuzz cheek, Millie’s toddler smile. “You did a great job.”
She raised her head and caught Xander watching. God help her, it seemed he approved.
Stab stab stab.
“Didn’t I do a good job, too, Mom?”
Thank Heaven for mood breakers. “Of course you did, my goofy girl.” Heather grabbed Millie by the shoulders and bestowed a loud kiss on her forehead. “Now do me another favor and bring in that package of cookies, will you please?”
“The peanut butter ones? Yeah!”
“So here’s what I have in mind.” She grabbed the notebook quickly, before Xander could say or do anything that would fire up her jitters. Or anything else, come to think of it. “I’m going with an undiscovered treasures theme. You know. To capitalize on the story of Charlie and Daisy.”
He raised his hand. “Excuse me, teacher, but may I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“I’ve seen those names on places around town, but I’ve never figured out the back story. Can I get an explanation?”
“Oh, sorry. I assumed...okay. Back in Prohibition days, a lot of locals took advantage of the river and the islands to get contraband booze to all those thirsty Americans on the other side. One of them, Charlie Hebert, managed to meet up and fall in love with the daughter of one of the rich Yanks.”
“That would be Daisy?”
“Yes indeed. Young lovers being what they are, Daisy ended up, uh, in a family way.” Heather nodded toward Millie, running in to set the cookies on the table before grabbing one for herself and another to jam into Cady’s outstretched hand. “There was no way Papa Big Bucks would let his princess marry a rum-running Canuck, so Daisy and Charlie arranged to escape. But they knew they would need help getting away. Lucky for them, Charlie had an ace in the hole.”
“The treasure!” Millie called from the sofa, where she and Cady knelt in front of the window.
“Exactly.” Heather registered what she’d seen and turned back. “Mills, are you guys planning to draw on the windows?”
“Yes, Mom. But I double-triple checked. These are the safe markers.”
“Okay. Carry on.”
“Draw on the windows?” Xander’s hand hovered in midair, as if he’d been reaching for a cookie only to be frozen by fear.
“Don’t worry. They’re special markers. They wash right off.”
“Every time I think I have this parenting thing down...”
“Trust me, Xander. It’s a never-ending learning curve.” Heather grabbed a cookie. “Anyway, as you can imagine, the American authorities weren’t too fond of Charlie and his buddies. But at some point during his exploration of the area, Charlie found something.”
“A treasure?”
“So they say.”
“What was it?”
“Nobody—” Heather began, but Millie jumped off the sofa to join them.
“See, nobody knows for sure. But he found something, and he gave a piece of it to the police, and said, if you help me get away with Daisy, I’ll tell you where you can find the rest of it.” She sighed. “Except he got shot.” She formed her thumb and forefinger into a handgun. “Boom. Dead, just like that.”
“Boom!” Cady echoed, with a clap of her hands.
“Dead, eh?” Xander seemed suitably impressed. “Who shot him?”
Millie shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“No one was ever certain,” Heather said. “There was a shoot-out on the river. It was the middle of the night, and he pushed Daisy down in the boat, so she could hear but not see.” Heather spared a thought for poor terrified Daisy and what she must have gone through. “In any case, Daisy managed to get them here, to Comeback Cove, but he was already dead.”
“Let me guess.” Xander brushed crumbs from Cady’s shirt. “He died before he could reveal the location of the treasure.”
“Right,” Millie said. “He didn’t even get to tell Daisy. So it’s still out there.”
“Well, that seems unlikely.” Heather broke off a piece of cookie. “Those islands have been combed over and mapped and explored a lot since then. If something was there, it would have turned up by now.”
“It’s out there, Mom. I know it is.”
Xander raised an eyebrow. “Someone didn’t inherit your skeptical streak.”
Hadn’t had it drummed out of her by life and experience, more likely. And thank God for that.
Heather leaned down and grabbed a marker from Cady’s hand before it connected with Xander’s leg. “There’s a lot of legends and rumors around town, and every once in a while it will make the news or get featured in some article, and the loonies will descend. But mostly, people file it in the urban legend category.”
“After all this time, I can see why,” Xander said. “So what happened to Daisy?”
“She was taken in by Charlie’s family. Charlie Junior arrived a few months later. Her granddaughter still lives here. She runs Daisy’s Place—that bed-and-breakfast on Trillium Street.”
“I know that place.” He pointed to the laptop. “Okay. I like the idea. So show me what you’ve got.”
Heather pulled up a file. He scooted closer.
Purely so he could see better, she told herself.
“Here you go,” she said. “But I can’t make the margins and pictures line up the way I want. It should look like this.” She flipped through the notebook until she found her drawing. “I found tutorials on Google and YouTube, but I still can’t get it to come out right.”
“Let me see. You’re designing a trifold, right? Your layout looks clean. The balance is a bit off, but the rhythm is good. What are you putting in these spaces?” He pointed to empty boxes she had drawn in. “Photos? Treasure maps?”
“Yes. A treasure map on the front. How did you guess?”
“Logical conclusion.”
Of course. And that was good, she told herself. Better than thinking that they might be on the same wavelength.
“And those will be photos.” She pointed to the empty boxes. “Spots around town, of course, but one or two that aren’t as obvious. You know. Ones that convey that feeling of something hidden.”
“Yeah. Well, the good news is, this isn’t a difficult fix. You need to do a manual setup, I think, instead of one of the built-in templates. And you need to put in more breaks. But it shouldn’t be too hard to do.”
“It never is, until I actually have to do it.” She frowned at the laptop. “It’s so clear in my head. I hate to mess it up. And yeah, I know, a bit more practice and I should be able to do it myself, but I don’t have time to—”
Oh.
Parenting Truth Number 7: Sometimes, the answer is right in front of you.
“You did such a great job with the résumé. Could I hire you to work some computer magic for me? Make this as good as it is in my head?”
His grin was ridiculously boyish. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“You will? That’s wonderful.” She pointed at him. “But I am absolutely paying you this time.”
“Heather, it will take me half an hour, tops. It’s not worth payment.”
“Forget it. I’m not letting you have the files unless I can pay.”
He sighed and took another cookie. “Compromise. I tell you what half an hour of my time is worth, and you make a donation in that amount to the food bank.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Except it still struck her as taking advantage of him.
“Donation to the food bank and dinner. With real food this time.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to grab them by the echo and shove them back inside. What the hell was she thinking? She was too aware of Xander as it was, and if there was anything less seductive than pizza and store-bought cookies consumed to the tune of little voices singing “Old MacDonald,” she didn’t want to imagine it. But to have him come back? Without any kids to act as a buffer?
Travis always told her she was her own worst enemy. She hated to know he’d called that one correctly.
“Dinner, huh?”
Well, great. He liked the idea.
“I don’t think I could turn that down. But I tell you what—I’ll make the changes here, with you, so you can follow along. That way you’ll know what to do next time.”
Her pulse slowed a little. That sounded very businesslike. Efficient. Certainly not like he was dying to be alone with her.
Good. As it should be. A friend helping a friend, and she was an idiot to be panicking, and anyway, it only took two to tango, and a laptop would definitely count as a third party. She was totally in the clear.
“I know you need to get moving on this,” Xander said. “I’m busy the next few nights, but how about Tuesday?”
She ran through her schedule in her head. She had Millie until after dinner tomorrow, working late and then meeting Hank on Monday, Millie Wednesday... “Sure. Tuesday works.”
“Sounds great.” Xander picked up the notebook. “I can’t wait to see what we can do. With the brochure, I mean.”
Of course that was what he meant.
Note to self: do not, under any circumstances, serve wine with this dinner.
* * *
MONDAY NIGHT, HEATHER slid into the booth at Comeback Cove’s one and only Tim Hortons and set her favorite iced cappuccino in front of her. Across the table, Hank nodded over the rim of his mug.
“Hi,” she said. “Sorry I’m late. There was an accident on the 416 that slowed things.”
“Not a problem. Millie’s at craft night at the church for—” he checked his phone “—another three-quarters of an hour. We shouldn’t need that long. Besides, Brynn is still on her super-nutrition kick, so I’m enjoying every moment of this.” He gestured to his maple-dipped doughnut. Heather’s empty stomach rumbled.
“How is Noah?”
“Happy as a clam.”
“Is he eating solid foods yet?”
“Nope, and if he’s smart, he’ll wait until Brynn has moved on from the kale and quinoa special.”
Hank could complain all he wanted. The softness around his eyes told Heather that kale and quinoa were a small price to pay for the joy he’d found in Marriage 2.0.
She hadn’t been kidding when she told Travis she was happy for Hank. Everyone had a different path to bliss, and if his involved someone who made him goofy and besotted, then more power to him. But for herself? No, thank you. She’d tried it once and made a royal hash of it. Her focus now was on work—wherever that might be—and being the best mother she could to Millie. And that was enough.
A young woman in very high heels walked slowly past, paused and seemed to be scanning the shop. After a moment, she sat down two booths behind Hank, leaving a trail of some spicy perfume in her wake.
Whoa.
Hank’s nose wrinkled, and he pulled out his phone again. “So what does your month look like?”
With that, they set about what had become a new routine: comparing schedules, their own and Millie’s, making any necessary tweaks to ensure at least one of them would be at every concert, Guide outing or whatever other event parents could attend.
It was a routine that Heather could never have foreseen. Truth to tell, she had a sneaking suspicion that Brynn had been the one to suggest it after Heather moved back to the area. But Hank was the one who had agreed to go along with it, and she was grateful. Millie had as seamless a transition as was possible between their homes. Heather couldn’t speak for Hank, but for herself, she was amazed at how well they had learned to work together for their daughter’s benefit.
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Kris Fletcher
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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