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Their Secret Baby Bond
Stephanie Dees


He wanted roots. She chose career. Can a baby bring them back together?Wynn Sheehan planned to change the world—not return to Alabama alone and pregnant. Her life is in shambles, but at least she can help take care of Latham Grant’s ailing grandpa. Latham isn’t ready to trust the woman who eagerly left him and their small town behind. But can they ignore the spark rekindled by unexpected Family Blessings?







He wanted roots. She chose career.

Can a baby bring them back together?

Wynn Sheehan planned to change the world—not return to Alabama alone and pregnant. Her life is in shambles, but at least she can help take care of Latham Grant’s ailing grandpa. Latham isn’t ready to trust the woman who eagerly left him and their small town behind. But can they ignore the spark rekindled by unexpected Family Blessings?


Award-winning author STEPHANIE DEES lives in small-town Alabama with her pastor husband and two youngest children. A Southern girl through and through, she loves sweet tea, SEC football, corn on the cob and air-conditioning. For further information, please visit her website at stephaniedees.com (http://www.stephaniedees.com).


Also By Stephanie Dees (#u57e11b02-ad30-5cf7-9a0f-209bff0f3e55)

Love Inspired

Family Blessings

The Dad Next Door

A Baby for the Doctor

Their Secret Baby Bond

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Their Secret Baby Bond

Stephanie Dees






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08244-0

THEIR SECRET BABY BOND

© 2018 Stephanie Newton

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A man’s heart deviseth his way:

but the Lord directeth his steps.

—Proverbs 16:9


“Move your hand over just a little bit.”

His hand settled on her belly and she had to remind herself to breathe. The baby kicked again. “There. Did you feel it?”

“Wynn,” he said, his voice quiet. “It’s a baby.”

It was crazy and weird and somehow perfect, to have this little life growing inside her. She nodded. “Yeah, she’s really there. Isn’t that just the coolest thing?”

The look of wonder in his eyes nearly undid her. She took a couple of steps away and he tugged her back, scooping her into his arms again. “Break’s over. Now you’re going in the pond.”

“What? No!” She gave him her sternest face. “Latham, you can’t throw me in the pond.”

“Oh, all right.” He set her on the ground. “Come on, Mama, let’s go paint your door.”

She followed him onto the porch, heart slamming in her chest. No, no, no, no. It was not possible for her to be falling for Latham Grant again.

Not possible at all.


Dear Reader (#u57e11b02-ad30-5cf7-9a0f-209bff0f3e55),

I knew Wynn was a larger-than-life character when she first appeared in A Baby for the Doctor. She’s a world-changer with big dreams...and she’d made a big mistake. She needed a hero who could show her that even big mistakes can be redeemed by the God of restoration! Thankfully Latham (and his grandpa) were up for the job!

I hope you’ve enjoyed your time in Red Hill Springs as much as I have. I love hearing from readers! If you’d like to connect, you can contact me via my website at www.stephaniedees.com (http://www.stephaniedees.com) or facebook at www.facebook.com/authorstephaniedees (http://www.facebook.com/authorstephaniedees).

Stephanie


To my family

Love is real and it looks a lot like you.


Contents

Cover (#ua7e1b00d-9a81-55b0-9b5a-ebdc0c808eaa)

Back Cover Text (#uc3b72087-2d1f-55fc-8057-50d81045bb03)

About the Author (#u83f66b0a-29d2-5ae1-9e74-15cf123d5933)

Booklist (#u67b26384-5407-5222-b098-28765ddf2b32)

Title Page (#u1da18840-9182-5e80-946e-0d672a3d2f86)

Copyright (#u3e5c6d23-bed2-542b-ae77-dc1b393bd3b8)

Bible Verse (#u2ab86fb7-eb0e-572b-88eb-38da6d6e3084)

Introduction (#ud11ec03f-d359-5795-831d-022a77e606c1)

Dear Reader (#u039c5a28-8605-55c3-b54a-1abe7ab91b93)

Dedication (#ub5aceda6-8f60-5a85-82aa-90e505892dd0)

Chapter One (#u9ddfd791-7ee9-5365-a781-00fdacf2bb2b)

Chapter Two (#ua0c012a3-1ac2-5257-9f0f-5a82c94c8d22)

Chapter Three (#u5e325b93-4ae0-5ec0-95ef-b4284b7163b3)

Chapter Four (#u5c3b216f-741f-576c-81c5-73a1c72f45d2)

Chapter Five (#ua739bded-5cd7-5de2-bc56-564d72be574e)

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)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u57e11b02-ad30-5cf7-9a0f-209bff0f3e55)

Wynn Sheehan unlocked the back door and stepped inside the dark storage room. In less than an hour, the quiet would be overwhelmed by clanging pots, sizzling bacon, coffeepots hissing and the murmur of simultaneous conversation. For now, though, she had the Hilltop Café all to herself.

She tucked her long blond hair into a knot and started the morning checklist. Open the blinds, turn on the lights, start the first pot of coffee and the first batch of cinnamon rolls, scramble the eggs, make the batter. She’d watched her mother go through these same motions, and there was something comforting about it. No matter where she had gone, or what she had done, things here, at least, stayed the same.

Measuring flour, shortening and buttermilk, she made the biscuits from a recipe she would’ve sworn she’d long ago banished from her memory. She’d had plans, a sackful of dreams to leave this little town and make her mark on history. She was going to change the world. She’d been passionate and driven.

And naive. So unbelievably naive.

Never would she have thought she would be back at the Hilltop, or back in Red Hill Springs, for that matter, but the Wynn who left for college with stars in her eyes, never planning to come back, was gone.

She’d found herself with no choices and worse, no friends. She didn’t even know when it had happened, how she’d gotten so isolated. Well, looking back, she did know how. She’d been so focused on her job and her boss, the charismatic congressman from Virginia, that she hadn’t had time for anyone else.

She hadn’t even seen anyone else.

The timer dinged and she pulled the cinnamon rolls out of the oven, then slid the first pan of biscuits into place. Next up, the frosting for the cinnamon rolls.

By the time she got to the task of unlocking the doors, it had been an hour and a half. Six a.m. straight on the dot. And Mr. Haney and Mr. Donovan were waiting outside the door, just like they always were.

Mickey, the cook, let himself in the back door and made his way into the kitchen, lifting his apron off the hook and dropping it around his neck.

“Cutting it close, aren’t you, Uncle Mickey?”

His bushy gray eyebrows lowered even farther over his eyes. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s out at the farm helping Claire get the kids ready for school. Joe had an emergency callout in the middle of the night. Don’t worry, I didn’t mess anything up.”

He slid his hand into a pot holder and pulled out the biscuits before sending her a sideways glance. “Never said you did, girlie. Now get out there and see what the customers want. Lanna doesn’t come in until seven today.”

Armed with a pot of coffee, Wynn rounded the counter with a smile for Mr. Haney and Mr. Donovan. “Hello there, gentlemen.”

Mr. Haney looked up from squinting at the menu, his reading glasses tucked into the front pocket of his overalls, as usual. “Well, hello, darlin’. I’m going to be back here tomorrow if I get to look at that pretty face.”

“You’re here every day, Mr. Haney.” Wynn sent him a wink, filled his mug and dropped a handful of creamers onto the table for her favorite farmer.

Mr. Donovan nodded to her as she poured his coffee. “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes.”

“Cinnamon roll and bacon on the side for me, Wynn.” Mr. Haney slid his menu back into the holder. “I don’t know why I look at the menu. I get the same thing every day.”

“I’ll keep the coffee coming.” She turned back toward the counter and discovered that when she’d been in the kitchen with Mickey a couple more men had settled in a booth toward the front.

The practiced smile firmly in place, she started toward them, her feet stumbling to a stop as she realized one of them was her brother’s friend Latham Grant. He’d practically grown up in the room next door to hers, and when they were teenagers she’d had the most miserable crush on him, one which left her stuttering over her words and tripping over nonexistent things.

They’d been friends, too, until they weren’t. She closed her eyes for a brief second. There were so many things she needed to do here, so many relationships to repair. Nothing like returning home to give you some clarity about all the people you’d hurt along the way.

She hadn’t seen him around in the month or so she’d been back. Maybe it was wishful thinking to have hoped it would stay that way. He was just as ruggedly good-looking as he always had been, with muscles from actual work and not the gym, and that lock of dark hair that curled onto his forehead as he studied the menu.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward with a brisk smile. “Hey, Latham. Good to see you again.”

He looked up, an easy grin on his face. “Wynn Sheehan. I heard you were back in town. Never thought I’d see the day.”

When he stood to hug her, tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back with a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “Yeah, neither did I.”

Those dark chocolate eyes, which had always been just a little too perceptive, narrowed in on hers.

She stepped away from him, away from the temptation to linger and rest her head on his broad shoulders, and turned to his grandfather. “Hey there, Mr. Grant. Coffee?”

“You know me too well.” The twinkle in his gray eyes matched his grandson’s. “Bertie, how is it that you never get a day older?”

She glanced at Latham, the smile on her face wavering a little bit. He shook his head just slightly.

“Good genes, I guess, Mr. Grant. You ready to order?”

He stuck the menu back in the top of the napkin holder. “I’ll have my regular. You know just how I like it.”

Latham cleared his throat. “We’ll both have grits and biscuits with two eggs, over easy.”

His grandpa scowled at him. “You don’t like your eggs over easy.”

“You’re right, Pop. My mistake. I definitely want mine scrambled instead.”

Wynn made a little note on the order sheet and shot them a smile. “Got it. I’ll be back around with more coffee in a few minutes.”

Wynn stuck the Grants’ order into the wheel and spun it around for Uncle Mickey before grabbing the plates for Mr. Haney and Mr. Donovan. The bell on the door jingled, the first wave of the before-school crowd coming in.

The woman in the door, Wynn’s friend Molly, had a baby drooling on one shoulder and her preschool daughter with a death grip on her hand.

“Oh, Wynn. Thank God. Here.” She shoved the baby at Wynn and ran for the bathroom with the little girl.

“Molly, wai—” Wynn stared wide-eyed at the infant in her arms. The baby stared back, big blue eyes slowly filling with tears. Wynn started swaying. “Oh, no. No, you don’t.”

A loud wail followed the tears. She gave the infant, who was rapidly turning red, an awkward pat on the back. “Come on, baby, please don’t cry. Your mama will be right back, I promise.”

Latham appeared at her side, digging in the diaper bag and coming up with a pacifier. He popped it in the baby’s mouth and she stopped crying, although she continued to stare accusingly at Wynn.

Latham laughed, a deep warm chuckle. “There you go.”

Molly returned from the bathroom, blowing her bangs off her forehead. “Whew. Never let a potty-training three-year-old wear tights. Never.”

Wynn’s pulse raced, her breath catching in her throat. She pushed the baby back into Molly’s arms and tore through the kitchen, pulling off her apron as she went. Lanna was in the office hanging up her purse. She looked up at Wynn, and the welcome on her face changed to concern. “You okay?”

“No. I’ve got to get out of here. You’ll be okay?”

“Yes, go.”

Wynn grabbed her keys off the hook and slammed out the back door, falling back against it after it closed. She dragged air into her lungs, willing herself not to pass out.

Unwanted tears, nausea, panic attack. Lost career, lost love, lost nerve. She closed her eyes, her hands settling over her belly.

The person in high school voted “most likely to change the world” had come home in shame, and now? The only thing she’d be changing was diapers.

* * *

Latham unlocked the door of the sunroom from the outside, his two German shorthair pointers bumping up against his legs. “Okay, fellas, calm down. You got a lot of work to do today, Pop?”

“It’s been kind of slow lately, but there’s always some dusting to be done.” His grandpa patted the newspaper under his arm. “I’ve always got the crossword if I get bored.”

“Okay, then. Some boxes came for you and I stacked them by the door. I’m going to work, but I’ll see you later.”

His grandfather was already pulling open the boxes to unload the same cans he’d unloaded the day before. Every night after Pop was tucked into bed, Latham took a few cans off the shelves he’d made for the sunroom, and every day Pop restocked them. The small thing made Pop feel like he was doing something useful and made Latham feel like he was doing something—anything—to make Pop’s quality of life just a little bit better.

Latham unlocked the door to the main house. The dogs tried to nose their way past him, and he nudged them back with his knee, an unnecessary act as a car in the driveway caught their full attention.

Pop’s caregiver, Fran, slammed the car door shut and shooed the dogs back toward him. “Hooligans, the lot of you. Latham, you need to teach these boys some manners.”

“Agreed,” Latham said mildly. Fran was a whole lot of bluster. “If you’d quit feeding them treats all the time, they might leave you alone. Pop’s in the sunroom, and I’ve just put a pot of coffee on for you. I’ll be in the barn for a little while, and I’ve got a couple of small jobs today. Nothing else until I teach my class at the college at five. I’ll have my cell phone on me if things change.”

“I know the drill. I’ll take him a cup of coffee and visit for a while.”

As Fran entered the kitchen door, Latham headed in the opposite direction for the barn, the dogs at his heels. He’d tucked his work space into a grassy clearing at the back of the property, surrounded by pine trees. It wasn’t unusual to come upon deer nibbling grass around the double-wide doors.

When both doors were wide open and the ceiling fans were on, he ran his hand down the reclaimed wood he was working.

The familiar earthy, pungent smell of the wood soothed his raw edges, the repetitive motions that created something out of nothing giving him a measure of peace for the things he couldn’t control. He couldn’t control Pop’s illness, but he could control this.

He could shape and mold this wood into anything he wanted. This particular piece was turning into a beautiful farm table for some folks in the next county. In the barn, things happened at his whim and will.

He’d gotten Pop appointments with the best specialists in the Southeast, and there was no medical explanation for the elderly man’s confusion, which started when Gran died unexpectedly. Nothing showed up on MRIs or CT scans.

It was as if Pop simply didn’t want to live in a world without Gran. They’d been childhood sweethearts, married at sixteen, and had never been separated. They’d owned the local grocery store and gas station that anchored the town in a gentler, slower time.

Pop and Gran had been the only constant in Latham’s life when he was a kid. His parents weren’t bad people, they just weren’t settlers. They’d moved from place to place in search of, well, Latham wasn’t sure exactly what they were in search of, but whatever it was, they hadn’t found it yet. When he got old enough to understand the gift of a place to call home, he was grateful to them for leaving him in Red Hill Springs with his grandparents.

Because he was a settler. He liked his roots deep.

He leaned in, focusing on the task at hand, not looking up until he heard a car in the drive. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t unheard of for people to drop by out here, especially since Pop had come to live with him, but it was unusual.

Latham set aside his block of sandpaper and walked to the door of the barn. Wynn Sheehan got out of her car and slammed the door, looking around. For him, he guessed.

He grabbed a rag from the wood worktable beside the door, wiping the dust from his hands as he walked to the center of the clearing. This morning she’d had her hair tied back, but now, the whole long, blond length of it lifted in the wind.

He’d known she was home, of course—the NSA had nothing on the gossip chain in Red Hill Springs, Alabama. He hadn’t seen her, though, until this morning. She was as beautiful as she had been in high school when he’d been so awed by her, he couldn’t put two words together in her presence.

She was opinionated and passionate and had a crazy understanding of the world and where she saw her place in it. He didn’t know anyone else like her, and he’d wanted to be close to her, but she was his best friend’s little sister and, as such, off-limits to the likes of him. They’d come close, once, to being more than friends, but even then he’d quickly come to understand that being rooted in this small town wouldn’t be enough for her.

One hesitant step brought her closer to him, and her eyes locked with his.

Wynn broke the contact first, looking away as a mockingbird shot toward the sky, scolding them for being in the same space.

Latham met her at the edge of her car. “It really is good to see you, Wynn.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s good to see you, too. It’s been too long. I won’t stay away that long again.”

He wanted to ask her what kept her away, but they weren’t really friends anymore. “What can I do for you?”

“My mom asked me to come and give you some pictures of what she’s thinking about for the table she wants you to build for her. She could’ve texted them, but she insisted. You know Bertie.”

“I do. There’s no getting around her when she has her mind set on something. Come in. I was about to take a break. Want a Coke?”

“Water?”

He grinned. “I have that, too.”

“I didn’t even know that you were handy with a saw in high school.”

“I could’ve probably made a birdhouse in high school, but it wouldn’t have been pretty.” He looked up from the small fridge in his office—a stall with a desk made from two sawhorses and some old boards. It suited him, though.

He handed her a small bottle of water. “I didn’t start seriously working with wood until about six years ago. I moved back here to be with Pop after Gran died. I do some carpentry work and odd jobs, but there’s just not that much to do in Red Hill Springs. I needed a hobby, desperately.”

“So you just decided to build something?” She was wandering from photo to photo, which he had meticulously hung on the wall. Every item he ever built, starting with the first wooden box, was represented there.

“Yeah, I found some plans for a porch swing online and decided to make it. Back then, I had to get the lumber store to do all my cuts for me.” He waved a hand at the huge saw in the back of his shop. “Now I use mostly reclaimed wood and I do everything here.”

She ran a finger down the table he’d been working on this morning. “Beautiful. You’re really talented. It’s a kind of art.”

Surprised, he searched out her face. “It is, in a way. I remember you being the artist, though.” He glanced at his watch. He needed to leave soon so he could get his jobs done and be at the college before five. “So Bertie sent you out here with some photos?”

She handed them to him and smiled, the first real smile he’d seen from her all day. “I think it was a ploy to get me out from under her feet. I’m not used to being at home, but Bertie isn’t used to me being home either.”

His hands, smoothing the thin magazine sheets, stilled, and he asked the question he’d been wanting to know the answer to since he first heard she was back in town. “Are you planning to stick around for a while?”

The smile vanished. “I’m not sure. I’m still trying to figure all that out. I better go. Tell your pop I said hi.”

He followed her to her car. “You’re welcome to stay and tell him yourself. I teach a class at the college, so I’ve got to get going or I’d go in with you.”

When she opened the door, he reached for her hand. She stared at it. “It really is good to see you again, Wynn.”

She looked down where their two hands joined and didn’t move for a long second. She swallowed hard. “I have to go.”

“Take care.” He watched as she drove away, his eyes following her little blue car until it disappeared around a curve.

He didn’t wonder that he was still as fascinated by her as he had been as a teenager, just accepted it as a fact. That was his nature. But he did wonder what brought her back to Red Hill Springs and what it was that made her eyes look so sad.


Chapter Two (#u57e11b02-ad30-5cf7-9a0f-209bff0f3e55)

Wynn lay on the floor in her brother Ash’s house, building a block tower with three-year-old Levi, whose adoption would be final in a couple of weeks. He was babbling constantly now, words mixed with sounds that had some resemblance to words.

There’d been a time, not that long ago, when they wondered if he would ever speak, or stand. He’d been broken, physically and emotionally, when Ash’s wife, Jordan, became his foster mom. Together, Jordan and Ash had patiently helped him become a healthy, happy toddler.

When he pulled up to standing using the coffee table, she had to dive to save her glass of ice water from his busy fingers. “Guys, he’s really doing so well.”

Ash turned from where he was finishing the spaghetti sauce on the stove. “He took two steps yesterday.”

“What? With no hands? Levi, you big boy! Aunt Wynn is so proud!”

Levi let go of the coffee table and clapped his hands, delight shining in his dark brown eyes. Out of the crew of foster kids at Red Hill Farm, he was the first she’d bonded with, maybe because she felt wounded, as well. Her wounds were just on the inside.

Her brother turned a speculative blue gaze on her. “I heard you were out at Latham’s today. You know, he had a crush on you in high school. He thought we didn’t know, but it was so obvious.”

Wynn opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Ash, don’t forget the bread!” Jordan winked at Wynn as she poured the noodles into a colander and served them into bowls.

Ash pulled out a pan of perfectly toasted garlic bread and grinned at his wife. “Last time we had spaghetti, someone-who-shall-remain-nameless-but-wasn’t-me forgot the bread was in the oven and the entire house filled with black smoke. So the fire alarm is going off, the baby’s crying, Jordan’s screaming that the new house is going to burn down. It was awesome.”

“Ashley Sheehan, you don’t have to tell all the family secrets.”

His grin turned wicked. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell her about the time you—”

“Ash!” Jordan dove across the kitchen to smash her lips against his, presumably to keep him quiet.

He came up laughing. “Okay, okay, I give.”

“I thought so.” A satisfied look on her face, Jordan picked Levi up from the floor and tucked him into his high chair. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

“You guys are nuts.” Wynn stood, sliding her feet back into her short suede boots. “But the spaghetti smells delicious.”

They were nuts in the best possible way. The little glances, the subtle—or not-so-subtle—innuendos, all hinted at a content life, a happy marriage, something Wynn wasn’t sure she would ever have. Not now.

She’d let herself be blinded by her boss’s shine and bigger-than-life persona, somehow convincing herself that her place was behind the man, supporting him in his bid to change the world. He’d encouraged that, cultivated it, made her think she was indispensable to him as the love of his life.

She’d believed him.

She’d even believed him when he told her he wasn’t ready for marriage, that his work as a congressman had to come first. That is, until she’d seen the piece about his engagement in a political blog with impeccable sources.

Her world had fallen out from under her. Preston was getting married—just not to her. When she’d discovered her pregnancy a month later, he accused her of sleeping around and trying to trap him into marrying her.

She hadn’t spoken to him since.

When she looked up, her brother’s perceptive eyes were on her face. She forced a smile and took a huge bite of spaghetti that she wasn’t sure she could swallow.

Jordan laid her fork down. “So, Wynn. Everyone is wondering why you’re home and how long you’re planning to stay.”

The instant wave of nausea dispelled any appetite that Wynn may have started out with. Apparently, all of Red Hill Springs had decided that they’d given her enough space and it was time for answers.

Deliberately, she picked up her glass of ice water and took a drink. She cleared her throat. “To be honest, I’m not really sure. Indefinitely seems to be the most accurate answer.”

Ash’s handsome face softened. “Wynn, are you okay?”

She pressed her fingers into her temples, where a headache had begun to throb, and took a deep breath before looking her brother in the eyes. “I’m fine. But...I’m probably going to need the services of the family pediatrician in about six months.”

“You’re pregnant?” Her new sister-in-law squealed and jumped up from her spot at the table to give Wynn a hug. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Wynn held on to Jordan just a little too long. She hadn’t expected happiness. She’d expected pointed looks, maybe some outright condemnation, a judgmental whisper or two. “I messed up. And it’s a pretty obvious mistake, or, at least, it’s going to be.”

Jordan flopped back into the chair, her auburn braids bouncing on her shoulders. “You’ve put the mistake behind you. You’re here, aren’t you?”

Wynn searched out her brother’s gaze. He was quiet. Too quiet. He shook his head, and her stomach plummeted again.

But then he said, “Jordan’s right, Wynn. Maybe you made some bad choices, but no matter what happened to get you to this point, a baby is a blessing, not a mistake, and we’re going to love him.”

“Or her.” A tear dripped down her cheek, and she mopped it with her napkin. “I never used to cry.”

Jordan grinned. “Me either. I don’t even have pregnancy hormones to blame, but I cry all the time now.”

“Have you told Mom?”

“Not yet.” At her brother’s look, Wynn grimaced. “I know, I know. I will. It’s just—it’s Mom. I don’t know, Ash.”

“You have to tell her. It’ll only get worse if you don’t. Are you going to stay there?”

“For now, but if I stay in Red Hill Springs—”

“You should. You totally should.” Jordan interjected her opinion with a firm nod. “You need family around when you have a baby. Trust me on this one.”

“If I stay in Red Hill Springs,” Wynn continued, “I have to find a job and a place to live.”

Ash and Jordan exchanged a look.

“What?”

Jordan tore another piece of toast in half and slid it onto the tray of Levi’s high chair. “I don’t know about the job, but Claire and I were planning to offer you the cottage at Red Hill Farm, even before this. It really would be perfect for you. And Claire and Joe would be right there.”

Wynn’s other brother, Joe, was married to Jordan’s twin sister and, together, they had somewhere around ten kids. The number was always changing as foster kids came in and out of their home, but they’d made Red Hill Farm into a peaceful place to heal.

Wynn hadn’t even considered the cottage. “I thought I heard you and Claire were converting the cabin to office space.”

“We were.” Levi threw a handful of spaghetti across the table and Jordan whisked his plate away. “Okay, we’re done with spaghetti and Daddy needs a clean shirt.”

Jordan gently disentangled one of her braids from Levi’s sauce-covered fingers. “Gross, Levi. So yeah, we were planning to convert the cottage to office space, but honestly, I do most of the office work at home now because it’s more convenient and Claire doesn’t have time to make use of a separate office.”

Ash gave up wiping spaghetti sauce off his formerly pristine white shirt and leaned back in his chair. “You know, everyone who lives in that house falls in love.”

Wynn rolled her eyes. “Thanks for pointing that out to your pregnant sister, who has, in fact, sworn off men forever. I don’t think you have to worry about me falling in love with anyone.”

He took a sip of his iced tea and raised one eyebrow. “Whatever you say.”

“I say yes. To the cottage.” She raised her voice. “Thank you, Jordan. The cottage will be perfect.”

Jordan popped her head out from the bathroom down the hall, where water was running into the tub. “I have no idea what you just said, but I’m assuming from your smile that it was yes?”

Wynn nodded.

“Feel free to paint or whatever. It was a slap job when Joe renovated. I always meant to work on it and didn’t get to do very much.” Jordan disappeared into the bathroom again.

Wynn took the dishes to the sink. Her brother nudged her away. “I got this. Go home. You started work at four thirty this morning, and you have circles under your eyes.”

She hugged her brother. “Thank you for dinner. And for...everything.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Wynn. You’re the most courageous person I know.”

Eyes swimming with tears again, she gave him a shove. “You’re okay, yourself.”

“Tell Mom.”

“I will. Don’t push me.” She heard her brother’s laugh as she swung down the stairs and opened the door to her car. So it looked like her “indefinite” stay here was getting a little more defined. By making that choice, she was deciding to face the scrutiny and reaction of people who’d known her all her life...people she respected and cared about.

Tomorrow, she would tell her mom. It wouldn’t be easy. But already, she knew her brother had her back, and that was no small thing.

As she drove home, her brain was spinning with ideas for fixing up the cottage that she would soon be calling home, the realization that she was going to need help...and that Latham just happened to be a carpenter.

* * *

Latham pushed the door open to the bakery, stopping short when he saw Wynn sitting on a stool behind the counter, dressed in a long white T-shirt, black leggings and her sister Jules’s signature pink apron. “I didn’t know you were working here.”

She smiled, a little sheepishly. “Apparently everyone in the family has been waiting for me to settle in so they could take a day off. So, yesterday at the Hilltop, today at the bakery.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You bake?”

“Ha! No worries, Jules did all that before daylight. I’m strictly counter help. Where’s Pop today?”

“He likes to meet his friends for breakfast at the Hilltop on Saturday morning, so I usually drop him off and come next door for one or two of your sister’s cinnamon twist doughnuts. Which may or may not be why I have to play soccer with the guys on Saturday afternoons.”

She laughed as she placed two cinnamon twists on a paper plate. “Yes, well, food is my family’s love language, so I understand the need for exercise. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Wynn poured his coffee into a mug with the Take the Cake logo and handed it over the counter, accepting the cash Latham handed back to her.

“Join me? Please?” Latham pulled the other chair out and laughed when Wynn looked behind her like he might be talking to someone else. Her cheeks were pink, her straight blond hair looped into a half ponytail, half-bun thing.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered, then grabbed the last of the cinnamon twist doughnuts and a napkin with a sigh. “I can’t believe that I’m about to eat this. I never ate like this in DC.”

“What did you eat?”

“Coffee, mostly. Takeout with the other staffers when we would work late, which was always.”

“Why did you leave?” When she glanced up with an almost panicked look in her eyes, he wished he could take back the question. “I guess, I mean, I thought it was a perfect job for you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay, Latham. It’s a perfectly normal question to ask. It’s just...complicated. The short answer is that I changed, and I didn’t like the changes.”

His fingers itched to reach for her hand, slide her fingers into his. He didn’t even know why—he certainly had no right to. He wrapped them around the warm coffee mug instead. “Sometimes coming home is the bravest thing you can do.”

Her blue eyes flicked to his and held, and for a moment he thought she was about to say something. But then, the door opened, bells jingling. Wynn jumped to her feet and rounded the corner to greet new customers behind the counter.

He heard the murmur of conversation, registered kids jumping up and down at the prospect of a doughnut, but his eyes were on only Wynn. Would it be so weird for them to resurrect their friendship after all these years?

The boisterous family blew out as quickly as they’d come in. Wynn took a second to wipe the fingerprints off the glass and sat down beside him again, the friendly but distant smile firmly back in place. The moment of sharing whatever it had been was over. Which suited him because, honestly, it was a little embarrassing that he hadn’t gotten over his adolescent crush sometime in the last ten years. No wonder the barn cats were his best companions.

He finished off the second doughnut, which he’d intended to save for this afternoon, and took a swig from his mug. “So are you going to be filling in for your family members often?”

Wynn laughed. “Mercy, I hope not. I don’t know what I’m going to do, though.”

Latham took a breath and then thought, what could it hurt, since he’d already taken the awkward quotient through the roof? “Would you be interested in staying with Pop in the afternoons for a couple of weeks? His current caregiver had a family emergency.”

She blinked, and heat rushed his face. “I know it’s way below your pay grade... I shouldn’t even ask.”

“I’d love to.”

He narrowed his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I really would, Latham. Your home is beautiful, and Pop is great. I think I’d like spending time with him.”

“Me, too, but...”

“Really, it’s my pleasure. I do have one request, though.” There was a suspicious gleam in her eye that made him laugh as she leaned in.

“Name it.”

“In lieu of payment, can we work out a trade?”

Latham relaxed back into his chair. “I’m a little scared of that look in your eye. What did you have in mind?”

She grinned. “I’m moving into the cottage at Red Hill Farm, which needs some work. I propose that I get to enjoy conversations with Pop in the afternoon and you help me with the cottage when you have time.”

“You’ve got a deal.” How much could she want to do at the cottage? It was only eight hundred square feet, tops. Either way, it worked out. He really needed someone at his place in the afternoons, and if he helped her with the cottage, he would get to spend time with her.

Win-win.

“You know, I totally got the better end of the deal here. I get to spend afternoons with Pop, which I will love, and I get free labor on the reno. Win-win for me.” She laughed, and her eyes, for the first time since he’d seen her, were shining.

And he knew in that second that he would’ve done anything she asked, just to make her smile. “If your family doesn’t have plans for you, I could meet you out there after church tomorrow and look it over.”

“Bring Pop to family lunch at the farm and we can check it out after we eat.”

“I’m gonna end up holding a couple of kids while they smear peanut butter on me, aren’t I?”

“I see you’ve been to family lunch before.” She grinned. “I feel like we should shake on it. I’m pretty sure you’re going to regret this deal.”

He laughed and took one last swig of his coffee as he stood. “Not a chance. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

But he took her outstretched hand, his eyes on hers. He swallowed hard when her eyes widened at the contact. She pulled away, busying herself clearing the table, and he sighed.

He may regret this deal, but not for the reasons she thought. He’d spent a long time getting over her when she left Red Hill Springs. He just hoped he could keep the past in the past where it belonged.


Chapter Three (#u57e11b02-ad30-5cf7-9a0f-209bff0f3e55)

Wynn stood outside the attic door in her mom’s house. She’d been walking past it for weeks now, staring at the doorknob, wanting to go in, but not wanting to, just as much.

She shook her head at herself as her hand lingered over the knob. Who was this woman who didn’t have the courage to walk through a door? What happened to the little girl who punched a kid at Vacation Bible School because he was being a bully? Where was the little girl who believed in justice, even if it meant she’d be in timeout for the rest of the afternoon?

That little girl would have the courage to open a door. It was just a door.

She turned the knob and shoved it open, blinking at the swirl of dust in the warm air. Her studio had been the place she’d gone to, as a teenager, when things got rough or rocky. Or sad or happy or confusing.

Her mom hadn’t changed much, if anything, in the tiny room tucked into the eaves of the old house. Wynn’s paints were still haphazardly strewn on the desk and her easel held a small unfinished watercolor. She picked up the sketchbook from the top of a teetering stack of identical books. When had she lost the wonder she’d always had at the world around her?

Probably around the same time she stopped looking at her job as an opportunity to make things better for someone else and started looking at it as a career. She’d lost her ability to dream, to think of others besides herself. Worse, she’d lost her confidence in herself and her faith that God had a plan and kept His promises.

Somewhere along the way, she’d imagined that her plan was better.

Well, she could see how that turned out.

She’d like to blame Preston. And while he definitely shared the blame, it wasn’t all his fault. She was the one who’d let go of her morals and her beliefs. She was the one who replaced her dreams with his—until he replaced her in his life with the newer, prettier, more idealistic model.

Wynn slid her hand down around the very small, almost imperceptible curve of her belly, and whispered, “I promise I’ll do better.”

She had to. She had barely six months to figure out how.

The room was dusty, the paper she had painted on dry and curling at the edges. The whole space looked used up and ready for the trash bin. Fitting. That’s exactly how she felt.

Sweeping the pile of dried-up paints into the trash can, she tried to imagine that she was sweeping out the parts of her that she didn’t want anymore, the parts that didn’t work for her and could never be salvaged. Maybe it all just needed to go.

She caught her breath on a sob.

The watercolor paints—those she could keep. They were dried up and cracking with disuse but...they could be revived with a little tending.

Maybe the vibrant parts of her, the passionate, giving part of her, could be revived with a little tending. She would start by carrying her sketchbook and pencil in her bag again. For a long time, that sketchbook had served as a place for her to record her impressions, ideas and dreams.

Yes, her soul needed tending. The favorite part of what made her who she was had been sadly neglected.

The worst part is that if anyone had asked her as a high school senior if she would ever let a man get in the way of her priorities, she would’ve been so offended.

A slight knock sounded at the doorway to the small studio. Wynn scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. When she turned, her mom was standing in the opening.

“Hey. I wondered when you would come in here.”

“It’s been too long. Mom, I don’t know why I didn’t come home more.”

“You were busy trying to find out who you were.”

Wynn laughed, but the sound wasn’t cheerful. “It’s funny, but I think I had to come home to find out who I really am. I keep saying I don’t know how I got to this point, but I do. I let a man come between me and what I knew was right. I let my desire to make a difference somehow become a desire to be wanted and needed. And he was only too willing to take advantage of it.”

Bertie walked closer and studied the painting on the easel. “He...the congressman?”

“Preston Schofield the fourth, career politician.” She pressed her lips together in a firm line.

“You seem a little bitter, Wynn. Congressman Schofield gave you a great opportunity.”

Once, Wynn had believed that to be true. Now she knew better. “Mom, I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, honey.” Bertie’s face softened in sympathy, but she didn’t look shocked.

Wynn sucked in a breath and, unable to meet her mother’s eyes, whirled around to look out the window. “You aren’t surprised. How long have you known?”

“I didn’t know who—but I’ve known you were pregnant since just after you got home. I’m your mom, Wynn. Did you think I wouldn’t guess?”

Wynn’s eyes filled with tears, the familiar walls of her studio blurring as words she’d been longing to say came pouring out. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t...want you to be disappointed in me.”

Her mom turned Wynn to face her, wrapping her arms around her as she did when Wynn was a child. “I’m not disappointed in you, Wynn. Everyone loses their way once in a while. I used to tell you when you were little that nothing you could do would ever make me stop loving you. It’s still true.”

Wynn took a deep breath and released it, along with some of the tension knotting the muscles in her back. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. Claire and Jordan offered me the cottage.”

“That’s a good thought.” Her mom picked up one of the small paintings and studied it. “I’ve been meaning to clean out in here for years. Why don’t you start by remembering who you were before all this happened?”

A phone rang from somewhere in the house. Bertie put the painting on top of another pile of things. “I’ve got to get that, and then I’m going to make a chocolate cake. Come down to the kitchen when you’re ready for a break.”

Wynn glanced at her watch. “I actually have to go. I promised Latham I’d stay with his pop this afternoon. I won’t be late, though.”

“No problem. Chocolate cake will keep.”

“I love you, Mom.”

Already halfway out the door, Bertie turned back. “I love you, too, baby girl. And I just can’t wait to see what God has in store for you next.”

As her mom disappeared down the hall, Wynn heard the muffled hello as Bertie answered the phone. She turned back to her studio, the room where she’d dreamed and planned and painted. Soon the smell of her favorite chocolate cake would be in every nook and cranny of the house. Each one of Bertie’s kids had their favorite comfort food. For Wynn, it was always chocolate cake. Jules loved bread; Ash, cinnamon rolls; and Joe, chocolate chip cookies. Bertie would bake, and then they would sit at the table with a glass of milk and talk it out.

She stood in the door to the studio, her hand on the knob. Deliberately, she walked away, leaving it open.

Downstairs, she picked up her keys from the counter in the kitchen. Bertie was unloading ingredients from the pantry to the counter. “Mom, Mr. Grant thought I was you when I was filling in at the Hilltop. Does he have some kind of dementia?”

“Something like that, from what I understand. I don’t know the details, but he’s really gone downhill since Mrs. Margenia died a couple of years ago. I’m driving car pool for Claire this afternoon, but I could come out after I get the kids to the farm.”

“No, thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

In the car, on the way to Latham’s place, Wynn’s stomach tumbled with nerves, but she had no reason to be anxious. This wasn’t rocket science. This was being kind to someone who needed help.

She might’ve been in Washington, DC, a long time, but she still remembered how to be kind.

* * *

Latham pushed the back door open silently. He’d gotten called in to sub in one of the freshmen history classes and was an hour later getting home than he’d planned on being.

The house was quiet, the TV murmuring in the background. Wynn sat at the kitchen table, late-afternoon light creating a halo around her hair as she sketched on a pad. She was so pretty. Always had been, but in high school it hadn’t been her looks that drew him to her.

It had been her absolute fearlessness.

He’d known then she was different from other girls, but now that he spent his evenings teaching college students, he was even more aware how rare that kind of self-confidence was. He dropped his backpack and she looked up, a smile in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I was late and you spent your whole afternoon here.” Latham glanced over at Pop, napping in the recliner in the living room, a glass of iced tea at his fingertips on the side table. “He’s been okay?”

“Aside from being a little confused that Fran had to leave and I was here, he’s been totally fine. I hope it’s okay that I raided the garden to cook his supper.”

He shot her a grin and relaxed. “Feel free to raid my garden anytime, especially if you’re going to cook in my kitchen. Are those fried green tomatoes?”

“Yes. Your grandpa really liked them.”

“They’re his favorite and I always make them too soggy.” Latham popped one in his mouth. Even cold, it was delicious.

“The key is the ratio of cornmeal to flour. I’ll email you the recipe, if you promise not to tell Bertie. Trade secrets and all.” Wynn stood and grabbed her sketch pad. “I should probably be going.”

“Join me for some tea on the back porch?” The words were out and hanging in the air before he even knew he was going to say them.

Her eyes, glass blue and crystal clear, met his, and he could see her hesitation. “Please? I could use some adult conversation after the class I just taught.”

She nodded. “So, no one cut their finger off today?”

Confused, he looked up from pouring tumblers of sweet tea. “No, you mean like with a saw?”

“Isn’t that what you do in shop class?” She held the back door open for him to walk through.

He laughed and handed her a drink as they sat down. “I teach Government, although I was filling in for World History this evening.”

Her cheeks tinged with pink. “I’m sorry, I just assumed you’d be teaching carpentry.”

“You wouldn’t be the first. I have a Master’s degree in Political Science, so naturally I build things for a living. Makes sense, right?”

“Hopefully you’re building good citizens as well as beautiful tables.”

He clinked his cup to hers. “That’s the idea. Hey, you should come and speak to my class some time.”

“Me?” Her expression was shocked and just a little horrified. “Why?”

“Most of them have probably never met anyone who worked on Capitol Hill. You could give them some insider info, what it’s really like.”

Her face shuttered. She set the glass on the small table beside her chair. “I don’t think so. Listen, I have to run. I promised my mom I’d be home for dinner tonight.”

Latham got to his feet, aware he’d said something to upset her but not sure exactly what it was. “Sure thing.”

He walked her to the car and opened the door for her. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you staying with Pop. He’s really special to me.”

“I enjoyed it. And I’m looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. Just let me know what time you need me.” She slid into the driver’s seat, and before he could say anything else, she was driving down his gravel drive toward the highway.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her taillights fade into the distance. The door opened behind him and Pop stepped out onto the porch.

“Hey, old man. I thought you were out for the night.”

Pop settled in a rocker, hanging his cane over the arm of the chair. “I was faking.”

A laugh burst out. Latham stared at his grandfather. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it’s not like you bring pretty girls out here all the time. And you can’t have meaningful conversation with your old grandpa butting in, now, can you?”

Latham shook his head. “Sometimes I have to wonder which one of us is more with it, Pop.”

His grandfather, who had raised him from the time he was a toddler, chuckled to himself. “So, did you ask her on a date?”

Latham stared at the dusky sky, where the North Star was just beginning to glimmer. “No. I don’t think she’s interested in me like that. I couldn’t even get her to agree to speak to my class.”

“Your gran wouldn’t go out with me when I first asked her. She had her cap set for that moon-face jerk Phillip Stewart. I was persistent, though. I asked her so often that I finally wore her down. She went out with me just to shut me up.” Pop grinned, his laugh nearly a cackle. “That was the last time she mentioned Phillip Stewart.”

Latham laughed. “The rest is history, as they say. Gran knew a keeper when she saw him. She was a smart lady.”

Pop’s eyes clouded. “Margenia?”

The lucid moment was gone. Latham tried to be grateful for it and not sad that it was over. As he held his grandfather’s elbow and helped him into the house, his mind drifted to Wynn. She had come to his rescue with Pop when she didn’t have to, but she sure didn’t seem interested in spending any more time with him.

Pop recommended persistence. It had certainly paid off for him. Latham smiled.

Maybe he would have to give it a try.

* * *

The next Sunday, Wynn sat in a rocking chair under the big oak tree at Red Hill Farm, a two-month-old baby girl, the newest of Claire and Joe’s foster children, in her arms.

This baby was small. Really small. How much smaller was a baby when it was a newborn? That terrifying thought speared through her mind as the baby met her eyes with a serious stare.

Family lunch had been the usual insanity. Kids running everywhere. Adults trying to snag a bite or two of food in between chasing the kids. Today two adoptive families had joined the fray, including the family who’d adopted ten-year-old twins, Jamie and John.

Claire dropped into the chair beside Wynn and handed her a lukewarm bottle. “I was on my way to get this when I heard screaming about blood gushing. Matthew cracked his knee open.”

Wynn stuck the nipple in the baby’s mouth. She’d given Ash and Jordan’s little boy a bottle lots of times. It was no big deal. So why was sweat beading on her forehead?

The baby attacked the food with ferocity. She seemed to know what to do. Wynn relaxed back in the chair, letting out a slow relieved breath. “So was there?”

Claire was staring into the distance. “Was there what?”

“Blood gushing?”

Her sister-in-law grinned, one hand pressing into her back, the other sliding around to rub her very pregnant belly. “Oh, yeah. Everywhere. Luckily, from experience, Ash knew to bring his medical kit to lunch today and he was able to super-glue the cut. No stitches unless Matthew breaks it open again. Which, let’s face it, has a high probability of happening. That kid runs everywhere.”

Latham came loping across the yard in front of them, his hands in the air, a football dropping into them. He was dressed in jeans, a faded red RHS T-shirt and his work boots. He tossed the ball back and held his hands up in surrender. “Dude, I’m old. I gotta rest.”

He fell against the tree beside Wynn. “I really have to work out more.”

Claire laughed. “I’ve been telling myself that for months. No one tells you that raising children is an extreme sport.”

Latham peeked over Wynn’s shoulder. “This one’s new?”

“Yep, she’s just here for respite, though. She goes back to her foster family next week.”

“Cool. Pop’s with a neighbor, but he’ll be back pretty soon. Do you mind if I look at the cottage now?”

Surprisingly, the idea of giving up the sweet weight of the baby girl in her arms wasn’t as welcome as Wynn had imagined it would be. She glanced at Claire.

“I’ve got her. Y’all go.” Claire leaned forward and scooped the baby into her arms. “The cottage isn’t locked.”

Wynn fell into step beside Latham as he rounded the barn and skirted the edge of the pond. “I hope you’re not going to regret this.”

He placed a hand on her back as the path got a little unsteady. “Nah. Tell me what you have in mind.”

“I want to paint the whole thing white, for starters. I love that Joe painted such crazy colors for his twelve-year-old daughter, but I’m a little too old for neon green and shocking pink.”

His deep laugh rolled over her. “I can see that. So far, I’m thinking we could knock this out in an afternoon.”

She glanced over at him as they stepped onto the porch. The little cottage was shabby, but despite that, it had charm. “I want the outside to be painted.”

He studied it, stepped forward and knocked on the outside. “Might be better to replace this worn siding and insulate the walls. It would definitely help with your climate control.”

“That’s a great idea. Now for the inside. Most of the house just needs to be painted. I even love the rustic brick fireplace. But I need a studio. What do you think about opening up the attic space above the kitchen for a loft area?”

Latham scratched his head. “I mean, it could be done, no doubt. I’m guessing that’s where the majority of your HVAC and plumbing is.”

“But...”

He shrugged. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, my granny used to always say. Let me nose around some and I’ll get back with you on that.”

Wynn threw her arms around his neck. “I knew you could do it.”

He gave her an awkward pat on the back, his cheeks red when she stepped away from him. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll come over here in the morning and do some figuring. We can talk for real tomorrow afternoon when I get home from work.”

“Perfect.” She grinned.

He pushed open the front door. “You coming?”

She was halfway through the bedroom door. “No, I think I’ll stay and make some notes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded. “See you then.”

She heard the door close and stepped back into the main room to watch him go. He was so calm and so steady. She needed a friend like him. She just hoped he would still want to be her friend when he found out about the baby.

Her hand reflexively went to her abdomen. Whatever happened, she and her baby would be okay. She would make sure of it.


Chapter Four (#u57e11b02-ad30-5cf7-9a0f-209bff0f3e55)

The next afternoon, Latham was back in the cottage, taking some notes of his own. He let the tape measure slide into place with a snap and turned to his notepad on the countertop to write down the measurements. Wynn’s idea of building a loft was actually pretty doable if he opened up the attic space.

A few industrial touches, a coat of white paint, and this shabby old place would look completely different.

The door behind him slowly swung open. Latham turned around to see a little boy around five or six years old, maybe, standing in the doorway, his thumb stuck in his mouth, a dirty bandage on his knee. Big brown eyes missed nothing as they perused the room.

“Hey, buddy, whatcha doin’? Anybody know where you are?”

The little dude still didn’t say anything. Latham looked out the door toward the farmhouse to see if anyone was coming. No one was in sight. “So, you want to see what I’m doing?”

A nod. Communication established.

“I’m measuring because I’m going to build something that needs to fit in here. You want to help?”

Another solemn nod.

“Okay, I have one more measurement I need.” Latham handed the end of the measuring tape to the little guy. “You take this over to that wall and we’ll see how wide the room is.”

The boy didn’t respond, but he took the measuring tape to the wall and held it there. Latham made a quick measurement, which he would have to redo, but it did give him a basic idea. “Thanks, bud. You’re a good helper.”

Joe Sheehan appeared in the door. “Here you are, Matthew! I’ve been looking for you. Claire wants you to come back to the kitchen and finish your breakfast.”

The little boy started for the door, but turned back to wave shyly at Latham.

Latham stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small flexible measuring tape, no sharp edges. “Hey buddy, you take this one and see what you can find to measure inside.”

A grin spread across the thin face, and Matthew grabbed the tape measure out of Latham’s hand and sprinted for the house.

“Cute kid.”

“He is cute. Also a total escape artist. Can’t turn your back on him for a second.” Joe walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottled water, tossing one to Latham and opening one for himself.

Latham took a long drink. “Thanks. You off work today?”

“I’m home today, but I’m learning I’m never completely off work. I’ve already fielded about four phone calls.” Joe Sheehan was Wynn’s older brother and moved back to town after an injury in the line of duty. Joe became the police chief of their little town, shortly after he’d fallen for Claire Conley.

The top cop looked around the small cabin. “I think I’d blocked out the neon green paint in the bathroom. It’s really awful, isn’t it? I hope Wynn’s planning to repaint.”

Latham grinned and leaned back on the kitchen island. “White everywhere. I wonder if she knows how many coats of paint it’s going to take to cover that green.”

“I could answer that, but I’m not going to. A year of marriage under my belt has taught me that keeping my mouth shut is often the wisest policy.” Joe laughed as he paced the length of the room, pausing to look out the window and take in the view of the farmhouse across the pond. He cleared his throat. “So, now that Wynn’s back in town and you’re helping her with the cottage, are you planning to ask her out?”

Latham didn’t move, just kept his eyes trained on Joe’s face and tried not to smile. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead. Right now we have a business arrangement between friends. If things change, I could update you.”

“Sure. She was dead set on leaving Red Hill Springs when she graduated high school. Now things are different. Maybe you should follow through on that crush you had on her in high school.” He looked around. “Wow, I forgot how quiet it is down here.”

While Latham was processing the newfound knowledge that Joe had known about his infatuation with Wynn in high school, the door slammed open and a girl around seven years old came bursting through the door. “Joe! Claire said to come quick. Penny’s little brother got his head stuck in the banisters again!”

Joe sighed and shot a look at Latham. “So much for quiet.”

As Joe swung the little one onto his shoulders, he was rewarded with a pure, sweet giggle, and the look on his face was anything but annoyed. Yeah, Red Hill Springs’ police chief definitely had a soft side. Latham remembered when all the mamas in town warned their kids to stay away from Joe. He’d turned out pretty good despite all the dire warnings.

They’d all changed since they roamed this small town as kids. Maybe those changes were for the better, maybe some not so much. He wondered again what brought Wynn back to Red Hill Springs. And if she was really going to stay.

Latham shrugged into his coat and stuck the tape measure in his pocket. He followed Joe around the trail to where he’d parked his old truck in the driveway. As he drove home, his ideas for the cabin turned in his mind. He could almost imagine the space the way it would look after the reno. Wynn would be at her easel in the loft studio, maybe a pot of coffee on in the kitchen.

It was sentimental, sure, but he always tried to think about the people he was building for. A house wasn’t a home until someone made it one. The tables he created in his barn workshop were only wood and nails until they became the centerpiece of a family kitchen.

Latham turned into the drive on his property, his mind on a big fire and a cup of coffee. He’d stayed longer than he’d meant to at the cottage, and the shadows were long over the gravel road. He hoped Wynn wasn’t too bored. Maybe he was asking too much of her. Although, now that he’d seen how big the job she had in mind for him was, he wasn’t as worried about that.

The dogs barreled around the corner of the house as they heard his door open. He gave them a quick scratch and hurried to the door, pushing it open to find Wynn at the kitchen table putting Scrabble tiles into their velvet bag.

She looked up with a smile. “Well, hey. Your pop was just starting to get worried about you.”

“Was not.” Pop’s voice came from around the corner.

Latham shook his head. “He wasn’t too much trouble?”

“No, he was not.” The grumpy voice came from the living room again.

“Maybe he’s hungry?” Wynn suggested.

Pop stuck his head back into the kitchen. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he is hungry.”

Latham ignored his unruly grandpa. “So he was okay today?”

“He was great. He beat me at Scrabble. Apparently, I need to brush up on my vocabulary.” Wynn walked into the kitchen, lifted the lid on the slow cooker and stirred something that smelled amazing before grabbing her purse and jacket from the counter. “I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Bye, Pop.”

The grizzly gray head popped back into the doorway. “See you tomorrow, Wynn.”

Latham, still in his coat, followed her out the door, Teddy bumping his legs.

Frank dropped a grimy ball at Wynn’s feet, and with a smile, she bent to pick it up. “You’ve got my number, don’t you, Frank?”

With a quick movement, she hurled the ball into the yard and Frank tore off after it. “He knows I can’t resist his goofy grin.”

“Please stay and eat some of the dinner you cooked. It’s only fair.”

She paused on the walkway. “I’ve got to head home tonight, but rain check?”

Across the yard, Frank scooped up the ball and ran full speed across the yard. Latham could see the trajectory of his path, and the seventy-pound dog was bearing down on Wynn, like a runaway train.

Just as Frank reached them, Latham dove between him and Wynn, grabbing the dog and spinning so that he landed on his back and not on top of the dog. Frank scrambled away.

Wynn rushed to his side, tripped over his boot and landed on his chest with a rush of air.

His arms closed reflexively around her, and her eyes locked with his. “Wynn—”

Frank dropped the nasty, wet tennis ball by Latham’s shoulder, and somehow understanding he had a captive audience, slurped a big kiss into Wynn’s ear.

She squealed and rolled to the ground on her back, laughing when Teddy joined Frank in planting wet, slobbery kisses on her face.

Latham shooed the dogs, who were highly annoyed that their plan to lick Wynn into a puddle of laughter had been thwarted. He pulled Wynn to her feet. Her hair was scattered over her shoulders, her cheeks pink as she leaned over to scratch behind the ears of his two misbehaving dogs.

She was laughing.

He was poleaxed.

How was it that he hadn’t seen her for years and as soon as he did, the feelings he thought he’d squelched years ago came roaring back?

He cleared his throat, forcing his brain to make words as she found her car keys again. “Sorry about that. Pop’s companion calls them hooligans, and they really are.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow around noon. Hope you and Pop have a good night.”

He waited to make sure her car started and gave her a wave as he turned toward the house. Teddy bumped his leg and whined. “I know, Ted. Believe me, I know.”

* * *

Wynn paused in the driveway at Red Hill Farm when she heard her name called. She’d spent the morning in her new home and had a sketchbook full of ideas to show for it. Was it nesting if it happened before she even had a baby bump?

Jordan, in jeans and riding boots, hugged the fence on an enormous brown horse.

“I was hoping you’d be here today!” Wynn walked to the fence. The big horse sniffed her hair and snorted.

Jordan laughed. “I’ve had Rocco here out for a run. He’s here on a trial basis so we can see if he’s a fit for our therapy program.”

“How’s it going?”

Jordan slid to the ground and scratched under the horse’s mane, laughing when he leaned in to her touch. “He’s amazing. Really calm and responsive. I’m a little concerned about his size, especially with the kids, but we could probably make it work.”

As Jordan took the tack off Rocco, Wynn crossed her arms on the top bar of the fence. “I’ve been making notes about the cottage. I can’t wait to have it ready to move into. I love being at Mom’s, but if I’m going to figure out my life, I need to be in my own place.”

“I heard from Ash that you’re working for Latham, taking care of his pop.” Jordan plopped the saddle onto a stand and rolled her shoulders.

“Yes. He asked if I could help, and we made a deal—his carpentry skills for my time with Pop. I definitely got the better end of the deal. Pop is awesome.” Wynn grinned. “And I have a really long list of things for Latham to do out here.”

“I also heard there was something between you and Latham, you know, once upon a time.” Jordan stopped brushing long enough to give Wynn a long, speculative look.

Wynn was going to kill her brother. “You heard wrong. Mostly wrong,” she amended. “Besides, it wouldn’t matter. I’m not the person I was back then, and I’m not sure he would like the person I am now.”

“Hey, you’re working on it. None of us is perfect. It’s like this horse. He’s going to make a great therapy horse, but I wouldn’t put a kid up on him right now for a million dollars. He’s got the temperament, but developing the skills takes time.”

“You’re comparing me to a horse?”

With a shrug, Jordan laughed. “Hey, I work with what I’ve got. Plus I like most horses better than most people.”

“So it was a compliment.” Wynn laughed and grimaced as she looked at her watch. “I’d love to stay to see what kind of farm animals you’ll be comparing me to next, but I promised Mom I’d be home for dinner tonight. She’s testing out a new recipe for the café.”

“Don’t suppose she needs any more testers?”

“You know she always makes enough food for an army. Come on over.”

“I’ll text Ash and see if he and Levi want to meet me there.” She snapped her fingers, and Rocco rolled his eyes back at her. “I almost forgot, do you think you could keep Levi for me tomorrow?”

“Absolutely, if I can take him to Latham’s with me.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem. Just make sure the space is baby proof. He’s into everything now.”

“I love that. And, of course, I’ll make sure the place is totally Levi-proof.” She started for the car. “Text me if you’re coming to dinner and I’ll set three more places.”

“Look, I know you didn’t ask my opinion.” Inwardly, Wynn sighed as Jordan tied Rocco off and walked to the fence. “Being pregnant doesn’t make you a bad person, but hating yourself can cripple you.”

Tears flashed in Wynn’s eyes. She swiped them away. “Yeah, thanks for activating the pregnancy hormones.”

Jordan didn’t smile, but her eyes were soft with sympathy. “I have some experience with a lack of self-confidence. Have you told Latham about the baby?”

“No.” Wynn looked at the ground, resisted the urge to kick a tuft of grass. “I just...don’t want to.”

“Tell him. He’s going to hear it from someone else if you don’t.”

“I know. And I will.”

Jordan made a face. “Sorry for telling you what to do. It’s a familial hazard, so I guess you’ll get used to it.”

“Not a bad deal since you come along with the advice.”

Wynn walked to the car, her thoughts tumbling in her mind. She’d had a lot of acquaintances in DC, but no one she’d call a friend. She was lucky that her brother picked someone she wanted to be friends with.

Jordan’s words nagged at her, too. She saw Latham every day, and the longer she waited to tell him, the more awkward it was going to be. She had to tell him tomorrow, and just thinking about the conversation made her stomach churn. In a few short days, she’d come to depend on him. What if telling him meant the end of their renewed friendship?

* * *

Latham knew they were home because Wynn’s car was in the driveway. There were embers glowing in the fireplace, so he knew they’d been in the family room where Pop was usually holed up, if he wasn’t in the sunroom minding his “store.”

He walked out the back door and found them on the porch. The sun had started to fade, but the two of them stood outside, Wynn apparently having forgotten the lesson she learned about playing fetch with his dogs.

She threw the ball, and the two big dogs took off. Latham heard an infectious giggle and realized that Ash and Jordan’s little boy was there, too. He was bouncing in Pop’s arms and laughing at the dogs as they tore across the yard.

Latham had to stop and collect himself for a second. Not only was Pop not inside in his chair dozing through life, he was actually participating in it, holding little Levi with a smile on his face. Signs of life, the doctor would’ve said. Latham had nearly given up on ever seeing them again.

He slipped back into the house to make a pot of coffee.

A few minutes later, the door opened. Pop came in, still carrying the little boy, talking to Wynn over his shoulder. “If you get Levi some juice, I’ll sit in the rocker with him.”

“And for you?”

“I wouldn’t mind a little sip of juice, myself.”

“Hey, I didn’t know you were here.” Wynn joined Latham in the kitchen. She uncapped a sippy cup and rinsed it in the sink.

“I just came in, but I didn’t want to interrupt. Pop seems really engaged.”

“He was really present today. He and Levi hit it off, so I think that helped.” She poured juice into the cup and capped it before pulling another plastic cup out of the cabinet and filling it with juice also.

A second after she’d taken the cups into the family room, she motioned for Latham to join her. He peeked around the corner and saw Pop sound asleep in the recliner with Levi asleep on his chest, one small pudgy arm wrapped around Pop’s neck.

“I’ll just put these in the fridge for later.” Wynn’s smile lingered as she walked back into the kitchen.

“Join me for a cup of coffee? It’s decaf this time of day.”

“Sure.”

As he poured the coffee, he laughed. “I was thinking the other day about the time you hid under Ash’s bed and tickled his face with a feather every time he started to drift off. Joe and I were watching through a crack in the door and finally woke him up because we were laughing so hard. You were an evil genius.”

“Me? What about the time you and Joe set off the smoke alarm with a cigarette and blasted Ash with a Super Soaker when he came running out of his room?”

He slid the mug in front of her. “One hundred percent Joe’s idea.”

“Whose idea was it to hide Jules’s cat in the dishwasher?”

Latham choked on his coffee. “I had no part in that!”

“Me, either.” She crossed her heart in the air and took a tentative sip of coffee. “We had some fun times, though.”

“We really did.”

“I had such an awful crush on you that I could barely stammer. It made me so mad because when have I ever not been able to speak my mind?”

He was quiet, spinning the mug in slow circles. “Why’d you come back, Wynn? Ever since high school, all you could talk about was leaving. Why come home now?”

The coffee burned in her throat, the question she’d been dreading hanging in the air. Latham’s house was cozy, the fire burning low in the family room, the lights glowing warm against the gray winter afternoon sky. She longed to stay right here in this moment, before she answered the question he asked.

“It’s okay, Wynn,” he said, gently. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.”

She looked up from the black coffee and into his face. His eyes on hers were warm and safe, like his home, like him... They lingered on hers with a hint of curiosity but mostly understanding. The thing she hated the most was to see that look fade from his eyes.

Unblinking, she blurted. “I’m pregnant.”

A horn honked outside. Levi woke up with a start, wailing in Pop’s arms. Wynn hurried into the family room to pick up the little boy.

Jordan blew into the house like a whirlwind, Levi diving into her arms. They were gone almost as quickly as she came, Wynn swept along with them, stopping only long enough to grab her keys from the counter and send Latham an apologetic look.

Following Jordan’s dust trail down the long driveway, Wynn took in a deep breath, her window down, letting in the bracing January-cold air.

A person who wasn’t a coward would’ve stayed for the conversation. But Wynn had seen the shocked expression on Latham’s face when she told him she was pregnant.

She didn’t need to hear the disappointment in his voice.


Chapter Five (#u57e11b02-ad30-5cf7-9a0f-209bff0f3e55)

Wynn perched on a stool in the kitchen at Take the Cake, with a cup of herbal tea cooling on the table. Her sister, Jules, was using a tool to core the cupcakes for filling. “What kind are those?”

“Caramel apple. Apple filling, caramel frosting.” Jules had her hair, a slightly darker version of Wynn’s, tucked into a tidy bun. Everything about Jules was tidy. She picked up a piping bag and filled the cupcakes with quick efficient motions. When she had them all filled and frosted, she slid one over to Wynn.

“I was hoping you would let me taste test.” Wynn took a bite. “Jules, this is incredible. Like seriously.”

“I’ve been working on the combo for a while.” Jules slid the tray of cupcakes into the cooler and pulled out another tray, this one full of red velvet cupcakes, which she began frosting with a different piping bag. “So what did Latham say when you told him you’re expecting?”

“I left before he could say anything at all. I just didn’t want to deal, and yes, I know—I’m a coward.”

Jules’s eyes softened. “It’s okay. Anyone would feel the same way.”

Wynn choked on her tea. “Um, how would you know? You never got in trouble, even when we were kids.”




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