His children will always come first

Griffin Lattimer has reinvented himself. He’s gone from TV news anchor to single father, managing a Florida apartment complex so he can spend more time with his kids, making them the center of his life. And then Sunny Donovan has the gall to accuse his daughter of stealing. It’s ridiculous, and Griffin refuses to listen…until he realizes the beautiful lawyer is telling the truth. She isn’t letting him or his child off the hook, either, and they begin to recognize the tough love for what it is: she cares. She also makes it clear she can’t stay. If Sunny goes back to New York, his kids will be heartbroken. And they won’t be the only ones…

Before he could tell himself not to, Griffin stopped her.

“Thanks,” he said at last. “I’m glad Amanda apologized. You were right. She did take your watch.”

Sunny half smiled. “And you didn’t let her get away with it.”

He shouldn’t care that she sounded proud of him. He shouldn’t be staring at that little uptilt at the corner of her mouth. “So what am I missing?” he asked, because nothing involving his daughter was simple these days. “Did she even sound sincere?”

“She…tried.” Sunny hesitated. “But you didn’t welcome my interference before, and I doubt you’ve changed your mind. I’m out of the advice-giving business.”

Ouch. Forcing his gaze away from her, he noticed the growing darkness. The sun had slipped lower in the sky and the colors had bled into a deeper shade of almost burgundy. “I’m impressed, Counselor. Didn’t imagine you’d give up that easily.”

“I have my moments.”

Dear Reader,

One of the things I like most about writing is motivation. Without it I’d spend my days staring out my office window (always a temptation!). Deadlines sure make good motivation for authors <grin>. But I’m talking here about characters and their histories.

In Man of the Family, something traumatic happened long ago to my heroine, Sunny Donovan, and she is now on a crusade to help other girls avoid the same fate. Griffin Lattimer, my hero, was quite young when he lost his dad, and that has made him responsible to a fault.

Now Griffin is trying to find his long-missing wife and protect his kids from further hurt. The last thing he needs is to fall for Sunny. Why would a driven New York attorney stay with Griffin, the manager of a Florida apartment complex?

But love has been missing from his and Sunny’s lives for too long. Can they find true happiness with each other in a family of their own? Start reading to find out!

All the best,

Leigh

Man of the Family

Leigh Riker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LEIGH RIKER, like many readers and writers, grew up with her nose in a book. To this day she can’t imagine a better way to spend time than curling up with a good romance novel—unless it is to write one! When she’s not in her home office on a small mountain in the Southeast, this Ohio native is probably traveling. For research purposes, of course. With added inspiration from her mischievous Maine coon cat, she is now at work on a new novel. You can find Leigh on Facebook at LeighRikerBooks and on Twitter, @lbrwriter.

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To the other members of CARA

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Thanks for the friendship, the lunches and

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about writing, too. What a great group!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SUNSHINE DONOVAN STILL trusted in the simple things—today’s weather report, for example. She should have known better.

Sunny had just left the Jacksonville airport—with the car radio blaring a bright afternoon forecast—when the leaden skies opened up. A torrent of semitropical rain spilled over the windshield, reminding her again of a recent tabloid headline.

Sunny Clouds Up.

Oh, you’d better believe it. Only yesterday, in a Manhattan court, in front of her favorite judge, Sunny had blown up. She’d gotten a contempt citation for her momentary loss of control, but the jury’s ruling really had been the last straw.

She was still as mad as blue blazes, even though she felt like a sun hat someone had left in the rain.

The disastrous trial verdict and a brand-new divorce decree weren’t the end of the world, if she took the longer view. But her life right now could be summed up in another too-cute banner from the New York papers.

Defense Rains on Sunny’s Parade.

If only the jury hadn’t, too.

Pulling into her parents’ suburban driveway a short while later, Sunny decided she deserved a rest. Coming back to Jacksonville was never easy, and this time, thanks to Nate’s official exit from their marriage, she was alone.

Prosecutors lost cases all the time, she reminded herself, but she still couldn’t believe the jury had bought the defense’s claim that their client was crazy when he’d killed an innocent girl. She could still hear his threats. Keep looking over your shoulder, Donovan. One day I’ll be there.

Sunny had heard such threats before. When she went back to New York, she’d no doubt hear them again, but she was determined to overcome this blot on her win/loss record. If she wanted to become DA, she’d have to.

And someday, she’d be able to think about the end of her marriage without wanting to cry. Even if, as Nate had always said, Sunny tended to wear her heart on her sleeve.

“Sunny?”

As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, her mother—a blur of flowered print shorts and top—swept her into a hug.

“We didn’t expect you until tonight,” she said, patting her hair back into place. It was even lighter than Sunny remembered, shot through with strands of silver. “Why didn’t you call? Dad planned to meet you at the airport.” She drew back to study Sunny from head to toe, and Sunny knew her mom wouldn’t miss the limp hair that hadn’t been combed all day, a rumpled suit and the laddered run in her pantyhose.

“Quite a mess, huh?” She forced a smile. “I caught an earlier plane. Staying in Manhattan for even a few more hours lacked—not to make a pun—appeal.” All she’d wanted was to flee, as if she were the guilty one, rather than Wallace Day.

Her mother’s blue gaze was probing. “Tell me everything.”

Sunny drew a sharp breath. “Mom. I can’t. Not yet.”

As if to save her, the back door opened. Her dad saw her and broke into a grin. Smile lines radiated from the corners of his brown eyes. “Hey there, Sunshine.”

He was still solid, tall and straight with the same brown hair that showed barely any gray. Still her hero.

Without hesitation she launched herself into his arms. Enfolded, cherished, she was still his girl. She loved her mother, too, but things often grew complicated between them. With her dad she always knew where she stood. He’d taught her to throw a baseball and to swim. He’d hugged her tight when she lost her first boyfriend. She never doubted he would see her side about the trial and Nate.

“Welcome home. How long has it been this time?” he asked.

“Too long. Last Christmas,” she said, “when you and Mom came to visit.”

“And, as usual, hated every second—”

“—in what you always refer to as The City.” On the verge of separation from Nate, Sunny had pretended everything was fine. “I think you were right years ago about me moving north,” she said. “Life in the fast lane doesn’t seem so exciting at the moment.”

His hold tightened, but he didn’t say I warned you.

“And can you believe that jury?” her mother said. “That dreadful man...”

Her dad shook his head. “If I were that poor girl’s father—”

“You’re not, thank goodness,” Sunny said, then slipped from his embrace. “But I know how you feel. I can’t stop thinking about Ana Ramirez’s sweet face. At least Wallace Day will be confined to a facility in upper New York State to undergo treatment for his ‘problem.’”

“Problem? He’s a killer.”

“That’s why he’ll stay there until—unless—a psychiatric review board decides he’s no longer a threat to society.”

Her father frowned. “He’ll also be eating three meals a day, watching TV, lifting weights, and sleeping in a clean bed. That child’s parents probably don’t sleep at all. She has no life.”

Sunny was glad he’d spoken out.

“What can I say? Wallace Day beat the system, even though an insanity defense usually doesn’t play well with a jury.” She frowned. “I still don’t think Day is insane.” And yet he had threatened her after his victory. How sane was that?

Maybe I didn’t do my job well enough.

But her mother was done with that subject. “And when I think how we welcomed Nate with open arms,” she tried again.

“Not now, Kate.” Sunny’s dad steered her from the kitchen toward the stairs. On the way he scooped up her suitcase.

“Where are you going?” Her mother’s brittle tone spoke volumes. “Have you forgotten? The upstairs is a disaster area. That hurricane a few weeks ago tore off part of our roof, Sunny—the part over your old room.”

Sunny sighed. She’d been looking forward to a long nap there before dinner.

“The whole back part of the house is under tarps right now. It still leaks when it rains. And for who knows how long? It was the last straw for me,” her mother murmured.

“I’ve called every contractor in town,” her father said, his voice tight. “Sunny won’t mind sleeping in my den. Will you, Sunshine?”

“Jack, that sofa bed is like sleeping on nails.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.” Sunny paused. “As long as I’m home, that’s all I need.”

Her mother was right about the lumpy sofa bed. Still, it beat staying another night in the apartment she’d shared with Nate—the apartment they’d soon have to sell. She wasn’t ready to think about that either.

A moment later her father closed the door behind him, leaving Sunny alone in the den with her thoughts. No more quarrels with Nate. No more waiting for an unfair verdict. No courtroom overreaction. No more threats from Wallace Day. They were empty, she hoped, the result of his anger management problem, to put it mildly.

Sunny had never needed a hiding place more. Even in a house with only half a roof, her family was her foundation, her rock. Feeling boneless, she crawled into the lumpy bed. Her head nestled into the pillow, and with a heavy sigh she slept.

* * *

TEN MINUTES A DAY, that’s all he asked. Wearing damp jeans, Griffin Lattimer padded across the gray carpet into his living room. He sported a temporary Batman tattoo, which he’d won after tonight’s bath time water fight with his son. With both his children tucked into bed, Griffin checked his messages, steeling himself for trouble.

Beep.

This is Mrs. Moriarty, 27B. I called yesterday about those bathroom faucet washers, but you haven’t replaced them. My water’s dripping all over the place.

Beep.

Lattimer, my lease says I get painted every three years. I’m not paying the rent until you redo my kitchen. That wet-behind-the-ears kid you sent over should be fired. He just slapped that paint on...looks like—

Griffin hit delete. The usual complaints. Nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Besides, their words were already carved into his brain. His job as manager of the Palm Breeze Court Apartments complex could be a thankless one, but he’d made his choice. Boston, and his short stint as a TV news anchor, was a million miles away now. Like Rachel.

But Griffin wasn’t going anywhere. He’d grown up without a father, and his kids wouldn’t have to do the same.

In the nighttime silence, he thought back to that rainy afternoon. Ten years old and wearing his first black suit, standing at his father’s graveside. His uncle stood beside him. His mother, on Griffin’s other side, clutched his hand and wept into her handkerchief.

You’re the man of the family now, she’d said. Make Daddy proud.

She was gone now, too. More than ever, it was all up to him.

Griffin headed for the refrigerator. With a cold bottle of water, he settled in front of the big-screen television he’d bought last Christmas, his second without Rachel.

The first year after she’d left, which seemed to be the way he measured time these days, he’d actually forgotten to put out milk and cookies for Santa.

“They’re not homemade cookies anyway,” his daughter had told her younger brother, not making Griffin feel better at all.

It was only September, but already he dreaded the season again. There would be no Christmas Eve with Rachel, the two of them installing batteries in toys or laying train tracks under the tree. Making memories together.

He sat and listened to the silence. The kids had stopped calling to each other across the hall. He didn’t hear Amanda’s stereo or Josh’s small but noisy feet stomping to the bathroom for the tenth time. Each night Griffin anticipated this moment when their new home finally grew quiet, and he could stop worrying for a while about lost homework, stomachaches, neighborhood bullies, loose baby teeth and how the tooth fairy would come up with another five bucks.

Headlights arced across the windows, and his brother-in-law’s truck drew up out front, a more than welcome sight. His smile usually lightened Griffin’s mood.

Tonight, his eyebrows tucked low in a scowl, Chris Cabot stalked into the living room. He dropped onto the sofa. He still wore his khaki work clothes, and the pungent aroma of fish stung Griffin’s nostrils. He fought a grin. The problem had to be Griffin’s sister, who could drive a man to thoughts of mayhem.

“What’s Bronwyn done now? Overloaded all the credit cards? Replaced the living room furniture? No,” he answered himself, “she did that a few months ago. This is too soon, even for Bron.”

Griffin sprawled on the sofa beside Chris. His hair—lightened from days spent on his charter boat—was tangled, and his blue eyes seemed darker than normal.

“I’m just fried,” Chris said. “I spent all day out with a bunch of neurosurgeons from the Mayo clinic, and their catch was ‘unacceptable.’ They’ll probably never come back. Ever since the hurricane that tore off Mom and Dad’s roof, my business has been off.” He paused. “Then I get home and no one’s there. You seen Bron tonight?”

Griffin shook his head. “She probably met up with one of her friends. You know, her life didn’t start the day she met you.”

Chris didn’t respond. Griffin had never seen him like this, but since Rachel had disappeared he’d soothed Amanda’s and Josh’s feelings often enough. He peered into Chris’s worried eyes.

“Yep,” he said, “they look green to me. For no good reason.”

Chris’s mouth twitched. “Shut up. Let me miss my wife—and feel miserable.” The smell of fish wafted through the air between them. “What would you know? It’s not like you’ve been around anyone over the age of thirteen since—”

“Thanks.” Pain coiled inside Griffin like a rattler. But Chris was right. Who was he to talk? In his experience, happiness didn’t last, and he wasn’t looking for another chance. All he cared about was finding Rachel. Protecting his kids.

Chris grimaced. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean...”

“Look, save it. I’ve heard your speech a hundred times since last New Year’s, and nothing’s changed.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. It’s more than time for you to—”

“Back off, Chris,” he said, but it was Griffin who moved a foot away. “I’m not exactly free to socialize. I have two kids to raise.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to be a martyr. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Griffin didn’t answer. For a long time after Rachel had left, he would have been able to say no. He hadn’t felt a thing then. He didn’t want to, even now.

Chris tried again. “My sister’s home. You remember Sunny? She’s feeling sort of unhinged, my mother says.”

“Unhinged? And that’s a recommendation?” Griffin remembered her from Chris and Bron’s wedding. He’d been best man, and Sunny Donovan had been matron of honor. Tall, blond hair, gray-blue eyes...similar coloring to Rachel’s. She wasn’t his type now. No one was, really. “A hotshot lawyer, isn’t she? Driven?” Which was about as far as possible from Griffin’s present life.

Chris laughed. “I know she comes across that way sometimes, but Sunny’s all right. She has a big heart. She’s just having a rough time. Maybe the four of us could get together some night. No obligation. Just a fun evening out. With adults.”

Griffin tried to switch topics as if he were changing channels on the TV. “Your sister’s married. So am I.”

“After two years?” Chris wouldn’t give up. “Rachel isn’t coming back, Griff.”

“Maybe not, but I have my standards.”

“You don’t even know where she is.”

“I’m still looking,” he said.

“Know what I think? You should file for divorce.” He paused. “Sunny’s already divorced. As of a few days ago, it’s a done deal. Then, after that—”

“No, thanks.”

Not quite to his relief, he heard Amanda in the hall. He and Chris turned as she came into the room, and Griffin’s heart rolled over. He couldn’t believe she was already a teenager, though barely.

“It’s late,” he said. “Why are you still up?”

“I’m hungry.” Her shy smile blossomed, but not for him. “Hi, Uncle Chris.”

“You knew I was here.”

She nodded. Her dark blond hair hung to her waist and shimmered in the light. Her hazel eyes warmed.

“Josh knew, too. But he fell asleep while you and Daddy were fighting.”

“We’re not fighting,” Griffin said quickly. “We were having a discussion.”

“Did Aunt Bronwyn do something bad?”

Looking guilty, Chris closed the distance between them to hug her. “No, Mandi. She’s good, and I love her. You, too.” He tapped her nose with a forefinger that probably smelled like tuna, but she giggled. “Now be a good kid.” He lightly spun her toward the kitchen. “Get your snack and go back to bed.”

She would have given Griffin an argument, guaranteed. Josh at five was still manageable, despite his tendency to worry about everything; but with Mandi he no longer seemed able to connect.

“It’ll be time for school before you know it,” Chris added.

“I hate school.”

That didn’t bother Chris. “So did I. Par for the course.” As she went into the kitchen he lowered his voice. “You think she was standing in the hall, listening?”

“Probably.” He hoped not, especially the part about Rachel. Griffin said no more until Amanda came back with a banana and a glass of milk. He didn’t look at her when she drifted down the hall, didn’t want to ask himself why. The spray of freckles across her nose made him yearn for simpler times when she’d been the little girl who worshipped him. “Good night, baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” she said. “Night, Uncle Chris.”

“Keep taking those Gorgeous pills.” He grinned at Griffin. “Man, I don’t envy you in another few years. Scrawny boys ringing your bell day and night. She’s going to be a beauty, Griff.”

“She already is.” Like Rachel.

He walked Chris to the door, but his brother-in-law lingered without opening it. He gazed at Griffin’s forearm and the smeary tattoo he hadn’t seemed to notice before.

“That’s a great look for you,” he finally said, then let himself out into the night.

Shaking his head, Griffin locked up. He didn’t envy his brother-in-law, having to make adjustments to his new marriage with Bronwyn. She’d been born strong-willed, bent on getting her way, but he’d never seen a happier couple the day they married—except for him and Rachel long ago.

He shut off the lights and went to his room. Never mind the talk about Sunshine Donovan. Divorced now, was she? Yet Chris’s words stayed with him. Every night Griffin looked forward to his few moments of quiet time, to his solitary thoughts. And every night he ended up wishing he wasn’t alone with them.

Maybe for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER TWO

AS IF IT were her first day in court, Sunny gazed at her sister-in-law’s classroom filled with middle school students. She’d only been home for a week. Why had she let Bronwyn talk her into taking part in Career Day?

Sunny had never been much of a speech maker. Funny, for a woman who earned her living by performing in front of a jury. But in a courtroom, before making a motion to the judge or examining a witness, she had plenty of time to prepare.

Now she shuffled her notes. And rubbed at the ache in her lower back. Her dad’s sofa bed was living up to its reputation.

What could she tell these kids about her dedication to a legal process that had recently failed her? She still believed wholeheartedly in the law, but the Wallace Day verdict had shaken her confidence.

Bron’s students had listened raptly to the minor league ball player now squeezed behind a desk in the front row, and to the bulky city police officer next to him. Would they listen to her?

As if in answer, a pair of spitballs sailed across the room, and all at once she knew how to begin.

“Good morning,” she said. “It seems we have some future felons in our audience today.” She leveled a look at two lanky boys in the rear who were obviously the culprits. “No more missiles, gentlemen,” she said with a smile and a pointed glance at the police officer.

A few kids laughed. The boys turned red.

Sunny set her watch on the teacher’s desk in front of her. She had twenty minutes to sway this jury, and the oversized timepiece with its thick band of multicolored glass beads would keep her on track. Sunny had bought it one weekend down in SoHo. She liked to wear it as a contrast to her usual prim business suits—today, a subtle navy blue pinstripe.

“So you want to be a lawyer,” she said and heard a few snorts from the class. “I hope in the next few minutes you’ll discover how exciting a career in law can be.”

From the back of the room Bronwyn gave her a thumbs-up, her bright hair turned to copper in the sun that flooded through the windows behind her.

Sunny took a deep breath. She surveyed the students, distracted by a girl with dark blond hair and what looked to be a permanent frown, then hit her stride. This was what she did best. By the end of her presentation, the knot in her stomach had loosened. She checked the watch.

“We have a bit more time. Any questions?”

The faces looked uniformly friendly now, except for that girl in the center row who slumped in her chair, and for an instant Sunny froze. That sweet, heart-shaped face reminded her of Ana Ramirez, lost forever because of Wallace Day. Yet this girl seemed familiar in another way, too. Wondering why, Sunny leaned against the desk and chose a towheaded boy, who posed the first question.

“How much money do you make?”

“Not nearly enough.” The boy smiled, but the girl didn’t. “Seriously, as a government employee, I don’t get the big bucks like a defense lawyer, but I make a good living.” She named a figure range typical of lawyers coming out of school to take their first jobs, then a larger span for established attorneys. “My advice would be to aim for Law Review if you want to command a higher starting salary.”

“What’s Law Review?”

Sunny explained the importance of third year and the prestige attached to the journal, especially at the top law schools. “I was editor at Harvard. Anyone else?”

The girl’s hand shot up.

“Aren’t all lawyers crooks—and liars?”

“A common misconception,” Sunny answered to mild laughter from the other students. The classic joke ran through her mind. What do you call a group of lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start. “I won’t deny there are some bad apples out there, but for the most part, lawyers are decent people who happen to love debating fine points of the law.” She smiled. “And winning.” Although that sometimes meant going over the top when you lost.

The lunch bell rang, ending Career Day’s morning session. Sunny thanked the kids for their interest, and a smattering of applause followed. Not bad for a woman who’d slept twelve hours a day for a week and refused to take any phone calls—including Nate’s—except, finally, at her mother’s insistence, Bronwyn’s.

“You need to get back in the saddle,” Bron had claimed. “Talk to my class. They’re bound to be easier than that jury in New York. You can’t sit in your parents’ house waiting for the cuts to heal.”

That had been enough to make her say yes. She couldn’t continue to fret over Nate either, about what they’d once had, what might have been. She had to pull herself together sometime, and the classroom forum had made a simple start. Satisfied, she gathered her note cards, which she hadn’t consulted as much as she’d expected to.

As the room emptied and the students filed past, a few kids even stopped to thank her until Bron ushered the last child from the room toward the cafeteria. The cop and the ball player had already left.

In the hallway Bronwyn linked her arm with Sunny’s. “Fabulous. Thanks for coming.”

“I enjoyed it myself.” To her surprise, she had. Sunny stifled a yawn. “Guess I’ve had enough excitement for one day. Time for my afternoon nap.”

Bron’s amber-brown eyes softened. They didn’t know each other well—they’d met after Bron and Chris became engaged when Sunny had been living in New York—and Sunny looked forward to becoming better acquainted. So, apparently, did Bronwyn. “I’m happy you’re home,” she said. “Let’s get together soon.” Her smile turned sly. “I’m dying to know what kind of settlement you got from the evil Nate.”

Without answering, Sunny said goodbye and continued down the hall to the front entrance before she remembered her watch. It was still on the desk in the classroom. Threading her way through the noisy students eager for lunch, she noticed the same girl from Bron’s class. Her long hair swinging, she walked several feet behind the other students, then turned away to say something to a friend.

When they passed, she and Sunny bumped shoulders. Sunny glanced down and found herself staring at the girl’s fine-boned wrist. She wore an outsized watch with a band of blue, cream and green glass beads. Sunny’s watch.

For an instant they exchanged looks. Sunny could have sworn the girl smiled in triumph. Why would she take the watch? With a look at her own bare arm, Sunny stepped toward her, but the girl turned her back to hustle her friend around a corner and into the lunchroom.

Sunny had no qualms about confronting the girl; she did that every day in her job. When she faced a jury, no one ever saw her blink—not even Wallace Day. And if she didn’t approach the girl, she might never see her watch again. On the other hand... Oh, no.

Sunny stopped in her tracks. No wonder the girl had looked so familiar. She was Bronwyn and Chris’s niece. She’d been a junior bridesmaid at their wedding, her father the best man. She was Griffin Lattimer’s daughter.

Did he or Bronwyn know she was a thief?

* * *

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Sunny parked her father’s Bronco in a visitor’s space at the Palm Breeze Court Apartments. Bronwyn, incredulous about her niece, had warned her this wouldn’t be easy.

“Let me handle it,” she’d said. “Griffin can be prickly about his kids. There’s no telling how he’ll take your accusation.”

“It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact, Bron,” she’d replied.

Taking a deep breath, Sunny studied the complex. The low, stucco-sided buildings were arranged in horseshoe-shaped courts around broad streets lined with palm trees. The style, common to the area, didn’t appeal to her. From the high-rise apartment she’d shared with Nate, she could see the East River but not her neighbors. Here, the wide windows of each unit virtually invited passersby to look inside.

The front entrance to number 17A was painted colonial blue with gleaming nickel hardware and a matching knocker below the security peephole. The flowerpots on the porch held drooping annuals, and another planter held wilted white geraniums.

Sunny knocked. Twice.

From within she heard the music of a string quartet. She didn’t recognize the composer, but her taste ran more to classic rock. Sunny liked her music to make some noise.

“The kids are at the clubhouse,” a male voice called out.

The voice, which Sunny remembered from the wedding, belonged to Griffin Lattimer. She felt a twinge of regret for bringing him bad news and knocked again.

Finally, he swung the door open, blinking at the rush of sunlight.

Sunny blinked, too. She’d remembered that Griffin was an attractive man. He’d looked great in a tuxedo two years ago. Now he wore jeans with a black T-shirt, and his dark hair was longer. The style wasn’t intentional, Sunny guessed; it seemed as if Griffin needed a cut but didn’t have time to bother. He didn’t appear to have time for her, either.

Upon finding that his visitor was an adult, he tensed. His gaze slid over her before the flare of interest—if that’s what it was—quickly disappeared.

She held out a tentative hand. “Griffin, hi. Sunny Donovan.”

His eyes—with their clear hazel irises rimmed by a deep brown—looked exactly as she remembered, but they seemed even more remote. He didn’t shake her hand, and she wondered if she could manage this confrontation after all.

She forced a smile. “We met at Bronwyn’s wedding to my brother, Chris.”

“Hi,” he said at last but didn’t move from the doorway.

He’d seemed preoccupied at the wedding. He hadn’t said five unnecessary words to her, and he wasn’t any more sociable now.

Like Nate toward the end of their marriage. She was surprised he kept calling her, though she still wasn’t tempted to answer.

“May I come in?” She glanced behind her at the street. “I have something to tell you, but I’d rather say it in private. It’s about your daughter.”

Griffin looked toward the center of the complex, and Sunny could have bitten her tongue. She saw fear in his eyes and hastened to reassure him.

“Amanda is perfectly fine. But something happened today at school. I thought you should know.” She didn’t see how else to say it. “Amanda stole my watch.”

Griffin stared at her for a long moment before he stepped back, motioning her inside. Feeling more uncomfortable with every second, she eased past him. In the small foyer, Sunny explained that morning’s incident. “The watch was unusual, not expensive but different. Handmade.” She described the beaded band. “When I finished my talk it was gone.”

“Why would Mandi want a cheap watch?” His gaze skimmed her again in obvious disapproval. “I’d expect you to wear a gold Rolex.”

Sunny flushed but refused to be derailed.

“During my talk Amanda glared at me the entire time. She later asked a question clearly meant to embarrass me.” Sunny paused. “I didn’t expect her to remember me from the wedding, and I didn’t recognize her at first.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. At least she was getting some reaction now.

“You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t. Your daughter was seen wearing the watch.”

“By whom?”

“Me.”

He half smiled. “That’s pretty circumstantial, isn’t it, Counselor?”

Sunny stiffened. The one word seemed to draw a line between them. All she’d been trying to do was help. But if he wanted to see her as an opponent—a prosecutor interrogating him on the witness stand—rather than as a woman who simply wanted to keep his family from more heartbreak...then, okay. Fine. The gloves came off.

“No,” she said. “It’s eyewitness.”

“Your word against hers.”

His attitude made her see red. “Griffin, I could have taken this to the principal—for starters. But because you and I have met before and Amanda is my brother’s niece, I decided to keep this in the family. I suggest we ask Amanda to explain.”

“And I suggest you leave.”

Sunny looked toward the clubhouse area. All right. Change of tactics.

“Not before I speak to Amanda.”

He moved, faster than she’d thought possible, and tried to catch her arm, but Sunny evaded the contact.

Griffin’s voice was cool but harsh. “Why don’t you go back to ambulance chasing or whatever it is you people do, and leave us alone?”

Another wave of adrenaline surged through her. First, the Rolex comment and now, you people. She tilted her chin up to hold his gaze.

“Listen, Mr. Lattimer—if that’s the way you want it. I’m well aware you’ve lost your wife and you have more than a full-time job raising two children on your own. That does not give Amanda an excuse to steal anyone’s property.”

“My daughter is not a thief.”

“I’ve worked with lots of teenagers and young adults in court, and I know all the signs of trouble to watch for. Swift mood changes, uncharacteristic behavior, furtiveness, unwholesome friendships, depression...any of that sound familiar?”

His darkened gaze faltered. “Mandi is not unhappy.”

“Maybe you aren’t looking closely enough.”

“Maybe you’re butting in where you don’t belong. I asked you to leave.” He took another step toward her. “Now I’m not asking.” Before Sunny could react, he had grasped her upper arm. A light touch but still...

She tried not to panic. His fingers felt hot through the layers of her suit jacket and blouse sleeve, as if he were touching bare skin. She jerked free.

Still bent upon getting her out of the apartment, he opened the door. “I’ll talk to Mandi about the watch, but I can tell you right now, she had nothing to do with it.”

“It was on her wrist!”

“Yeah, well. Maybe one of her friends let her wear it.” He added, “Chris said you weren’t yourself right now. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Let’s not,” Sunny began but didn’t finish.

She had stepped outside, and the door shut behind her. Her arm pulsed from the lingering heat of his fingers.

Bronwyn had warned her. Where his children were concerned, Griffin Lattimer had a definite blind spot.

Whether or not she got her watch back, Sunny didn’t intend to see him again.

CHAPTER THREE

GRIFFIN WAS STILL seething when he locked up that night. Where did Sunshine Donovan get off, telling him how to deal with his children? He cast a glance at Amanda’s room.

It was after eleven o’clock, and her light still glowed through the gap in the half-closed door. Then he heard her voice.

For a second Griffin hesitated. He picked his battles these days, but with an inner sigh he rapped a knuckle against her door. “Amanda?” When she didn’t answer, he knocked again.

“Go away,” she said.

That sulky tone of voice drove him nuts. It was almost as if she hated him.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk.”

Griffin pushed the door open. “Too bad,” he said, his mind made up.

Amanda was sitting on her bed, outside the covers. She wore blue pajamas, a bunch of pink-and-lime and green-and-purple pillows piled around her. Her favorite stuffed giraffe lay cuddled under her arm, and her cell phone was in her other hand.

“Hang up,” Griffin said.

Amanda’s expression was one of utter disgust, but with a put-upon sigh she obeyed. “See you tomorrow. He’s here,” she told someone at the other end of the line.

He waited for a long moment, trying to choose his words with care.

“I thought we had agreed. No phone calls after nine o’clock.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Neither could Dixie.”

Griffin almost groaned aloud. Ever since he and his kids had moved to Jacksonville, Amanda had acquired a strange new set of friends. Or, rather, one friend specifically. And she set his teeth on edge.

“Did you finish your homework?”

He didn’t have to ask. Her notebook lay on the desk across the room, unopened. On top, a stack of assignment forms appeared to be blank.

“I’ll do it later.”

“It’s almost midnight, Mandi. You need sleep.”

She huffed out another aggrieved sigh. “So, what am I supposed to hand in tomorrow? I thought my grades were important to you.”

Her tone reminded him about her low average last spring but again Griffin took time to respond, his worst instincts going off like fireworks inside. For the first time he wondered if Sunny Donovan had been telling the truth. Frankly, as soon as she’d accused his daughter, he’d been too angry to think.

Not a welcome reaction on his part, but he’d thought about Sunny all evening while the Patriots kicked Miami around the football field. That was just what he needed. A woman who thought his daughter was a thief. A woman whose coloring reminded him of Rachel, someone driven—like himself in his TV anchor days.

“Your grades should be important to you,” he told Mandi. “You’ll be in high school next year. Four years after that there’ll be college.” How was that even possible? Where had the time gone? “Yes, grades matter. And in this house—”

“It’s not a house. It’s an apartment. We don’t have a home anymore.” She had that disdainful look on her face that made Griffin want to throw something. Not that he would.

But getting into a fight about semantics didn’t seem wise.

“Look,” he said, “let me remind you. I’m the adult here. You’re the kid.” He started toward the nearest switch plate. “Lights out. Now.”

Halfway across the room Griffin stopped cold. Mandi’s whitewashed dresser—something she called shabby chic—was next to the switch. And on the dresser lay a watch.

His stomach sank in a dizzying rush.

The watch matched the description Sunny Donovan had given. Perfectly. There could be no mistake. He picked it up, ran his fingers over the colorful glass beads.

“Where did you get this?”

She sounded bored. “What?”

“This watch. It’s not yours.”

“It is now.”

“Meaning?”

“Um, Dixie gave it to me.” She was clearly buying time, making up some story as she went along. “She didn’t want it anymore.”

Maybe a friend let her wear it. He’d said so himself. With everything in him, Griffin wanted to believe her. Only he didn’t.

How many times had he heard that same tone of voice whenever Amanda was shading the truth? Right now she was plucking at some imaginary lint on her flower-patterned sheet, and her cheeks had turned an intimidating red. Her fingers trembled. She glanced at the photo album she kept on her nightstand. Next to it stood a framed picture of Rachel.

“Don’t lie to me, Amanda.”

She didn’t respond, and Griffin had no choice but to tell her about Sunny’s earlier visit. His daughter listened in stony silence.

“Why do you always think I’m guilty?” she asked when he’d finished. “It’s like you want to find something wrong.” Tears quivered in her voice. “You still like Josh, but you don’t like me.”

Mandi is not unhappy, he’d told Sunny.

Holding the watch, Griffin walked back to the bed. Her bent head spoke of guilt. Yet she wouldn’t admit it. She’d tried to sidetrack him with a completely different subject.

Right after Rachel had left, the counselor had said Griffin’s first task would be reassuring his children that he was still here for them. But despite his best efforts, Amanda didn’t feel secure.

He had to tread lightly. True, he was deeply disappointed that Amanda had taken the watch, but he wouldn’t show her how he felt. He never did. In an effort to avoid more damage to his family, Griffin struggled to maintain a deceptively calm—some would say closed-off—facade.

Yes, he was the grown-up here, the guy who had to keep things together. Make Daddy proud. To avoid upsetting his motherless daughter’s fragile equilibrium, he had to say the right thing.

And he could be wrong about the watch. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he hoped he was wrong. What if she wasn’t guilty? And Dixie really was to blame?

Griffin sat on the edge of the bed beside her but avoided glancing at Rachel’s picture. He touched Amanda’s chin and turned her face toward him. Her eyes, brimming with tears, met his.

“You and Josh are both my first priority. We’re in this together, Mandi. We’re a family.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she whispered.

Griffin’s breath caught. He had no idea how to answer that. “I’m sorry if I accused you unfairly.” He kissed the top of her head then stood. His hand ached from the tight grip he had on the watch. “Let’s sleep on that. We can talk again tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said.

* * *

HOURS LATER AMANDA was still awake. She’d tried staring at the dark ceiling for a while after her dad left, but she could hear his words—his accusations—as if they had just been said.

It had been a long time since her mother sat on her bed, talking about the day’s happenings, laughing with her over nothing at all, kissing her good-night, soothing all the hurts. Two years, sixteen days.

Why mark the stupid time, as if they still lived in Boston and Mom was just visiting her grandmother in Philly, where they used to live?

She slipped between the sheets and flopped down, squashing her stuffed giraffe and her oldest cloth doll against the pillows. She kicked off her slippers under the covers. They were too small, but only yesterday her father had said, “No money for nonessentials this month, kiddo. Maybe after payday.” Amanda knew there would always be bills, lots of them from when Mom had left and run up the credit cards. Just as she knew her big feet would never stop growing.

Amanda hated them.

She hated her growing breasts, too, even though Dixie told her she’d be happy with them one day.

Amanda even hated her name. It wasn’t cool like Dixie’s or her other friends’ in Boston or Philly. Mom had always told her it was lovely, graceful, and she’d grow into it, but Amanda hadn’t heard those words in a long time. Her dad wasn’t much of a talker. And when he did...

Yanking the covers up to her neck, she lay shaking in the dark.

I’m the adult here. You’re the kid.

Why feel surprised that she had absolutely no power?

Your grades should be important to you.

But why? It wasn’t as if she’d ever need any of the dumb things they tried to teach in school. Dixie said they wouldn’t. Like those boring job talks in Aunt Bron’s class. Amanda didn’t plan to become a ball player or a cop or a...lawyer.

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to think about bad stuff anymore.

Or about her dad.

Yet the stubborn memories kept coming. Josh had been only three when their mother took off. In sixth grade then, Amanda had been just getting used to having him around and was glad he’d finally stopped wearing diapers and sucking on a bottle.

Her father, of course, had been at work that day. He’d had a big-deal job then.

Amanda pinched herself for wanting to cry.

Even Josh didn’t cry much now. She wondered if he remembered Mom, which only left Amanda feeling more alone. She remembered everything about her, even the shadows in her eyes right before she left.

In the dark she turned over, off the old doll, which glared up at her with its one remaining black eye. She groped across her nightstand for the snapshot in a porcelain frame with roses around it. Amanda ran a finger over the raised flowers, the cool glass. She didn’t have to actually see the picture. Josh might forget, but she never would. She’d always remember her mom’s soft blond hair. And her eyes would always be the exact same color as the blue in her favorite dishes, and her smile...

Dad hardly ever smiled anymore.

When he did, he smiled at Josh. He was always trying to reassure him.

Setting the picture down, she rolled on to her side, facing the wall. She couldn’t bear to open the photo album tonight.

Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She huddled under the lavender eyelet comforter her mother had helped her pick out when they moved to Boston—like the white wicker nightstand and her dresser—but she couldn’t get warm. She thought of her dad’s Uncle Theo, who still lived in Philadelphia. He didn’t have anyone now, and she missed him, too.

“Mandi?” Whispering, Josh stood at her door. She always kept it half-open in case he needed her. “What’samatter?”

Wiping her wet cheeks, she said, “Nothing. Go back to your room. You want Dad to wake up? He’ll put you in time-out.”

A brief silence made her feel ashamed. Mean.

“Daddy never puts me in time-out.”

She frowned at his small frame backlit by the hallway light. “Well, he’ll want to anyway.”

“No,” Josh said in the doorway. “He loves me.”

You’re both my first priority. Amanda couldn’t believe that, not after he’d accused her of stealing. Blinking, she waited until Josh went back to his room, his bare feet dancing to avoid touching the floor.

Her throat ached, and no matter how much she swallowed, it kept hurting. The tears slid down her face, dripped into her ears and on to her pillow. No wonder he liked Josh better.

No wonder he didn’t smile at her. He only pays attention to me when I’m bad. And even then, what happens? Nothing.

That scared her most of all, as if she were a runaway train, and he wasn’t trying to stop her. He hadn’t stopped Mom, either.

She dragged the giraffe back into her arms and held on tight, her stupid tears wetting its baby-stupid face.

* * *

GRIFFIN TOOK A deep breath and rang the doorbell again. From inside he could hear raised voices, one male, one female.

He hesitated. Try the bell once more? Give up? Or open the door himself?

The Cabots rarely locked their doors.

Griffin opted for the third choice. He couldn’t wait all day. He needed to pick up Josh at school soon. He’d make his apology, then go.

“Hello?” he called out. “Jack? Kate?”

Voices, louder than before, came from the kitchen, but he couldn’t make out their words.

Griffin had started to edge back toward the door when Jack suddenly appeared, his face as red as Santa Claus’s suit. “Griffin,” he said, obviously surprised to see him standing there.

“Sorry. I did ring the bell. I’ll just...”

“No, come on in.” Jack turned to call over his shoulder, “Honey, Griffin’s here. Any coffee left?”

Whatever their quarrel had been about, it was over now, at least for Jack.

Griffin fingered the beaded watch in his pocket.

“No coffee for me, thanks. I was wondering... Is Sunny around?”

Jack turned and rapped on the door to the den. Then he made small talk as if nothing was wrong, inviting Griffin to a cookout the next weekend. “Bring the kids, too, of course,” Jack finished just as Sunny stepped into the room.

She was wearing ankle-length jeans with a white top that had little ruffles around the neck. Her feet were bare, and Griffin could see her stylish red pedicure. Her eyes, however, had turned icy.

“Oh. Mr. Lattimer.”

Jack glanced from one to the other, trying, Griffin supposed, to size up this new problem.

“I’ll make myself scarce,” her father murmured.

Griffin could hear sniffles coming from the kitchen. Kate was apparently taking it hard. Unusual, he thought, because Jack was normally easygoing.

Months ago Amanda had “adopted” Kate—who was always ready with a hug—as a surrogate grandmother. Josh loved to cuddle on her lap, and both his kids roared at Jack’s silly jokes. Griffin and his children had spent quite a few Sunday afternoons here, always a pleasant break from the apartment and the endless stream of renter complaints.

Sunny sighed. “I imagine you heard,” she said. “I’ve been hiding in the den. It’s the third time since I got home.”

“Speaking of disagreements...” Might as well get this over with. Griffin pulled the watch out of his pocket. “Amanda had this on her dresser. In plain sight,” he said, a fact that had been bothering him since last night. “I should have investigated first, before I jumped all over you.”

She studied him. “When you found my watch, what did you say?”

“Nothing right,” he admitted. “Mandi had an answer for everything. She claims her friend Dixie gave it to her.”

“Which implies Dixie did take it in the first place.”

“Dixie didn’t want it anymore, she said. That’s what I’m supposed to believe.”

Her blue-gray eyes searched his gaze. “You don’t?”

“I can usually tell when she’s lying.”

“And that’s common?”

“Never used to be,” he said and backed up a step. “But ever since her mother...” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Ever since her mom packed up and left...yes, Amanda sometimes lies.” He shook his head. “Not that I’m supposed to notice.”

“Let me guess. You let her off the hook—and decided to return the watch yourself.”

Griffin fell back on his usual rationale. “I know she misses Rachel. So does Josh, but he was pretty young when she took off. He doesn’t have the same store of memories Mandi does.”

Sunny shook her head. “I’m not buying it.”

“What?”

“Listen to yourself. You’re making excuses for Amanda. Again.”

“Look, Counselor, all I can say is I’m sorry.” He held out the watch, then waited for her to take it. She didn’t touch him when she did.

Sunny’s eyes chilled another few degrees. “You’re sorry? What did you do—except throw me out of your apartment yesterday? I’d like to hear an apology from Amanda. She should take responsibility.”

He frowned, inching backward again. “You have your watch back.”

“Yes. But for some reason, taking this watch was Amanda’s way of getting back at me. For what, I don’t know.”

“That’s not like Amanda.”

She stared him down and said, “I don’t imagine it’s pleasant to realize your daughter has a problem, but you said yourself she misses her mother. Have you talked to her about that?”

“Tried,” he said. “She stonewalls me.”

“And you retreat. The way you’ve been backing toward that door the whole time you’ve been here.”

“Anyway,” he began, taking another step that proved her right. His pulse was pounding now, slow and hard.

Sunny moved toward him. “I tried to tell you the signs yesterday, and what did you say? That Amanda wasn’t unhappy. You just admitted she sometimes lies. How happy is that?”

“Well...and maybe her new friend isn’t the kind I’d like her to have—”

Sunny looked exasperated. “Doesn’t that tell you something? You don’t do her any favors by looking the other way.” She held up the watch, its beaded band sparkling in the light. “Or by returning this yourself instead of holding your daughter accountable. If she gets away with this—and it is theft—what comes next? Breaking into a store some night with her ‘friend’? Knowing you’ll cover for her again?”

His palms were sweating. Sunny Donovan must be something to see in a courtroom.

“Guess I’m not your candidate for Father of the Year.”

“This isn’t about you,” she said. “I don’t think you’ve really heard a word I said.” She paused. “And of course—I’ll say it for you—it’s none of my business.”

“Right,” he said. “I didn’t ask for your advice, and I’ve gotta go. Josh will be out of school soon.”

She was still standing in the front hall when he shut the door.

He and the kids would not be coming to any cookout.

CHAPTER FOUR

AS SOON AS Griffin shut the front door, her cell phone rang with a melody from Porgy and Bess. Why hadn’t she changed it? Nate was no longer the man she would love until she died.

Sunny ignored his call...again.

Nate had made his choice. Now she was making hers. A clean break seemed the wisest course, at least until they had to deal with selling the apartment.

She wandered into the kitchen. A quick look out the windows showed a dark line of clouds heading this way, but the weather was the farthest thing from her mind. She sank on to a chair at the kitchen table and replayed her conversation with Griffin. Had she come on too strong?

She really had to stop acting like a lawyer on billable hours.

Her father was nowhere in sight, but her mother was at the sink, clattering dishes on the drain board and muttering to herself.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” This being her standard answer when something was, Sunny didn’t even blink. Her mother would pry every last bit of information from someone else, but getting her to open up was always a hard, if not impossible, task.

“You might as well tell me,” she said.

Her mother banged a pot into the open dishwasher.

“You didn’t want to talk about Nate when you got home,” she reminded Sunny. “Now I should rattle on about something that doesn’t need talking about?”

“Get it off your chest, Mom.” She paused. “Why were you and Dad fighting?”

To her surprise her mother didn’t try to pretend otherwise.

With a shaken sigh she looked out the windows at the gathering storm, then turned from the sink, drying her hands on a towel before she joined Sunny at the table. “I think we should move. Your father doesn’t.”

Speechless, Sunny stared at her.

“Sell the house?” she finally echoed. “But why? I grew up here. It’s the only home I remember.” The place she needed now, even when that meant sleeping on the old sofa bed. “You love this house,” she said. So do I.

Her mother looked down at her perfectly manicured hands.

“Mom, you’re a homebody. You enjoy spending time here and fine-tuning this room or that. Only Dad’s den has been off-limits.”

Her mother gazed around the homey kitchen with tears in her eyes.

“We bought this house when you were seven, and we’ve been here a quarter century.”

“Yes, and it’s still my home, too.” Soon it would be the only one she’d have.

Thunder rumbled outside, making her mother flinch. “You know about the hurricane that took off our roof. Coming from the airport you must have seen the destruction all over town.”

“It was pouring then. I could barely see through the windshield.” Even if she could, she would have tried to avoid taking in the old neighborhoods.

“That was enough for me,” her mother said. “But some of our friends, you remember the Richardsons, lost everything. And I heard Laura’s mother needs to replace her entire roof.”

At the mention of her friend’s name, Sunny stiffened.

“They all lived closer to the beach than we do,” Sunny’s mom said, “but I think we should put the house on the market while it still has value.” She glanced at the ceiling. Above was the partially ruined second floor and Sunny’s old room with water marks running down the walls, but...

“As if you’ve never weathered a storm before.” Sunny couldn’t quite take the idea in. “Where would you go if you did sell? I mean, not that I think you should...”

Her mother’s face had clouded up.

“You’re on his side?”

“Mom, I know we have our differences—” one of them Sunny’s long-ago move to New York “—but I’m on both your sides.”

A twinge of guilt raced through her. Or was she simply making sure she had a place to hide? To lick her wounds?

Her mother scoffed. “You’re a prosecutor. You always take a side.” She sniffed again. “The Richardsons have gone north to live near their son and grandchildren.” Which served to remind Sunny of another bone of contention. Her mother never missed an opportunity to remind her of the grandbabies she still yearned for. “They’re not coming back,” she said as if the Richardsons had died. “I miss them, but I think they’re safer there.”

“Hurricanes can hit New England, too,” Sunny pointed out. A clap of thunder brought her upright in her chair. “In the time I’ve lived in New York, we’ve had ice storms, floods, a few blizzards, even a mild earthquake. I wouldn’t say it’s that much safer.”

But her parents’ argument still nagged at her. “My childhood—and Chris’s—was practically idyllic.” Sunny took a deep breath before she could continue. “Good schools, a big yard to play in, lots of birthday parties, long days at the beach, friends, and always the certainty that our family, unlike so many others, would stay intact.” If her mother’s need to keep things on an even keel had sometimes troubled her, Sunny had always felt loved. She’d had her dad’s more laid-back nature for a buffer.

Now her mother seized on the word Sunny wished she hadn’t said.

“Speaking of friends, you should call Laura while you’re here. She still lives in town, you know. I haven’t spoken to her mother in ages but—”

Sunny’s aching back hurt even worse. She was so rigid, her neck was burning. “I doubt we’d have much in common, Mom. We haven’t for a long time.”

“But you were such good friends. What’s the harm? Call her, Sunny.”

“I don’t think so,” she said at last. This was one of the not-so-easy parts about coming back. She gave her mom a smile that didn’t quite work. “Once the roof is fixed, you’ll forget about selling the house. And Dad will find some new interest to pursue.” The whole family called him their Project Man. “Besides, if you left here, you’d be leaving Chris and Bronwyn behind. Not to mention those grandbabies they’ll give you.”

She half smiled. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

And with that, the subject was closed. For now. Sunny could already see her mother filing their talk away in some far corner of her mind where all the bad things stayed. Another minute, and she’d be bustling about again, planning what to have for dinner or starting to bake brownies.

“By the way, why was Griffin here this morning? He didn’t even come into the kitchen.” She paused. “I didn’t realize you knew each other except from Chris’s wedding.”

Sunny almost groaned. “There was an incident the other day at Bron’s school.” She explained about the stolen watch and pulled it out of her pocket. “He returned this—but I think Amanda should have done that instead and apologized.”

Her mother frowned, the worry lines between her brows deeper than Sunny remembered. “Such a nice girl,” she said. “I can’t believe she’d steal from you.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure she did.”

Her mother sighed. “I know Griffin is trying his best, but Amanda really needs her mother.”

Sunny couldn’t help asking. “Where is she?”

“No one knows. Apparently—and I hate to gossip—once she hit the Boston city line, there was no further trace of her. I know he’s tried to track Rachel but without any luck.” She added, “And as for Amanda—that poor dear.”

That hadn’t been Sunny’s impression, but she resisted the urge to say so. To her, Amanda was like one of the storm clouds outside. “I think she needs more than her mother.” She sighed. “Griffin didn’t welcome my input, though.”

“I’ll talk to Amanda,” her mother said, and Sunny could all but see her making a mental note. “There must be something we can do.”

Sunny was about to answer when the first drops of rain began to fall, and her cell phone rang again. She checked the display. And almost groaned.

“I need to take this,” she murmured.

Her mom’s eyebrows rose. “Nate?” she mouthed, hope in her eyes.

It wasn’t Nate. Instead, Judge Ramsay was looking for her, and a contempt citation in New York wasn’t something Sunny could ignore.

* * *

HE WAS GOING to run away.

One of these days he’d hop in this soccer-mom van and just take off. He’d forget the daily grind at the Palm Breeze Court, complaining tenants like Mrs. Moriarty and the Grump. He’d race along the Florida highways heading for who knew where.

He’d be gone—just like Rachel.

But he couldn’t ignore the voice in his head. You’re the man of the family now.

His small son was in the backseat, staring at the rain-spattered windows. Thanks to the torrential downpour, Griffin could barely see through the windshield.

All at once his left rear tire blew. Josh whimpered at the loud bang, threatening a full-scale panic attack. Griffin flipped on his right signal, then eased the car on to the shoulder. With traffic flying past, he hit the emergency blinker switch.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he told Josh, breathing a little fast himself. He’d never seen rain like this. Florida really knew how to put on the show. In the rearview mirror Griffin could see Josh’s pale face, eyes squinched shut.

“Are we gonna die?”

Griffin’s stomach sank. “No way,” he said. “You wait here. I’ve got to fix that tire.”

Josh began to cry.

“You’ll be fine. Sit tight.”

He opened the door and stepped out into the rain. After his dad had died, Uncle Theo had made sure he knew how to change tires and do a lot of other fix-it jobs. Griffin scrambled in the trunk for the jack, then cranked up the van’s rear end. As he worked in the downpour, he could still hear Josh weeping inside the car.

The latest storm. He hadn’t forgotten his run-in with Sunny, but he needed to. What did she know about trying to get a balky thirteen-year-old girl off to school five days a week without starting another world war? In some other life he might have heeded those tough words about Amanda’s behavior, but right now trying to keep his family, or what was left of it, together was all that counted. If he wasn’t stepping on eggshells around his daughter, he was soothing Josh’s fears.

Griffin tightened the lug nuts on the spare tire, his mouth set. Once, Rachel would have smiled at him in a situation like this, kissed him and teased Josh from his mood, but if she could always do two things at once, he had enough trouble with one.

The traffic whizzed by, rocking the van. No one was slowing down, even under these conditions. He supposed that was because it seemed to rain like crazy every afternoon.

Maybe they were used to it, but he wasn’t. Neither was his son.

“Daddy?” Josh’s voice came through the side window. “I’m really scared.”

“I know you’re scared, Josh. But everything’s under control.” He finished the last nut, wiped his dirty hands on his pants, then got back in the van. “Want me to put on a video?”

“No.”

This was news. The best thing about the van was the twin screens that lowered from the ceiling. “How about Scooby-Doo?”

“No,” Josh said again.

Griffin couldn’t believe his ears. The old series was Josh’s current favorite. That, and the stuffed blue creature from Lilo & Stitch, which he was strangling at the moment in his car seat. He’d gotten it at Disney World with Rachel’s parents the spring before she left home, the week Griffin had been unable to get away from his anchorman duties at the Boston station.

“Take it easy, buddy. Stitch won’t let anything happen,” he said. Neither will I. But Josh didn’t respond. Probably didn’t believe him.

Cars continued to flash past their precarious place on the narrow shoulder. For an instant, he imagined the van being struck by another vehicle. Which was likely the same thing Josh was doing.

Not long ago Griffin had owned a sleek, new BMW. He’d been on his way to a network slot in an even bigger market.

A passing car blew its horn, nearly shattering his eardrum, and Josh cried out.

Water splatted against the windows like a wet rubber sheet. Mud sprayed the van. Griffin tried to find a safe opportunity to pull into his lane.

In the rearview mirror he saw tear streaks on Josh’s face. His son’s breath came in sharp hitches. Griffin imagined saying Come up front with me, holding his son tight with Stitch still in his grip. He could almost hear what Josh would say. I’m not allowed to get out of my seat. It’s against the law. Josh was prone to the most literal interpretations, and he was right. Griffin sure didn’t want to end up on the Jacksonville news tonight.

He had to fight the temptation to scoop his son on to his lap anyway, the need to feel Josh’s arms tight around his neck.

This was Griffin’s life now. Josh and Amanda. He didn’t need a lecture from Sunny Donovan. He knew all about priorities and responsibilities, the right ones now. He tried to meet them, and sometimes did a halfway good job.

He was a long way from Armani suits and Italian loafers. These days he preferred jeans and old shirts. Even though Amanda’s new friend persisted in calling him a celebrity, he didn’t have to worry about making the day’s broadcast at the studio in Boston.

And sitting in for anchorman Griffin Lattimer, who has the day off...

As a boy Griffin had loved to watch his father read the news on TV. But following in his dad’s footsteps hadn’t worked out. When Rachel left, Griffin had been forced to make some tough choices.

The rain continued to slash against the van. From the driver’s seat, Griffin couldn’t kiss Josh’s silky dark hair or inhale his little boy’s scent. Baby shampoo, red licorice, the tempera paint globs from kindergarten that blotted his Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Griffin’s throat closed.

Run away? Who am I fooling?

If he ever left home, he’d miss Josh and Amanda until it killed him. This small, vulnerable child who needed him to be strong was all that mattered. There was no way out. Griffin was right where he belonged.

“Stitch and I have got you,” he murmured to Josh.

And together, they all three rode out the storm.

* * *

BY THE TIME Sunny pulled into the middle-school parking lot, the rain had stopped.

She didn’t have long to wait before Bronwyn came out of the building. She was carrying a stack of books and juggling a big messenger bag. A wayward lock of copper hair hung over one eye.

Blowing it away from her face, she spotted the Bronco. Bron opened the passenger door, then slid on to the seat, dumping her burden on the floor. “Whew. This is amazing—two visits from you within the week. I hate to disappoint you, but speaking to my class again won’t be possible today. You know, the spitball crowd?” She gave a cheeky smile that somehow missed the mark. “School’s out. Unless you’d like to help me grade fifty essays before tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass.” Sunny came right to the point. “Bron, I need your take on Amanda.”

“As her aunt? Or objectively, as her teacher?”

“Whatever you can tell me.”

“She’s a bright girl who isn’t living up to her potential.” Bron rummaged on the floor and came up with a wrinkled paper. “This is her essay. Four incomplete sentences, eight grammatical errors, a brown smudge from what was probably chocolate milk...and virtually zero content. She didn’t even address the assigned topic.”

Sunny scanned the sheet. “Not a lot of effort went into this. Obviously.”

“Which seems to be Mandi’s habit these days.” Bron sighed. “Just when I’ve gotten the opportunity to spend more time with her, help her adjust... I can’t seem to get through.” She looked away. “I practically bludgeoned Griffin to move to Florida. And now my once-adorable niece has turned into someone I don’t even recognize.”

“I’m sure you didn’t make Griffin move. He doesn’t seem that easy to convince.”

Bron arched a brow. “Ah. You did speak to him about her.”

“Twice.” Sunny took a deep breath and told Bron about their conversations. Then she shook her head. “At his apartment he refused to hold Amanda accountable. And this morning he actually apologized for her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I warned you. Griffin’s not sure how to handle her, and then there’s Josh. He’s always been shy, but since Rachel disappeared, I think he’s afraid his father will, too. He’s pretty anxious.”

Sunny’s heart melted. “He was the cutest ring bearer at your wedding,” she said. “His anxiety isn’t abnormal—from the kids I’ve seen in similar situations—but why doesn’t Griffin get counseling? For all of them?”

“He did, for a while. Then Mandi refused to go, and Josh started wetting his pants before each appointment, and, well, they stopped going.”

“A man in denial if ever I’ve seen one,” Sunny said. “Takes one to know one, I guess. I’ve been a mess since Nate told me he wanted a divorce. Now I’m avoiding him, so we don’t have to talk about selling our apartment.”

Bron touched her arm. “Griffin doesn’t have the market cornered on the hard stuff, does he?” After a moment she went on, “But he’ll have to face facts sooner or later. His kids are troubled, and no amount of pretending they aren’t will make it better.”

“Then you agree with me about Amanda.”

“I wish I didn’t have to—but taking your watch was a definite signal that she needs help.” She gazed off into the distance. “Maybe you can talk to Griffin again at the cookout. I’m not sure we’ll be there,” she added.

“When has Chris ever missed our father’s barbecued ribs?”

Bron only half smiled. “Never. But there’s always a first time.”

Belatedly, Sunny realized that Bron’s smiles had been less than genuine, and her eyes held a worry that should have registered before.

“Trouble?” she asked, tilting her head to look into Bron’s downcast gaze.

She stuffed Amanda’s wrinkled essay back into her bag. “Chris is jealous,” she said, “of the time I spend with my girlfriends. It’s upsetting things at home.”

Sunny’s spirits plummeted. “He’s probably just upset about how the fish are running this month.”

“He always tells me everything’s great,” Bron said, “but you’re right.” She smiled weakly. “This being married stuff isn’t easy.”

Sunny arched an eyebrow. “When Nate and I were first married, we fought like tigers. You and Chris will work it out,” she said, needing to believe that.

“Why couldn’t you?”

Sunny had wondered the same thing many times in the past months.

“We were too different in the end, I guess. We drifted apart in the past few years, and Nate...fell out of love with me.”

Bron hesitated. “You think there’s someone else?”

“That’s the classic reason, but I don’t think so—not that I need to know. How’s that for denial?” She paused for a moment and reconsidered. “No, I think I’m well into the anger stage now.” She told Bron about Nate’s phone calls, the ones she never answered. “I’m not going to help him get over whatever guilt he may feel.”

“Maybe he wants you to come back,” Bron suggested.

“And maybe he doesn’t,” Sunny replied.

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