This isn’t the man she married...

Jenny Buchanan never considered what “for better or for worse” meant when she married Adam Buchanan at nineteen. Six years and two little boys later, “for worse” arrives in the form of a tornado that ravages Slippery Rock and injures Adam. Now he’s a stranger to his family...and love won’t be enough to bring him back.

Only when Jenny asks him to move out does Adam become the husband she needs...but Adam isn’t the only one who’s changed. As their attraction sparks back to life, Jenny and Adam must learn what it is to grow up—and grow together—before this small-town breakup lasts forever.

“You’re wrong, you know...”

“But you can still build this business. We had plans, and we’ll have to adjust, but—” Jenny stopped talking. She couldn’t make Adam want this any more than she could make him want her, want life in general. He had to want those things himself.

He watched her for a long moment. “We?”

Her gaze met his, and it didn’t matter that she’d asked him to move out. That their marriage might be over. What mattered was the look in his eyes. The green darkened to nearly emerald, and seemed to cut right through the confusion she felt at what she wanted, professionally and personally. All that mattered was that for this moment, the two of them were together.

He’d come out of the shell she had begged him to exit.

Adam was back.

Jenny swallowed. “I have the draft of the contracts in my office. All you have to do is sign.”

“I’ll sign anything you want me to sign.”

She was in so much trouble.

Dear Reader,

Some books don’t want to be written, but they just won’t let you go. Breakup in a Small Town is one of those books. I first met Adam and Jenny in Famous in a Small Town—they were fun and silly and seemed to have life perfectly in place. So much so that I had to just roll my eyes at them. A lot. I fully expected to kill Adam off in the tornado that devastated Slippery Rock, but Jenny refused to let Adam die...and I’m so glad. Because falling in love? Easy. Staying in love, especially when love seems to have left us behind? That is truly special.

Helping Adam and Jenny not only fall back in love, but build a deeper love than they found the first time around has been the best writing experience in my life.

Someone told me once that there is no such thing as an ending, only a new beginning. I like to believe that’s true. I hope you enjoy your trip back to Slippery Rock with Adam and Jenny!

I love hearing from readers. You can catch up with me through my website and newsletter at www.kristinaknightauthor.com or on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/kristinaknightromanceauthor, and if you’re a visual reader like me, follow my books on my Pinterest boards—you’ll get some behind-the-scenes information and lots of yummy pictures.

Happy reading!

Kristina

Breakup in a Small Town

Kristina Knight

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KRISTINA KNIGHT decided she wanted to be a writer like her favorite soap-opera heroine, Felicia Gallant, one cold day when she was home sick from school. She took a detour into radio and television journalism but never forgot her first love of romance novels, or her favorite character from her favorite soap. In 2012 she got The Call from an editor who wanted to buy her book. Kristina lives in Ohio with her handsome husband, incredibly cute daughter and two dogs.

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For everyone who has found a bright beginning after a dark ending.

For Kyle, who always brings me to the light.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

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

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Three months ago

THE TORNADO SIRENS began blaring through the downtown area of Slippery Rock as Adam Buchanan raced around the corner of Franklin and Mariner. He glanced behind to see a waterspout out over the lake, visible just over the roof of the Buchanan Cabinetry warehouse. The spout seemed stuck, and he prayed it would stay stuck. Just stay in the lake, away from town, away from people. The wind could still damage property, but strong winds were better than a full-blown tornado any day of the week. A block down Mariner, he rounded the corner to Main Street, and could see the old church, now renovated and housing the day care where his kids spent most summer afternoons.

At the courthouse square, Sheriff Calhoun was urging people into the police station, out of harm’s way. A few residents got into their trucks or cars and sped away from the area.

Adam glanced back again as the wind seemed to increase around him. It was as if time stopped for everything except the waterspout.

The spout moved, becoming bigger as he watched, and the wind roared even louder in his ears. Move, Adam, he ordered himself.

He couldn’t run; the wind was too strong. Sheriff Calhoun motioned at him, yelling something, but the tornado flung the words into the sky. Adam put one arm up to shield his face and continued on. Just another half block and he’d be at the day care center. He would get the kids over to the police station and into the storm shelter in the basement of the building. They would be fine. Just fifteen more steps.

A piece of roof or siding sheared past him and Adam spun a little to the left, reflexively trying to avoid the debris. A gust of wind rattled the awning of another downtown business, and hail began pummeling the tarp above him.

He looked across the street at the old church’s stained glass windows, at the steeple swaying from side to side. No basement. Nowhere for the kids to go to escape all the glass that could explode from the air pressure at any minute.

Adam pushed off the brick wall, running as hard as he could through the gusting wind, until he burst through the front door.

“Frankie, Garrett, it’s Daddy. Where are you?” The wind seemed to lessen once he was inside the old building, but he could still hear the windows rattling, and something crashed outside, not far away.

No one answered his calls. Adam tried the old sanctuary first, because it was an interior room without a lot of windows. No kids lined those walls. The converted classrooms were empty, too. He whirled, running through the layout of the place in his mind. When he was a kid, before they’d converted the church, local kids had played endless hours of hide-and-seek or tag-in-the-dark here. No basement, but there were offices on the back side and—

“Kids!” he yelled again, heading for the baptismal area. It was a six-foot by six-foot sunken area that the church elders would fill with water for baptisms several times each year. No windows, and enough space for the kids and adults to wait out a normal storm.

But there was nothing normal about waterspouts, and the radar on his phone had showed a solid blob of red over the entirety of Slippery Rock and the lake area. This was no normal storm. He had to get them out of there and into the shelter at the police station.

“Kids!” Adam called. The door to the baptismal area was lodged shut and he battered his shoulder against it. A long howl of wind seemed to shudder through the church and then the old door gave way. Adam stumbled into the empty room. No kids. And he had no idea where to look next.

Another loud wail of wind shrieked by, rattling the glass in the windows and seeming to make the entire building shake. A loud crack sounded, louder than the wind. The building shook again, and Adam flattened his back against the wall as part of the roof was ripped away.

He could see a green-gray sky where there had once been dark beams of cedar. Other bits of debris sailed past—tree limbs and what appeared to be hubcaps, and—Adam caught his breath. That looked like a telephone pole! And far, far above that, the steeple twisted and turned in the wind, swaying left and then right and then seeming to bend over the gaping hole where the roof used to be.

Pressing his back against the wall, Adam made his six-foot-two-inch body as flat and small as he could. There was nowhere else to go, and at least the kids weren’t here. Wherever they were, they were safer than he was now. The steeple bent back, and he watched more debris from the tornado whizz past through the sky above. The steeple surged forward and another loud crack sounded over the noise of the storm. When it bent back again, he’d go. He could make it to the police station, see if the workers got the kids over there before the storm began. If not, he’d figure out where they’d taken them and he’d make sure they were safe.

One. The steeple began twisting again, this time pushing toward the rear of the building.

Two. Just a little more. Just get out of his line of sight, he thought, give him enough space to escape from the baptismal font and slip out of the church.

Three. The steeple disappeared from view and Adam pushed off the wall, running through the old church. Hail pelted him through the ruined roof. He hit the front door with his shoulder, pushing as hard as he could against the winds holding it closed. Stained glass shattered, hitting his legs, back and shoulders in hot little explosions of pain, and still he pushed. The door opened a few inches and he pushed harder.

Another crack sounded and Adam looked up. The steeple bent forward at a weird angle, teetered precariously, then twisted left and began to fall.

Another gust of wind pushed Adam back through the door, slamming the thick oak panel against his knees as the steeple came crashing through what was left of the roof.

And then the world went black.

CHAPTER ONE

ADAM SAT IN his wheelchair, watching life happen outside the picture window of his house. Old Mrs. Thompson carried her gardening basket to her mailbox, talking to Mr. Rhodes as she plucked a few errant weeds from the butterfly bushes lining her walk.

Adam’s wife, Jenny, had left the windows open today, so he could hear kids chattering as they walked home from school, and the sound of a passing car up on the main road. And here he was, stuck in the wheelchair that had become his main mode of transportation since he’d woken up in the hospital nearly a week after the F4 tornado tore downtown Slippery Rock to shreds. Not because the crashing steeple had paralyzed him, but because it had messed up his brain. While the doctors adjusted medications to control the epilepsy he hated, Adam was stuck in the chair. Watching the world go by.

God, he hated watching. He wanted to be doing. Working with his tools in the workshop at Buchanan Cabinetry, playing with his kids in the yard or taking a walk with his wife. The woman who’d been stopping his brain from functioning properly much longer than the epilepsy.

The woman who now looked at him only with pity in her eyes.

He hated the pity more than he hated the chair.

Adam had no idea how to deal with either one, so he sat, and he watched, and he wondered if they would all be better off without him. Better off without worrying about when the next seizure would hit, better off because then an able-bodied someone could take his place.

He flexed his fingers against the armrests. The thought of Jenny being with another man, of another guy teaching Frankie how to hit a curve ball or push Garrett higher on the swing set had the pretty blue sky outside the window turning red. He didn’t want another man taking over any tiny, little piece of the life he’d loved before the tornado. Adam sighed. Did it really matter what he wanted? Letting Jenny and the kids move on with their lives, since his was stuck in the wheelchair, was the adult thing to do.

Jenny wouldn’t tell him to leave. If he wanted his family to have a better life, he would have to be the one to leave. Pressure in his chest built up, making it hard to breathe. It was the best option, one that would allow them to heal in a way that his presence never would. Jenny would keep crying herself to sleep. Frankie would still be afraid to so much as hold Adam’s hand, and Garrett... God, Garrett would keep looking at him through green eyes filled with terror.

Adam didn’t want his kids to be afraid of him. He didn’t want his wife to pity him. He just wanted things to go back to normal. To a time when he and Jenny would walk the four blocks to Buchanan Cabinetry together in the mornings. To a time when he’d play with the boys in the backyard before dinner, and wrestle with them before bedtime.

To a time when his touch could soothe whatever troubles made Jenny cry, instead of making those troubles so much worse. He’d been lucky that she fell in love with him before; now it was time to admit that she deserved better. More.

Pushing his hands against the hated wheels, Adam turned the chair from the window and propelled himself to the kitchen. At the step between the kitchen and the living area, he got up, feeling the sharp pain in his knee as he stood. He smiled at the feeling. Pain he could deal with. Pain he could use. He limped across the room, got a glass from the cabinet and poured a beer into it, not caring that he wasn’t supposed to mix alcohol with the medications. He held the glass up, closing his eyes as he let the smell of barley and yeast and hops wash over him.

God, he loved a cold beer.

The back door slammed and Adam dumped the full glass down the sink as his kids rushed through the mudroom, chattering about the Panama Canal and the best way to mix paints in art class. The conversation didn’t make any sense, but then, his kids’ conversations rarely made sense. Frankie, three years older, talked over Garrett, who chattered on whether anyone was listening or not.

Their noise stopped abruptly and Adam turned. His sons stared at him with eyes as wide as quarters.

“Daddy, you’re not s’posed to be out of the chair,” Garrett said, taking a step into the kitchen. He dropped his little backpack onto the tile.

“I was just getting a drink,” he said, rinsing the glass in the sink as he surreptitiously pushed the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. He limped back to the chair, his injured knee screaming in pain as he went.

“Can I have a snack?” Garrett asked, putting his empty lunch box on Adam’s lap, looking at him expectantly. “I ate all my lunch, even the crusts off my PBJ.”

“Sure. How about a cookie?”

“Mom doesn’t let us have cookies after school, Dad,” Frankie said, rolling his eyes as he spoke in that husky voice that made him sound so much older than seven. “Healthy snacks first. Sweets for dessert.” He motioned to his younger brother. “How about an apple?”

“With caramel?” Garrett asked, rocking up to his tiptoes and clasping his hands together.

“Sure.”

“Cut up, no peel,” he said.

Frankie sighed. “You know I’m not allowed to use the knives.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Adam said.

Frankie sighed again, and this time shook his head. “You’re not allowed, either, Dad. No sharps because of the seizures.”

“Cutting up an apple for your brother isn’t going to give me a seizure.” And he could damn well do one normal thing today.

Frankie pressed his back to the cabinet drawer holding the knives. “It’s against the rules.”

Adam gritted his teeth. “I can cut up an apple for a snack,” he said, putting steel into his voice and hating himself for it. He’d never raised his voice to the kids, not once, before the tornado. Now, it was as if he couldn’t make it through a single conversation without getting angry. He clenched his hands around the arms of the wheelchair and stood up again.

Adam limped across the kitchen, picked up his son and set him aside, then drew a small paring knife from the drawer. He put the apple on the cutting board and set the knife, but before he could make the first cut, the back door opened and his kids were off like shots through the kitchen.

“Mom, Dad’s using a knife!”

“It’s against the rules,” Garrett hollered. “I don’t want Daddy to sheeshur because of the knife, Mama.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Jenny’s soothing voice washed over him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you guys up at school today. How was the bus?”

No answer from either of the kids. Adam sliced the knife through the apple and was rewarded with a perfectly halved green Granny Smith.

“Well? How was the bus?” Jenny asked, and he could hear her heels on the hardwood floor. He continued slicing until he had eight even pieces and then began peeling.

“We missed the bus,” Garrett finally said, his voice quiet.

“It’s okay, though. I walked us home. It wasn’t that far,” Frankie said, the words coming in a rush.

“You...” Jenny was quiet for a moment and Adam pictured her running her hands through her hair as she gathered her thoughts. “Okay, well, in the future, don’t walk if you miss the bus. Just call Buchanan’s and I’ll come get you.”

“I don’t like the bus,” Garrett said. “Those big kids are mean.”

“It isn’t a far walk, Mom. And I’m practically eight now.”

And until the tornado had sidelined Adam from work, Jenny had picked up the kids every day at school. Things were different now, he reminded himself. Just one more reason to let them get on with their lives. Without him.

“You won’t be eight until next summer. That’s more than six months away. And your age isn’t the point, kiddo. The point is you’re supposed to ride the bus. Was this ‘miss’ intentional?”

Though his back was to his family, Adam could picture Jenny with her arms crossed over her chest, looking from Frankie to Garrett with her pretty blue eyes narrowed and calculating. She’d hone in on Garrett as the weak link.

The kids didn’t answer. Adam turned from the counter to her, back to him, just as he’d imagined. Garrett looked to Frankie, who stared right back at him. Neither said a word, but that look said everything. Yeah, an intentional miss.

Jenny watched them a moment longer, but when it became apparent neither would answer the question, she shook her head slowly, then knelt before them. “What did we talk about when school started? I have to stay at the warehouse now until three thirty. That means a bus ride home. Teamwork, right? You guys ride the bus, I meet you here.”

Frankie scuffed the toe of his untied shoe against the tile. “It isn’t fair.”

Jenny looked at Garrett, who scooted a little closer to his older brother. “We don’t like the bus,” he told her.

“The bus is the best option we have until Uncle Aiden gets into town in a few days. Papaw is busy with the guys in the workshop, and Mamaw is dealing with the phones and office stuff while I deal with the warehouse shipments. It’s just for a little while longer. Okay?”

Frankie shrugged, and Garrett looked at the floor. “Guys?” she asked.

Frankie nodded, and Garrett followed suit.

Adam held the plate out. The kids took it to the table and began to eat.

“Uncle Aiden will be here at the end of the week, and maybe once he’s settled, we’ll figure out a new schedule. Until then, it’s the bus after school.” The kids nodded, but kept their attention focused on the table. “I mean it, boys.”

Jenny pushed past Adam and began to clean the apple peels off the counter. She rinsed the cutting board and small knife. She didn’t even look at Adam. “You shouldn’t be standing on that knee. You know what the doctor said.”

Of course he knew what the doctor said. The words that damned man said circled around in Adam’s mind all day long. Don’t put undue pressure on the knee. Even the smallest twist or turn could set back his recovery, especially since they couldn’t perform the needed surgery on his leg until the epilepsy was under control.

“Cutting an apple isn’t putting my knee under any stress.”

“Walking on tile and hardwood is.” Jenny kept her voice even, but shot him a sharp look then motioned to the living room. She held the handles of the wheelchair expectantly, but Adam was damned if he was going to sit back in that thing and be talked to like he was a seven-year-old. He turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, gritting his teeth against the pain in his knee as he moved. When they were out of earshot of the kids, she said, “And what if you’d had another episode? With a knife in your hand? And the boys in the house?”

“It’s a paring knife, Jen. It’s not going to kill me.” And nothing had happened, so what was the big deal?

“It’s a sharp blade, and it will cut no matter how little it is.”

“Whatever.”

“Stop giving me that answer, Adam. You know your limitations—”

“Peeling an apple for my kids isn’t going to kill me, Jenny.” He threw his arms to the side. “Neither is walking around in my own home instead of wheeling myself in that damned chair.” He pivoted, and pain wrenched through his leg when his Nike caught on the hardwood. His knee gave out, and as he fell to the floor, he saw horror flit over Jenny’s face as she rushed across the room. She cradled his body against hers the way she might hold one of their kids, and that annoyed him more than the pain in his knee hurt. He wasn’t a damned child. He didn’t need a damned babysitter.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, her voice soothing as she ran her hands over his denim-clad leg. Once upon a time, a touch like that from her would have him hard and ready to take things into their bedroom. He pushed away the heat that flashed through him at her touch. Neither of them needed him acting like a horny teenager right now. “I don’t feel anything out of position. Let’s get you up.” She helped him to the chair.

“Stop, just stop,” he said, when she started running her hands over his leg again. He didn’t think he could keep pushing away his physical reaction to her, not when she was this close to him. Not when he could hear her breathing take on that ragged edge. Part of him wanted her reaction to him. The other part, the smart part, knew physical attraction wouldn’t do either of them any good. Not when his body was out of his control. He grabbed her wrists and pushed her away. “I don’t need a nursemaid. I twisted the knee—it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” she said, but she stepped away from him, shoving her hands into the pockets of her pink capri pants. “It’ll be okay, though. Aiden will be here on Friday. I’ll figure out a new schedule for the kids, and for you. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay,” she said again, and didn’t wait for him to answer. “I’m just going to check on the boys.” She disappeared down the hall.

It wouldn’t be okay, Adam thought. It couldn’t. Not as long as he was in this chair. Not as long as his brain wasn’t working. Nothing would be okay for his family as long as he was sick. And he was tired of being the reason everyone in this house walked around on pins and needles all day.

* * *

JENNY BUCHANAN SAT on the pretty, plaid sofa in her living room, staring at the ceiling. She’d gotten the kids to bed a little while ago, and still hadn’t heard a peep from Adam. Her husband of six years had retreated to the guest room after the after-school fight. The guest room where he’d been sleeping since coming home from the hospital three months ago.

The guest room where he’d made it clear she wasn’t wanted. Or needed. Or even invited.

God, she hated that guest room. If she could, she’d set fire to it so she never had to deal with it again. Burning down part of the home she’d built with Adam wasn’t a solution to their current problems, though. As satisfying as it might be.

Her mother’s chattering voice continued through the phone line, but Jenny had stopped paying attention five minutes before. She wasn’t sure if the occasionally muttered uh-huhs and okays she offered were for the poor turnout for her mother’s annual Coats for Kids drive or for the fact that her father still hadn’t fixed the loose downspout on the side of their house. Either way, she didn’t really care.

It wasn’t even October yet. The first cold snap hadn’t hit southern Missouri. In fact, they had yet to see nightly temperatures drop under the seventy-degree mark. And, really, what was the big deal about a downspout that was only slightly off center? There were bigger problems in the world.

Terrorism, for one.

Her husband’s continued depression/anger/denial of the very real medical issues facing them since the tornado that nearly destroyed their town, for another. Not to mention the business issues. She and Adam had made big plans to turn Buchanan Cabinetry into Buchanan Fine Furnishings before the tornado hit; his parents had been mostly retired, splitting their time between Slippery Rock and Florida when they weren’t traveling the country in their RV. Since the tornado and Adam’s hospitalization, though, they’d moved home to Slippery Rock full-time and were now back to running the business. Straight into the ground.

The elder Buchanans had “mislaid” messages from the company suppliers, and when a furniture outlet in Springfield called to ask about a new partnership, they had refused to even consider the option. That was a partnership she and Adam had been working on for months, and his parents had killed the plan without even consulting her. Or Adam.

Adam’s response had been to shrug his shoulder, get a bottle of soda from the fridge and wheel himself back into the guest room, where he shut the door and turned on the television.

When she knocked on the door, trying to talk to him, he’d simply turned up the volume until she left him alone.

She didn’t know how to reach her husband. She hated her job.

She hated her life.

More than any of those things, she hated that she felt so helpless in this situation. “Mother, I’d like to talk about me, please,” she said, detesting the whining note that came into her voice. She wasn’t whining; she’d called for advice. But in typical Margery Hastings fashion, her mom had steamrolled right over Jenny’s needs and straight into her own.

Margery didn’t respond well to whining, though, so Jenny backtracked. “I don’t mean to belittle your problems, I’m sure Dad is just focused on work. You know, the bank was hit really hard by the tornado.”

“It isn’t as if they had to rebuild,” Margery said, her voice stiff with self-righteousness.

No, the bank hadn’t had to rebuild. They’d had to create loans for local businesses to rebuild, had dealt with construction companies that needed to expand to deal with the devastation, and had to explain to their corporate bosses why capital outlay had increased so much in a single quarter.

“What I meant was that I really do need your advice. I’m just not sure how to reach Adam. He’s...not the same man that he was before the tornado.” As frustrated with Pre-Tornado Adam as she’d gotten from time to time—she’d begun to refer to him as that—she would take that reckless, carefree, playful man over the dark, depressed man living in her home any day.

“Well, what did you expect, dear? He was in a devastating tornado, trapped in the rubble of a building for nearly a full day before help arrived. Now he’s dealing with a debilitating medical condition that is only barely under control—”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m being too hard on him.”

“You aren’t being hard enough on him,” her mother said, and Jenny shook her head. She had to be hearing things, right?

“Mother, he’s having seizures because of a terrible head injury.”

“And you’re defending his continued ill behavior. I’m not sure why you expected anything different. He is one of those Buchanan boys. Neither of them took a single thing seriously when they were in school. I still don’t know why you had to marry him.”

Because she loved him, and she’d been eighteen and foolish enough to believe that no matter what they faced, love would be enough to get them through. She didn’t think she could love Adam out of this dark place, though.

She wasn’t even sure she wanted to try.

Jenny squeezed her eyes closed. God, she was a bitch to even think those words. Adam was her husband; of course she wanted to try to fix him. Fix their relationship. Fix their family.

“Well?” her mother said, sounding impatient.

“I married him because I loved him,” she said, and Margery pounced.

“See, right there. You loved him. Not you love him. Loved. Past tense. Jennifer Anne, there are times that you stand by your man, and there are times you have to be honest with yourself. This is one of those times.”

One of which times? Jenny didn’t know. She wanted to stand by Adam. She loved him—not past tense, but now. As frustrating as it had sometimes been to deal with him being the fun, friendly, never-disciplined-the-kids dad, she loved the man he had been. Sometime in the past few months, though, she had lost that man, and she didn’t know if he even existed any longer. It was as if the tornado stole the Adam she knew and replaced him with this angry robot of a man.

“I love him, Mother. Love. Present tense. Being frustrated at our situation isn’t a good reason to...to change that.” She couldn’t say the D word. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to divorce Adam. She wanted to wake him up. To bring him out of whatever place the tornado had left him, and move forward.

“Well, I’m not sure how I can help you, then. I just got in from bridge club, and need to have dinner ready for your father in fifteen minutes. Call me when you come to your senses,” she said, and the phone clicked off.

Jenny turned the receiver over and over in her hands. “That was a brilliant move, Jen—call dear old Mom for advice on one of her bridge days.” She replaced the receiver and went into the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee into her favorite owl mug and sat at the counter, drumming her fingers on the granite countertop.

Frankie’s army men were strewn around the living room, despite her three warnings that morning for him to clean them up. Jenny sighed and crossed the room. She gathered up the little green men and tossed them into the basket at the end of the sofa. A stack of Garrett’s drawings were wedged under the couch and she pulled them out.

Garrett had drawn a picture of their house, with stick figures of Adam, Jenny, Frankie and himself standing before it. Jenny smiled. She and Adam appeared to be holding stick hands in the picture. She put the paper on the sofa, and froze. The next picture was the same house, but black clouds circled the roof and squiggly lines appeared to be attacking it. She swallowed hard.

The tornado. She would reassure Garrett that the storm wasn’t coming back.

Jenny flipped to another picture. This time no angry clouds buzzed the pretty yellow house her almost-six-year-old had drawn. Flowers popped up near the feet of the mom and the two kids in the picture, but a big black cloud was attacking another figure. A figure in a wheelchair. A figure with light brown hair and a frown on its face. A figure that was separated from the rest of the family and the house by a gaping black hole.

This wasn’t right. She’d thought she and Adam had been able to hide the rift between them, at least from the kids. She gathered the pictures and put them in a drawer in the kitchen island, and then leaned against the cool granite. Jenny pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

She had to fix this.

CHAPTER TWO

ADAM SAT IN the black wheelchair in the guest room of his home and stared out the window. From here he could see the still waters of Slippery Rock Lake, and he wanted to be there. In the water. Floating.

But he couldn’t float. He couldn’t go in the water. Couldn’t take a shower alone. He couldn’t do anything that a normal twenty-eight-year-old would do because the doctors didn’t know when the next seizure would hit. God forbid he’d drown in his own shower.

He was supposed to be grateful that the damned tornado didn’t kill him, but what kind of life was this? Trapped in a freaking wheelchair for the foreseeable future because his brain refused to work right.

Jenny knocked on the door. For the fifteenth time since he’d left the living room, repeating the all too familiar It will be okay that she seemed to have on permanent repeat in her mind.

“Do you want something for dinner?”

“No.”

She knocked again. “I made the boys grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

His stomach growled at the thought. He loved grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“I don’t want grilled cheese. I don’t want soup or bologna or a freaking rib eye from the Slippery Rock Grill that you’ve cut into small, little bites for me. I don’t want anything,” he said.

Or maybe yelled. He wasn’t sure anymore. He seemed to be yelling all the time, but then he actually said only about a hundred words a day. Most of the yelling was silent. Internal. Aimed at himself.

Because he’d been a complete fool, and if he’d just obeyed the warning sirens, none of this would be happening. He wouldn’t be in this wheelchair. He wouldn’t have a wife who looked at him with pity in her eyes. He’d be in his workshop right now, building something with wood and tools, something that would last for decades.

But he’d been a fool. He’d freaked out when those sirens started blaring, and instead of being a normal, healthy man, he was a head case in a wheelchair who couldn’t do anything that any other normal twenty-eight-year-old could do.

“Well, we have to leave for the doctor’s at ten in the morning, so... I’ll wake you before the kids go to school. Let me know if you need anything before then,” she said, and her kind, nurse-like voice made his skin crawl.

Jenny’s husky voice used to make him hot. All she’d had to do was throw her head back in laughter or say something completely ordinary like pass the salt and he had wanted her.

Wanted to kiss her, touch her. Do dirty, dirty things to and with her.

Now all he wanted was to be left alone, and she wouldn’t leave him alone. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?

He didn’t answer, and she didn’t say anything more through the door that he refused to leave open, no matter how many times she or the kids opened it. He didn’t deserve an open door, and they deserved more than to have to deal with his brokenness because of an open door.

Adam blew out a breath. Sometimes he wished he could wheel himself down to the lake and just float away. He could borrow a boat—his friend James had one—or he could rent one of the marina boats. Set out from the marina and just flow. If Slippery Rock Lake actually led anywhere, maybe that was exactly what he would do. Man-made lakes didn’t lead anywhere, though, except right back to where a person started, and what was the point of that?

Adam twisted the top off his bottle of soda and drank. It was too sweet, and he didn’t really like it, but what did like have to do with anything? He finished the bottle and tossed the empty plastic into the wastebasket under the cherry desk he’d built two years before.

It was a good desk. Solidly built, but with enough design elements to also be visually appealing. There were hidden drawers, curved edges. He’d been tempted to create some kind of locking device, so that the hidden drawers would actually be inaccessible, but at the last minute decided that was a little too adventure movie-ish, and simply built them to blend into the desk itself.

A picture of Jenny and the kids sat on the desk and he picked it up, running his fingers over their faces. He’d failed them. He hadn’t kept up his end of the bargain. He was supposed to be their protector, their provider. He was neither, and despite that fact, despite knowing that they would be better off without him, he couldn’t seem to wheel himself away.

* * *

FOURTEEN HOURS AND a million more reasons to let his family go later, Adam was just as uncomfortable as he had been in the guest room of his home. He sat in the exam room of his doctor’s office, waiting. Jenny sat in the plastic-backed chair against the wall. He’d left the wheelchair in favor of sitting on the too-short bed thing in the office. The protective strip of paper on it crackled when he moved, so he did his best to remain still.

Jenny was checking her phone.

“Everything okay?” His voice sounded rough and unused. So, pretty much the new normal.

“Just checking in with your dad. We were supposed to ship the new cabinet fronts for the Wareham project in Joplin today.”

“Supposed to?” he asked, because supposed to made it sound as if the shipment didn’t happen.

Jenny sighed. “He decided to ship them with the countertops next week.” She put her phone into her purse. “I’ll call the project manager when we get done here, straighten it out.”

Adam didn’t say anything. What was there to say? He didn’t know anything about the Wareham project; maybe it made sense to ship the tops and fronts at the same time.

Jenny watched him for a long while, as if waiting for him to say something or do something more than sit on the edge of the exam table. Finally, she blew out a breath and took her phone from her bag again. While she tapped the keys, he watched the clock on the wall click off two minutes and twenty-five seconds. Then the doctor came in.

“Adam, Jenny, how are you both doing today?” Dr. Lambert wore gray pants and New Balance running shoes. Under his crisp, white lab coat, he wore a pink polo shirt. Adam didn’t answer his question.

“We’re fine. No seizures since our visit two weeks ago,” Jenny said, as if she spoke for him all the time.

“Sixteen days, if you want to be exact.” Because sixteen days sounded so much better than two weeks. Two was nothing. Sixteen, that sounded like progress, at least to Adam. Jenny raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“Good, good.” Lambert made a notation on his tablet. “We’ll keep the same dosage, same meds for now. This could be the cocktail we’ve been looking for. Adam, how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he said.

“No more headaches?”

Adam shook his head, not caring that it was a lie. The headaches were much better than they had been the first few days after he’d woken up in the hospital. Instead of pounding at his brain like a hammer, they were more of a dull throb. And instead of lasting all day, they were an hour or so at the most. Nothing he couldn’t deal with. Besides, his head shake seemed to make Jenny feel better. Her shoulders didn’t seem so stiff now.

“What about the vertigo?”

“Nothing.” Of course, it was hard to have vertigo when he spent 90 percent of his day either lying on the guest room bed or sitting in that damned chair. He leaned his head forward, and the floor seemed to yo-yo toward him. Adam gripped the edge of the table and closed his eyes. When he looked up, Jenny was tapping at her phone again and the doctor was making another notation in his chart. Good, neither of them had seen through the vertigo lie, either.

“Okay. Let’s see how things are looking, then,” the doctor said as he turned to face Adam.

He shone a light into Adam’s eyes. Looked in his ears. Listened to his lungs and his heart and his belly. Adam wondered what any of that had to do with his malfunctioning brain, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. The less he knew, the more he could pretend that this wasn’t really happening. That maybe he was still stuck in the rubble of the day care, waiting to be rescued from the worst dream of his life.

Finally, Dr. Lambert finished his examination. He sat on the wheeled stool while he made a few more notes on the tablet.

“I like what I’m seeing, Adam,” he said after a long moment. “I think we may be on the right medication track, and your vitals are definitely returning to normal. What’s going on with your knee? Still giving you trouble?”

“The rehab doc still thinks he’s going to require surgery to fix the knee, but they’ve talked about ultrasound therapy as a stopgap measure,” Jenny stated. “He said it might be enough to reattach the hamstring, which would be a good first step. Or it would be if he was actually going to the physical therapy appointments.” She shot Adam a look before he could offer another monosyllabic, false-positive reply. “They won’t approve surgery until you give us the all-clear on the epilepsy front.”

“I can walk, though—it’s just not as comfortable as it used to be.”

“Walking mostly comfortable is good. But those ligaments aren’t going to reattach themselves, Adam. Rehab will help, especially since I don’t feel confident approving the surgery just yet. We need to ensure the epilepsy is under control before we put you under the knife.”

Because if his brain freaked out during surgery, chances were the knee surgeon could do more harm than good, Adam supposed. He didn’t say that, though. He didn’t want Dr. Lambert to refer him to a head-shrinker as well as a rehab specialist.

“Have you given any more thought to a service dog?”

“Yes,” Jenny said.

“No,” Adam said at the same time. He stared at his wife for a moment.

She shook her head as if to say, “Fine, have it your way.”

“I don’t like the idea of having a big dog in the house. We have small children,” he said, and he knew even as he said the words that they were a reach. Having a service dog in the house wouldn’t be a danger to the kids. It wasn’t trained to find drugs or bombs, but to sense his messed-up brain waves or something. Adam still wasn’t positive what the service dog would do, other than be another reminder of his new inadequacies. That was enough to put a stop to the dog coming to their home.

Her home. Whatever.

“As long as the children understand the dog isn’t a pet, you have nothing to worry about. Even if they don’t quite understand it, it isn’t as if the dog will go on the attack. These are gentle dogs who are trained to meet your specific needs.”

“Well, I don’t need a dog.” Adam stood abruptly, but the floor did that yo-yo thing again and he quickly sat in the wheelchair.

Dr. Lambert pressed his mouth into a hard line. “Fine,” he said after a while. He motioned to the door, and they went into the hallway.

“Thank you, Dr. Lambert,” Jenny said, but Adam heard no actual thanks in her voice. There was annoyance, but not thanks. He supposed he was the reason for that.

“Kim at the front desk will schedule you back. Let’s go three full weeks this time, unless there is a seizure.” He walked beside Jenny while she pushed Adam in the wheelchair. “If there are any issues—” Adam knew what that meant: if the meds stopped working “—please call immediately.”

“We will.”

The doctor nodded. He paused for a moment, but didn’t say anything else, just turned on his heel and went down the hallway.

Jenny scheduled the appointment while Adam sat in the wheelchair. In the parking lot, she turned to him. “You didn’t have to be rude about the dog.”

“I don’t need a service dog. I’m not blind or deaf.”

“Service dogs aren’t just for the blind or deaf. Did you even read the literature?”

He’d put it in the nightstand drawer, and refused to open that drawer since putting the pamphlets there. “Of course I read the stupid flyers.” What was one more lie on the mountain of lies he’d been telling her since the accident?

“Then stop acting as if a service dog means you’re permanently—” She covered her mouth with her hand.

“Disabled? News flash, Jen, the doc thinks I am permanently disabled or he wouldn’t keep bringing it up.”

“Epilepsy isn’t the end of the world.”

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t normal, either,” he said. He got out of the wheelchair, slapped at it until it collapsed into a flat heap, and shoved it into the trunk of the Mustang convertible he’d restored his senior year in high school. The handles stuck out so that the trunk wouldn’t close. He shoved at it again, but no matter what he did, the stupid chair wouldn’t fit into the trunk.

Jenny pushed him aside. “Let me do it,” she grumbled. “If we had a family car, this wouldn’t be such a big deal.”

“We don’t need a family car just because I’m stuck in that stupid chair for another couple weeks.”

“Rehab might shorten those couple weeks,” she said. “There is no way to rehab epilepsy.”

She glared at him for a long moment then started around the car. Adam opened the passenger door, got in and slammed it shut. She slammed her door when she got in, too.

“We need a family car because we have a family,” she said, anger making her husky voice even huskier. It sent a thrill down Adam’s spine, which was ridiculous. He couldn’t walk without a wheelchair; there was no way he could make love to his wife the way he wanted to. “Two kids, all of their school stuff, Frankie is already playing football because he wants to be like you. We need a family car.”

“This car is important to me,” Adam said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“This car is impractical.”

“I restored it. It’s a classic.”

“Then we’ll just get a second car.”

“No.”

She glared at him again. “No?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm. Quiet.

“No.”

Jenny put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot. She didn’t say anything until they pulled onto the highway leading to Slippery Rock. Adam glanced at her. Jaw set. Mouth in a hard line. Hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, knuckles white.

Adam started to apologize. He didn’t want to snap at Jenny. He didn’t want to fight with her. It was too hard to fight. He leaned his head against the rest and closed his eyes. He didn’t like fighting, not with Jenny. Not with anyone. He just wanted everything to go back to the way it had always been. The Mustang was the way things had been.

The Mustang meant everything would be okay again.

* * *

THEY DROVE IN silence until the big “Welcome to Slippery Rock” sign came into view. It had taken everything she had not to snap at Adam, not to react when he obviously wanted a reaction. A reason to fight. She wasn’t going to be that reason. He hated his diagnosis? Well, so did she, but according to some of the information she’d read online, keeping his world bland and ordinary could help to keep the seizures under control. Something about blood pressure spikes and endorphins, and it didn’t make a ton of sense to her, but then Jenny had never pretended to be interested in biology or any of the other sciences. She’d been too busy reading fiction books and daydreaming about Adam Buchanan.

She didn’t want to lose him now. She couldn’t let him keep walking all over her, though. She was done with that. Everything had been Adam’s way since they got married. They’d bought the fixer-upper he wanted, drove the car he’d restored, watched the TV shows and movies he liked best. Hell, she’d taken the job he wanted her to take—and fallen in love with the intricacies of it, true enough.

It never bothered her before the tornado that her life was so closely wrapped up in his. She didn’t mind being the one to discipline the kids or pay the bills or make the vacation plans he wanted or bring up the possibility of expanding Buchanan Cabinetry. But now she had the job, and the parenting, and the house upkeep, and she didn’t even have Fun Adam to run around with the kids in the backyard while she caught up on the laundry. Or, God, the man she loved to have take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

God, she missed being kissed.

She’d give anything if he would reach across the car right now to take her hand. To tug on her ponytail the way he’d done a thousand times in her life. Anything, just to let her know he was still there. She’d done all the reaching since the tornado, and no matter what she tried, she hadn’t been able to touch him in whatever dark place he lived now.

The Mustang flashed past the town sign, and Jenny slowed. She was through missing things. Missing Adam. Missing picking up the kids at school. Yes, her husband had limitations now, but that didn’t mean he could shut himself up in a room and avoid the rest of the world.

Act as if none of them existed anymore.

“It occurs to me that I’ve been too soft on you.” Jenny said the words carefully as she pulled to the stoplight outside Mallard’s Grocery. No inflection. No anger. Just words. Calm, cool, concise words. From the corner of her eye, she saw Adam’s head snap in her direction. Maybe this change in tactics was a good idea. “I don’t like this any more than you do, and I know you have it much worse than me because you’re living it. But I’m living it, too.”

The light turned green and Jenny continued to their home. Adam didn’t say a word as she pulled into the drive. “I’m watching you fade away and I’ve tried everything I can to stop it. To bring you back.”

“You think this is easy for me?” he asked after a long moment.

“I think this is the hardest thing you’ve ever done.” Her finger traced the small scar at his neck. His skin was warm, and it took all her self-control not to kiss the scar, the way she’d done a million times. She had to be stronger than the attraction she had for her husband.

Jenny pulled her hand back, not wanting to feel the heat of his skin against hers. God, she wanted to kiss him there. Just for a little while, she wanted them to be the Jenny and Adam they’d been since high school. She would kiss the scar and then make her way to his mouth. He would carry her inside the house and make love to her on the living room floor because there wasn’t time to carry her all the way upstairs, to that big bed he’d built for her when they were first married.

She pushed the hot thoughts of sex with Adam away as quickly as she’d drawn her hand away from his neck. Made herself remember the phone call that came in the middle of the night when she was fifteen. Aiden and Adam had lost control of their dad’s Buick on black ice and totaled it. Adam had cracked two vertebrae in his neck, and had to wear a halo for three months, until the bones were strong again. Then, after the halo came off, he’d needed screws to hold those vertebrae apart.

She’d thought at the time nothing would be harder than that.

God, how wrong she’d been. His life hadn’t ended with the car accident, and it hadn’t ended when the tornado tore through Slippery Rock. But she had no idea how to reach him this time.

“You’d think God would have been satisfied with one head injury, huh?” he said, and his mouth twisted in that familiar half smile that usually made her heart skip a beat. Instead of sounding like a joke, though, his words were flat, with hard, pointy tips.

“I could have done without either. You scared ten years off my life with that car accident. And when I saw the steeple start to fall during the tornado...” Jenny shook her head. “I know this isn’t easy for you. It isn’t easy for me, either. But we have to figure out how to get through it, because I can’t keep juggling all the balls you keep throwing my way.”

“The balls I keep throwing?”

“I’ve taken up the slack at work. I’m cooking all the meals, cleaning the house, getting the kids to and from school. I’m paying the bills and doing the laundry and chauffeuring you to doctor appointments—”

“I’ll call a taxi,” he interrupted, but Jenny kept talking. She had to keep talking or she would never get all this out.

“Slippery Rock doesn’t even have Uber. And that isn’t the point. The point is I’m doing it all. By myself. And you’re wallowing.”

“I have a deadly disease.” Adam narrowed his eyes.

Jenny popped the trunk, got out of the car and pulled the wheelchair from it as if she’d been doing it all her life. Some days, it seemed as if she had. She wheeled it to his door.

“Well, you aren’t dying today. And you say you’re well enough not to need a service dog. And yesterday you were well enough to use a knife to cut up an apple. You say you have no vertigo, no headaches...” She counted off the lies he’d told the doctor on her fingers. “And here I am, thinking I had to protect you from the world.”

“Jen—”

“No. Don’t Jen me. Don’t lie to my face and tell me you’re too weak, too scared, too...whatever. You say you’re fine, well, I’m taking you at your word.” She checked her watch. Still time to make the staff meeting at one, and if she hurried through the rest of her day, she could pick up the kids after school. “I have the Wednesday staff meeting. You know, the one you instituted last summer? We’re talking about new product lines, and I’ve been allowing your parents too much say in what Buchanan’s does. I’m going to the meeting, and I’ll pick up the kids—”

“I haven’t had lunch.”

“There is bologna in the fridge—you can figure it out. And while you’re figuring it, would you please do a couple loads of laundry? Frankie’s out of clean underwear and Garrett wants his favorite dinosaur shirt for school tomorrow.”

Jenny hurried around the car before she could chicken out on her demands. She was not going to let the man she loved fade away. Laundry would be her first battleground.

CHAPTER THREE

ADAM GAVE WHAT had been a white T-shirt but was now an odd shade of pink a side-eye as he read the directions on the bottle of detergent one more time. Nothing about the possibility of a color change. He tossed the shirt into the empty hamper and pulled another handful of clothes from the dryer. The jeans looked okay, but there was another T-shirt with odd pink streaks, and a bra that had one pink cup and one white. He was fairly certain none of Jenny’s bras were designed that way. Then, at the bottom of the dryer, he found a single red sock. The culprit.

Damn it. Jenny had asked him for one thing. Do a freaking load of laundry, and he couldn’t even do that without messing it up. Putting even more work on her plate. What the hell was wrong with him?

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed twice. Two o’clock. The work meeting would be over, and she would probably be back in her office. He had an hour until the boys were through at school to fix this. There was only one thing to do.

Fifteen minutes later, his mother bustled through the back door, chattering into her phone as she let the screen slam shut behind her.

“No, Owen, don’t tell her where I went. It’s just an errand that I couldn’t put off.” Nancy Buchanan’s voice went quiet, and Adam wheeled himself from the laundry room into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

He waved, but Nancy motioned for him to keep quiet while she spoke to his father on the phone. He felt like he was back in elementary school, with his mom shooing at him like this.

Maybe he wasn’t far off. How many twenty-eight-year-old men didn’t know how to do a load of laundry without ruining all the whites?

His mother began speaking again. “I’ll be back before Jenny has to leave to get the kids. Until then, you keep her busy. And don’t let her come home early.” Nancy snapped her phone closed—she refused to get a new smartphone, instead choosing to use the older flip model he and Jenny had bought her several Christmases ago. “Hey, honey.” She ran a smooth hand over his face, the way she’d done countless times in his life. “How are you today?”

Adam didn’t answer, just rolled the chair into the laundry room. Nancy followed, chattering on about the meeting at work. She didn’t ask about the doctor appointment, so he assumed Jenny had told her there was no real change to his condition. Before he could explain what he’d done, Nancy picked the pink-streaked clothing from the hamper and clucked her tongue. She muttered something about separating whites and colors.

“This would have been a lot simpler if you hadn’t already dried the clothes. Didn’t you notice the bleeds when you transferred everything to the dryer?”

Adam started to answer, but Nancy just kept talking. “It’s not impossible like this, though,” she said, holding the items up to the light. “I’ll need some distilled vinegar and more detergent.”

Adam had no idea if Jenny kept vinegar in the laundry, but dutifully began looking in the cabinets.

“It’ll be in the kitchen, probably,” his mother said, but before Adam could wheel past her, she was out in the hall and headed there. She returned a few minutes later with a bottle of something that smelled awful and a measuring cup.

Nancy fiddled with the machine, put the vinegar into the bin along with more detergent, and then tossed the pink-streaked clothing in, too. She waved a box at him, and then tossed what looked like a dryer sheet in with the wash. “Next time, whether you think the colors are going to bleed or not, stick one of these sheets in. It will capture the running colors before they stain the clothes.” She looked at him expectantly.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“It’s nothing, honey. I can’t believe Jenny left you with the housework. Did you already fold?”

Adam nodded, and she continued talking. “Then we’ll have a little snack while we wait for this load to finish up. Is that the only hamper you have? Your laundry would be much more organized if you had separate bins for colors and whites, towels, and jeans. You’d have fewer snafus like this one.” She started down the hallway, and Adam followed.

“It isn’t like Jen asked me to paint the house. Laundry is low impact, as far as housework goes.”

In the kitchen, Nancy pulled glasses from the cabinet and poured them each a glass of tea. “Yes, but you need your rest. After all that’s happened, surely she understands that. How about a sandwich?” The same lunch she’d made him all through school.

Adam wasn’t hungry, but when Nancy was in mothering mode, there was no stopping her, so he just sat at the table and sipped the tea while she made a bologna sandwich. She brought it to the table, along with a bag of chips.

“About the laundry room situation. I can have the boys at Buchanan’s fix up a temporary system, and I’ll order something more permanent when I get home this evening.” She eyed Adam until he took a bite of the sandwich. It had tomatoes. He hated tomatoes, but he ate, anyway. “Or I could have our cleaning lady come in once a week and do it for you.”

“Jenny doesn’t like the idea of hiring help, but thanks. And we really don’t need someone to do the laundry.”

“Because she’s going to keep putting that off on you, no doubt.”

“It isn’t like that, Mom.” Adam pushed away the food.

Nancy rolled her eyes. “You know, we should get a contractor in here to take care of that step into the family room.”

“Mom—”

“And I know you use the back door most of the time, but there really should be a ramp for the front, too.”

Adam clenched his jaw. He didn’t need a damned handicapped ramp in his front yard. “Mom—”

Nancy kept chattering on. “And you and Jenny should really think about turning the guest room into a main floor master suite. You could take some space from that hall closet you don’t use—”

“Mother.” Adam raised his voice and Nancy turned to him, eyes rounded in shock.

“You don’t have to yell. I’m right here beside you.”

“I don’t want the guys at work to rig some kind of hamper system.” Calling his mother had been a mistake. Just like staying here when he wasn’t a whole man was a mistake. Just one more mistake added to the long list of mistakes he’d made since the tornado. “And I don’t want a maid in my house every day or once a week or once a year. And I don’t need a goddamned wheelchair ramp at the front door or to turn the guest room into a suite.” He gentled his voice. “Thank you for the help with the laundry, but I don’t need—”

“Adam, of course you need. Anyone in your circumstances would need, and your wife should be providing for those needs.” His mom squeezed his hand, and he knew it was supposed to be comforting, but only made him feel worse.

“No, that isn’t her job. Jenny is doing enough.” It was he who wasn’t doing what needed doing. While he was sitting here in this chair, she was out there. Doing her job and his, caring for the kids. Caring for him. She was the one who needed, and the first time she expressed that, what had he done? Run to his mother. Just like he’d been running from any kind of responsibility since the tornado. God, he was a jerk. Jenny deserved better than him. So did the kids.

“Go back to work, Mom, and thanks for coming by.” He wheeled himself into the hall, and for the first time that he could remember, Nancy followed him. She watched him closely for a long moment.

“It isn’t a crime to need other people, Adam.”

He knew that. A little piece of him did, anyway. The crime was in pushing against the people who wanted to help him. He’d been pushing Jenny and the kids and his parents away for the past three months. “I know. The crime is in punishing them when they try to help.”

Nancy stood at the back door for a long moment, just watching him. “Adam,” she began, but he shook his head. He didn’t need mothering, not right now. What he needed was to either walk away, the way he’d been telling himself to do ever since the hospital released him, or show Jenny and the kids that he appreciated them.

Unfortunately, he had no idea how to start on either option.

* * *

JENNY QUIETLY CLOSED the door to the boys’ room as the last rays of sunlight were sinking into the horizon. It wasn’t quite eight o’clock, but the kids were still getting used to the school schedule, and both had nearly fallen asleep over their spaghetti at dinner.

“Momma?”

She barely heard Frankie’s whispered word through the closed door. Jenny pushed it open and poked her head around the corner. “Yeah, baby?”

“I’m glad you picked us up today. I don’t like the bus.”

“I know, Frankie.”

“And Garrett really doesn’t like the bus.”

“You were both very clear on that the other day.” She slipped inside, ran a hand over Garrett’s baby-fine hair. Her younger son was out cold. She sat on the edge of Frankie’s bed. “I won’t always be able to pick you up, though. You know that.”

His mouth twisted to the side in an expression so like his father’s it nearly took her breath away. “But you will tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure. Uncle Aiden is supposed to get to town tomorrow, but I don’t have his flight information yet.”

“But you will if you can. And if you can’t, it’s because you’re at work.”

“Yes. If I can pick you up, I will, and if I can’t, it’s because I’m at work.”

“It’s safe at work. The tornado didn’t hurt it at all.”

“No, it didn’t. Work is very safe.”

“And you’ll pick us up.” He waited a beat, then added, “If you can.”

“If I can.” She wanted to pull him into her arms and tell him everything was fine. But everything wasn’t fine. The man in the wheelchair downstairs meant things were still not fine for her family. Also, Frankie thought he was too big for hugs, so she ruffled his hair, pressed her fingertips to her mouth, then his forehead.

“Promise?” he asked.

She nodded and smoothed the frown that seemed etched into the little boy’s forehead lately. “I’ll do my very best.”

“But you have to promise. If you promise, I know you’ll try.”

Jenny sighed. “I promise that I will try. And I’ll call the school to let you know tomorrow afternoon. Now go to sleep.”

He pulled his full lower lip between his teeth. “Okay,” he said, after a long moment of consideration.

Jenny tucked the light blanket around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you, Franklin Adam Buchanan.”

“I love you, too, Momma,” he said, and his voice sounded drowsy.

Jenny watched her boys from the doorway for a few moments, until Frankie seemed to drift into sleep, then she closed the door softly once more. She waited, but there were no more whispered calls from inside.

Between Garrett’s tornado drawings and Frankie’s need to be near his parents—or at least know where they were—at all times, it was clear neither boy had forgotten those tense moments when the tornado had torn through Slippery Rock. Maybe they’d have gotten over that trauma if they weren’t reminded of it every day when they saw Adam in the wheelchair.

At least they had hope on that front now. That was how she took the doctor’s words from earlier that morning. Staying on the same medication regimen, reminding Adam about the service dog. Those were indications that their lives would return to normal. Weren’t they?

In the laundry room, Jenny pulled a load of clothes from the dryer. Jeans were mixed in with T-shirts and underwear, colors with whites. She sighed. Adam had done the laundry, but he hadn’t separated the items. She tried to be grateful that he had tried, but when she spotted pink streaks on a few of the whites, the last tiny grain of gratefulness vanished.

She started down the hall, pink-streaked T-shirt in her hand, but stopped near the kitchen. What good would it do? She’d forced Adam’s hand. This was her fault as much as it was his.

For their entire marriage, she’d done the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry. Heck, until she’d walked in the door that afternoon to hear the dryer tumbling, she hadn’t been positive he knew how to operate either machine.

Sighing, Jenny turned down the hall. She ran cold water into the laundry sink, added a measuring cup of oxygenated detergent, the regular detergent and a bit of distilled vinegar—why was there distilled vinegar in the laundry room?—then set the clothing in the mixture to soak. She’d rewash the clothes in the morning, after they’d had plenty of time in the soaking sink.

After folding the jeans, which were thankfully not pink-streaked, and a couple of the boys’ T-shirts, which didn’t appear to have streaks, she left the laundry room.

Adam sat in the wheelchair before the big picture window, looking out at the street. The sky was still pink-streaked, much like the laundry now soaking in the sink, and nothing stirred outside.

“You left the vinegar in the laundry room.”

He wheeled the chair around to face her. “A red sock got into the washer.”

“And you guessed that vinegar would take out the streaks?”

A guilty look flashed across his face. Not his idea, then. Jenny shook her head. Of course the vinegar hadn’t been his idea. The question was just how long had it taken him to call his mother after Jenny asked him to help her out.

“I called Mom at the store.”

That also explained why, when she’d been trying to finish the new proposal for the furniture distributor in Springfield, all the calls to Buchanan’s had been routed to her office phone. Adam’s office, technically, but since he wasn’t working, she’d taken it as her own. It made more sense than trying to get anything done in the outer office, where she’d worked before the tornado. Between Nancy’s constant chatter and Owen’s pacing as he watched the work floor below the office, she’d barely been able to concentrate on filling out invoices.

Still, at least Adam had tried to do the laundry. A couple weeks ago—shoot, last week, even—he wouldn’t have.

“I set the shirts and things in the laundry sink to soak overnight. That should get the last of the pink streaks out.”

“The vinegar didn’t work?”

She gestured to the clean clothes in her arms. “Only on some of it.”

“Mom suggested a better hamper system, so the clothes don’t get mixed up again.”

“We’ve never needed a hamper system before. It’s not that difficult to separate on the fly.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d want a hamper system.”

“It isn’t that I don’t want one, it’s that it’s unnecessary.” Really, how hard was it to throw whites in the wash and leave the colors, jeans and towels for other cycles?

“You seem annoyed.”

She wasn’t annoyed, she was tired. Tired of... God, she didn’t even know what she was tired of. She was just tired. Damned tired.

“I’m going to put the boys’ things away and go to bed.”

“I did what you asked.”

Jenny sighed. “No, you called your mom.”

“At least I didn’t leave the mess for you to clean up.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Isn’t that what you were mad about in the car? Me leaving things for you to pick up?”

“No, it isn’t. And I wasn’t mad.” She took a steadying breath. “I can’t keep doing this, Adam.” Her heart seemed to crack with those six words. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to break up with him. But she couldn’t help the boys if she had to keep picking up after Adam, too.

“What, the laundry? I’ll watch for red socks next time.”

“This isn’t about the laundry.” Jenny smacked her hand against the table and winced. “It’s about you not taking responsibility for anything anymore. I’m doing everything I can, but I need help. Can’t you see that?”

He just looked at her. Jenny crossed the room, pulled out the drawing Garrett had done of the black clouds over their house, and thrust it into Adam’s lap. “Garrett’s drawing attack tornados in art class, and Frankie won’t let himself sleep until he knows where I’ll be the next day. You won’t be honest with the doctor or go to your PT appointments. Your parents are doing everything they can to turn the Buchanan’s you were trying to build back into what they wanted it to be—”

“At least they’re here. Your mother has plenty of time for her bridge tournaments, though, doesn’t she?”

“And no time for me or you or the boys or even my father. I’ve never expected more from her. But I did from you.”

Jenny shook her head. She took the picture Adam hadn’t bothered to look at and put it back into the drawer, then picked the boys’ clean clothes off the side table. “Good night, Adam.”

“Jen—”

“Thanks for doing the laundry,” she said, and went upstairs before he could tell her he was sorry for something that he probably wasn’t really sorry about. Streaking a few shirts was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Comparing his helicopter mother to her disinterested parent wasn’t the point.

The real problem wasn’t that he’d messed up the laundry or even that he had called his mother to clean up his mess.

Jenny slid the little shirts and jeans into their proper drawers, then went into her bedroom, sank down on the mattress and pulled her pillow to her chest while she looked out at the darkened sky.

The real problem was that she was alone in this house, despite the little boys down the hall or the man she couldn’t reach downstairs. She was as alone now as she had been when she was a little girl. Being talked at by her parents, never allowed to have an opinion or a want that didn’t first come from one of her parents.

Doug and Margery Hastings were strict, some might say domineering. They’d had Jenny late in their lives, when they had their routines set in stone, and neither of them once considered that the routines they craved might be oppressive to the daughter they loved. And she’d never told them, because telling them would disrupt their routines more than if she just went along. So she went along with them.

Jenny had thought things would be different when she married Adam. They wouldn’t be set in their ways, they would be caring toward one another. But in the end, she had gone along with Adam, just as she had gone along with her parents, and now here she was, adrift.

She had no plan, no goal to work toward.

She was alone in the darkness of this new life, just as she was alone in the darkness of her bedroom.

She didn’t want to be in the dark.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered into the darkness.

The darkness didn’t answer.

CHAPTER FOUR

JENNY CRADLED THE phone between her cheek and shoulder, listening as Aiden, her husband’s twin, told her he hadn’t gotten on the plane. The flight he’d promised her the day before he wouldn’t miss. His voice crackled over the line, and she wondered as she looked at the brilliant blue of the morning sky in Missouri how whatever weather system was moving through California might impact Aiden’s travel plans. She needed Aiden here. Adam needed him here.

“Did they shut down the flights out of San Diego?”

“No, I just decided to drive. I’m about to cross into Texas.”

Driving. From San Diego to Slippery Rock? That didn’t make sense.

“But you’ll be in today?”

“More like tomorrow afternoon.”

Jenny bit her tongue. She wouldn’t lash out at Aiden; he knew the situation.

“I know I said I’d catch the flight, Jen, but I needed a little time alone. You know, Slippery Rock is like a whole other country compared to California.”

And Aiden was a different person since going off to San Diego five years before. He’d been the one adrift then, reeling from a bad breakup, wanting to do more than install cabinets for his father for the rest of his life. Adam had been the rock at that time, the one to tell him to go off and have his fun. Now, when Adam needed him, Aiden was taking his time returning the favor. She didn’t understand it.

Not even when the two of them had been in the accident in high school had Adam been this adrift. Both of the men had been sheltered, to some extent, by their helicopter mother. Jenny loved Nancy Buchanan, but before the tornado she had never truly stopped to consider just how interfering her mother-in-law was. To tell the truth, it had been nice having a parent—in her case a parent figure—so involved in their lives. Her own parents were too busy with their own lives to worry much about what Jenny and Adam were doing across town. They’d visited Adam in the hospital only once, hadn’t offered to help out around the house. Not that Jenny had expected them to offer. She didn’t want them to feel obligated, not really, but it would be nice to know she wasn’t so...alone.

She was beginning to hate that word. Since she’d first allowed it to pass her lips the night before, it had rolled around in her mind on a near-constant loop.

“He needs you, Aiden,” she said.

“I know, Jen.” Aiden’s voice was a huskier version of Adam’s. “But I’m not going to be any good to him or to you or, hell, the business, if I swoop in on the morning flight. Why don’t I drop by the house around six tomorrow evening? I’ll bring dinner.”

Since she didn’t have a choice, Jenny agreed. She hung up and finished the boys’ lunches. One more day. She could deal with Owen and Nancy at the cabinetry shop one more day, could keep Adam’s spirits up one more day, could... Damn, she needed to run that load of pink-striped laundry again. She shoved the brown bag lunches in their respective backpacks and hurried down the hall. Only to find Adam in the room, folding newly brightened whites. The washer was still going.

“I separated them out this morning. Whites first, colors are going now.”

Jenny blinked, thinking this had to be a figment of her imagination. But when she opened her eyes, Adam was still there, standing at the folding counter with the wheelchair discarded by the washing machine.

“Adam,” she said, and although she wanted to inspect the clothes he folded, she didn’t.

“I made the mess,” he said. “I figured I could clean it up.”

“Oh. I, um. Thank you. I could have taken care of it.”

“I know. But you asked me to do it.” He leaned a hip against the counter, the way he’d done in the kitchen a million times. Funny, before yesterday and then this morning, she didn’t think he’d ever set foot in the laundry room. He looked at home here. As if he folded the laundry every day.

A man folding laundry should really not make her heart pound in her chest like this, though. Jenny stepped back. She didn’t need any heart-pounding moments in a laundry room with Adam. He was just being nice. Folding a load of whites didn’t change anything, not really.

Before she could say anything, the boys’ stomping feet clattered down the stairway. Frankie was yelling at Garrett, who was chattering as if Frankie were actually listening to him. Typical morning.

“I’ll get breakfast and walk the boys to school. We have a client meeting at the warehouse this morning. A new construction company may want to contract with us.”

“What about the distributor in Springfield? Can we spare the manpower for more cabinets and still meet the demands for the furniture?”

Jenny shook her head and grimaced. “Your father canceled the meeting while you were still in the hospital. And told him on several other occasions that Buchanan’s was only a cabinet shop. I’m still working to get him on board.”

Adam blinked as if this was news to him. She’d told him at least three times about his father’s meddling in the family business. How Owen had taken their plans to expand Buchanan’s and basically spit on them.

“You didn’t stop him?” he asked.

“I was a little busy at the time. You know, I had a husband in a hospital two hours away, two boys who were terrified of their shadows, a house and yard to care for. Not to mention a dozen other contracts to protect from your father’s helping hands.” The words were laced with sarcasm, but Jenny didn’t care.

She’d had it with the whole Buchanan clan, as much as she loved every single one of them. Owen and Nancy would never see the business as more than what they had worked to make it, and neither would admit Adam was more than a twelve-year-old who needed their guidance. Aiden had called almost daily, but she’d told him over and over not to come. Until she realized a couple weeks ago that she was losing her grip not only on the business, but her boys. And Adam. Now that he’d agreed to come back, Aiden was taking his sweet time getting here.

And Adam just kept sliding away. He’d been moping around the house for months, rude to the doctors trying to help him, unavailable to comfort or care for their children...and he’d acted as if she existed only to force him to go to doctors’ appointments he didn’t want to attend.

“It’s our business, Jen, not his. Not theirs. We—”

“What’s this we you’re talking about? Yeah, we both signed the papers when they retired three years ago, and yes, we were both working on the expansion. But since the tornado it’s been me. I’ve paid the bills, ordered materials, approved layouts and figured out design issues.”

She could hear the boys in the kitchen, debating the merits of the mini muffins she’d left on the table for them against the sugary goodness of their favorite cereal. She intentionally lowered her voice. They didn’t need to hear their parents arguing, not on top of everything else. “I was the one who got the extension from the distributor in the first place, and I’m the one who has been busting my ass to win him back since your father treated him like a pariah. I begged you to go with me to a meeting last month, and all you did was stare out that damn window, feeling sorry for yourself. And now you’re surprised that, because you folded a freaking load of laundry, the life we’d been building is falling down around our ears?”

“What was I supposed to do? Go in this wheelchair? So he could take us on out of pity?” Adam put a hand on her arm, but Jenny jerked away from him.

“No, you were supposed to go as Adam Buchanan, a damn fine furniture designer. A man who, yeah, is temporarily in a wheelchair. The wheelchair doesn’t stop your mind from working.”

“No, the epilepsy does that,” he said, the words dripping with sarcasm.

“Temporarily. They’ll figure out a medication regimen—you heard the doctor. You’ll get the surgery for your hip and knee, and you’ll have your life back.” Jenny held her hands out at her sides. What wasn’t he understanding about this? “But you couldn’t even do a load of laundry without calling your mom for help. You know what that means, don’t you? It means for the first hour that I’m at work today, instead of actually working, I’ll be listening to her lecture me on your condition, as if I don’t already know it by heart.”

“I’ll call my mom—”

“No. No, I’ll deal with it, just like I’ve been dealing with everything else. But let me tell you one thing that you don’t know. I’m done, Adam. I’m done. I’ve been the supportive wife. I’ve been encouraging since the accident, and I’ve tried everything I know to help you deal with this. I still believe they’ll find the right medications, and I still hope that somehow the epilepsy won’t be permanent. When they find the right meds, and if the epilepsy goes away, I’ll be cheering for you.”

Jenny squeezed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “I hate that I’m angry. God, I don’t want to be angry at you. I’ve done my best to just be angry with the tornado or the destruction, but I’m not just angry about that. I can’t be the supportive wife when you refuse to be the husband who at least tries to deal with his condition. I can’t hold your hand while you refuse to even consider how to make this new life work for you.”

Adam’s face was a strange shade of red, as if he was just as angry as she. Maybe he was. He should be. Yes, the tornado had been awful, but he was still here. Alive. He had two amazing boys who were unhurt. Parents and a twin who loved him. He had had her, right up until the moment he’d called his mother to do the laundry. Jenny knew it was a silly thing to throw her over the edge. That should have gone to his refusal to meet with the service dog company, or his lies to the doctor trying to fix his brain. She shook her head as she picked up a pair of Frankie’s shorts. Carefully, she folded the garment into a square.

“I know about separating out the loads, now. It’s not that big a deal.” The redness had gone from his face. Adam tossed an unfolded pair of the boy’s underwear atop the carefully folded shorts, then a haphazardly folded T-shirt.

Jenny had thought Adam calling his mother to do their laundry was the last straw. It wasn’t. The carelessness with which he said the words and tossed the underwear made up that final straw. These things mattered. His involvement mattered.

His noninvolvement mattered even more. She was not going to go through her life desperately waiting for him to take an interest; she’d had enough of that as a child.

“I think you should move out,” she said, and she hated that her voice cracked over the words. She didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t bear to watch him fade away like he’d been doing for the past three months. The boys deserved better.

She deserved better.

“Jenny, come on.”

She fled from the room before he could stop her, and didn’t pause at the kitchen to check on the boys. She didn’t slow down until her back was pressed against the closed door of their bedroom. She held a hand against her chest, felt her heart banging against her sternum, and refused to cry.

Laundry was supposed to be her first battleground, and it was killing her that it would be the only one. Fighting required two people—she couldn’t do it alone.

And she was through crying for Adam, for the life they’d had before the tornado.

She might still be alone, but she didn’t have to stay in the darkness.

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