“What about the baby?” Oliver asked. “We just can’t leave her here.”

“Dr. Shepherd wants to check her over at the hospital,” Ella explained.

“But I thought you were the baby doctor?”

“I am, sweetie, but Sheriff Hank figured I’d probably want to spend time with my own babies tonight.”

“I’m not a baby,” Oliver pointed out.

“I am,” Owen said. “I’m never running away—Hey, look! There’s Dillon’s mom. And she’s crying and hugging his dad. They getting married again?”

The polite thing would have been to grant them some privacy. So how come Ella couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of Jackson with his ex?

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

As an eighties teen, one of my fave movies was Three Men and a Baby—and of course the sequel! The concept of those three hunky, accomplished men falling to pieces while caring for that sweet little baby always makes me smile. Which is why, after seeing a late-night running of the film, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if three equally adorable little boys were to find themselves in a similar situation. Being kids, of course, their parents would have to be brought into the situation, and naturally, mayhem ensues!

Even before having a newborn thrust into their lives, Ella and Jackson both have plenty of personal issues to work through. Longtime acquaintances, the two find it all too easy to fall for each other over baby bathing and feedings. Trouble is, seeing how Jackson’s son has his heart set on a reunion between his recently divorced parents, this hunky fireman has no business falling for a pretty pediatrician!

Happy reading!

Laura Marie

Three Boys and a Baby
Laura Marie Altom

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After college (Go Hogs!), bestselling, award-winning author Laura Marie Altom did a brief stint as an interior designer before becoming a stay-at-home mom to boy/girl twins. Always an avid romance reader, she knew it was time to try her hand at writing when she found herself replotting the afternoon soaps.

When not immersed in her next story, Laura enjoys an almost glamorous lifestyle of zipping around in a convertible while trying to keep her dog from leaping out, and constantly striving to reach the bottom of the laundry basket—a feat she may never accomplish! For real fun, Laura is content to read, do needlepoint and cuddle with her kids and handsome hubby.

Laura loves hearing from readers at either P.O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, or e-mail: BaliPalm@aol.com. Love lounging on the beach while winning fun stuff? Check out lauramariealtom.com!

For my new friend and partner in miscellaneous

mischief, Melinda Taylor. You’re a hoot!

Contents

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Cool! Can we keep it?”

Oliver Garvey, a full minute older than his identical eight-year-old twin, Owen, peeked into the basket and fell in love. The baby was a girl. He knew, because her blanket was pink. So were her pajamas, but the note that was safety-pinned to them was written on yellow paper. It read: Please take care of me. Since Oliver was oldest, and therefore smartest, he said, “Duh. Of course we’re gonna keep it. What kind of dummy are you?”

“Don’t call me a dummy,” Owen said, almost falling off the neighborhood park’s merry-go-round while making a fist.

“You’re a dummy.”

“Can I name her?” their seven-year-old neighbor and friend, Dillon Tate, asked. “I always wanted a baby, but Dad says they’re loud and smelly.”

“She doesn’t seem loud or smelly to me,” Owen said.

“Just wait till she poops.” Oliver sniffed the part of her blanket where the stinky stuff would be. “I saw in a movie one time where babies poop a lot. We’re going to have to find some diapers.”

“I bet Mom has some,” Owen suggested. “We’ll tell her to bring ’em home from the clinic.” Their mother was a kid doctor, so she always had kid gear around in case of an emergency. Lots of times they’d seen her do medicine stuff, so Owen was pretty much a doctor himself.

“No!” Dillon crossed his arms and stomped his right foot.

“I don’t wanna tell your mom.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Oliver asked him.

“You guys, that’s what. You can’t go calling your mom at a time like this.”

“Why come?” Owen wanted to know.

“’Cause this is a boys only club. Why do you want to make your mom a member?”

“We don’t,” Oliver said, “but she knows all about babies. She’s a doctor.”

“My dad knows about babies, too. He’s a fireman. Plus, he’s a guy, which makes him a lot better to be with than your mom.”

“I love Mom,” Owen said. “She’s a good cook.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.” Dillon rolled his eyes. “All I meant was that this is a guy club and we need to keep the baby a guy secret.”

“What do you think?” Owen asked, turning to his older brother.

Oliver took a moment to consider the facts. He guessed his mom probably knew more about babies, but she was a girl. Dillon’s dad knew lots about fires and stuff, though, so if the baby caught on fire, he’d know what to do. Of course, they could just ask the baby who she wanted to go to, but that would be kind of stupid since she didn’t even know how to talk. In case the other guys laughed at him, Oliver kept that last idea to himself.

“Well?” Owen and Dillon asked.

“I agree with Dillon. We need to keep this a guy secret.”

“Shouldn’t we vote?” Owen asked.

Oliver sighed. “Raise your hand if you think we should take it to Dillon’s dad.”

Oliver and Dillon raised their hands.

“Okay,” Oliver said, “now raise your hand if you want to take it to our mom.”

Owen and Dillon raised their hands.

“You can’t vote twice, Dillon.” Honestly, at the moment, Oliver was kind of mad with his best friend. “Which do you want?”

“I want my dad, but I didn’t want Owen to feel bad. Plus, your mom is a good cook.”

Oliver sighed. Geez Louise, it was hard work being around such lamebrains. “Okay, let’s vote again. Who wants Dillon’s dad?”

Oliver and Dillon raised their hands.

“Our mom?”

Owen and the baby raised their hands.

“Oh, come on,” Oliver said. “Owen, get away from the baby. You’re gonna break its arm.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“That’s it,” Oliver said. “I’m the boss of both of you, and I say we’re takin’ it to Dillon’s dad.”

Owen stuck out his tongue.

IT WAS DONE.

Her baby would be all right. From watching all three boys at one time or another at the neighborhood day care, she knew they came from wonderful, loving homes. The kind of home she’d never be able to provide for her precious baby girl.

Giving her up had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Harder than running away for seven months, then living in that group home for pregnant teens so that her grandma and father would never feel the shame.

Giving away her baby had been even harder than taking her from the group home’s nursery, then hitching her way back to her miniscule hometown of Brown, Kansas—renamed during the 1930s when there’d been a drought. Before that, the town had been called Garden Glade. Her Sunday-school teacher had said that every so often some outraged garden-club member circulated a petition to change the name back to the original, but so far, Brown had stuck.

Hearing her baby cry, and not being able to go to her, she figured the name suited this place just fine.

Brown.

Not really black, but its depressing neighbor.

JACKSON TATE had had a bad day, and judging by the squalling coming from inside his house, it was about to get worse.

Feet leaden as he crossed the wood-planked front porch, he yanked open the screen door, growling when it fell off the top hinge. Great. Just one more thing needing to be fixed.

Back before his ex had left, he’d taken pride in keeping up the old place. Julie had been the one who’d wanted to sink their meager savings into the nineteenth-century money pit. She’d said the Victorian home and the neighborhood that was as old as the State would not only be a good investment, but with its proximity to schools and the oak-lined park it would be the perfect place to raise a family.

Right. Only, what family, seeing as how she’d deemed her law career more interesting than either her husband or son.

After kicking off his regulation shoes, he unbuttoned his blue uniform shirt.

Dammit. Why couldn’t he get through a single, freakin’ day without letting her leaving get to him? He didn’t still have a thing for her. Best as he could tell, he just missed the way things used to be. The way the house had felt more like a home.

“Dad, Dad!” His son, Dillon, raced into the room. “Come quick and look what we found.”

“Not now, little man,” Jackson said, trying to use a soft tone. One of his biggest regrets since Julie had taken off was not being a better dad. He tried. Lord knew he tried, but lately, it seemed as if he and the boy spoke a different language. One Jackson was incapable of translating. “I had a rough shift. Where’s your grandmother?”

“She had a lady meeting. She said to tell you supper’s in the fridge. All you have to do is heat it up.”

“Thanks, little man.” With a deep sigh, Jackson collapsed onto the couch. “Now, turn down the TV and let me grab some shut-eye. We’ll nuke dinner, then play catch when I get up.”

“But, Dad, the TV’s not on.”

“Then turn down whatever it is that’s making that noise.”

Jackson shut his eyes, putting a throw pillow over his head. It smelled like maple syrup. He had to stop letting Dillon eat breakfast in the living room.

“But, Dad, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Son, please. Give me an hour and then we’ll eat. Play catch. Whatever you want.”

“Okay…”

Chin tucked against his chest, Dillon tried hard not to cry on his way to the kitchen.

He’d give anything to get his mom back home, because if she came back, his dad would be back, too. It hurt knowing his dad didn’t love him anymore. Sometimes, late at night, when he heard his dad watching TV, he wondered if his father thought it was Dillon’s fault Mom now lived in Kansas City? Was that why Dad was always grumpy? Because he blamed Dillon for all the bad stuff that’d been happening in their lives?

“Well?” Oliver asked out on the back porch. “Is your dad coming?”

Dillon shook his head. Tears were real close to squeezing out, so he didn’t want to talk.

“What’s wrong?” Owen asked. “You crying?”

Dillon shook his head.

“Then what’s the matter?” Oliver put his hands on his hips.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He’s sleeping, okay?” Snatching up the baby’s basket, Dillon walked to the screened porch’s door, bumping it open with his butt. “Let’s just take the baby to your mom.”

PEDIATRICIAN Ella Garvey climbed out of her minivan, marched up onto the frumpy Queen Anne house’s front porch, threw open the screen door and walked directly to the freezer without passing Go. It’d been a chocolate-chip-fudge-mocha-swirl kind of day. Meaning, instead of using a teaspoon, she’d gone straight to the serving-spoon drawer after opening the ice cream tub’s lid.

The first bite went down silky smooth.

Closing her eyes, she savored the cool, sweet goodness, letting the calories and fat seep into her weary bones. She’d get a fresh start on her diet tomorrow. Tonight would be about taking care of herself in a far more important way than the mere physical upkeep of her body.

After the day she’d had, actually having to be civil to her ex-husband’s new bride—the same bride who’d once been her trusted best friend and office manager—well, she deserved not only ice cream, but pizza and bologna and chips and dip and Skittles and—

“Mooo-om!” The front door creaked open, then slammed shut.

As if that wasn’t enough noise, the twins must’ve already turned on the TV, because along with boyish stomping came infant wailing.

Damn.

“I’m in here, guys!” She took another fortifying bite, scolding herself for wishing her darlings back at summer camp. She loved her twins dearly, but good grief, they could be a handful.

“Mom, Mom!”

“Slow down,” she said, not wanting their haste to make a mess, which would in turn interfere with her medicinal feasting. “And for heaven’s sake, turn down the—”

“Yeah, but look!” Oliver presented her with a sight that threatened to bring her ice cream gurgling up. “Can we keep it?”

“Oliver William Garvey, where in the world did you find her?” Tossing her spoon in the sink, setting the ice cream on the counter, Ella fell into professional mode. She plucked the red-faced, screaming, two-or three-week-old infant from a wicker laundry basket, instinctively clutching her to her chest.

“Shh…” she crooned, while jiggling and rocking the baby. Though she had a few hundred questions for her little darlings, first things first. “Oliver, get my medical bag from my office. Owen, fill a pan with hot water and put it on the stove.”

“But you told me to never touch the stove.”

“Do it!” she shouted above the din. “Dillon, honey, run to Owen and Oliver’s closet and get me the smallest T-shirt you can find.”

“Like one of those dumb Barney ones Owen used to wear in first grade that he hides way in the back?”

“Perfect,” she said.

“They’re not dumb,” Owen complained.

“Here you go, Mom.” Breathing heavily, Oliver handed over her bag.

“Thanks, honey.” Placing the baby back in the basket, Ella found formula and a disposable bottle. She opened a can of Enfamil, slipped a plastic liner in the bottle’s body, then popped a rubber nipple into the lid. After filling the bag with formula, she screwed on the lid.

Seeing that the water was close to boiling, she turned off the gas flame, set the pan on a cool burner, then dropped the bottle in.

Dillon dashed back into the kitchen. “Here’s the shirt.”

“Great. Oliver, fish me a diaper and some wipes from my bag.”

“’Kay, Mom.”

The bottom of the baby’s pink pj’s was soaked. Ella laid her on a towel on the kitchen table and removed the diaper, wiped the infant clean, then pulled Owen’s purple shirt over her little head. As she’d figured, it was huge, but at least dry.

Next, she held the still-squalling baby on her hip while she tested the formula’s temp. Perfect.

Ella cradled the baby, holding the bottle to her pursed lips. Rather than latching on, she seemed confused. It took the tiny creature a few minutes to figure out what to do. Probably a sign that she was used to being breastfed. Putting her pinkie to the infant’s lips, Ella found that she’d suckle that. Placing the nipple alongside her finger, she tried tricking the infant into thinking she was back with her mom. Luckily, the poor thing must’ve been hungry enough that the ruse worked. The wailing stopped—and was replaced by near-desperate suckling.

“Whew,” Oliver said, wiping his brow. “I didn’t think she’d ever shut up.”

“She must’ve been starving.” Ella stroked the girl’s blond tufts of downy hair. “Now, how about you gentlemen tell me how you got this angel?”

JACKSON WOKE SLOWLY, disoriented as to where he was. Splitting his time between the firehouse and home, rarely getting a full night’s rest, he was used to catnapping. But lately, his sleep seemed to come on faster and harder. Deep and dreamless.

He rolled off the sofa, struggling to his feet.

Though he wasn’t the least bit hungry, for Dillon’s sake, he needed to make good on nuking his mom’s meal.

His mother had been a godsend throughout the divorce. When he was on shift at the firehouse, she kept Dillon with her. His mom also saw to it that they ate pretty much three squares a day. There were times Jackson felt ashamed by how dependant upon her he’d become.

“Yo, Dillon!”

When the boy didn’t answer, Jackson assumed he was outside, playing with his friends.

Peering out the front window, he found the moon rising on twilight. A few fireflies hovered above the half-dead lawn, and across the street, Joe Parker’s legs stuck out from under his ’63 Chevy. There were not, however, three boys playing catch or Frisbee or capture the flag.

Frowning, Jackson checked the kitchen, Dillon’s room, the den where they kept the computer, the backyard where the boys staged naval battles in the six-inch-deep plastic pool. His son occupied none of his usual haunts.

Jackson was just picking up the phone to see if Dillon had gone to his folks’ place when the doorbell rang. He hightailed it that way to see the shadowy figure of a woman behind the screen.

Upon closer inspection, he recognized Ella Garvey.

“Hey,” he said, having to lift the broken-hinged door to get it to swing properly. “Come on in. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Dillon?”

“Funny…” She laughed, only the sound came out more panicked than happy. “I was hoping you’d seen Owen and Oliver.”

“I DON’T KNOW about this,” Owen said, trailing behind Oliver and Dillon. He carried his mom’s medical bag and formula and blankets while Oliver carried the baby and diapers and Dillon hauled towels and chips and pop and cupcakes.

“Quit whining,” Oliver said, ashamed of his little brother.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Owen said. “This is a bad idea.”

“I am too the boss of you,” Oliver said, “and if you don’t quit complaining, I’m not going to let you play my new Xbox game.”

“Dad’s not even gonna buy you that game,” Owen fired back. “He loves me more than you.”

“Does not.”

“Does, too.”

“Does not!”

“Zip it!” Dillon hollered. “Do you two dummies wanna wake up the baby?”

“Yeah, Owen.” Oliver shot his brother a dirty look.

Owen rolled his eyes. “How much farther?”

They’d been walking a really long time, and they’d had to cut cross-country so no grown-ups would see. The stitch in Oliver’s side hurt really bad, and though he wouldn’t tell his twin or Dillon, he was kind of scared. It was getting dark and he’d never been this far from home without being in the car with his mom and dad. Now that his dad didn’t live with them anymore, he hardly ever saw him. It used to make him sad that his father loved a new family better than him, but most times now, he was just mad.

Oliver was gonna be a way better dad to this baby than his own father was to him. Which was why when Mom said they had to call the police, and then she’d gotten on the phone, Oliver had told Owen and Dillon they had to run away.

Everyone knew when the police got you, you went straight to jail. What was a baby going to do in the slammer? They’d probably only feed her roaches and stuff and no way was he going to let his baby eat roaches. She was too cute for that.

“Please,” Owen whined, “let’s stop.”

“Not yet,” Oliver said, holding the baby tighter. “We’re almost there.”

“THEY FOUND WHAT?” Jackson liked to think he’d heard it all, but Ella’s story was a bit far-fetched.

She explained about the boys having stumbled across the abandoned infant in the park. About the note attached to her basket. Through it all, he held his breath, waiting for the joke’s punch line. Only, when Ella ended, her gray eyes pooling upon telling him all three boys and the baby were missing, he wasn’t laughing.

In his line of work, tears were the norm, yet something about the way Ella looked near crying, but somehow keeping it together, affected him more than if she’d sobbed.

His ex had never cried.

Even on the day their divorce had been finalized, she’d remained coolly professional, as if to her, their marriage had been nothing more than a losing day in court. Just once, he’d wanted Julie to acknowledge what she’d thrown away. To have maybe at least come to him, cluing him in on the fact that there’d even been a problem. It’d hurt so damned bad knowing he couldn’t save their marriage when saving was what he did. He rescued little kids and kittens and bedridden elderly. He didn’t stand by, letting their lives end, any more than he gave up on vows he’d made before God and family. Julie was the only quitter in his house.

Frustrated anew by the uncomfortable position he found himself in, Jackson’s voice was more gruff than it should’ve been when he asked, “Have you talked with Hank?”

Hank was a longtime friend and the town’s sheriff.

“No,” Ella said, looking away, then back. Wiping her eyes so he wouldn’t see how upset she truly was? “Hoping the boys were here, I wanted to check with you first.”

“Sure,” he said, already on his way to the kitchen phone.

Five minutes later, Jackson had shared all pertinent information, and Hank had set official wheels in motion.

“Three boys and a baby,” he said to Ella, who was again looking near tears. “They can’t have gone far. We’ll find them in under thirty minutes.”

“I know.” Her words were confident. Her thin voice scared.

What was it with women? Why couldn’t they just say what they felt? Why couldn’t she admit she was upset and ask for his help?

Maybe the better question was, what was it about her heartbreakingly concerned expression that made him care?

Chapter Two

Please, God, let Hank find them all safe.

Ella had said the prayer hundreds of times during the endless night, but now, with the early-morning sun filling the boys’ second-story bedroom, why did her throat ache worse than ever? Why, when Hank had told her to stay put, had she desperately wanted to help with the search?

The living room and kitchen teemed with concerned friends and family. Tables were laden with cold cuts, cookies and cake, as if food could somehow fill the gnawing emptiness that had consumed her since Jackson’s promised thirty minutes had faded into ten hours without her boys.

As a doctor, she’d trained for all sorts of emergencies. Broken arms and legs she could handle, but this not knowing just might be the end of her.

A knock sounded on the boys’ open door. “Your friend Claire said I’d find you up here.”

“Jackson.”

Hugging Owen’s favorite stuffed tiger, she glanced the man’s way. “Any sign of them?”

“A dirty diaper and a few granola-bar wrappers out by the old Hampstead place. Looks as if they may have camped there for the night, but no sign of them now.”

She nodded, willing down the bile rising in her throat. “What’s next?”

“A couple of hours ago, we called in help from Buckhorn County. About fifty National Guardsmen have also joined the search. My…um…ex has connections. She called in favors. It won’t be long till we bring them home.”

“I know,” Ella said, adding a new wish to her litany of prayers—that she wouldn’t break down now. Not in front of this virtual stranger.

“We’ve got tracking dogs. They’re good.”

I miss my boys. Please, God, bring them home safe.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

“I’m thinking thirty more minutes is all it’s going to take. Tops.”

“Y-you said that last time.” Her eyes stung.

“Obviously, I underestimated, but this time—”

“This time, what?” she all but shrieked. “Do you have a crystal ball? Have you also called in a psych—” A sob racked her body. Tears flowed and she looked away, but then Jackson pulled her against him, wrapping her in his strength. As if she’d known him a lifetime, because exhaustion and terror and a sense of unbearable helplessness had taken a toll, she clung to him. “I—I’m so afraid,” she cried. “W-what if you don’t find them? Or, w-worse—”

“Shh…” He held her tightly, cupping his hand to the back of her head, as if sheltering her from the harsh realities of what had become of their world. “We’ll bring them all back safe. If not in thirty minutes, then soon. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Because of the sureness of his tone, his powerful hold made her believe him. The worry gripping her insides refused to let her believe anything else.

Once her cheeks had dried and her labored breathing had returned to normal, Jackson released her with an awkward pat to her back, stepping away.

“I should rejoin the others,” he said, already edging toward the door.

She followed. “I want to go. I can’t stand just sitting here. I feel helpless.”

“Look…” He released a deep sigh. “On the off chance you’re needed, you should stay.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, gaze narrowed. “Needed? Why do I get the feeling you’re trying in a polite way to prepare me for one or more of our boys needing medical attention?”

“All I’m saying is just in case. There’s no sense in you being exhausted. Should the need for first aid—for anyone, be it the boys or the baby or one of the search party—arise.”

Despite knowing Jackson was right in his request for her to stay put, Ella wasn’t sure her heart could withstand one more moment of inactivity. “Please, Jackson, there must be something productive I can do.”

“I suppose making sandwiches is out?”

Shooting him a sarcastic smile, she said, “There are already enough sandwiches downstairs to feed every man, woman and child in the state.”

“Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“IT STINKS IN HERE,” Owen said, looking up at the storm-drain tunnel’s cobwebbed ceiling, then clutching his backpack tighter. “I’m hungry. Let’s go home.”

“We can’t just go home,” Oliver pointed out. Truthfully, deep inside his belly where the hunger pangs were starting to hurt really bad, he kind of wanted to go home, too. Eat a big plate of his mom’s blueberry pancakes with one of those whipped cream smiley faces she drew on them. After that, he’d play video games, then crawl into his mom’s big bed. She had more pillows than him and Owen. She’d asked if he wanted more pillows, but he’d said no, seeing how having his bed covered in soft stuff wouldn’t be very manly. Since his dad had taken off and Oliver was oldest, that made him man of the house and in charge. He had to set a good example for his little brother, for Dillon and the baby. “If we go home, we’re gonna get grounded and Daffodil’s gonna get sent to jail.”

“I still think that’s a stupid name for a baby,” Owen said, “and they won’t take her to jail, but juvie.”

“You’re both wrong.” Dillon hugged the sleeping infant.

“She’ll go to the big house. I saw it on TV. It’s way worse than just jail or juvie. She’ll probably have to be in a gang and stuff.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “She’s a baby. How’s she gonna be in a gang?”

“Gangs are smart.” Dillon kissed the top of the baby’s head. “My teacher, Mrs. Henseford, says gang leaders like to get their new members young.”

“Please,” Owen whined, “let’s go home.”

“No.” Oliver pitched a rock at a tin can. “We have to get jobs—and a car.”

“Yeah,” Dillon said with a heavy sigh. “But before that, you guys ever come up with what we want to name her?”

“I already told you, Rapunzel,” Owen said.

“That’d be fine,” Dillon said, “only she doesn’t have any hair.”

“How ’bout Baldy?”

Dillon wrinkled his nose. “That’s not very pretty. We have to give her a girly name.”

“Fluffy? Kimmy? Cassie?”

“Nah,” Dillon said. “I’m not feeling any of those.”

“Okay, well if you don’t like Daffodil, what about calling her Rose? Roses are pretty, and they smell nice.”

“Yeah,” Dillon said, “but most times, this baby smells bad.”

“That’s just because she poops a lot,” Owen pointed out.

“But she’ll stop that when she’s old.”

“So you want to call her Rose?” Oliver asked.

Dillon gazed down at the baby girl and smiled. “Yeah. Rose…I think that sounds really pretty.”

“THANK YOU,” Ella said. The sincerity in her tone and warmth behind her eyes told Jackson he’d done the right thing in getting her a job manning the phone lines. “This has been good for me.” She sighed. “You know—getting my mind off things for a while.”

“Sure.” Given the gravity of their shared things, he wasn’t sure what else to say.

The police station’s dingy beige lobby hummed with activity.

Phones ringing.

Teletype grunting.

Hank barking orders.

Not since grizzled old Digger Mason had been found dead under the Forked River bridge had Jackson seen such a commotion. Deputies had been called in from three additional counties. Bullock County had just suffered major tornado damage from a sudden spring storm and couldn’t spare the manpower. With all available National Guard members also helping, using the station parking lot as a home base, Jackson had had to park half a block down the street.

A lot of the guys from the fire station had also come down to help with the search. Hank had mentioned that Jackson’s best bud, Vince Calivaris, currently led a crew at the abandoned rock quarry. While Jackson thought it was good of Calivaris to lend a hand, the thought of him finding the boys floating facedown in icy, deep-blue water filled his stomach with cold lead.

“Coffee, Mrs. Garvey?” Deputy Heidi Wesson offered Ella a steaming cup. “Fresh-brewed. Can I get you some cream or sugar?”

“No. But, thank you,” Ella said, accepting the cup, cautiously sipping, then groaning with apparent pleasure. Jackson had never seen a woman take her coffee black. He supposed, what with her being a pediatrician and all, that she’d probably never had time for frivolities like doctoring a cup of joe. He found himself liking that fact about her. Her no-nonsense attitude.

You despise that quality in your all-business ex.

Did he? Or was it the fact that she’d valued efficiency over love?

“How about you?” Heidi asked, offering Jackson a cup, as well.

He murmured his thanks.

“If you’re hungry, the PTA set up an amazing snack table in the break room. I heard it’s being manned by parents from the boys’ school, and that—”

“I—I have to go,” Ella said, her voice faint. “Th-thanks again for the—” She gestured to the cup she’d set on a battered metal folding chair.

“Sure. No problem…” Heidi murmured while Ella ran for the building’s double front doors. She pushed them open as if desperate for air. Hope.

“Want me to check on her?” Heidi asked Jackson. They’d been friends for a while. She’d started with the sheriff’s office the same year he’d taken a full-time position with Firehouse Number 3. The town actually only had two fully manned stations. Number 1 was an honorary title given to the historic red barn holding dive gear for rare underwater rescues.

Shoulders squared, chest aching at the sight of Ella out on the station’s concrete surround, hunched over, bracing her hands on her knees, Jackson said, “Thanks, but let me.”

“Sure? I’m thinking this situation calls for a bit more finesse than your usual growling self.”

“Give me a break,” he said, setting his already emptied cup alongside Ella’s.

“I’m just saying…” His friend held up her hands, flashing a wry smile.

He shook his head.

Outside, the day was fine. Bright and sunny. Not a cloud in the sky. Not at all the kind of day that suited his mood.

He aimed for Ella, but some GI Joe decked out in full-on camo gear beat him to the punch. He’d slipped his arm around Ella’s quaking shoulders, giving her sympathetic pats.

Why, Jackson couldn’t have said, but even from where he stood a good twenty feet away, possessiveness tore through him. He and Ella were going through this godawful ordeal together. He’d be the one to comfort her. See her through it. Guarantee all three of their boys and this baby they’d carted off were safely returned.

Marching to Ella’s side, he cleared his throat and said to the guy still rubbing her back, “I’ll take it from here.”

“I’m good,” the National Guardsman said.

Lowering his voice to the universal back-off tone, Jackson said, “Seriously. She’s with me.”

“Oh.” The guy eyed Ella, then him, then backed away. “I was just trying to help.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Once the Guardsman had left, Jackson shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. He wanted to comfort Ella—damn bad—but something inside him felt broken. As if Julie had taken a chunk of him with her when she’d taken off.

“Look at me,” Ella said with a messy sniffle. “I’m a bona fide wreck.”

“I’d say you have a right to be.”

“You’re not. A mess, that is.”

Wanna bet?

“Here we’ve both been trained to deal with all manner of emergencies, yet I’m falling apart.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, “but they probably didn’t teach you much in med school about what to do in the event your twins go missing.”

She laughed through more tears, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “You’ve got that right.”

“Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand. His movements were awkward, landing his knuckles against her thigh before fumbling for the tear-dampened fingers of her left hand. But once he had hold of her, he held on for all he was worth. “I’m meeting up with my ex in a little while, but for the moment, it looks like we’re just in the way here. There’s somewhere I think you should go.”

“Just me?” Trailing beside him, her red-rimmed eyes were trusting, yet at the same time, wary.

“Well…” He squeezed her hand. “Obviously, we’re both going. I’ve got my cell should there be any news.”

“Good news,” she said.

“Absolutely.”

“Because that’s the only kind we’ll accept, right?”

Lord, how Jackson missed the days back when he used to be filled with hope. When he used to believe prayer really worked. Back before Julie had left for greener pastures. He’d already lost his marriage. If he ended up losing his son, as well…

“Right, Jackson? Good news is all we’ll take?”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Uh-huh.”

“HOW DID YOU EVER find this?” Ella whispered, oddly afraid to speak in her full voice, almost as if the wondrous place’s spell might be broken.

“Accident,” Jackson said with a shrug. “Long story short, we were working a three-car pile-up alongside the highway, and I needed to take a leak.”

The answer was so unexpectedly honest—not to mention inappropriate—that she burst out laughing.

“What?”

“You. You’re not exactly brimming with social graces, are you?”

“That a problem?”

“Considering what we’re going through, not at all. However, once our boys are safely home, and we’re back to our old routines, if you ever get a hankering to ask out Deputy Heidi, you may wish to bone up on your suave skills.”

At that, he was the one laughing. “Thanks. It’s been years since I’ve had that good a laugh.”

“Let me guess. You’ve never exactly been brimming with suaveness, either?”

“Ding, ding, ding. You win the prize.” He lifted a pine bough for her to step under.

No, judging by the present view, they’d both won.

They’d walked maybe a mile to where the small town faded to forest. To where historic brick homes eventually led the way to thousands of acres of farmland and sky. But here, in a secret glade time had forgotten, Ella stood gaping at the ghostly form of a paddle wheeler. Though the decades hadn’t been kind, the iron behemoth was still elegant in its sea of stately oaks and pine. Listing slightly to the right, as if weary, like her.

“Jackson…It’s amazing. Why…? How?”

“You mean what’s it doing here?” he asked, flashing her a sad half grin. “A buddy of mine who’s a history buff said back before the river was diverted, it used to run through this little valley. There’s been talk of somehow salvaging her—turning her into a museum, but the amount of cash involved would be…” He whistled.

“Still—to think this has been here all this time. There should at least be a proper path leading to it.”

He shrugged. “Probably that’d only encourage teens coming out here to drink and do miscellaneous other dirty deeds.”

“Yeah…You’re probably right.”

For a few moments they quieted, absorbing the forest’s tranquility. A woodpecker hammered a nearby tree, breaking the stillness.

“Why’d you bring me here?” Ella asked.

He crammed his hands in his pockets, looking away.

“When my wife—well, when she asked for a divorce…”

“This place brought you solace? You thought it might do the same for me?”

He glanced down, then up. His dark eyes were wet.

He didn’t deny her assumption.

Many times, when Julie and Jackson had struggled to save their marriage, Dillon had stayed with Ella, Todd and the twins. Ella’s had been the shoulder Dillon had cried upon, meaning she knew far more about the end of Jackson’s marriage than he would probably feel comfortable with.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, taking a seat on a moss-covered fallen tree.

“For what?” She approached the boat, staring up in wonder.

“Being there. For Dillon.” He cleared his throat. “That kind of hostile environment. I’m sure you know it’s no place for a kid. He was just a little guy back then.”

“He still is,” she said, stepping up beside the shell of a man Jackson had become. She had few memories of him from before his divorce. A couple of neighborhood picnics with Dillon riding on his shoulders and Julie trailing behind, chatting on her cell. Upon ending her call, she’d run laughing to catch up, taking Jackson’s hand, grinning up at him with what Ella had always assumed was love. They’d had their differences, but from the outside it had seemed like a sweet family.

Not that Jackson and Dillon weren’t still a family, but not nearly as idyllic. As happy.

When Jackson remained silent, she gave him a slight nudge. “He’s still just a little boy, Jackson.”

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was hoarse.

“Hey,” she said, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder, “I didn’t mean that as a critique of your parenting skills. It was just an observation. At times—when Dillon thinks no one’s looking—he seems…I don’t know—crushingly lonely.”

“Yeah, well, aren’t we all?” Pushing to his feet, Jackson said, “I’m heading back. Stay as long as you like, and if I hear anything, I’ll—”

“I’m coming with you.” She was on her feet, as well.

“You don’t have to.”

“Of course, I do. For better or worse, we’re in this together and—”

“Don’t…ever…say…that.” Though he didn’t turn to face her, he squared his shoulders as if readying for a fight.

“Say what? We’re in this together?”

He took off walking. His long-legged stride was tough to keep up with, but not impossible.

“Damn you,” she said, snagging the sleeve of his navy polo.

“What’s the matter with you? You act like a walking shell. You can’t just throw something like that out there without—”

Jackson’s cell rang.

Chapter Three

“What’ve you got?” Jackson asked, pulse raging upon seeing Hank’s number on his cell’s Caller ID.

“Great news. We’ve found ’em. All four tired and dirty, but safe and sound.”

Relief made Jackson fall to his knees.

“Jackson?” Ella demanded, kneeling beside him. “What is it? Are they hurt?”

Tears he never indulged in flowed.

He pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her hair. “They’re safe. Dillon, your boys—even this mystery baby. All safe.”

He’d started to release her, but now she was crying, quivering, so he held on for dear life. Celebrating life. The lives of their sons. His own life which had miraculously been returned.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, pulling away slightly, her happy, teary smile making her face glow. “I mean, I can. I knew they’d be safe—wanted to hope. But the fear, it took over.”

He nodded. “I know. Wanna go get them? Hank took them to the station. No doubt loading them with candy bars and cookies.”

“Hmm…” she teased, already rising, laughter crinkling the corners of her eyes as she held out her hand to help him. “With all those sweets in them, maybe we should leave them there till they come down from the sugar high?”

OLIVER DIDN’T WANT TO CRY when he first saw his mom running with Dillon’s dad toward him and Dillon and Owen, but as hard as he tried being big, being in charge of two kids and a baby for all that time had taken a lot out of him.

“Mommy!” Owen said, changing to his baby voice, like when he was scared of storms. He got to her first, throwing his arms around her waist. “I missed you so bad. I was starving and Oliver was mean and—”

“I wasn’t mean. I even gave you the last bite of that granola bar and—”

“Did not!” Owen complained. “And anyway, get back. I’m mad at you.”

“You get back! And quit hogging Mom.” Oliver nudged his creepy twin out of the way, grabbing hold of her himself. Squeezing really hard, he closed his eyes and sighed. Man, she smelled nice. Like those good-smelling dryer-sheet thingies she used.

“I missed you so much,” she said, hugging them both.

“Yeah, but you missed me more, right?” Owen pushed in closer. Geez, he was a spoiled brat.

“I’m oldest, so she missed me more, since she’s had me around longest.”

“Hey,” Mom said, scrunching down so she was the same height as them. “I missed both of you more than I can ever say.” She was crying and wiped at her eyes. Oliver hated seeing her cry. He especially hated that him and Owen had been the cause. But they’d had to protect the baby. “That said, I’ve never been more furious with you both. What were you thinking? Running off like that?”

Ella stood, hands on her hips. “You should be ashamed. How many times have I told you that if you have a problem, always to come to me?”

“It was his idea!” both boys said at once, pointing to each other.

“You are sooo lying!” Owen said. “Just trying to get me in trouble.”

“You’re trying to get me in trouble,” Oliver said.

“I don’t care which of you came up with the bright idea to run off,” Ella said. “I’m equally furious with you both.” Still, she couldn’t resist pulling them into another group hug, planting kisses atop their grungy heads. She loved them so much. An impossible-to-calculate much only a mother could understand.

But then she looked across the crowded police station to Jackson standing with Dillon in his arms. Looks like dads understood love, too. The boy rested his head on his father’s strong shoulder and was sucking his thumb. Dillon hadn’t done that in at least a year. The fact that he’d reverted to the old habit spoke volumes for how scared he must’ve been out on the run.

Though the station was a flurry of activity of National Guardsmen packing up equipment, and police slapping each other on their backs for a job well done, Jackson and his son had formed an island of serenity in a frenzied storm.

In all the years Ella had known the man, never had she seen him look more at peace. Well, obviously aside from when he and Julie had still been a couple. But that was a long time ago. He’d been a different man. Just as back then, still with Todd, she’d been a different woman.

“Mommy?” Owen tugged on her shirt. “Can we go home?”

“What about the baby?” Oliver asked. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“She’s at the hospital with Dr. Shepherd,” Ella explained.

“But I thought you’re a baby doctor.”

“I am, sweetie, but Sheriff Hank figured I’d probably want to spend time with my own babies tonight.”

“I’m not a baby,” Oliver pointed out.

“I am,” Owen said. “I’m never running—Hey, look! There’s Dillon’s mom. And she’s crying and hugging his dad. They getting married again?”

The polite thing to do would be to grant them privacy, so how come Ella felt riveted to the sight of Jackson and his ex?

“WANT ICE CREAM for dinner?” Jackson asked his son. The light at the intersection of King and Pine turned yellow. Easing to a stop, he added, “Banana split. Hot-fudge sundae. You name it.”

Dillon shook his head.

“What’s up, bud?” The light turned green, and Jackson accelerated. “You sick?” He reached across the SUV’s front seat to feel his son’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Stomach ache?”

“Nah. I just miss Mom. And the baby. Think she’s okay?”

“Mom? Or the baby?”

“The baby. I know Mom’s okay, ’cause she said she’d be home when we get there.”

Swell.

“The baby’s fine. Hank said they’re going to keep her at the hospital nursery until someone claims her.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Comes to pick her up. Hank’s hoping maybe her mom or dad will have second thoughts about leaving her.”

“I don’t know…”

“What?”

“Well, if her parents left her in a basket on the merry-go-round, do they deserve to get her back?”

Jackson sighed. “Good question.” Guilt rumbled through him at his own less-than-stellar parenting skills since Julie left.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?” Jackson pulled the car into their driveway, glad to be home. Gladder still for his son to be safely home, for this second chance to prove how much he loved him.

“Do you think maybe we could keep her?”

“The baby?” He killed the engine.

“I’d take care of her. You’d hardly even know she was here.”

Laughing, ruffling his boy’s dirty hair, Jackson said, “If she’s half as noisy as you were when you were a baby, trust me, the whole neighborhood would know she’s here.”

Dillon made a face.

Jackson made one right back.

He’d only been teasing with his son, but the scowl settling around his lips as Julie pulled her silver Mercedes convertible into the single-lane drive was the real deal.

“I DON’T KNOW, HANK…” On the phone, Ella looked to her boys—finally clean and not bickering, seated at the kitchen table eating salad swimming in ranch dressing. While they’d been playing with their action figures in the tub, she’d cleaned away the remnants of having a house full of concerned neighbors. Claire, from a few houses down, had offered to help with the dishes, but Ella had politely refused. Call her crazy, but it felt good doing something homey and domestic. “I’ve just gotten this place feeling back to normal. What am I going to do with a—”

The doorbell rang.

“Just a minute,” she said, “someone’s ringing the bell.”

Covering the mouthpiece of her cordless phone, she jogged to the living room. Pushing at the front screen door—in muggy weather it tended to stick—she frowned at her first glimpse of the man standing on her porch.

She pressed the phone’s off button.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, taking the pink-swaddled baby from Hank’s outstretched arms. “The hospital’s nursery was full?”

“Damnedest thing,” Hank said, hefting two huge sacks of baby gear inside. “Three gals gave birth this afternoon. The place is swamped. Anyway, I really could use your help, Ella. Odds are, whoever this cutie belongs to, she’s not far away, and we’re quietly checking into things.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Ella asked, gingerly taking a seat on the couch.

“I don’t want this beauty ending up in the system, you know.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Hank. Look at her. She’s gorgeous. Do you have any idea how many couples are out there, begging to adopt newborns? Claire and Jeremy Donaldson have been trying for years to conceive. She’s a second-grade teacher at the twins’ school and her husband’s an amazing carpenter. Lately, they’ve been looking into adoption. Maybe you should take her to them?”

“Sounds like a good call, but I’m not exactly playing by the book. If I get Child Protective Services involved, everything’s going to get messy. It’d just be overall easier if you’d keep her for a few days until the birth mother is back in her right mind and comes to claim her.”

“Hank…” Ella warned. “This mother left her newborn infant in a basket on a playground. Does this really sound like the move of a responsible parent?”

“You’ve got a point. But look how clean the kid was when your boys found her. The polite note. That tells me there’s love involved. What if this girl’s young? Scared? Didn’t anyone ever give you a second chance?”

“Anyone ever call you a big softy?”

“DILLON, GUESS WHAT,” Oliver whispered into the phone, checking around the corner to make sure his mom wasn’t spying.

“What?”

“We’re keepin’ Rose.”

“No way! That’s not fair. How’d you get her?”

“Sheriff Hank just brought her over. Wanna come play? You can eat here. We’ve got tons of food.”

Dillon was quiet for a little while.

“Well?” Oliver asked. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t know. Mom’s here and Dad’s been acting weird. Wanting to play games with me and stuff. I think he wants me to hang with him. But then Mom’s wanting me with her, too. I should probably stay here.”

“Bring both of ’em. That way, they can play with Mom while we’re playing with Rose.”

“Sure it’s okay with your mom?”

“Yeah. She likes having company. Plus, she’s always wanting us to eat, so now she can feed you guys, too. It’ll be fun.”

BEHIND THE WHEEL of his SUV, Jackson killed the engine, then shot a glance in the rearview mirror at his son—engrossed in a handheld video game.

Jackson sighed, then rubbed his face with his hands.

“You all right?” Julie asked from beside him, a beribboned wine bottle on her lap.

“Sure. Long day—and night.”

“No kidding. Sorry it took me so long to get here. Judge Parker wouldn’t recess, so—”

“It’s fine. You’re here now, which is all that matters.”

She flashed him a smile and patted his thigh.

To say Jackson had been surprised by Ella’s impromptu dinner invite would’ve been the understatement of the week. His reaction had actually been more in the realm of shock. He felt badly about the way things had gone down in the woods—his getting all bent out of shape at her benign comment.

But shoot, for the most part, he felt as if even on a good day, he wasn’t exactly playing with a full emotional deck. On a day like today? When he hadn’t known if his son was alive or dead? Then Julie shows up, suddenly playing the part of concerned mom.

Let’s just say Ella had been lucky his outburst hadn’t been worse. Or maybe he was the lucky one, so that he didn’t look like even more of an insensitive jerk.

“Come on, Mom and Dad.” Dillon leaned into the front seat. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Sure,” Jackson said with a start, wishing the longer days of late spring didn’t also mean glaring sun at an hour when he’d have preferred the more soothing black of night.

While Jackson helped Julie from the tall vehicle, Dillon hopped from the car and raced across the yard. On the front porch that was decked out in red geraniums and white impatiens, Dillon didn’t bother ringing the doorbell, but instead, tossed open the screen door and walked right in. “Owen? Oliver? Where’s the baby?”

“Dillon?” called a female voice from inside.

Having ushered Julie onto the porch, then following, Jackson felt somewhat voyeuristic watching through the screen as Ella approached his son only to pull him into a hug. She’d changed from the jeans and T-shirt he’d last seen her in to white shorts and a pink tank. She’d washed her long hair and pulled it into a ponytail, the ends of which were still damp.

“What’re you doing here, sweetie?” she asked. “I would’ve thought you and your mom and dad would be having a special family night?”

“Nah. Owen and Oliver invited us for dinner. They said you’d be cool with it. ’Kay?”

“Um…sure, but—” She glanced outside, and Jackson lurched back. To what? Hide? “Jackson? That you?”

“Yup.” He resisted the urge to smack his forehead for not having called to confirm that the dinner invitation had been from Ella and not the twins. “And Julie.”

“Oh—hi. What a nice surprise. Come in.” She tried opening the screen, but it didn’t budge.

“You have to lift and then kick,” Dillon pointed out, nudging her aside to complete the task himself. “It’s almost, but not quite, broken, just like at our house.”

“Thanks,” she said, ruffling Dillon’s hair. “Sometimes I forget.”

“Ours is broken?” Julie asked.

“I’m on it,” Jackson said, marveling at the woman’s gall to call his home ours.

“Come on, Dad. Owen and Oliver said there’s lots of good food.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said to Ella. “Dillon said you’d invited us, but clearly he must’ve misunderstood.”

“Dillon!” Oliver said, cautiously maneuvering the front staircase, the baby in his arms. “Look how pretty she is in her little dress. The ladies at the hospital gave it to her.”

Ella turned. “Be careful with her, Oliver.”

“Awww…” Dillon raced in that direction. “She’s so cute.”

“She’s amazing,” Julie crooned. “Dillon, I don’t remember you ever being this tiny.”

“You might as well stay,” Ella said. “The neighbors were crazy generous with food.”

“They’re good folk,” Jackson said. “They did a lot for me after…”

My wife took off.

Ella, still holding open the door, cleared her throat and stepped aside. “Come on in. I’ll get out the plate of cold cuts and some bread.”

Jackson followed the two women to the kitchen. He didn’t want to be here. Forced into making small talk with a neighbor he hardly knew and the ex he more often than not wished he’d never known.

“Mayo or mustard?” Ella asked in front of the fridge.

“Both,” Jackson said.

“Nothing for me,” Julie said.

“Hey, Dad!” Dillon hollered, rushing into the room, the baby in his arms. “Guess what?”

“You need to slow down.” Jackson gestured to the pink bundle. “The, ah, well, baby’s fragile.”

“Duh, Dad. And her name is Rose. We named her after the flower.”

“Here, Mom—” Grasping the infant under her arms, Dillon gingerly handed her to Julie.

Julie tucked the baby against her chest and began to coo. “Aren’t you a sweetie pie? Yes, you are…”

“She likes you,” Ella said to Julie. “That’s a good sign that you make her feel loved and safe.”

Loved and safe? Ha! It took everything Jackson had in him not to snort. How about the emotional number she’d pulled on their son?

Still, watching Julie with Rose sent him back to when Dillon had been a baby. To when he and Julie had been overwhelmed with the enormity not just of the logistics of bathing, diapering and keeping up a steady supply of mushy carrots and peas, but love. The love they’d both felt holding their infant son in their arms, or lying in bed with him early mornings, wondering what went on behind his enormous brown eyes.

Jackson glanced up to find Ella staring his way. He cast her a faint smile. They shared a kinship of sorts, as they both belonged to the cheating spouse club. Granted, Julie’s lover had been her job, but it’d destroyed their marriage all the same.

Ella smiled back, making him feel even more lousy for the way he’d acted that afternoon.

The three boys each snagged a sandwich from a plate of them Ella had already made, then dashed out the back door. A few years earlier, Ella’s ex-husband, Todd, had installed a wooden swing, slide and clubhouse combo. The guy was a jackass for having cheated on Ella, but apparently, the neighborhood kids still got a kick out of his handiwork.

“She does like you.” Ella leaned against the counter.

“Thanks,” Julie said. “I’d forgotten how wonderful babies are. Like a fresh start in human form.”

“I’ve never heard it put quite that way,” Ella said, “but sure, you’re right.”

The back screen door creaked open, and in ran Oliver. Face flushed, he asked, “Is it all right if we take Rose to show her to Whitney? She doesn’t believe we have a baby.”

“I suppose it’s fine. But I don’t want you leaving our street.”

“May I have her?” Oliver asked Julie.

“Um, sure.” Before handing her over, she kissed the top of Rose’s head. It was a fleeting thing. Barely even noticeable if Jackson hadn’t been staring right at her. But curious all the same. Parental instinct kicking in?

“Thanks. Bye!” Oliver was off.

“Slow down!” Ella called after her son.

“Whew,” Julie said, fanning her face. “Being responsible for that tiny life for even a few minutes was exhausting. Remember, Jackson, how tough it was with Dillon when he was a baby?”

“Sure.”

“And, Ella, I can’t imagine how difficult it must’ve been for you—with twins.”

Ella chuckled. “Difficult is an understatement. There were times Todd and I wished we could send them back. But now,” her expression turned wistful, “I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

“I feel the same,” Jackson said. “About Dillon.”

Had Ella imagined it, or had the man’s statement been loaded with animosity? Ella had many times wondered how Todd could’ve left their boys, happily trotting off to start a new family. She could never even conceive of such a thing. Yet in a sense, Julie had done the same.

“Where, ah, is your restroom?” Julie asked.

Ella directed her to the powder room tucked beneath the front stairs.

Though she’d been exasperated with Jackson that afternoon, Ella now softened. Jackson might be a bear on the outside, but on the inside, she suspected he was a spooked puppy, growling at what most scared him. And at the moment, what scared him more than anything in the world was love. Kindness of any kind. With Julie, he’d been happy. Complete. Then, like Todd, Julie had shattered that happiness, yanking the rug out from beneath him. Whether he knew it or not, strictly from a professional point of view, she suspected the man was emotionally floundering.

Not that Ella was one to talk, seeing how since the divorce, her ice cream addiction had resulted in twenty extra pounds.

“Tell me something,” she said after Julie had left.

“What?” Jackson sat at the kitchen table.

“Earlier today, in the woods, when you got all huffy with me. What about the phrase, for better or worse—aside from the obvious broken wedding vow connection—set you off?”

Jaw clenched, hands fisted, he said, “Unless you’re deliberately trying to set me off again, kindly drop it.”

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