“Everybody makes mistakes,” Eric responded with a shrugging motion of one shoulder. He was bending a little, placing his plate, glass and silverware in the dishwasher. “Give the guy a break, will you?”

  Hayley folded her arms. “Why should I?” she countered. “What did he ever do for me—for any of us?” The girl’s cheeks flashed pink. “He couldn’t be bothered to even show up all these years, and now, all of a sudden, he’s decided to play the loving father? If you don’t think there’s something suspicious about that, brother dear, then you’re not too bright.”

  Sara, still seated at the table, took a sip of coffee, then set her mug down beside her own plate. She’d devoured her toast and jam, leaving only crumbs behind.

  “Hayley,” she said evenly. “Your brother is very bright, just like you.”

  Both children flung a glare in her direction.

  “What do you mean suspicious?” Eric demanded, turning back to his sister. “You’ve been watching too many of those crime shows online.”

  Hayley was a fan of crime shows, gobbling up episodes of 60 Minutes, both the American and Australian versions, and Forensic Files. Most of her friends watched makeup and style videos on YouTube, Instagram or TikTok instead, but they all wanted to be models and actors and, eventually, wives and mothers.

  Hayley’s goal was to earn a degree in Criminal Justice and one day succeed her uncle Eli as the sheriff of Wild Horse County.

  Marriage and motherhood, thank God, were not on her radar yet.

  After all, she was only sixteen.

  “It makes more sense than playing stupid computer games all the time,” Hayley replied. “And here’s what I mean by suspicious—Daddy Dearest doesn’t call, doesn’t visit, doesn’t do anything for more than a decade, but now here he is, out of the blue, acting like he gives a damn about either of us!”

  Sara felt a pang at Hayley’s words, not because she sympathized with Zachary, but because she had assumed that her daughter was content with having one parent. Indeed, she’d seemed happy to rely on Eli as a father figure, and he had met her expectations, showing up at all her birthday parties, sporting events, spelling bees and the like.

  Eli had been the one to escort Hayley to the dad-and-daughter dinner at school the previous year, and she’d seemed so happy with the plan.

  Now that she was getting an idea of how deeply Hayley’s resentment and hurt over her father’s absence ran, Sara wondered if she’d been too complacent where her daughter’s emotional health was concerned.

  Hayley had always been the easy child, while Eric had been, if not entirely difficult, certainly a challenge. For all that, Eli had been there for Eric, always—taken him fishing, taught him to ride—all the things a man does for a fatherless nephew.

  Or a son.

  Tears stung the backs of Sara’s eyes. Had Hayley gotten the attention she needed from her, being the wheel that rarely squeaked?

  She laid a hand to her own chest, fingers splayed.

  She took a deep breath, released it and tuned back in to the conversation between her son and daughter.

  “Maybe Dad ignored you, but he and I have been messaging for a while now. Three months, in fact. And maybe he was afraid to get in touch any sooner than he did,” Eric pressed. “He says Mom poisoned us against him.”

  The very suggestion speared Sara in a very tender part of her heart. She’d worked hard not to bad-mouth Zachary to the kids, though it hadn’t been easy.

  She’d confided in Eli a few times over the years, though, and vented to several of her friends. Possibly, Eric had overheard, taken in her words, stashed them away in his mind, where they’d turned to stone.

  “I did no such thing,” Sara said firmly. She was a morning person, at her best and most confident in the earlier hours of the day.

  That was why she wrote until noon, then spent the rest of her workday researching, revising or brainstorming new ideas.

  She glanced at her phone, saw the time.

  She was due at her computer in fifteen minutes. Although her editor hadn’t gotten back to her with revision notes yet, she was already combing through the manuscript, looking for contradictions, typos, loose ends.

  Both children had ignored her protestation of innocence.

  “Well, I don’t want anything to do with him,” Hayley was saying, her tone heated. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s nobody.”

  “Then it’s your loss, I guess,” Eric retorted, seething. He favored Sara with another glare, this one accusing, and blasted his way out of the kitchen.

  A silence fell.

  Sara stared at her phone, comforting herself with the knowledge that Saturday morning she would pack up a picnic lunch and head out to the McCall ranch to spend a few hours with J.P.

  He was part of the reason she hadn’t been able to settle down and give in to her usual deep sleep the night before.

  She was excited.

  Intrigued.

  Unfortunately, the other reason she’d tossed and turned was Zachary.

  Like Hayley, she was suspicious. Why, after showing no interest in his children for such a long time, had Zachary suddenly returned to Painted Pony Creek?

  “I’m going over to Amanda’s for a while, if that’s okay with you,” Hayley said, interrupting her mother’s thoughts. “She ordered some temporary tattoos on Amazon, and we want to try them out.”

  “Just be sure they’re temporary,” Sara replied.

  Hayley, more relaxed now that Eric had left the room, laughed softly. “They’re sort of a trial run,” she admitted. “Amanda’s thinking of getting a real one.”

  “Amanda can do what she wants. You, on the other hand, will be grounded until you turn forty if you sneak into some tattoo parlor and get inked on—any part of your body.”

  Hayley grinned, stopped by Sara’s chair and bent to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “You know I wouldn’t do that,” she said. “You have to be eighteen, and none of the local shops would let me in the door anyway, with Eli Garrett for an uncle.”

  Sara smiled, squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Can we talk sometime soon, honey?” she asked. “About your father?”

  Hayley hesitated, and her grin fell away. “What is there to say? I think he’s a waste of space, and I don’t want anything to do with him. Case closed.”

  Case closed.

  Hayley Worth, future sheriff.

  “Did you miss him, Hayley? Did you wish you’d had a father, like most of your friends?”

  Hayley shook her head. Laid one slender hand on Sara’s shoulder and gave her a light squeeze. “No,” she said good-naturedly. “You’ve been a great mom, and Uncle Eli filled in all the father gaps. I’m good, so don’t go plotting stories about me like I’m one of your characters, okay?”

  Sara smiled again, patted her daughter’s hand. “Okay,” she confirmed.

  As a writer, she did sometimes invent scenarios in her busy brain, starring her children, her brother, her closest friends.

  The ones about Eli were the worst, since his job was dangerous.

  She shook her head.

  She was not going to worry about the kids, or what Zachary might be up to, or Eli getting injured or killed in the line of duty.

  She would think about her current writing project until noon.

  Then she planned on getting out her battered wicker picnic basket—stored in the garage—and cleaning it up. Come Saturday morning, she would fill it with goodies from the deli and bakery at the supermarket.

  Just thinking about another horseback ride with J.P., and a romantic picnic in some shady spot, probably near the creek, gave her a reckless little thrill.

  She’d loved Zachary once, very deeply, and though her children had been her main concern ever since, she’d been hurt, too. Deeply disillusioned.

  She still didn’t truly trust herself to choose a good man.

  And she’d been lonely.

  She’d ignored that, repressed her personal desires, told herself she was a mother first and a woman second. She’d held the line, fought the good fight, put her children and their needs ahead of everything and everyone else.

  Now Eric and Hayley were nearly grown up.

  Before she knew it, they’d be away from home, attending college, then starting careers, getting married, having children of their own...

  Sara put on the mental brakes.

  No use getting too far ahead of herself.

  Sufficient unto the day...

  She stood up, rinsed her plate, utensils and coffee mug, put everything into the dishwasher, added soap and started the machine.

  She heard a car pull up outside, watched as Eric zoomed past her with a desultory wave of one hand and a muttered, “’Bye, Mom.”

  “Have fun,” she said, softly and too late.

  Eric had already closed the front door behind him.

  Sara was booting up her computer, ten minutes later, when Hayley appeared in the doorway of her home office.

  “They’re gone, right?” she asked.

  “If you mean your father and your brother,” Sara replied, “then, yes, they’re gone.”

  Hayley’s grin was back. She waggled her fingers at Sara and chirped, “See you later, Momster.”

  Sara turned in her swivel chair to look directly at her daughter. “We still need to have that talk at some point. About your dad, I mean.” A pause. “And don’t forget—no tattoos.”

  Hayley raised one palm, as though swearing an oath in a court of law. “No tattoos,” she promised. “Except the kind that wash off, that is.”

  Apparently, she’d decided to ignore the prospect of a dad-discussion.

  Sara chuckled and shook her head. The talk about Zachary could wait, though not for very long. “Have fun, Silly-bug. I’ll see you later.”

  Hayley was already turning away.

  “Hayley?” Sara called after her, her tone tentative.

  Her daughter paused, turned around. “Yeah?” she asked, with gracious impatience. Hayley had her moments, like any teenage girl, but she was a good kid all around.

  “I love you.”

  Hayley’s pretty face softened. “Love you, too,” she said.

  And then she was gone.

  The house felt beyond empty.

  Sara decided she needed a little more caffeine in her system, and poured more coffee.

  When she returned to her office, her phone was jiggling about on the surface of her desk.

  Her first thought was that one of the kids needed her.

  Her second was that J.P. was calling to say he’d changed his mind about the horseback ride and the picnic.

  The reality—it was Brynne, her sister-in-law and close friend.

  “You didn’t call me,” Brynne accused cheerfully when Sara had answered with a relieved hello. “You just left me hanging. Wondering about you and J.P., sharing a table at Bailey’s and looking for all the world like two people on a date.”

  Sara laughed softly. “Is that what we looked like?”

  “Stop stalling,” Brynne said. “You know damn well what I mean.”

  “I guess you could say it was a date,” Sara allowed, very slowly.

  Brynne gave a little cry of delight. “I told Eli there was something going on between the two of you, and he said to mind my own business. I told him I had no intention of doing any such thing.”

  Sara couldn’t stop smiling. “Men,” she commiserated.

  “Right?” Brynne chimed. “Are you seeing him again? J.P., I mean?”

  Sara hesitated. She wasn’t sure what was happening between her and J.P., and she didn’t want Brynne planning a wedding.

  Now that she had started her combination art gallery, studio space and wedding venue business, Brynne might very well be thinking in terms of white lace and promises.

  “Yes,” she admitted at long last. “But it’s early days, Brynne. I’m not sure where this is going—if it’s going anywhere at all.”

  “You’re perfect for each other!” Brynne said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Sara said.

  “I do,” Brynne persisted. “I’ve known both of you forever, remember.”

  “Brynne—”

  “Don’t worry,” her friend said quietly. “I won’t say a thing. Except to Eli, of course, and you know how he is. The original strong, silent type.”

  Sara felt a surge of love for her friend. “How are the twins?”

  “Growing at a truly frightening rate,” Brynne answered. Then, more cautiously, she went on, “I hear Zachary is back in town.”

  Sara released a loud sigh and said, “Yes. He’s playing the misunderstood-but-very-devoted father at the moment.”

  “That bastard,” Brynne said.

  “Exactly,” Sara replied.

  “Listen, I actually had another reason for calling, Sara.”

  “Yes? What would that be?”

  “I was thinking you might want something different to do, between finishing the current book and starting a new one.”

  “Such as?”

  “Helping me out with this monster of a wedding coming up over at the lodge.”

  The lodge was the name Brynne had given her rustic establishment, for the sake of convenience.

  “What would I be doing?”

  “Lots of things. Like I said, this is an event of gargantuan proportions. Three brides—triplets. Horses, people in medieval costumes—a cast of thousands, or at least it seems that way. The future mother-in-law is a terror, and the mother of the brides? A bona fide momzilla. The whole thing is going to be an absolute nightmare, and I haven’t been able to hire half the extra staff I’m going to need.”

  “You’re making a great case, Brynne,” Sara said, amused. “The trouble is it’s a case against my saying yes.”

  “Please,” Brynne said, humorously plaintive. “I’ll pay you handsomely, as they say in English novels.”

  Sara didn’t have to consider the offer further; she’d made up her mind the moment Brynne first hinted that she needed help.

  She hesitated anyway.

  “Sara?” Brynne prompted.

  “You know I’ll help,” Sara replied.

  “Yes!” Brynne crowed.

  “I’ve still got a couple weeks of work to do on the book,” Sara warned.

  “That’s fine,” Brynne replied. “I’m interviewing a wedding planner over lunch today. He’s super-qualified, but I’ve never actually met him. Why don’t you join us? I could really use a fresh perspective.”

  “He?” Sara echoed, intrigued.

  “Yes. His name is David Fielding, and if he looks anything like his profile photos, he’s Cary Grant–handsome. He’s worked all over the world, and his weddings have been featured in major magazines, on TV, you name it.”

  “And he wants to work in Painted Pony Creek, Montana?” Sara asked, with surprise rather than sarcasm. “That’s interesting. How old is this man?”

  “Midforties, I’d guess,” Brynne replied, sounding distracted now. Little wonder, since she had twin babies, not walking yet but crawling for sure—usually in two different directions.

  Sara adored her nephews.

  “Well,” Brynne went on when Sara didn’t speak again. “Will you join us or not?”

  “I’ll join you,” Sara confirmed. “Where and when?”

  “One o’clock sharp, over at Sully’s.”

  Sara raised an eyebrow. “Not Bailey’s?”

  “No,” Brynne replied. “I don’t want the regulars ogling this poor man.”

  “You don’t think the clientele at Sully’s will do the same?”

  “It’s quiet there in the afternoon. They do most of their business at night.”

  “If you say so,” Sara agreed, unconvinced the place would be quiet at any hour of the day.

  “Plus,” Brynne admitted, “Eli will be there. He’s been working long hours lately, and by the time he gets off duty at the end of a double shift, he’s usually beat. If I get a chance to see him during the day—even if he’s busy with something else—I take it.”

  “You both work too hard, if you ask me,” Sara said. “Not that you did ask me.”

  Brynne sighed, but it was a contented sound. “We love what we do,” she said.

  Sara felt the faintest twinge of envy, not because Brynne and Eli enjoyed their jobs—she loved her own work—but because they had each other.

  She changed the subject. “Do I need to dress up to meet the legendary David Fielding?”

  Brynne laughed softly. “Absolutely not. This is Sully’s, not the dining room at the Ritz-Carlton. Wear jeans if you want.”

  “Brynne Garrett,” Sara replied, with mock sternness, “if I get there, clad in casual clothes, and find you wearing one of your designer suits, I will not be pleased.”

  “Trust me,” came the cheerful response. “I’m in jeans, sneakers and a white blouse, as we speak, and I don’t intend to change clothes. David, on the other hand, might show up in a tuxedo.”

  Sara laughed. “A tuxedo at Sully’s Bar and Grill? That would definitely cause a stir.”

  “See you there,” Brynne said.

  A brief update on the Garrett twins followed, and then the call ended.

  Sara concentrated on her work until noon, as usual, then shut down her computer and left the office for her bedroom. She’d showered earlier, so she just swapped out her baggy sweatpants and ancient T-shirt for blue jeans, a red tank top and a lightweight navy blazer. As a final touch, she applied minimal makeup, brushed out and re-braided her hair, and misted herself with cologne.

  It felt good, dressing up, looking her best.

  Because she worked at home, she rarely took the time to spruce herself up, beyond the basics—to the point that Hayley and Eric sometimes chided her for it, especially if their friends were around.

  Surveying herself in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she was willing to admit—to herself, anyway—that she needed to up her game, put in a little more effort.