The glass was an old gas station giveaway with advertising on the side. And the tea, when he took a sip, was the best he’d ever tasted.

  “Why are you here?” She was leaning against the rail—a rickety, splintered rail. He was ready to grab her if she started to fall.

  “I don’t know.” He’d just flown across the country. That seemed to call for honesty, if nothing else.

  “I have a guest room. You can stay there if you want.”

  “Thank you.” Was he staying? Did he want to stay? He had no idea. Yet he was relieved to know there was a place for him.

  He finished his tea. Asked about her father. About her last doctor’s appointment. How she’d been feeling. If she’d been tired, like the doctor had predicted she might be.

  He told her about a project he’d won in Denver. A signature building downtown.

  “I wonder who that is.” Caroline was looking toward the road. A car was approaching. He wouldn’t have noticed, or considered that one might know or want to know every car that passed.

  Apparently it was an unusual enough happening, or there was little enough going on here, that Caroline paid attention to passing cars.

  A nondescript sedan turned into the driveway, pulled up and stopped.

  “Phyllis?” Caroline ran down the steps so fast he was afraid she was going to trip. “What are you doing here?”

  He could have reiterated the question, but it wouldn’t have been in quite that delighted tone of voice.

  He didn’t hear Phyllis’s initial response. The two women were hugging as though it had been years instead of weeks since they’d seen each other. But he got the gist of it a couple of minutes later when the three of them settled with glasses of tea in Caroline’s old, but spotlessly clean, kitchen.

  That was after his good friend had deposited her bags in Caroline’s guest room. Which had been offered to him…

  “I’m surprised to see you here.” She didn’t pull any punches as she settled across the table from him, a glass of cold tea in her hands.

  “Same here.”

  She hadn’t mentioned that she was coming.

  But then, neither had he.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  PHYLLIS TURNED to Caroline. “You and I have a birthday to celebrate in another couple of weeks and since we missed the first thirty-four, I’m not missing this one. And I’m planning to be with you when you have that baby,” she said. “If it’s going to be here, fine. Matt’s perfectly happy to bring the twins for a summer in Kentucky.”

  And where did Phyllis think they’d all fit? John wondered, a trifle sourly. It wasn’t like there was a Hilton or even a Motel 6 anywhere close.

  He was the one on the rescue mission here.

  Even if it had taken him a damn sight too long to figure that out.

  Thanks to Phyllis, he didn’t have another chance to speak privately with Caroline before dinnertime. He’d hoped the Psychology professor would be tired and need to rest. Or at least go and unpack her bags.

  Phyllis hadn’t even excused herself to visit the bathroom.

  He’d flown more than three-quarters of the way across the country, to a deserted little farm in Podunk, Kentucky, and couldn’t find one second for a private word with the mother of his child.

  Just before dinner, an engine roared in Caroline’s driveway. John had been there long enough to figure out that if you heard a car, Caroline was having company.

  What now? It was bad enough having Phyllis there without facing another human challenge in his path. Selfishly, he had preferred it when Caroline was in Shelter Valley, where he’d had her to himself.

  Yet he had to acknowledge the reassurance of knowing so many people cared. Even if he let her down, she’d be okay.

  She didn’t need him.

  Good for her.

  He didn’t like that.

  “Carrrooollll Llllyynnn?” The bellow was deep, slurred and singsong with drunkenness. John’s hackles rose.

  No one moved as heavy steps sounded outside on the porch. Caroline flinched when the visitor stumbled. And continued up to the door.

  “Carrrolllll…”

  “I’m here, Pop.”

  John stiffened as he heard her call out to the obviously inebriated man. Her voice wasn’t at all accusing, as his would have been, as he wanted hers to be. It was concerned. Worried, even. And filled with love.

  She went to the front door, held it open and didn’t even seem to notice as the unshaven man in stained overalls fell against her as she stepped over the threshold.

  “Is that the pie from Ma?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” The old man looked down as though only just discovering that he was carrying something. “I believe it is.”

  “She sent you over with it three hours ago.”

  “Was it that long?” His voice, rising in question, had a tone of complete innocence.

  “Yeah, Pop, it was that long ago. You stopped in town, didn’t you?”

  “I might’ve,” the older man said, his booted foot catching on the edge of a throw rug in Caroline’s tiny living room.

  He righted himself with a grunt and a belch, barely managing to save the pie from becoming a floor decoration.

  “But you promised you wouldn’t do that, Pop,” Caroline said patiently, taking hold of her father’s arm to steady him as she guided him toward the kitchen. “You know how much it hurts Ma when you do that.”

  “Yeah,” her father said, glancing down at her with remorseful eyes. “I don’t wanna do that,” he said, his voice slurred.

  “I know you don’t, Pop. So I’m going to ask you stay here for a while, have some coffee, sober up before you go home to Ma, okay?”

  “Okay,” the old man said, his voice trusting and docile. He loved his daughter, John saw.

  And he loved his wife.

  This man who, at times in his life, had beaten them both.

  “I had a little drinnnk…” the man said. Looking sideways at Caroline he teetered. She reached for the pie, but was too late. It tipped. He tried to catch it, but his clumsy moves only sent the plate to the floor, where it splattered all over, a splash of glass and blueberry and flour crust, spraying her floor, her walls and even the side of the old tweed couch at the edge of her living room.

  “Damn!” the man said, lurching. John jumped up, reaching out an arm as the man missed his step. But he was too far away.

  “Pop!” Caroline’s voice rang loudly and she did as John did, reaching out to the old man. Caroline was closer, her shoulder breaking her father’s downward descent, and he righted himself.

  She staggered a few steps and a second later, John was there, taking her father’s weight. Ready to curse the old man to hell for the damage his foolishness could easily have done to his daughter and her unborn child.

  But something held him back. An awareness, maybe. Of what, he didn’t know. Or maybe he did. Caroline’s dad was ill. But he was a good man. A loving man. He needed help. And Caroline needed to give it to him. And to believe in him.

  John wanted to do the same.

  “Let’s get a rag to clean this up.” Phyllis was already down on the floor, picking the biggest pieces of glass out of the mess. As John led Caroline’s father to a chair at the table, Caroline moved toward the kitchen sink.

  “Did I do that, Caro?”

  “Yeah, Pop, but it’s okay. We’ll clean it up in no time.”

  “Don’ tell your ma, girl. She’d be right mad with me. And I jus’ get so upset when she does that.”

  “I know. I won’t tell her, Pop.”

  She soaked a rag. Wrung it out. But before she could kneel down beside Phyllis, another car came down the driveway.

  “That’s Jesse’s truck,” Caroline said before she was anywhere near a door or window to have seen the vehicle.

  “My grandson’s home!” her father chortled. “Hallelujah!”

  By the time Caroline had sidestepped the blueberry fiasco to make it to the front door, John could hear strong steps running up to the porch.

  “Jesse? What are you doing here?” Caroline might have meant to sound reproving about her son’s unexpected appearance, but her voice expressed only delight.

  Even John could tell she’d missed her son unbearably. Almost embarrassed by the fervor with which she threw her arms around the six-foot-tall teenager as he came through the door, John tried to look away, to give Caroline privacy for this emotional reunion with her son. He couldn’t do it.

  Mesmerized by the obvious depth of love they shared, he stared as Jesse, instead of pushing his mother aside like most teenagers his age might have done, returned his mother’s hug with the same intensity. The young man wrapped his arms closely around her and his words of greeting were muffled by their embrace.

  The boy’s dark hair was cut short, and he was easily twice the weight of his pregnant mother. Lean. Just big. John had a hard time accepting that this young man was Caroline’s son. It didn’t seem to fit.

  And for the first time, he had a clearer idea of the man she’d loved and lived with for more than eighteen years. If his son was anything to go by, Randy had been a big man. One a woman could either feel immensely safe with—or scared to death of.

  He knew which it had been with Caroline. She’d felt safe.

  Jesse opened his eyes, spotting John over his mom’s shoulder. He straightened. “Who’s that?” he demanded, his shoulders back.

  “Jesse!” Caroline’s voice was full of warmth, love, happiness and a hint of reprimand. “Mind your manners.”

  “Sorry.” The boy hung his head.

  “Jesse.” Caroline drew him forward. “This is John Strickland.”

  Hearing John’s name, the boy’s entire demeanor changed. Still defensive, his stance now also revealed a machismo that seemed entirely unnatural.

  John held out a hand. “Hi, Jesse, it’s good to finally meet you,” he said. “Your mother’s told me a lot about you.”

  Jesse ignored his hand. “You gonna marry my mom or not?” the boy asked.

  “Jesse Randall Prater!” The voice was deep, not the least bit slurred and completely disapproving. “That is not our way.”

  “Sorry, Papa.” Jesse’s manner changed immediately as he turned back to John. “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Strickland.”

  John almost preferred the belligerence. At least it was honest.

  Before John could do more than nod, Caroline had her arm looped through Jesse’s. “There’s someone else I want you to meet,” she said, urging Jesse toward Phyllis.

  “Jesse, this is your aunt Phyllis. Phyllis, my son, Jesse.”

  “No kidding!” Jesse said, his smile huge and warm and obviously genuine as he stared at the red-haired woman who stood before him.

  Phyllis’s smile was easily as full as his. “You don’t look much like your mom,” she said.

  “You do!” Jesse replied, coming forward to give Phyllis a hug. “Wow, this is so random!”

  John wasn’t sure what random meant, exactly, but it must be good.

  “I have an aunt who graduated from Harvard, is a Psychology professor and even looks like my ma.”

  “You also have an uncle and a couple of cousins to meet,” Phyllis said. She spent most of dinner regaling Jesse with tales of his two-and-a-half-year-old twin cousins while Caroline kept jumping up to make sure everyone had the food and condiments they wanted. John managed to keep Ed Prater’s coffee cup full. Caroline had said earlier that she’d told Jesse about his grandfather’s drinking—when she’d called to tell him she was moving home. He’d been sympathetic and had called her every day, but she’d been uncertain of her son’s reaction if Ed hadn’t dried out by the time Jesse came home. She needn’t have worried. The young man had treated his grandfather with respect. Because he’d had practice with a father who drank?

  “Won’t your wife be missing you for dinner?” John asked Ed.

  “Nah,” the older man said. “I’m sure Caro called her and told her I’m here. She always does when I screw up. She never lets me leave until I’m sober enough so I don’t screw up again when I get home.”

  And who, John wondered, protected Caroline while he was here? Did the man never “screw up” with her?

  It was something he had to find out.

  “What do you think of Phyllis?” John asked the older man after dessert, when he walked him out to his truck.

  “I understand she’s a friend of yours,” Ed said.

  “Yes,” John nodded. “One of the best.” Phyllis might have given him a kick in the butt that night at Will and Becca’s party, but only the best of friends would have bothered to do so.

  “She seems a good sort,” Ed said, climbing into a truck as old and dilapidated as Caroline’s. “Just hope she doesn’t put such highfalutin ideas in Caro’s head that she ain’t happy here with us no more.”

  “That’ll never happen,” John said. It was the first thing he’d been completely sure of all evening.

  By the time John was back inside, Caroline had gone back to have a bath and go to bed. Without even telling him good-night.

  “She was exhausted,” Phyllis explained. “One unexpected guest is a big deal here, and she had three. Plus her father to deal with.”

  John nodded and glanced around, feeling awkward now that Caroline was gone. Jesse came in from the barn, where he’d gone to reacquaint himself with the place.

  “At least Papa’s done a decent job out there,” he announced to no one in particular. “The stalls are all clean and in good repair. The used tractor he bought Ma last fall’s been started recently.”

  John didn’t know the first thing about working a farm. And he’d never been to Harvard, either.

  “You can have my room, Mr. Strickland,” Jesse said. “I’ll sleep out in the barn.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” John didn’t want to give the kid any more reason to resent him.

  “No, really,” Jesse said, grabbing a blanket and pillow from a hall cupboard. “Ma would kill me if I didn’t and, believe me, a night in the barn is preferable to having her mad.”

  Intrigued, John was almost tempted to pursue the conversation further. Caroline mad was something he’d yet to see.

  But he’d caused enough damage in this family for one lifetime. With a nod to Phyllis and Jesse, John retreated for the night, to a room filled with football and rodeo mementos. And pictures of a man and a woman—and a child in various stages of growing—that kept him up long into the night.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE IT” was Caroline’s first thought as she sat up the next morning. It was after ten. She hadn’t slept so late in years. Hadn’t been able to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time since Randy died.

  Dressing quickly in faded maternity jeans from her pregnancy with Jesse and an oversize yellow smock that, at sixteen, had been her favorite, she stepped into a pair of old and comfortably familiar boots, pulling her hair into its ponytail as she headed for the bathroom. Two minutes later, washed and brushed, she made it to the front room in time to cheer Phyllis on in a game of backgammon with Jesse. Aunt and nephew were carrying on as though they’d been family all their lives. And when Jesse won, John took the hot seat, giving her son a couple of games before winning the next three in a row.

  Caroline hadn’t been so happy in this house in years. She didn’t kid herself that it was going to last. This was a time out of time. Everyone in that room, other than her, had other lives to get back to. They’d all be leaving, just as they’d all come. The three extra vehicles in the yard were testimony to that.

  Still, as she sat on the sofa and laughed so hard her sides hurt, she couldn’t help offering thanks.

  That night, after a completely full day, including a long and wonderful visit with her parents but no time for a private conversation with John, Caroline said good-night and went to bed. Her parents had gone home, John was in Jesse’s room, Jesse in the barn again and Phyllis was in the guest room. Her house—and heart—were full.

  Which was why it made no sense that she couldn’t find peace. Couldn’t sleep. Her body was singing a tune she hardly recognized. A tune she’d only heard once before. One winter night in Frankfort. A night that had led her deep into trouble.

  All day long it had been singing. Ever since she’d sat in the shadows on the porch swing the day before and watched the man she’d been thinking of appear before her eyes, almost as if she’d summoned him there.

  Now, with him here in her house, the song was so loud she couldn’t hear anything else.

  After an hour of tossing and turning, she finally gave up, pulled on her favorite old sweats and a T-shirt and went out to the porch, to curl up on the swing that had always been a sacred place to her.

  It wasn’t empty. Caroline was halfway across the porch when she saw the shadow of a body there—and the old wood gently swinging.

  “I’m sorry I took your place.” His voice whispered through the night, increasing the tempo of the song inside her. It was driving her crazy.

  “That’s okay. It’s a good spot. Most every trouble I ever had found its way there.”

  “Join me?”

  She knew it was dangerous—not so much for the two of them, since they had plenty of chaperones. But for her, the heart inside her that was beginning to open and flower for the first time since she was seven years old.

  “We need to talk,” John said, “and with this houseful of people, we aren’t going to get too many opportunities.”

  He was right. Though they could talk just as well with her perched on the porch rail. Or the step.

  “I won’t bite.”

  “I know.” Rather than make a big deal out of nothing, Caroline joined him on the swing. Or at least, she told herself that was why she’d given in.

  With a foot pushing gently against the uneven porch boards, John rocked them slowly. There was nothing quite like Kentucky night air in the spring. Chilly enough to cool heated skin, warm enough to be peaceful. It was too early in the season for lightning bugs, but also too early for mosquitoes. May had always been one of Caroline’s favorite months.

  “You must be finding all of this hard to take,” she said, spreading her arms.