“I really had better run.”

Tom had followed Suzanne to the door and now reached over her head to hold it open, which meant he stood so close to her she could feel the heat of his body. She knew if she lifted her gaze just a little, she’d see his mouth—which she’d never looked closely at before—and even the color of his eyes. Instead, she backed away without once letting her gaze rise higher than the strong column of his throat, stumbled over the doorjamb because she wasn’t watching where her feet were going, said, “Good night” and fled, her cheeks blazing.

Grateful for the darkness once she’d left his front porch, she pressed her hands to her cheeks. What on earth was wrong with her?

But the funny thing was, Suzanne was glad she’d gone. She thought he really might have been hurt if she hadn’t. He’d seemed genuinely interested in hearing about Jack and Sophia.

And…she now knew something about him. Only a little, but it was a start.

Of what, she didn’t let herself wonder.

Dear Reader,

Big sister Suzanne is at the heart of all three books in the LOST…BUT NOT FORGOTTEN trilogy. She’s closest to my heart (although I did love Gary in Lost Cause!), perhaps because I, too, was the child who always tried to shoulder responsibility for the happiness of everyone else in the family. I was the peacekeeper when anger fired, Miss Perky when I sensed tension brewing. To this day I have a hard time delegating any kind of responsibility, driven still on some level to make everything right all by myself.

Suzanne has a better excuse than I do. Imagine being six years old and having your parents die. All you hear is your mom’s voice saying, “You’re the big sister. Take care of your little sister and brother.” Only, you can’t. They’re taken away and adopted out, seemingly forever beyond your reach. How could you help living with a powerful sense of failure?

But because Suzanne is the responsible one, as an adult she takes action, tracking down her sister and brother. In Kids by Christmas, she realizes she’s fulfilled her lifelong goal and is disconcerted to find she still feels empty. It’s time she reached for happiness for herself, not for everyone else. Suzanne being Suzanne, though, she can only keep giving. But one of the miracles of Christmas is that usually when you give a gift, you get one in return. Suzanne’s just might be a real family.

Merry Christmas!

Janice Kay Johnson

Kids by Christmas
Janice Kay Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The author of more than forty books, Janice Kay Johnson has written for adults, children and young adults. When not writing or researching her books, Janice quilts, grows antique roses, spends time with her two daughters, takes care of her cats and dogs (too many to itemize!) and volunteers at a no-kill cat shelter. Janice has been a finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award four times.

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

CHAPTER ONE

SHE HAD NO REASON to be depressed. None whatsoever. Especially after having spent a nice Thanksgiving yesterday with her sister, Carrie, and Carrie’s family.

Suzanne Chauvin pulled into her driveway, the trunk of her car full of groceries, but didn’t move even though she’d turned off the engine.

It’s the gloom, she told herself. This was her least favorite time of year, with the days so short she left the house every morning in darkness and didn’t go home until after dark, too. And these past few weeks had been particularly rainy, even by Pacific Northwest standards. The drizzle and gray seemed unending.

But Christmas was coming, Suzanne reminded herself, and it would be even better than Thanksgiving. This year would be special, even if she hadn’t heard from the adoption agency. Special because it would be the first Christmas spent with her sister and brother since she was six years old and their family had been torn apart after their parents were killed in a car accident.

So there. She had every reason in the world to be cheerful. She’d found her younger brother and sister after years of searching, had reunited with them and liked them both, had rejoiced when in turn they’d both fallen in love. Carrie was married now, to the private investigator Suzanne had hired to find her, and Gary was planning a wedding right after Christmas.

Suzanne’s business was going well, too. She’d opened a yarn shop in downtown Edmonds this past year, and despite her trepidation had been overwhelmed by support from area knitters. With Christmas shoppers in force today, her receipts had been the second highest since she’d opened.

Maybe she was just tired. She was working six days a week, plus doing the books on her one day off.

Once the agency calls me and I have a little girl or boy of my own, I’ll cut back, she promised herself.

If they ever called.

Chilly now after sitting so long in the car in her own driveway, Suzanne finally sighed, grabbed her purse and keys and got out.

Forget adopting a child so that she finally had a family of her own. Her mood could have been improved by something a whole lot more modest—having an automatic garage door opener. And a garage that actually had room for her car to be parked inside it.

Which only required the time to hold a garage sale, and the money to buy and have someone install the opener.

For once, she didn’t give a thought to her next-door neighbor, even though she usually sneaked a glance at his house to prepare herself in case he was out front. Not that Tom Stefanec was stalking her or anything like that. He just made her uncomfortable. And she preferred to avoid him when possible. But he’d be eating dinner by now, not hanging around outside on a damp night.

The little lever beside her seat no longer unlatched her trunk. Heck, she was lucky the car was still running. She went around back to manually unlock the trunk, hitched her purse over her shoulder and reached for the first bag.

“Need a hand with those groceries?”

At the voice from behind, she jerked her head up and rammed it against the trunk lid. Tears sprang into her eyes. Swearing, she let the grocery bag go and rubbed the bump she could already feel rising.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said, stepping closer. His voice had roughened in contrition. “I startled you. Are you okay? I can get you some ice….”

Suzanne blinked away the tears. “No, I’ll be okay. I just didn’t see you.”

A big, powerfully built man, he had a rough-hewn face that wasn’t ugly but was far from handsome. The combination of porch light and streetlight cast shadows on his face, accenting cheekbones and a nose that looked like it had been broken at some point.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I should have realized you wouldn’t see me coming. I have a package for you. The UPS guy left it with me since you weren’t home.”

Head throbbing, she said, “Really?” A package? She wasn’t expecting anything.

He handed it over, and after a glance at the return address label, Suzanne said with pleasure, “Oh, it must be my new pattern!”

“Pattern?” he asked.

“I sell knitting and crochet patterns for publication. I work out designs, mostly for kids, like sweaters with flowers or horses or whatever on the front.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied by this explanation. “Congratulations on the new one. You must be really creative.”

Pleased despite her headache, the drizzle that had begun anew and her weariness, Suzanne said, “Thanks.”

“I’d be glad to give you a hand with those groceries.”

No way she was letting him in her front door, especially since she’d been so busy over Thanksgiving weekend she hadn’t done her usual thorough housecleaning.

Tom was… Neat didn’t cover it. Obsessive-compulsive? Maybe not certifiable, but close. Suzanne was quite sure his garage floor was cleaner than her kitchen counters. His lawn looked better than her living-room carpet. His flower beds were tidier than her coffee table. She was afraid to see what the inside of his house was like.

“No, I’m fine, but thank you,” she said, once again gathering plastic grocery bags.

He bent his head in acknowledgment and melted into the darkness. But then, barely visible, he paused.

“Any word on the adoption?”

“No.” She awakened every morning thinking, Maybe today, and went to bed every night thinking, Maybe tomorrow. But she was afraid the loss of her caseworker at the adoption agency would mean delays. Rebecca Wilson had resigned to move to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and at some point in the near future marry Suzanne’s brother Gary. Suzanne was very glad to welcome her into the family; she liked Rebecca. She just wished Rebecca had waited to quit until after she’d found a child for Suzanne to adopt.

“Oh. Well, good luck,” her neighbor said courteously, at last leaving her alone.

Suzanne made two trips to carry her bags into the house. Then she made herself put away the frozen and refrigerated food before she opened the package and took out twenty copies of a pattern she’d designed last spring for a sweater that could be knit in any children’s size from 2T to 6T, as well as preteen sizes. The photo on the front of the glossy booklet showed three children modeling the sweater in different colors. She’d knit all three herself. Fish leaped across the front. A toddler boy wore the sweater in aqua with a single red fish. A girl a few years older wore it in white with two fish in sea foam green, while a preteen wore the longer, slouchier version with smaller red fish on black. They’d come out really cute, and she thought the pattern would be popular. She’d order it right away to sell in her own shop, open only a few months.

This probably wasn’t the world’s best timing for adopting a child, not with the hours she was putting in getting the business off the ground. And especially not with money so tight. But Suzanne didn’t want a baby. She’d asked for an older child, one who needed her. She would manage financially, just like other parents did.

Rebecca had hoped she’d have one by Christmas, but here it was, the twenty-fourth of November, and she hadn’t heard a peep from the agency.

Quit obsessing, she ordered herself. It would happen. She’d been approved. Somewhere there was a child who would become a Chauvin who was probably, right this minute, scared and wondering what would happen to her. Or maybe him, although Suzanne thought that as a single woman she was probably better suited to raising a girl.

Darn it, she’d revel in Christmas this year whether she had a child by then or not. Being with her brother and sister would be enough.

Their parents had died when Suzanne was six, Lucien three and Linette just a baby. Suzanne had stayed with their aunt and uncle, but Lucien and Linette had been taken away to be adopted. This year, finally, Suzanne had been able to let go of the awful sense of loss she’d lived with for twenty-five years.

She’d found them. Mom had always said, “You’re the big sister, Suzanne. You take care of your little brother and sister.” She hadn’t been able to, not then, and had suffered irrational guilt as well as loss. But just this fall, all three had finally been together again, and they would be on Christmas Day. And she and Carrie would be there to see Gary marry.

Best of all, their family now included Carrie’s husband, his son and parents, and Carrie’s adoptive parents. It was going to be quite a crowd at Carrie’s house in Seattle. Every time she thought about it, Suzanne got tears in her eyes.

She had fulfilled that long-ago promise to herself to reunite the three of them. She’d started forging a satisfying life for herself by quitting her job and opening Knit One, Drop In, her yarn shop. Remarriage clearly wasn’t in the near future—in fact, after the disaster her marriage had been, she wasn’t all that interested in the possibility. But she did want children. And adopting one… Well, she thought she could once and for all lay to rest that irrational guilt. She could do for some little girl or boy what she hadn’t been able to for her sister and brother. For her, that would be every bit as fulfilling as bearing her own child.

She’d jumped through every hoop the agency held up. Now, she was just waiting.

But the answering-machine light wasn’t blinking, and the phone was silent. Another day closer to Christmas, and the bedroom down the hall stayed empty.

THE PHONE DID RING Monday morning just as she was going out the door. Laden with her purse, her lunch and two knitting bags, one of which held the sweater she was currently knitting for Michael, Carrie’s stepson, and the other a project she intended to teach in her morning class, Suzanne hesitated with the front door open. For goodness sake, the caller was probably a telemarketer! But if Carrie or Gary was calling this early, it might be important. So, with a sigh, she closed the door, set down her lunch and one knitting bag and went back to pick up the phone on the last ring before voice mail turned on.

“Hello?”

“Hello.” The voice was a woman’s, and unfamiliar. “May I speak to Suzanne Chauvin?”

What was she selling—aluminum siding or cellphone service?

“Speaking,” Suzanne said warily.

“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you! Rebecca Wilson passed your file to me.”

She kept talking, but Suzanne didn’t hear a word. Her heart was drumming too loudly. It was the adoption agency. At last.

“I’m sorry,” she said into a pause. “I didn’t catch your name?”

The woman’s laugh was pleasant. “I don’t blame you! It’s Melissa Stuart. I worked with Rebecca, and she asked that I take your file rather than it going to her replacement. I gather you’re to be sisters-in-law.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Sick with anticipation, she reined in her impatience. This new caseworker might be assessing her despite Rebecca’s recommendation. She couldn’t be crazy and scream Get to the point! “Mine was the best home study Rebecca ever did. I’m pretty sure she didn’t expect to fall in love that day.”

Another laugh. “No, I’ll bet she didn’t. Well. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m calling.”

Major understatement.

“Rebecca had noted that you might consider taking siblings, not just a single child. I have a brother and sister right now who need to stay together, and I was hoping to discuss them with you. Might we be able to get together?”

A brother and sister. Two children, not just one.

“I… How old are they?”

“The boy is seven and his sister ten.”

Would they want to share a bedroom? Suzanne wondered. Or would they each need their own? Well, of course their own eventually—no teenage girl could share with a bratty little brother. But for now?

Wait! she ordered herself. She didn’t know anything about them. What had happened to their parents, how traumatized they were, or whether they had special needs she couldn’t meet, not with the long hours she had to put in with a new business.

She was getting ahead of herself.

“When did you have in mind?” she asked.

“The sooner the better,” Ms. Stuart said. “I’d be free at three this afternoon if you can get away, or…” She paused. “Let me see. Eleven tomorrow morning.”

She couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning. Her afternoon beginner’s class ended at 2:50. If she could get someone to mind the store… Suzanne calculated quickly.

“I could make it to your office by about 3:15. Would that work?”

“Perfect! Shall I expect you, then?”

“I’ll be there,” she promised.

She pushed End, then stood for the longest time staring at the phone as if she had no idea what to do with it.

Not just a child, but children. Two of them. Children by Christmas.

She was in shock and knew it.

Two? Her preconceptions were dissolving and floating away before her eyes. Her sitting on the sofa with a little girl leaning against her as she read aloud. One small bike in the garage. Sewing and knitting lessons. Giggles. An incredible bond, with just the two of them.

A brother and sister already had a bond, with each other. They needed her more, in some ways, and less in others. Most boys wouldn’t want to learn to knit. She’d have to juggle two sets of activities, two parent-teacher conferences, two bikes and demands for sleepovers and struggles with math or reading.

She’d be doubling the grocery bill she’d anticipated, the after-school care bill, the back-to-school shopping bill.

She didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified. No, she did know. Terror was winning. What if these children didn’t like her? What if one or both had big emotional problems? What if they whispered with each other and shut her out? What if, what if, what if.

“You haven’t made a commitment,” she said aloud.

She hadn’t. She’d talk to this Melissa Stuart. Find out more about the children. Maybe she wasn’t right for them.

Ashamed of the trickle of relief she felt at the idea that she would have a justifiable reason for rejecting two children who needed a home, Suzanne finally hung up the phone, grabbed her bags and left.

Was she not as committed as she’d thought? Had she been enamoured with the idea of a fairy-tale adoption and not the hard reality of older children traumatized by dysfunctional parenting, loss and rejection?

Or did anyone in her situation feel these mixed emotions? This was a huge step, without the phasing in you got when you had a baby in the normal way. Maybe panic was natural and normal.

Call Rebecca, she decided. She’d know.

Suzanne was ten minutes late unlocking the door of her small business, but fortunately—or unfortunately—no customers stood on the sidewalk with their noses pressed to the glass. The first hour was usually slow, even in this pre-Christmas season. In fact, she’d already decided that, once she had a child, she’d change her hours. Nine to five-thirty was too much. She could open at ten, close at five. And close two days a week instead of just one. Sunday and Monday, she thought.

Two women wandered in shortly thereafter and wandered out again without buying anything, but with copies of Suzanne’s class schedule tucked in their tote bags. They might be back. They might pass on the schedules to friends or daughters who would sign up. She never knew, but she hoped each time.

After the bell tinkled and the door closed behind the two women, Suzanne grabbed the phone and dialed Gary’s number in Santa Fe.

Rebecca answered on the second ring. “Suzanne! How nice to hear from you. I’d been meaning to call to find out if Melissa has been in touch.”

“She called this morning.” Suzanne repeated what the caseworker had said. “I have an appointment to talk to her this afternoon, but I’m petrified. And that makes me wonder if I really want to do this, and I’m ashamed of even wondering, and…”

Rebecca laughed. “Well, of course you’re scared. This isn’t like adopting a newborn. And, believe me, even those couples are nervous as well as thrilled. They aren’t sure they’ll know what to do. What if the baby won’t quit crying? What if they don’t feel instant love?”

Her heart lurched. “Oh, God. I didn’t even think of that. What if I don’t?”

“Then it will take time,” Rebecca said practically. “It’s kind of like an arranged marriage. Plenty of those ended up blissfully happy, but I’ll bet virtually every bride and groom was scared to death when they said, ‘I do.’”

“I guess that’s true.”

“And remember, the adoption won’t be final for some time. If you’re really a poor match, a better one can be made, for the kids as well as you.”

“Will Melissa think poorly of me if I decide I can’t take these kids?”

“No, of course not! She’ll just look for the right single child for you.”

Her palms were still sweaty, but Suzanne said, “Okay. I feel a little better. You know, my first reaction was to be excited, but then this wave of panic just crashed into me! I tried to tell myself it was normal, but I was ashamed of myself for even hesitating.”

Rebecca soothed her for a couple more minutes, then said, “I was also meaning to call you to let you know that Gary and I are talking about getting married while we’re there over Christmas. Maybe the first week in January?”

Pure delight overcame Suzanne’s panic. “Really? Oh, Rebecca! That would be wonderful. Where? Have you made plans?”

The doorbell rang again as a group of four women entered. She smiled at them, then said into the phone, “I’d better call you this evening. Business is picking up.”

“I’ll be waiting to hear how your meeting with Melissa went.”

“Oh, what a darling sweater!” one of the women cried, as Suzanne hung up the phone. They’d all stopped in front of a mannequin that wore a cropped, electric-blue and hot-pink off-the-shoulder angora sweater that Suzanne had designed as part of her planned book of styles meant to appeal to women in their twenties.

“Hi,” she said, coming out from behind the counter. “Are you knitters?”

Two were, two weren’t, but one of those decided on the spot to sign up for the next session of the class for beginners. All helped one of the experienced knitters choose yarn for an afghan, and they left declaring, “You have an amazing selection. I’ll tell everyone I know who knits or crochets.”

Feeling gratified, Suzanne squeezed in a quick call to one of her customers who was happy to fill in for a day or a few hours now and again. An older woman, she liked earning a little extra income.

“I’ll be there by 2:45,” Rose promised. “No need for you to hurry back.”

Suzanne’s afternoon class, now in its fourth week, was her largest yet, with a number of the women determined to knit a Christmas present for someone in their family. They’d started out making scarves, then had moved on to projects of their choice. One was doing baby booties and a hat for her soon-to-be-born grandson, another a simple afghan, several others sweaters. One seemed to be a natural; the sweater she was knitting for a ten-year-old was nearly done, arms and body proportional. Another was struggling with constant dropped stitches. She made jokes about the name of Suzanne’s store.

“It’s all your fault,” she declared, laughing ruefully.

Suzanne helped her unravel and get started again, one eye surreptitiously on the clock. Rose came in quietly before the end of the class, and at 2:50 on the dot Suzanne stood up.

“Don’t feel you have to hurry out. I have an appointment, but Rose is here to help you with your projects or purchases.”

She thanked Rose, an older woman who was fast becoming a friend as well as an occasional employee, took her purse from the drawer and hurried out. She’d been able to park less than a block away that morning, and she took a back route up the hill to Lynnwood.

Melissa Stuart came out to the reception area the moment Suzanne’s arrival was announced. Perhaps in her early fifties, she was a plump, attractive woman who was comfortable letting gray creep into her dark, bobbed hair. She had a nice smile that immediately set Suzanne at ease.

“How nice to meet you.” Melissa extended her hand. “Have you talked to Rebecca? How is she?”

They shook hands.

“Really good,” Suzanne said. “She just told me she and Gary are planning a wedding right after the holidays.”

“Not exactly a shock. They didn’t waste any time, did they?” She turned. “Let’s go on back to my office.”

Following her, Suzanne agreed, “They were in love within days of meeting.”

Her office was simple, decorated with children’s artwork on white walls. Only one manila file folder lay atop her desk.

Sitting, Suzanne couldn’t take her gaze from the folder.

Seating herself behind the desk, the caseworker said, “Let me tell you about Sophia and Jack.”

The names alone made them more real. Suzanne leaned forward.

“As I told you on the phone, Jack is seven and Sophia ten. Nearly eleven. She’s in fifth grade, he’s in second. Sophia is very bright and did quite well in school until this past year, when she’s done some acting out. Jack is good at math but is having trouble with reading. His most recent teacher isn’t sure whether he has a reading disability or whether, once again, this past year has been so difficult that he can’t concentrate.”

“This past year?”

“Their mother died. She had MS and received poor or no health care because she didn’t have insurance. She’d been raising the kids on her own, and once she could no longer work they moved between shelters and motel rooms at the kind of place that rents by the week. The past couple of years were disruptive for the children. As a result, they’re very mature in some ways. After all, they had to care for her. I gather that Sophia even did the grocery shopping toward the end. In other ways, they’re lost in a normal school or home situation. They’ve not been able to have friends the way other kids do. They had no home to invite other children to play at, no parent to pick them up at anyone else’s home. They changed schools five times in the last two years.”

“Oh, dear,” seemed inadequate, but it was the only thing she could think of to say.

“Indeed,” Ms. Stuart agreed. “Sophia had to call for an ambulance when she got home from school and found her mother dying.”

“How long ago was that?”

“In early September. Unfortunately, that meant yet another change in schools when they went to a foster home. In late October, we had to move them to a second foster home.”

“Their father?”

“Hasn’t seen them since Jack was a baby. He’s been moving regularly to avoid having to pay child support. I understand that, when told his ex-wife had died, he said, ‘You don’t expect me to take the kids, do you?’”

Rage for children she had yet to meet tightened Suzanne’s throat. “How horrible.”

“He gladly relinquished his parental rights. At least the children were quickly freed for adoption. So often they’re stuck in the foster-care system for years.”

Suzanne’s brother had lived in a succession of foster homes for nearly two years before he’d been adopted. She nodded.

“Their foster mother says Sophia is fiercely protective of her little brother but also displaying some generalized anger. He’s reverted to some behaviors typical of much younger children, including bed-wetting.”

No, these children wouldn’t be easy. Suzanne let go once and for all of her vision of that perfect little girl who leaned so trustingly against her and who giggled with uncomplicated joy.

“Naturally,” the caseworker continued, “it’s important that they stay together.”

“Of course!”

At least Suzanne’s sister and brother had been young, able to forget each other and her. Only she had carried the memory of them through the years.

“I know these two may not be at all what you had in mind….”

“As I told Rebecca, I didn’t have any particular ideal. Somehow, the idea of shopping for a child with a wish list strikes me as repugnant.”

“Good for you.” Ms. Stuart’s smile was warm and approving.

“My parents died when I was six.”

“I know. I have to admit, that’s one reason I thought you might be just right for these particular children.” She lifted a hand, hesitated with it over the file folder. “Would you like to see their pictures?”

Suddenly unable to breath, Suzanne could only nod.

Opening the file, the caseworker removed two five-by-seven school photos and laid them on the desk, facing Suzanne.

She took one look at the two faces, both so hopeful, so wary, and felt a painful squeeze in her chest she was astonished to recognize as the first symptom of falling in love.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “When can I meet them?”

CHAPTER TWO

THE CASEWORKER HAD PREPARED the kids for Suzanne’s visit. Younger children could be fooled into thinking the visitor was a friend of the foster mom’s, or another social worker. Kids the ages of Sophia and Jack would see through the lie and feel betrayed.

Melissa had arranged for this visit only two days after their initial meeting, scheduling it right after the children got home from school. Suzanne was once again depending on Rose.

Now, parking in front of the shabby rambler and setting the emergency brake, Melissa said, “I’ve introduced two other sets of potential adoptive parents to Sophia and Jack. In both cases, they felt the fit wasn’t right.”

“Why?”

“I believe it’s Sophia. She’s almost eleven, and, um…” The caseworker hesitated. “Well, she’s precocious.”

Puzzled, Suzanne said, “You did mention that she’s mature beyond her years.”

“Yes, but what I’m trying to tell you is that she’s also ahead of most girls her age physically.”

“Physically?” For a moment, Suzanne didn’t get it. Then understanding dawned. “Oh. You mean, she’s getting breasts.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. Part of the trouble is her choice of clothing. She looks like a thirteen-year-old who’s pretending she’s sixteen.”

“Oh,” Suzanne said again. She frowned. “You mean, the two couples were okay with a ten-year-old who looked like a little girl, but not one who’s essentially a teenager?”

“Exactly.”

She wanted to say that was lousy, but she remembered the few parameters she’d given Rebecca originally. She’d wanted a child who would come to think of her as a mother, not a teenager who’d be gone in no time. An almost-eleven-year-old who looked older… No, Sophia definitely wasn’t what Suzanne had had in mind, either.

But then, from the beginning she’d vowed to be open-minded, to take a child who needed her. It sounded like these two did.

She nodded, and the two women got out of the car, walking in silence up the driveway.

On the way over, Melissa had told her this foster mother was having health problems and had given them a deadline of the first of January to find alternative placement for Jack and Sophia.

“They’ve had so many disruptions already,” she’d said. “I’m really hoping to find them a permanent home now, so that they don’t have to adjust to yet another temporary one. I want you to feel free to take your time to get to know them, but if you decide they might be right for you, I can also accelerate the steps we usually go through.”

Suzanne was so nervous, she felt light-headed by the time Melissa rang the doorbell. What if they were unfriendly? Disinterested? Wild? What if she didn’t like them?

How horrible it must be to be looked over like apples in the produce section, put back when buyers saw a bruise. She didn’t want to do something like that, but it would also be disastrous if she took on something she couldn’t handle.

Someone, she reminded herself. Not a situation. Kids.

The door opened without warning. It had to be the foster mom who smiled and pushed open the screen. “Melissa. Hi! The kids have been waiting. You must be Suzanne. Hello.”

She was in her sixties or perhaps even seventies, and overweight. She moved as if she hurt.

The television in the living room was on, a well-known talk-show host grilling someone to the shrill encouragement of the audience. She turned it off and called, “Kids! Melissa is here!”

There was a moment of silence. Then one of the bedroom doors down a short hall opened and two kids came out. The boy had his head hanging, but the girl ignored the other two adults and studied Suzanne with frightening intensity as she sauntered behind her brother. Suzanne could see right away why Melissa had warned her. It was more than the breasts. It was that hip-swinging walk, the curl to her mouth, the ferocity of that stare. No, this wasn’t your average ten-year-old. She might have had trouble fitting in with other girls her age even under normal circumstances.

“Sophia, Jack,” Melissa said. “I’d like you to meet Ms. Chauvin.”

The boy stole a quick look up at her, then ducked his head again. The girl stopped and appraised her.

“Hi,” Suzanne said. “I’m glad to meet you after Melissa told me so much about you.”

“Why don’t you have kids of your own?” Sophia asked, with a tone of insolence. Why are you such a loser? she seemed to be asking.

“Sophia!” the foster mom intervened. “That wasn’t very polite.”

“No, it’s okay. My husband and I hadn’t started a family before we got divorced. Since I’ve always wanted to have children, I chose to adopt.”

“So how come us?”

It was as if no one else was there, just Suzanne and this dark-haired girl with riveting blue eyes.

“Because Melissa told me about you, and I thought we might be a good fit. My parents both died when I was six years old, so I know better than most people how you feel right now.”

The girl’s mask slipped. “Did you get adopted?”

Suzanne shook her head. “My aunt and uncle took me in, even though I don’t think they really wanted any more children. They had two of their own. But they surrendered my little brother and sister. They were adopted by other families.”

Sophia cast a shocked glance at her little brother, who had finally lifted his head and was watching Suzanne and his sister with eyes that were a paler blue than hers. His hair was lighter, too, the shade of brown that might become blond after a summer in the sun.

“So you never saw them again?” the girl asked.

“Not until this year. I hired a private investigator to find them.”

“Oh.”

When she fell silent, Melissa smiled and moved forward. “Why don’t we all sit down so you can get acquainted?”

The kids went docilely to the sofa and sat next to each other. The boy leaned against his big sister.

Jack was small for his age, Suzanne decided, and made smaller by a posture that suggested he wanted to disappear. In contrast, his sister was nearly as tall as Suzanne already, and with that disconcertingly curvaceous body, no one would have guessed that only three years separated the two children in age.

Suzanne chose the recliner facing them. Melissa spoke quietly for a moment to the foster mother, who said, “I’m going to lie down for a few minutes. You just call me when you’re done.”

“Tell me about your mom,” Suzanne suggested.

Jack ducked his head again.

Sophia jerked her shoulders. “She was sick. She couldn’t walk. Sometimes she, like, fainted or something and wouldn’t wake up for a long time.”

“But before that, when she felt better. Did she sew for you? Paint your fingernails?”

“She didn’t sew. I guess I helped with dinner sometimes. You know. And she took us to the library.” She pressed her lips together. “I remember her pushing me on a swing.”

Suzanne looked at the seven-year-old. “What do you remember, Jack? Did she teach you to throw a ball, or read to you?”

“Mommy read all the time,” he whispered. “She still read to me sometimes, before…” His voice died.

Before their mom hadn’t woken up.

“This must be really scary for you.” Suzanne took a deep breath. “I’m scared.”

They both looked at her. “Why?” Sophia asked.

“Because adopting someone is a huge commitment. And the truth is, I’ve never been a mom. I don’t remember mine as well as I wish I did. So I don’t know how great I’ll be at this. And I don’t want to disappoint a boy or girl who trusts me.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to take us?” Clearly, Sophia was used to taking the lead. “Because that’s okay. Other people have come and decided they weren’t going to.”

Hurting at her brave attempt to sound as if she didn’t care, Suzanne shook her head. “No, that isn’t what I’m saying. I guess I’m asking you what you’re hoping for in a family. Did you really want to have a dad? Or a certain kind of mom?”

Sophia frowned. “What do you mean, a certain kind of mom?”

“Oh…” She thought. “One who laughs a lot, or is really pretty and smells good. Maybe a mom who’s there every day when you get home from school, so you don’t have to go to day care. Or parents who have lots of money, so you could have something you’ve always dreamed about.”

“Like a horse, you mean?”

“Like that,” she agreed.

“I don’t know about a dad. ’Cause we’ve never had one. Right, Jack?”

He nodded.

“And my mom. Maybe she was pretty before she got sick. I don’t remember.”

“Do you have pictures?” Suzanne asked gently.

She nodded. “We have a box of stuff.”

Suzanne waited.

“We want a dog,” the ten-year-old declared. “Or a cat. We couldn’t have a pet before. Because we moved a lot, to places where you couldn’t have one. Do you have a dog?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind getting one. I do have a fenced backyard.”

Jack looked up, his face filled with naked hope. “Do you have a house? A real house?”

“Yes, I do. It’s not fancy, but it has three bedrooms. You could each have your own room if you wanted. And it has an old apple tree in the backyard that’s perfect for climbing. I like to garden, so in the spring there will be daffodils and a big lilac in bloom.” She could tell from their faces that they didn’t care about the flowers. “The bedrooms are really plain right now, but we could decorate them the way you liked.”

“I could have my very own?” Sophia spoke as if the idea was wondrous beyond imagining. And perhaps it was, for a child who’d probably shared a single hotel room with her mother and brother for nearly as long as she could remember.

“Yep. I thought you might like to share for a while, until you got used to living with me, but that would be up to you.”

“Jack wets his bed.”

The boy jerked as if in protest, but didn’t say anything.

“We got in trouble a lot, because the hotel managers didn’t like the smell.”

Oh, dear. Suzanne had forgotten the bit about Jack having regressed to some infantile behaviors. How did you help someone not wet the bed?

“You know what?” she said with false confidence. “He’ll outgrow it, just like other kids. Who ever heard of a grown-up wetting the bed?”

“Our last foster mom spanked him when he peed in his bed.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Suzanne saw Melissa’s face harden.

“Do you spank?” Sophia asked.

Suzanne shook her head. “No. I don’t believe in it. And besides, bed-wetting is something Jack can’t help.”

“He sucks his thumb, too.”

“I do not!” the boy flared.

Lifting her brows, Suzanne looked at his sister. “Do you have any bad habits? Things you do you’re not supposed to?”

She seemed interested in the idea. “I punched a boy at school. I had to go to the principal’s office.”

“Why did you punch him?”

“He called me a name.”

She hardly blinked, that intense gaze fixed on Suzanne, who wondered if she was being tested. What will you do when I’m bad? she seemed to be asking.

“Did you try telling an adult what he’d said?”

Sophia shook her head. “I was mad.”

“We all get mad without hitting people.” To avoid a continuing debate, Suzanne asked, “What else?”

“Mostly I just get mad. I told a teacher last year he was a big fat liar.”

Well, that had probably gone over well.

“What did you do when you got mad at your mom?”

For a moment, her long, dark lashes veiled her eyes. “I didn’t get mad at her.”

“I was mad at mine for dying. Really mad.”

“I’m not.” But that unnervingly direct gaze didn’t meet Suzanne’s.

She knew a lie when she heard one, but let it pass.

“Is there anything you want to know about me?”

They were momentarily silenced. Then Jack whispered something to his sister, who said, “Can we see your house?”

How humbling to know that they were more interested in her home than in her.

Sitting to one side, Melissa smiled. “That will be for another visit, kids. In fact, I have an appointment, so it’s time for Suzanne and I to go. Jack, will you go let Mrs. Burton know we have to leave?”

He nodded, slipped off the couch and went down the hall.

“Would we still go to the same school?” Sophia asked.

Suzanne shook her head. “I live in Edmonds, so you’d have to transfer there. I know it’s hard to move in the middle of the year….”

“I hate it here,” she said with startling vehemence. “I want to move.”

“What about Jack?”

“Kids pick on him. He doesn’t like it either.”

Oh, Lord! What was she getting into? Suzanne asked herself, knowing full well she’d long since made a decision. Jack and Sophia had no resemblance to her dream child, who neither wet beds nor slugged other kids, but were also far more real, more needy and interesting and full of promise.

She hoped they liked her, but would settle for them liking her house.

The foster mother reappeared and they said their goodbyes. The children stood in front of Mrs. Burton on the front porch and watched as Suzanne and Melissa went to the car and drove away.

“So, what do you think?” Melissa laughed. “Or do I have to ask?”

“Wow.” Suzanne felt dazed and a little limp, now that it was over. “I think I’m even more scared than I was on the way over.”

“And with good reason! Sophia is…unusual.”

“She is, isn’t she? But amazing, too. She’s so strong! At her age, I was timid and apologetic and unwilling ever to cause trouble or draw attention to myself.”

“She won’t be easy to parent,” Melissa warned. “You did notice her challenging you?”

“I suspected. But that’s going to happen with any child, isn’t it? Unless I start with a toddler.”

“Yes, but most kids would wait a while. They’re usually saintly for a few months. Then, at some point, they start wondering if these new parents would want them if they weren’t so good, if they really love them. That’s when the tough times start. Now, with Sophia…”

“They’ve already begun?”

Melissa had a hearty laugh. “Something like that.”

“I like her.” She thought. “Did you see her when I suggested she might be mad at her mother for dying?”

“I did. But she can’t let herself, so she’ll be mad at everyone else instead.”

“When can I see them again?” Suzanne asked.

Melissa laughed again. “Are you sure you don’t want to let first impressions settle a little?”

“But it was such a short visit. I’m not sure I can wait for days and days.”

“I can ask whether Mrs. Burton could bring them over Saturday for a while.”

Suzanne turned a hopeful gaze on the caseworker. “Please.”

Another laugh. “I’ll call her.” But her expression was serious when she said, “But you have to promise not to rush into anything, either. You’re right. It is a big commitment. The adoption won’t be final for months, so you have time to back out, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how tough that would be on the kids.”

Her excitement dimmed. “I know it would. I won’t make up my mind for sure until we get a chance to spend more time together.”

“That’s all I ask. And here we are.” She signaled to turn into the parking lot in front of the adoption agency. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Burton and give you a call.”

“Thank you,” Suzanne said fervently.

She drove back to her shop wishing she could rush home instead and prepare. What she’d actually do to prepare, she wasn’t sure. Paint the bedrooms tonight? But she’d already promised to let them choose their own decor. Clean house? Well, she had to do that tomorrow anyway. With the long hours at Knit One, Drop In, Sunday was no day of rest for her. But maybe she could get started tonight. Vacuum and scrub the bathroom. She’d put out her prettiest guest towels.

Suzanne made a face in the rearview mirror. As if they’d care. The only time she could ever remember as a child even noticing someone’s towels was when she’d gone to a sleepover at a classmate’s house and found out her family was really rich. The bathroom fixtures were shiny gold, maybe even plated with real gold. The floor was stone with pale veins running through it—marble, she’d later realized. And the towels were half an inch thick, a deep maroon jacquard, incredibly soft and textured in a basket weave. They were nothing like the towels at Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Miles’s house.

Even if Suzanne’s house was a step up from the cheap hotels where Sophia and Jack were used to living, there was nothing about it to dazzle them. Certainly not her best guest towels.

But she would put them out anyway. And she’d bake something, so the house smelled homey and welcoming. She’d wash the windows in the two bedrooms, too, so they would sparkle and let in whatever sunlight was available.

At the shop she thanked Rose and resigned herself to making it through the last hour before closing. Traffic was heavy with Christmas so close. She had knit several afghans hoping to sell them as Christmas gifts, and they had gone way back in early November as had several baby sweaters. Next year, she’d try to have more items available for sale. Perhaps some of her customers would like to offer hand-knit items on consignment. But shoppers were also buying gift certificates for classes as well as yarn, knitting books and individual patterns. And more people were discovering her store, just because they were out shopping anyway.

At 4:45 p.m. Melissa called. “Mrs. Burton says she’d be glad to bring the kids over. If you’re okay with them on your own, she could leave them for an hour or two while she grocery shops.”

“That sounds great,” Suzanne agreed. “One o’clock? Perfect!”

She waited on a couple more customers and pretended to be interested in their crochet projects, but was secretly dying to close and go home. She could hardly wait to call Carrie and tell her… But then, on a wave of disappointment, she remembered that Mark and Carrie were going out tonight. They’d gotten a babysitter for Michael and were having dinner at Le Gourmand and then going to see a play at the Intiman. And Rebecca and Gary had flown to Chicago this weekend because he had a business meeting Monday morning and they thought they could take a couple of days to themselves in advance. Rebecca hadn’t found a wedding dress she liked in Santa Fe and intended to shop in Chicago while he was conducting business.

Turning the sign to Closed, Suzanne opened the till and thought, I’ll call a friend. But it was an awful time of day to call anyone who already had a family. They’d all be making dinner or sitting down to eat by the time she got home. Frustrated, Suzanne promised herself that she’d call everyone she knew later tonight.

The trouble was, she felt like a child bursting with news. She wanted to tell someone right now, not two hours from now.

Well, tough. She wasn’t a child, and her news could hold. She’d vacuum instead.

Pulling into her driveway, she glanced as she almost always did toward her next-door neighbor’s house. The light in his front window was on, and she saw the blue flicker of a television. He was probably watching the six o’clock news. Somehow she couldn’t imagine him sitting in front of a rerun of Friends or Full House. No, he was definitely the news type.

He might like to know about the children who would be visiting tomorrow and might be living next door.

The thought crept in out of nowhere, startling her.

She wasn’t friends with Tom Stefanec. They rarely exchanged more than a few words. She made sure they didn’t.

It was probably dumb, but she’d been self-conscious around him since he’d moved in. She’d still been married, but her marriage had been disintegrating. She and Josh had seemed to yell at each other constantly, and neighbors—or one particular neighbor—had had to call the police to report domestic disturbances. Twice.

She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye since.

But he had never, not once, referred in any way to Josh or those ugly fights. Tom had been really nice since he’d found out she wanted to adopt. He’d mowed her lawn the whole last month of fall so she didn’t have to get her mower fixed before spring. He knew she wanted the house to look extra nice when the caseworker did a home visit. Suzanne had noticed that her lawn looked better than it ever had after a few weeks of his attention, too. She suspected he’d fertilized it with a weed and feed, which had killed some of the dandelions.

Ever since, he’d asked regularly if she’d heard from the adoption agency. She didn’t know whether he was just being polite or really hoped for her sake that she had. But he did seem interested.

She’d never actually gone to his door and rung the bell before, but she could. Since he did often ask, and since the kids were coming tomorrow, it would be the civil thing to do, wouldn’t it? Instead of him seeing them and her having to say, Oh, I forgot to tell you that the caseworker did call.

Besides… She really wanted to tell someone.

Taking a deep breath, she got out of her car, hurried into her house to deposit her purse and the day’s receipts on the small table just inside and then, instead of going to the kitchen to find something for dinner, she went back out and marched across the strip of lawn that separated her driveway from her neighbor’s. Her feet carried her up his walkway and onto his porch.

Her courage was already faltering by the time she rang the doorbell, but she didn’t let herself chicken out. They were neighbors. She’d known him for years. It was silly to be shy.

Besides, he might have seen her coming onto the porch through the big front window. She couldn’t flee.

The light came on and the door opened. He filled the opening, wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and slippers. Somehow he was always so much larger than she remembered.

“Suzanne!” he said in surprise. “Are you okay?”

Apparently he figured the only reason she’d come knocking was if she desperately needed help. And who could blame him since she’d never made the slightest overture of friendship before?

She produced a smile. “I’m fine. I just stopped by to let you know that I finally heard from the agency.”

He stood back. “Come on in. Sit down and tell me about it.”

She hesitated.

“Aren’t you having dinner, or…”

Or what? Entertaining? She hardly ever saw anyone else at his house. She didn’t know if he did entertain.

“Haven’t even started to cook yet. I just got home and thought I’d have a beer and watch the news.” He picked up the remote control and turned the television off. “None of it’s good, anyway.”

“I know what you mean.” Feeling timid, she stepped inside.

Trying not to be too obvious, she took a swift look around. His two-story house was more imposing than her small rambler, but in all her years here she’d never even peeked in his front window.

His living room was more welcoming than she would have expected. It was dominated by the big-screen television, but that was probably a man thing. His recliner was large, too, but then it had to be, didn’t it? The sofa was soft rather than spare looking, and a pair of bookcases flanking the fireplace were filled with hundreds of books, a mix of fiction and non-fiction.

“Please. Sit down.” He closed the door behind her and gestured toward the couch. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or a beer?”

“No, I’m fine.” She did perch at one end of the couch, her thigh muscles remaining tense. “Thank you. I really didn’t intend to stay. I just wanted to share my news.”

For some reason, as he sat back down in the recliner she fixated on his slippers. They were perfectly ordinary, brown leather with a dark fleecy lining. But his ankles were bare, and the very sight of him in slippers somehow created a tiny shift in the universe. Tom Stefanec was so disciplined, so boot-camp sergeant with that buzz-cut hair, she’d never pictured him coming home like other people and changing immediately into old jeans, a sloppy sweatshirt and slippers.

“Were you in the military?” she blurted, then was immediately embarrassed. “I’m sorry! That’s none of my…”

“That obvious?” He gave a crooked smile, either chagrined on his own behalf or amused at her discomfiture, she wasn’t sure. His homely face was considerably more attractive when he smiled, a realization that startled her.

“Well, it’s just…” Frantically, she searched for words. “Oh, you wear your hair so short and, um, you obviously keep in good shape, and…” She couldn’t think of anything else and trailed off, embarrassed yet again that she’d admitted to noticing the powerful muscles emphasized by the well-worn jeans.

“I was an Army Ranger. Got out after I was wounded in Kuwait.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He shrugged those broad shoulders. “No reason you should. So. What did you hear from the agency?”

Agency? For a moment, she was blank. Then her whole reason for coming here returned as if floodgates had opened, and she felt foolish.

“They called to ask whether I’d consider two children. A sister and brother. I met them today for the first time.”

“Really? Two?”

Since he didn’t sound disapproving, she said, “The boy—Jack—is seven and his sister is ten. Their mother had MS and died recently. The father has been skipping on child-care payments and was apparently happy to relinquish his parental rights.”

“A real great guy.”

“Isn’t that awful? He didn’t care at all.” She marveled at the notion. How could he not love his own children?

“So, what did you think?” Tom leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, looking as if he was really interested.

“I fell in love with them,” she admitted. “The caseworker tried to warn me to take it slow, but… This just feels right. They feel right. They need me.”

He was quiet for a moment. She could feel his gaze on her face, although as always she didn’t meet his eyes. In fact, she didn’t know quite what color they were. Not particularly blue, like Sophia’s, or a rich chocolate-brown, like George Clooney’s—either she’d have noticed. So something in between. A color she’d have to study to identify.

“Is that why you’re adopting?” he asked. “Because you want to feel needed?”

“I suppose that’s part of it.” Did he really want to know? “But also…I like kids. I want a family.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Too polite, she diagnosed, to ask what other people had: Why didn’t she just find a husband, like most women did, and have children in the normal way?

Or perhaps that wasn’t what he was going to ask, because he likely knew quite well why she wasn’t all that excited about finding a husband. He’d known Josh, had heard the hateful things he’d yelled at her. And the pitiful things she’d screamed back at him.

The memory had her surging to her feet. “They’re coming tomorrow to see the house and so we can get better acquainted. I need to do some tidying, but I wanted to tell you in case you saw them tomorrow, and because…” She hesitated. “Because you ask. And I was excited, and wanted to tell someone.”

He rose, too. “So I was handy?”

Did he sound a little hurt, or was she imagining things?

“No, because you always seemed interested. I’ve appreciated that.”

“Oh.” Apparently mollified, he nodded. “I like kids.”

“You do?” The surprise she felt could be heard in her voice, and she blushed.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

“Oh, I didn’t think that,” she babbled, edging toward the door. “Just that I don’t know anything about you, and you don’t have kids of your own—” She slammed to a stop, both physically and verbally. Oh, God. What if he did?

As if he’d read her mind, he said, “No, I don’t, but I’ve always figured I’d have my own someday.”

She almost blurted, Really? but stopped herself in time. Thank goodness. She’d already tromped on her own toes until they should be black-and-blue. She didn’t have to compound her tactlessness.

Grasping the doorknob, Suzanne said, “I really had better run. But if you happen to be home tomorrow when they arrive, please come and say hi.”

He bent his head. “I’ll do that.”

He’d followed her to the door and now reached over her head to open it, which meant he stood so close to her she could feel the heat of his body. She knew, if she lifted her gaze just a little, she’d see the individual bristles on his chin, his mouth—which she’d never looked closely at before—and even the color of his eyes. Instead, she backed away without once letting her gaze rise higher than the strong column of his throat, stumbled over the doorjamb because she wasn’t watching where her feet were going, said, “Good night,” and fled, her cheeks blazing.

Grateful for the darkness once she’d left his front porch, she pressed her hands to her cheeks. What on earth was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if she was totally lacking in social skills!

But the funny thing was, Suzanne was glad she’d gone. She thought he really might have been hurt if she hadn’t. He’d seemed genuinely interested in hearing about Jack and Sophia.

And…she now knew something about him. Only a little, but it was a start.

Of what, she didn’t let herself wonder.

CHAPTER THREE

TOM WAS SHAKING HIS HEAD in amazement when he shut the door behind Suzanne. He’d never thought he’d live to see the day when she actually sought him out. She was so scared of him, she jumped two feet every time he approached her. He’d always pretended he didn’t notice, figuring someday she’d get over it, but that hadn’t happened.

What he didn’t know was whether she was afraid of all men. She had reason to be gun-shy after being married to that son of a bitch. The fights weren’t even the worst of it; what had really galled Tom were the constant putdowns. Summer evenings, with the windows open, he’d heard plenty.

“You’re not going out, looking like that,” the guy would say, with a sneer in his voice. Or, “Can’t you even have goddamn dinner on the table when I get home? You can’t keep the house clean and you’re a lousy cook. What did you do all day? Sit around and knit?”

Tom had been out dividing perennials the day she had greeted her husband at the door to tell him that she’d sold her first original knitting pattern to a company that published them. He still remembered how her face had shone with delight.

“Big whoop-de-do,” the bastard had declared. “What’s for dinner?”

That beautiful glow had gone out, as if her husband had thrown a rock and broken the bulb.

Tom had wanted to punch the SOB, and despite his special unit training, he wasn’t a violent man.

When things had got too loud, he’d called 911. He’d been scared for her. He’d fought his every instinct to intervene, because he’d known that he would make things worse. Josh Easton wouldn’t have liked another man telling him how he could treat his wife. And he was just the kind to take his anger out on her.

What Tom had never known was whether her husband had hit her, too. Tom had heard enough crashes during their fights to be afraid he had. Once he’d seen bruises on her face when she’d left the house. He’d told himself there could be an innocent reason for them but hadn’t believed it.

Tom had never been happier than the day he’d come home to see half the household possessions piled in the driveway. A man’s clothes and shoes in a jumbled pile. The TV, VCR, stereo system, recliner… Tom didn’t know how she’d managed to haul the heavier stuff out, but she’d been more generous with the creep than he’d deserved.

Tom also didn’t know how she had held onto the house, but was glad she had. Josh Easton was nobody Tom wanted as a next-door neighbor.

Six months after the SOB was gone, she’d marched out one Saturday morning and painted over the Easton on the mailbox. A couple of hours later, the black paint dry, she’d used a stencil and white paint to put Chauvin in its place. When she’d finished and seen Tom in his yard, she’d said, “I’m divorced,” and marched back in her house, head held higher than he’d seen it since the day he’d bought his place and moved in next to her.

He hadn’t known then how to say Good for you, not without letting on that he’d heard and noticed more than she probably wanted him to have. Maybe someday, he’d figured, when they got friendlier. No reason they wouldn’t, now that she didn’t have a husband who didn’t seem to like her talking to anyone else.

But Tom had realized shortly thereafter that Suzanne was still skittish around him. When he directly addressed her, she’d gaze in his direction without ever really looking at him. He had to be careful how he approached her because she startled easily. Like the other night, when she’d banged her head on the trunk of her car just at the sound of his voice.

It seemed to him she’d loosened up just a little lately. She’d seemed really glad to have her brother reappear in her life, and she apparently had a new brother-in-law, too, who had introduced himself one day while the two women had been chatting. Kincaid. Mike…no, Mark Kincaid. Tom had seen her hug him casually a couple of times.

He knew she dated once in a while, too, although none of the men ever came around for long. So she wasn’t afraid of all men. Or else she hid it better around most of them than she did with Tom.

The why would likely remain a mystery to him. He didn’t look like her ex, who had been sandy-haired, handsome and charming. None of which applied to Tom, who had dark brown hair, didn’t know how to be charming and who had never been called handsome, even by his own mother.

But tonight Suzanne had actually come to his door and had even sat on his couch. She still hadn’t met his eyes, but she’d talked to him. He might have even been the first to hear the kids were coming over tomorrow to scope out her house. And she’d invited him to say hi to them.

Tom had intended to run errands tomorrow, but to hell with them. He’d stick around until the kids had come, find an excuse to be out in the yard so he could meet them, maybe be out in the yard again after they left in case Suzanne wanted to talk some more. Tell him how the visit had gone.

Taking his plastic-covered dinner out of the microwave, he issued himself a warning. For God’s sake, the woman was afraid of him! She wasn’t likely to go from that to wanting to share his bed.

His bed? Who was he kidding? Suzanne Chauvin was a marry-or-nothing kind of woman if he’d ever seen one.

Nope, stick to admiring from afar, he told himself.

But he was still going to be out there tomorrow, both to meet the kids and because he’d decided he liked Suzanne the day she’d hauled that son of a bitch’s stuff out to the driveway.

MRS. BURTON DROVE a rattle-trap of a car, even worse than Suzanne’s. It gasped and coughed as she pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine.

Suzanne hurried out even before the car doors had opened. After the foster mother laboriously cranked her window down a few inches to greet her, Suzanne smiled. “Thank you so much for bringing them. You take your time with your errands.”

“I’ll do that.” She fixed a stern gaze on Sophia and Jack, who had come around to Suzanne’s side of the car. “You two do what Ms. Chauvin asks you to do, hear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Burton,” they chimed, heads swiveling as they tried to see the yard and house and street all at once.

“I’ll be back around two-thirty.” She rolled up her window again and backed out of the driveway.

Glad it wasn’t raining today, Suzanne said, “Do you want to see the yard quick before we go in?”

“Sure,” Sophia agreed.

Jack nodded. His eyes were wide and he was sticking close to his sister.

Suzanne led them toward the back gate. As she did so, Tom’s garage door began to roll up.

He stepped out and glanced their way as if surprised to see them, which didn’t fool Suzanne for a minute.

“Your visitors are here, eh?”

“Yes, Sophia, Jack, this is my closest neighbor, Tom Stefanec.”

They both nodded shyly.

He smiled at them, once again startling Suzanne. Had he always looked so kind? How was it she’d never noticed?

“Good to meet you. Suzanne is excited about you coming.”

“I’ve been sitting by the window for the last hour,” Suzanne admitted.

“We could have come sooner,” Sophia offered. “But Mrs. Burton kept saying no, that we’d said one so it was going to be one.”

“She probably didn’t want to take me by surprise.” Suzanne opened the side gate. “Mr. Stefanec was nice enough to mow my lawn this fall. My mower wasn’t starting.”

He looked over the two kids. “You two ever mowed before?”

They both stared at him, their heads shaking in unison. “We never had a yard before,” Sophia told him.

“Might be a good chore for you to take on.”

“Jack never had chores,” Sophia said with a sniff. “I did everything.”

“Did not!” her little brother protested, if quietly. “I helped, too!”

“Did not,” she repeated under her breath.

He smouldered.

Laughing, Suzanne laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. Here, you’ll both have to help, because we have the whole yard and house to keep up.”

“Well, I’m glad I met you,” Tom said again. “Suzanne, you let me know if I can help haul anything you’ll need for the kids with the pickup.”

Letting the kids go ahead into the backyard, she turned back. “Really? You’ve been so nice already about the lawn….”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.”

She smiled at him, thinking again what a nice face he had. “I can get mattresses delivered, but I’ll probably scour thrift stores for other furniture. Just in case I buy something too big for my car, I’d really appreciate it if you’d pick it up for me.”

“Glad to.” He nodded toward the excited voices that came from around the house. “You’d better catch up with those two.”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “Thank you.”

His answering smile was friendly, his stride relaxed as he walked away.

She’d felt really comfortable with him there for a minute, as if they were old friends. Shaking her head in bemusement, Suzanne headed into the backyard.

Jack was standing under the apple tree staring up at the gnarled dark branches, bare of leaves at this season. “I could climb it.”

“Do you like to climb?” Suzanne asked.

He stole a shy glance at her. “I never had a tree. But I like the monkey bars at school.”

“When he was real little, he climbed on top of a dresser and freaked Mom,” Sophia said. “And he used to get out of his crib. I remember that.”

“In the summer, I eat out here sometimes,” Suzanne said. “The patio furniture is in the garage. But we can go in that way.”

The sliding door led directly into the dining area and kitchen. The kids crowded behind her, craning their necks again.

“It’s not very big,” she began apologetically, before seeing the expressions on their faces.

They looked as excited as if her modest house was a mansion.

“Pretty.” Sophia touched the quilted runner on the table. “You even have flowers.”

She’d bought the bouquet on impulse at the grocery store yesterday, a spray of showy blooms in yellow and lime-green and hot-pink. They weren’t fragrant the way flowers from her own garden were, but Sophia was right. They were pretty.

“And here’s the living room.” Suzanne trailed behind them.

Sophia sat briefly on the sofa and bounced. “Your TV is little.”

“I don’t watch very often.”

She received two identical, dumbfounded stares.

“Mom had it on all the time.”

“But she was bedridden, wasn’t she?”

“She didn’t ride anything.” The ten-year-old looked at her as if she were stupid.

“I mean, she was in bed most of the time. So she didn’t have much else to do.”

“I guess not.” She lost interest. “Can we see the bedrooms?”

“You may.”

She’d expected them to race down the hall. Instead they went slowly, wonderingly, Sophia touching the frames of pictures she had hung on the wall, then hesitating for a moment before turning into the first open doorway.

This bedroom was at the front of the house and was slightly the larger of the two.

“I used to store yarn in here, until I opened my own yarn shop.”

“Can it be mine?” Sophia asked. She turned in a circle, taking in the bare, off-white walls, the empty closet, the scuffed wooden floor.

“You haven’t seen the other one yet.”

“I like this one.”

“Then if everything works out, this one will be yours.” Suzanne smiled at Jack. “Let’s go look at the one right across the hall.”

She could tell he didn’t want to leave his sister, but he did follow Suzanne. “I’ve used this one for my guest room,” she told him, “so it already has a bed in here. You’d probably want a twin size instead, so there’d be more space to play in here. And for a desk and a dresser and…”

He’d gone directly to the window and looked out. “I can see the tree. It’s practically touching the glass! I like this room.”

“I’m glad. If you could pick any color for the walls, what would it be?”

He turned, thin face serious. “Green is my favorite color in the whole world.”

“I like green, too.”

Sophia jostled past Suzanne. “This room is way cool, too!” Her eager gaze turned to Suzanne. “Can we decorate our own rooms the way we want?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“If you decide to adopt us,” Sophia said, “can we decorate our bedrooms the way we want?”

“Within reason,” Suzanne agreed. “What’s your favorite color?”

She pursed her lips. “Um, let’s see. Some days purple is. And some days pink.”

Pink and purple. Well, that was reassuring. Suzanne had half expected her to say orange and black. At least in this way, she marched in step with all the other girls her age.

“You two would share the bathroom next to this room.” They followed and she pushed open the door.

“My bedroom.” Suzanne continued the tour, letting them wander to her dresser and look at the framed photos, stroke her coverlet and the hand-knit salmon-colored throw that lay across the foot of the bed, and rock experimentally in the maple-and-caned rocking chair that sat on a rag rug by the window. They even peeked in her bathroom.

“In the other direction,” she said, “there’s room to keep bikes or whatever in the garage. I keep meaning to have a garage sale so I can park the car in there, too.”

“I bet we could do lots of the work,” Sophia said. “We could put stickers on everything, and take money, and try to talk people into buying stuff.”

“I’ll need all the help I can get,” Suzanne said noncommittally. She glanced at her bedside clock. Her time with the kids was expiring rapidly. “Have you had lunch?”

They nodded. Jack was getting braver, because he volunteered, “Mrs. Burton made us eat before we could come.”

“Well, how about a snack? And we can talk a little.”

“Do you got cookies?” Jack asked.

“No, but I made a coffee cake.”

His face scrunched up. “Coffee is gross.”

She laughed. “It doesn’t have coffee in it. It’s a kind of cake that tends to be eaten during a coffee break. This one is lemon. I promise, it’s good.”

They came with her, both stopping to take one last, lingering look at the bedrooms that would be theirs, before bouncing along to the kitchen.

“I like your house,” Jack confided. His face was flushed, and he was increasingly animated. “Sophia does, too. Huh, Soph?”

“Of course I do, dummy!”

Unoffended, he said, “See? We both like it.”

“I’m glad,” Suzanne told him. “Why don’t you two sit down? I’ll get the cake and pour milk.”

“Can we have pop?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

Both looked incredulous again. Sophia voiced their shock. “You mean, you don’t drink pop? At all?”

Suzanne laughed, something she knew she was doing too much. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. She felt giddy. “Of course I do, sometimes. I just don’t always have it. Milk is better for you anyway.”

Their expressions of relief were comical, but also sobering. What were they accustomed to eating? Had they stayed in hotels with kitchenettes? Sophia remembered cooking with her mother, but that might have been years ago. Had they become accustomed to nothing but prepackaged and fast food?

She sat down and cut the coffee cake. As she dished it up, she said, “I do try to eat a healthy diet. Lots of fruits and vegetables and not much junk food. If you’re used to lots of potato chips and pop, you’ll find it’s a little different here.”

They exchanged a glance. If it was in code, she couldn’t break it, even though clearly they were communicating.

“What happens to us now?” Sophia asked, picking up her fork. “How long do we stay with Mrs. Burton?”

“I don’t know,” Suzanne admitted. “I think usually Ms. Stuart would want us to take weeks and even maybe months to get to know each other.”

Despite her full mouth, Sophia said, “But Mrs. Burton says she can’t keep us that long. She said only through Christmas break.”

“That’s what I understand, too,” Suzanne agreed. “I’m hoping you can come here instead of to another foster home.”

Both their faces brightened. “Really?” Sophia said. “That soon?”

“If you want to.” Suzanne set down her fork. “But I don’t want you two to feel rushed. Once you come, you’re going to be stuck with me and my rules.”

“Do you have strict rules?”

“I think they’ll be pretty normal. I’ll expect you to have chores here at home, and to make sure I always know where you are. We’ll set a bedtime, and you’ll need to do homework before you watch TV or play. Stuff like that.”

“Is that all?” the ten-year-old asked suspiciously.

“No, I’m sure it’s not. I don’t like to be lied to, for example. I’m going to ask you to be honest. That’s really important to me.”

“Mr. Sanchez says I’m too honest,” Sophia told her. “He says sometimes I shouldn’t say what I think.”

“Not telling somebody you think their new outfit is ugly isn’t quite the same thing as lying about where you went after school, or what a teacher told you, or whether you’ve done your homework.”

“But if I say the new outfit looks cool, that’s lying.”

“It’s what’s called a white lie,” Suzanne told her. “That means you’re not being honest, because being honest would hurt the other person’s feelings. But instead of telling even the white lie, you can say something like, ‘Wow! Did your mom take you shopping?’ and the person thinks the ‘wow’ was a compliment.”

“That’s sneaky,” Sophia said with apparent admiration.

“For now, I’ll have you both come to my shop after school, not home. You can do your homework there, and we can come home together after I close at five.”

She had to tell them about Knit One, Drop In, including an explanation of the name of the store. Sophia thought it would be way cool—her favorite words of enthusiasm—to learn to knit.

“Is there anything you want to ask me?” Suzanne concluded.

Jack scraped his plate in search of any last crumbs. “What would we call you?”

“Hm. What did you call your mother?”

“Mom,” said Sophia.

“Mommy,” said her little brother.

“Well, definitely not either. Because she’ll always be your mother, in your hearts.”

“Do you still think about your mother?” Sophia asked, sounding a little shy.

Suzanne nodded. “I wish she could meet you, for example. Be your grandmother.”

“Oh.” She looked down.

“I think maybe you should just call me by my name for now. What do you think? Then, later, if you want maybe we could think of some variation on Mom.”

“You mean, we should call you Ms. Chauvin, like Mrs. Burton said?”

She smiled at Jack. “No, you can call me Suzanne.”

Sophia’s forehead crinkled. “How do you spell it?”

She spelled it for them. Sophia frowned, taking it in, while Jack kicked his heels on the chair and gazed out the sliding door.

“Will we have your last name?” Sophia asked.

“Yes, once the adoption is complete. Are you okay with that?”

“Sophia Chauvin,” she tried out loud.

“That’s an elegant name,” Suzanne said. “I like Jack Chauvin, too.”

“It’s lucky Jack isn’t Van. Then he’d be Van Chauvin.” She cackled.

Her brother doubled over and pretended to laugh hysterically. His elbow caught the glass of milk and knocked it over, sending the milk in a river across the table.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cried, scrambling up, something very close to fear on his face.

“He didn’t mean to do it!” Sophia said, leaping to her feet. “I’ll clean it up, so you don’t have to do anything.”

Taken aback by their reaction, Suzanne rose, too. “I know it was an accident. Everybody knocks things over sometimes. Don’t worry. Here.” She grabbed a roll of paper towels from the holder. “Let’s sop it up with this.”

Arms close to his body, Jack stood frozen by the table, his eyes saucer-wide.

Suzanne went to him. “Jack, don’t look so scared! It’s okay. Really.” She took a chance that she wouldn’t scare him more and bent to give him a quick hug.

He stood stiff in her embrace, but when she let him go she saw some of the tension leave his body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. Then, “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course you can.” The minute he’d left the room, she turned to his older sister. “Why was he so frightened? Mrs. Burton doesn’t, uh…”

Sophia shook her head. “She gets grumpy, but that’s all. It was the other foster mom, the first one we had. She yelled a lot and spanked Jack when he made mistakes.”

“What an awful woman!” Suzanne said with indignation. “Did you tell the social worker who supervised you?”

“After we went to Mrs. Burton’s.”

Suzanne smiled at her. “Good for you.”

Hands full of wads of soggy paper towels, Sophia said, “The quilt thing on the table is wet, too.”

“I can throw it in the washer.” Suzanne bundled it up. “Oh, shoot! I hear a car. I bet it’s Mrs. Burton.”

She put the table runner in the sink and went to the front window just as the kids’ foster mom beeped her horn.

Jack came from the bathroom, head hanging again, somehow appearing smaller than he had when he’d been excited and happy. Suzanne ignored the burning at the back of her eyes and smiled at him and then his sister.

“Shall we go shopping next weekend? Start looking for things for your bedrooms?”

“Yeah!” Sophia said.

“If it’s okay with Mrs. Burton and Ms. Stuart, we’ll plan on Saturday.” She could take a whole two days off. Rose would be glad for the hours.

“Wow! Okay. Bye.”

They raced out and tumbled into the back of Mrs. Burton’s car. Suzanne followed and spoke briefly with their foster mother, who thought Saturday would be great.

Suzanne stood in the driveway and waved as the car backed out. She didn’t want them to go, but she also realized she felt a little shaky. She’d been so nervous about what they’d think, whether they’d like her, she’d been operating on adrenaline.

The car disappeared down the street, and she sighed, giving herself a little shake.

“How’d it go?” a voice asked from so close, she jumped.

Tom, of course. He’d approached as soundlessly as always.

“Oh! You startled me.” She pressed a hand to her chest.

His forehead creased. “I’m sorry. I came out my front door. I assumed you saw me.”

“No, I was too busy trying to decide if the visit went well. I think it did.”

“You think?”

“Well, they seemed to like the house. But Jack freaked when he accidentally knocked over his milk. Sophia told me their foster mom spanked him when he made any messes.”

The lines in his face deepened. “That poor kid.”

“It worried me a little.” She didn’t know why she was confiding in him, but the words just kept coming. “I realized how many issues they probably have. Did I tell you their mom had MS? As her health deteriorated, they moved from shelters to cheap hotels where she could rent a room by the week. Sophia did the grocery shopping. I guess the mom must have gotten a disability check or something. But it sounds really grim.”

“And they watched her die slowly.”

She nodded. “After their mom got really sick, Jack started wetting his bed, and Sophia… She acts as if she doesn’t care, but she must. She says she hates the school she’s going to and doesn’t have any friends, and apparently Jack gets bullied. And I’m coward enough to think What do I know about traumatized children? What if I foul up?”

“You won’t,” he said with a certainty that surprised her. “If I’ve ever seen anyone meant to be a mother, it’s you. Anyway, if they need counseling, you can get them that, too.”

She drew a deep, ragged breath. “I can, can’t I? I don’t know if I’m meant to be a mother, but I want to be one. Wow. I really panicked. Look at me! I’m shaking.” She held out her hands, which indeed had a tremor.

He smiled at her, that amazingly kind smile transforming his blunt-featured face to one that was almost handsome. “You panicked because suddenly your fantasy kids are real, with real problems.”

Another deep breath, this one filling her lungs. “You’re right. That is why, isn’t it?” She gave a little laugh. “You aren’t a parent, either. How did you get so wise?”

“Guess I was born that way.” This grin was more mischievous. “So, when will you see them again?”

“Saturday. We’re going shopping. We’ll start with bedding and then look at paint, and I’m hoping to have time to hit a couple of thrift stores, too. They’ll both need dressers and desks.”

He nodded. “Let me know what I can do. Anything at all. Just ask.”

She gazed at him in amazement. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”

He smiled again, and crossed their strip of lawn, disappearing a moment later into his house.

Still not having moved, Suzanne stared after him. Now she felt teary because he’d been so understanding and so nice. She’d known him for over five years, and had never known a thing about him except that he was obsessively tidy.

But today, she’d learned all kinds of things. And one, she thought in astonishment, was the color of his eyes. They were gray, with tiny flecks of green.

She’d looked into his eyes, without even realizing she’d broken years of habit.

Was it possible they could actually become friends?

Suzanne shook her head again in bemusement. Who’d have thought?

CHAPTER FOUR

SUZANNE WAS AT WORK on Wednesday when Melissa Stuart called again.

“Suzanne,” she said without preamble, “I’m afraid we have a problem.”

The tone, a little cool, was one Suzanne hadn’t heard from her before. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, then gave an uncomfortable bump in her chest. “A problem?”

“I got to looking through your file and discovered that the background check was never completed. Unfortunately, when I ran one it turned up something you didn’t warn us about. There were apparently two domestic-disturbance calls made to your address during the time when you were listed as owner.”

Feeling a little sick, Suzanne turned her back on the one customer browsing the bins of yarn. “No charges were filed,” she said, hating the way her voice shook. “My ex-husband and I were on the verge of divorce.”

“Can I assume there was violence in your home?”

“No!” she protested. “No. Not the way you mean. We…” She took a breath. “He threw things. Once he punched a hole in the wall. His anger was one of the reasons for the divorce.”

“I did locate your ex-husband.” There was a momentary pause. “Josh Easton. He said, I quote, that maybe you both had a little trouble controlling your tempers.”

The air escaped her with a whoosh. “Josh said that? Did he know why you were asking?”

Another brief pause. “Yes, I did explain.”

Oh, God. This was her worst nightmare. “He was very controlling,” she tried to explain. “And angry when I asked him to leave. He’s trying to hurt me now by lying to you.”

“Suzanne, I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. You have really outstanding character references. But I can’t ignore this kind of red flag. I’m sure you understand.”

Her stomach actually hurt now. She hunched slightly, one hand splayed on it. Tears burned in her eyes. “So…that’s it? You won’t approve an adoption? What about Sophia and Jack?”

“Can you suggest any witnesses to these fights?”

Grasping at any hope, she asked, “Aren’t there police reports?”

“The reports are brief. Neither officer seemed able nor willing to assign blame. They apparently issued warnings and left.”

“You could talk to them…”

“One has long since left the department. The other officer has no recollection of that particular call.”

Suzanne squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t picture either face. Only the uniform, the flashing lights atop the squad cars that had recalled for her the night her parents had died, when police had brought word.

“The neighbors,” she said, in a voice just above a whisper. “You could interview them.”

Behind her, a voice said, “Excuse me. I wonder if you could help me decide whether a yarn this thick would work for my project.”

She swung around, covering the phone with her hand. Somewhere, she found a smile that she prayed didn’t look ghastly. “Can you give me just a minute?”

“Of course,” the woman said, and retreated.

Suzanne lifted the receiver again. “The neighbors on both sides were living there then. I always suspected one of them called the police.” Tom. In her heart, she’d known. It had to have been him at least once. Long after the police had left the first time, she’d heard the neighbors on the other side come home and seen their lights go on. “They may have heard enough to support me.”

The caseworker’s voice softened a little. “I’ll be glad to interview them, with your permission.”

“Please do. Please.” Despising the tremor in her voice that made her sound weak, Suzanne pushed on. “I’m the opposite of violent. I’ve always been humiliated by what happened. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“I understand. Thank you for your suggestions. I’ll be talking to you shortly.”

Despite the fact that she wanted to go hide in the back and cry, Suzanne made herself help the customer choose a yarn that was more suitable for the pattern she’d selected. After ringing up the purchase, she sat on the stool behind the register and prayed no one else would come in until she’d pulled herself together.

She’d never even thought of those awful scenes with Josh as something that might keep her from being able to adopt a child. Her humiliation at the knowledge that neighbors had heard and even called the police had strengthened her resolution to end her marriage. Private shame, she’d been able to bear, but not public. And now, to think that Josh could kill her dream this way….

As bewildered as she was angry, Suzanne was as bereft of understanding as she’d always been where he was concerned. Didn’t he remember the time when he loved her? Why was he still lashing out at her?

She stared at the phone and wished she could talk to someone. But who? Tom Stefanec? What would she say? Gee, I don’t know how much of my fights with my ex you heard, but I hope it was enough. He had said he thought she’d be a great mother, so maybe…

Panic and hope beat their wings in her chest, tangling and tearing. He probably hadn’t heard anything but raised voices and crashes. And however kind he’d been to her recently, she had a suspicion he was too honest to lie.

She could call a friend. But she’d never told any of them about the way Josh had sometimes talked to her, had made excuses when they’d commented about a put-down or his lack of interest in something that mattered to her. Even after she’d found the resolve to stand up for herself and tell him to leave, she had still never wanted to admit how badly she’d let herself be treated.

Carrie? But all Carrie knew was that her sister’s marriage hadn’t been good. To this day, Suzanne had managed to evade any conversation about what had really gone wrong. She didn’t think she could bring herself to tell the whole bitter history, not right now.

Despair washing over her, Suzanne pictured Jack and Sophia on Sunday, imagining having their own bedrooms. How would they handle being told, Gosh, sorry, forget those bedrooms you were dreaming about, we’ll have to try to find you another adoptive family?

Right that minute, Suzanne felt cruel at having given them hope, and worthless. Exactly, she realized, what Josh wanted her to feel.

TOM WAS SURPRISED TO GET a call that evening from a woman who introduced herself as an adoption counselor at the agency where Suzanne had been approved.

“We’re following up on some information we recently received,” she said, “and I’m wondering if you’d be willing to meet with me.”

Keeping an eye on the steak he’d just put on the broiler, Tom shrugged, then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Sure. Anything I can do to help.”

They established that he wasn’t available during the day. He told her he could be home by five, and she said, “Tomorrow? I hate to hold up her application any longer….”

He didn’t like the way the sentence trailed off. Hadn’t Suzanne told him her application already was approved? What was the deal?

“Tomorrow’s good,” he said into the silence.

He’d heard Suzanne coming home a while back, so he knew she was there. He was tempted to go over and ask why all of a sudden this social worker wanted to talk to him, but what if she didn’t know? He didn’t want to alarm her. Anyway, he’d never actually knocked on her door before, and after the way he’d kept popping up over the weekend, he didn’t want to seem too pushy.

No, wait and hear what this is about, he counseled himself. It was probably just a formality, them finding out what the neighbors thought of her and the plan to add a couple of kids to her household.

But the next evening, he realized within minutes of the social worker’s arrival that the visit was no formality. A middle-aged woman with short, graying hair, this Ms. Stuart sat on one end of his sofa and opened her notebook with the brisk panache of a detective ready to interview a suspect.

“Mr. Stefanec, I’m not sure if you’re aware that the police were called to Ms. Chauvin’s home twice several years back.”

Three and a half years back. He didn’t correct her. “I called them,” he said.

Her back straightened. “Ah. Well. Ms. Chauvin gave me permission to talk to her near neighbors. I’m sure you can understand our concern about placing children in her home given a possible history of domestic violence.”

“Her husband was a son of a bitch. Pardon me for my bluntness. I called 911 when I heard him make threats. I was afraid for Suzanne’s safety.”

She scrutinized him. “Are you friends with Ms. Chauvin?”

He shook his head. “We’re neighborly. I don’t know her well. I’ve never been in her home.”

“Her ex-husband insinuated that she, too, had trouble controlling her temper.”

Tom made a sound of disgust. “Yeah, that sounds like him. You’ve got to understand. I don’t know if he ever hit her, but he belittled her constantly. I heard him yelling if she had friends over, if she wasn’t home when he thought she should be, if she smiled at another man. He fought like hell to keep her under his thumb. When she stood up for herself, he lost it. I called the cops to make sure she didn’t get hurt.”

“And in what way did she ‘stand up for herself’?”

“Not by violence. She refused to give up some friends he didn’t like. He called them names.”

“You heard that much?”

“It was summer. I was out back on my deck, their windows were open.” He was losing patience. “Ms. Stuart, I feel like I’m violating Suzanne’s privacy. She’s a nice lady. In the case of her husband, she was too nice. She’ll be a great mother.”

Without having written a word in her notebook, his visitor closed it. “That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear, Mr. Stefanec. I’m required always to err on the side of protecting the children, but in this case I had difficulty imagining Ms. Chauvin even raising her voice.”

“When she did, she sounded scared,” he told her. “My impression is, she’s a gentle woman who was trying real hard to hold her marriage together.”

The caseworker smiled and rose to her feet. “Thank you very much for your time. You’ve been a big help.”

He stood, too. “You’re welcome. I happened to be out in the yard and met Jack and Sophia the other day. They seemed like great kids.”

“Yes, they are.” She buttoned her coat and slipped on gloves, then after a few more words of thanks departed.

Going to the living-room window, he pulled aside the drapes and watched her walk down the driveway, hesitate at her car, then continue the few steps on the sidewalk to Suzanne’s driveway and up it. He hoped like hell that meant he’d tipped the balance. He didn’t like thinking how devastated Suzanne would be if she wasn’t allowed to adopt.

Letting the drapes fall, he went to the kitchen to figure out something for dinner. At least a couple of nights a week, he made himself cook. Living alone shouldn’t mean existing entirely on prefab meals that could be nuked in the microwave. Tonight, though, he chose a frozen chicken pot pie.

He’d just finished eating it and throwing away the container when his doorbell rang. He wasn’t altogether surprised. Without realizing it, he’d been listening for footsteps on the porch.

Earlier, he’d left the porch light on, and now he opened the front door to find Suzanne shivering in jeans and shirtsleeves on his doorstep.

“You don’t have a coat on.” He stood back. “Come on in before you freeze.”

“I didn’t expect to get cold going twenty feet.” She scooted past him and hugged herself while he shut the door.

“Cup of coffee?” As pinched as her face was, he was getting a bad feeling he should put a dash of whiskey in it. Maybe he hadn’t tipped the balance.

“Oh, I shouldn’t stay.” She was back to avoiding his gaze. “I just came over to thank you.”

His worry subsided. “Nothing to thank me for.”

“Yes, there is. Whatever you told the caseworker was enough to change her mind. I think—” her teeth worried her lower lip “—she wasn’t going to let me have Jack and Sophia.”

“You’re still shivering. Sit,” he ordered. “Some coffee will warm you up. I have it ready.”

“I don’t want to be a bother….”

“You’re not.” He went to the kitchen, leaving her standing in the middle of his living room.

When he returned a minute later with the two mugs, a sugar bowl and a carton of creamer balanced on a large platter serving as makeshift tray, Suzanne was sitting on his couch, just about exactly where she had the last time she’d been here, and just as uneasily.

In fact, she shot up at the sight of him. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted a cup myself.”

“Oh.” She sat back down, barely perched on the edge. “Well, thank you.”

Damn, she was beautiful. She had the kind of face that would still be beautiful when she was eighty, so perfectly were her bones sculpted. With her smooth dark hair, big brown eyes and slim, delicate body, she could have been on the big screen. Instead, she lived next door to him, fueling a few idiotic fantasies.

He added a dash of cream to his own cup and stirred. “I thought you said you’d already been approved.”

“I was. But then Melissa noticed no background check had been run for some reason. So she went ahead, and the two domestic-disturbance calls popped up.”

“I take it she called your ex.”

Stirring her own coffee, she kept her head bent, hair screening her face. “Yes. He could have defused the whole thing and didn’t. We…we had problems, but I thought—”

Tom raised his brows. “That he’d remember you with enough fondness to help you out?”

She lifted her head to expose a twisted smile. “Something like that.”

“I heard his language when he came home and found his stuff in the driveway. Didn’t he break your front window with a rock?”

She ducked her head again. “The thing is, we met in the sixth grade. We were high-school sweethearts. You saw the bitter end, but there were good times.”

He wondered. Had there been good times only because she’d been compliant?

“Some men don’t take rejection well.”

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