For a long time Rose had believed she hated this place.

Now…maybe not. The memories had faded, even the worst of them. At least to a livable degree.

She’d learned not to expect more than adequacy from her life.

Rose straightened, folding the edge of her sweater over and holding the awkward bundle of tomatoes to her abdomen. She walked to the back door, feeling nearly as unwieldy as a pregnant lady.

Unexpectedly, the comparison made her smile. She’d pushed the pregnancy to the back of her mind for many years, but returning to her hometown had brought it all up again. There were times she had to consciously work to keep her feelings to herself. Aside from a small circle of people—her nonsupportive family, the despicable Lindstroms, Pastor Mike—it was still a secret to Alouette that she’d once been pregnant.

She didn’t suppose that the townspeople would be too surprised to learn the truth. They’d always believed the worst of Wild Rose.

Dear Reader,

The residents of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula—Yoopers—pride themselves on being hardy, independent people. (Ya, you betcha! Surviving five months of winter takes fortitude.) After her thorny appearances in the previous NORTH COUNTRY STORIES, Wild Rose Robbin was an interesting character to embrace. Evan Grant—who is caring, patient and very normal—turned out to be the perfect hero to tame this wild woman. But it’s his shy daughter, Lucy, who needs Rose the most and teaches her how to open her heart.

This time around, I had fun writing about a few of the Yoopers’ favorite winter pastimes—high school basketball, Christmas shopping, sledding and…snow shoveling. Although winter passes much too quickly in this book, Wild Rose does get to fulfill her dream of having A Family Christmas.

Happy holidays!

Carrie

P.S. To learn more about the NORTH COUNTRY STORIES miniseries, visit my Web site at www.carriealexander.com and sign up for the Get Carried Away e-newsletter.

A Family Christmas
Carrie Alexander

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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 SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE WOMAN WAS THERE AGAIN, sitting cross-legged in the grass at the edge of the high-school sports field. At a distance, so that she might have been passed off as a loiterer, not an observer. But Evan Grant had been keeping his eye on her for many months—ever since the previous basketball season.

She was called Wild Rose.

And she was watching. Always watching.

Evan ambled past the long-jump pit. Two boys were stalling nearby, tightening the laces on their running shoes. He stopped to get them up and running. With loud groans, they joined the team members who were already jogging around the track that circled the field.

Evan was in sweatpants and sneakers himself, so he followed the group for half a lap, hectoring them like a drill sergeant until they were moving at a faster clip. The boys showered him with a chorus of complaints. They’d rather be in the gym, shooting baskets.

Calling encouragement to the stragglers, Evan peeled off at a jog and gradually slowed to a stop. He was now near the watcher, within speaking distance.

He didn’t look directly at her. He surveyed the field. It was early September, the weather was warm and the new school year had just begun, but already some of the trees showed tinges of rusty color. His basketball team was not in top shape after a lazy summer. But this was only their first practice and before fall had really arrived he’d have built up their endurance.

In Evan’s peripheral vision, the woman called Wild Rose hunched over a sketch pad. Disheveled hair as black as a crow’s wing blew across her face. Her hands made quick, furtive movements. Slashes of the pencil, a scrub with the eraser, nervous fingers brushing aside crumbs that reminded him of the strawberry-flecked crusts his pouting daughter had crushed into her eggs that morning.

He drew closer. “You’re Rose Robbin.”

The name was odd. It brought to mind storybook illustrations—a mother robin in a kerchief, plump with feathers, brooding over a nest—accompanied by bouncy lyrics about bob-bob-bobbin’ in the springtime.

At his voice, Rose bolted like a thoroughbred at the starting gate, but she didn’t go far. Guilt was stamped across her face.

The guilt was what bothered Evan.

He was responsible for these kids. While he couldn’t imagine the woman approaching any of them, she did have a certain reputation, so the question remained.

What interest did she have here?

He might have asked that outright, except there was a hint of vulnerability in her expression that made him want to treat her gently.

Rose flung back her head. Storm-cloud-blue eyes glared beneath the swoop of dark hair she impatiently pushed aside. “Yeah, I’m Rose Robbin. So what?”

Evan squinted. Being of fair mind, he’d tried to overlook what townspeople said about her. But there was no denying she was one of the hardscrabble Robbin family—supposed tough nuts and bad characters, all of them. She could handle herself. Perhaps he’d imagined the vulnerability out of a penchant for helping others—wounded females especially.

“You’re interested in athletics?” he said.

Her mouth pulled into a sour pucker. “Not much.”

“Oh. I’ve been counting you as one of our biggest fans.”

She shook her head. “Don’t think so.”

“You went to all the home games last year.”

After a hesitation, she shrugged. “Not much else to do in Alouette, is there?”

Evan scratched behind his ear. He’d been living in the small northern town on the shore of Lake Superior for nearly three years and had never been bothered by the remote location and lack of city-style amenities. The unspoiled countryside offered a wealth of activity—hunting, fishing, biking, hiking, skiing, swimming. “I seem to think of plenty to do.”

“Bravo for you.”

The stonewalling didn’t exasperate Evan. Even though Rose must be in her early thirties, she wasn’t so different from a sulky adolescent who had to show how little she cared before she could allow herself to soften. In his years as a teacher and coach, he’d had plenty of practice at probing beneath the veneer of stubborn independence. With teenagers, the trick was not to come on too strong—at first.

But this was an adult woman and he only needed answers, not involvement.

He cleared his throat. “Then it’s coincidence that you’re here at our first team practice of the season?”

Rose held the sketchbook to her chest beneath crossed arms. “Yeah,” she snapped, still belligerent even though her quick indrawn breath told him there was more to her being there.

Not what he wanted to discover.

“It’s a free country,” she added.

He held up his palms. “Sure.”

She glowered.

“You’re an artist?”

Her arms tightened on the sketchpad. “No.”

He said nothing, but raised an eyebrow. That usually worked.

She tossed her hair again. “I’m a clerk at the Buck Stop, as if you didn’t know.” Alouette was small—most faces were familiar, even if there’d been no formal introduction.

“Of course.” The Buck Stop was a run-down convenience store a couple miles outside of town. Evan had stopped there now and then for gas, but it wasn’t a particularly welcoming place. Not unlike Rose. “That wouldn’t stop you from being an artist.”

She gave a grudging hitch of one shoulder. “I draw a little.”

“Can I see?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” He wondered what she drew. Figures, perhaps. She might be using his team as unknowing models. That was all right, he supposed. If potentially creepy.

“My drawings are none of your business.”

“As long as you don’t bother my team.”

Her eyes darkened. Color stained her cheeks. “Are you accusing me?”

“No. Warning you, maybe.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“I realize that. I didn’t mean to insinuate—” He made a conciliatory gesture, stepping toward her.

She backed away one step. “Yes, you did mean to insinuate.”

Caught. He moved forward again. “Maybe so. But I’m sorry if that seemed insulting—”

“It was.” Another step back.

If his arms had been around her, they’d have been dancing.

He tried again. “Look, all I wanted was to be sure that your interest in my team wasn’t—uhh—”

Her eyes shot sparks. “Wasn’t what?”

“Improper.”

She snorted. “Obviously you have no idea who I am. Do I look like a proper lady?” She glanced down to indicate her flannel shirt, bleached, frayed jeans and chunky sandals with worn-down soles.

Her toenails weren’t painted. But they were clean. Small enough to appear delicate. Almost…provocative.

What she was, Evan thought as he quickly returned his gaze to her hard face, was a curious character. He knew very little about her, but she appeared to be a solitary soul who existed on the fringes of Alouette society. If she had friends—or boyfriends—it wasn’t in public. In private might be another matter. Some men smirked at the mention of her name. Evan wouldn’t normally jump to conclusions based on town gossip, but with her surly, unapproachable personality she gave no other evidence to go on.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Her chin lifted. “Uh-huh. Well, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve never spoken to any of your players unless they’ve come into the Buck Stop to try and cadge a beer.” Her gaze darted over the ragged clutch of boys jogging around the track. “I couldn’t care less about them.”

“Then why are you here?” And why did she come to every basketball game and sit at the top of the bleachers, tucked into a little knot with her arms hugging her knees and her eyes fixed on the court, rarely speaking to the other fans, never letting out a cheer that he’d noticed?

“No reason,” she said.

“Fine.”

“Then stay off my back.” She frowned. “And I’ll…” The edge in her voice softened as she moved farther away. “I’ll cause no trouble.”

He was within his rights to tell her to stay off school property altogether, but he didn’t think that was necessary. It wouldn’t surprise him if she ran off like a wild creature of the woods and never came around again.

What did surprise him was that he cared. Just a bit.

Good reason to back off. He didn’t need complications in his life just now. Already to his credit was one mistaken marriage that had lasted only because he’d hung on until he was exhausted, various friends and students whose problems had become his own, and especially his own troubled daughter who needed more than he had to give.

Enough, already.

Wild Rose Robbin was one paradox that he would leave on her own without trying to solve. She could, after all, take care of herself. Right?

“You’re welcome to attend any of our games,” he said as she strode away.

She flipped a hand in token acknowledgment, but didn’t bother to reply. Or say goodbye.

Evan returned his attention to the straggling runners. The woman had no social graces, but for once that wasn’t his problem.

AFTER THE HUMILIATING INCIDENT with the coach, Rose had every intention of staying away. She couldn’t blame the guy for calling her on the frequent appearances. Had to look weird, her hanging around basketball practice like a groupie.

She tried to stop. Her life became work, eat, work, sleep. Mornings were spent on paperwork and upkeep at the rental cabins her mother owned—Maxine’s Cottages, thirty bucks per night—afternoons and evenings at the Buck Stop. When Rose couldn’t bear to wash another sheet or sell another pack of cigarettes, she escaped to the woods with her sketchbook and watercolors for a few stolen hours.

The days continued warm, clear and bright—Indian summer. Rose knew she should be enjoying every drop of sunshine before the long winter came. Too often autumn rains shortened the season.

She managed to keep away for a week. After all, for most of the summer she’d had only glimpses of Danny—at the car wash, biking along Vine Street, hanging with his friends at the Berry Dairy ice-cream stand. She told herself that she should be able to wait another month for the basketball season to begin, when she could watch him to her heart’s content. No one but the coach would notice her at the games.

Except Danny’s adoptive parents—who had far more reason than the coach to be suspicious of her motives.

The thought of them asking her to keep away from their son sent a shiver through Rose. She had made no demands. No self-serving explanations, or attempts to meet Danny. No contact at all, even when they’d reluctantly approached her. She only wanted to see him from a distance now and then and know that he was happy.

Rose despised the skulking, but she was used to it. She’d been raised to skulk. Her father, Black Jack Robbin, had been a dominant personality with a loud voice and a mean streak. Her two rowdy older brothers and shrill, fractious mother had taken the household noise level even higher, making Rose the silent, forgotten one of the family. Until she’d grown up, fallen in love and all the troubles had begun….

Escape, Rose thought as she worked her way through the trees that ringed the school field. She’d done it once before. But in the end it hadn’t worked. She’d never stopped remembering. And now she was back home, freed of her father but just as stuck with her mother. The one light in her life was being able to see Danny—

“What are you doing?” said a small voice.

Rose let go of the branch she’d been bending out of the way so she could scan the track. It snapped back, into her face, swatting her in the eye.

“Ouch.” She pressed the heel of her palm against her stinging eyeball.

The small blond child who’d startled Rose came closer to stare up at her. “Say zipperzap.”

“What?”

The girl smiled slightly. “Saying ‘zipperzap’ makes it stop hurting.”

Oh, I want to stop hurting. Tears were leaking down her cheek. She rubbed at her eye.

“I say it all the time,” the girl encouraged.

“Does it work?”

Her face puckered doubtfully.

Rose blurted, “Zipperzap.”

“Better?”

“Yeah.” She blinked the tears away. “It worked.”

“Princess Ella Umbrella Pumpkinella Fantabuzella says zipperzap to make her wishes come true.”

Rose didn’t get children. “Uh. Sure.”

The girl came closer, stepping off the mown field into the underbrush. “It’s a very good story. You should read it.”

“Maybe I will.”

“The liberry has all the Princess Ella books.” The girl stared. “You go to the liberry?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I saw you there. But I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.” The girl came closer, though she stayed on the other side of the sapling that had struck Rose. She was thin and pale and seemed very delicate, almost weightless. An unzipped pink windbreaker flapped on her small body and her pants had cartoon characters on them. She wore frilled anklets under her pink jelly sandals. Clean, tidy and quiet. Not much like the boisterous kids who came tearing into the Buck Stop, the only type of youngsters Rose usually encountered. Families didn’t stay at Maxine’s Cottages.

“My name is Rose.”

The girl’s eyes were blue marbles. “Lucy,” she said in a whisper.

“Hi, Lucy. Nice to meet you. But you’d better go back where you came from now.”

“My dad said I could play in the woods if I wanted.”

“Then I’ll go.” Rose looked through the screen of yellowing poplar leaves as runners approached. The boys of the basketball team wouldn’t be running outdoors much longer. Soon all their time would be spent in the gym, where watching Danny was impossible for her.

Rose faded back. “Is your father nearby?” she asked Lucy.

Lucy nodded and pointed toward the open field. “Coach Grant.”

Of course. Rose remembered that she’d seen him with a little girl. She just hadn’t paid a lot of attention to faces or names, tending to be occupied with her own concerns whenever he was around.

Rose winced to herself. Lucy would tell Evan about her encounter with the woman in the woods. Asking the girl not to say anything would make the situation even worse.

She had come here with a cover story—the usual, sketching in the outdoors, which wasn’t even a lie. But it was best to leave immediately, even if she hadn’t managed to get a long look at Danny. She could wait. Good training for the years ahead, when she’d be plunged back into the void of no contact at all.

Sneakered feet pounded the track. Rose drew deeper into the woods. Above the heavy breathing of the laboring runners, she heard Evan Grant’s voice, urging them to keep up the pace. He was a good coach, even-tempered, disciplined, encouraging, yet still intense enough to rally the team at game time.

“Where’s your mom?” Rose asked Lucy after the runners had gone by. She couldn’t remember there being a Mrs. Grant at the games. A proper citizen recognized every face in small-town Alouette, but Rose kept to herself.

And skulked.

Lucy had caught at her bottom lip with a row of small white baby teeth. One gap. Her narrow shoulders sloped. “My mom’s in heaven.”

Rose gulped. “Sorry.”

Lucy’s shiny lip pooched out a little. “She’s there for a very long time. Daddy says she won’t ever come back.”

There was a pause between them, awkward on Rose’s side.

“No, she won’t.” Rose had no talent for talking to children. She hoped it was okay to tell the girl the truth. “My dad is in heaven, too.” Most folks would say Black Jack had gone straight to hell, but even Rose knew that Lucy didn’t need to hear that particular truth.

“Then he could be an angel, like my mom.”

Rose smiled at the thought of Black Jack in flowing white robes. She’d never seen him wear anything but worn work clothes topped by a smelly fishing vest and hat. Soap couldn’t touch his grime. A halo was out of the question.

Lucy had followed Rose deeper into the trees. She pointed. “What’s that?”

“My sketchbook.”

“I have one, too. But it’s in my backpack. I left it in the car. My baby-sitter is getting a root canal. That’s an operation on a tooth.”

“Oh.”

Lucy’s head tilted. “Do you draw nice pictures?”

“I guess so.”

The girl exhaled expectantly, looking at Rose with her shining eyes.

Rose knelt near a fallen log so old it had gone all soft and mossy. She put her sketchbook on it and opened to the first page. “Would you like to see?”

“Yes, please.” Lucy came close, standing beside Rose as she flipped through the pages. The book contained ink drawings, pencil sketches and small watercolors of outdoor scenes. She’d made a number of detailed studies of leaves, flowers, birds, clouds. Amateur stuff.

No princesses or flying dragons to delight a child. Rose’s dreams were as mundane as her reality, but she’d captured on paper the only beauty she knew. The only goodness that was everlasting.

“Pretty,” Lucy said, stopping Rose at a watercolor of the climbing rose vines that blanketed one side of her little stone house. “I like pink flowers.”

“They’re roses.” The painting did have a fairy-tale quality, she realized. Misleading as that was.

“Like your name.”

“Yes. Wild roses.” They clung to the stones, somehow surviving the harsh winters to return each spring. She’d painted the cottage scene just last week, knowing the roses wouldn’t last much longer. On impulse, she tore the page from the book. “Would you like to have it?”

Lucy made a small sound of pleasure. “Thank you very much.”

“Put it in your pocket so you don’t lose it.” Rose helped Lucy slide the small watercolor into the kangaroo pocket of her windbreaker, thinking too late about her father’s reaction. Well, he’d have to live with it. She’d done nothing wrong.

“I wish I could draw like you,” Lucy said.

“Keep practicing.” That sounded about right, like something a wise adult would say to a child. “And try this—” Rose pulled a pen out of her pocket and flipped the sketchbook to a clean page. “I always work from nature.” She plucked a leaf from a maple sapling and laid it on the paper, then gave Lucy the pen. “Trace the leaf.”

Lucy dropped to her knees in the mulch. Leaning over the book with a look of utter concentration, she carefully drew around the leaf. “Is that right?”

“That’s a tracing. But now your fingers know what to do and you can draw the leaf on your own.” Rose tapped an empty space on the page. “Go ahead and try it.”

Lucy put the pen nib to the paper, squinting hard at the leaf.

“Uh-uh. Not that way.” Rose covered the leaf and the tracing with one hand. “Draw it from the picture of a leaf in your head. Your fingers will know how.”

Lucy was doubtful. With her small face all scrunched up, she drew a fair approximation of the leaf. She studied the lopsided sketch. “It’s not as good as the other one.”

“It’s better. Draw another, only faster. Don’t try to be perfect. Make your pen race. Let it go all squiggly if you want.”

Lucy smiled and drew a second leaf, glancing at Rose for approval.

“Make more of them,” she said. “One on top of the other. Faster. Faster.”

Lucy laughed as she drew, her ink line becoming loose and free. The first careful leaf became a scribbled pile.

“There, you see?” Rose showed the girl the real leaf again, green mottled with a soft rusty red. “You’ve made your own kind of leaf. But you should color your drawing in. And, see, if you study the pattern of the veins—”

A man’s voice interrupted them. “Luce, where are you?”

Lucy’s head came up. “That’s my dad.”

“Lucy?” With a crackle of branches, Evan Grant pushed through the underbrush. “I heard you laughing—” He saw Rose and stopped. “You.”

She met his eyes. “Me.”

A stiff nod. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

Evan said, “Time to go, Lucy,” in a calm voice, but he stared at Rose, his expression severe.

A blush stained her cheeks. She was furious that he’d made her feel guilty. In spite of her reputation, she was not a criminal.

Lucy went to her father, head down as she tugged at the zipper of her jacket. He put his hand on her shoulder and asked softly, “Why did you run off, Luce?”

“You said I could play in the woods.”

Evan’s gaze returned to Rose. “Yes, I did.” He shrugged. “I didn’t expect her to do it, though.”

Rose realized that he wasn’t accusing her. He was merely…surprised. Surprised at Lucy, for some reason. That put her off-kilter.

“I was drawing leafs, Daddy,” Lucy said. “Rose showed me how!”

“That was kind of her. Did you say thank you?”

Lucy’s solemn little face transformed into sweetness and light when she smiled. “Thank you.”

Rose’s voice came out so rough-hewn it might have been hacked with an ax. “Err…welcome.” She stood, hurriedly tucking the sketchbook under her arm. An explanation poured out of her, despite the raw throat. “I was walking in the woods. Lucy came across me. It wasn’t— I didn’t intend—” She gritted her teeth. Damn. Always on the defensive.

Evan shook his head, telling her he didn’t want a justification. “Lucy, do you want to go on over to the car now? I’ll follow you in just a sec.”

“All right.” The girl threw Rose another shy smile and turned away, her pale hair lifting off her neck as she reached the field and started to run.

Rose stretched her neck to see past the branches. Practice was over; the boys had departed. She tucked in her bottom lip and swallowed.

“Thank you,” Evan said.

Rose blinked. “What for?”

“You made Lucy laugh. She doesn’t do that a lot.”

Rose didn’t reply. She wasn’t accustomed to handling sincerity and appreciation.

Evan spoke haltingly. “Her mother died. Less than two years ago. She’s been very quiet and shy since. Easily frightened.” He looked down, crossed his arms over his chest, kicked up leaves with the toe of one running shoe. “I try to encourage her. But she always wants to stay near me. I didn’t think she’d actually go into the woods. She says the creaking of the trees scares her. You know, as if they’re alive.”

He looked up to the forest canopy. The sun had lowered in the sky. What remained of the filtered, dusky light dappled his face and inside Rose there was a stirring…an attraction. So unfamiliar it startled her.

Logically, she could see that Evan Grant was a handsome man. He had short brown hair that matched his eyes, and an open, friendly, intelligent face. Very clean-cut and vigorous, with his workout clothes and healthy air.

On the surface, he wasn’t the type to look twice at a woman with Rose’s reputation, but she knew that what men said in public and did in private were often very different things. Sixteen years ago, no one had believed that Rick Lindstrom, star athlete and the most popular boy of the senior class, could possibly be interested in awkward, unsophisticated Wild Rose Robbin.

She pushed the thoughts away. Flying under the radar was the only way to survive.

“Well, you know…” She coughed. “The trees are alive.”

Evan laughed, carving grooves into his cheeks. “Please don’t tell Lucy that. I had to cut a branch off the oak beside our house. It was scratching her window-pane.”

“She has imagination.”

“Too much, I think.”

“Uh.” Rose was feeling all choppy again. “Nice kid, anyway. I guess.”

Evan glanced over his shoulder. “I should leave.”

Rose couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to get on her about spying on the practice.

“I promised Lucy we’d go to the diner to pick up some takeout and have our dinner at the picnic tables by the harbor. Maybe you want to come with us?”

Rose had been ready to take off. Instead she froze. The man had to be kidding. Or he was a kindly soul throwing her a pity invitation. She got them occasionally, from the motherly owner of Bay House B and B, or Pastor Mike’s do-gooding wife. Rose almost always said no.

“No,” she croaked, not looking at Evan. “No, thanks. I have work soon. Night shift at the Buck Stop.”

“But don’t you have to eat before you go on?”

“I get something at the store.”

“Shrink-wrapped burritos. Twinkies. That stuff doesn’t make a good dinner.” He smiled at himself. “Listen to me. Lecturing you like you’re my daughter. Who is sure to insist on deep-fried, unidentifiable chicken bits and Mountain Dew.”

Rose was too unnerved to play along. “Do I look like a health nut?”

He was too nice a guy to take the opportunity to check out her boobs in a tank top that had shrunk in the dryer. His gaze stayed on her face, but that was bad enough. She had to meet his eyes. And he had warm, charismatic eyes—not confrontational. Not judgmental.

Which was confusing to Rose. She had little experience in being affable. Her fringe role in the community was established. Nothing much was expected from her, and she liked it that way. If feelings of desolation began creeping in, she always had Roxy Whitaker, who could be called a friend in a casual way. They’d gone berry-picking just a month ago.

“Next time,” Evan said with a shrug. He turned to go.

Rose exhaled. “Yeah.”

Tickled with shivers, she untied the hooded jacket from around her waist and pulled it on. There wouldn’t be a next time if she could help it.

CHAPTER TWO

“DADDY? DADDY…”

Lucy’s high-pitched voice woke Evan from a light doze. He reacted before his brain was at full speed, lurching up from the easy chair and stumbling over the ottoman that had skidded out from beneath his feet. The yammer and glitz of a familiar late-night talk show filled the room. Around midnight, then.

Evan shook his bleary head, coming awake enough to stop and listen, hoping that Lucy would settle on her own. As much as he wanted to reassure his daughter’s every fear, the clinginess and anxieties hadn’t abated as he’d been told they would. Her mother, Krissa, had been gone for a year and a half. More. Nineteen months. Roughly a third of Lucy’s life.

Nineteen months and the worry that his fumbling efforts were hurting Lucy more than helping her still sat in Evan’s gut like a leaden weight. With a tired exhale, he found the remote control and Sports Illustrated he’d dropped when he stood, then clicked off the TV.

Lucy’s call escalated to a panicky howl. “Dad-deee!”

Evan’s foot crunched down on a bag of pretzels as he hurried from the living room. But he didn’t stop. “Coming, Lucy.”

Her bedroom door was directly across from his in the modest single-story house. Butterfly night-lights were plugged into outlets in the hall and in Lucy’s room. They’d helped some, but she continued to wake during the night, frightened of dreams, of shadows, of trees, of thunderstorms, of being alone.

Lucy was a small, huddled shape in the bed. Tears glistened in her eyes. Although Evan’s heart went out to her, he kept his tone matter-of-fact. “What’s up, honey? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“There’s a m-m-monster in the corner.”

And in the closet. Under the bed. At the window.

“You know monsters aren’t real. Why didn’t you turn on your lamp to see?”

Lucy drew in a shuddery breath. “I was too scared to move. The monster would eat me.”

“Go ahead and do it now.” According to the book he’d found in the library, Comforting the Timid Child, he should try to get Lucy to take her own proactive steps to combat the fears.

Reassured by his presence, she pushed aside her covers and leaned over to reach the bedside lamp. He’d bought her a new one recently, easy to turn on by a switch in the base.

Click. Light flooded the room.

“See there?” Evan said. “It’s just a lump on the chair from the extra blanket and your jacket. Hey, little girl! Weren’t you supposed to hang that up?” Lucy was usually orderly. Too much so, he thought. He’d like to see her noisy and laughing, barreling around the house, even breaking things.

But that was how he’d grown up, with three brothers and parents who only threw up their hands in cheerful surrender as they rounded up their sons like bumptious sheep. Raising a little girl like Lucy was a different matter. There were times he felt that he’d never get it right.

“I’ll do it just this once,” he said heartily, taking the jacket to her closet. Lucy watched with big eyes, probably thinking a witch would jump out when he opened the door.

As Evan put the jacket onto a hanger, he felt something in the pocket. He pulled out a piece of stiff paper. “What’s this?”

Lucy held out her hands, suddenly smiling and happy. “My picture!”

He glanced at the small painting, finding it innocuous enough. Yet it had made Lucy forget her fears, at least for the moment.

“Rose gave it to me. She painted it.”

“Ah.” Evan approached the bed, studying the picture more closely in the lamplight. He’d have expected Rose’s artwork to be bold and graphic. This was soft, romantic. She’d painted a stone house, covered with climbing vines and pink flowers, surrounded by trees.

Lucy took the painting. “It’s a fairy-tale house.”

“Did Rose tell you that?”

“I just knowed.”

Evan sat on the bed beside Lucy, putting an arm around her. “And does a princess live there?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. Tell me a story about her, Daddy.”

He could have handled swashbuckling pirates or even a talking skunk that wore a beret, but princesses and other girly things? He didn’t have that much imagination.

“You tell me,” he urged. “What’s the princess’s name?”

After some thought, Lucy said, “Princess Kristina,” and Evan’s heart gave a thump. The choice, so close to her mother’s name, had to hold significance, even if it was only a subconscious wish.

Lucy went on, unperturbed. “A wicked fairy godmother put a spell on her.”

“What kind of spell?”

“Princess Kristina has to live in the enchanted forest forever. Or a big ogre will chop her head off.”

“Ouch.”

“He’s twenty-ten feet tall. He’s green all over and he has stinky breath.” Lucy giggled. “Like me when I kiss you good morning.”

“Pee-ew! That’s bad.”

“Really bad.”

“Is the princess scared of the ogre?” Lucy’s favorite movie was Shrek, so the story might go the other way.

“Oh, yeah. Really scared. ’Cause he’s gonna chop her head off, ’member?”

“Right. But maybe the ogre is a nice guy inside.”

“No, Dad. He’s mean. Very, very, very mean.” Lucy made a growling noise. “He scares the princess so much she has to stay in her house all the time. She never gets to go home to see the king and queen.”

“They must miss her a lot.”

Lucy nodded over the painting.

Evan decided it was time to quit. The story wasn’t heading in a direction conducive to sleep. “There has to be a way to break the spell. Do you think that maybe a prince will come to defeat the ogre?” No, better to encourage her by having the princess rescue herself. “Or maybe the princess will find a way to become the ogre’s friend. But for now, the princess is safe inside her house.” He took the picture and propped it up on Lucy’s table lamp. “You can tell me more of the story tomorrow night, Luce. I want you to get some sleep.”

She breathed a quiet sigh. “Okay.”

“Slide down.”

She burrowed deeper under the covers and he gave her a snuggle before rising from the bed. He checked the curtains—they had to overlap so no monsters could peek in—and went around to peck Lucy’s forehead before shutting off the lamp.

Her voice stopped him at the door. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I like Rose. She can draw real good and—and—”

Evan waited. Lucy’s fingers clutched the edge of the blanket. Her pale hair lay across the pillow, as fine as any princess’s. His heart swelled, and he vowed once again to protect her from as many ogres as he could.

“Rose isn’t afraid of the woods,” she said.

“No, she certainly isn’t.” He thought of Wild Rose Robbin, lurking in the forest shadows. An ogre or a princess? Time to find out for sure, with his daughter’s interest so captured.

“We were going to color in the leafs…” Lucy’s voice was fading.

“Shh, now.” Evan left the door halfway open. “Sweet dreams.”

ROSE CLOSED the Buck Stop at midnight, exiting through the back door where she’d left her bike against the tar-paper wall. Although she used her mother’s car during the winter and bad weather, the bike was her favorite transportation. The autumn months were particularly precious for her, with the crisp air and falling leaves and the need to hold on to each day for as long as possible. She was old enough to regret how often she’d wished her life away. Particularly a certain nine-month span of time…

In retrospect, it was hurtful to remember how slowly she’d believed the days of her pregnancy had passed, and how fiercely she’d longed for it to be over and done with so she could escape her pain. She’d had no clue.

But she’d been barely seventeen. So confused, and raw with the horror of what had happened to her. She hadn’t known how her perceptions would be altered by the baby boy she was sure she didn’t want.

Rose wheeled the bike past the rutted gravel of the convenience store parking lot, onto the paved road. There wasn’t much traffic at this time of night. She had a headlamp and reflector patches, so she was safe to ride on the road, even in the dark. In fact, she preferred it. She was never as free as when she coasted along in the darkness with no eyes upon her except the glowing circles belonging to the porcupines and raccoons staring at her from the trees. She could breathe. She could fly. The couple of miles to town sped by.

Usually she tried to keep her mind blank during her bike rides. On this night, she found herself thinking about Evan and Lucy Grant. She knew very little about him—them. What she’d learned now that she was paying attention had only roused her curiosity further, but she couldn’t see herself asking around to learn more. That would be obvious and embarrassing.

Her older brothers, Jake and Gary, had laughed and teased mercilessly when they found out she had a crush on Rick Lindstrom of the hotsy-totsy Bay Road Lindstroms. Later, in private, when she’d been spotted in Rick’s convertible and the gossips were slurring her name, sure that Rick was only interested in one thing, Jake had warned her away. He’d said that Rick was playing her.

She hadn’t listened. And look where that had gotten her—alone and brokenhearted.

Evan Grant would be another mistake. He wasn’t as far out of her league, but he was an upstanding citizen, in a position of influence, expected to hold to high moral standards. Regardless of the pity invite, he must have some idea of her reputation. Even if he was willing to buck expectations, she wasn’t.

She always learned her lessons the first time. Her father had only had to hit her once before she knew to keep quiet and out of his way. And that one horrid encounter in the woods near the cottages had been enough to send her away from home for more than fifteen years….

Her head filled with bad memories, Rose reached town before she knew it. The streets were vacant and quiet. The only businesses open at this time of night were the bars, thriving even without her father’s patronage. Black Jack had closed them down on frequent occasions before coming home to roar at his wife and children.

Rose pedaled faster and faster, until she reached Blackbear Road, a country lane that led north out of town. A few farmhouses and newer ranch homes dotted the landscape. A big dog rushed down a driveway, barking as Rose whizzed by.

The road sloped down toward the river. Finally she slowed and turned onto the driveway of her home, such as it was. The sign announcing Maxine’s Cottages was faded and worn, as it had been for as long as she could remember. There wasn’t much reason to replace it. Very soon the business would fold.

Almost nothing would make Rose happier. Her mother could call her ungrateful all she wanted, but Rose had been anticipating the day as a righteous reprisal ever since she’d moved home.

For now, she did as her mother wanted, and Maxine refused to close the cottages. Business had slowed to a trickle even before Black Jack’s death; now it came one drop at a time. These days, even the type of rough-and-tumble sportsmen they catered to expected more comfort and conveniences than the spartan stone cottages offered. While Rose did what she could, little money had been put into upkeep over the years and the place had deteriorated into a shabbiness that was a painful contrast to the natural beauty of the peaceful river setting.

Maxine’s Cottages consisted of a central home and office surrounded by eight one- and two-room cabins perched along the Blackbear River. Rose lived in the farthest cottage, all her worldly possessions contained in its one room, with space to spare.

Before going home, she stopped at the main house to check on her mother. It was a duty she bore with equal parts of exasperation and sympathy. Maxine Robbin had led a hard life—married to a hell-raiser at sixteen, often in bad health, scraping by for a living, putting up with Black Jack’s temper. The only break she’d ever had was when an uncle had died and left her the cottages.

The door was unlocked. Rose scraped her shoes on the rubber welcome mat before entering. The Robbins’ house was not much bigger than the rentals—two bedrooms, a kitchen and an L-shaped combination living/dining area, with the cubbyhole office at the front. Rose’s brothers had shared the second bedroom. She, the youngest and reportedly an unexpected mistake, had been given a daybed in a curtained-off corner of the living area. Small wonder that as a girl she’d spent all her daylight hours outdoors—and even the nighttime ones whenever she was able to sneak out.

At the sound of the door, Maxine’s querulous voice rose from the back bedroom. “Is that you, Rose? I dropped my clicker and I can’t find it. I’ve been lying here in misery, with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling. Why you had to pile my bed with all these extra blankets and pillows is beyond me.”

Because if I hadn’t you’d be calling me back to complain about the hard mattress or the cold draft. Rose stopped outside the bedroom door and took a deep breath, wishing for the patience needed to deal with her mother.

Black Jack’s dominating personality had turned Maxine into a mealy-mouthed complainer. Her voice was like a mosquito—an annoying high-pitched whine that went on and on for so long a body began hoping for the sting that would end it. Remembering that Maxine had been swatted down more often than any person should have to be was how Rose made it through each long day.

Rustling sounds came from the bedroom. The mattress creaked. “Ohhh. It hurts so much I can’t get out of bed. My arthritis is acting up.”

“I’m here.” Rose slipped into the bedroom and began straightening the blankets and picking up pillows. She found the remote control in the folds of the comforter and set it on the bedside table. “How was your evening, Mom? Did Alice stop by?”

“She brought a store-bought coffee cake that tasted like gravel. Came carrying tales, of course. You know Alice.” Maxine shrugged bony shoulders. She’d always been a petite woman, but illness and worry had shrunk her to a wizened, sallow shadow. At fifty-six, she was old before her time.

She droned on about Alice’s gossip, finishing with, “As if I give two hoots what the ladies of the book club or the guests at Bay House have gotten up to.”

Rose smiled to herself as she continued straightening the room. One of her mother’s remaining pleasures was a good gab with Alice Sjoholm, who was kind enough to look in on Maxine when Rose was at work. But it simply wasn’t in Maxine’s makeup to admit to any enjoyment.

“At least Alice is someone to talk to,” Maxine said. “I get zilch outta you.”

“I have nothing to talk about. You know that not much happens at the Buck Stop. It’s a drudge job.”

Maxine snorted. “That scarred hermit Noah Saari was coming into the store and you never said a word until I heard from Alice that he was courting some fancy gal at Bay House.” Maxine tilted her head, eyes narrowing at Rose. “You always were a Miss Butter-Won’t-Melt-in-Her-Mouth. Such a sneaky child, running off into the woods and keeping secrets.”

“I wonder why,” Rose muttered.

“Eh? What’s that?”

Rose sniffed the air. The ashtray on the bureau was wiped clean, but when she checked beneath the tissues in the wastebasket she found black residue and several stubbed-out cigarettes.

“Mom.” Rose let out a big sigh. “You’ve been smoking again.”

Maxine went into instant-whine mode. “I’m all alone. I get nervous at night.”

“You know you can’t smoke with the oxygen tank in the room. You’ll blow yourself to smithereens!”

“Then take it out of here.” Maxine gave the tank beside the bed a disdainful glance before she drooped into a familiar, imploring pose. “Don’t yell at me, Rose. Shouldn’t I be able to do what I please, now that your father is gone? Bless his soul.”

Rose knew quite well that her mother was using emotional blackmail. Even so, she couldn’t seem to stop the rush of pity that often became capitulation.

Maxine had an advanced stage of emphysema. She could still get around, though she often preferred not to, and her doctors had said that with vigilant care she might have years to live. A stronger person would have become determined to enjoy their remaining time, but Maxine was too cowed to fight. And she’d soon realized that the illness was a surefire way to keep hold of her only daughter and manipulate Rose to her bidding.

Maxine’s wants were simple enough, if wearing, so Rose usually found herself complying. She believed that her mother deserved some happiness. Even if it was a twisted, bitter sort.

“I’m not yelling, Mom. I’m worried.”

Maxine smiled. “What goes around comes around.”

Avoiding that, Rose found the pack of cigarettes hidden under her mother’s pillow and stuck them in her jacket pocket. “It’s the cigs or the oxygen,” she said, overriding Maxine’s complaints. She glanced around the room, which had changed little in twenty years. Same with the entire house. Black Jack’s boots were still parked under the bed and his fishing hat hung on the back door. She itched to get rid of them, but her mother refused that, too. Any sane person would have wanted to shed herself of reminders of a sorry life, but not Maxine.

“Should I help you to the bathroom before I go?” Rose asked.

“I suppose.”

Rose gave Maxine her arm and escorted the woman to the adjoining bath. She was quite capable of getting there on her own, but Rose had learned it was easier to help out now than be called on in the middle of the night.

After her mother was resettled in bed, Rose put a brisk tone in her voice. “All right, then. I’m leaving. Are you all set for the night?”

Maxine fussed with the bedclothes. “Can’t think of anything I need. But I can always ring.”

Rose stifled a groan. She had no telephone in her cottage, but there was an old farmhouse bell hanging at the front door, put there so arriving guests could ring for help when no one was in the office to check them in. Maxine seemed to take pleasure in rousing Rose at least once a night with the clanging.

“It’s after midnight,” Rose said. “I need a good night’s sleep.” For a change.

“So do I.” Maxine shifted in bed. “I can hardly get an hour’s sleep without waking up wheezing and coughing. But you don’t hear me complaining.”

Yeah, right. Rose plumped the pillows, smoothed back her mother’s hair, once black as her daughter’s but now heavily laced with steel-gray, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Night, Mom.”

“Night, Rose.” Maxine patted her arm. “You’re a good daughter. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The praise was perfunctory. Yet it worked. Rose had been given so little praise in her life that even crumbs seemed worthwhile. Her chest tightened as she pulled away.

She paused at the door, wanting to speak from her heart but not knowing how.

And of course Maxine couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Your brothers never call,” she moaned. “And you could run away again at any time. What would I do then? I’m so afraid of being left on my own.”

“That’s not going to happen, Mom. I’ve promised to stay. Now go to sleep.” Rose flicked off the light and hurried away before her mother saw the tears of frustration welling in her eyes.

She dashed them away, swearing at herself as she left the house and grabbed her bike by the handlebars. When would she learn?

She was the one who was on her own.

“And I like it that way,” Rose said out loud to the whispering pines and the black rushing water.

But for the first time in a long while, she wondered if she was lying to herself.

THE NEXT DAY, Evan had no practice scheduled and was able to pick Lucy up from her sitter’s early. They decided to make a trip to the library, one of Lucy’s favorite places in Alouette. Not being a big reader himself, Evan worried that his daughter was spending too much time with books when she should be outdoors in the fresh air. But he couldn’t argue with the benefits, or the pleasure it gave her.

The biggest bonus was that visiting with Tess Bucek always made Lucy happy.

Tess was the librarian. She and Evan had dated for a short while, earlier that year. Although the relationship hadn’t progressed very far, he’d considered asking her to marry him simply because Lucy had been so hungry for Tess’s motherly touch.

He’d backed off when he realized that making a wrong marriage would be worse for Lucy in the end. Tess was now a good friend, and happily engaged to a newcomer to Alouette, a writer named Connor Reed who lived in the keeper’s cottage of the Gull Rock lighthouse.

Lucy ran ahead, pushing open the door to the rainbow-hued Victorian house that had been converted into a small library. Evan followed her through the entryway, thinking how good it was to see Lucy so enthusiastic.

She raced into the library proper. He heard her voice, very bright. “Hi!”

After a pause the answer came, and it wasn’t Tess. “’Lo.”

A moment later, Tess chimed in, greeting Lucy with her usual perky cheer.

Evan arrived, his senses already heightened. Wild Rose Robbin looked at him, smiled and then hurriedly looked away, tucking her lips inward as if to keep the smile from escaping. She edged a stack of books across the checkout desk, toward Tess.

“You know Rose, right, Evan?” Tess was saying, looking from Lucy to Evan to Rose with a bright-eyed interest.

Evan cleared his throat. “We’ve met.”

“She showed me how to draw leafs in the woods,” Lucy said. She was staring up at Rose with an awe that approached reverence. One step closer and she’d be hanging off the woman’s sweater, begging for attention. Normally she was shy to the point of invisibility, especially around new people.

“Have you practiced?” When she looked into Lucy’s face, Rose’s mouth curved into a smile that was as natural and pretty as a daisy dancing in the breeze.

“I tried to.” Lucy put her hands on her hips, acting almost belligerent. She bobbed her head. “But my teacher said I was scribbling!”

Evan blinked in surprise. This was a new Lucy. Or, rather, the Lucy his daughter had started out to be, before the loss of her mother.

“I bet she wanted you to make a perfect leaf.” Rose held up one hand and drew a maple leaf in the air.

“Uh-huh,” Lucy breathed. She raised her own hand in imitation.

Rose shook her head. “Your teacher hasn’t really looked at the autumn leaves, then, has she?”

“Nope. They’re all, like, curly and nibbled on and—and—” Lucy scrunched her hand into a fist.

“So that’s how you should draw them,” Rose said. “Right?”

Even while she processed the books, Tess hadn’t missed an inflection of the conversation. She threw a significant look at Evan.

He shrugged, although the interaction was pretty amazing. Even with Tess, Lucy hadn’t come out of her shell so quickly.

“How are you, Rose?” he asked.

“Going to work.” She looked down at her books, a reflex to fill the awkward silence.

He followed her gaze. She’d checked out a large tome of Audubon bird prints, a hardcover he couldn’t see the title of and two paperbacks that featured embracing couples with flowing hair and ample cleavage. Hard to tell which was the male and which was the female.

Rose saw him looking and gathered up the books. “For my mother.”

“I loved Passionate Impulse,” Tess said. Her eyes danced.

Evan was sorry he’d noticed. “Uh, sure. Listen, Rose, I was thinking—”

“I have to go,” she interrupted. She made for the doorway, ducking past him with her rumpled hair falling across her forehead into her face. “G’bye, Lucy.”

Lucy followed the woman’s departure with beseeching eyes. “Bye.”

“Go on, Lucy, find yourself a few books,” Evan said when the door had clanged shut and she still hadn’t moved. The children’s room was adjacent to the main area, a space filled with light, plants, craft projects and colorful decorations. Throughout the summer he’d brought his daughter to story hour twice a week, but now that she’d started kindergarten and he was busy with basketball practice after school, their visits would be less frequent.

Lucy trotted off obediently. Evan stared after her, not yet willing to face Tess’s curiosity. He could feel it rolling off her, ripe with questions.

“The sequel, Passionate Embrace, wasn’t quite as good,” Tess finally said with a laugh in her voice.

“You women.” Evan had to grin. “All that romance gives you barmy ideas.”

“Sure, blame us if it makes you feel better.” Tess was petite, with short coppery hair and a warm personality—the kind of person who was a pillar of the community, with her penchant for running charity tag sales and Scrabble tournaments. “Got something besides romance on your mind, Evan?”

He shrugged. What the hell. In for a penny…

“Don’t read anything into this,” he said.

The librarian made an agreeable sound that he didn’t believe for a second.

“But…”

Tess made an impatient gesture. “C’mon. Out with it, man.”

He gave in. “Tell me about Wild Rose.”

CHAPTER THREE

TESS FROWNED INSTEAD of continuing to tease him. “Like what?”

“How she got her name, for starters.”

“She’s had it forever, it seems. I couldn’t say.”

“You could say. If you wanted to. She’s about your age, right? You must have gone to school together.”

“She was a grade behind me.”

“It’s a small school system. I’m sure you knew her.”

“Yes, but we didn’t hang out. Rose was…”

“Wild?”

Tess shook her head. “Not then. I mean, when we were younger. Maybe a little—she grew up with two older brothers. It wasn’t until later that…” She shrugged.

“So you do know how and when she got the nickname.”

“Evan, why don’t you just go by what she is now? I’ve been the subject of town gossip myself, so I’m not that eager to repeat tales about another person. Especially when it’s old talk. And who knows what’s truth and what’s exaggeration?”

“I’m not looking for reasons to condemn the woman, I promise.”

“Then why?”

“You saw Lucy with her. She really came out of her shell. So I was thinking I could hire Rose to give Luce drawing lessons. But there’s the woman’s reputation to consider.” And the reason she continued to lurk at his practices and games. Unless…

What if Rose had a crush on him?

Heat crawled up his neck. He wasn’t so conceited he thought every woman was after him. But it had been known to happen. After Krissa had died and a decent interval had passed, a number of single ladies had approached him with casseroles and come-ons, both as subtle hints and open-ended invitations. The principal’s secretary had mooned over him for months until he’d spelled out his disinterest. Even though she was going out with one of the bus drivers, she still gave him the occasional lingering glance. And there were some of the high-school girls, who were far too bold.

“Do you think—” The question stuck in his throat. He couldn’t ask Tess. She might think he was condescending to Rose, especially after he’d been nosing around her reputation.

“It’s a great idea!” Tess leaned over the checkout desk and gave his arm a squeeze. “From what I just saw, art lessons will really make Lucy blossom. And they might be good for Rose as well.” Tess smiled like a pixie, lifting her brows a little.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he warned. I’m already having enough for both of us.

She batted her lashes. “Like what?”

“I only have a professional interest.”

“Aw, that’s no fun.” Tess’s mouth straightened. “Rose could use a friend.”

“Doesn’t she have any? How about you?”

“I try. I chat her up as much as I can and I’ve invited her places and encouraged her to come to community events. But she’s not very interested. And then, there’s her mother.” Tess leaned forward with her palms on the desk. “She has a sick mother at home.”

“And Rose takes care of her on her own?” Evan adjusted his thinking on the woman one more time. Apparently Rose wasn’t out partying with the rough crowd who bought their liquor at the Buck Stop.

Tess nodded. “Rose came back to Alouette for her father’s funeral. I guess it was, hmm, maybe two years ago already.”

Around the time of Krissa’s illness, Evan thought. No wonder he hadn’t noticed.

“Her mother’s health was deteriorating and she couldn’t handle the family business on her own,” Tess continued. “So Rose stayed in town.”

The family business. Evan thought of the quaint but run-down cottages off Blackbear Road. He hadn’t realized they were still operational. Couldn’t be turning much of a profit. “No other family members offered to help?”

“Her brothers didn’t return for the funeral. Bad blood, there, I hear. One of them went off to join the Army years ago and the other’s in prison.”

Evan’s alert flag went up. “Prison?”

Tess scrunched her nose, as if she’d said too much. “Held up a liquor store at gunpoint. Don’t judge Rose by that, okay?”

“Hard not to,” he murmured.

The librarian straightened and struck a scolding tone. “Look at her actions—judge those. She runs the rental cabins, she takes care of her mother, she works late hours at the Buck Stop. I’d say Rose is practically a saint.”

Evan grinned. “Go ahead. Shake your finger at me. I can tell you want to.”

With a muffled snort, Tess wagged an index finger under his nose. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m lecturing you.”

“Oh, I’m listening, Marian.” Whenever Tess got too librarian-ish, he used the nickname on her.

“You’d better. Rose deserves a break.”

“Yeah,” he said, but he was thinking that it didn’t have to come from him. Arranging the drawing lessons would lead to getting involved, to some degree, and he had already decided not to go down that path.

“In a small town like this, where people have known each other forever, it’s not easy for someone like Rose to make a fresh start. But with you…” Tess cocked her head. “You have the ability to see her as she is, not through the filter of her past mistakes.”

“You’re not going to fill me in, are you?”

Tess hesitated. “I can tell you some of it. Do you promise to be fair?”

He gave her a look. She should know him well enough by now.

“All right,” she conceded. “You’re as good a judge of character as anyone I know.”

“Except when it came to Connor.” Evan had bristled when he’d first met Tess’s fiancé, but then even she had suspected the man of skullduggery.

Tess rolled her eyes. “Pah. That was a territorial pissing contest. Metaphorically, of course.”

Evan laughed. “Well, you know men—we’re animals. Connor had to prove himself before I trusted him with you.”

“You think Rose hasn’t proved herself?”

“Questions remain.” The lurking, primarily. The rest was his own curiosity.

Tess walked to the doorway to the children’s room, checking on Lucy’s progress. She motioned to Evan to wait and disappeared into the room, where he could hear her discussing books with his daughter. He moved off, glancing around the main room to be sure there were no eavesdroppers, then took a chair at one of the more secluded study tables.

Objectively, his interest in Rose should be curtailed, not fed. But there was his daughter’s welfare to consider, and Lucy had taken to Rose like no other. He’d risk his own involvement in the woman’s life if that meant helping Lucy. Although his heart went out to Rose now that he knew more of her situation, her troubles would have to remain secondary.

The arousal of his male interest—that was unsettling. The veritable monkey wrench in his plan.

Especially if Rose was equally attracted to him.

“Why the scowl?” Tess pulled over a chair and sat beside him. She crossed one leg over the other, tugging on her short red skirt when it rode up.

“Hmph.” The librarian had great legs, but Evan found himself wondering what Rose would look like in a dress or skirt. She might be pretty if she tried. Not that he expected women to keep themselves turned out like Barbie dolls. There was a certain appeal to Rose’s rakish independence. The intense blue of her eyes, how her wild, wavy hair framed her face…

Tess put her elbow on the table and tucked her fist beneath her chin. Her shoulders relaxed with a sigh. “Lucy’s rereading one of the Princess Ella books. She never gets tired of them.”

“Tell me about it. Every night, she wants one as a bedtime story. I know them by heart.”

“No offense, but you two need a woman in your lives.”

“We’re doing fine.”

“Then why the interest in Rose, hmm?”

“That’s, uh—” Evan slid his spine lower in the chair. “Don’t come at me from a different direction, hoping for a slip-up. I already explained. She’s good for Luce.”

Tess patted his thigh. “Keep telling yourself that, hon.”

He glowered, but he wasn’t as miffed with Tess as he pretended. She was only asking the same questions he’d asked himself. She’d probably guessed that he was feeling oddly uncertain.

Tess had her own fix-it streak and would gladly be the one to push him over the edge into unwelcome territory. For his own good, she’d say. With a twinkle in her eye.

“So,” he said in a low voice. “Spill the beans.”

She sighed again. “Most of this is rumor.”

“I’ll take it with a grain of salt.”

“You’d be better off talking with Rose herself.”

“I don’t know that the Spanish Inquisition could make her talk.”

“She’s not that bad!”

“Bad enough.”

“Why do I feel we should have theme music?” Tess said. “The song about not giving a damn about your bad reputation would do. That’s Rose, all right.”

“You’re wrong. She does care.”

Tess turned her head on its side, still propped on her fist. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve looked that closely?”

He wondered how much he’d given away. “Get on with it, Marian.”

“What I remember…” Tess looked off across the library. “Rose was a different sort of kid when we were in grade school. Shy and quiet, but also stubborn. Rebellious at times. She didn’t take well to authority, like her older brothers. But it was as if the teachers expected no better. The Robbins were that sort of family.”

“What sort?”

“Not…admired,” came the careful answer. “The father was a hunting and fishing guide. Something of a blowhard. A big drinker, arrested at least once for illegal poaching. I don’t know a lot about Maxine, Rose’s mother, except that she stayed close to home. The brothers were hellions.”

“And Rose?”

“She wasn’t too friendly, but then she didn’t get much of a chance to be, either. All the ‘good’ mothers warned their kids away from playing with the Robbins. Let’s just say, we sure weren’t having picnics or slumber parties out at Blackbear Road.” Tess ducked her head to press her knuckles beneath her nose. “In retrospect, I feel pretty awful about that. Rose must have been lonely, even if she acted like she didn’t care.”

Evan pushed down his rising empathy. “If she was this lonely outcast you say, how did she get the reputation?”

“This is where the rumors begin.” Tess took her voice down another notch. “When we got older, like fifteen, sixteen, the boys started paying more attention to Rose. She was striking—black hair to her waist, slim, tanned. The snobbier girls dismissed her because she didn’t have the right clothes or social graces. But of course the boys didn’t care about that.”

Evan’s mind drifted, imagining Rose at sixteen. He could see her—a wild rose of the forest, hardy but also beautiful and so fragile.

Damn. Where was the poetry coming from? Somebody ought to slap him in tights and call him Romeo.

Tess continued with a shrug. “What mattered to the boys was that she didn’t have a curfew. Or many other rules. The Robbins kids basically ran wild.”

“I see.”

“Supposedly, Rose had a few temporary…alliances. And the boys talked. Bragged. You know. So she got this reputation. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was overblown, knowing how gossip balloons in this town.”

Evan was familiar with the concept. His first year as head coach, he’d suspended several of the team members for drinking and breaking curfew. The incident had expanded into a brouhaha that took over a school board meeting. Some of the more belligerent parents had wanted him reprimanded for overly harsh discipline, but he’d remained calm and kept a firm stance, and wiser heads had prevailed.

Tess had fallen silent. He prodded her. “And then?”

“Rose started hanging with a bad crowd. They got into trouble—underage drinking, petty vandalism, that kind of thing. People said she was just like her brothers. Then, I don’t know, there was an incident that was hushed up pretty fast, except that people whispered about it for a long time. They said there was some kind of confrontation between Black Jack Robbin and the Lindstroms. The rumor was that Rose had become involved with Rick Lindstrom—led him into temptation, according to his parents.”

“Or vice versa.”

“All I know for sure is that the Lindstroms wouldn’t want their son associating with someone like Rose. Rick’s gone now, died in a forest fire out west, but I remember him well. The golden-boy type—handsome, charming, spoiled and arrogant. I seriously doubt that Rose was the instigator, in whatever happened between them.”

Evan’s stomach dropped. “Do you think it was only a sexual thing?”

“Probably. That’s what my classmates assumed.” Tess aimed a “sorry” look at him, as if he had a personal stake in Rose Robbin’s love life. “But there was also a rumor about ill-gotten money, stolen maybe, or a payoff. The cops were supposedly called in, and suddenly Rose went away. Some said she ran away, some said she was sent to juvenile detention. After a while, it was clear that she was gone for good. She didn’t come back, even for a visit, not until her father’s funeral.”

“Did you ever ask her what she’d been doing, all those years away?”

“Sure. She said she’d been working here and there. Never got married, never had kids.”

Evan mulled that over for a minute or two, counting up the years. He hadn’t been able to imagine what Rose would find interesting about his basketball team—good kids, all of them, but just an ordinary group of teenage boys, fascinating only to their girlfriends and their…

Parents.

Suddenly the explanation was obvious. Though times had long changed since the days when a girl in trouble was sent away in shame to spare the family embarrassment, the epidemic of pregnant teenage runaways remained. He knew well, having put in a work-study course at a shelter and a runaway hotline during his college years. It was astounding that no one else in Alouette had come to the same conclusion.

On the other hand, he could be way off base.

“Hold on,” he said when Tess started to rise. “You’re sure Rose said that, in so many words?”

“What—the marriage and kids part? I don’t remember her exact words. But it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Tess slid sideways in her chair, eyeing him doubtfully. “Evan. What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Rose’s business was her own, as long as she didn’t make trouble.

“Be nice,” Tess warned as she stood.

“Of course.” He glanced up. “When haven’t I been?”

“Oh, every now and then. Like whenever you see wrongdoing.” Tess looked worried. “I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. You’re thinking that there’s something wrong with Rose.”

“No, I’m not. Honestly.” Evan rose, towering over the petite librarian by nearly a foot. He tapped her under the chin. “I’ll give the woman a fair chance.”

“Does that mean Lucy will get the lessons?”

“Maybe. We’ll see what Rose thinks. She might not be willing.”

“Turn on that charm of yours.” Tess tossed a saucy grin over her shoulder as she walked back to the main desk, reminding him why he liked her so much. Connor Reed was a lucky guy to have won her heart.

“What charm?” He considered himself to be a standard-issue, salt-of-the-earth type. A good guy. He worked hard, loved his daughter, paid his bills, did what was right. Solid, but nothing spectacular. Krissa had married him for that, and six years later asked for a divorce for the same reasons.

Tess only shook her head fondly. “Ack. You’re such a guy.”

There was nothing he could say to that, so he went to collect his pink, sparkly, princess-loving daughter, who at times still seemed like a foreign species to him.

“AHEM. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Rose opened her eyes, recognizing the voice with a flip of her stomach. “Evan,” she said. Her throat rasped. “Uh—” She scrambled to set aside the mop and cleaning supplies she’d cradled in her arms while she sat on the stone step outside her cottage to savor the last of the afternoon sun.

“Let me.” Evan took the mop while she dropped the dust rags into the scrub bucket she’d emptied nearby. “Fall cleaning?”

“We had guests in two of the cottages—bird hunters. They left this morning, so I was cleaning up the—” She stopped and shrugged, aware that she was giving away more information than necessary. That wasn’t like her, but Evan made her nervous. “Y’know.”

It had been more than a week since she’d run into Evan and Lucy in the library. Seeing him on her home territory was strange, particularly when he’d been on her mind so frequently. She might have believed that she’d conjured him up if he didn’t seem so solid and strong and real. He wore a jacket over a blue Alouette Gale Storm sweatshirt, dark jeans and running shoes. His hair was so neat, his jaw so cleanly shaved, the whites of his eyes so bright that she felt grungy and dowdy by comparison. Which she was. That hadn’t bothered her before. Much.

“Deer season next month,” he said, handing her the mop. “You’ll be full up, I suppose.”

“We have several bookings, but it’s not like the heyday when my dad was here to be the guide.” She wouldn’t have been able to stay if that had been the case. Even their occasional guests were a trial for her. She was wary of all men, but especially strangers, and was on constant alert until they were gone. A lesson learned the hard way.

“That’s a shame.” Evan scanned the woods. Fragrant pine boughs swayed in the breeze. “It’s a picturesque location. Great piece of property.”

Maxine’s Cottages overlooked a particularly nice, secluded section of the Blackbear River—a wide S-curve bubbling with rapids, with a steep slope to the water’s edge, mature forest and no other homes in sight.

“Yeah.” Although her mother had entertained several generous offers, none of them involved keeping the cottages open for rent. Maxine still expected that one of her boys would come home to take over. Rose, under no such delusion, had collected business cards from Realtors and land developers in anticipation of the day her mother saw reason. She did have an attachment to her cottage and the riverside setting, but she’d sacrifice them in a heartbeat if given the opportunity to get out of Dodge.

She stated the obvious. “The place hasn’t been kept up, unfortunately.” All that she could manage was keeping the rooms clean and the grounds trimmed. Paint was peeling off the wood trim, shingles were missing, the faulty plumbing was a constant trial. There wasn’t the money to hire pros, so she tackled the bigger jobs as she could. Her friend and handywoman Roxy had offered to help out, but Rose was uneasy about accepting handouts.

Evan barely glanced at the slipshod maintenance before he turned his gaze on her. His eyes were brilliant, the color of a mug of icy root beer shot with sunlight. Under his perusal, the skin on her cheeks became warm and tight.

“Do you have any plans for the business?”

Rose shook her head. “I’d shut down tomorrow if my mother would allow it. She’s the one in charge.”

“Ahh.” He nodded. “I just met Maxine, over at the main house. She said it would be okay if I came out here to find you. I called the other day, but I guess you didn’t get the message?”

“Sorry.” Rose looked down and mumbled. “My mother must have forgotten to tell me.”

“No problem. I was curious to see your place close up anyway. Never stopped before, even though I’ve driven by a number of times.” His gaze went to her little stone house. “This is the one from the painting you gave to Lucy, isn’t it?”

“Yes. My quarters, for now.”

“Lucy calls it a fairy-tale house. I can see why.”

Rose turned to look at the cottage. While there was nothing fancy about the humble place, it had charm. The stone walls were thick and covered in moss and ivy. Along the side that had a southern exposure, climbing roses grew, dressed for autumn in yellowed, curled leaves and the hard red globes of rose hips. Soon the remaining leaves would fall, revealing the twist of thorny vines. Inside, Rose would build a fire in the woodstove and huddle under layers of wool blankets, hibernating for the winter.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Evan said.

She half laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t get many visitors.” Suddenly she winced, realizing she’d fallen down as a host. “Shi—er, sugar. Pardon my manners. I should have asked you to sit. We can go—” No, not inside. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks. Let’s just sit out here.” Evan didn’t look around for a chair. He lowered his tall frame onto the step where’d she’d parked earlier, then glanced up expectantly.

Of course. She couldn’t remain where she was, standing in front of him. But the step was small and she didn’t like to get too close to strange men, or any men at all, for that matter.

She plopped into the grass, crossing her legs in front of her.

He smiled. “You’ll get cold, sitting on the ground.”

“I’m used to it.”

“All right.” He had an easy manner that smoothed out some of her hackles. “This won’t take long.”

She said nothing, waiting. She hoped he wasn’t going to suggest dinner again. Even though, all week, she’d wondered what might have happened if she’d said yes.

In the end, she’d decided that the only sure outcome was that at least one well-meaning meddler would have made it a mission to warn Evan away from her, and that was too humiliating to contemplate for long. Rejecting his overtures—all overtures—was the only way to stay aloof and protect herself.

“I have a job for you,” he said.

“Oh.” A job. That’s all. She stared down at her lap, where her fingers were tightly braided.

“If you’re interested.”

“I’m pretty busy, but…” Might as well admit what he must be thinking. “I could always use the money.” She made minimum wage at the Buck Stop, and her mother’s disability checks were only enough to sustain her. Medical expenses unpaid by her meager insurance coverage were mounting. The cottages brought in the bare minimum it took to pay their utilities and taxes.

“This job isn’t so much about the money. It’s more of a favor, to help me out. But I will pay, of course. Whatever you think. Fifty per session—does that sound good?”

Rose froze inside, even though a part of her knew that Evan could not be saying what it sounded like. She turned an icy glare on him, the same look that worked on the creeps who came into the Buck Stop thinking she was up for grabs. “Fifty bucks for what?”

He was momentarily rattled. “Wha’d’you—” He winced. “Sorry—I should have explained up front.” He laughed at himself, a little awkwardly. “I’m talking about art lessons for Lucy.”

Rose wanted to cringe with embarrassment. Instead she leaned forward and tore out handfuls of grass. Rip, rip. You’re an idiot. Rip. As if a guy like Evan Grant needs you.

“What do you think?”

“Uh, I don’t have any training for that kind of…thing.” Her voice was like rust, corroding her throat. She had no social skills at all. A total loser.

“I’ve seen you in action. You’re a natural.”

“That was only—” Rip, rip. “Off the cuff.”

“Exactly. That’s what Lucy needs. See, she doesn’t react well to the pressure of a structured environment. She’s in kindergarten now, but already her teacher is telling me she’s intimidated by the classroom and the other students.” Evan stopped and boyishly scrubbed a hand through his short brown hair. His forehead had pleated with worry.

Torn blades of grass fell from Rose’s fingers. “But she’s only just started. She’ll be more comfortable when she gets used to the other kids.”

Rose remembered her own experiences in the classroom. After the freedom at home, where she’d been left to her own amusement most of the time, she’d been ill-prepared for school. The first months had been frightening—the teachers, the children, the strict rules and expectations.

Although she’d never learned to fit in, she had adjusted. In her own way. Lucy was lucky—she was much more socialized than Rose had been.

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Evan said. “Except that when I saw her with you, and then saw how excited she was to get home and try drawing, it occurred to me that if she had something special to give her confidence, something she’s really good at, that would help her overall, you know?”

He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “She’s a bright girl, but she doesn’t know how to shine. Not since her mother passed away.”

Rose picked at the green flecks on her palms. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” She felt Evan’s direct gaze on her, like a hot ray of sunshine. “But Krissa’s death was mainly Lucy’s loss. My wife had left me and we were in the middle of divorce proceedings when she found out she had a brain tumor. When the prognosis wasn’t good, she came back home to spend all the time with Lucy that she could.”

“Still, I’m sure you—you must have been—” Rose shrugged when the words stalled again. She wasn’t articulate. Too many years on her own.

“I’m doing okay. It’s Lucy I worry about.”

“She seems like a normal kid.”

“Around you, she is.”

Why me? Rose was truly baffled. She wasn’t even remotely similar to Tess Bucek, whom children flocked to like chicks to a mother hen. The kids that came in the Buck Stop acted as if Rose was a wicked witch who’d seize them for her stew pot if they got too close.

If she’d ever had them, and her situation made that doubtful, her motherly instincts had withered and died long ago. Wild Rose Robbin was the last person Evan should want near his daughter.

“I can’t do it,” she blurted.

“Why not? I mean, if you don’t want to, there’s nothing I can say. I won’t push.” He paused. “But I might beg. For Lucy. She really needs this.”

“I can’t,” Rose repeated miserably. Part of her wanted to. She identified with Lucy’s fears.

“Give it a try,” Evan pleaded. “One lesson.” He put out a hand and touched Rose, his strong fingers gripping her shoulder.

Startled, she pulled away, heart in mouth. She had to stop herself from bolting to prove she wasn’t a total freak. She could deal with normal touching—hand-shakes, pats, rubbing shoulders in a busy supermarket. It was an unexpected male touch that made her adrenaline pump, even when it was a friendly gesture like Evan’s.

He had withdrawn immediately. “Sorry.”

She scrambled to her feet and busied herself with brushing off her jeans, shedding grass like an Easter basket. “Not your problem.”

He got up. “Excuse me if I’ve been an imposition—”

“No, you weren’t,” she said, an unexpected rush of compassion making her want to overcome her fears to reach out. For his daughter, if not for him. “I wish I could help.”

She tipped up her chin. Read the look in his eyes.

He didn’t have to say it. She already knew. She could help, if she really wanted to.

Be generous, she thought. The good karma might come back to you.

Danny’s face flashed in her mind’s eye. Was it possible to develop the motherly instincts she lacked?

She blinked. “All right. Okay. I’ll give it a shot. One time, to see how it goes. But don’t expect me to know what I’m doing.” She rubbed her palms on her jeans, sweating with nervousness at the mere prospect. “Let’s not even call it a lesson. That sounds as if I’d have to come with a plan. Lucy and I can just get together—”

“Thank you.” Impulsively, Evan started to reach out to hug her, but he stopped with his large hands hanging in midair. After a moment of hesitation, he thrust one toward her. “I appreciate this.”

She swallowed thickly and shook his hand, pumping vigorously to show him again that she wasn’t a complete coward. “I make no promises.”

“I do.” Evan looked at her with more confidence and belief than she’d accumulated in her entire lifetime. “I promise you won’t regret this.”

Rose had to turn away from such a bright, bold faith. It left her feeling so empty. “Yeah, well, let’s hope—” She choked off her words. Let’s hope you don’t, either.

“Hope for the best,” Evan said.

Rose nodded.

CHAPTER FOUR

“CAN I BORROW your phone, Mom?”

“Sure.” Maxine sat at the dining table, laying out a hand of solitaire. When Rose had wiped down the table minutes before, she’d seen her mother surreptitiously stick an ashtray and book of matches on the seat of one of the chairs, hidden by the vinyl tablecloth. “Who you calling?”

“Just a friend.” Rose had put the last dish away, squeezed out the sponge, stowed the leftovers. She couldn’t stall any longer. It had been several days, and Evan was expecting her to set up a date for the drawing lesson.

“What kind of friend?”

“That’s my business.”

“My phone.” Maxine’s lips curled into a smug so-there.

Rose might have pointed out that she’d just cooked dinner and cleaned up, in addition to the rest of her daily chores. But she didn’t. She swallowed her tongue the way her mother had been forced to when Black Jack was in one of his moods.

Get me out of here, she thought, taking the cordless phone outside to the dusky backyard, as far as the range allowed. Behind her, the window near the dining table opened with a screech of the sash. Her mother must have had a burst of strength to go along with her nosiness.

Rose’s exhale was visible in the cold air. Frost tonight. She wrapped her sweater tighter and punched out Evan’s number—memorized. He’d written it on the back of a scrap of paper from his wallet and asked her to call as soon as she was certain of her work schedule. She hadn’t told him that she was in charge at the Buck Stop and could arrange any hours she liked as long as the time was covered by the store’s only other employee, a grumpy retiree aptly named Cross who worked to pick up extra income to supplement his social security.

The phone was ringing. “Hullo,” Evan said, harried but cheerful. “Grant residence.”

A match flared inside the house. Rose realized she should have called from work, but all she’d been thinking was to get it over with already.

“Hello?”

It was strange, hearing Evan’s voice on the phone. Familiar, but not. Slightly thrilling.

“Anyone there?”

“Hello,” she finally said. She cleared her throat. “It’s Rose. Robbin. Rose Robbin.”

“Rose. Good to hear from you. Lucy’s been asking about the lesson every day—she’s very excited.”

“I, uh, the store’s been busy lately.”

“I hope you’re not backing out.”

“No. I can be free any afternoon the rest of this week.”

“Well, let’s see. Lucy gets out of school at three and usually goes to her baby-sitter’s house while I have basketball practice. I could probably take time off to run her out to your place—”

“Not my place.” Rose thought frantically, struck by the notion that if she worked it right, she might be able to catch sight of a few minutes of the basketball practice. “I could come to the school, and stay with Lucy while you ran the practice. That way you won’t need the baby-sitter at all.”

The grade school and the high school were separate buildings on the same property, linked by covered walkways that led to a common structure that served both schools. The gymnasium was part of the central building, and surely that’s where they’d meet. Rose held her breath, pressing the phone so tightly to her ear that it hurt.

“I suppose I might ask for a favor and have the art room opened,” Evan said.

“Oh, don’t bother. I’d rather take Lucy outdoors. If that’s all right with you.”

“Nature sketching?”

“Yes.”

“If the weather’s bad—”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“That works for me. I’ll be sure that Lucy dresses warmly.”

“Great. Tomorrow okay?”

“Sure. You’re more eager than I expected.”

Rose felt guilty. She swallowed that, too. “Uh, yeah. I guess maybe it’ll be okay.”

Evan laughed. “There’s the Rose I know.”

He thought he knew her? He’d barely scratched the surface.

“Okay, then,” she said. “Bye.”

His startled “Bye,” came as she was pressing the Off button.

Rose stuck the phone in the pocket of her cardigan and absently rubbed her stinging ear. She supposed she’d been too abrupt. Talking on the phone with “boys” was another social skill she’d never developed properly. None of her boyfriends—if they could be called that—had ever called for her at home. She hadn’t had real dates, either. Just met them at the bridge or the beach. Sometimes she’d been picked up at the side of the road.

She kicked at a pinecone embedded in the stretch of dirt and brittle pine needles that was the backyard. God, she’d been dumb. And naive, even though she’d thought she was tough.

“Rose?” came her mother’s voice, carrying out the window. “Are you finished with the phone?”

“Shut the window, Mom. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She went over to the small garden she’d put in that spring. Nothing much to speak of, just a few rows of carrots, squash, cucumbers and lettuce. Several old rusty barrels contained the tomato plants and she bent over them, searching through the cold leaves for the remaining green fruits. More of the tomatoes remained on the vines than she’d expected and she cradled the pile of hard globes in her sweater, her fingertips gone numb with cold.

The wind was sharp and brisk. Beyond the darkness, the river rushed and gurgled, a sound so familiar it had taken moving away for her to miss the soothing constant.

For a long time, she’d believed she hated this place.

Now…maybe not. The memories had faded, even the worst of them. At least to a livable degree.

She’d learned not to expect more than adequacy from her life.

Rose straightened, folding the edge of her sweater over and holding the awkward bundle to her abdomen. She walked to the back door, feeling nearly as unwieldy as a pregnant lady.

Unexpectedly, the comparison made her smile. She’d pushed the pregnancy to the back of her mind for many years, but returning to her hometown had brought it all up again. There were times she had to consciously work to keep her feelings to herself. Aside from a small circle of people—her nonsupportive family, the despicable Lindstroms, Pastor Mike—it was still a secret to Alouette that she’d once been pregnant.

She didn’t suppose that the townspeople would be too surprised to learn the truth. They’d always believed the worst of Wild Rose.

AFTER AN HOUR OUTDOORS in the quiet, shaded woods, stepping into the school gym was an assault on the senses. The intense illumination from the banks of overhead lights bounced off the varnished floor and white cement-block walls. The sight, sound and fury of the basketball players was overwhelming—running, flying, crashing bodies, shouts and animal grunts, the constant tattoo of the basketball on the floor and the backboard. Evan’s shouts and the shrill pierce of his whistle added to the cacophony.

Although Lucy should have been somewhat accustomed to the raucous scene, Rose wasn’t surprised that the girl remained by the door, staring at the scrimmage in progress with wide eyes. Rose took Lucy’s hand and they walked into the gym, past the rows of blue metal bleachers.

Evan saw them and waved. He said something to his team and then ran across the floor, all bouncy energy and squeaking sneakers. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt with sweatpants, his face and arms glistening with perspiration. “Hey! Lesson over?”

Rose stepped back, her nostrils flared. So much testosterone. Muscles. Male. “We came inside to warm up.” Her tongue was thick in her mouth. “Is that okay?”

“Sure it is. Go ahead and take a seat.” Evan glanced at his watch. “I’ve got another twenty minutes of practice. You’re welcome to stay, but if you’d rather leave…”

“I’ll stay.” Rose was trying not to stare at the boys, but only one thought was running through her head: Danny’s there, Danny’s there.

“Great.” Evan jogged away, turning on nimble feet to continue backward as he added, “There are vending machines in—”

Rose waved him on. “We’re set.” She’d stuck a Thermos of hot chocolate and a few cookies in her backpack.

He saluted and returned to the practice.

She squeezed Lucy’s gloved hand. “Come on. Let’s sit in the bleachers.”

“Can we go all the way to the top?”

“I guess so.” Rose would have liked the close-up view from a courtside seat, but it was probably better if she didn’t draw attention to herself. At Rose’s request, Danny’s adoptive parents had never told him his birth mother’s identity.

Also by Rose’s choice, the contact between her and Ken and Alana Swanson had been kept to a minimum. They were childless and in their forties at the time of the adoption, which would put them in their mid-fifties now. She’d kept her eyes and ears open since returning to Alouette, and by all accounts the Swansons lived a quiet, respectable life. Fifteen years ago, they had offered to share information with Rose, to keep her up-to-date on Danny’s life, even arrange face-to-face visits. She’d thought that knowing him would make her feel worse, so the contact had been limited to photos and cards that were her greatest treasures.

Since her return, she’d daydreamed about what would happen if she changed her mind and asked to be included in their daily life. Not that she’d actually follow through. The last thing she wanted to do was cause trouble for the Swansons, who’d given Danny an exemplary home.

Rose threw glances at the court as she and Lucy climbed to the top row of the bleachers. Danny was a good player, a sophomore who was expected to be a starting guard this year.

“Still feeling cold?” she asked Lucy, who nodded and shivered. Rose slung her backpack around and set it on the bleacher in front of them. “I brought hot chocolate and cookies. Do you like Chips Ahoy?”

Lucy nodded again.

Rose took out the sketchbooks, then dug in the bottom of the pack for the Thermos. Her gaze remained on the court, watching the players race up and down the floor. Danny wasn’t the tallest, but he stood out, at least to her. He had gleaming black hair and a quick smile. He was skinny but not gangly, more the wiry, compact, athletic type. Like Rose, though she’d gained a little weight over the years and had become sturdy instead of lithe.

Lucy piped up. “Rose?”

“Oh. Right.” She gave herself a mental shake. Don’t stare so hard. You’ll look like a stalker.

“Hot chocolate and cookies, coming right up,” she said, pouring out a cup for Lucy. She reached into the backpack for the packet of cookies. “These may be sort of crushed. But you can pick out the biggest pieces.”

Lucy seemed satisfied by the inelegant refreshments. She had peeled off her gloves and unzipped her jacket. Her pale face was dotted with rosy color—even the tip of her nose. She sat back on the far edge of the bleacher, alternating between sipping and munching, mindlessly swinging her feet so her heels and toes tapped the metal seat with a rattling rhythmic beat.

“You’ve probably been to practice before,” Rose said. Danny was dribbling the ball, so capable and grown-up her heart ached at the visual reminder of the years she’d missed.

“Sometimes,” Lucy said.

“Do you know the players?”

“Uh-huh.” The girl pointed her cookie. “That one’s Steve, that one’s Brad, and that big one’s Jeremy. I call him Germy ’cause he teases me.”

Rose managed to get a chuckle past the lump in her throat.

“The boy with red hair is Corey….”

“And that one, with the basketball?” Senseless, Rose knew, but she wanted to hear her son’s name. To talk about him, even if it was only to a five-year-old.

“Danny. He’s nice.” Lucy bit into the cookie.

“He’s a good player.”

Lucy shrugged.

“What does your dad say?”

“’Bout what?”

Does he like Danny? Is Danny his favorite? Is Danny happy? Does he get good grades, does he have a girlfriend? Does he ever wonder who his birth mother is?

Rose gritted her teeth to keep all that back. “Does your dad think he has a good team this year?”

“I dunno. If he yells at them a lot and blows the whistle too much, that means they are being bad.” Lucy giggled. “My dad says he wishes he had a whistle to stop me when I’m being bad.”

Rose pretended to be shocked. “Don’t tell me you’re ever bad?”

The girl quickly shook her head, her eyes gone wide as if she expected a scolding. “Not very much.”

“That’s okay if you are, you know. I mean—” Rose held up two fingers “—just a smidgen.”

Lucy still looked doubtful. “What’s a smidgen?”

Rose smiled, bringing her fingers within an inch of each other. “About this much.”

Lucy brushed her fingers off on her jeans and replicated the gesture with a look of dawning shrewdness. Rose hoped she hadn’t stepped out of bounds, giving allowances where she had no business. During their art lesson outdoors, she’d been struck again by Lucy’s timid obedience. It hadn’t seemed like a good thing, although some parents might beg to differ. Not Evan, judging by what he’d said the other day. He’d welcome a more emboldened Lucy.

Out on the court, the scrimmage had ended. Evan gave the players a breather, then lined up a row of basketballs along the center line and had the boys perform a drill in which they ran a complicated pattern, picking up balls as they went.

Light and quick on his feet, Danny finished first and ran off for the dressing room. Rose’s eyes followed him hungrily, even though Evan was climbing the bleachers toward her and Lucy and might notice her preoccupation. At the moment, that didn’t matter. She literally couldn’t tear her gaze away.

Evan paused several steps below them, one foot propped on a bleacher seat. “How’s everything up here?”

“Rose bringed Chips Ahoy,” Lucy said as she picked through the remaining crumbs.

The locker room door swung back and forth as the other players entered. A few stragglers took their time, but soon the gym had emptied. Rose focused on Evan’s face and saw he was watching her. Damn. “Is that okay? I didn’t mean to ruin her supper.”

“It’s fine. She usually has a snack after school.”

“MaryAnn makes me eat icky food.” Lucy screwed up her face. “Like wrinkly fruit and crab cake.”

Rose raised her brows. “Crab cake?”

“Carob cake,” Evan said with a smile. “Lucy’s baby-sitter is a health-food nut. I mean a health-food enthusiast.”

“I should have checked with you.” Rose winced. What a lousy caregiver she’d make. Might as well have poured raw sucrose down Lucy’s throat. No wonder the girl seemed so happy—know-nothing Rose had doped her up on sugar.

“Doesn’t matter. She’ll live. It’s better than the burnt charcoal I give her at home.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a lousy cook.” Evan leaned closer to Lucy, propping his elbows on his upraised knee. “I can see that you two had a good time.” He smoothed his daughter’s hair. “Right, Luce?”

She nodded happily. “Yeah, Dad.”

His eyes went to Rose. “Thanks.” He straightened. “Are you willing to wait a few more minutes? I have to run into the locker room to check on the boys and get my wallet. I’ll be right back.”

Rose nodded, filling with renewed anticipation. She might see Danny again when he came back out after showering. Maybe up close this time, if she hustled Lucy out of the bleachers.

Evan’s low voice cut through her inner turmoil. “What is it? You’re radiant.”

Radiant? She was unaccustomed to compliments. She drew back, feeling so shy it was as if he’d touched her with the same gentle care he’d shown Lucy. Or not the same. Maybe…more.

He’d asked a question. What is it? She couldn’t answer that—no way.

Instead she cleared her throat, prepared to prevaricate. “Must’ve been the cold air.”

“Yes. It put roses in your cheeks.”

Lucy had twisted around to stare. Softly, she singsonged, “Roses in Rose’s cheeks.”

“Yeah, and yours, too, ladybug.” Though Evan spoke to Lucy while he backed down a few rows, he continued looking up at Rose.

Her face wasn’t cold. It was flaming. If not for the second chance at Danny, Evan’s admiring appraisal would have sent her scurrying out the door. No man had looked at her like that since…since…

She couldn’t remember. Maybe never.

And he probably thought nothing of it. He was only being nice.

Rose bit her lip, closed her eyes. She was not a normal woman. Couldn’t even respond to a guy’s offhand compliment without making it a big freakin’ deal.

“Five minutes,” Evan said, and descended the remaining bleachers in big strides that made them rattle and clang.

Rose rubbed her forearms, where goose bumps had risen despite the warm layers of her sweater and jacket. “Okay, Lucy. Let’s pack up.” She screwed the cap onto the Thermos.

“You forgot the cup.”

“Run down to the water fountain and rinse it out for me, okay?”

“Okay.” Lucy carefully made her way down the bleachers on her bottom. By the time she reached the gym floor, Rose had repacked and zipped up, leaving out Lucy’s sketchbook. She grabbed it and trailed the girl to the water fountain, set into a niche in the wall between the doors that led to the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms.

Lucy rinsed the cup, the tip of her tongue protruding between her lips as she concentrated. “Okay?” she said, shaking it dry.

Rose exchanged the cup for the sketchbook. “You can take this home and show your dad what you drew today.” She wanted Evan to see that she’d given him good value, even though she wasn’t a trained artist or teacher. Lucy had been an eager and talented student, forgetting her inhibitions as she became absorbed in capturing various items and scenes. Before the cold October air had driven them inside, they’d drawn leaves, pine cones, ferns, and turned twig tracings into animal shapes.

Lucy clasped the sketchbook. “What will we draw next time, Rose?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see if your father wants you to have another lesson.”

Lucy nodded with some confidence. “If I say so.”

“Oh? Are you the boss?”

The girl nodded, pursing her lips into a mischievous smile. “Daddy says I’m getting spoiled.”

“Spoiled, huh?” Rose put on a show of looking Lucy over, squeezing her arms and legs to make her double over in giggles. “I hope he doesn’t have to throw you in the trash like a mushy banana.”

Rose heard the door to the locker room open behind her. “What’s going on here?” Evan said.

She straightened with a snap.

A limp Lucy dropped to the floor. “I’m a banana-nana, Daddy. I’m covered in squishy black spots.”

Evan approached, holding his wallet. He opened it and withdrew several bills, handing the money to Rose. “What did the ape say to the banana?”

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