“I’m almost afraid to ask what that was all about,” Cole said, and she laughed.

“I’m almost afraid to tell you.”

On a tight smile, Cole hitched up the knees of his khakis and lowered himself to the bench beside her. “But you’re going to,” he said, not looking at her. Unable to.

Sabrina laughed again, the sound as gentle as the early summer breeze dancing around them. “I was being grilled.” When Cole’s head swung to hers, she shrugged. “He was curious, understandably enough. About what we used to be to each other.” She paused. “What we might be now. Especially since you apparently told him I saved your butt?”

Grimacing, Cole looked away again. “And what did you say?”

“That whatever we once were,” she said softly, “it’s in the past.”

Her words should have been a relief. Which they were, in a way. Then why the sting? The stupid, totally illogical disappointment?

* * *

Jersey Boys: Born … raised … and ready

Meant-to-Be Mum

Karen Templeton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAREN TEMPLETON is a recent inductee into the Romance Writers of America Hall of Fame. A three-time RITA® Award-winning author, she has written more than thirty novels for Mills & Boon and lives in New Mexico with two hideously spoiled cats, has raised five sons and lived to tell the tale, and could not live without dark chocolate, mascara and Netflix.

This book is dedicated to everyone who’s ever doubted their ability to fix something. Especially when it looked hopeless. But they did it anyway. Because they were too stubborn to give up, or listen to the naysayers.

You are my people.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Dad. Dad!”

His brain already in knots from grocery shopping with a pair of adolescents, Cole Rayburn frowned at his shivering twelve-year-old daughter. Who was clearly about to freeze in her tank top and short-alls in the frigid store, despite the curtain of blond hair shielding her bare shoulders. But would she listen to Cole’s suggestion to take a sweater with her? Oh, hell, no—

The slight note of alarm in Brooke’s voice belatedly registered, echoing through his entire nervous system. Not that he’d let her see it—

“What is it, honey?”

“That man over there,” she whispered, sidling closer to Cole’s elbow. Much as she’d done for the past week, as if afraid he’d disappear if she let him out of her sight. Gratifying and terrifying all at once. “No, the one by the apples. With the white hair. He keeps staring. Like he knows us or something.” A few feet away, her slouching, dark-haired brother, Wesley, gawked at a towering display of canned soda. Longingly. Cole briefly met his son’s silent plea, ignored both the stab of guilt and Wes’s sigh, then finally looked to see who Brooke was talking about.

And damned if his own adolescence didn’t flash before his eyes.

He’d assumed, of course, he’d eventually run into one or more of the family he’d practically grown up with. Just not this soon. Or that he’d have such mixed feelings about the reunion, even after all this time.

Or whether the man everyone called the Colonel would be more inclined to welcome him home like the Prodigal Son...or splatter his guts all over the grapefruit.

“Cole?” Preston said. Grinning, actually. So far, so good. “Cole Rayburn?”

“Yes, sir,” Cole said, returning the grin, even as he reminded himself it’d been more than twenty years since Sabrina Noble had dragged home, like a stray puppy, the flabby dork he used to be. The Colonel still had a couple of inches on him—although, at six-four, he pretty much towered over everybody—but Cole understood why the older man hadn’t recognized him at first. Few people from those days would.

By now they were side by side, their carts facing opposite directions like a pair of horse riders meeting up on a trail. Unlike Cole, the Noble clan patriarch hadn’t changed a whole lot that Cole could tell. Although he had to be in his seventies by now, the retired air force officer had lost none of the imposing bearing that had gone a long way toward keeping his motley group of adopted and foster children in line for so many years. The shoulders were still square, the posture still ramrod straight, his intense blue gaze as direct as ever. But not, Cole could see now that he was closer, as bright.

It also occurred to him he couldn’t remember Preston ever doing the grocery shopping. That had been his wife Jeanne’s domain.

Now he clasped Cole’s hand in a firm shake. All forgiven? Forgotten? Unknown? Although Sabrina would’ve had to say something, wouldn’t she? To explain—

“Didn’t mean to creep you out,” the Colonel said, “but I wasn’t sure it was you at first. What on earth are you doing back here, boy? Thought you’d fled New Jersey years ago.”

Cole smiled. “I’m only in Maple River for the summer. Taking care of my parents’ place while they’re away.” He grinned down at Brooke, frowning so hard Cole had to fight a laugh. “This is my daughter, Brooke. And this guy,” he said as Wes wandered back, curiosity clearly overriding—for the moment—his annoyance with his father’s junk-food ban, “is my son, Wesley. Kids, this is Preston Noble. Spent a lot of time at his house, when I was around your age.”

Because I had the mother of all crushes on your daughter, sir.

And how is Sabrina, by the way?

The Colonel’s brows dipped slightly behind his glasses, as if he knew exactly what Cole was thinking. Which wouldn’t surprise him in the least. It used to rattle all the kids, Preston’s uncanny ability to read their minds, to put the kibosh on trouble before they could get into it. Most of the time, anyway.

But not all.

Both kids politely shook the older man’s hand, although Brooke hung back, more like a much younger child would have. Not surprising, Cole supposed, considering recent events.

And damned if the Colonel didn’t somehow pick up on that, too, immediately engaging both kids in some tale or other from when Cole had been a fixture in the Nobles’ kitchen, when Jeanne Noble had known his food preferences better than his own mother. And as he watched his still shell-shocked children begin to thaw in the warmth of the older man’s spirited tale-telling, he realized he couldn’t ever remember the Colonel talking down to a kid, how he always treated them as the intelligent, capable beings he knew, and expected, them to be. Not surprisingly, the kids were eating it up. Same as Cole had.

Then the older man met Cole’s gaze, his smile almost wistful. “The three of you should come over. So we can catch up properly. Not in the middle of the Food Lion.”

“Oh. Um...I...”

“How about this afternoon? If you’re not busy, I mean. Jeanne’s roses are spectacular this year, with all this rain. She would’ve been so pleased. You remember, I’m sure, how much she loved those roses.”

Loved. Past tense.

Cole’s heart lurched in his chest. That explained the slightly not-there look in the older man’s eyes. Why he was shopping.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should have. Eight years ago now.”

“But you still have the house?”

“For now. Since everyone’s out on their own...” Preston’s attention drifted back to the kids, now quietly arguing over grapes. Or something. “The boy looks exactly like you, doesn’t he?”

“Except about fifty pounds lighter.”

The older man turned back to him. “You’d already lost a lot of it, though, by your junior year.” He chuckled. “When you shot up six inches in as many months. Jeannie said you never saw it. Your metamorphosis.”

Cole felt his face warm. “I...no. I guess I didn’t.”

The Colonel humphed, clearly keeping whatever else he was thinking to himself as he looked back at the bickering duo. “It’s not like I don’t see the others fairly often, since they’re all still around. Well, except for Sabrina, she’s in New York. Pretty much only comes back for weddings. And new babies. And we’ve got plenty of those. Still. It’s not like it used to be, when the house was filled.” He paused. “Too damn big now,” he said softly. “Too quiet.”

The longing in the older man’s voice knifed straight through Cole, partly because he doubted Preston even realized it was there. If it was one thing the guy wasn’t, it was manipulative. Anal and demanding, perhaps, he thought with a smile, but definitely not one to play the pity card. And since his own parents were away—and had never been the coddling grandparent types, anyway—and Erin’s parents were both dead, what could it hurt to the let the old guy play honorary grandpa for an hour or so?

And frankly, Cole wouldn’t mind seeing the house again. If for no other reason than to perhaps expunge a memory or two.

“We’re having dinner with my sister tonight,” he said, “but I suppose we could come over for a little while this afternoon.”

Preston beamed. “That would be great. Around two or so?”

“We’ll be there.”

The other man clapped him on the shoulder before steering his cart down the aisle. Cole watched him for a second, then wandered over to the veggie section, ignoring his children’s grimaces as he bagged a bunch of broccoli and plunked it into the cart. “Heads up—we’re going to go visit Colonel Noble later.”

“Why?” Wesley said, suspicious.

“Because he invited us. And it’ll be fun, getting to see the house again.”

Fun. Yeah. Let’s go with that.

“One of his kids...” To Cole’s surprise, his throat caught. He cleared it, then said, “Was my best friend, all through middle and high school.”

“What was his name?”

He tossed a three pack of multicolored peppers into the cart. “Her name.” And some asparagus, tightly rubber-banded. “Sabrina.”

“Your best friend was a girl.”

“Yep.”

Wesley shook his head as Brooke leaned on the front of the cart, impeding Cole’s progress. “How come you never mentioned her before?”

“I’m sure I did. I must have.”

“Nope. I would’ve remembered. So how come?”

Did he dare try Brussels sprouts on them? He did.

“Haven’t seen her in years. One of those things.”

And amazingly he sounded almost nonchalant. In the past, over and done, didn’t matter. Highly doubtful he’d ever see her again.

Except Brooke gave him one of her strange looks, her searing, green-eyed stare reminding him yet again that he was perpetually an inch away from screwing up. Especially now. But at least, for these few minutes, he’d managed to distract them from what must have been the constant refrain of their mother’s pulling the rug out from under them. Completely of their own volition and without Cole’s knowledge, his extraordinarily courageous children had given his ex the choice between them and a lifestyle that had left them feeling like also-rans—and she had not chosen them.

And this—they—did matter. Now mattered. In a way that nothing else ever had, or ever would. Because while his love life was apparently doomed to eternal suckage, these kids would know they came first. That he loved them, and was proud of them, and wanted nothing less than the best for them.

Even if that included tiny cabbage-like vegetables, so innocently snuggled together in their little green net, unaware of their own gross-out factor. Awesome. “Dinner. Tomorrow,” he said. Both kids groaned, and Cole smiled.

Maybe he had no idea what he was doing, but at least they’d know he cared.

* * *

Blowing out a breath, Sabrina Noble stuffed her wallet back inside her purse as the taxi chugged away behind her down the tree-lined street. Shadow and sunlight danced across the lawn like a thousand fairies, beckoning her up the wide, welcoming stairs fronting the serene Queen Anne.

Home.

As in, that place you go when your future gets shot out from under you. Although not for long, the for-sale sign reminded her. She frowned, still not entirely sure how she felt about that.

A rose-scented breeze—not a smell one often caught in Manhattan, if ever—tangled with her long hair, and made her shiver slightly underneath her floaty top. Although not because she was cold.

Squaring her shoulders, Sabrina trudged up the brick walk, her largest rolling bag clackety-clacking behind her, echoing the refrain in her head—that she had no intention of staying a minute longer than necessary. She lugged the bag up onto the porch, returning to the curb for the rest of her luggage before retrieving the spare key from the secret pocket on the underside of the striped cushion on the far rocker. The front door open, she breathed in that same faint scent of eucalyptus she’d always associate with her childhood. With her adoptive mother, Jeanne, who’d installed that “secret” pocket. Amazing, that they’d never been robbed.

Although they had been, actually, of the woman who’d loved more than any human being Sabrina had ever known.

The sting of tears startled her. Never mind she’d lived on her own since she graduated from college. But if Mom had been here, there would have been hugs and cookies and sympathy. And probably a good talking-to, about needing to buck up and move on. And then more hugs—

Blowing out a breath, Sabrina hauled the bags inside and shut the door...only to frown when, from the back of the house, came a girl’s high-pitched giggle, followed by another kid’s—a boy?—affronted response. Then a masculine rumble, definitely not Pop’s, gently rebuking. For a second, irritation spiked, that Pop wasn’t alone. And wasn’t that stupid? That she was annoyed, not that he had company. Giving her head a sharp shake, she shoved down the case’s handle, let her purse slither off her shoulder to softly thunk onto the worn entryway carpet—

Like a summoned genie, the man she and her twin brother, Matt, had called their father since they were kindergartners appeared in the foyer. Underneath bristly white hair, ice-blue eyes slammed into hers.

“Sabrina? What are you doing here? The wedding’s not for another week—”

“Surprise,” she said through a tight throat, and her father’s eyes narrowed. Between two decades in the military and a second “career” fostering more kids than Sabrina could count, nothing got past Pop. Especially a small mountain of luggage sprawled across his foyer rug.

His gaze veered back to hers, burgeoning with questions.

“Later,” she whispered. More laughter drifted out from the kitchen. “When we’re alone—”

“Preston?” she heard, a split second before the dude belonging to the deep voice materialized behind him. And if it hadn’t been for the steely gray eyes, that one stubborn, still untamed curl at his temple, she wouldn’t have recognized Cole Rayburn in a million years.

Behind her own stinging eyes exploded a word she wouldn’t dare say in front of her father.

* * *

“You’ve changed.”

In more ways than you know, Cole thought, hyperaware of Bree’s gaze on his profile as he focused on the kids, playing catch in the backyard with her dad. A steady, dark brown gaze that used to make his stomach turn somersaults a million years ago.

That still could, apparently.

He hadn’t been able to read the emotions that’d streaked across her face when the penny dropped, although he’d caught the What the hell? easily enough.

Same goes, he’d wanted to say.

And for a moment, he’d considered gathering up the kids, getting out. Except the Colonel had given him a Deal with it look that brought an end to that idea. A look that the Colonel probably had been waiting a long time to give. Man had zero tolerance for unresolved issues. Especially involving his children. That the statute of limitations had long since run out on this one was beside the point.

Fiddling with a bottle of tea he didn’t really want, Cole released a breath. “When I realized these kids might need me to stick around past fifty, I decided it was time to get off my butt. Start eating like a human instead of some garbage-munching bacteria.”

“Or a teenage boy?”

“Same thing.”

Her chuckle was subdued. “And the glasses...?”

“LASIK. Got tired of breaking my glasses, can’t tolerate contacts.”

From the yard, they heard her father laugh, the kids responding in kind. Cole wasn’t sure who was blessing whom more. Right now, he didn’t care.

“How old are they?” Sabrina said softly.

“Wesley’s thirteen, Brooke twelve.”

“Wow. You were...young.”

Amazing, how normal their conversation sounded, considering the way they’d left things. “Not that young,” Cole murmured, sitting forward, his hands clamped around the bottle.

He sensed more than saw her take a sip of her own tea. “You with kids. Gonna take a minute to wrap my head around that. So where’ve you been all this time?”

“Philadelphia, mostly.” Cole finally tilted his own bottle to his lips.

“And you’re here now because...?”

“Here, as in Maple River? Or your dad’s house?”

“Either. Both.” At his silence, she added, “You’re the last person I expected to see right now. So color me curious.”

At that, he turned, starting slightly at the flashback—her sitting cross-legged on the cushioned wicker chair, her wavy hair cupping her shoulders. Even the skinny pants and loose top weren’t much different from what she used to wear. But for the first time since he’d encountered her again, Cole got his head out of his butt long enough to see the pain etched in her expression. Masked, to be sure, but definitely there. And far more real than that pity-me shtick she used to pull in high school.

Real or not, however, no way was he going to get sucked in. Not this time. Or ever again. Those big brown eyes be damned. Not to mention all that luggage in the vestibule. Full plate and all that. So whatever was going on with Bree, he didn’t need, or want, to know.

However, since he was on her turf, he supposed an explanation was in order.

His gaze shifted back to the kids, a smile tugging at his mouth when Wes—far more coordinated than Cole had been at that age—caught the ball. “The kids’ mother and I have been divorced since they were babies,” he said quietly. “Up to last week we had shared custody.”

“Last week...?” Her breath hitched. “What happened?”

“The kids asked Erin to choose between them and her...personal life.”

Several beats preceded “And she didn’t choose them?”

The horror in her voice made him smile. As did the softly uttered, but very crude, word that followed when he shook his head.

“I can’t imagine...” She blew out a harsh breath. “Sorry, I don’t even know the woman—or your kids, for that matter—it’s not my place to judge. But still.”

“Yeah.” When Bree didn’t respond, he said, “The thing is, Erin and I... It was a mistake. Plain and simple. And if she hadn’t gotten pregnant...”

“The first time or the second?”

Cole smirked. “We told ourselves it was working by then. We were wrong.” He paused. “It took her a while longer to finally admit motherhood cramped her style.”

At Sabrina’s silence, he turned again to find her watching the kids with an intensity that sent a jolt of awareness through him. Finally she sighed, then said, “So you brought them back here.”

Setting the bottle on a nearby table, Cole stood and walked over to the porch railing, his hands slammed into his jeans pockets. “For the summer, anyway. My folks needed someone to house-sit. And my sister and her family are here. It’ll be good for them, having a break until we figure out what comes next.”

“And you ran into Pop in the Food Lion. Amazing.”

“I think that’s called fate.”

He heard her snort. “So their mother... She simply washed her hands of them?”

“They talk. Text.” He looked at her. “It’s only been a week. And she’s still their mom.”

Her downturned mouth—there was a familiar expression—made it clear what she thought of his assessment before she nodded toward the yard, where her dad was giving Wes pointers on how to throw the ball. “Looks like maybe they’re helping each other.”

“So I didn’t imagine it,” Cole said. “That he’s lonely?”

Her cheeks puffed when she blew out a breath. “The others are around, of course. They get together a lot, he’s hardly neglected. But it’s not the same, from when the house was always filled.”

Cole took another swallow of his tea. “Can’t quite believe he’s selling it.”

“Not sure how hard, though. It’s been on the market for months. And it’s not overpriced, but...”

“He doesn’t really want to leave.”

The kids’ laughter floated over to them from the far end of the yard. Her smile seemed halfhearted. Nothing like the sassy grin he remembered. “Can you blame him?”

Cole thought of all the kids who’d found sanctuary here, temporary or otherwise. Himself included. How Jeanne Noble’s generosity, the Colonel’s strength, still permeated the space. It was a good house, filled with good vibes. Mostly, anyway.

“No, I can’t.” He squinted. “So you don’t mind? That we’re here?”

“Why should I?”

For oh, so many reasons, he thought, then looked away again, annoyed that he was still having trouble staring directly at the girl he’d once loved so hard it’d scared the snot out of him. Sure, those feelings were gone, but the memory of them wasn’t. And his fists clenched underneath his folded arms as the compassion in her eyes threatened to reopen not only newer, not-yet-completely scabbed over wounds, but much older ones he’d thought long since healed.

Then she got up to join him at the railing, and he shut his own eyes against the onslaught—of memories, of her scent, of disappointment and uncertainty and longing. Man, was he messed up, or what...?

“Dad tell you about Matt and Kelly?”

The amusement in her voice brought Cole’s gaze to the side of her face again. “Kelly? McNeil?”

“Yep.”

Back in school, Cole and Sabrina and Kelly had been—in hindsight—a very strange but very loyal triumvirate. Until Kelly moved away their senior year, and everything...changed.

“Matt and Kelly, what?”

“Married, if you can believe it. New baby, even. Well, three months old now. Although she already had two kids from her previous marriage.”

Cole’s head spun. Sure, everyone knew Kelly’d had a crush on Bree’s twin brother, but she’d been too shy to say anything. And Matt...well. Matt was Matt. Focused, one might say. Which was another word for oblivious.

“I don’t... Wow.”

Bree laughed. “Long story. Happy ending. Or beginning, I suppose. They don’t live far. In case you run into them in the supermarket or whatever. But fair warning—they’re ridiculously happy. It can grate, after a while.”

This was said with such love—and obvious pain—Cole felt his gut twist.

“I can imagine.”

A moment passed before she nodded toward the kids. “Tell me about them.”

He got another whiff of her perfume, something far more sultry than the sweet, flowery scent she used to wear. The image of all that luggage piled in the foyer flashed through his brain, the tears shining in her eyes—

“Wes is scary smart,” he said. “Especially in math. There was some talk about letting him skip a year, but I said no. Other kids already think he’s a freak as it is.”

“He gets picked on?”

A world of understanding packed into four words. “Enough.” He hesitated, then said, “Nothing like I was, though. Thank God.”

She flashed him a quick smile, then asked, “And Brooke?”

As usual, his heart softened when he looked at his daughter, tall and blonde and still blessedly shapeless—although for how long was anybody’s guess. No longer a child, nowhere near being a woman...and Cole had no clue what to do with her. Except love her.

“Into dance, art, music. Science. Every bit as smart as Wes. And not even remotely interested in capitalizing on that.”

“Because she’s seen what’s happened to her brother and doesn’t want to go there.”

“Maybe. Whatever. Drives me nuts.”

“Give her time, she’ll get over it.”

Feeling his lips twitch, Cole looked over. “You sure?”

“I did,” she said, then laughed. “About being myself, I mean. Mostly, anyway. But those hormone swarms are a bitch.”

“Yeah. I remember,” he said, and she laughed again, then gave him something close to a side-eye. “They’ll be fine, Rayburn.”

“Why would you say—”

“Because you’re their dad.” Not looking at him, she stuffed her fingers in her front pockets, the lightweight top scrunching over her wrists. “You were a good friend,” she said softly. “A good person. Even if we messed things up—”

She cut herself off when her father appeared at the porch steps, leaning heavily on the bottom post and breathing hard.

“Pop? You okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” the Colonel said, swatting a hand at his daughter before hauling in another lungful of air. “You guys all keep reminding me I need more exercise, so I got it.” Then to Cole, “You and the kids are welcome to stay for dinner. Easy enough to fire up the grill—”

“Thanks,” Cole said. “But we’re going to my sister’s—”

“Right, right—I forgot.”

At the mention of Diana, Cole saw something flash in Bree’s eyes. The vestiges of fear, most likely. His sister, ten years his senior and Cole’s self-appointed surrogate parent whenever his well-meaning but easily distracted academic parents dropped the ball—which was frequently—could definitely be scary.

“How is Diana?”

“Good. Bored, though, now that her two oldest are in college. Keeps making noises about going back to work. But anyway,” he said as the kids tromped up the porch steps, looking a little flushed but otherwise none the worse for wear, “we should get going.”

“C’n we get something to drink first?” Wes panted out.

“It’s five blocks, you can’t wait?”

The kid pantomimed clutching his throat, as if he’d been on a fifty-mile hike in the desert, and Bree smothered a laugh. Clearly eating it up, Wes grinned, then did his poor puppy dog face. “Man, I would kill for some Gatorade right now.”

“There’s tea and juice in the fridge,” the Colonel said. “Help yourself. Although in my day,” he said, shepherding them back inside, “we made do with drinking from the hose...”

Bree chuckled again as Cole’s phone buzzed—a text from his sister, wondering where they were. “You really shouldn’t encourage him,” he said, pocketing the phone.

“Pop?”

“No. Wes. Kid’s a master manipulator.”

“Yeah, I seem to remember somebody else like that.” She shoved her hair behind her ear. Flashed a smile. “This was nice, catching up.”

“Sure.”

Her eyes shadowed for a moment. “So...I’ll be seeing you guys again?”

“Maybe.” Because if he said no, then he’d have to explain why. And frankly, he wasn’t sure he could. “How long are you staying?”

Although her smile stayed put, the shadow darkened. “Not sure—”

“Dad!” Brooke burst back on to the porch, holding out her phone. “Aunt Di says if we don’t get over there right now—”

“You guys go on, tell her we’re on our way.”

But when he turned back around, Bree had wandered out into the yard to sit on one of the swings on the old play set, looking like the world’s most lost little girl as she stared off into space.

And Cole stood there far longer than he should have, watching her.

Full plate, he reminded himself, then turned to leave, telling himself the image would fade.

Eventually.

Chapter Two

Her underwear dumped into the top drawer of her old dresser, Sabrina shoved it closed and sighed, missing Mom—who would have been right there with her, if not tucking things into drawers and hanging up stuff in the closet, at least sitting on the foot of the bed, listening, eyes soft with sympathy or bright with anger. Honestly—Sabrina zipped up the empty case and rammed it underneath the twin bed—more and more, her life felt like some artsy foreign film where bizarre crap kept happening but you had no idea why. And a happy ending was not a given. Chad used to drag her to those. And she’d go and pretend to enjoy them for his sake, but mostly she was just Huh?

Take the past twenty-four hours, for instance. As if having her future ripped from her in the space of a single conversation wasn’t bad enough, then to run into Cole Rayburn, of all people. After which they’d had this perfectly normal, totally weird conversation, as though nothing had happened.

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. There’d definitely been some heavy-duty skirting of the truth going on. Some people might call that civilized and mature. Because it was ancient history and all that. Except...this was Cole and her.

For whatever that was worth.

Which would be not a whole lot, Sabrina thought, starting downstairs. Dude obviously had his hands full. And, yes, that was her heart squeezing inside her chest, especially when she thought about his kids...

She released another breath. Only so much multitasking her poor brain could handle right now.

Through the open patio door, the scent of charbroiled meat floated in from the deck where Pop was grilling. Stalling, she got a diet soda out of the French-door fridge in the recently remodeled kitchen, all stainless steel and sparkly white quartz and cherrywood cabinets. Very pretty. Still, she missed the homeyness of the old seventies decor, the knotty pine and faux brick, the old gouged table where they’d eaten, done homework, spilled their guts to Mom. Even the kids who’d only been passing through.

The family room, however, she thought, popping the can’s tab as she peeked in the room, still bore the scars of having been a family room in every sense of the word. Probably one reason why the house was still on the market. The kitchen showed well, sure, but the rest of the house...not so much. Especially to buyers with no desire to take on a fixer-upper, even if most of the work was cosmetic. True, Pop had impulsively donated Mom’s vast, and eclectic, book collection to the library some months before. But since he hadn’t moved any further in that direction, Sabrina could only assume—since they’d never discussed it—that the action had paralyzed him instead of propelling him forward.

She tilted the can to her lips, remembering the beehive of activity this house had once been, of noisy meals and fights for the bathroom and never-ending chore lists, usually overseen by the man currently grilling their dinner. Now only an eerie stillness remained, a thousand memories whispering like ghosts every time Sabrina returned. For all she’d chomped at the bit to escape more than a decade before, seeing it this way—like a dying person halfway between this world and the next—made her very sad.

Sadder, anyway.

The can clutched to her chest, she finally went outside, smiling for her father.

“Smells great.”

Standing at the grill, Pop glanced over, then said, “All unpacked?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Good,” he said, not looking at her, and her eyes filled. Because all she wanted, she realized, was a hug.

Dumb.

She’d wondered sometimes, how, with their polar opposite natures, her parents had ever gotten together. Let alone enjoyed the kind of marriage that textbooks could point to and say, This. Mom had been the one who’d wrap Sabrina in her warm embrace, doing all the talking for both of them during those first few weeks after she and Matt had arrived and Sabrina wouldn’t, or couldn’t, find her words. The Colonel, however, hadn’t seemed to know what to do with the frightened little girl clinging to her grief like a tattered teddy bear. Oh, Sabrina eventually figured out that, despite his more reserved nature, Pop cared fiercely about every child in his care, that fostering had been his idea. There was no better man on earth. But sometimes Sabrina felt as if their initial interaction—or lack of one—had set the tone for their entire relationship.

That even after all these years, she still had no idea how to close the gap between them.

“Got some vegetable kebabs from the store to go with the burgers,” he said. “That okay?”

“Sure.”

Fragrant smoke billowed out when he lifted the lid to the grill, frowning again in her direction. “Sorry to spring Cole and the kids on you like that. If I’d known you were coming—”

“No, it’s okay. I should’ve warned you.”

Pop had known, of course, that things had fallen apart between her and Cole their senior year. Just not why. God willing, he never would.

“Always did like that boy,” Pop now said, flipping the burgers. “Missed him hanging around.”

“So you ran into him and invited him over.”

Shooting her another curious look, Pop closed the lid to the grill again. “For more than five years that kid was over here more than he was at his own house. Seemed like it, anyway. Invitation was out of my mouth before I even knew it was there.” He crossed his arms. “Couple of smart kids he’s got there.”

“So Cole said,” Sabrina said, walking to the edge of the deck jutting out into the large yard off the porch. Shards of dying, early evening sun sliced through the pine trees on one side of the yard, gilding the new grass and her mother’s prodigiously blooming rosebushes. A robin darted, stopped, darted again across the lawn, ignoring the chattering of an unseen squirrel nearby. Images flashed, of badminton and croquet games, of running through the sprinklers. That old Slip ’N Slide. Fireflies. Of lying in the grass on summer evenings, her and Cole and Kelly...

“You gonna go see the baby tonight?”

Releasing a breath, Sabrina turned, bracing her hands on the deck railing behind her and refusing to feel sorry for herself, that Matt was married and her younger brother, Tyler, was going to be in a week, that even her oldest brother, Ethan, had found love again after losing his wife three years ago. That things seemed to be working out fine for everyone but her.

Not that she hadn’t tried—

Okay, maybe that not-feeling-sorry-for-herself thing wasn’t working as well as she’d hoped.

“Tomorrow, maybe. It’ll be too late after dinner. They’ll be wanting to get the little one down, I imagine.”

Her father shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “So you gonna tell me what happened, or are we playing twenty questions?”

Sabrina smirked. “Wondered when you were going to ask.”

“Didn’t want to push.”

She held up her left hand, naked except for the imprint of the ring that had been there only yesterday. “Not that you haven’t already figured it out.”

“It was his boy, wasn’t it?”

Her vision blurred, Sabrina nodded. Chad didn’t have his six-year-old son very often—his ex had moved to the West Coast for work, and Robbie went with her—meaning the child wanted Daddy to himself when he did see him. Not that Sabrina blamed him.

“I couldn’t stand seeing the kid so miserable, Pop.”

“So you broke it off.”

“It was a mutual decision.”

“And the child was six. He would have gotten over it.”

From anyone else, her father’s words might have sounded callous. Uncaring. Except Sabrina knew the remark came from a place of deep love for kids. All kids. Which only made it harder to hear.

“You think I gave up.”

She nearly choked when her father walked over, wrapped her in his arms. For maybe two seconds, but still. Holy crap.

He let her go to return to the grill, scraping burgers on to a nearby plate before giving her a hard stare. “I wasn’t there, I have no idea what went on between you. But I know you,” he said, jabbing the spatula in her direction. “I know how good you are with kids. How crazy they are about you. So whatever was going on...” He lowered the lid again. “Not your fault.”

“Yeah, well, you also never liked Chad.”

“Only because I never felt he was worthy of you.”

“What? You never said that—”

“Didn’t have to, did I?”

“Chad’s a good man, Pop. Jeez, give me some credit.” He slanted a look in her direction, and her face warmed. “My point is, this wasn’t about me and Chad, it was about me and his little boy—”

“And that was his father’s issue to address, not yours. And if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do that...” His eyes narrowed. “Did he even try to fix the problem?”

“To be honest...” Her mouth twisted. “He looked...relieved.”

He jabbed the spatula at her again. Point made. “Sounds to me like he’s the one who gave up. You also have no idea what the kid’s mother was putting in his head about you.”

Actually, considering some of the things the child had said to her, she had a pretty good idea. But no need to add fuel to that fire.

Pop’s gaze softened. Marginally. “All I want is for you to be happy. Trust me, wouldn’t have happened for you with that guy. Not in the long run. Because eventually you would have lost out to the kid. Which you obviously knew, or you wouldn’t have ended it. Right?”

You know, there was a reason she’d left home. And not only because small-town Jersey was suffocating her. That the man spoke the truth—yet again—was beside the point.

Pop plated the kebabs, setting both them and the burgers on the table. “So I take it you’re staying for a while?”

“A few weeks, maybe,” Sabrina said, sitting across from him and spearing the smallest burger. “Until I...get my bearings again. That okay?”

“Like you have to ask. As long as I still have the house, anyway.” He glanced over again. “No bun?”

“Carbs, Pop.”

Shaking his head, he took a bite of his own burger, his gaze drifting out to the yard. Sabrina could probably guess what he was thinking. Or rather, who he was thinking about. Not looking at Pop, she slowly pulled off a piece of pineapple from her skewer and asked, “You ever think about dating again?”

After a long moment, she looked up to meet his glare. Bingo.

“And what would be the point of that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How’s about going to a movie or out to dinner with someone not related to you? Might be fun. You should try it.”

One side of his mouth pulled up. Sort of. “This you not wanting to whine about your own problems?”

“You bet. So?”

Her father took another bite of his burger. “Seems like it’d be more trouble than it’s worth. Especially at my age.”

“So what’re you going to do with the next twenty or thirty years, Methuselah? Watch TV all day?”

“And maybe after all those years of taking care of everybody else, all I want to do is watch TV.”

“Not buying it. Sorry.”

“I’m good with things the way they are, thank you. Once I get out of this house...”

His voice once more trailing off, Pop glanced around, almost as if he didn’t recognize the place, before facing Sabrina again...and she saw in his eyes the depth of his loss in a way she never had before, prompting her to lean over to lay her hand on his wrist. Pushing out a sigh, Pop covered her hand with his own.

“You know, I lost track of how many times we moved, when I was on active duty. The number of places we lived. Far as I was concerned they were only places to sleep, way stations between assignments. But this...” He looked around again. “This was home. Where we raised all you kids. I know I don’t need it anymore. Have known for some time. And I plunked down my deposit on a one-bedroom unit at Sunridge last month—”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Nobody does. Didn’t want you all hounding me.”

“Pop. You decided to sell. Months ago—”

“And at the time, I thought I was good with that decision. And in here,” he said, tapping his head, “I still am.” Then he palmed his heart. “In here is another story.”

“Which is why, I assume, you’re dragging your heels about giving the place a face-lift.”

“Jeannie picked out every paint color, every stick of furniture in the place. What somebody does with it after I’m gone is none of my concern. But as long as I’m still here, it’s my home. And damned if I’m going to spend whatever time I have left in the house feeling like I’m in somebody else’s.”

“So why’d you redo the kitchen?”

He huffed a breath through his nose. “Because even I had to admit it was falling apart. Half the drawers didn’t even close anymore. And the old range was down to two functioning burners. So I caved, let some kitchen designer convince me that an upgrade would add value to the house.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“Except I hate it. Looks like a damn showroom. Or a commercial kitchen. Not like someplace a family wants to hang out. Frankly, I’d change it all back if I could. Except they tell me you can’t even get those green appliances anymore.”

“And thank God for that,” Sabrina said, and her father humphed. “Pop...you need to make a decision here. A real one, I mean, not this half-assed thing. Otherwise you’re wasting both the Realtor’s time and yours. If you don’t want to sell, then don’t. I mean it,” she said at her father’s startled look. “Take the place off the market, tell Sunridge you changed your mind—”

“And forfeit my deposit?”

“If it comes down to that, yes. For heaven’s sake—for once in your life, go with your gut, not only your head. If it doesn’t feel right to leave, don’t. It’s your house, your life. Your right to reverse course. But don’t move forward with something only to save face, or because that’s what everyone’s expecting—”

Her gaze lowered, her uneaten food a blur. She felt her father’s touch on her wrist, as gentle-rough as his words. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about me anymore?”

She jerked her hand away, even as she laughed. Hyenaesque though it may have been. Because she had seen the writing on the wall with Chad. Like neon-hued graffiti, actually. But in spite of the troubles with Robbie, she’d clung to the relationship for far longer than she should have. Because she was so, so tired of...

Of failing.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “You’re the one who can’t decide whether to sell his house or not.”

But after she’d retreated once more to the room that still bore the scars of her youth—a hundred tiny pushpin pricks from long-gone posters, a red stain on the windowsill where a candle had melted and overflowed—the cold, hard truth came right with her, that she’d fallen into the very trap she’d sworn to avoid.

Of letting desperation make a fool of her.

Exactly like she had with Cole, all those years ago.

She hurled her old teddy bear across the room, where it bounced off the closet door with a pathetic little squeak.

* * *

“So Sabrina’s back?” Cole’s sister said, stretching plastic wrap over the leftover salad.

Yeah, he wondered how long it’d take before she brought up that particular subject. Figuring it best to jump the gun before the kids said something at dinner, he’d casually mentioned she’d been at the Colonel’s.

“Yep,” Cole said, warring with himself about having a second piece of chocolate cake. With caramel filling. Sitting there on the counter, taunting him like some barely clad sex kitten in an X-rated dream. Squelching a sigh, he looked back at Diana, while in the family room beyond, her youngest and Cole’s two were watching some zombie flick, the expressions on their faces not a whole lot different than the characters on the screen. “Visiting, or something. Had no idea she was going to be there. Or she, us. What’re the odds, right?”

“How is she?” Diana asked stiffly, and Cole smiled, even as he silently cussed out his brother-in-law for abandoning him to the she-wolf that was his sister. Some flimsy excuse about a crisis at his restaurant.

“Down, sis. That was a long time ago.”

Her eyes cut to his, then away again when she turned to grab the cake cover and rattle it over the plate, hiding temptation. “Just asking.”

Even though she’d been married and a mother already when it became obvious Bree was no longer a part of Cole’s life—having been the center of it for so long—it was Diana who’d seen through his lousy attempt at stoicism and realized her baby brother was hurting. Never mind that he’d brought most of the pain on himself.

“We talked, Di. Watched the kids play with the Colonel. That’s pretty much it. Hey,” he said to the mother of all skeptical looks, “you remember that dude you dated your senior year? What was his name?”

Di frowned for a minute, then said, “You mean Stuart? Gosh—I haven’t thought of him in years.”

“But back then you two were pretty tight, as I recall.”

He couldn’t tell if Di was more shocked or amused. “You were seven, for pity’s sake. How would you...?”

“I might’ve heard Mom and Dad talking. Sounding worried.” He shrugged, enjoying his sister’s blush. “So tell me—if you were to run into Stuart now, would you still feel anything?”

“What? No! Why would I?” Cole lifted an eyebrow, and his sister sighed. “One word—Andy. Who wiped all thoughts of other guys out of my head the minute I met him. Also, Stuart didn’t break my heart.”

“Bree didn’t—”

“Cole. Please. Memory like a steel trap.”

“Then how come you’re not remembering that I broke it off?”

“Damage control doesn’t count. And besides...” Her gaze gentled. “Then there was Erin.”

She stopped there. Thank God. Although there would have been a time when she wouldn’t have.

“Look,” he said, “we ran into each other, we talked, she’ll go back to New York and I’m here. With my kids.” He glanced into the family room. “Speaking of damage control.”

His sister leaned over to kiss him on top of his head. Like he was five, for God’s sake. Then she looked into the family room, her mouth curved down at the corners.

“How are they doing?” She turned back to him. “And before you answer, I’ve survived three teenagers. My BS detector is top-of-the-line.”

“You tell me. Since you watched them like a hawk all during dinner.”

“This can’t be easy on them, leaving Philly, their friends...”

“They’re cool with it, you guys are three houses away and it’s only for the summer.”

“And then?”

“Haven’t gotten that far.”

“So you’re not going back to Philly.”

Not if I can help it, he thought, then smiled for his concerned sister. “Keeping our options open for now. Di—it’s been a week. Give us a second, okay? Although I am thinking—if we stay here—of putting them in Sedgefield.”

That got another disapproving look. “Public school was good enough for us, as I recall.”

“For some of us, maybe.”

His sister sucked in a short breath. “Sorry—”

Cole held up a hand, cutting her off, then refolded his arms over his chest. “Sedgefield’s a better fit for the kids than any of the middle schools here, I checked. And I can afford it.” Which his parents hadn’t been able to, not on their professors’ salaries. For years, Cole had wondered how different things might have been, if he’d gone there. Although of course now he knew bullying could happen anywhere. And if he had, he wouldn’t have met Sabrina...

Thereby saving himself a whole boatload of heartache.

“And they were already in private school in Philly, anyway,” he said, seeing a mind-numbing, body-exhausting workout in his near future. Because if he dreamed about Sabrina tonight, he was a dead man. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said when Brooke slogged into the kitchen and collapsed into his arms. He’d never thought of himself as the kind of daddy to actually have a daddy’s girl, but what did he know? “Movie over?”

She shook her head. “But my eyeballs were about to fall out of my head, it was so disgusting. Why do boys like stuff like that?”

Diana chuckled. “A question I’ve been asking myself for years. Want another piece of cake?”

“Di—”

“Have you looked at your daughter recently? I swear she’s grown two inches in the week since you guys got here. Kid needs fuel.”

“And I did eat two helpings of veggies,” Brooke said, all big green eyes. “And a salad—”

“Okay, okay,” Cole said, laughing in spite of himself. And honestly, it wasn’t as if either of his two showed the slightest indication of having the same weight issues that had plagued Cole for so long—equating food with comfort, as some sort of compensation for whatever he’d believed was missing from his life. His own parents had turned a blind eye, for reasons Cole would never understand. But damned if he was going to do the same thing.

While Brooke downed her second piece of cake and the boys finished up the movie, Diana packed up enough food to last them until fall.

“You know,” Cole said, the bulging bag knocking against his thigh as they walked outside and the kids raced ahead “I really hate it when you pity me.”

“That’s not pity, it’s looove.” Cole groaned; his sister laughed before giving him a one-armed hug. “I’ve missed you, twerp.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” And amazingly enough, he meant it.

Brooke let out a shriek at something Wes said to her, and Diana chuckled again. “They’re going to be fine, honey,” she said softly. “And so will you.”

“I am fine, Di.”

She gave him one of her looks. “No, you’re not. And don’t argue with me, I know you a helluva lot better than you know yourself. You need someone, Cole.”

Yep. Still the same pain in the ass as ever.

“I have someone. Two someones, in fact.”

“Not what I mean, and you know it.” She paused. “I didn’t regret for one minute my decision to stay home with the boys. But if Andy hadn’t been there, too...” Cole could feel her gaze on the side of his face. “Raising kids is hard. Raising them on your own—”

“Is not beyond the realm of possibility.” Bemused, Cole lowered his eyes to his sister’s. “And if you even try to fix me up, I will kill you.”

She laughed. “Not to worry. Every woman I know who’s even reasonably the right age is either married, insane or a skank. Sometimes all three.”

“You need new friends.”

“Tell me about it. But you need—” she rubbed his arm, her voice gentling “—to put yourself out there, sweetie. And don’t give me any flak about having the kids full-time. Because they’re always welcome here while you—” her mouth twitched “—search.”

Smirking, Cole ignored the headache trying desperately to take hold. His sister meant well, she really did. But even if he had the time—or energy—to pursue a relationship, right now was about the kids’ needs. Not his. Because damned if he was going to do to them what their mother had.

“Thanks for the offer, but we’re good.”

Then he hotfooted it down the walk before she could regroup. A talent at which Diana excelled.

* * *

Despite his aching head—which the kids’ near-constant bickering behind him for the past ten minutes hadn’t helped—Cole smiled for the trio of wriggling, curly-tongued pugs swarming Brooke and Wes when they got back to his parents’ house.

“Let ’em out,” he said, dumping his keys on the same little dish on the table by the front door that had been there forever, as the beasts raced through the modest bungalow and through the now-open patio door. Cole quickly unloaded the bag of food, stuffing what needed to be refrigerated into the old white side-by-side before joining kids and dogs outside.

The yard wasn’t particularly large, but it backed onto a wooded parcel separating the neighborhood from a secondary highway. Dimly, Cole could hear that same hum of traffic that used to lull him to sleep at night as a kid, that had served as a comforting backdrop to now-forgotten conversations.

Maybe not so forgotten.

Expelling a breath, he shoved his hands into his pockets as he stood on the cement patio, willing the almost-cool evening breeze to unclog his brain, relax the muscles strangling the base of his skull.

Ironically, his sister’s prodding about the future—the one she saw for him, anyway—had only jerked awake another scene from his past, of a scrawny sixth-grade girl who’d had no trouble verbally smacking down that trio of bullies, all twice her size, who’d been making Cole’s life a living hell. Trying to, anyway. Since in reality their ass-hattery hadn’t bothered him nearly as much as it apparently had her.

His mouth curved in spite of himself as he remembered the good times, of how natural and easy things had been between them.

Until an influx of rowdy hormones drowned out every ounce of intelligence and common sense Cole had possessed, blinding him to who, or what, Sabrina had become—

“Dad? You okay?”

He hadn’t even realized Wes had plopped into one of the patio chairs, long legs stretched in front of him, his pant hems hovering north of his ankles. A trip to the mall was in order, Cole thought, suppressing a shudder. “Sure.”

“Really? Because you’ve been, I don’t know. Weird.”

Out in the yard, Brooke threw a ratty old tennis ball for the dogs, laughing when they all tripped over each other trying to get it. Smiling, Cole crossed the patio to sink into the chair next to Wes’s, then leaned forward to link his hands between his knees. “Hey. Weird is my middle name.”

The kid snorted a laugh through his nose. “Okay, weirder. Seriously, on the way back from Aunt Di’s? You didn’t even tell Brooke and me to stop messing with each other.”

“And you’re complaining?”

“I’m... Well, no. I guess. But...” Something made a peeping sound in the woods. Frog? Bug? “I thought you said you and Sabrina had been best friends?”

“We were.” Brooke flopped on the grass in the fading light, then writhed in laughter as all three dogs assaulted her with sloppy kisses. “Actually, she saved my butt when we were kids. Thinks she did, anyway. Took on a bunch of bullies who apparently took issue with the way I looked.”

“Took on? As in, beat them up or something?”

Cole laughed. “Bree’s a lot tougher than she looks, but...no. Read ’em the riot act, though. And pointed out her twin brother, who was easily twice her size. And theirs. But like I said, we hadn’t seen each other in years. And I certainly wasn’t expecting to see her today. Or her, me.” He glanced over at his son. A breeze ruffled the kid’s too-long hair, almost as curly as Cole’s. He looked back out over the yard. “So it was definitely strange.”

“So, what? You guys just hung out together and stuff? You didn’t date?”

“No,” Cole said mildly. Truthfully. Although with a slight, if insistent, pinch to his chest. “We spent most of our time at the Colonel’s. But sometimes here. Where it was a lot quieter.”

“Quieter?”

“The Colonel and his wife Jeanne had adopted four kids—including Sabrina and her twin brother—and then had a baby of their own right about the time Bree and I met, in middle school. Add to that everybody’s friends...place was definitely hopping.”

“And Mom couldn’t even handle two kids,” Wes muttered, and Cole’s gaze snapped back to his son. He’d given Bree a severely edited version of the story, of course. Partly because he was hardly going to air his—or, in this case, his ex’s—dirty laundry to someone he hadn’t seen in almost twenty years. But partly because he was ashamed, truth be told, that he hadn’t made it his business to find out what exactly had been going on. Then again, how would he have known, if the kids didn’t tell him?

But in the past few days, the truth had leaked out bit by bit, how often Erin would leave them on their own, or forget to pick them up, or even when she was there, retreat to her room and computer rather than interacting with her own children. He’d assumed, since she’d fought for primary custody, they’d be her priority. Instead, they’d apparently been so far down the list they were barely on her register.

His eyes burning, Cole reached over to clamp his hand around the back of his son’s neck. God knew Cole was still jerking awake at night, heart pounding at the realization that no one was coming to get them on Sunday. That he was it. At the same time, no one was ever going to take them away, either. Ever again. Or leave them alone, or ignore them, or let anything—or anyone—come between them.

“All in the past now, buddy,” he whispered. “Not that I know how to handle you guys, either—” that got a chuckle “—but we’ll figure it out together.”

Wes straightened up, his cool gray gaze far too trenchant for thirteen. “You make it sound like this is all new to you. We were with you almost every weekend—”

“This is different,” Cole said. “This is...real.”

“And forever?”

Cole’s throat clogged again. “Yeah.”

The boy stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly, and awkwardly, launched himself into Cole’s arms to give him a sweaty, slightly funky hug.

And Cole thought that this was all he could want. Or need. Or, as his son so succinctly put it, handle.

Wes pulled free, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “C’n I go play on the computer for a little while?” He grinned. “I’m on level sixty-four.”

“No kidding?”

“Yep. Nobody else in school—my old school, I mean—was even close.”

“Huh. Clearly I didn’t make it hard enough.”

“Oh, it’s plenty hard, believe me,” Wes said, his cheeks dimpling. “Can’t help it if I’m a genius.”

“Well, genius, only for an hour. It’s already late. You guys need to be in bed.”

His son made a face, but he knew better than to argue. The bedtime rules—at least with Cole—had been set in stone from the time they were babies. And yet, they’d still wanted to come live with him.

After Wes went inside, Cole settled back in his chair, watching his daughter. It’d become a game, over the past few days, to see who’d run out of steam first—her or the dogs. So far, the dogs had won, every time. Lots of energy packed into those squat little bodies—

His phone rang. He dug it out of his pants pocket, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

“Cole here—”

“Yeah, so your sister said,” a familiar voice barked in his ear. “Not that you’d bothered to tell me.”

“I was going to call you tomorrow, I swear,” he said, and the old woman snorted. Loudly. Aunt Lizzie had always been his mother’s favorite aunt, hovering around ninety and with an attitude befitting a former Rockette who’d once “dated,” or so the story went, someone high up in New York politics. After years of fighting the family about giving up her house in town, a broken hip two years before had finally convinced her to move into a retirement community, where she’d been blissfully raising hell ever since.

“So I need a favor,” she said, as though it hadn’t been months since they’d talked.

Cole’s brows arched. Fiercely independent, Lizzie rarely asked for anything from anyone. One of the reasons Cole hadn’t seen her was because she’d made it clear ages ago she didn’t want anyone clinging to her any more than she wanted to cling to them.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. This friend of mine up here at Sunridge, she invited all of us to come to her granddaughter’s wedding next Saturday. When I asked your sister a couple weeks ago she said she’d take me, so I wouldn’t have to ride that god-awful community bus with all the old biddies. So I call her a couple minutes ago to make sure she remembers, and what does she say? That she totally forgot, she and Andy are taking George up to Adelphi that day to tour the place. Can you believe that sweet little boy is going to college next year? Damn, I’m getting old. But anyway. She said I should call you. So here I am. Calling. Can you take me?”

Cole smiled. “Don’t see why not. But I’ve got the kids—”

“For the weekend?”

“No,” he said quietly. “For good.”

Silence. Then, “And you were planning on telling me this, when?”

“Tomorrow. When I called. It’s a brand-new development, Lizzie,” he said when she snorted again.

“So bring ’em. Anybody can come to the ceremony. And that way I’ll get to see them. ’Cause it’s been a while, you know.”

“Hey. Not my fault you were on a cruise the last time they were here.”

“Okay, you might have a point. Although remind me to never let Myrtle Steinberg talk me into going anywhere with her again. Alaska was pretty and all, but not exactly rife with hot young men in Speedos—”

“So who are these people?” Cole said before the discussion got worse. Which, with Lizzie, was a foregone conclusion. “The ones getting married?”

“What? Oh. Well, like I said, my friend’s granddaughter. Laurel. Lovely girl, brings her baby boy when she comes to visit. Adorable, both of them. She’s marrying one of the Noble boys, actually. The youngest one, I think. You still keep up with that Sabrina?”

Cole’s heart knocked against his ribs. “How on earth would you remember Sabrina? You only met her once. At graduation.”

“Once before that, too. When I was still living over on Edgewood. You’d brought over a cake or something your sister had made, and Sabrina was with you. You don’t remember that?”

“Um...sure?”

Lizzie snorted. “And they say old people are the ones with the sketchy memories—”

Panting, Brooke tromped over to the patio, collapsing into the same chair recently vacated by her brother. She frowned, pointing to her ear. Cole held up one hand as Lizzie repeated her question. Because one did not evade Lizzie.

“So you two still keep up?” she asked.

“Actually...I saw her today. First time since graduation.”

“Get out. So what’s she up to?”

“I don’t know, really. She didn’t say. She’s been living in New York, though.”

“No fooling? Good for her. Sure, I’m okay with living out here now, I’m old as dirt. Who the hell needs to fight those crowds anymore? Not me, that’s for sure. But to be young and living in the city...” He heard her sigh. “But you say she’s back?”

“Visiting, apparently. Because the rest of her family is still here.”

“So I suppose she’ll be there. At the wedding?”

“I...imagine so.”

“Then I’ll get to see her. She still cute?”

Cole laughed in spite of himself. “She’s the same age as me, Lizzie. Thirty-five.”

“And I’m ninety-one next birthday. And still cute as a damn button. Although why buttons are supposed to be cute, I have no idea. Okay, gotta go scope out a good spot for the movie before all the good chairs are taken, I’ll see you on Saturday. The wedding’s at two, but pick me up at one-fifteen, I want to get a good seat in the church. And dress nice, for God’s sake, I got an image to keep up!”

“Dad? What was that all about?”

His phone pocketed, Cole turned to his daughter. “Your grandmother’s aunt Lizzie asked me to take her to a wedding on Saturday. Meaning you guys get to go, too.” He frowned. “Do you even have a dress?”

A look of utter horror flashed in his daughter’s eyes. “I have to wear a dress?”

Just shoot him now.

Chapter Three

As Cole drove through the retirement community gates to pick up his aunt, the kids merrily bickering behind him, he grumpily acknowledged that it was a perfect day for a wedding: bright blue sky, puffy clouds, the barest breath of a breeze set at exactly the right temperature.

Unlike his own wedding day, which had been marked by miserably cold, torrential rains, the tail end of some far-reaching hurricane. Not that it would have mattered, the ceremony being a justice-of-the-peace affair with only their immediate families in attendance. Because neither he nor Erin had wanted a fuss. As if getting married was no big deal. Like buying a couch.

Except, looking back, they’d probably discussed the pros and cons of Ikea over Pottery Barn far more than they had whether or not to make things legal between them.

He still had the couch. Ikea. Erin’s choice, and Cole pretty much hated it, but she hadn’t wanted it when they broke up, and the thought of buying another one made Cole’s brain hurt. So there it was, along with the rest of the crap from his apartment, in storage. Although even he had to admit, after more than a dozen years of food spills, ground-in city dirt and more than a few unidentifiable stains, he supposed he should really think about buying a new one. Couldn’t be any worse than dress shopping with his daughter, right?

Mercifully, the kids called a cease-fire as he drove around to Lizzie’s apartment, a ground-floor unit with a courtyard view.

“I’ll go get her,” Wes said, bounding out of the car and up the short walk before Cole could ask, the beginnings of a swagger evident even though the kid’s legs hadn’t yet acclimated to his growth spurt. Of course, that might have had something to do with his “cool” outfit, all of the kid’s choosing—khakis, designer sneakers, untucked dress shirt with preppy tie. Cole released a sigh, relieved that the boy seemed to be getting his mental feet under him again, at least, even if not his virtual ones.

Lizzie popped through her apartment door the instant Wes knocked, all dolled up in something flowery and floaty Cole vaguely remembered from his sister’s wedding twenty years before. But with a floppy yellow hat and gold ballet slippers to complete the look. And jewelry. Lots and lots of jewelry, dangling and jangling as she made remarkably fast tracks toward the car, jabbing her cane into the sidewalk so hard he half expected to see sparks.

Wes scurried up from behind to open the car door for her, earning him a squeal of delight and a pat on the cheek. Even if she had to reach up a foot to do it.

“Such a good boy!” she said, carefully arranging sticklike limbs as she lowered herself inside, giving off enough mothball scent to fell a horse. “So rare to see good manners these days. Thank you, honey,” she said to Wes when he climbed back into his seat. Then, as Cole backed out of the parking space, she twisted around to smile for Brooke, letting out a little gasp of delight. “And don’t you look pretty, sweetheart! Is that a new dress?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

Chuckling, Lizzie turned back around. “Tough customer,” she muttered over the soft whirr of the car’s airconditioning, and Cole thought, with a smile, You should know. He’d seen pictures of his aunt in her glory days, the stunning blue-eyed redhead who’d lived, with five other girls, in a two-bedroom Brooklyn walk-up through the war. So Lizzie definitely knew tough. And now, even though a maze of wrinkles obliterated the dimples she’d said she’d always hated because they’d made her look like a kid, nothing was gonna dull the mischievous spark in her eyes. Or the joy.

Brooke could do a lot worse than to take after the old gal.

“What an absolutely gorgeous day,” she said as they headed toward the church on the other side of town, closer to his old neighborhood. Behind them, both kids plugged into their phones, probably playing games. Cole couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or relieved. “It’s funny,” Lizzie went on, “how as you grow older you learn to appreciate all the crap you took for granted when you were younger. Like pretty days.” She poked his arm. “And weddings.”

Cole grunted. Weddings. Yeah. Not his favorite thing. Especially weddings where Sabrina Noble would be present—

“So what are you up to these days?” Lizzie said. “Still messing around with all that computer stuff?”

“Same old, same old,” Cole said, grateful for the subject switch, even as he mentally shook his head at his aunt’s take on his work. Although he supposed “messing around with all that computer stuff” was how it appeared to most people. Hell, there were plenty of times it seemed pretty trivial to him, too...until he opened his monthly statement from his investment broker.

“I’ve seen some of the people here playing that game on their whaddyacallits, those little flat TV screens you carry around?”

“Tablets?”

“Right. Those things. Or their phones. Your mother tried to convince me I needed one, but really, where do I go that I need to carry a phone around with me?” She let out a cackle. “The laundry room?”

Fortunately, she easily kept up both their sides of the conversation for the rest of the way to the church—a lovely, nineteenth century stone relic, built in a time when most of the then-predominately Catholic community went to mass every Sunday. To someone whose only church experience had been the occasional visit to the Quaker meeting house downtown, All Saints felt ridiculously overdone. Until he got inside, where a syrupy light filtered through jewel-toned stained glass windows, and giant ceiling fans gently hustled air pleasantly thick with the scent of flowers and ancient, much-polished wood.

Both kids were suitably awestruck. “It’s really pretty in here,” Brooke whispered, taking Cole’s hand. Ahead of them, Lizzie clung to Wes’s elbow, chattering a mile a minute, her voice ricocheting off the rafters. Amazingly, his son didn’t seem to mind. Brooke giggled, then gave Cole a sheepish smile.

“I’m glad I’m wearing a dress.”

Smiling, Cole squeezed her hand. “So’m I. Even though it’s scary.”

Pale blond brows scrunched at him. “Why?”

“Because you look way too grown-up in it.” He shuddered, which got another giggle. Because she was still his little girl. At least for the next five minutes.

They slid into a pew, the wood smooth as glass. “I forget,” Lizzie said around the kids, sitting between them, “how peaceful old churches are.”

In theory, Cole thought as he caught a glimpse, through all the hats and hair, of Sabrina near the front, trying to keep a wriggling baby—a boy, he guessed, judging from his little blue outfit—from launching out of her arms. Beside her sat a younger woman, with another, younger baby, who was sound asleep. With a start Cole realized the tiny blonde must be Sabrina’s baby sister Abby, whom Cole hadn’t seen since she was five or six.

Then, because he was clearly a masochist, his gaze drifted back to Sabrina. Damn, she was gorgeous, her dark hair loosely piled on top of her head, a pair of dangly silver earrings grazing easily the most beautiful neck in the world—

“Dad? You okay?”

Cole smiled for his son, even as he thought, Dude. Get a grip. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Aren’t the flowers pretty?” Lizzie said, nodding in obvious approval at the simple floral displays on the altar, large cut-glass vases overflowing with branches of mock orange blossoms. “That’s her grandmother’s doing, I’ll bet my life on it. We have a million of those bushes on the property. She probably got them from there. Absolutely gorgeous. Oh! Isn’t that Sabrina? Sitting down there with the family? My goodness—she hasn’t changed a bit, has she?”

Physically? Maybe not. He doubted she’d gained five pounds since he’d last seen her. But the pretty teenager he remembered had nothing on the fully ripened woman sitting twenty feet away, her smile—as she kept up a conversation with the babbling baby on her lap—twisting his heart even more than it had the other night.

A heart he didn’t dare let be twisted. Not now, not by anyone...but especially not by Bree.

Some guy in official, churchly garb appeared in front of the altar, along with a good-looking blond dude wearing the standard nervous/happy look of the about-to-be-wed—Sabrina’s younger brother Tyler, obviously. And that could only be Bree’s brother Matt beside him, darker and broader and more imposing than ever. The processional began, starting off with an adorable, curly-headed tot in a frilly white dress scattering rose petals, closely followed by a boy of maybe nine or ten whose chief job was apparently to keep the little girl on track. Next down the aisle was a stunning redhead—an almost unrecognizable Kelly, radiating confidence. Joy. Cole smiled, genuinely pleased for her. Then everyone stood for the bride, a trembling, sparkly-eyed brunette in a poofy, pale pink gown that threatened to swallow up the much older woman walking her down the aisle.

“That’s Marian,” Lizzie whispered across the kids, loudly enough that everyone in front of and behind them could hear. “Laurel’s grandmother. Isn’t that sweet? And don’t they both look gorgeous...?”

But Cole wasn’t paying attention, because he was once again watching Bree as she kissed the baby’s head, only to stifle a laugh when an eager little hand clutched a fistful of hair and tried to stuff it in his mouth.

Too late, Cole wrenched his gaze away. Because the sweetness of the scene was now wrapped every bit as tightly around his heart as the baby’s hand in Bree’s hair.

The good news was, at least once the wedding was over and he’d delivered Lizzie back home, they were done. Since he was hardly going to crash a wedding reception, was he?

* * *

Even before he reached Kelly in the reception line, she let out a squeal loud enough to make Matt flinch beside her. Not to mention the groom, who almost fumbled the baby in his arms. The baby, Cole realized, Bree had been holding.

“Ohmygod!” Kelly shrieked, her hand flying to her mouth. “Cole?”

So much for the shy, mousy girl who, when they were in school together, seemed quite content to drift in the wake of Sabrina’s effervescence—much like Cole had, he thought on a sigh as the maid of honor yanked him into a fierce hug, her wild red curls tickling his nose.

“This is crazy!” she said, holding him apart. “Holy moly, you look amazing, I almost didn’t recognize you! What are you doing here? When did you get back? Why are you back? And are these your kids?”

“Honey?” Matt said on a chuckle beside her, even as Cole wondered why Bree hadn’t told her. “There’s like a thousand people behind him. Catch up later.” This said while Matt clasped Cole’s hand in a firm handshake, a hundred questions in his dark brown eyes. “Dude. Last person I expected to see.”

Even though they were in the same year, they hadn’t been even remotely close in high school. Different crowds, different tracks. But being Bree’s twin, Matt had obviously been aware of how tight Cole and Bree had been. Although hopefully not that aware.

“Last place I expected to be, believe me,” Cole said with what he prayed came across as an easy smile...the smile of a guy who no longer had to worry about this guy ripping his head off his shoulders. He hoped, anyway. “Small world.”

Letting go of Cole’s hand, Matt laughed. “To say the least.”

A proud Lizzie usurped Cole’s shot at introducing his offspring to the wedding party, and it amused Cole to see Wes trot out actual social skills, to watch Brooke go all goofy at the sight of the baby.

After hugs all around, Cole reached for Lizzie’s elbow to escort her down the church steps, the kids going on ahead. But they’d no sooner reached the sidewalk when Kelly caught up to them, her green eyes glittering.

“You guys are coming to the reception, right? I mean, if you have to take Lizzie back, anyway—”

“Oh. Um...we didn’t exactly get an invitation.”

She laughed. “I’m in charge of the food. Trust me, there will be enough to feed half the state. So you’d hardly be imposing.” Her eyes softened. “You were part of this family, too, Cole. Same as me.” Her attention swung to the kids, laughing at something Lizzie said, then back to him. “And we’d love to get to know the kids better.”

At that moment, Sabrina emerged from the church, carefully balancing the frilly-dressed baby her sister had been holding as she navigated the steps. Someone he didn’t know stopped to admire the infant; smiling, Bree shifted the baby for the woman to get a better look, laughing at whatever she said.

“That one’s ours,” Kelly said softly, and Cole looked back at her. “Matt’s and my new daughter. Three months old last week.”

Cole grinned. “Congratulations. Name?”

“Teresa Jeannette, after Matt’s and Sabrina’s birth mother. And Jeanne, of course.” Her nose wrinkled. “We’re kind of crazy about her.”

“No. Really?”

Kelly chuckled, then sighed. “Bree’s holding it together pretty well, don’t you think? I mean, considering.”

“Considering?”

At what must have been his puzzled expression, she flushed. “Oh, right...you don’t know. Look, forget I said anything—”

“Too late, Kell. Considering what?”

Kelly glanced over at Bree, then back at Cole. “She was supposed to get married in a few weeks,” she said in a low voice. “But the wedding got called off. That’s why she’s back—”

“Honey?” Matt called down to her, his forehead crumpled as he lifted his hands.

“Be right there!” she called, standing on tiptoe to buss Cole’s cheek, whispering, “But you didn’t hear it from me!” before gathering her long skirt and running back up the stairs to her husband.

Well, that would definitely explain the pain he’d seen in Bree’s eyes that day. Not to mention the deadly mixture of sympathy and self-preservation now threatening to choke him when her gaze bounced off his, that bright smile momentarily faltering before she yanked her attention elsewhere.

Mercifully breaking the pull that, whether he wanted to admit it or not, was still there. Even after all this time.

Even though it made no earthly sense.

“So there’s a party, too?” Brooke now said in front of him, all bright eyes and wonder, and Cole wondered how it was his children had been around for more than a dozen years and never attended a wedding. Or, apparently, even heard of the tradition. “Aunt Lizzie says it’s gonna be awesome, with tons of food and everything.”

Yeah. Everything. Including a boatload of emotional...stuff he didn’t want or need to deal with right now. If ever.

Lizzie clamped her hands on his daughter’s shoulders from behind, her I’ve-seen-it-all gaze locked in Cole’s. “Everyone’s invited,” she said softly. Well, softly for Lizzie. “And the kids are already dressed so nice.” Her eyes narrowed. “And it’s not as if you have anyplace else to be, is it?”

How about hell? Cole thought, resigning himself to the inevitable.

* * *

Wiggling a Coke can in sweaty fingers, Wesley frowned through the open French doors toward the grassy area past the pool, where Dad’s old friend was sitting on a bench. Alone. Weird. Except, considering how noisy and hot and crammed with old people this room was, maybe not so much—

“So go talk to her,” his sister said beside him, making him jerk. “Before you stare a hole through her or something.”

“I’m not staring,” he muttered, deliberately twisting around and lifting the can to his mouth.

“Are, too. Were, anyway.” Brooke took a noisy slurp of her punch, something bright pink and disgustingly sweet and probably lethal. “Not that I blame you. I’d like to know what the deal is, too.”

“So why don’t you go find out what’s up?”

Brooke glanced over her shoulder, then back at the milling crowd, her cheeks getting all splotchy. “Because I’d have no idea what to say? You’re the one who can talk to like, anybody. Me...” She shrugged.

Which was probably why she’d made Wes talk to Mom. Not that he hadn’t been thinking, too, how crappy things had gotten, with the boyfriends always coming and going, the way Mom always seemed distracted. Like she had other things she’d rather be doing than hanging out with her kids. It’d been making Wes nuts for a long time. But he hadn’t said anything to his sister because she hadn’t, and he didn’t want to upset her.

Neither of them had really thought Mom would make the choice she did. But she had. Like, without even thinking about it for two seconds.

Wes glanced across the room at Dad, talking to some dude a little older than him, maybe, standing with a couple of boys about his and Brooke’s age. Sabrina’s oldest brother, Ethan, and two of his kids, Wes remembered. Dad looked over, giving him a You okay? look. Wes nodded. Sometimes it felt like Dad cared almost too much. But after Mom? He’d take it.

He smiled, thinking about that first night after they’d come to live with Dad for good, and he’d come right out and said they’d have to be patient with him, because there was a huge difference between being the weekend parent and being the only parent, and that he honestly had no idea what he was doing. Pretty much the same thing he’d said the other night, actually, after they got back from the Colonel’s. Although why Dad thought that, Wes had no idea. Since he obviously had it together a lot better than Mom did.

Then this Sabrina person appeared...

“He says they were friends,” he said, swallowing hard. “When they were in school. No big deal.”

Brooke didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, the way he keeps looking at her...”

“And you’ve been reading too many of those sappy books.”

“Jane Eyre is not a ‘sappy’ book, moron. And it’s better than playing those stupid video games all the time—”

“Like the ones Dad designs, you mean?”

Brooke blew out a cherry-scented sigh. “It’s just, after Mom...”

“I know. But Dad already said—”

“Oh, and like grown-ups never say whatever they think you want to hear?”

“So why wouldn’t she do the same thing?” Wes said, nodding toward Sabrina.

His sister’s mouth got all squinchy, as if maybe he had a point. But then she looked back at him with those big eyes of hers and said, “Please?”

One thing about Brooke, she never whined. Well, hardly ever. And she wasn’t now. But he could see the worry on her face, that they’d barely solved one problem and here was another one, knocking on their door. Because they’d seen it over and over, not only with Mom, but with other kids they knew with single parents—the minute a new adult appeared on the scene, the kids got shoved to the back of the line. Okay, maybe that wasn’t totally fair; he could think of a couple of times where it worked out okay.

But only a couple.

Wes glanced outside again, thinking, wouldn’t it be nice, for once, to not have to worry about the grown-up stuff? To simply be a kid? Seriously, even if they didn’t know where they were going to live after the summer yet, or go to school, things at least felt more or less normal. Finally. Because Dad...he really was there for them. Also, he was cool with being the grown-up. No matter what he said. Meaning Wes could already tell getting to live with Dad full-time was the single most awesome thing that had ever happened to them.

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