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this town.

      She opened the door. “Noah? Something wrong?”

      He looked her up and down. “Owen told me I’d treated you badly, and I should apologize.”

      “Since when does he tell you what to do?”

      “Since I’ve assumed he might be right.”

      “Maybe we are incapable of sorting out what’s always been wrong between us. Maybe we don’t need to.”

      “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

      “Let’s celebrate your absolutely correct decision with a bowl of soup and some wine. I could even dig up a grilled cheese if you want.”

      “Why are you here in Bliss, when being here makes you unhappy?”

      “Why have you stayed in Bliss when staying tortures you?”

      He bent his fingers and scraped his nails over his forehead. She wanted to grab his hand and make him stop hurting himself.

      Finally, he dropped both hands to his sides, flexing them into fists. “You’re the first person who’s noticed.”

      “Because I spent so much time trying to figure you out.”

      “I was always exactly what I said, torn between wanting to be with you and trying to look after my family.”

      Emma turned toward the kitchen. “I was never used to trusting anyone. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t tell truth from a story I thought you’d just made up.”

      “So you believe me now?”

      She looked back at him, shrugging out of his jacket. His face, in rest, was still taut. His eyes kept secrets.

      “No,” she said.

      “Talking really makes things better between us.”

      “Nothing has to get better because I’m only here until your brother makes my house all better. Do you want a sandwich?”

      “Yes, please.”

      He came with her and opened the fridge, taking cheese from the deli bin. As Emma warmed the soup, Noah sliced cheese. She took bread from a tin decorated with a couple in WWII-era sailor suits.

      “Let me do this,” he said. “Your soup is getting cold.”

      Nan had never possessed a microwave, so he’d have to use the stove, but Noah could take care of himself. “Fine,” she said.

      Another knock at the door caught her before she reached the dining room. “This will be Owen,” she said, “unless he called my father.”

      “You’re good,” he said. “I’m betting on Owen. He wouldn’t rat me out to your dad for bothering his little girl.”

      She grimaced, opening the door.

      “Just making sure you two aren’t at each other’s throats.” Owen came inside without asking. “Something smells good.”

      “Owen needs a sandwich and some soup, Noah.”

      “I’ll take care of it.”

      “Are you really okay?” Owen asked in a lowered tone.

      “Fine. He won’t talk about anything that’s real. I’m fed up with begging. Situation normal. Come on through to the dining room.”

      Noah stepped into the hall. “Owen,” he said, “everything okay?”

      “I’m still sober.” Owen grinned at them both, remarkably content. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”

      Emma walked toward the dining room. Noah went back to the kitchen.

      “I’m the only one who likes some of the old times,” Owen said, left on his own.

      Emma slipped through the darkened living room to take the wine back into the kitchen. Noah looked up.

      “Why are you doing that?”

      “I don’t want to tempt him.”

      “He has to learn to live in the world.”

      She wanted to snap, “You never have,” because he was so content to hide out on a mountain in Tennessee. But that would have been lashing out with a temper she wanted to control. Her desire for such a petty attack disappointed her. She’d hoped to come home and be normal.

      “Owen?” she asked, raising her voice. “Do you want water? Soda? Tea?”

      “Water’s fine, but you can bring back that wine bottle.”

      “We’ll all have water.”

      “And avoid the problem?” Noah asked. “Owen can’t.”

      “It is like old times. You’re still taking care of your little brother.”

      “I notice you are, too,” Noah said. “What’s up with that?”

      “Sometimes I really hate you.”

      Because despite everything, if she had feelings for a Gage brother, it was always going to be Noah. But he’d apparently be just as happy to foist her off on Owen.

      * * *

      “DR. GAGE, COULD YOU help us?” DeeAnn Franklin hurried up to him as he walked to his car on the evening after his dinner party with Owen and Emma. DeeAnn held her son, Peter, in her arms. “His ankle is swollen. He was climbing over that fence again.”

      “Hey, Peter.” Noah took the boy from his mother’s arms and set him down on a bench just as the courthouse clock tolled five.

      DeeAnn took off her son’s shoe and sock and rolled up his pant leg. Noah examined Peter’s ankle in the growing coolness as the sky darkened.

      “No, don’t.” Peter pushed Noah’s hand away, tears leaking from his eyes.

      “You’re fine, buddy.” Noah patted Peter’s leg. “I have a bandage in my car.” He glanced at DeeAnn. “Or the office, whichever you prefer.”

      She looked doubtful. She waited tables at the pancake house out near one of the chalet lodges.

      “My computer’s out.” Noah straightened. “I couldn’t bill you if I wanted to.”

      “It’s not that I don’t want to pay you,” she said in a voice so sad her son looked up at her, puzzled.

      Noah shook his head. “I’m the one with the problem. Why don’t we wrap this, and then I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m dying to have pancakes for dinner.”

      “That I can take care of,” she said. “I happen to know a chef who’ll make you unbelievable pancakes.”

      “We have a plan.” Noah scooped Peter up again and turned to find Emma climbing out of her own car in front of them at the curb.

      Her face and throat were stained pink, as if seeing him made her feel self-conscious. He didn’t let himself consider why heat seemed to be crawling up his skin, too. The cool breeze blew Emma’s curls around her face, and the movement broke the invisible cord that bound them to each other across those few feet of ground.

      “DeeAnn, you remember Emma?”

      DeeAnn looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but there.

      Emma thrust out her hand to shake. “We spoke yesterday, when Peter was at the petting zoo.”

      “I didn’t recognize you then. Glad you’re home.” DeeAnn returned the shake briefly, then put her hand on her boy’s leg. “This is my son, Peter. Peter, this is Miss Emma.”

      “I know her,” Peter said. “She spits almost as good as me.”

      Taken aback, DeeAnn nodded. “I can’t really believe that. Your dad won’t like

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