LITMIR.BIZ

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when practically ninety-nine percent of the gas stations in America were self-serve, did his have to be full-service?

      She lowered the window.

      “Looking for directions to New York City?”

      “Very funny.” He was wearing an outfit similar to yesterday’s. Dark jeans and a navy T-shirt with the gas station logo embroidered on the front pocket. Inexplicably there was a baseball taking the place of the O in the word Groceries.

      Sam rubbed his chin. “You sleep okay?”

      “Just fine.”

      She felt a subtext in his gaze, a message that came across as clearly as if he’d actually said, I hope you’re feeling more reasonable today.

      “My sister called last night. Said you’d found the place all right.”

      Had he been worried she wouldn’t? That had been considerate of him.

      “She said she’d already shown you to your room and that you seemed like a lovely woman.”

      Leigh was pleased. “I liked your sister, too.”

      Kate had handled breakfast for ten guests all on her own, without losing her poise and good humor. Clearly, despite the loss of her husband, she was managing just fine. Leigh admired that.

      “Kate’s one of the best.” Sam raised his eyebrows. “So did you just stop to chat or can I do something for you?”

      “Oh, chat, of course, but since I’m here you might as well fill the tank.”

      “With?”

      He was really in a strange mood today. “Gas.”

      His mouth twitched. “Regular or premium?”

      As if she had a clue. She scowled at him. “It’s a rental. How should I know?”

      “Never mind. I’ll give you regular.”

      Then why had he asked her in the first place? Just to make her feel foolish, no doubt. She watched his reflection in the side mirror as he unscrewed the gas cap, then inserted the nozzle and started the gas pumping. Once everything was set up properly, he grabbed a squeegee and started cleaning her windshield. He was so tall he cleared the bug smears off with three long strokes, leaving a trail of cloudy water with the last one.

      “Want me to check the oil?”

      Man, cars were a lot of work. “Do we have to?”

      “You just picked it up from the rental place yesterday?”

      She nodded.

      “It’s probably okay, then.”

      He read the total off the gas pump and she handed him her credit card. He returned a minute later. She noted his big, strong hands as he passed her the plastic tray with her card and credit slip. She scratched out her signature, then returned the tray.

      “Did you talk to the kids this morning?” she couldn’t resist asking.

      “They weren’t up when I left for work.”

      She did her best to shut down the mental image he’d just given her. Her daughter in bed with his son, the two of them cuddled up together like…lovers.

      She closed her eyes and tried to replace that picture with another—the path she’d jogged along that morning. Rocks and tree roots had made the footing treacherous, but the canopy of birch, oak, maple and pine had more than compensated for that difficulty.

      Feeling slightly more calm, she said, “Well, they should be up by now.”

      “You headed that way?”

      “Of course.” Where else would she be going?

      “Okay. I guess I’ll see you there.”

      “You will?”

      “It’s noon.”

      “You go home for lunch?” Why couldn’t he just bring a sandwich to work like most of the American workforce?

      She didn’t want him present when she was talking to Taylor. Didn’t want him watching. Interfering.

      “I’m not the enemy, Leigh. I’m after the same thing you are. All I want is for my kid to be happy.”

      Happy, sure. But what about responsible? Considerate? Mature? Leigh didn’t say anything, not wanting to start another disagreement.

      Leigh took a deep breath, then restarted her car. The pain in her neck had subsided overnight, but she had a feeling she was about to get another.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      M USIC BLARED from the open windows of Josh Wallace’s cottage. For once the sound of the hip-hop rhythm she usually found so annoying was welcome to Leigh, simply because Taylor liked it, so it was familiar. And precious little had felt familiar to her since she’d started on this unplanned and unwanted voyage of hers.

      The path to the cottage was much easier for her to negotiate today in loafers. She hoped that was an omen things were going to go more smoothly with Taylor, too.

      Though something told her they wouldn’t.

      She climbed up the porch stairs and knocked loudly so the kids would hear above the music. It took a few minutes for someone to come to the door. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Taylor.

      Rather than invite her inside, Josh stepped out onto the landing, closed the door and positioned himself like a guard dog between her and the handle.

      He had on jeans, and a tight T-shirt that emphasized his long, lean torso and the breadth of his shoulders. His expression held such a contradictory combination of vulnerability and strength, that for a second Leigh felt a long-forgotten yearning.

      The innocence of first love. It really was a wonderful thing in a young person’s life.

      But then she remembered what love could do to a young woman. She remembered, and she raised her chin high. “I’m here to speak to Taylor.”

      “I’m sorry, Ms. Hartwell.” Josh’s tone was respectful, but firm. “She doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

      “Don’t tell me I can’t see my own daughter.” Why was he doing this? Was Taylor okay? She tried to step past Josh, and when she couldn’t, she called out over his shoulder. “Taylor? Are you in there? Are you all right?”

      Josh frowned, his composure cracking. “Taylor’s fine.”

      “Why am I not surprised to hear you say that? I’d like to see for myself. Or would you prefer I called the police?”

      He shook his head. Gestured her toward the door. “Sorry, Taylor. I tried to tell her—”

      “Taylor?” Leigh stepped into a room that smelled like freshly made toast. Her daughter sat at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in her hands. She was wearing a T-shirt on top. Leigh couldn’t see what she wore for bottoms.

      At least she was safe.

      But Leigh wasn’t encouraged by the mutinous gleam in her eyes.

      “Honey, we need to talk. Could you come outside, please?” Leigh couldn’t be here in this house where…everything…had happened. No matter how she tried not to notice details—like her daughter’s blouse from yesterday flung on the back of the sofa—she noticed.

      Boy, did she notice.

      “There’s no point in talking, Mom. Josh and I are in love.”

      Abruptly the music stopped. Josh must have turned the player off. He walked past, headed for the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup. Neither he nor her daughter offered Leigh any.

      “Love. Taylor, how can you say that? You barely know one another.”

      “I

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