LITMIR.BIZ

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can talk to Dad,” Emma said.

      “I’m not asking you to do that.” His voice rose, startling her, shaming him. The last thing he wanted was to be aggressive with a woman. In the middle of long dark, lonely nights he felt around his psyche for those instincts. He softened his tone. “I will if I have to, but not yet,” he said. “If you’d set up the media links we could use, I’d be grateful.”

      “Okay. I’ll email the information to you. I can get your email address from Owen?”

      He pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. “Now, about Megan,” he said.

      “I know.” She rubbed her mouth. “I have to stop acting as if she swung into town just to pick Dad’s pockets.”

      “You should probably thank her for being willing to live here with him. I hear she was kind of an influential voice in New York.”

      “I heard socialite. I just didn’t believe anyone used that word anymore.”

      He smiled because she couldn’t hide the bitterness she clearly disliked feeling. At least she felt safe venting to him. “I’ll look forward to your information. Thanks for doing this, Emma.”

      “You’re welcome.” She picked up her own laptop case, and slipped his card into a pocket. He left while she was packing the rest of her things.

      * * *

      IN THE GRIP of an overgrown crepe myrtle she was trying to prune, Emma heard tires on the gravel drive. She twisted, hoping not to see Noah. She didn’t recognize anyone’s car sounds anymore. Struggling against the pull of the bony branches in her hair, she turned to set the shears on the ground and tried to unthread herself.

      Too bad Owen wasn’t working today. He’d had some super-secret trip to a city in the big world.

      A low-slung, silver vehicle turned on the gravel, slinging a few rocks upward. The driver was Megan, looking pretty sporty for a pregnant woman. She parked and climbed out, pushing her sunglasses into her dark brown hair like a headband.

      As they eyed each other across the expanse of gravel, Emma didn’t know what to say. They’d been polite at the wedding about nine months ago, but neither had experienced step-relation love at first sight. And the other night, Megan had left without speaking to her.

      Maybe because no matter how much Emma didn’t want to be her old, pushy, demanding, loveless, but hungry-for-love self, she couldn’t help the hostility she used for protection. Her father had someone new, and a new child coming.

      Emma hadn’t expected life to stop while she was gone, but she hadn’t expected her father to find a whole new family that might be a bit more pleasant than she was.

      Megan turned back to the still-open door of her car and tugged a big, canvas bag of greens out of the passenger seat. “Your father said you like kale.”

      Emma nodded. “Thank you.” She crossed to her and took the bag out of her arms. The tension between them was almost palpable. It had to stop, Emma thought. She could stop it. “Do you want to come in for some coffee?” She glanced down at her stepmother’s swollen belly. “Or maybe herbal tea?”

      Megan shut her car door. “I’d like that.”

      Emma turned toward the house. Her father, Brett Candler, had met Megan at some bank do in New York, and less than a year ago they’d married. Her stepmother was barely nine years older than she was. Emma wanted to like the woman who’d made her father happy at last.

      “Mind the construction area. Owen’s off today.”

      “How much longer do you think he’ll be working here?”

      “Until sometime around Thanksgiving.” Emma glanced back. Megan was holding her stomach and clinging to the newly sturdy handrail.

      Emma stopped and held out her hand. “Let me help you.”

      Megan hesitated for a moment. Then she took Emma’s hand. “Thanks.”

      At the top of the stairs, they both released themselves from the oddly awkward handclasp, and Emma put on some speed to reach the kitchen. She eased the kale out of the bag and into the wide sink. “Take a seat. I’ll plug in the tea thing.” That was what she’d always called her grandmother’s clear plastic electric kettle. “It plugs in and heats water quickly. Nan loved hot tea when the weather turned chilly, and I’ve been drinking it, too, since I got back.”

      “A way to be closer to her, maybe,” Megan said.

      Emma measured her stepmother with a smile that felt stiff no matter how badly she wanted it to be natural. “Let me see what I can offer you.” She went to the cupboard and took down several different packets, as pretty as small square paintings. “Any of these look good to you?”

      Megan pulled a purple packet from the array. “I’ll get the mugs.” She turned in a half circle. “If you point me to the right shelf?”

      Emma did, and then she folded the canvas bag and set it at the end of the island. “It was nice of you to bring the greens.”

      Megan nodded, setting the mugs on the counter. She came back to the island, playing with the corner of the teabag. “I wanted to talk to you, Emma,” she said.

      Emma moved back to the counter. “Maybe I haven’t been as open with you as I should be.”

      “I’m not accusing you of anything.” Megan dropped the teabag. “But I love your father. I wonder if you believe that.”

      Emma would have changed the subject immediately if her mind hadn’t gone blank.

      “I asked your dad if I could bring the kale because I want to clear the air between us. You’ve been home for more than a week. I don’t know how long before you leave again, but your father doesn’t know how to invite you to our house—to your old home—without worrying I’ll be hurt. He thinks you stay away because you’re upset we got married.”

      Emma reached into a cupboard beneath the island for the tea thing. She went to the sink to add water, then plugged it in. “I’d like to see more of Dad. Just ask me when you both have some time.”

      Megan plucked her sunglasses off her head and dropped them on the folded bag. She crossed to Emma, her sudden purpose startling. “You have twigs in your hair.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Bend down.”

      Though Megan was so close to her in age, her hands, easing the crepe myrtle out of her hair, reminded her of Nan and being cared for. Small moments that mattered because Nan had glowed with a kindness Emma couldn’t even begin to grasp.

      But Megan wasn’t required to groom a testy stepdaughter.

      “You know what?” Emma said. “There’s baby stuff in the attic here. Nan kept it. Apparently, every time I outgrew an item of baby equipment, my mom dragged it over here to get it out of her sight.”

      Megan looked startled. Her mom must not have been like Pamela. Emma closed her eyes, then plastered on a smile. “Sorry. I’m trying to change, and that kind of talk was a step backward. Do you want to see if you like anything?”

      “I have a crib and a few other things.”

      Emma turned to look at her with a smile. “Throw me a tiny bone. I’m trying.”

      “I mean yes,” Megan said. “I’d enjoy rooting around in your attic.”

      “It’s cleaner than most of the downstairs, as I’m moving everything to make room for Owen to work. Apparently, we had termites almost everywhere, but the attic floor is safe. We’ll go up this way.”

      The back stairs landed on the second floor and then again at the attic, the door of which opened as if Emma had just oiled the hinges. Which she had.

      “Could we talk about what I

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