LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t care who you are! I don’t care what you think you deserve! You’re not getting one dime from me!”

      Wyatt’s blood ran cold. That didn’t sound like the words of a lover. It didn’t even sound like the words of a friend.

      Could the man in her house be her ex? Returning for money? From her? After draining their accounts?

      His nerve endings popped with anger. He dropped Claire’s and Helaina’s hands. “Wait here.”

      But when he looked down at their little faces, he saw Claire’s eyes had filled with tears. Owen’s and Helaina’s eyes had widened in fear. The shouting had scared them. He couldn’t leave them out here alone when they were obviously frightened.

      “Oh, come on, darlin’. You know I should have gotten this house when your grandmother died. I’m just askin’ for what you owe me.”

      Wyatt’s mouth fell open. That was Monty.

      “I heard you’ve got a sweet deal going with this wedding cake thing you’re doing. I just want what’s coming to me.”

      “What should be coming to you is jail time!”

      “Aren’t you being a little melodramatic?”

      “Melodramatic? You beat Mom to within an inch of her life so often I’m not surprised her heart gave out. And you beat me and Althea.” She stopped. A short cry rang out.

      Then Missy said, “You get the hell away from me! Now. Mom may not have wanted to call the police, but the next time you show up here I’ll not only call the police, I’ll quite happily tell every damned person in this town that you beat us. Regularly. They’ll see that the happy-go-lucky diner owner everybody loves doesn’t really exist.”

      “You’d never get anybody to believe you.”

      “Try me.”

       By now the kids had huddled around the knees of Wyatt’s sweatpants. No sound came from the house, but the front door slammed shut. With his hands on the kids’ shoulders, Wyatt quickly shepherded them to his side of the shrubs, where Monty couldn’t see them.

      As her father screeched out of the driveway, Missy came barreling out the kitchen door. Standing on the porch, she screamed, “Owen! Lainie! Claire!” as if she’d gone looking for them after Monty left, found them gone and was terrified.

      Wyatt quickly stepped out from behind the thin leafy branches, three kids at his knees. “We’re here. They came to get me to play in the sandbox.”

      She ran down the porch steps and gathered her children against her. “They haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

      “I didn’t know that or I would have given them cereal. I have plenty.” Not knowing what else to do, he babbled on. “Gram had enough for an army, and most of it still hasn’t hit the expiration date.”

      She looked up at him. Tears poured from her blue eyes, down her cheeks and off her chin.

      He stooped down beside her and the kids. “Hey.” His heart thudded against his breastbone. What did a man say to a woman when he’d just heard that her dad had beaten her when she was a child?

      Wyatt didn’t have a clue. But he did have a sore, aching heart. She’d had a crappy husband and a rotten father. While he’d had two perfect parents, talent, brains and safety, she’d lived in fear.

      The knowledge rattled through him like an unwanted noise in an old car. He couldn’t deny it, but he didn’t know how to fix it.

      And the last thing he wanted to do was say the wrong thing.

       He set his hand on her shoulder. “You go inside. Take a shower. I’ll feed the kids.”

      “I’m fine.”

      “You’re crying.” He hated like hell stating the obvious, but sometimes there was no way around that. “Give yourself a twenty-minute break. I told you I have lots of cereal. We’ll be okay for twenty minutes.”

      Owen broke out of her hug. “We’ll be okay, Mommy.”

      Fresh tears erupted. She gave the kids one last hug, then rose. Her voice trembled as she said, “If you’re sure.”

      “Hey, we’ll make a game out of it.”

      Owen tugged on the leg of his sweatpants. “Can we wook for tweasure?”

      Wyatt laughed. “Yeah. We’ll wook for treasure.”

      She’d never abandoned her kids.

      Never handed them over to another person just to give herself time to pull herself together. But she also hadn’t had a visit from her dad in…oh, eight years?

      And he’d decided to show up today? Knowing she had money in her checking account? Demanding that she give it to him?

      How the hell did he know she had money?

      She put her head under the shower spray. Now that she’d had a minute to process everything, she wasn’t as upset as She was surprised. Shocked that he’d shown up at her house like that. But now that she knew she was on his radar again, she wouldn’t cower as her mom had. She’d stand her ground. And she would call the police. If he touched her or—God forbid—her kids, he’d be in jail so fast his head would spin.

      She got out of the shower and dried her hair. In ten minutes she had on clean shorts and a T-shirt. Her hair was combed. Her tears were dry.

       She headed outside.

      She expected to find Wyatt and the kids in the yard. Instead, they were nowhere in sight. When she knocked on his kitchen door there was no answer, so she stepped inside.

      “Wyatt?”

      “Back here.”

      She followed the sound of his voice to the large corner bedroom, the 1960s version of a master suite, just like the one in her house. Old-fashioned lamps and lacy curtains reminded her of the room she’d inherited herself.

      But the bed was covered in boxes, and more boxes were piled on the floor. Taking a bite of cereal from a bowl on the bedside table, Owen saw her. He grinned. “Hi, Mommy.”

      Lainie popped up from behind the bed. Claire peeked around a tall stack of shoe boxes. “We’re looking for treasure.”

      Missy walked into the room. “In the boxes?”

      Owen said, “Yeah. But Lainie spilled her milk.”

      Wyatt came running out of the bathroom, holding a roll of toilet paper. “Okay, everybody stand back… .” Then he saw Missy. “Hey.”

      She took the toilet paper from him and rushed to the other side of the bed, where rolling milk rapidly approached the edge of the area rug. She spun off some tissue and caught the milk just in time.

      Wyatt rubbed his index finger across his nose. “Things look worse than they really are.”

      On her way to dump the milk-sodden tissue in the bathroom, she said, “What is all this?”

      “This,” Wyatt said, following her to the bathroom, “is everything I found in the closet.”

       “Are you kidding me? How’d your gram get all that in a closet?”

      “She was quite the crafty packer.”

      “I suppose.” Missy glanced around. “So it looks like you haven’t found the jewelry from Scotland yet.”

      “Nope. And the kids were fine. Great, actually, until Lainie spilled her milk.”

      “She gets overeager.”

      He laughed. “She wants to do everything at once.”

      “I can take them home now.”

      “Why? We’re having fun. And I’m actually

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