red-haired girl had grown so moody and weepy Grace was at a loss. Not that Beth was the only one shedding tears over the breakup of the McIntyre marriage. The difference was Grace had done her grieving in private, hoping to protect the children’s tender emotions.
“Apparently, I haven’t done a very good job,” she told herself with a sigh.
The estrangement had not been sudden. She and Dylan had been drifting apart for a long time before she’d felt the undeniable need to act. If the problem had been another woman in her husband’s life, Grace believed she could have coped. But it wasn’t. Dylan worshipped the god of money, of privilege, and would do anything to succeed, even if his actions meant others had to suffer—as she had sadly learned.
She dried her hands on a tea towel and turned from the window. Being personally neglected was nothing compared to facing the painful truth about her husband’s underhanded business practices. His lack of remorse over what he had done had revealed Dylan’s true colors and had broken her heart. The man was bright. Clever. There was no way he could have been handling the paperwork for shady adoptions and pushed through falsified documents without realizing exactly what was going on.
The aspect that had really thrown her was his easy admission of involvement. He’d acted as if he’d expected her to accept his actions as necessary and to be proud of him for bringing home hefty bonuses for bending the law. How could she have lived with that man for twelve years and have so totally misjudged him?
She blinked back tears and whirled as the back door slammed.
“Mom! Brandon’s eating dirt!” Kyle shouted. “Beth told him it was a cookie.”
“I did not.” Muddy hands fisted on her hips, the little girl stomped her foot. “I was just playing house. I didn’t know Brandon was going to eat anything I made.”
If Grace hadn’t been so downhearted to begin with, the scene of her two carrot-topped kids standing nose to freckled nose and trying to stare each other down would have made her laugh out loud. They had her stubborn streak, all right. And the twinkling blue eyes of many of their Irish ancestors. Add the McIntyre genes to that and you had a volatile genetic mixture.
Grace held up both hands. “Okay. Simmer down. Is Brandon still eating the dirt cookie?”
Beth shook her head. “No. I took it away from him.” She glared at her older brother.
The smirk on Kyle’s face reminded Grace of Dylan. Then again, pretty much everything did. The house they had spent a fortune remodeling was wonderful, yet not a day went by that she didn’t rue her failure to ask him how they could possibly afford all the expensive improvements.
“You two go wash your hands while I get the baby and clean him up. It’s almost lunchtime.”
“I want peanut butter and jelly,” Kyle said.
His sister made a face. “Ugh. That’s all you ever eat. No wonder your face looks like a peanut.”
“Does not!”
“Does so,” Beth countered.
Grace clapped her hands to get their attention. “That’s enough.” She pointed to her elder son. “You go use the upstairs bathroom,” she told him. “Beth, you use the one off the guest room. And no muddy messes, you hear? I want those sinks spotless when you’re done.”
Beth waited until her brother had started to turn away, then made a face and stuck out her tongue.
Grace had to smile. Kids. What would she do without them?
There had been times, particularly lately, when she’d questioned every choice she’d made since her marriage—except when it came to deciding to have children. It wouldn’t be easy raising them alone. She’d have to find a job and probably sell the house. But they’d get by. Even if Dylan was out of the picture, she knew he’d still help support them. He had never been stingy.
“Unless he ends up in prison for what he did,” she muttered, stepping into the yard in search of her three-year-old.
“Brandon? Where are you?”
Although he didn’t answer he was easy to find by following the sound of his giggles. Standing on tiptoe, he was splashing in a concrete birdbath, clearly delighted as water flew in all directions.
“Well, at least you’re cleaner than I expected,” Grace said, scooping him up from behind and carrying him toward the house with the wettest, muddiest parts turned away from her green silk blouse and designer jeans.
She kicked off her sandals at the door and carried the little boy to the kitchen sink where he obligingly held his hands under running water.
His giggling was infectious. “You are one dirty kid, you know that?” she said between soft laughs.
“Kyle helped me,” the child replied.
“I’m sure he did.”
Grace reached for paper towels to dry off her youngest. Kyle had never been an easy child and the older he got, the more he tested her patience. He had been acting even worse since Dylan had sat everyone down and told them he was leaving. Beth had wept and Brandon had sniffled. Kyle, however, had merely stood there, jaw clenched and eyes flashing, glaring at his parents.
The boy was angry. Grace understood. She wasn’t pleased with the way things had worked out, either, but there was no way she’d ever be able to forgive her husband for always putting his work before his family no matter how much they needed him at home.
Dylan had had a good job with a prestigious law firm and had been on his way up the corporate ladder, just as they’d planned, but somewhere along the way he’d lost sight of the underlying reasons for his hard work. And now? Who knew? It wasn’t only that he’d destroyed his own future, he’d ruined his entire family’s, too. Thrown it away as if none of them had ever mattered as much as making a lot of money.
It was always the money, first and foremost. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d fed the children, then eaten a burned dinner alone because Dylan had been too involved in some hot-shot business deal to bother to come home as promised.
Truth be told, her husband had been absent so often there was little difference between their present situation and the times when he’d still lived there.
Grace sighed. That wasn’t quite true. Back then, she’d always had hope he’d eventually show up. Now she knew he was gone for good. And once their divorce was final, probably the only times she’d encounter him would be when he picked up the kids on visitation days.
“Well, it is what it is,” she murmured, setting her youngest at her feet and taking his hand. “Come on, honey. Let’s go get you some clean clothes before lunch.”
“I want a boy cheese sandwich,” Brandon said, making his mother smile at the inside joke. He’d mistaken the word “grilled” for “girl” and had refused to eat the melted cheese sandwiches until Dylan had realized the problem and changed the name of the toasted treat.
“Okay,” Grace said. “I’ll cook you a boy cheese and Beth can have a girl cheese.”
Kids. No matter how heavy life got, they were always able to lift her spirits and remind her that the most important job she had was being a mother.
The telephone began to ring again.
Grace ignored it.
Kyle rounded the corner into the kitchen and passed his mother at a run. “I’ll get it. Maybe it’s Dad.”
“Well, if it is, tell him I’m busy.”
The boy’s enthusiastic expression twisted a figurative knife in Grace’s stomach as he snatched up the receiver with a breathless, “Hello? Hello, Dad?”
Grace saw Kyle’s expression sober. Heard him say, “Nah. He’s not here.”
She paused. “Who is it?”
Kyle