if she sometimes felt like a third wheel.
And of course, she had never let Kirby see how she felt about Conor. Not even when Conor nearly killed himself and Ellie stood in a hospital room, scared but determined as she gave Conor an ultimatum. It was one of the few secrets she had ever kept from her brother.
That, and her current fear that Kirby was going to give up.
As she pulled into the driveway of her grandfather’s tidy 1950s bungalow, she took a deep breath. She gave herself a minute to stare up at the stars before going inside. Loneliness gripped her, tightening her throat. For better or for worse, she was the glue that held this household together at the moment. The burden lay heavy at times.
Inside, she found Kirby sitting in the dark, kicked back in the recliner, watching a cable news program. She turned on a small table lamp and sat down across from him, yawning.
“Hey, sis,” he said. “Feel better?”
She’d told him she was going for a drive to clear her head.
“Yes, thanks. I appreciate your holding down the fort while I was gone.”
No need to tell him where she had been. Not yet.
Kirby shrugged, his expression guarded. “Even I can do that when our two babies are sleeping.”
“How was Grandpa?”
“Not too bad tonight. He spent an hour telling me stories about Grandma and then took himself off to bed.”
“Good.” An awkward silence fell. No matter how hard she tried to pretend things were normal, they were anything but. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Can I get you anything before you go to bed? Warm milk? A snack?”
Kirby’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. “No. I’m good.”
But he wasn’t. He’d suffered wretched insomnia since the accident. Chances were, he’d avoid his bedroom again tonight and doze in the recliner until morning.
Feeling helpless and frustrated, she stood and crossed the room. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, she put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”
He put his hand over hers. “Go to bed, Ellie. I’m fine.”
After a quick shower, she climbed onto the old-fashioned feather mattress and lay beneath a cool cotton sheet, listening to the sounds of Emory breathing. The baby had been her salvation over the past terrible months. Her little boy was innocent and precious and totally dependent on her for care. She couldn’t afford to have a breakdown or any other dramatic response to the soap opera that was her life.
She had shed her share of tears over Kirby but always in private. It was important to her that he not feel like an object of pity. Which meant she forced herself to walk a fine line between being helpful and smothering him.
Her own tragedy had been forced into the shadows, because caring for Kirby had taken precedence. Seeing Conor again made her dangerously vulnerable. Even though she had sought him out, she would have to be on guard when they were together. She didn’t deserve his care and concern.
As drowsiness beckoned, she allowed herself to remember what it felt like to be close to Conor, first on the dance floor and later as he held her and comforted her. She shivered, though the room was warm. What would her life have been like if she and Conor had never argued so bitterly...if the Porters had never left Silver Glen?
It was a tantalizing question.
But the truth was, she now traversed a difficult road. Grief and fatigue could be dangerous. She should not mistake Conor’s kindness for something more. Her life had not turned out according to plan. Even so, she would not wallow in self-pity. And she would not cling to a man to make it through this rough patch.
She was strong and resilient. She needed to keep her head up and her eyes on the future. The guilt she carried threatened to drag her under, and she would be mortified if Conor ever suspected the truth. His friendship would be a wonderful bonus, but only if the lines were clearly drawn. Perhaps, if he managed to coax Kirby out of the doldrums, the three of them could be the trio of friends they once were.
* * *
The following morning she fixed breakfast for the men in her life and then made sandwiches for lunch and put them in the fridge. She didn’t like lying to her brother, so she had scheduled a well-baby checkup for Emory and said that she was going shopping afterward.
The doctor visit was real. Kirby wouldn’t expect her back at any specific time. Fortunately, the pediatrician was on time, and the appointment went off without a hitch.
Emory was in a sunny mood. She wanted him to make a good impression on Conor, which was kind of silly, but as a relatively new mom, she was still so proud of her baby and wanted the whole world to see how special he was.
The trip to the ski resort didn’t take long at all. When she pulled up in front of the large Alpine-style chalet that was command central for the winter ski crowd, Ellie was impressed. She’d spent a lot of time here in her youth, but clearly, major updates had been done over the years. The grounds and exterior were immaculate.
Conor waved her over to the door. Ellie slung a diaper bag and her purse over her shoulder and scooped up the baby. As they stepped through the double oak doors carved with fir trees and mountains, she paused to take in the lobby. Although large in scale, it had a cozy feel because of the quilted wall hangings, thick area rugs and half-a-dozen fireplaces scattered around the perimeter.
Enormous plate-glass windows afforded a view of the ski slopes below. In December it would be breathtaking. Even now, at the height of summer, it was impressive.
Conor urged her toward a mission-style sofa upholstered in crimson and navy stripes. “Have a seat. I’ll round up some drinks and a snack.” He paused to stare at Emory. “He’s a cute kid.”
“His name is Emory.”
“Does he take after his dad?”
Her heart clenched. Was Conor deliberately fishing for information? If so, she wasn’t ready to talk about that subject. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “I think he’s beginning to look like me,” she said lightly, nuzzling her nose in the baby’s strawberry blond curls.
Conor stared at her and then looked back at Emory. “I suppose so.”
Without knowing it, she had been holding her breath, because when Conor walked out of the room, she exhaled, all the oxygen in her lungs escaping in one whoosh.
Emory was unconcerned. He squirmed in her arms, wanting to get down. He was already close to walking and proved it yet again by cruising around the edges of the coffee table with confidence. When Conor returned, Emory gave him a big, slobbery grin.
As Conor set down a tray with lemonade and shortbread, Ellie lifted an eyebrow. “Somebody’s domesticated,” she said teasingly.
Conor shuddered theatrically. “Not me. I have a housekeeper who looks after my place and the chalet. She apparently thinks I’m in danger of starving to death, because every time she comes to clean, I find baked goods on the kitchen counter.”
“She must like you very much.”
Conor shook his head ruefully. “It’s not like that. She’s seventy-two years old. She likes the fat paycheck I give her because it supplements her income.”
“If you say so.” She had a hunch that the unnamed housekeeper had a soft spot for her generous boss.
Conor sat down beside Ellie on the sofa and chuckled when Emory let go of the edge of the coffee table and sat down hard on his bottom. The baby’s look of indignation was comical. “He’s going to lead you a merry chase as soon as he realizes he can go anywhere and everywhere.”
“Don’t I know it. I’ve already been baby proofing my grandfather’s house.”
“How is Mr. Porter doing?”
“He