She thought about the drama of the last year. Sara—no, her name wasn’t Sara. It was Lacy Clark. Wrong again—Lacy O’Hara now. How strange that had all been. Amnesia, missing babies, kidnapping plots…it was still hard to believe. But it had all turned out for the best. Except Lacy wasn’t the chef anymore, and Mary Jane had left to raise her baby. Truth be told, it was a little lonely at the diner. Even though she liked the new staff very much, it just wasn’t the same.
She sighed as she turned the French toast. Something was going on with her. She’d known it now for over a month. She’d been waking up in the middle of the night. Forgetting things. Daydreaming far more than usual, which was really saying something. Maybe it was just that everyone else was getting married and having babies.
Why it should bother her, she had no idea. She’d reached one of her goals, hadn’t she? At twenty-four she’d bought the diner. It was a smashing success, and she had every reason to be proud. Garrett, Michael and Lana had all helped, of course, but for the most part, she’d done it on her own. A dream fulfilled.
But she’d also dreamed that she’d be married by now. In the perfect version of her life, she’d have married at twenty-five, become pregnant at twenty-six and then again at twenty-eight. She’d have a boy and a girl. Maybe even twins. She’d have a house with a big backyard, with swings and a pool. Her husband would help her with the children, not because he had to but because he wanted to.
Her husband would love her, and in his eyes, she’d be beautiful. He wouldn’t mind about the scars. He would hardly see them.
It was all so clear to her, and had been for as long as she could remember. The thing was, she hadn’t made one move to make the dream come true. When was the last time she’d been on a date? Years ago. That made it very difficult to fall in love, let alone the rest.
If she didn’t do something soon, she was going to have to settle for phase one and only phase one. Heck, maybe that’s all she was ever supposed to have. But could it make her happy for the rest of her life?
GRAY FOUND HIS KEYS. Of course they weren’t in among the Lincoln Logs. They were under the couch. Right next to the telephone. Or, he should say, the pieces of what used to be a telephone. Little monsters.
He frowned at Scout. It turned out to be a big mistake. Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes filled with tears, and then she started bawling as if he’d busted her balloon.
He scooped her up in his arms and took her to the couch, keeping her in his lap as he sat down. “Hey, Scout.”
She cried some more, although he thought he detected a pause.
“Scout, honey, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it.”
She sniffled. He realized she needed a tissue. He shuddered but kept on smiling. He loved Scout. Really. But jeez, she was so…untidy. And Jem was twice as bad.
He hadn’t thought this through. Not all the ramifications. When Ben had asked him to watch the twins, he’d figured it would be tough but nothing he couldn’t handle. How wrong he’d been. But that wasn’t the big issue now. He carried Scout into the kitchen and pulled a tissue from the box on the counter. Holding it to her little nose, he said, “Blow.”
She did. Fiercely. She screwed up her face and blew through her nose and through her mouth. It was actually kind of cute—in a semidisgusting sort of way. Unfortunately, Scout continued to pout.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked over his shoulder to see Shelby’s concerned gaze on Scout. “She thinks I’m mad at her.”
“Why would she think that?”
“I frowned at her.”
Scout nodded, sniffing harder.
“Hmm.” Shelby came close and stood right beside him. “Honey, Uncle Gray was just teasing.”
“He’s mad at me.”
“No, he’s not.”
“No, I’m not.”
“He is so. He said a bad word.”
Shelby folded her arms across her chest. “A bad word, eh?”
“He said shit.”
Shelby pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh. He wasn’t so successful. But he quickly turned his laughter into a cough.
“It’s not funny,” Shelby said. “Scout, sweetie, I know Uncle Gray didn’t mean to scare you. He’s sorry he said that word, and he won’t do it again.”
Scout wiped her nose on her arm, and despite the recent use of a tissue, it wasn’t pretty. “Can I have juice?”
“Of course.” Shelby held out her hand, and he set Scout on the floor. The girls went to the fridge while he headed to the living room.
He settled on the couch, and as he put the phone back together, he wondered what it was about Shelby that made her so comfortable. He’d never felt such immediate trust for another person. She had the kids eating out of her hand. He’d lucked out incredibly. Perhaps he could convince her to stay until Ellen and Ben came back.
Just as he screwed on the last piece of the phone, the doorbell rang. He got up, but Jem was running full speed ahead. The doorbell was big around here, right up there with dogs barking and phones ringing. By the time Gray got to the door, it was already open. A man, a big man, stood on the porch smiling at the boy. Gray knew him. He just couldn’t remember in what context. A friend of Ben’s, maybe? A neighbor he’d seen on a previous visit?
“Gray Jackson?”
“That’s right.”
The man thrust out a beefy hand. “Jim Lattimer here.”
“Jim…” Gray snapped his hand out for a firm shake. “How do you do, Mr. Lattimer. I didn’t expect—”
“I know that. And I don’t make it a habit of dropping in on prospective employees like this. But I couldn’t reach you on the phone.”
“Right. The twins.”
“There’s another one like this?”
Gray nodded. He felt completely off guard, unprepared and vulnerable. What he had to do was calm down. Breathe. Get himself together. “He’s got a sister.”
“I’ll bet she’s just as cute as can be.”
Gray smiled, then jerked back a step. “Come in.”
“Thank you.”
Jem stared at the big man. Lattimer was at least six five and maybe three hundred pounds. He was solid as a rock, like a football player or a refrigerator.
“As I said, I couldn’t reach you on the phone, and I was in the neighborhood, so I took a chance on finding you home. If it’s not a good time, I can turn right around again.”
“No,” Gray said, leading him into the living room. “It’s fine. Fine. Come on in. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
Lattimer swallowed. “I’d be grateful. I’ve been on the road since six this morning without a break. Had one of those gas station cups of coffee. It was hot, which is about all the good I can say about it.”
“Water or—”
“Water will do nicely,” Lattimer said. “For a start.”
“Great.” He headed for the kitchen. Lattimer started talking to Jem, and Gray moved faster.
Shelby was at the sink. Scout stood next to her, a square box of juice in her hand.
“What do we have to drink?”
Shelby turned at the sharpness of his voice. “Not much. Water. Coffee. Juice.”
“No beer?”