blinds to bring the room back to shadows. “Logan prefers the house dark,” she explained again as she shuffled ahead of Thea down the hall.
“It’s neat as a pin,” Glen announced with apparent relief as she paused in the doorway.
Peeking around the door frame into the dimly lit bedroom, Thea had to agree. Like the girls’ room in Seattle, there were no stray shoes, no scattered scrunchies for that long blond hair, no half-dressed Barbies with hair that was frizzed from being carried about in backpacks, cars and pillowcases. The room was as impersonal as the rest of the house, from the quilted pink bedspreads to the white dressers each holding a lamp and a small clock radio.
Thea noticed untouched toys stacked neatly in the closet. Now Hannah sat on the floor playing quietly with Whizzer, while Tess lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.
Thea had hoped the girls would thrive in their uncle’s fairy-tale house. But now her heart filled with doubt.
How could she leave them here?
“WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW to make Barbie clothes?” Hannah asked, leaning over Thea’s shoulder while she sat in one of the dull living-room chairs creating a new wardrobe for the two Barbie dolls she’d found in the twins’ closet. “Did your mom teach you?”
Thea paused midstitch, staring into the fire. Her mom hadn’t been supportive of Thea learning any homemaking arts.
“My grandmother taught me. I’ve loved sewing since I was a kid.” Thea remembered her mother looking at her handiwork and saying how those neat stitches meant she’d be a wonderful surgeon one day. All Thea had wanted was for her mom to say her baby doll quilt was beautiful. Thea shied away from the memory. Her mother had never understood Thea, not that she’d had more than ten years to figure her daughter out. The painful memory had Thea reaching for a change of attitude.
“I once met a man who created Barbie ball gowns for a living,” Thea said, glancing at Hannah to gauge her interest in the story. The twins never watched television, which made for long nights. Thea had learned to rely on her knack for telling odd stories to engage the twins and help pass the time.
“A man?” Tess blurted. She sat in the corner of the dark couch, her limbs pulled up tight, her small forehead creased in disbelief.
Glen looked up from her crochet project. Thea had yet to figure out what the older woman was making. It was long and brown, every stitch making it longer and browner.
“A man,” Thea confirmed, wondering briefly when they’d see the elusive Uncle Logan and if he’d be good for the girls.
“Why would a man want to sew?” Hannah reached across Thea’s lap to finger the small red dress, until she saw Thea watching her. With a quick glance at Tess, Hannah drew her hand away, tucking it behind her back.
“People should pick jobs that make them happy,” Thea said, pretending to be intent on finishing Barbie’s hem, while trying to ignore the rising panic that she should be studying if she ever wanted to pass her exams. She couldn’t even propose a dissertation topic until she received a passing grade on both her written and oral exams. She shook her foot, eliciting a soft jingle. “What do you want to be when you grow up, Hannah?”
Hannah shrugged, looking at Tess, then stared at the fire. Thea was convinced that the two shared an unspoken bond. Neither would get over her grief without the other. And Tess wasn’t done grieving.
“I always wanted to be one of those secret agents, with the slinky dress, spiked heels and a real kick-ass gun,” Glen spoke up, rearranging her yarn chain in her lap. “Only Eldred came along and I didn’t think I could leave Silver Bend.”
Assuming Eldred had been Glen’s beau, Thea smiled. “It’s nice to dream big. How about you, Tess? Any plans for the future?”
Instead of answering, Tess got up and left the room.
AS HE DROVE HOME toward Silver Bend, Logan McCall ignored the streaks of golden light peeking over the horizon. A new day may be dawning, but it would be the same gray, colorless day that he’d faced yesterday and the day before that.
He drove in silence up the long, steep grade before he reached Silver Bend, passing the ramshackle, abandoned house where his parents had died. Where his father had killed his mother.
In that house, he’d learned how low a man could sink when ruled by a hot temper regularly fueled by alcohol. In that house, he’d learned that the only person he could depend on was his twin sister, Deb. Together, they’d survived the verbal abuse and physical beatings. When they’d left, Logan vowed he’d never have a family of his own.
Deb, lucky enough not to have the gene that carried their father’s destructive temper, had lived an almost normal life, married and produced two girls Logan adored, only to die much too soon. Burdened with his father’s shameful legacy—a fiery temper—Logan couldn’t trust himself to honor Deb’s request and be the girls’ guardian.
What if he lost his temper or did something stupid? Like go on a drunken binge. Or get so blitzed he wouldn’t know who he was hitting or why.
Logan wiped a hand over his face.
No. He didn’t know how to be a father. It was best that Tess and Hannah were being raised by someone else. Even if Wes wasn’t the best father around—he sure as hell hadn’t been the best husband—he had to be better at it than Logan.
So he continued to his house and the life that was emptier than he’d ever dreamed possible.
“ARE WE THE FIRST VISITORS from Silver Bend this morning?” Lexie stood on the front porch with plump little Henry propped on one hip. Her smile was dazzling, but as genuine as her little boy’s. Lexie’s brown hair was pulled back into a mother’s utilitarian ponytail. “We just dropped Heidi off at school, so I thought we’d come by to check on you. Did you make it through the night okay?”
“We were fine.” Thea let them in, taking the blue quilted diaper bag from Lexie. “Am I going to get more visitors today? The casseroles yesterday were…interesting.” They wouldn’t need to cook for a week—if she could get the girls to eat them.
“Small town. Half the population over fifty.” Lexie rolled her eyes. “Oh-ho, are you going to get visitors. Each one will dust off the old family recipe.” She shuddered, then sank onto the couch and settled Henry on her lap.
“It doesn’t sound so bad.” Cities were so impersonal. Even at her university, you could pass by hundreds of students without anyone ever looking you in the eye, much less be concerned about you.
“She doesn’t suspect, does she, Hot Shot?” Lexie played with one of Henry’s chubby fists. “They’ll know where she was born by dinnertime.”
Thea was reminded of the relentless questioning from the trio in the Painted Pony.
“So, if you have any secrets you want to keep, practice your poker face and changing the subject.” Lexie continued, “Not that we aren’t fond of them all, it’s just that…well, we love it when there’s a big political scandal to keep them busy.”
“Thanks, I think.” Thea sat on the opposite end of the brown couch, catching sight of Tess lingering in the hallway as she did so. “How old is Henry?”
“Nearly eight months.” Lexie blew a raspberry in his fist, and he giggled. “We nearly lost him when he was born. But you’re a fighter like your dad, aren’t you, Hot Shot?”
“And your husband is a…uh…Hot Shot, too?” Thea was becoming incredibly curious about Logan and his Hot Shot job.
Lexie nodded. “Firefighting runs in Jackson’s veins. He’d be miserable if he couldn’t fight fires.”
Henry sneezed. Lexie efficiently wiped his nose with a tissue, dodging the chubby hand that batted hers away.
“I’m a Hot Shot, too,” Lexie blurted. After a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation, she pulled a jar out of