Paging Dr. Daddy. Teresa Southwick

in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “There’s something I don’t understand. You seemed to have a great childhood. So where did the demons come from?”

      So many demons, so little time. One was a father devoted to his work and any time left over had been lavished on an adopted daughter at the expense of everyone else in the family—including his mother.

      “Can we just chalk it up to sowing my wild oats?” he asked.

      “No.” She grinned. “So out with it—any smoking, drinking and general wickedness?”

      “You have quite the imagination,” he said.

      “You’re evading the question,” she accused, jabbing the air in his direction with a French fry.

      He thought back. “There were the usual lectures about grades and living up to my potential. Curfew violations. Typical rebellion. A couple of run-ins with the cops. After all, I was ‘that Wilder boy.’”

      “Did you really have a motorcycle?”

      “Yeah. No pun intended, but it drove my parents nuts.”

      “I don’t blame them,” she said. “What were you thinking?”

      “Short answer—I wasn’t. Teenage boys aren’t notoriously rational. It’s more about testosterone.”

      “Just as teenagers?” she teased.

      He shook his head. “Not going there. That’s a demon not pertinent to this discussion.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because it’s your turn.”

      “For?”

      “Childhood confessions.” The shadows in her expression took him by surprise. Suddenly the spark flickered and went out. He was torn between really wanting to know about her and needing to put the smile back on her face. “What is it, Courtney?”

      “You don’t really want to hear the sad details.”

      “You’re wrong.”

      “You’re leaving.”

      “I’m here now.”

      She hesitated for several moments, then said, “My mother skipped out on my dad and me when I was Janie’s age. No note. No good-bye. Just one day when I woke up she was gone.”

      She was so obviously deeply committed to her child and he had instinctively assumed the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. For some reason, he hadn’t expected that. “I don’t know what to say.”

      “You could say it sucked. Because it did. I never saw her again.”

      “How did your dad take it?”

      She laughed but it was the saddest sound he’d ever heard. “I can’t say he didn’t drink before she walked out. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that he was rarely sober after. Trauma tends to highlight things like that.”

      “Courtney—”

      “Don’t.” She held up her hand. “I hate hearing clichés and despise being one even more. But in this case it’s the God’s honest truth. I’m walking, talking, surviving proof that what doesn’t kill you definitely makes you stronger.”

      “So you never really got to be a kid.”

      She looked resigned. “I had my hands full. Dad had trouble keeping a job, which made a roof over our heads an ongoing challenge. When I was old enough I got a job. I was determined to go to college. It was the only way to have a better life.”

      Good God, he felt like a selfish, shallow jerk. He’d thought he’d had it rough, had given his parents a pile of grief growing up because of it. This woman had become a caretaker to her father when she should have been playing with dolls.

      “And did you? Go to college, I mean?” Starting out in college had definitely not been his finest hour, but the life lesson was one he’d never forget.

      “Yeah. I was doing pretty well, until—” She looked down, and a muscle in her delicate jaw jerked.

      “What?”

      “I got pregnant with Janie and had to drop out.” She met his gaze with the same fiercely defensive look he’d seen when she’d watched over her child. “My only regret is not graduating, but I could never be sorry about having Janie. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

      Reading between the lines he figured she regretted other things. But what she’d revealed explained something of why she was reluctant to accept help. When you couldn’t count on the two people you’d trusted most in the world, leaning on strangers wouldn’t come easily.

      He reached across the table and took her hand in his own. “You are a remarkable woman, Courtney Albright.”

      “Not really.”

      He didn’t argue with her because he didn’t like what he was feeling. Respect for her was a no-brainer. Against the odds, this woman had made a life for herself, welcomed a child into it, lost her husband and now carried the burden of raising her daughter all alone. Of course he respected her.

      What troubled him was the possibility that he felt something more than admiration. Attraction was an A-word too, and it was growing stronger every time he saw her. If he was as smart as everyone told him, he’d get on that plane she’d been trying to get him on. He’d get out of Walnut River before this turned into something that got him into the same kind of trouble he’d found in college.

      He’d fallen for a girl and she’d needed his help. When the dust settled, he’d been the one in hot water, and she’d walked away unscathed. Then she’d dumped him. That trouble had cost him more than time, money and his innocence.

      That trouble had messed up his life.