Anna Adams - The Prodigal Cousin

“Stranger,” Sam said. His discomfited silence stretched. “That sounds pretty bad, too.”

“Not at all.” Molly’s mom took over. “I’m Eliza Calvert. Welcome to our home.”

Sam remained too quiet for too long. Molly turned to find her mother holding out her hand, while their guest stared at her with blank black eyes that reminded Molly of Eliza when she was annoyed and trying to hide it. At last he took her hand.

“Mrs. Calvert.” He quickly let go, still staring at her.

Molly turned completely to face him. His distracted glance barely brushed her face, but then he started as if he realized his response wasn’t entirely normal.

“Thanks for the great rooms.” He reached for his older daughter, who avoided his hand, stepping off the stairs in front of him. “This is Tamsin. I’m Sam Lockwood. The little one’s Nina.”

She marched across the room to peer into the sink. “I don’t like beans.”

“Nina.”

“But I’ll eat ’em.” Her forced enthusiasm drew laughter from everyone except Sam and Tamsin.

“I stir-fry them,” Eliza told her. “You’ll love them. They taste sweet.”

“I liked my mom’s.”

Sam offered an apologetic grimace. Tamsin turned to inspect the tile backsplash over the dark granite counter. With a troubled expression, Sam dropped his hand on Nina’s head. “My wife…passed away…sixteen months ago.”

Molly forgot about not getting involved. His control made his grief more palpable, and the loss of her mother explained Tamsin’s pain. Molly’s parents closed ranks with her, offering silent, united support.

Sam rounded up his girls, clearly unable to handle one more nuance of sympathy. “Why don’t we go outside and clean your snack stuff out of the car before we eat?”

Nina skipped ahead of him. Again, Tamsin evaded comfort. Sam glanced over his shoulder at Eliza.

Molly’s heart thudded. He stared at her mom as if he knew her. His inexplicable concentration seemed to include her dad and Molly, too.

She barely waited for the door to close. “Have you met him before, Mom?”

Her dad looked surprised. “How would your mom know Sam Lockwood?”

“Actually, he seems familiar, and I can tell he thinks I do, too.” Eliza took the beans. “I’m trying to think where I might have met him.”

“You couldn’t have,” Patrick said. “He’s driven a long way today and he’s tired. The little girl’s a sweetie, but she keeps him hopping, and he’s obviously concerned about the older one. You two are reading more into that.”

“Maybe,” Eliza said.

Molly couldn’t agree. Her parents were such innocents. Sam had definitely looked at her mother as if he knew her. Later, Molly eyed him as they all sat down to dinner.

Sam checked Nina’s trout for bones before he started his own meal. Suddenly, he looked up, his knife in midair. “I thought you mentioned sandwiches, Molly. I hope you haven’t gone to all this trouble for us.”

“I caught these earlier today.” Molly’s dad chewed with enjoyment. “We planned to have them for breakfast.”

Sam set his fork on the table. Tamsin did likewise. “Will you have enough?” he asked.

“We can supplement with bacon and eggs.” Eliza flicked Molly a glance. “What my daughter calls a breakfast platter.”

“A breakfast platter?” Sam trained his dark eyes on Molly.

Heat climbed her throat. Annoyed, she answered without thinking. “I spent a lot of time in diners before—” This stranger had no need to know about her homeless days at the age of eight. “Before,” she finished.

He nodded, compassion softening his eyes. Molly placed her own utensils on the table as a chill fingered her spine. He knew about her. He wouldn’t feel sorry for a woman who’d just happened to eat in a few diners.

This man didn’t deserve their trust. “Mom,” she said, “I’m too tired to drive home tonight. I’ll stay here.”

THAT NIGHT NINA WAS SO exhausted, she slumped against the bathroom cabinet as Sam washed her hands and face and then helped her brush her teeth. She was asleep before he tucked her and Judy into the little bed. He turned off the light and closed her door except for a thin wedge of space. Bad dreams woke her most nights, and he wanted to make sure he heard if she called.

It was still early. Barely nine o’clock, according to the art deco clock on the mantel. Glancing at Tamsin’s closed door, he crossed to his open window and looked out on the verdant garden Eliza and Molly had discussed during dinner. According to her proud daughter, Eliza had a green thumb. Apparently, she could nurture anything except a son.

He shook his head, ashamed of being unfair. There was more to her story than his investigator had uncovered. Sam had the facts, but Eliza’s motivation remained a mystery. Not that it mattered anymore. Finding out why she’d given him up had once been a priority, but now he just needed her to be a loving grandmother to his daughters.

Movement near a lamp below drew his gaze. It was Molly, sitting on a stone wall. As if she felt him staring, she glanced up. He nearly backed out of sight, but he was tired of hiding. Tomorrow, when the B and B was quiet, he’d tell Eliza the truth. She could decide what came next, but he looked forward to being honest.

Not that his act had succeeded. Molly’s silences had grown more speculative as trout and vegetables progressed to fruit and cheese for the adults and Tamsin, and a dish of homemade chocolate ice cream for Nina. More streetwise than her parents, Molly had recognized his interest in Eliza—and in her.

She’d decided to stay here tonight because of him, and he didn’t blame her. He’d gone to dramatic lengths to find protection for his family.

Sam turned his back on her and the compelling view of moon and darkness over the courthouse square, and knocked on Tamsin’s door.

“Yeah?”

Close enough to “Come in.” With her knees up beneath the fluffy comforter, she was reading. Her face devoid of makeup, her dark hair in a ponytail, she looked so much like his little girl that she filled an ache in his heart.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Tired.” She set down her book and reached for the nightstand lamp.

“Wait. I’m serious.” He’d almost said “concerned.” That would have been a mistake. “You didn’t say much at dinner.”

“Who can get in a word with Nina babbling?” A soft tone betrayed love for her sister, despite her harsh question.

“I know you’re unsure about being here.”

“Because you’re about to spring us on a woman who didn’t want you?”

He refused to back down. He should have come alone, but since the accident, he’d feared losing his girls every time they left his sight. Besides, once Tamsin had snooped through his papers, she’d known the worst.

“Honey, I have no other family. If something happened to me—” He broke off, and Tamsin swallowed hard. They’d both learned death arrived in an unsuspecting second. “If something happened to me, you and Nina would be put in state care. If Eliza regrets a decision she made at sixteen, you’ll gain more family than either of us could imagine.”

“We have friends in Savannah, Dad.”

Wrong. He’d cultivated colleagues. Fiona had made friends. He’d been so intent on perfecting procedures to keep a sick heart alive, he’d managed to forget that humans needed less tangible sustenance, too.

“I don’t know anyone well enough to trust them with your future.”

She twisted her sweet young face into a scowl of contempt. “But you figure we’ll be able to trust strangers who suddenly find out we exist?”

“I trust blood,” he said, unable to explain that his adoptive mother had loved him but had held back, still longing for a child of her own. He’d only known such ties with Tamsin and Nina, and nothing short of death could ever part him from them. “You’re predisposed to love the people who share your blood.”