Cathryn. Shannon Waverly

      Tucker shot her an impatient look over the rim of his coffee mug. “That could be five, six hours from now. Company will make the time go faster.”

      “No. Please. I…” She decided to be honest. “I really can’t face anyone yet. Not even close friends. Especially them.”

      Tucker tipped his head so that a shaft of winter sunlight fell across his face. “Pride, Shortcake? Is that what I’m hearing?”

      She thought a moment. “Maybe. Everyone thinks of me and Dylan as an ideal couple, an institution practically. Solid as Gibraltar. Always here, year in, year out. They’re going to be shocked and disillusioned and full of questions, and, quite frankly, I have enough to cope with today.”

      “Oh. It never occurred to me that friends might be more of a problem than a help.”

      “Today they would be, when everything is still so raw and in transition and hard to explain. Plus, this is a private matter between me and Dylan.” After a heartbeat she added, “And the kids. We still have to tell the kids. I wouldn’t feel right talking to outsiders before talking to them.”

      Rubbing his jaw, Tucker appeared thoughtful, a wry arch to his left eyebrow. “That puts me in kind of an awkward position, don’t you think?”

      Cathryn bit her lip. “I really am sorry you got caught up in this, Tucker.”

      Sighing, he shrugged. “Not your fault. You told me to shove off a number of times.”

      “Yes, I did.” She attempted a smile, but it faded quickly. “You will keep this under your hat, won’t you?”

      “Goes without saying.”

      “Thanks. The gossip will start circulating soon enough. No need to prime the pump.” Struck by a vision of her beleaguered life in the very near future, she slumped forward, moaning, and rested her forehead on her arms.

      “Is that how you want your kids to find you?” Tucker chided sternly. “Is that how you intend to be strong for them?”

      She popped up. “I’m okay.”

      His look sharpened, made all the more fierce by the sunlight slashing across his dark eyes.

      “Honestly,” she assured him. “Now, unless you’re still hungry, can I finally convince you to leave?”

      “What’ll you do here all alone?”

      “Oh, I have plenty to keep me occupied. Laundry. Vacuuming. A sewing project. Some calls to make for the PTO.” Noticing Tucker’s frown, she explained, “Parent-Teacher Organization.”

      “Well…” Tucker glanced at his jacket hooked on the neighboring chair. Not a biker jacket, but black leather nonetheless. “I really do have to get moving.”

      “Then move.” Cathryn got up, came around to his side of the table and lifted the jacket. “Let’s go, Lang. I’m throwing you out. Enough’s enough.”

      Smiling his dimpled smile, he hauled himself to his feet and took the jacket from her.

      “How much longer will you be on Harmony?” she asked, walking him to the front door.

      “Four, maybe five days.” He pulled a pair of leather gloves from his pocket.

      “Well, don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

      “I won’t.” He opened the door and surveyed the hoary, frozen lawn through the glass storm door.

      “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

      He shrugged negligently. “Buy me a beer someday, when this all blows over.”

      “I will. Maybe even two.” If this ever does blow over.

      His gaze connected with hers. “Hang in.”

      Lips pressed hard, she nodded. “I’ll try.”

      “And good luck with the kids. Remember to tell them you love them and the separation isn’t their fault.”

      She nodded again, unable to speak for the emotions clogging her throat, not least of which was gratitude toward this man who’d come to her door merely to return a coffee urn and ended up helping her through a night she would’ve been ashamed to share with a dog. She felt she owed him more than a thank-you, or a beer, but what? A hug? Too awkward. A promise to return the favor someday? Tucker never needed help. Before he left she really should find some way to express her appreciation.

      Tucker opened the storm door, and a wall of thirty-degree air shocked her out of her musing. “Take care, Shortcake,” he said with a wink and stepped outside. She watched him stride down the path, leather jacket creaking, black ponytail gleaming in the morning sun, an incongruous figure if ever she saw one.

      “You too,” she called back belatedly. And perhaps because she felt so indebted to him, she waited, shivering, until he drove away before closing the door.

      It took Cathryn until midmorning to muster the courage to call her mother. Primarily she wanted to ask about the kids—if they’d done their homework, if they’d gotten off to school all right, and if they knew they were supposed to come home afterward, not return to their grandparents’. She didn’t want to discuss her problem. If telling her friends was going to be difficult, telling her mother would be impossible.

      Meg Hill thought so highly of Dylan, and she was so very proud of her daughter. Always had been, for as long as Cathryn could remember. Not that her father was any less proud; he simply kept his feelings to himself. “Cathryn has never given me a day’s trouble,” Meg would tell anyone who’d listen when Cathryn was a girl. “Not in school, not at home or with her friends.” For the past twelve years her mother’s praise had centered on Cathryn’s home and domestic skills and, of course, her beautiful family. Dylan was the ideal husband, and the children…well, they were the absolute sun in Meg Hill’s sky. Although Cathryn knew her mother’s bragging sprang from love and genuine pride, it sometimes embarrassed her. But far worse, it also was a burden because Cathryn felt pressured to continually meet that praise. Disillusioning her mother was not something she was looking forward to.

      After assuring Cathryn that everything had gone fine with the children, her mother asked if she and Dylan had enjoyed their stay at the inn. Here it was, Cathryn’s chance to get the dirty deed over with.

      “It was lovely,” she replied.

      After hanging up, she spent the next half hour crying. But when crying made her sick to her stomach, she decided she simply had to pull herself together. She had to make the effort or else suffer a rerun of yesterday. Dragging the vacuum cleaner out of the utility closet, Cathryn swore she heard Tucker’s voice cheering, “Thatta girl, Shortcake.”

      It was after noon before she glanced at a clock again. After noon? Yikes. Dylan would be here soon, and just look at her! She dashed upstairs to change. Half an hour later she came down again, looking halfway human. Not that she thought her appearance would make any difference to Dylan, but maybe it would to the kids. If they saw their mother pulled together, they might be reassured the world wasn’t really falling apart.

      She knew she should have some lunch, but gave up on that idea on the way to the kitchen and just sat on the couch instead, munching on grapes and crackers—and watching the street.

      Cathryn grew edgier as time ticked on and Dylan didn’t show. Yesterday they hadn’t discussed specifically what they’d say to the kids. They needed to devise a strategy. They had things to discuss, lines to rehearse, a story to corroborate…hearts to keep from breaking. So where was he? He’d distinctly told her he’d be here to share the task of telling the kids.

      There was the school bus now. Was she going to have to face their questions alone?

      The kids had barely started up the driveway when Cathryn noticed Dylan’s truck skulking up the street. The timing was just too right. Obviously he’d been trying to avoid