Hometown Sweetheart. Victoria Pade

leaves home alone. She hasn’t in years. She also hasn’t driven a car in years—I’m surprised she remembered how to do that. Of course, like I said, we still can’t believe she did any of this.”

      “But now that she has, she feels strongly about staying here. I’ve conferred with the caseworker in Missoula and the Northbridge doctor who’s examined your grandmother, and we all agree that for the time being it’s probably better not to rock the boat.”

      “We don’t have a problem with that. Whatever makes Gram happy, we’ll accommodate.”

      “Good.”

      “But you won’t be staying?”

      “No, but I’ll visit every day until we get this all sorted out.”

      “Fair enough. Anything you’d like to ask me now?”

       Who Mikayla was and how she and a baby died…

      But Neily wasn’t sure if that really pertained to Theresa, so she refrained. “It’s late. You probably want to settle in. And I’m wearing at least an inch of the dust and dirt we cleaned up around here today, so I think everything I need to discuss with you can wait.”

      “We,” he repeated. “I saw that big group of people coming out as Mary Pat and I were coming in—were they part of that cleanup?”

      “They’re people who live around here. They all came in today to help out.”

      “Can I pay them?” Wyatt asked.

      “That’s not how things like this are done in Northbridge—when there’s a need, people lend a hand to help out.”

      “That’s really nice,” he said with a surprised arch of those eyebrows again.

      “It is nice,” she agreed.

      Then she caught herself staring too intently at him and decided it really was time to leave.

      “I’ll just get my overnight bag from the den,” she said, clueless as to why her voice had suddenly gone quiet.

      “I don’t have any idea what the layout of this place is, but it looks pretty large from outside. Couldn’t you have taken a bedroom upstairs?”

      “There are five bedrooms upstairs, so, yes, I could have. But I couldn’t take the chance that Theresa might slip out so I slept downstairs. With one eye open most of the time,” she added with a weary laugh.

      “I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “I really would have gotten here before if I could have.”

      “It’s all right. You’re here now and after a shower, my own bed will feel that much better tonight.”

      And why did it seem so risqué to be talking about her bed to this man?

      Once again, Neily had no answer for what was going on with her except maybe that she was really tired. Maybe that caused some kind of weird vulnerability to hunks from out of town.

      She gave him her business card, and he gave her his cell-phone number. As they left the living room and crossed the entry to the den, she offered a brief summary of the layout of the house.

      Then she grabbed her overnight bag from the den and took it with her to the front door.

      “I would have been able to rest better tonight even here,” she said, “because today I had our local contractor put keyed dead bolts on the front and back doors, and locks on the windows, too, to keep Theresa from slipping out—just in case.” Neily handed over several keys. “As long as Theresa doesn’t have access to these you shouldn’t have to lose any sleep over that now.”

      “I at least want to pay for whatever materials were used,” Wyatt said at her mention of the dead bolts.

      “I’ll let everyone know that.”

      “And please let them know how grateful I am—”

      “That, too.”

      Neily opened the oversize front door to go out.

      “I should get our suitcases and then lock us all in,” Wyatt Grayson said, following her onto the porch.

      But once they were in the cool late-evening air he glanced around at the now quiet street and apparently realized that his SUV was the only vehicle in sight. “Where’s your car?” he asked.

      “I walked.”

      “Let me take you home, then,” he said insistently and as if he should have somehow known that and offered earlier.

      “Thanks, but it’s a short walk and I’m sure you want to get back to your grandmother.” And Neily was looking forward to a stroll through the cool spring air, hoping it would clear her head of the image of his eyes changing color almost like a hologram….

      They both walked out into the yard. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Neily said. “But if you need anything or have any questions before I get back, don’t hesitate to call—middle of the night or not.”

      “Thanks.”

      Neily headed away from the house as Wyatt went to the SUV parked in the driveway. And while there was no call for it, she found herself glancing over her shoulder at him one last time.

      He’d opened the rear of the vehicle and was hoisting luggage, his big, muscular body not straining in the slightest.

      And at the sight of it, Neily’s mouth went dry.

      This is a first, she thought.

      In her years as a social worker she’d felt compassion, pity, commiseration, sympathy, empathy, sadness, even grief and anger in conjunction with the people she’d dealt with.

      But what had just happened with Wyatt Grayson had never happened to her before.

      Never—ever—had she felt some kind of…

      What?

      Surely it couldn’t be attraction.

      And yet when he glanced over his shoulder at her as if he couldn’t help himself either, something warm and bright flip-flopped in the pit of her stomach.

      That couldn’t go on! she told herself.

      But still her hand rose in a wave that almost felt flirtatious.

      A wave he returned.

      The same way…

       Chapter Two

      Wyatt was sitting in bed early Monday morning when he flipped his cell phone closed to end the conference call he’d just had with his brother, Ry, and his sister, Marti. They were both in transit—Ry from Canada and Marti from Mexico—but they’d been eager to know that their grandmother was okay. They’d also wanted to touch base with Wyatt about where things stood in the investigation of the family by the Department of Public Health and Human Services now that Theresa had been formally tagged as a person unable to care for herself.

      After filling them in and answering their questions in regards to the caseworker they’d be dealing with in Missoula and the one he would now be working with in Northbridge, he was having some trouble getting that Northbridge caseworker out of his head.

      And not only because Neily Pratt would be taking her turn at scrutinizing him.

      The fact that his grandmother had mistaken the social worker for his late wife, Mikayla, was not a coincidence. There was a resemblance. Not a strong one, but if Mikayla had had a cousin, Neily Pratt could have been it.

      The hair color was the biggest similarity—thick, lustrous russet-brown hair so deep and rich a hue it demanded attention. And there was something about the nose—thin and pert. And cute. It was just a first-glance sort of resemblance, but it was still there.

      But