The Family They've Longed For. Robin Gianna

      “I know. I was hoping you’d see the hospital gown they had me in—it was a powdery blue, with these funny little cats on it that were too cute. One reminded me of our old Brutus...” Since nothing much ever irritated her mother for long, she gave with a smile and a shrug. “But you’re here now and I’m here now. We’ll have lots of big fun once I’m feeling better.”

      Fun. The name of her mother’s game. It was going to be nearly impossible to feel like having fun while she was here, but she’d give it a try for her mom’s sake.

      “You’re going to have to take it easy on the fun while you heal. They told me the rupture was an emergency and they had to use a full traditional incision instead of doing it laparoscopically, so it’s going to be a while before the pain is gone.”

      The thought of how serious that might have been had Rory reaching for another, longer hug.

      “I’m going to see if there’s food in the kitchen. If not, I brought some stuff in my bag to tide us over until I can get groceries from the store tomorrow. Sit tight for a minute.”

      The kitchen light was an overly bright fluorescent strip in contrast to the low living room lights, and Rory made another mental note to get more lamps in the other room, so her mother didn’t trip over something.

      Two gritty, slippery steps into the kitchen brought her to a halt.

      From the look of the coffee cans full of colored sand all over the table, her mother’s newest creative project was sand art. Glass containers were filled or partially filled in landscape scenes, and Rory recognized one of them as being the Alaska Range they could see from the back of their house—those beautiful mountains she’d always stared at as a child, dreaming about climbing them someday and crossing over them to somewhere different and big and amazing.

      She picked up the jar with the mountain scene and ran her finger across the glass, looking at the brown and green sand topped with fine grains of white. She’d done that, hadn’t she? Crossed that mountain. Become the kind of doctor few women were.

      She’d thought she’d be looking at those mountain ranges forever, together with Jake. She’d thought they’d make a home and a family in Eudemonia, that they would work as doctors here and in Fairbanks and live happily ever after.

      Except their “happy” had died, leaving an “ever after” impossible. She’d run hard and fast away from here—because she hadn’t been sure she would survive if she’d stayed. She’d made a new life for herself—going to medical school in LA instead of Anchorage, like she and Jake had planned.

      But her life still felt hollow. Full to the brim with work to keep her mind busy and her heart detached from the rest of the world. That detachment had taken a lot of time and effort to achieve. It was exhausting.

      She drew in a deep breath and glanced around the kitchen to see that there was as much sand on the floor and the table as there was in the cans. Crunching toward the refrigerator, she peered inside, deciding she’d better get the floor cleaned up as soon as she’d taken some food to the living room and read the discharge papers, so her mom wouldn’t slip on all the tiny grains. The last thing her mother needed was to fall and rip open her stitches.

      The refrigerator was bare of anything but milk. There was also a little cheese, so Rory sliced it to serve with some crackers she found in the cupboard. She shook sand off the bottom of the hospital papers Linda had put in the middle of the table and went back to the living room.

      “Here’s a snack for you. I’m going to read through this stuff, then get some more food from my bag.”

      “This will be plenty. I’m not very hungry.”

      “Just eat what you can and we’ll go from there. I understand if you’re not feeling like it, but you do need at least a little so you get your strength back.”

      Rory straightened from putting the plate on her mother’s lap, and was about to sit in the only other chair that had a decent light when she heard the front door open and looked up.

      Her heart stuttered, then slammed hard into her ribs.

       Jacob Hunter.

      She didn’t want to look at him for more than a moment, yet she found herself staring, riveted. He looked like he always had—and yet he didn’t. A little older but, impossibly, even better. He was still tall and lean, with angled features that were still startlingly beautiful: dark eyes that could see right through a person, and lips that were almost too full and yet perfect for his face. The black silky hair she’d loved to run her hands through long ago, when it had spilled to his shoulders, had been cut short enough to be respectable for the town doctor, but still it brushed his collar, not fully tamed.

      He held a bag in one hand and, yeah, just as she would have expected, despite the chill in the air he was wearing a slightly shabby T-shirt that showed his shoulders and biceps were even more muscular than seven years ago, at her father’s funeral. No shorts, but the jeans he wore fit his physique perfectly, making him look more like an Alaskan cowboy than a medical professional.

      Her heart beat its way up into her throat, making it hard to breathe. She’d thought she was prepared to see him—but not this soon. Not tonight. Not when she was barely ready to deal with being back in town at all.

      “Hello, Aurora.”

      He and her mother were the only two people who called her that. Her mom did because she’d always thought it such a romantic name for a baby born under the Northern Lights. The aurora borealis. And Jacob had often called her that because he’d known it annoyed her, and teasing had always been his way of telling someone he cared about them.

      Not that he cared about her anymore. Not after all that had happened between them. Not with all the time that had passed since they’d spoken.

      “Hello, Jacob.”

      “I didn’t know when you were getting in, so I thought I’d check on Twinkie.”

      Twinkie. It also struck Rory that he was the only person who called her mother that other than her. Until that moment she hadn’t thought about the familiarity that came with names and nicknames. None of her other friends had ever called her mom Twinkie—why had he picked that up?

      Probably because he’d been around the house and participating in an awful lot of the crazy over the years. Funny how he had the kind of steady, predictable, wonderful family almost anyone would appreciate, and yet he’d enjoyed being at her zany, very unpredictable and unorthodox house just as much as his own.

      “That’s nice of you, but you don’t need to worry about her now that I’m...here.” She’d almost said home, but had stopped herself, because this wasn’t her home anymore. Never could be.

      “Might as well take a look while I’m here.” Jake scratched the dog’s head and it looked up at him with the same delighted expression as her mother did. “How are you feeling? Have you taken the pain medicine they gave you?”

      “Oh, yes. I’m following all the directions they gave me. But I’m still in a lot of pain, so it’s not working too well.”

      “Sorry you’re in pain. It’s not always easy to control the first couple days out of surgery. Let me take a listen to your heart and lungs.”

      He reached back to the stethoscope he had looped into the back pocket of his jeans, then pressed his long fingers to her wrist while looking at his watch. Afterward he even pulled a portable blood pressure monitor out of his bag to check that, too.

      Meanwhile Rory just stood there, feeling strangely uncomfortable, having no idea what to say or do now that he was here. The awkwardness hanging between them wasn’t surprising, even though she’d foolishly hoped that seeing him might leave them both feeling indifferent. That had clearly been a pipedream, considering their parting years ago hadn’t exactly been full of rainbows and smiling understanding between the two of them.

      Her