The Bride Ran Away. Anna Adams

just the guys,” she said. “Those girls have parents, too. Parents who decided not to take care of them. Thank God they have Gran.” She hugged her grandmother and then turned her husband toward the back of the cabin. “I think the kitchen is that way, Ian.” She pointed down the hall. “Can we take a look at the bedrooms, Gran?”

      “I’ll bring up the beds next,” Ian said. “You could use a nap.”

      She intended to do no such thing, but her gran’s approving nod kept her from arguing. She smiled at both of them as car doors slamming outside made them all turn toward the yard. A line of men trooped up the hill.

      “Zach and Dad and Grandpa.” Wouldn’t you know? Their first day, and already the menfolk had to make sure Ian was treating her right. Sophie almost touched him for comfort, but stopped just before her fingers reached his forearm. He might not understand her family well enough to know he was on probation. All the better for him if she left him in the dark. She curled her hand into a loose fist and tapped the box. “They’ll help you unload. Grandpa loves to direct traffic.”

      “Another pushy Calvert.” Ian crooked a smile at Gran. “Sorry. I was trying to tease Sophie.”

      Gran patted his shoulder with a wicked grin. “You’ll say a lot worse by the time my husband moves you in to his satisfaction.”

      Ian’s startled gaze made Sophie laugh again. He turned to her with a glance that reminded her of before—back when they were only having fun. Like a creature of habit, she considered pulling the box of dishes out of his hands so she could throw herself into his arms. Fortunately, the baby nudged her, just at belly button level, and she remembered her new, sober resolutions. She climbed the stairs to safety.

      On the landing three doors opened off a narrow hall. She peered into each one. Two bedrooms and a bathroom. Sophie slid her hand beneath her hair and pulled it away from her nape. Two bedrooms. They needed three. At least they would after the baby came.

      She couldn’t remember which cabins up here had three bedrooms. She glanced down the stairs. How could she complain? The house came rent free from her grandmother and the resort’s board. They’d cleaned it for her and Ian. The gold hardwood floors smelled of polish. The walls reeked of fresh paint.

      Her heart beat faster as she crossed the master bedroom and opened the closet door. A walk-in might be large enough to turn into a nursery. But not this one, built in the late fifties. It was dark and small and, thank heavens, smelled of paint, rather than the musty scent of long disuse.

      She backed out, hearing Gran climb the stairs. By the time the baby came in another thirteen weeks, she and Ian might be sharing a room, anyway, so the shortage of bedrooms wouldn’t matter.

      The mere suggestion of trusting him that much nearly choked her. It might be wiser to make sure they had another room if they needed it. She hurried back to the hall to meet her new boss. “Where’s the third bedroom?”

      Confusion clouded Gran’s eyes. “There are only two.”

      “We need three.”

      “Three?” Gran cocked her head and hurtled to the right conclusion. “One for you, one for Ian and one for the baby.”