The Hero's Sin. Darlene Gardner

to Florida,” his aunt said.

      That explained why Sara Brenneman felt as though there was room in town for another lawyer.

      Sara. Who’d told him at the wedding that she counted foreclosures as one of her specialties.

      “I might know someone,” he said.

      “Really?” His aunt’s blue eyes, so like his own, filled with hope that extinguished almost as soon as it appeared. “But lawyers are expensive.”

      “I’ll help with the fees.” Michael could swing that much.

      “Oh, no,” his aunt said instantly, her back straightening. “I can’t let you do that.”

      “You don’t even know what she’ll charge. She hasn’t opened her practice yet so you’d probably get a good rate.” Michael could possibly get Sara to quote his aunt a low hourly fee and let him make up the difference. “It can’t hurt to ask.”

      She worked her bottom lip, deep worry lines appearing on her face and making her look older. “Will you call her for me?”

      Too late he remembered Sara was having problems getting her phone service hooked up.

      “Her phones aren’t working, and she mentioned she’d be out of town today,” he said, remembering her shopping trip. “I’ll show you where her office is and you can stop by Monday.”

      He saw her throat constrict as she swallowed. “Will you come with me?”

      Self-preservation told him to refuse, but in truth he’d decided to help her as soon as he’d seen the foreclosure notice. She hadn’t stopped her husband from kicking him out when he turned eighteen, but she had housed and fed him for almost three years. He couldn’t let her lose the house.

      Even if it meant seeing Sara again and being reminded of what he couldn’t have.

      “I’ll be by tomorrow morning at about nine.” He lifted the box from the table.

      “Wait.” The relief on her face mixed with confusion. “Where are you going?”

      “Back to the hotel.”

      “You can stay here,” she said. “In your old room.”

      Trying to figure out whether the invitation was sincere, he shifted the box in his arms. It wasn’t heavy, but it was an awkward shape. “I’ll still help you if I stay in a hotel tonight.”

      “But it makes no sense for you to go to a hotel.”

      Yet she hadn’t even opened the door to him Friday night. He didn’t voice his reservation, but it must have been obvious.

      “I can explain about Friday night.” Her lower lip trembled. “I would have asked you in, but my bridge group was here.”

      “I understand,” he said, his voice monotone.

      “No, you don’t,” she said. “Jill Coleman’s in my group.”

      Jill Coleman. Quincy’s wife. Chrissy’s mother.

      “I thought it would be…” She stopped, searched for a word. “…awkward.”

      He almost asked her awkward for whom, but he wouldn’t like the answer. He started to refuse her invitation, but the prospect of another night in a hotel depressed him.

      Besides, there was plenty at his aunt’s house to keep him occupied. The loose handle on the cabinet door, for starters.

      “I’ll put this box in the car and be back with my bag,” he said. “You don’t need to show me the room. I remember where it is.”