The Late Bloomer's Baby. Kaitlyn Rice

to leave without discussing a divorce, and if she spent much time in his company she feared the subject would come up.

      She ignored his comment. “Give me a minute to change the baby,” she said. Then she grabbed sticky Luke from beside the microwave stand and the diaper bag from the table, and vaulted past Ethan. She turned off the television on her way to the bathroom.

      “Kids, finish the Popsicle treats. We’re going to Isabel’s.”

      “Dad says her place isn’t safe,” R.J. said as he scrambled to his feet.

      Callie stepped into the bathroom and opened both sink taps. “You’ll be fine,” she hollered as she soaked a wash-rag and cleaned Luke’s face. “The floodwater has been pumped out. Just avoid anything that looks dangerous.”

      “Can your baby go?” Angie called out. “Daddy says the water was combob-ulated!”

      “That’s contaminated, birdbrain,” R.J. said.

      But it was Angie’s little-girl sweet voice that reverberated in Callie’s mind.

      Your baby, she’d said.

      Not the baby.

      Callie cringed, then carried Luke into the hallway to gauge Ethan’s reaction. He was standing by the front door, checking his wallet. He didn’t appear to have heard, thank heaven.

      “Don’t worry about the baby,” Callie said to Angie. “And don’t worry about your safety. I’ll protect all of you.”

      Roger’s kids gave her funny looks, but she ignored them and returned to the bathroom to finish getting Luke ready. Their opinions about her sanity meant very little.

      Ethan’s continued cluelessness was paramount.

      AS HE DROVE TOWARD the old Blume house, Ethan felt a hollowness in his gut. Officials were still speculating about why the levee had failed. Even if engineers determined a cause, affected folks would probably always fear heavy rains. Or they’d move to higher ground.

      The neighborhood of small row houses at the southernmost tip of Augusta had been hit hard. Tall piles of ruined furniture lined the curbs and smaller pieces of garbage had drifted everywhere. Limbs and soggy papers dotted driveways and lawns, old tires rested on budding bushes, and some kid’s plastic play gym adorned the middle of an elaborate garden. The upturned slide matched the color of the jonquils blooming at the garden’s edge.

      Those bright little beacons of hope couldn’t be cheerful enough. A lot of people had a lot of work to do. Some would have to start over entirely.

      It was just as bizarre to travel the few miles out of town with Callie trailing him like a bloodhound on the scent of a fugitive. His normally cautious wife had already run one red light in her effort to keep up with him, and her eyes were glued to his car’s bumper.

      She was acting very strange.

      Maybe she was as affected as he was by the reunion. Sweet mercy, she was beautiful. Her long blond hair had always been pretty, but today it looked thicker. Her boyishly thin body had filled out, too. He’d always admired her legs, but the added curves made her almost too powerfully feminine.

      He’d always suspected that she’d be a late bloomer.

      He wondered if she had someone to confide in these days—someone other than her sisters, who held many of the same distorted beliefs that she did.

      Callie was brilliant in every way but socially. She might help find a cure for cancer someday, but she couldn’t see that her mother had been wrong to bundle all men together and toss them out like last week’s newspaper.

      Ethan had rescued Callie, once. He’d pulled her away from her mother’s erroneous teachings and into life. He’d relished his protective role until the stresses of energy-zapping careers, Ella’s death and carefully timed love-making had torn them apart.

      During that last year, they’d hardly been friends.

      The separation had probably convinced Callie that her mother had been right all along, but Ethan couldn’t worry about that any longer. His days of proving his devotion to Callie were finished.

      He’d come to Augusta to check on Isabel, just as he’d said, but he’d known all along that he intended to speak to Callie if he saw her. He’d had divorce papers ready for over three months, ever since his first date with his chief’s niece last New Year’s Eve.

      Dating LeeAnn felt wrong since he wasn’t legally free, but he’d hated the idea of sending the papers to Callie by courier. He’d made plans to fly to Denver several times, but something had always come up. On one of his free weekends, LeeAnn had invited him to her mother’s birthday celebration. Another time he’d been called in off-duty to help locate a four-year-old girl who had vanished from her grandmother’s backyard. Often the end of his shift didn’t correspond with the end of his call-out, and he used his off hours to recuperate.

      Maybe he’d avoided the task for other reasons. After loving a woman like Callie, dating again was difficult. But it was time to move on and he knew it.

      Ethan would talk to Callie long enough to assure himself of her well-being, then he’d tell her about the papers and make arrangements for the two of them to meet with his lawyer. He’d pay for the whole shebang, and if she asked for anything he’d be generous. Callie had nothing to lose, and LeeAnn would be pleased.

      He glanced in the rearview mirror, ensuring that Callie was still behind him as he drove up to the house.

      Set back from the road about thirty yards, the old Blume homestead was surrounded by lush trees and bushes. Ella had cherished her privacy. Today, the house also sported a lonely pile of discards near the ditch. A floral sofa rested atop a mattress, which was piled on top of quite a few other ruined items. Ethan could imagine the destruction inside. Isabel must be very shaken.

      After unfastening his seat belt, Ethan pulled his checkbook from the glove box. He could at least offer Callie’s sister some financial help. Since he wouldn’t need to fly to Denver to talk to Callie about the divorce, he could put that money to better use.

      Two car doors slammed, then Ethan watched the two older children emerge from Callie’s car and race toward the house. Callie followed, lugging the youngest boy and the diaper bag.

      Ethan opened the door, stepped out and slipped the checkbook into a hip pocket. It hurt to see how easily Callie balanced the smallest child on her hip. She’d wanted children—she’d ached for them. Babysitting must be tough for her.

      Callie didn’t glance backward at the sound of his car door slamming, and she appeared to be in an awful hurry. She opened the storm door and the inside door for the kids, followed them inside and closed the doors behind her.

      Ethan stopped in the drive. Boorish behavior was Callie’s biggest pet peeve. Perhaps she’d forgotten he was right behind her and planning to come inside.

      Or maybe she didn’t want to see him.

      He stepped onto the porch and knocked on the storm door. Callie couldn’t have gone far. If she didn’t answer, he was prepared to let himself in. Hell, he’d bust the door down if necessary. And he wouldn’t leave until he learned why his normally cool wife was acting crazy. In the past, she’d lost her composure only when they were arguing.

      Or when they were in bed.

      The memory sent a rush of want through his body, and left him standing on Isabel’s porch feeling half-turned-on.

      Sweet mercy. He couldn’t think about Callie that way.

      He opened the storm door and scanned the interior door for weak places to bust through. Before he could knock, however, Isabel answered. Her hair had fallen from a bun and she wore a stained sweatshirt.

      After they’d greeted each other, she stood smiling at him, but she didn’t come out and she kept her body wedged in the narrow crack.

      He wasn’t surprised. Apparently,