Husband for a Weekend. GINA WILKINS

this visit, yes, but I was rather hoping you’d come back more often now.”

      Refusing to be swayed by Betsy’s plaintive tone, Kim looked from her mother to Tate and back again. “You’ve made that rather difficult for me, haven’t you? I can hardly drag Tate back after this. It’s bad enough that I let you talk me into this crazy scheme this time.”

      Her mother glanced quickly toward the doorway, then looked relieved that no one was there to have overheard. “Your husband doesn’t have to accompany every time you visit your family,” she said carefully. “We all understand that he’s quite busy with his business.”

      Betsy’s next words reminded Kim why she wasn’t likely to visit even without the awkwardness of the marriage lie. “I’m surprised to see you feeding the baby solid foods and milk from a cup. I nursed my babies for a full year, you know. It’s a much healthier start than jars of commercial baby food and regular milk.”

      Because she didn’t want to fight with her mother in front of Tate, Kim drew a deep, steadying breath before replying evenly, “I nursed and pumped for as long as I was able and still work full-time, Mother. I also prepare most of Daryn’s food myself, using fresh fruits and vegetables and a food processor. Daryn’s pediatrician recommended I start her on solid foods and whole milk a month ago when her weight was beginning to drop. She has thrived ever since.”

      She did not add that she well remembered her mother bottle-feeding Stuart formula; Betsy had been too busy playing at being a high-society charitable volunteer to spend time nursing the baby who’d been raised by nannies until the acrimonious divorce had caused a drastic change in Betsy’s financial standing. Kim doubted it would do any good to call her on the discrepancy. Her mother was so skilled at deception that she seemed to believe her own tales, and she would argue heatedly if disputed.

      “You needn’t worry about your granddaughter, Mrs. Shaw. Kim is an amazing mom. She always puts Daryn’s needs first. She’s totally committed to making sure Daryn has a good life. I’ve always admired that about her.”

      Kim felt her cheeks warm in response to the unexpected and very sincere-sounding compliment.

      Eyeing Tate appraisingly, her mother said, “Please call me Betsy, dear. After all, we are family.”

      Kim rolled her eyes. Tate smiled, but she noted he didn’t look quite as charmed as he had before.

      After feeding Daryn, Kim decided to take her out for a walk, saying that the baby needed a daily dose of fresh air and Kim needed the exercise. Suspecting it was primarily an excuse to get away from her family for a bit, Tate offered to walk with her. He needed to stretch his legs, himself, after their car trip, he said.

      Though Betsy seemed a little miffed that they were so eager to escape so soon after their arrival, she hadn’t tried to detain them, though she had asked if her sons wanted to join the walk. Both Julian and Stuart had declined, to no one’s surprise.

      Tate and Kim spent a very pleasant hour walking the sidewalks of the cozy neighborhood, with Kim pushing Daryn in a stroller. They admired a few especially nice lawns and savored the weather, which was lightly overcast and several degrees cooler than it had been back home. Tate was sorry for the nice outing to end, and he was pretty sure Kim felt the same way—though he couldn’t have said whether it was because she had particularly enjoyed the time with him or was just that reluctant to return to her mother’s house. He suspected the latter.

      After returning from the walk, they spent a half hour in the living room, watching a news broadcast while Daryn played with a couple of toys on a blanket spread on the floor. Bob and Betsy were in the kitchen, making final preparations for dinner. Betsy had effusively refused any assistance other than her husband’s, insisting that Kim and Tate should take the time to chat with Julian and Stuart—which would have been difficult, since Julian immediately went back out to the garage to work on Bob’s car and Stuart drifted off to his room with a vague mumble about needing to make some phone calls.

      Watching Daryn rocking unsteadily on her hands and knees, Tate winced wryly when the baby plopped down on her tummy with an “oof” sound. Rather than fuss or try again, she lay there happily kicking and slamming Mr. Jingles against the blanket, causing the bells inside him to clatter noisily.

      “I take it she’s not crawling yet?”

      “Not yet.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the blanket, Kim reached out to pat her daughter’s diapered-and-rompered bottom. “She comes close, but hasn’t quite put the moves all together. I’m sure Mom would say I’m doing something wrong that’s holding Daryn back, even though the pediatrician assures me she’s developing just fine.”

      He started to say something, but she stopped him by holding up a hand and shaking her head. “Sorry,” she said with a grimace. “I guess I’m just overly sensitive when it comes to my parenting skills. Probably because I’m always so aware that Daryn’s well-being is all on me.”

      “Then she’s in very good hands. I’m sure your mother knows that, despite some of the things she blurts out.”

      “I hope you’re right.”

      He shrugged. “I’ve never doubted that you’re a very committed mom. That was one of the first things I learned about you.”

      Kim glanced at the doorway, as though aware that this wasn’t exactly a private venue in which to have this conversation, but then she smiled at him. “Thanks, Tate. I needed that.”

      He winked at her, pleased that he’d been able to boost her bruised confidence. “Anytime.”

      Kim had just tucked Daryn into her travel crib upstairs when everyone was called to dinner. Betsy sat at one end of the dining room table, with Bob at the other end, Julian and Stuart on one side and Kim and Tate on the other. A portable baby monitor sat beside Kim’s plate, though not a peep had issued from it.

      Betsy served a simple fare of steaks, grilled corn on the cob, baked potatoes and a side salad. Bob had grilled the meat and corn, though Betsy hinted that she was exhausted from baking potatoes and making the salads and a cake for dessert. Tate made a few more silent observations about Kim’s background as everyone filled their plates.

      His own family was by no means perfect. He and his sister did their share of squabbling, though they’d grown closer since moving out on their own. His dad was a workaholic whose time had been stretched thin, but he loved his wife and kids and they’d known he would always be there if they needed him. His mother was a bit of a hypochondriac who tended to fret about her children’s well-being, but she’d relaxed a little during the past few years, finally accepting—for the most part—that they were old enough to take care of themselves.

      An average family, with average strengths and weaknesses. He loved them, drew strength from them. Knew they loved him, too.

      Before dinner was half finished that evening, he could see that Kim’s family had almost nothing in common with his own. She had very few bonds with her half brothers, perhaps because they had each been raised so differently. She barely knew her latest stepfather, though she seemed to like him well enough, considering this was only the second time she’d met him. As for her relationship with her mother—well, no wonder that was so strained. Frankly, Betsy was a nut.

      Tate hadn’t yet decided if there was a streak of malice beneath that beaming, scheming face. Betsy was undoubtedly self-centered, unapologetically deceitful, deliberately tactless—but was she aware that her thoughtlessness caused her daughter pain, or was she simply oblivious to consequences? He’d been amused by her until he’d become aware of her little digs at Kim. He hadn’t found those in the least funny.

      “Does anyone need more iced tea?” Betsy asked, filling a somewhat awkward silence that had fallen over the table once the standard compliments for the food had been exchanged. “Bob, sweetie, why don’t you bring the pitcher and top off the glasses?”

      Nodding congenially, Bob jumped up to fetch the tea pitcher. Not for the first time, Tate thought that