Driftwood Cottage. Sherryl Woods

plenty of attractive, intelligent professional women, not a one of them held a candle to Heather. Her image haunted him.

      He reached for the phone a half-dozen times a day, tempted to call so he could hear the sound of her voice. He even had a built-in excuse, wanting to get updates on their son. It was downright pitiful that he even considered resorting to that.

      In the end, he resisted because he knew she’d see through the excuse. Anyone in his family could tell him what was going on with little Mick. It wouldn’t take frequent calls to Heather to learn how his son was doing. Besides, she left him regular messages herself. They were too short, too unsatisfactory. What he needed was a real conversation.

      His inability to get on with his life clearly meant that he needed to try harder.

      The next woman he met, he asked on a date, then spent an evening in one of Baltimore’s finest restaurants being bored out of his mind. It seemed all she cared about was whether he’d met any of the stars in Clint Wilder’s movie. He repeated the pattern for another couple of weeks, then finally conceded he was wasting his time.

      On the Saturday morning of Easter weekend, he got in his car and drove once again to Chesapeake Shores, using the excuse that it had been too long since he’d seen his son. He somehow managed to blame Heather for that, even though several of her messages had included an offer to bring little Mick for a visit.

      When he arrived at the house, he found Gram in the kitchen with all of the kids coloring Easter eggs. Though the room was a disaster and Gram looked harried, her eyes were twinkling when she spotted him. She handed off his son, who clung happily to his neck. The boy’s smile of delight at Connor’s arrival immediately improved his mood.

      “Get out of those fancy clothes and come in here to help me,” Gram commanded. “If I’m not careful, I’m going to wind up with my hair dyed pink.”

      “It would be beautiful,” Caitlyn told her solemnly.

      “We can do mine, too,” Carrie said. “But I want blue.” She danced around. “Don’t you think I’d be beautiful?”

      “Gorgeous,” Connor agreed, laughing. He felt lighter than he had in days. His twin nieces, with their unexpected observations and uncensored comments, could lift his spirits in a heartbeat. Spending time with them and the rest of the family was exactly what he’d needed.

      “I’ll be right back,” he promised his grandmother.

      Taking little Mick with him, he changed into an old T-shirt and a pair of cutoff jeans, then hurried back to the kitchen and settled his son in a high chair.

      “How’d you get roped into doing this?” he asked Gram.

      “Everyone’s working today,” she explained. “It’s a busy weekend in town, so Shanna, Heather, Bree and your mother are all at their shops. Abby went to help Bree deliver flowers. It seems everybody in the universe is sending an Easter bouquet to someone in Chesapeake Shores this weekend.”

      “Where’s Dad?”

      “Mick took one look at the mess in here and mumbled something about checking on one of his Habitat for Humanity sites.” She chuckled. “I’ll have my revenge, though. Once we’re finished, I can walk off and leave this for him to clean up. That’s the joy of being able to go back to my own place these days. Now, you help your son. He doesn’t quite have the knack for dying eggs, instead of his hands.”

      “Help me, too, Uncle Connor,” Davy pleaded.

      Henry, who was still adjusting to this boisterous new family of his, stood back, looking on shyly.

      Connor plucked three boiled eggs from a basket on the table. “Come on, guys, let a master show you how it’s done. Each of you grab a crayon. We’ll draw on a design first, okay?”

      The designs weren’t much, but it hardly mattered. Connor guided little Mick’s tiny fingers as they drew a barely recognizable duck. Davy drew something that looked like Santa, though turned upside down it could have been a bunny. It was impossible to tell and probably risky to ask.

      Connor glanced over to check on his other nephew, Kevin’s adopted son. Henry printed his name with careful letters, then thoughtfully did two more eggs for Kevin and Shanna. It hurt Connor’s heart to see how hard the boy was trying to fit in with his new family. All the caution was his. Kevin and Shanna, who’d been Henry’s stepmother in a previous marriage, adored Henry. And Davy was thrilled to have a big brother.

      Henry glanced hesitantly at Connor. “Do you think I should do one for my dad, too? I sent him and my grandpa and grandma a card already. Shanna helped me pick it out.”

      “If you want to make an egg for your dad, we’ll find a way to get it to him,” Connor promised, trying to imagine how hard it must be to be separated from his biological family because his father’s alcoholism and failing liver had made it impossible for Henry to remain with him.

      Henry’s little face immediately brightened. “Cool!”

      In the meantime, Carrie and Caitlyn were drawing elaborate patterns with bright colors, then dipping the eggs into the brightest dyes.

      “Ours are best!” Carrie announced, jumping up and down.

      “It’s not a contest,” Gram chided.

      “That’s right,” Connor told her. “The contest comes tomorrow, when we see who can find the most eggs in the yard.” He tickled his boastful niece. “And I guarantee you I’ll win.”

      “You’re too big to play,” Caitlyn said, dodging his attempt to tickle her. “Only kids get to hunt for eggs.”

      “Hey, I’m a kid,” Connor protested.

      “Are not,” Carrie said, giggling.

      “Oh, honey, I’m afraid your uncle Connor is just a big kid,” Gram said sorrowfully. “I haven’t seen a sign of maturity yet.”

      “Hey,” he protested.

      “I doubt you want me to explain all my reasons for feeling that way,” Gram said, her gaze steady.

      Connor sighed. “No need.”

      “I didn’t think so.”

      “Maybe I’ll get my boy here cleaned up and take him back to his mother,” he said.

      “That sounds like a fine idea to me,” Gram said approvingly. “Be sure she’s going to join us for Easter dinner tomorrow after church.”

      Connor nodded. Somehow the prospect of issuing that invitation to a simple family gathering and getting the hoped-for “yes” held more allure than all those endless bar crawls and dates he’d been on for the past few weeks.

      And spending a carefree afternoon dying Easter eggs with his son, his nieces and his nephews was a thousand times better than dealing with the Clint Wilders of the world. Apparently, despite Heather’s oft-stated fears, he hadn’t gone so far over to the dark side yet that he couldn’t see that.

       6

      During Connor’s absence over the past few weeks, Heather had once again been able to establish a new rhythm for her life and put him out of her mind. Her days were occupied with the store, getting to know her regular customers, even making a few friends among them, and keeping her son out of mischief. Nights were harder, when the darkness settled around her and the brand-new bed she’d purchased felt too big, too empty.

      Of course, there were reminders everywhere. For one thing, her son looked exactly like his daddy and his grand-daddy, but she’d gotten better and better at keeping the two separate in her head. Little Mick was her life now. Connor was her past. She just needed to keep reminding herself of that. She assured herself she was getting better at it every day.

      Unfortunately, though, there was more she couldn’t control. Connor’s family tended to pop up everywhere