Home to Sparrow Lake. Lynn Patrick

fetched a small bowl from a cabinet. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had mac and cheese, maybe not since she’d been in school. It wasn’t the kind of dish she would have sought out in multi-ethnic Chicago, but in Wisconsin, it seemed perfect, Wisconsin being the cheese state and all.

      “Just sit,” her aunt said, taking the bowl out of her hands and pulling a spoon from a drawer. “It’ll only take two minutes to heat up in the microwave.”

      Kristen gladly sat on a stool at the marble-topped island and watched her aunt move around the huge designer kitchen she so rarely used.

      From the outside, the classic French Normandy stone manor was entrenched in the landscape, as if it had overlooked the lake forever. The inside had been renovated by the previous owner—the kitchen and baths were only fifteen years old—but the style was still quite traditional. Too traditional for the artist in Aunt Margaret.

      Kristen loved the house, but she didn’t feel at home here, not even in the huge guest suite. In addition to her bedroom and walk-in closet, she had a nice-sized sitting room and a spa-worthy bathroom. The guest suite was nearly as big as her own apartment had been, she thought morosely, remembering how the bank had foreclosed on her condo after she’d used up most of her savings.

      “Here you go, honey.” Aunt Margaret set the bowl and a fork before her. “Eat up. Then you can get some sleep.”

      “Thanks.”

      Kristen’s mouth watered at the smell. Of course her aunt had overloaded the bowl with food, and she couldn’t possibly eat it all this late. She slid a forkful into her mouth and just let it melt there before swallowing. It tasted so good it nearly made her toes curl.

      Her aunt slid onto a stool across from her. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I have an early meeting at the university tomorrow.”

      Kristin took another forkful. “A faculty meeting?” And another.

      “Actually, it’s with my dean. I’m turning in my resignation.”

      Surprised, Kristen asked, “Why? I thought you loved teaching.”

      The bowl was half-empty. She ought to stop now.

      “I do love teaching, but I’m tired, honey. Teaching full-time and running the store have worn me out. I haven’t had the energy or time to do the things I want.”

      “But Heather is managing the store now.” Her aunt was still teaching quilting classes and stepping in to work the store if someone called in sick, but that was nothing compared to managing the place.

      “Your sister is a hard worker. I’m very grateful that she stepped up. But teaching full time...” She shook her head. “Even though I will resign, I can still be an adjunct in the department and teach a sketching or painting class a semester. It’s the students I love. What I don’t love is committee work. Thank goodness that as an adjunct I won’t have to go to all those boring meetings anymore.”

      Kristen couldn’t imagine being without something to do every moment. Then again, her aunt had decades of that behind her. Nearing seventy, she deserved to slow down if she wanted. She simply didn’t act like a senior citizen. Didn’t look it, either. She kept her hair the same bright red it had always been, and she must be using some incredible skin products, because the only wrinkles she had were the welcoming smile lines around her striking hazel eyes.

      “What will you do with all that extra time you’ll have?” Kristen asked, deciding that maybe she could have one more bite of the luscious mac and cheese.

      “For one, I would like to make some plans to travel. And I want do something with this house to make it more livable.”

      “Aunt Margaret, this place is great as it is,” Kristen said, though it was starting to look a little shabby in places and needed quite a bit of maintenance.

      “You know, I’ve been wanting to transform it with color.”

      Ever since her husband, Donald, had died, Aunt Margaret had threatened to paint the walls bright colors and perk up the whole place with pieces of art, but she hadn’t done anything yet. Not even normal maintenance. The only room her aunt had ever redesigned was her studio, and that must have been shortly after she’d married Donald and moved in with him.

      “Sounds great,” Kristen said, putting the last forkful of food in her mouth. “We’ll have to talk more about it tomorrow when you get home.” Unbelievably, she’d finished every morsel. Tempted to lick the bowl clean, she restrained herself and took it and the fork to the sink, rinsed them and set them in the dishwasher. “Aunt Margaret, about the store window—”

      “Don’t worry about it, honey, it’s easily fixed.”

      “If you’ll tell me who to call, I’ll take care of it first thing when I get to the store.”

      “All right. I’ll put the name and number of my handyman right here on the counter before I leave for the university in the morning. And I’ll call Heather, too, so she won’t be shocked.”

      “Great.” Kristen yawned, then kissed her aunt’s cheek. “Now I need go pass out.”

      Which is exactly what she did upon entering her room. She didn’t bother stripping down any further than removing her dirty suit jacket and skirt. She didn’t take a shower. She was falling-down exhausted. Thinking she could take care of any mess tomorrow, she simply turned off the light and fell face-forward onto the bed.

      The moment her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.

      * * *

      ALEX SAW THE light go out on the east side of the house. Kristen Lange’s room? The patrol car’s engine running, he sat on the road a hundred yards from Margaret Becker’s home, a small mansion compared to most homes in this community.

      He hadn’t meant to come this way tonight, but heading for home from the station, he’d stopped at a convenience store for some food for Spike, a stray cat he’d been taking care of, then found himself taking the long way around the lake. He’d tried convincing himself that he was checking on the Lange kid, Kristen’s brother. But he didn’t figure he would find Brian skulking around at this hour.

      He had to admit it was the woman herself who interested him right now. Kristen Lange didn’t seem like a typical small-town girl coming back to her roots. Although he wasn’t exactly small town, either.

      Maybe it was the Chicago connection that drew him to her. There were aspects of the big city he didn’t miss, but there were others he did. Plus, most of his family still lived in Chicago. Unless it was rush hour or construction season, it was only a ninety-minute drive away, so he got back to see them often enough.

      Still, the women here were softer, less likely to give him a run for his money. They didn’t have that edge that attracted him. He needed a challenge in his life that had nothing to do with work, and Kristen Lange was spicy enough to make him anticipate their next encounter.

      * * *

      MARGARET POURED HERSELF a glass of lemonade and sat in the small bay window off the living room overlooking Sparrow Lake. She and Donald had spent many pleasant evenings together there, just talking and enjoying the view. After two bad marriages that had ended in divorce, she’d finally found her soul mate in Donald. When she’d lost him, she’d bought the quilting store and had thrown herself into managing it, in addition to teaching, to fill the empty spaces in her life.

      But now her life wasn’t so empty.

      When Heather’s husband had been killed in Iraq, the poor girl had been devastated. She’d also been left with twin toddlers. Margaret had given her niece a job at Sew Fine and all the emotional aid she had needed, and now Heather was like a daughter to her. Her nephew, Brian, had moved back from California to go to college in Wisconsin, and she’d opened her doors, giving him a place to live and a part-time job at the store. Finally, Kristen had come home after more than ten years, though her niece thought it was simply to recoup and regroup