Serenity Harbor. RaeAnne Thayne

Most gorgeous men of her acquaintance seemed to think the world existed for their convenience—though, okay, that might be a gross generalization. She didn’t know Bowie Callahan well enough to automatically make that assumption.

      “It was fine this time,” she said. “We had fun, didn’t we, Milo?”

      The boy ignored both of them, busy lining up all his cars again in the same carefully ordered row.

      “How did it go?” Bowie asked.

      With a careful look to make sure Milo was still occupied, she rose and walked out into the hallway, out of earshot.

      “Fine, for the most part. He seemed happy to have me there for the first few minutes and then ignored me most of the afternoon. We had one meltdown when I tried to have him leave his car out with the other toys when he had to use the bathroom, but we made it through.”

      “He doesn’t do anything without that stupid, manky purple car. I tried to give him a bunch of new cars with no luck. That’s still his favorite. I don’t have actual proof of this, but I’m guessing he loves it because Stella gave it to him.”

      “Stella. Is that your mother?”

      “Yeah. That’s Mom.”

      A hundred questions flashed through her mind at his sudden hard tone. Why did merely the mention of his mother’s name upset him? And why hadn’t he known about his brother until the last few weeks?

      “I’m puzzled about why he doesn’t speak,” she said slowly. “Do you know what sort of speech therapy he’s had in the past?”

      Bowie shook his head. “That seems to be the big mystery to the specialists we’ve seen. To be honest, I’m not sure whether he’s had any therapy. Knowing Stella, I highly doubt it.”

      Katrina frowned at the bitterness in his tone. What sort of history did those seemingly casual words conceal?

      “What about since you became his guardian?”

      “I have an appointment next week with one in Shelter Springs but was thinking about postponing it. I’m thinking maybe we should wait until the autism specialist arrives before we start any intensive therapy, so she can be involved at the outset.”

      The frustration and weariness in his voice pulled at her. She could only imagine how difficult it must have been for him to take over guardianship of a child with Milo’s kind of developmental challenges.

      “It makes sense from an outsider’s perspective,” she assured him.

      “Thanks. I appreciate that.” He smiled, and she was vaguely aware of her toes curling again.

      Oh, good grief. She had to get out of there.

      She looked through the doorway at Milo, who was now jumping his purple car over all the others like Evel Knievel was behind the wheel.

      “What time do you want me here in the morning?”

      “I have a staff meeting first thing. Would eight work?”

      She mentally scanned her calendar, which took all of about half a second. “That should work great.”

      “Thank you.” He smiled again. This time she forced her toes to stay firmly planted inside her shoes. “You can’t imagine the weight you’ve lifted from my shoulders.”

      She thought of Gabi, fragile and needy—and now a few steps closer to their new life together. “This is a mutually beneficial arrangement,” she said.

      “I hope we can continue to keep it that way.”

      They could, as long as she managed to hold on to her perspective. She was doing a job here, that was all. She didn’t want to become embroiled in their lives, to let herself care for the troubled Callahan brothers.

      Keeping both Milo and Bowie at arm’s length over the next few weeks just might be the hardest thing she’d ever done.

      She made her way past him, back into the boy’s bedroom. “I’ll see you in the morning, Milo. I have to go home now.”

      That seemed to catch the boy’s attention. He looked up from his cars and she saw confusion flash in his eyes for a moment, followed quickly by disappointment and frustration and what looked like the genesis of a meltdown.

      “I’ll be back tomorrow to play with you all day,” she said quickly in an effort to check the tantrum before it could begin. “I have a job for you while I’m gone. See if you can pick out all the vehicles that are the same color as your favorite.”

      He looked stymied for a moment, then picked up another purple car and a third one.

      “That’s an excellent start,” she said, pleased. “Good job.”

      “We’ll look for more purple cars in a moment,” Bowie told him. “We can come back later, but first we have to walk Katrina out to her car and say goodbye to her. That’s the polite thing to do when you have a lady over. Come on, Milo.”

      She thought the boy would ignore him, but after a moment Milo climbed to his feet, tucked his favorite car in the pocket of his cargo shorts and hurried over to them.

      When they were nearly to the door, Bowie made a low exclamation. “I totally forgot. You walked over here earlier. We’ll give you a ride. Or, as I said earlier, you’re more than welcome to use something out of the garage.”

      “Not necessary,” she assured him. “I left my car over at McKenzie’s house in Redemption Bay, which is only a five-minute walk from here along the lake trail.”

      “We really wouldn’t mind driving you.”

      “I’d rather walk. It’s a lovely evening and I need to stretch my legs a little.”

      That answer didn’t appear to his liking. To his credit, Bowie didn’t argue. “Your choice, I suppose. Have a good evening, then.”

      “Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning. Bye again, Milo.”

      The boy didn’t wave but did appear to nod his head. She decided she would take it. Water lapped against the shore and birds twittered through the branches above her as she hurried along the path that wound through sweet-smelling pine trees. She hadn’t lied to him. She did like to walk and she adored these beautiful summer evenings along the lake—with the sun beginning to sink beneath the Redemption Mountain Range, casting long shadows.

      Mostly, though, she needed a little distance from the entirely too-attractive Bowie Callahan and his brother.

      * * *

      KATRINA PARALLEL-PARKED about a block away from Point Made Flowers and Gifts—never an easy task, but made much more challenging because the somewhat battered sedan she was borrowing from her stepfather during her stay had a loosey-goosey power steering system that swam a little more than she liked.

      “Here we are. Are you excited?”

      Milo, fiddling with the strap on his booster seat in the back, didn’t answer. Not that she expected him to. Katrina was quickly discovering it was one thing to understand the challenges of autism in academic terms and something else entirely when dealing with it for hours at a time.

      She and Milo had been together nonstop for the last three days and had finally settled into a routine of sorts. In the morning, she fixed him breakfast, they did a few basic chores around the house like washing the dishes or emptying the trash, then they took a long walk, either around the lake or along one of her favorite easy trails along the Hell’s Fury River.

      After lunchtime, she would read to him while he played cars—though she wasn’t entirely certain if he truly enjoyed the stories or merely tuned her out to do his own thing. She insisted he rest in his room for a little quiet time, then they would take another walk or go to a nearby park or merely sit on the patio overlooking the lake and throw pebble after pebble.

      He seemed comfortable with their routine,