McKettrick's Heart. Linda Miller Lael

“Why not?”

       He managed a smile. “Because I wouldn’t have you,” he told her. “And that’s something I can’t imagine.”

       “Know something, Dad?”

       “What?”

       “I love you.”

       He kissed her forehead, held her close against his side. “I love you, too, monkey,” he croaked. They just sat there like that, side by side in a restaurant booth, for a while. “You had enough of those waffles?” he asked finally.

       She nodded. “Let’s hit the trail.”

       He laughed. “We’re out of here.”

      * * *

      MOLLY PAUSED outside the bookshop, peering through the display window at the latest bestsellers. Two of her authors were represented—unfortunately, neither of them was Denby Godridge. She dreaded calling the arrogant old tyrant—smoothing his ruffled feathers would take a lot of emotional energy—but she would have to do it. And soon.

       Lucas, sitting in his stroller, reached up and laid a hand on the glass, making a little-boy smudge. While Molly was scrambling for a tissue to wipe it clean, the bookshop door opened and a woman peeked out, smiling. She was blond and about Molly’s age, and warmth glowed in her eyes.

       “Emma Wells,” the woman said, putting out a hand and holding the door open with one slender hip.

       “Molly Shields,” Molly answered, shaking the offered hand.

       “Come in,” Emma said. “I just made fresh coffee, and I promise, you don’t have to buy anything.”

       Molly smiled. Since her arrival in Indian Rock she’d met exactly three people besides Lucas: Psyche, Florence and Keegan McKettrick. Her relationship with Thayer precluded friendship with all three of them, though Psyche had been kind. Molly was a woman with an active social life, a mover and a shaker, and she missed the buzz, the power lunches, the parties-with-a-purpose.

       Since she’d boarded the bus in L.A., though, she’d become a person she didn’t know how to be.

       “I’d like some coffee,” she said. “And I might even buy a book.”

       Emma laughed and stepped back to admit her.

       The shop was small and cozy, brightly lit. Two little dark-haired girls played in the children’s section, clomping around in high heels selected from a massive pile.

       The sight did something strange to Molly. Filled her with a nameless, bittersweet yearning so strong that she clasped the handle on Lucas’s stroller hard to steady herself.

       Meanwhile Emma crouched to smile at Lucas. “Hey, there, handsome,” she said. “What’s your name?”

       “It’s Lucas,” Molly told her.

       The little girls clomped over to inspect him.

       “I’m Rianna,” the smaller one said. “And this is my sister, Maeve. We’ve got a dog, but he’s at the vet, getting neutered. He has to stay there till Tuesday.” She looked up into Molly’s face, her expression earnest. “Does Lucas like dogs?”

       “I don’t know,” Molly said.

       “Our dog’s name is Scrappers, and he doesn’t bite. Dad got him at the pound when Snowball had to go home with her real owners.”

       Scrappers. Snowball. There was obviously a story here, but Molly couldn’t guess what it was.

       She didn’t know any children. Was this the kind of thing they liked to talk about? She glanced hopefully at Emma, who was still on her haunches, admiring Lucas. Her pink skirt fluffed out around her in a spill of soft material. “That’s really nice,” she said.

       Before Molly could figure out what was really nice, the conversation hit a snag.

       “How come you don’t know if your own little boy likes dogs?” Rianna asked, clearly concerned.

       “Lucas and I are…just getting to know each other,” Molly said awkwardly.

       “Enough questions,” Emma told the child gently, straightening. Her expression was solemn as she regarded Molly. “How about that coffee I promised?”

       Molly nodded gratefully. “Thanks,” she said.

       “Do you take sugar and cream?”

       “Black, please,” Molly answered.

       Rianna and Maeve went back to their shoe pile.

       Lucas fidgeted, wanting out of the stroller.

       Emma went up the back stairs.

       Molly was just standing there, minding her own business and waiting for Emma to come back with the coffee, when the shop door banged open behind her.

       A girl-child dashed in, long butternut hair flowing behind her. “Shoes!” she yelled.

       Molly smiled—until she saw the man coming through the doorway in the little girl’s wake.

       Keegan.

       McKettrick.

       “I do read, you know,” Molly said defensively, to explain her presence.

       Keegan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

       Molly flushed, furious with herself. It was free country, for Pete’s sake. She didn’t need a reason to be in a bookstore.

       Keegan crouched in front of the stroller, much as Emma had done a few minutes before. “Hey, buddy,” he said.

       “Hey, buddy,” Lucas echoed.

       Keegan smiled at that, and Molly was thunderstruck by the effect of it. The man’s whole countenance changed when he wasn’t being a judgmental hard-ass. There might even be a human being in there somewhere, behind all that attitude.

       As if he felt her gaze on him, Keegan looked up.

       The second Ice Age arrived instantly.

       “Does Psyche know you’re here?” he asked, rising to his full height.

       Molly’s face heated. “No,” she snapped, keeping her voice down because of Lucas and the three little girls parading around in Emma’s high-heeled shoes. “I thought we’d make a break for it, Lucas and I. I plan to push his stroller overland. We’ll travel by night and sleep in trees during the day.”

       He chuckled, and the sound was even more disconcerting than the smile had been.

       Molly was still getting over it when Emma returned with the coffee.

       “Keegan!” she cried, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

       “Tell me you’ve come to your senses,” Keegan teased. “You’re dumping Rance and marrying me.”

       Molly, standing on the edge of the encounter, wondered what it would be like to know this other Keegan.

       Emma handed Molly a ceramic mug filled with fresh coffee, but she was looking at Keegan. Smiling. “You’re a shameless flirt,” she accused.

       The little girl who’d come in with Keegan high-heeled it over to Molly. “Do you like shoes?” she asked.

       “I have a closetful,” Molly said, confused.

       “I’m Devon,” the child told her. “Devon McKettrick. This is my dad.”

       Molly smiled stiffly. “Hello, Devon,” she responded, glancing at Keegan. “My name is Molly Shields. Your dad and I have already met.”

       “She has a lot of shoes,” Devon told her father.

       “Go play,” Keegan answered.

       Devon didn’t move. She looked down at Lucas,