Raising Connor. Loree Lough

and start acting like one. You’ll have to learn to organize your time better so that you don’t wear yourself out, because if you keep up at this pace, you’ll topple like a tree in the woods.”

      The “If a tree falls, would anyone hear it?” adage came to mind, and for a moment, Brooke thought back to her critical-thinking class: if philosophers, poets and scientists like George Berkeley, William Fossett and George Ransom Twiss hadn’t been able to solve the riddle, surely she never could. But...like it or not? Sorry for herself? Brooke hated the tragedy that put them all in this position, and she loved Connor more than life itself. What had she said or done to make her grandmother think she wasn’t up to the job?

      Deidre took her hand and led her to the sandbox. “Sit down before you fall down. I’m pretty spry for an old gal, but I’m not strong enough to pick you up.”

      Fourteen years ago Gram and Gramps opened their home to her and Beth after their father’s death. It couldn’t have been easy having his children underfoot, reminding them that they’d lost him forever, especially under such tragic circumstances, but they’d done it. Respect and gratitude kept Brooke from snapping back.

      Deidre picked up a tiny blue shovel. “What time is your appointment with the bank manager?”

      “Two o’clock. And at four I meet with the funeral director.”

      Sprinkling sand into a matching bucket, she said, “I’m glad you’re not bringing this munchkin with you....”

      “No one could expect him to sit still and keep quiet, least of all men in suits talking about balance transfers or coffins.” Brooke scooped up a handful of sand, watched it slowly rain from her fingers. “Hunter volunteered to stay with him while—”

      “Hunter?” Deidre leaned closer. “Hunter Stone?”

      That had pretty much been her reaction, too, when she’d said yes to his offer.

      “I didn’t know you two were even on speaking terms.”

      Memories of the way she’d fallen into his arms like a Victorian damsel in distress made her grimace, but Brooke put it out of her mind. “He stopped by the other morning. I’m not sure why. To offer his condolences?” She shrugged again. “We got to talking. One thing led to another. And when he offered to help with Connor, I decided to let him.”

      Smiling, Deidre raised an eyebrow.

      Good grief, Brooke thought. She loved her grandmother to pieces, but her notion that having a man in your life could right every wrong, well, that wasn’t so easy to love.

      Connor sighed and tossed his truck aside. “Look at those big sad eyes,” Deidre said. “Why, it really is as if he knows. Did you tell him his uncle Hunter is staying with him? That might put a smile on his face.”

      At the mention of Hunter’s name, Connor crawled over to Deidre. “Huntah?” And when she didn’t answer fast enough to suit him, he leaned into Brooke’s lap. “Huntah?”

      “Yes, sweetie, he’ll be here soon.”

      It had never sat well with her that Beth allowed Hunter to get close to her, and then to the baby. But as Beth had once pointed out, “Even you can see that they’re crazy about one another. If it makes Connor happy...”

      Being around him had made Beth happy, too.

      “You’re awfully quiet,” Deidre observed.

      “I was just thinking. Guess Hunter finally figured out how to stay awake on assignment. Otherwise Beth and Kent wouldn’t have let him spend so much time with Connor.”

      Deidre aimed a bony forefinger. “Shakespeare wrote that sarcasm proves a lack of wit, you know. I’m paraphrasing, but you get my drift.”

      Would Deidre be less sarcastic, Brooke wondered, if she hadn’t memorized all those savvy lines during her years on the Broadway stage?

      “I used to call them the Three Musketeers,” Deidre continued, “because they were like siblings...until Beth came to her senses and married Kent.”

      The not-so-veiled hint wasn’t lost on Brooke.

      “Frown all you like. It’s the truth and you know it.”

      It seemed her grandmother was determined to pick a fight. She blamed it on the fact that, just as Brooke had lost a sister, Deidre had lost a granddaughter...one she’d raised as her own child.

      “These past years haven’t been easy on Hunter, either, you know.”

      “They shouldn’t have been easy!” And Deidre of all people should know why.

      “Have you ever considered all that Beth gained when she forgave him?”

      Brooke huffed. “A babysitter who lives just two doors down?”

      “Tsk. Listen to yourself.”

      “I almost forgot. She got a babysitter who minds Connor for free. And someone who knows how to hammer nails into plaster walls without cracking them, fix leaky faucets, hang storm doors. Oh. And wait. Beth also gained a confidant. A genuine friend.”

      “You sound as though you think those are bad things.”

      “They are...if you have to trade them for self-respect.”

      Deidre’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think? That by letting go of the anger and bitterness, Beth and I handed over our dignity?”

      Yes, that’s exactly what Brooke thought. And it should come as no surprise to her grandmother, because they’d had this conversation no fewer than a dozen times over the years.

      “If you knew the whole story, you wouldn’t feel that way.”

      “I know enough. I know he couldn’t stop that gunman in time because when the robbery began, he was asleep in the squad car.”

      Deidre harrumphed. “You talk as if you’re the only one on the planet who ever suffered a loss.”

      Brooke didn’t know how to respond to that. Deidre had buried two husbands. And when Brooke’s dad couldn’t face life without her mom, he’d closed himself in the garage and turned on the car. And now, Beth.

      “But Hunter did stop that gunman, Brooke, permanently. And he’s had to live with that, too, all these years. That’s the truth, like it or not.”

      She did not.

      Brooke glanced at her watch. “Well, I have just enough time to feed Connor and put him down for a nap before Hunter gets here.”

      “Aw, let him play. He’s having fun for the first time in days. I’ll keep an eye on him. You go on inside. Touch up your lipstick and mascara, run a brush through your hair. And if you have any of that dark-circle concealer in your makeup bag, you might want to use it.”

      “Wow. Aren’t you good for the ego.”

      Deidre shrugged. “I calls ’em as I see ’em. Now go. Make yourself presentable for Hunter.”

      “I honestly don’t care what Hunter thinks of my appearance. And since the bank manager and the funeral director are only interested in money, they won’t even notice that I look like a worn-out old dishrag.”

      “Man,” said a smooth DJ-like voice, “Beth hit the old nail on the head....”

      Hunter...

      “You really are too hard on yourself.”

      How much of the conversation had he heard? It annoyed her that Deidre hadn’t given her a heads-up, since she’d been facing that direction. Traitor, Brooke thought as her grandmother wrapped Hunter in a welcoming hug. In reality, she was far more annoyed with herself: she’d come home from Richmond at least once a month. Had she really been so centered on her own trifling matters that she hadn’t noticed how deeply he’d embedded himself into her family?

      As