Willow Brook Road. Sherryl Woods

thought of home-baked cookies triggered a longing in Sam, one he hadn’t even realized he’d buried deep inside. “My grandmother used to do the same thing. She baked for the whole family. She’s been gone for years, but I still remember the way her kitchen smelled.”

      A smile spread across the woman’s face at last. “There’s nothing like it, is there? Don’t ever tell Nell, if you happen to meet her, but I bake, too, just so my house will smell like that when the kids come by. I want to be the go-to aunt or cousin or neighbor when it comes to cookies.”

      She shooed him toward the door. “Go. I’ll be over with your food in just a minute.”

      Sam dutifully left the pub and crossed the street. He stood beside the car and waited for the woman to emerge with his order. At least he told himself his gaze was so intense because his stomach was rumbling, but the truth was, he wanted another glimpse of her. She was a mass of contradictions with her fancy clothes and home-baked cookies, the lost expression he’d caught on her face when he first noticed her sitting at the bar, and her fiery indignation when she’d found Bobby alone in the car.

      Contradictions like that, though, usually meant trouble. And these days Sam had more of that than he could possibly handle.

       2

      Through the pub’s window, Carrie studied the man as he waited beside the car. He looked bone-weary. Little wonder after just suffering a tragic loss and then finding out he was responsible for his nephew. No longer furious about finding the boy alone in the car, she was able to cut the man some slack, but just this once. She’d be keeping an eye on him, and not because he was handsome as sin with his tousled hair, deep blue eyes and firm jaw, but because that child was likely in need of an advocate who knew something about kids.

      When Luke emerged from the kitchen with the take-out order, Carrie held out her hand. “I’ll take it to him.”

      Luke frowned. “Since when did we offer curbside service and how’d you get roped into it?”

      “Just give me the bag. Did you put in some of Nell’s cookies?”

      “You told me to, didn’t you? Of course I did. Are you picking up the check, too?”

      “Very funny. His money’s by the register. Keep the change.”

      She was about to open the door, when Luke called out.

      “Carrie!”

      She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

      “Come back here after you’ve delivered that,” he said.

      “I was going to head home.”

      “Not just yet,” he said firmly.

      A few years ago she might have reminded him he wasn’t the boss of her, but she was more mature now. “Fine,” she said grudgingly.

      She crossed the street and handed over the bag. The aroma of the stew made her stomach rumble. Maybe returning to the pub was a good idea, after all. She could use some of that stew herself.

      “Here, take this quick, before I decide to dive in and eat it myself,” she said, handing him the bag.

      He reached for the bag, took a sniff and sighed. “It does smell good. I hope Bobby will eat it.”

      “Is he a picky eater?”

      “It’s hard to tell. He’s shown little interest in anything the past couple of weeks, but that could be because of the circumstances. The only thing I’ve been able to coax him to eat are burgers and French fries, but I know I need to break that habit.”

      “Now you’re talking like a responsible parent,” she told him approvingly.

      He gave her a wry look. “If only it were that easy. Make sure he eats healthy meals and all will be right in his world.”

      “Are you staying here in Chesapeake Shores or just passing through?” When he didn’t immediately respond, she added, “I’m Carrie Winters, by the way.”

      He held out his hand. “Sam Winslow. I gather you’re a local.”

      “Absolutely. My cousin Luke owns the pub. I think I mentioned that. My grandfather, Mick O’Brien, designed the whole town.”

      He regarded her with amusement. “Is that what entitles you to dig into the lives of everyone you meet?”

      “That’s just natural curiosity,” she said, trying to keep a defensive note from her voice. “And friendliness. Chesapeake Shores is known for being a very friendly town. We roll out the welcome mat for strangers. You’d know that if you’d spent any time here, which must mean you’re passing through.”

      For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he sighed heavily. “Actually I moved here about two weeks before my sister’s accident. I’m the new web designer and tech expert for the local paper.”

      Carrie’s mood immediately improved. She beamed at him. “Then you’re working for Mack Franklin. That makes you practically family. He’s married to my cousin Susie—well, my second cousin, actually—she’s Luke’s sister.”

      He shook his head, amazement written on his face. “There really are O’Briens everywhere in this town, aren’t there?”

      She gestured toward the carved gold letters on a dark green background on the front of the pub. “We don’t try to hide it,” she said. “And there are a lot of us, especially when you take into account extended family. And it’s a close-knit community in general. You’re going to love it here, and it will be a great place for your nephew to grow up.”

      Exhaustion and defeat seemed to settle on his face once more. “I hope so. His parents dying so suddenly, moving to a new place plus adapting to having me as, well, whatever I’m supposed to be now.” He shook his head. “It’s a lot for a six-year-old to handle.”

      Carrie could only imagine how difficult it must be, and not just for a little boy, but for this man, as well. “If you ever want to talk to someone, my aunt Jess, who owns the Inn at Eagle Point, is married to a shrink.”

      “Will Lincoln?” he said, looking surprised.

      “You’ve met him?”

      “I’m still staying at the inn till I can find a place to buy or rent. I’ve had a couple of conversations with Will. He invited me to join some of the guys to shoot hoops. He never mentioned what he does for a living.”

      “He’s a great guy. Or if you just need somebody to listen, Luke’s not bad. He lives up to the stereotype of a bartender who can listen without passing judgment. That’s why I was in there tonight spilling my guts to him. I have a slew of people in my family who’d happily listen, but not without telling me what to do. Luke just threw out suggestions. He gave me some interesting food for thought.”

      Sam looked her over skeptically, apparently leaping to conclusions based on her designer clothes, the ridiculously expensive shoes she loved and the flawless makeup she’d learned to apply working in fashion, where looks mattered. Being in the world of cover models required that she pay a lot of attention to her own appearance if she hoped to compete. Was it too much for Chesapeake Shores? So what if it was? It was hardly something she needed to apologize for. Since when was looking presentable in public a crime?

      “You have problems?” he asked, proving she’d read his disdain correctly.

      “Everybody has problems,” she said. “Some are worse than others, but that doesn’t mean they don’t matter to the people trying to get through them.”

      “Tell me about yours,” he said. “Did you have trouble deciding what to wear tonight? Perhaps your Porsche wouldn’t start? Or maybe you accepted a date with a guy and are trying to figure out how to get out of it?”