Matt's Family. Lynnette Kent

Careful not to get too involved with her? Careful not to have sex with her?

      So there wouldn’t have been a baby…Erin. There would have been no reason to marry Luke. That meant Jenny wouldn’t have been born, either.

      What in the world would her life have been without them?

      “Well, that certainly clears things up.” Straightening away from the tree, she drove her shaking hands into her pockets. “Where do we go from here?”

      “Kris—” He reached toward her.

      But Kristin turned her back and started walking, toward the parking lot, she hoped. She needed a chance to consider Matt’s feelings about their child. Though he loved Erin, and wanted her to know him as her father, he obviously thought of her as a mistake. Or at least an error in judgment.

      So was their marriage his attempt to take care of the problems he considered his responsibility? As soon as possible after his return, Kristin had told him that Erin was his child, and had promised their daughter would know that fact, one day. Not long afterward, Luke had moved into a house by himself, when the comfortable, careful marriage they’d built crumbled under the burden of Kristin’s guilt. At that point, Matt had obviously felt bound to take his brother’s place as father and husband. Less than a year after her divorce from Luke, he’d asked her to marry him.

      So here was the understanding she had wanted to reach. Her marriage was based on great sex and a very dependable man’s sense of obligation. At least now she knew where they stood.

      Matt caught up as she reached the road. He didn’t try to talk on the long hike back to the van. Kristin was very glad of that.

      THEIR RIDE out to Manassas, Virginia, was just as quiet. In the visitors’ center, she studied exhibits of war memorabilia while Matt made a short tour of the battlefield area. They skipped the cemetery and the memorial to Confederate dead.

      “I reserved a room at an inn in Boonesboro, Maryland.” Matt hoped to break the silence with something non-controversial. “From there we can get to Antietam and Gettysburg with short drives.”

      Kristin didn’t turn away from the side window. “That’s nice.”

      Not exactly encouraging. And he wasn’t sure why she was so angry. She knew his father, knew that the Army tradition went back in their family for generations. One of his great-grandfathers had died at Gettysburg. This trip was about family history as much as war itself.

      Of course, for the Brennans the two were pretty much the same thing. Or had been, until Luke broke the mold, ditched college and joined the police force. Little brother was definitely not a chip off the old block.

      Matt’s thoughts skidded to a stop. Was his career part of the problem? Did Kristin regret giving up her marriage to a man who stayed in town and came home every day? Sure, a cop faced dangerous situations all the time, but usually on his home ground. Not five thousand miles away in a foreign country so that you never even knew what happened to the body.

      “Dad’s really pushing me to rejoin the unit,” he said, trying to explore the issue.

      “I noticed.” She didn’t move, didn’t uncurl from her withdrawn position.

      He would have to be more direct. “Maybe it’s time I made a decision—change careers or go back to the one I had. What do you think?”

      Kristin sighed and turned back to the window. “We’ve had enough change, Matt. Let’s just leave things the way they are.”

      He didn’t attempt to start another conversation for the rest of the drive.

      BOONESBORO WAS a small town, mostly a cozy main street crossed by a few short lanes. The bed-and-breakfast inn—Chisholm’s Rest—overlooked the village from atop a hill. Matt stopped the van in the circular driveway.

      “This looks nice,” Kristin said as they climbed the steps.

      “I hope so.” Matt rang the bell. “A guy in the unit recommended it. He used to live in the area.”

      She touched the petal of a bright red flower in the window box, but didn’t reply.

      The door opened and a tall woman peered through the screen door. “’Afternoon, folks. What can I do for you?”

      “I’m Matt Brennan and this is my wife, Kristin. We made a reservation.”

      “Sure you did! Come right on in!” She pushed the door wide open. “I was wonderin’ if you’d get here afore suppertime.”

      The hall of the house was dim and cool and smelled like roses. Kristin appreciated the gleam of dark woodwork and polished floors. “Your inn is lovely, Mrs….”

      “Chisholm. Sadie Chisholm.” She put out a hand to Kristin, and then Matt. “M’husband’s George. He’s asleep right now, but he’ll be up in a little while. I was flxin’ him a snack. You folks hungry?”

      Before they could say yes or no, Sadie swept them down the hallway into a bright white kitchen. “Sit down at the table. I got some iced tea, here, and just a few sandwiches.” She put a platter piled high with crustless triangles of bread and cheese in the center of the table. “And some cookies, when you’re finished.”

      Kristin sipped from the tall glass of tea. A cold, sweet trickle soothed her throat and eased the headache behind her eyes. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Chisholm.”

      “Sadie, honey. Everybody calls me Sadie. You folks come up from Washington today, is that right?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” Matt had already finished two sandwiches. He took another. “We’re going to Antietam tomorrow, then Gettysburg.”

      Arms crossed over her ample bosom, Sadie nodded. “We get lots of folks wantin’ to see the battlefields. And when there’s one of them reenactments, you won’t find an empty bed this side of Philadelphia.”

      “Sadie?” A man’s voice, lighter and thinner than hers, came from the hall. “Who in the world are you talkin’ to?”

      “It’s the Brennans, George, come to stay.”

      The man stepped into the kitchen and looked them over. He was as thin as his wife was plump, with iron-gray hair and bright blue eyes. “Pleased to meet you.” He shook hands with Matt and nodded at Kristin as he sat down across the table. “See you’ve got ’em fed already, Sadie.”

      “Well, the poor things looked half-starved, standin’ out on the porch. Here’s your tea, George.” She rested a hand on his shoulder as she set the glass down. Observing the tenderness of a long-standing marriage, Kristin blinked against the sting of tears.

      “Thanks, Mother.” He helped himself to four sandwiches and began to eat. In between bites he asked the same question about where they’d come from and where they were going. “Country gets real crowded when they have them reenactments around here. Hardly room to walk.”

      Kristin couldn’t resist a glance at Matt, and found him hiding a smile, his blue eyes dancing.

      George finished the tea and three more sandwiches, wiped his chin and stood up. “Let me get you folks’s bags to your room. I’ll move your car round to the back while I’m at it.”

      Matt got to his feet. “That’s okay, Mr. Chisholm—just show me where to park. I’ll get the bags.”

      “That’s George, young man. You just sit here with your pretty wife a while.” He started down the hallway. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

      But Matt followed. “George, you really don’t have to—” The screen door slapped shut. “George!” The door opened and closed again.

      Chuckling, Sadie wiped her hands on a towel. “Since that man of yours is well occupied, I’ll show you to your room and give you a chance to put your feet up while I make us some dinner.”

      Kristin wasn’t sure she could eat anything