Читать книгу A Mother's Wish / Mother To Be: A Mother's Wish - Karen Templeton - Страница 9

The next morning, Winnie awoke with a yelp when an ice-cold doggy nose torpedoed underneath the comforter to make contact with her warm back. Instantly awake—and cranky—Winnie flipped over to glare at the beast whose toothy grin was a blur in the wriggling excitement that was Annabelle.

It’s morning? We go play? Find things to herd?

“Forget it,” Winnie grumbled. Between feeling like she’d hosted a rowdy keg party in her brain all night and an unfamiliar bed, she was lucky if she’d logged in three hours the entire night. Morning, whatever. And it was coollld out there on the other side of the comforter—

“Oh, hell,” she muttered, remembering that Aidan had invited her to breakfast. That she’d said yes. That loneliness and butter-soft Irish accents were a really, really bad combination. That—

That somewhere in the distance, a rooster was crowing.

“Crap, what time is it?” she asked the world at large, grabbing her watch off the nightstand, then sinking back into the mattress, groaning. Lord, show me a sign, she’d prayed the night before, mainly because Elektra was a big believer in the suckers and Winnie was up the creek, whether I should go or stay. Whether her wanting to get to know Robbie was a right idea, or a relapse into the stubbornness that had ruled so many decisions for so many years. Then Aidan had called, not a minute afterward, and she’d thought, Wow. Fast service.

“I can’t do this,” she now said to the dog, even though she had no earthly idea what this was. Annabelle stopped wriggling long enough to cock her head at her mistress, after which she heaved a great doggy sigh, laid her snout on top of the mattress and commiserated with Winnie with what she probably thought was her best soulful look. Except Annabelle, not being a hound, didn’t do soulful very well. Annabelle was all about perky and playful. Like a cheerleader.

Sure enough, after, oh, ten seconds of sympathy, the dog moonwalked backward, bowed with her butt in the air and yarped. Her version of Get your fat bee-hind out of bed. Now.

With a sigh of her own, Winnie dragged said bee-hind out of bed, the comforter wrapped around her shoulders and trailing after her like a poufy coronation cape as she let the dog out, then clumsily put on coffee, because facing the world—and Aidan—without fresh caffeine in her system wasn’t gonna happen.

Her cell rang. Winnie stared at it, shimmying on the counter like a rattlesnake, a thought that made her shudder mightily. With any luck, it would be Aidan, canceling. Except then she realized, yeah, well, if she wanted to get closer to Robbie, going through Aidan was her only option.

And according to Elektra, once you accepted a sign, you were pretty much stuck with it.

“Good,” Aidan said the moment Winnie put her phone to her ear. Now she heard the crowing in stereo. “You’re awake.”

“Up, yes,” she said, yawning. “Awake, not so much.” Annabelle whined at the back door; Winnie shuffled over to let her in.

“I thought I said breakfast was at eight-t’irty?”

And early morning Irish attitude was just what she needed. “It’s eight…” She squinted at her watch. “Ten. So no problem.’

“Glad to hear it,” Aidan said, and hung up.

Winnie looked at Annabelle, who’d been pretending not to listen. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” she said, but, sadly, dispensing advice was not part of Annabelle’s job description.

The village of Tierra Rosa, Winnie thought as her truck wound up, then down, the curved main drag like a roller coaster on downers, was oddly charming, in a Tim-Burton-gone-Southwest kind of way—a cross between an old Spanish settlement, a set for a fifties’ Hollywood Western and a trailer park. To add to the confusion, she mused as she spotted the cafe, was the occasional bank or church or police department building that was pure Sixties blah.

“No, baby,” she said to the dog as she got out, leaving the truck windows at half-mast since the temperature had inched up to maybe fifty or so, “you have to stay here.” After a moment of looking bereft, the dog sighed and sat. Annabelle was nothing if not flexible.

Then, the breeze zipping right through the persimmon-colored velvet blazer that had seen her through any number of Octobers, Winnie started toward the cafe and was hit by a wave of nervousness so strong she half expected to pass out. The moment she pushed through the glass door, however, the pungent aromas of coffee and griddle grease, the sounds of breakfast orders being barked to the cook, the crush of animated early-morning conversation, wrapped around her, both soothing and unsettling in their familiarity.

The place was nearly full, patrons squeezed around a half-dozen randomly placed tables, into as many bright-red booths. Hand-painted bougainvillea vines snaked underneath a heavily beamed ceiling, the bright pink flowers vibrating against deep-blue walls. The kitchen was open to the dining room, framed by an enormous mural depicting vintage pickups traveling along piñon-dotted mountains.

Nope, definitely not in Texas anymore, she thought, recovering from the onslaught of color. Her nostrils flared at the top note of roasted chili peppers seasoning every deep, calming breath, like Elektra had taught her before she gave birth, although as Winnie recalled when the time came they didn’t do her a damn bit of good. Then her gaze snagged on Aidan, rising out of his chair, and she thought, Not gonna do a damn bit of good now, either.

He dwarfed the tiny table in front of him, the light streaming in through the window beside it bouncing off all those angles and muscles and things practically hard enough to hear, making his white shirt—open one button too far—downright glow. Some people might think the jeans rode a trifle too low, too. Winnie couldn’t decide if she was one of those people or not.

Aidan angled his head slightly, his frown only accentuating the Celtic warrior/cowboy thing he had going with the wild hair, the beard shadow. Not that he was scuzzy—oh, my, no—but he was—

“If you don’t mind?” he said, the frown deepening.

Sorely in need of some manners, Winnie thought irritably, winnowing her way through the maze of tables and chairs toward him, remembering why she was here. Reminding herself that Aidan had the upper hand. And that if she’d had any sense she would’ve left her hormones back in the truck with the dog.

However, the closer she got, the more she could see past the muscles and the too-low jeans and the sheer oh-my-God-ness of the man to the pain-pretending-to-be-annoyance in his eyes. A look she’d seen plenty, in various permutations, over the years as she’d poured yet another cup of coffee or set down a piece of pie or a serving of fresh-made meat loaf and whipped potatoes and gravy. This realization did not make her less nervous, exactly, as much as it somehow gave it a different color.

Although she somehow doubted she’d look back on her years of indentured servitude to her grandmother with anything resembling fondness, there was nothing like working in a diner to hone a person’s ability to read people. The men, especially, hard-wired to believe they were impervious to things like sorrow and heartbreak.

She’d even been able to dispense the odd parcel of advice, now and then, when she’d known enough of the particulars to feel on sure footing. But this time, when something too formless to be a real thought suggested she might be able to help Aidan, too, she nearly laughed. Not only did she know nothing about the man, but how in heaven’s name was she supposed to help somebody else when her own life felt about as solid as a half-set Jell-O salad?

Except then it felt like a pair of hands gently pushed her into the seat in front of him, and she sighed, resigning herself to this being one of those times when the angelthought said, Do this, and you said, Okay, I’ll try.

“You look different,” Aidan said, like it was gonna bug him to no end until he figured out why.

Suddenly ravenous, Winnie picked up the laminated menu with hands she refused to let shake and said, “It’s daylight.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s…you’re wearing makeup.”

Winnie batted her eyes over the top of the menu. “So?”

“You weren’t last night.”

She shrugged. “End of the day. And I wasn’t expecting company.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but whatever. “Trust me,” she said, scanning the column of breakfast specials, “I’m doin’ you a favor. But good news—no bunnies were harmed in the making of this mascara.” Her selection made, she slammed down the menu. “So. What made you change your mind?” she said, taking no small pleasure in the look of surprise that crossed his features, just as the waitress—small, blond, fine-featured, grinning—appeared.

“Hey, Aidan…haven’t seen you in here for a while.”

“No, I suppose not,” he said, not returning her smile, and Winnie briefly considered kicking him under the table. Except then the blonde gave Winnie a bemused shrug and a “watcha gonna do?” eye roll. And a light smack on Aidan’s shoulder with her order pad. She was still young enough to look good under fluorescent lighting—and in tight black jeans—but old enough to smack ornery customers with her order pad. Winnie liked her immediately.

“You gonna introduce me or what?”

Aidan frowned at Winnie. Like it had just occurred to him that maybe taking her someplace where people knew him hadn’t been the smoothest move in the book.

“Thea, this is Winnie Porter. Winnie, Thea. Are the eggs fresh?”

“Considering they came from your chickens, I assume so. Salsa’s fresh-made, too.”

Aidan waited until after she’d taken their order and zipped back to the kitchen before he finally said, “What makes you think I’ve changed my mind?”

“Other than you giving the definite impression last night that you were hoping the mother ship would snatch me up?”

“That’s assuming they’d be interested in reclaiming you.”

“Brother. Your wife was clearly a saint.”

“No argument there,” Aidan muttered, his gaze drifting outside as he sipped his coffee. He appeared to be looking at Annabelle, who was looking back. Winnie waved and the dog barked, although you couldn’t really hear it through the glass. Then Aidan said, “Even so, I’m sorry I came down s’hard on you,” and her gaze swung back to his.

But only for a moment. “You had cause,” she said, lowering her eyes to spread her napkin on her lap, then upending the sugar dispenser over her coffee, watching the stream of white crystals disappear into the lake of dark, steaming liquid. Frankly, she needed more caffeine like a hole in the head, this being her third cup in less than an hour, but some days were like that.

She set the sugar dispenser back between them, stirred her coffee. “So, what?” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze, aching for him whether she wanted to or not. “Is this some kind of trial? The number of correct answers determine whether I get to see Robbie or not?”

“It’s not that cut-and-dried,” he said, looking none too comfortable himself.

“No,” Winnie said, lifting the heavy cup and taking a sip. Grimacing, she added more sugar. “I suppose not.”

Her gaze drifted out to Annabelle again, lending her silent, but unwavering, support, her eyes cutting back to his when he said, “I gather my housekeeper paid you a little visit last night.”

“She did.” Winnie took another swallow of coffee. “Did I pass muster?”

“For having cojones? Yes. What’s so funny?”

“Never heard that word with an Irish accent, that’s all. But tell her thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s necessarily on your side.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” When Aidan’s brows lifted, she said, “Flo’s obviously very loyal to you. All of you,” she added, backing up slightly when Thea brought them their food, then left to chat up a good-looking cowboy who’d just come in to pick up a take-out order, or so it looked like. She was all smiles; he wasn’t, doing the whole eye-avoidance thing that spelled doom with a capital D, and Winnie, who’d been on the receiving end of that little scenario more times than she could count, thought, Uh-oh. Then he left, shoulders hunched with apology, and Thea’s eyes touched Winnie’s, full of hurt and confusion and embarrassment, before she disappeared through the archway marked Restrooms.

“That she is,” Aidan said, and Winnie thought, What? Oh. Flo. Right.

She dug into her fried potatoes. “Which is how it should be. So it wasn’t like I was sensing any real support from that camp. Still, I’m a big believer in fate.”

Aidan paused, his fork suspended over his own huevos rancheros. “Willing something to happen isn’t the same thing as fate.”

Again, Winnie laughed, the food too good to stop eating. “Oh, honey…believe me, you’d know if I was being willful. This doesn’t even come close.” She leaned forward to butter a piece of toast, thinking that sometimes nothing hits the spot like a perfectly toasted piece of white bread drenched in butter. “And anyway, nobody told you to call me.”

His eyes dipped to his breakfast, but not fast enough for her to miss his blush. “So this is my doing, is it?”

“Works for me.”

Apparently stymied, at least for the moment, Aidan seemed unable to tear his gaze away from Winnie’s slathering her omelet with copious amounts of thick, fragrant salsa.

“You might want t’go a little easy with that. It’s not for wimps.”

“I think I can handle it,” she said, thinking maybe she was talking about more than salsa. She forked in a large bite of eggs—the stuff definitely had a kick, but she’d had hotter. “And you know, if this really is about gettin’ to know me, you’ll have to take at least some of it on face value, since it’s not like I’ve got a half-dozen character witnesses in my back pocket. But I swear, I didn’t come here to mess with anybody’s head.” The salsa hit the pit of her stomach with a small explosion. “Least of all Robbie’s. And I also swear…”

“What?”

Winnie chewed for a moment, thinking that while she could probably B.S. her way through this little interview, in the long run what would be the point?

“Okay,” she said, noting that Aidan seemed suitably impressed that she hadn’t sucked down half a glass of water to douse the flames, “this probably isn’t gonna earn me any points, seeing as you already think I’m a couple bricks shy of a load as it is. But since you brought up the whole human will thing? I didn’t exactly decide to come out here.”

“What you said about not having any family left notwithstanding. ”

“Oh, that was—is—true enough. Only that alone wouldn’t’ve been enough to make me do something like this. But a couple days after my grandmother died…” She blew out a breath. “It was almost like I heard…a voice. Although not a voice, voice, more like…a real strong feeling. That I had to come here.” At his what-kind-of-fool-do-you-take-me-for? expression, she shrugged. “I know. Elektra thought I was nuts, too. So there’s another tick mark in your column.”

“Elektra?”

“She runs my grandmother’s diner. My diner now, I guess.”

“You don’t sound exactly thrilled.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I just inherited a chain of five-star hotels or anything. And I know I should be grateful. It’ll never make me rich, but that’s okay, I wouldn’t know what to do with rich if it bit me in the butt. It’s just not…me.”

“And what is…you?” he asked, unsmiling.

“I think maybe I want to work with kids—I’ve got my teaching degree, I just have to get certified—but I haven’t had five minutes to myself to think about it.” Then she let out a sound that was equal parts laugh and sigh. “And here I’m supposed to be at least trying to make a decent impression. But you know what? I am who I am, either you deal with that or you don’t. I may be a bit on the flaky side, but I’m not a bad person. Not anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Oh, come on—when we met, I’m sure I must’ve looked like I had the devil’s mark on me. I sure felt that way at times. Although,” she said, waving her fork, “I was not a rebel without a cause. Or at least a reason.”

“You got pregnant on purpose?”

At least he looked more intrigued than judgmental, for what that was worth. “If I say I’m not sure,” Winnie said, “it’s not because I’m trying to evade the question, okay? It’s because after all this time I still don’t know.” Frowning, she finally took that sip of water, then met his gaze. “Mostly I wanted to make my own decisions, about my own life. Even if they were stupid. But I’m not that person anymore, Aidan, you’ve got to believe that.” She sucked in a long, shuddering breath. “I swear.”

The tremor of sympathy happened before Aidan could squelch it. Oh, he definitely remembered the Winnie from back then, those big blue eyes bleeding a mixture of anger and fear and resentment. But most of all, an unfathomable sadness that, even then, had burned something inside Aidan. He remembered how wrong it had felt, that his and June’s happiness should be predicated on someone else’s misery.

“And how, exactly, d’you think you’ve changed?”

“Well…for one thing,” she said after a moment, “I’ve stopped making myself the victim of my own anger. Took a while, though, before it finally dawned on me that trying to hurt somebody else is a surefire way of hurting yourself more. But until I got to that point…” She stared at her plate, her breathing hard, and Aidan waited out the next wave of sympathy. “Who knew it would be so much harder to love myself than my grandmother?”

“She didn’t exactly strike me as the warm fuzzy type,” Aidan said quietly, and Winnie snorted.

“That’s what fear’ll do to a person, I suppose. She was so afraid I’d go off half-cocked like she was convinced my mother did. Ida couldn’t help being strict, that’s just how she was raised herself. But every time she said…” Her face tilted toward the window; Aidan saw her swallow. “Every time she said, ‘You’re just like your mother,’ the more I figured, what the hell, she already thinks the worst of me, might as well live up to her expectations.”

Aidan’s stomach clenched. “And what did she mean by that? Your being just like your mother?”

Winnie’s mouth curved into a wry smile. “I gathered Mama was stubborn as all get-out, too. She apparently bucked my grandmother every chance she got, the crowning touch being to elope with my father the second she turned eighteen.” Her eyes veered to Aidan’s. “I remember Daddy being a good man. Kind. He just wasn’t real successful, if you get my drift. I’m sure Ida saw Mama’s ‘bad choice’ as her own failure, but growing up, all I knew was that my grandmother constantly bad-mouthed the people I’d loved most in the world. It didn’t sit well.”

Their breakfasts and their surroundings all but forgotten, Aidan caught himself a split second before he stumbled head-on into the now dry-eyed gaze in front of him. While he knew Winnie wasn’t playing him for a con, anger still swamped him with an intensity bordering on painful.

He didn’t want to feel sympathy for Winnie Porter or anybody else, dammit, didn’t want to get sucked into anybody else’s sad tale. Not now, not ever again. June had been the compassionate one in the marriage, the one with the bottomless heart. But while Aidan had loved his wife beyond measure, and would do anything for his son…

Refusing to even finish the thought, he jabbed a fork into his now cold eggs. “Your antipathy sounds completely justified to me.”

“Maybe. But even I realized it wasn’t healthy. By the time Ida got sick, I’d come to terms with a thing or two. At least, I learned to channel the anger in more positive ways.”

“You forgave her?”

Winnie sighed. “The resentment gets to be a real bitch to lug around, you know? Her wanting more for my mother wasn’t a bad thing in itself. And I know it nearly killed her when Mama died. God knows it was no fun living with a woman who tended her disappointment and heartache like some prize orchid, but it wasn’t her fault she got sick. And if nothing else, I sure learned a lot from her example.”

“And what’s that?”

“Not to take out your own pain on anybody else. Least of all an innocent child.”

After a long moment, Aidan said, indicating her now empty plate, “Are you done?” When Winnie nodded, he signaled for Thea, pulling his credit card out of his wallet when she gave him the bill. “I suppose you think I’m being a hardnose by not wanting Robbie to know who you are.”

Winnie wiped her mouth on her napkin, demolishing what was left of her light-colored lipstick. “You’re his father, Aidan,” she said at last. “Like you said, I gave up any right to a say in the matter a long time ago, and I have to trust that you know what’s best for your own son.”

“And has it occurred to you,” Aidan bit out, “that since he’s already seen you, already knows you’re staying on our property, what might happen if and when he does ask about you down the road? You’ve put me in an untenable position, Winnie. You do realize that, don’t you?”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, getting up and grabbing her purse from the floor. “Here I’m telling you how far I’ve come, about learning that’s it not all about me, and then I go and do exactly the same thing I’ve always done.” She straightened, swiping a stray piece of hair out of her eyes as a markedly less bubbly Thea set the charge slip in front of Aidan. “All I wanted…” Shaking her head, she backed away, stumbling into an empty chair before turning and striding toward the door.

A sane man would have let her go, with her earnestness and regret and those damnably soulful eyes. Eyes that had shaken him nine years ago, even when he’d been happy and in love and she’d been little more than the means to his becoming a father. Ashamed, angry, Aidan scribbled his signature on the slip and took off after her. Already to her truck, she turned at his approach, her gaze wary. Embarrassed. He stopped a few feet away, breathing hard. Annoyed as all hell.

“Okay, look,” he said, determined to keep the blame for this whole mess firmly at her feet, “I still think the timing sucks, that tellin’ Robbie the truth right now…” The very thought made him ache, even if he couldn’t completely define the “why” behind it. “But maybe…”

Turning slightly to dodge the hope in her eyes, Aidan felt the ends of his too-long hair whip at his face. “Maybe if he got to know you a little first, we could somehow ease him into it.”

After too many beats passed, he looked at Winnie again. She was frowning, holding her own wind-blown hair out of her face.

“You sure about this?”

“Not a’tall.”

Her expression didn’t change. “What you really want is for me to say I’ve changed my mind, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea.”

She looked away then, frowning, then back at him. “I promise, I won’t tell him. Not until you give the go-ahead.”

“Come to supper tonight, then,” he said, feeling the none-too-solid ground he’d been navigating for the past year give way a bit more. “Around seven. Just follow the road up from the Old House. And keep an eye out for the chickens.”

An amused expression crossed her features before settling back into concern. “What are you going to tell him? About why I’m there?”

“I’ve no idea. I suppose I’ll figure something out.”

She nodded, then opened her door. Hugging the shimmying dog, she angled her head enough to say, “Thank you.”

But Aidan didn’t want her thanks. He didn’t want any of this, not the responsibility or the sympathy those damn blue eyes provoked or…any of it. Most of all, he didn’t want to be nice or kind or even civil unless absolutely necessary. So he spun around and strode to his own truck, parked on the other side of the small lot, thinking that she’d been dead wrong, about needing makeup in the daylight.

“So that’s the update,” Winnie said to Elektra later, leaning against her truck’s bumper, watching her creditcard bill soar as the little numbers flicked by on the gas pump faster’n she could read ‘em. Her nerves much too frayed to go back to the little house and sit there staring into space, Winnie had instead decided to do some sightseeing, immediately nixing Santa Fe—very pretty, way too crowded with looky-loos for her and Annabelle’s taste—for a nice, long meander along the back roads connecting any number of little towns like Tierra Rosa. The weather was almost embarrassingly gorgeous, the views of endless blue sky and color-splotched mountains definitely spirit-lifting. Not to mention head-clearing.

“Huh,” Elektra said, adding, “Hold on, baby.” Following the whirring of the credit card machine, Winnie heard E’s “Y’all have a safe trip, okay?” before she came back on the horn. “So tell me something…would you have gone out there if you’d’ve known June had passed?”

“I don’t know,” Winnie sighed out, frowning as the pump kept going…and going…and going…“All I know is, whatever’s gonna happen tonight, is gonna happen. Robbie and I are either gonna click or we won’t.”

Silence. “You could leave.”

“No,” Winnie said quietly. “I can’t. Not now.” When a great sigh sailed over the line, she said, “Aidan’s right, E—Robbie’s a lot less likely to freak when he finds out who I am if he already likes me. Right?” The pump finally stopped, exhausted; blowing out a relieved sigh of her own, Winnie plugged the nozzle back into place and took her receipt, not having the courage to look at it. She got back into her truck, dodging Annabelle’s kisses. Would she could do the same to Elektra’s heavy, meaningful silence. “It’ll be okay, E,” she said.

“Uh-huh. And maybe this’ll be the week I finally win the lottery.”

“Maybe it will, you never know. Gotta go,” Winnie said over the old engine’s growl. “They’re really serious about no driving while using a cell up here—”

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

A pause. Then: “Be careful.”

I am, dammit, Winnie thought, tires crunching gravel as she pulled onto the road leading into Tierra Rosa, even as another voice snorted, Like hell.

“Who asked you?” she muttered.

Twenty minutes later she was back in town; starving, she swung by Garcia’s, to be greeted by a still perky but slightly subdued Thea.

“Well, hey, again…Winnie, right? What can I get you?”

“Steak and cheese burrito to go.” Thea yelled her order toward the kitchen, then turned back, questions blatant in amber eyes as Winnie paid. Ignoring them, she instead looked around.

“Great place.”

“Thanks. Not that I can take any credit, I just work here.”

A customer came up to the register to pay; Winnie noticed the blonde’s hands were shaking when she made change from the twenty. When he’d left, Winnie leaned in and whispered, “You okay?” and Thea’s eyes snapped to hers. “It’s just I couldn’t help noticing this morning…” She felt her face warm. “None of my business, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m…touched that you cared enough to ask. Not that I’m gonna unload on a complete stranger, but…” Her mouth curved. “Thanks—”

“Thea! Order up!”

The waitress hurried to the rear to pick up Winnie’s wrapped lunch, handing it over just as a couple came in, cutting off any chance of further conversation.

Just as well, probably, Winnie thought as she got back into the truck, fending off Annabelle, who was also partial to steak and cheese burritos. The plan had been to head straight back to the house for a nap that would hopefully make up for her lost sleep the night before. Not stop at the pumpkin patch she’d passed earlier. Except who could resist the afternoon sun blazing across pumpkins as far as the eye can see?

Certainly not her.

Now, what she thought she was gonna do with them, she thought a half hour later as she lugged a half dozen of the suckers out of her truck bed, she had no idea. Especially considering she’d be back in Texas long before Halloween. And, once she’d rearranged them several times on the porch until she and Annabelle were satisfied, she realized they clashed terribly with the bright pink cosmos. Still, Winnie had always been impressed with how things could work together in nature that you could never pull off in, say, your own house. Or on your body, she thought with a grimace, recalling more than one unfortunate outfit she’d thought the very height of fashion at the time.

A breeze whooshed through the trees, like a soft laugh. Winnie took a deep breath, than another, letting the wind suck the tension right out of her, as she decided the earthy orange and purply pink actually looked pretty damn good with the vibrant blue trim on the doors and windows. So there.

At last she wolfed down her burrito, chasing it with a glass of milk, then collapsed across the unmade bed, barely kicking off her boots before she’d passed out. And who knows how long she might have slept if somebody hadn’t knocked on the door, maybe an hour later. Finger-combing her hair and trying to shake off the dregs of sleep, Winnie plodded in socks to the door, just as whoever was on the other side knocked again. A lightish knock, not the pounding one might expect from, say, a six-foot-something grumpy Irishman.

Throwing caution to the winds, she swung open the door to face a very disgruntled nine-year-old in a dusty hoodie standing on the porch, his bike collapsed in the dirt a few feet away.

“So who are you, anyway?” Robbie said, with the exasperation of somebody who’d been thinking about this for some time.