Facing It Read Free

they’ll wake up?” he whispered. She shook her head and he nodded. “Let’s put them in the guest room upstairs and we can put your little one in the nursery with Lee.”
    “I’m sorry I woke you,” she murmured, trailing him up the staircase, cataloging the changes in the house. Their grandmother’s outdated decorating was gone and the home now bore the distinct stamp of Tick’s strong personality, probably tempered somewhat by his wife’s tastes as well. The sister-in-law who was merely a face in a photograph, a signature on a Christmas card.
    “You didn’t. I was up with Lee, had just put him back to bed when you rang.” He nudged open the first door on the right off the landing. He grinned over his shoulder as he settled John Robert beneath the covers on the double bed. “My night to get up.”
    She slipped Camille beneath the sheets on the other side. Stephen had never gotten up with their children. That had always been her job, taking care of them, keeping them quiet.
    “Tuck them in.” Tick brushed his knuckles over her cheek, his dark eyes concerned. “I’ll get the little one.”
    She did, tucking the sheet and thin coverlet around them, kissing them, sending up silent prayers for them. She left the small lamp burning on the dresser and eased into the hall, just as Tick topped the stairs with Ainsley cradled to his chest. He tilted his head toward the room opposite and Ruthie opened the door.
    It was definitely a boy’s room, with deep blue walls and wide white trim. A pine crib with white bedding stood against one wall, and a twin bed shared the space, outfitted in a quilt embroidered with an array of boats. As she flipped the quilt back for Tick to settle Ainsley down, she glimpsed a dark-haired baby snoozing in the crib, his arms laid out by his head, his lips pursed.
    After she’d repeated her bedtime ritual over her daughter, Tick laid a hand on her back and ushered her toward the door. “Come on.”
    Her stomach knotted all over again.
    In the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Want something? I can make some coffee or there’s milk or juice—”
    “Coffee would be great.”
    The few minutes it took him to secure his gun and start the coffee brewing gave her a chance to pull herself and her thoughts together. She leaned against the kitchen island, a new addition to the keeping room area, and glanced around. The green linoleum was gone, replaced by shining hardwood. A rustic pine table graced the dining area and in the living room, a red couch and comfortable leather chairs provided a conversation area. Pine tables held baskets for magazines and books. Photos covered the walls in neat arrangements. A play yard and infant swing sat near the living area and another basket held baby toys.
    She cupped her elbows and rubbed at her arms. “It looks like you. The house, I mean.”
    A grin lit his face but didn’t dispel the seriousness of his chocolate gaze. “That’s what Cait says.”
    At the mention of his wife, she darted a look at him. “She won’t mind, will she, us being here?”
    “No, of course not.” His eyebrows winged upward. He poured coffee into two mugs and slid one across to her. “Black, right?”
    She nodded and lifted the warm cup. He indicated the living room. “Come on. Let’s get comfortable and you can tell me what’s going on.”
    Oh, she couldn’t wait. Clutching her mug, she took one chair and he waited for her to sit before he sank into the other. Silence dragged between them and she sipped at her coffee, the rich liquid doing little to settle her nerves. She laughed, a short, humorless sound. “God, Tick, I don’t know where to start.”
    “The beginning?”
    At this gentle prompting, she laughed again. “Do you have all night?”
    “I have however long you need.”
    She pressed her fingers against her brow. “I’ve made such a mess of things. Stephen…I thought he was a great catch, a good man, and he’s not.