His chest ached. He loved his children, he did, but he was beginning to realize his love might just not be enough.

“Go down and get a snack if you’re hungry,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

 

 

In bed, in her room, Harley heard almost every word.

She didn’t want to hear but her room was just above Molly’s and the voices carried far too easily in the air duct. She couldn’t remember when she last felt so conflicted.

The kiss... shouldn’t have happened. But oh, the kiss, it’d been amazing. And she shouldn’t be thinking about Brock, or feeling sorry for him, or the kids. She shouldn’t be involved and she shouldn’t care.

But she did.

She didn’t want to worry about them, but she felt so terribly protective.

It was a mistake coming here. It was a mistake getting attached. She was so very attached.

Leaving would hurt so much.

And she was leaving the day after tomorrow.

Harley closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, trying to block out her thoughts, her feelings about returning to her family.

She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to return to California.

A knock sounded on her door.

Harley left her bed, slipped her robe on over her nightgown and opened the door.

Mack stood in the hall with a plate of yesterday’s sugar cookies and a glass of milk. “We brought you a snack.” He smiled at her and yet his dark eyes looked anxious. “We hope you didn’t get in trouble with Dad.”

Harley took the cookies and milk. “Thank you for thinking of me, and no, I didn’t get in trouble with your dad.”

“He’s not really as scary as he seems,” Mack said under his breath.

“I don’t think he is scary at all.”

“You don’t?”

She shook her head, smiling. “No. I think he’s just tired and a little bit lonely. I have a feeling he still misses your mom.”

“She died when we were babies. We didn’t even know her.”

“But your dad loved your mom, and every time he looks at you, he thinks of her.” Harley set the cookies and milk on her nightstand. “He loved her a lot.”

Mack shrugged. “That’s what he says.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“Oh I believe him. But I kind of wish he didn’t love her so much.”

Harley blinked. “Why?”

“Because maybe then Dad would have married someone else and we would have had a mom.”

Oh.

Oh, baby boy.

Harley’s heart ached. Here he was, eleven years old and wondering what it would have been like to have a mom.

She reached for Mack and gave him a swift hug. These kids were stealing her heart, bit by bit, piece by piece. “Don’t give up hope,” she whispered in his ear before releasing him.

His eyes watered as he looked up at her. “I won’t.”

 

 

 

Harley went downstairs the next morning at five-thirty. It was the time she started her day but when she reached the kitchen the lights were already on, the coffee made, and the fire burning brightly in the big fireplace, which meant that Brock was up already. She wondered if one of the cows had been calving, or if he was just taking care of paperwork.

At six he walked through the kitchen to refill his coffee. She was making a breakfast casserole and she kept chopping the ham and Swiss cheese, trying to appear nonchalant but her pulse was racing in her veins and she wanted him to say something to help her make sense of what happened last night. That kiss had been so hot and intense... and so damn confusing, too.

She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning, playing the kiss over and over in her head, all the while wondering what he’d say or do this morning. Now it was morning and she just needed to know if he was angry, disappointed, or maybe just regretful.

She dumped the cheese and meat into a bowl and started dicing the green onion.

“Harley.”

She looked up to see Brock at the island, hands on the counter.

She set the knife down on the cutting board. “Yes?”

“Did you in any way encourage the kids to go chop down their own Christmas tree?”

Harley wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron. “No.”

“You didn’t know they were tree hunting?”

“No.”

“And if I told you I didn’t approve of all this Christmas fuss, and didn’t want them to get caught up in any more fuss, what would you say?”

“I’d ask you to let us have one more fun day of fuss before I leave tomorrow.”

“But you wouldn’t go behind my back? You wouldn’t do something I wouldn’t approve of?”

“No.” Harley reached for the knife and the loaf of French bread. “I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t do that.” She turned the bread and began slicing. “I don’t believe in breaking up families, and it would devastate me if I came between you and your kids.”

Brock stared at her a long moment. “You were married twelve years.”

“Almost twelve years.”

“Did you like being married?”

She paused slicing, her knife suspended in mid-air. She didn’t know how to answer that. She’d liked parts of marriage. Parts of it had been so hard. She hadn’t expected all the arguing. They’d fought over everything. Mainly money, and then family, sex, control. But always about money.