He didn’t need women. He didn’t need anything from anyone.

Or so he’d thought for all these years.

Rising, he stacked his dishes, coffee mug on top of the plate, but before he could carry everything to the dish bin against the wall, the teenager was at his side.

“I’ve got it,” the young man said, taking the dishes from Rory. “And thanks, Mr. Douglas. For today’s donation and everything else you’ve done.”

Rory felt a peculiar pang in his chest. “I haven’t done much.”

“That’s not true. I know you’re the one that does the scholarship every year so that local kids can attend different sports camps, and you sponsor other scholarships, too—”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It was for me. Back in middle school, you paid for me and two of my friends to go to a special basketball camp in Bozeman. It was amazing. We couldn’t have afforded it without the scholarship.”

The pang was back. “Do you still play basketball?”

“Yes, sir. I play for Montana State.”

“You’re a Bobcat?”

He nodded. “I’m just a freshman so not seeing a lot of playing time yet, but coach said I will.”

“Good for you.”

“But that’s thanks to you—”

“No, son. That was all you. Your hard work and your discipline.”

The kid held out his hand. “Just so you know, I’m grateful.”

Rory took the boy’s hand in a firm shake. “I know.” And then releasing his hand, Rory headed outside.

Exiting the café, he stood on the sidewalk breathing in and out, letting the clean frosty air calm him.

Marietta wasn’t all bad.

Nor was it all pain.

Marietta could be a good place if he let it.

Maybe he could replace the bad memories with new ones.

Maybe.

“Uncle Rory?”

It took him a second to register that a hand was tugging on his coat sleeve. Blinking, he glanced down at the small boy next to him with the mop of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. A scrap of shocking yellow peeked from the coat collar.

Rory grinned at his nephew and gave him a quick hug. “You here alone? Where’s your mom and dad?”

“Home. But I’m not alone. I’m with my scoutmaster. We’re cleaning Main Street to get it ready for tonight’s Stroll.” He lifted the gray plastic garbage bag and gave it a shake. Cups and cans rattled inside.

“You guys in trouble?”

“No. It’s a scout service project.” TJ hesitated, his lightly freckled face scrunching. “So are you still mad at Mom?”

“I’m not mad at your mom.”

“She thinks you are.”

“Your mom knows I love her.”

“Then why haven’t you come to see the baby?” TJ’s smile was gone, his expression painfully earnest. “She told Dad you came to see me the minute I was born and Carolyn Grace is ten months old.”

Rory didn’t answer right away, silently repeating McKenna’s baby girl’s name over in his head. Carolyn Grace. Carolyn was his mom’s name, and Grace was his baby sister’s name.

He’d found his mom in the living room. Grace had been killed in her crib.

His throat squeezed closed.