The Prodigal Cousin

“Daddy, come look!” Nina swung on a door frame, summoning him to her room. Tamsin leaned over her shoulder and forgot to move when Sam joined them.

Frills abounded in here, from the lace-trimmed duvet on the child-size sleigh bed to the skirt on a miniature dressing table. “It’s like a playhouse,” he said. “Only no spaces between the walls.” Nina’s stuffed animals would be at home at the tiny table set for high tea.

“Wow,” Tamsin finally said. Sam suspected the word had escaped her.

Molly’s smile reached all the way to her hazel eyes. “I like it, too. I wish we’d had it when I was a little girl.”

“How will I talk Nina into going home?” Sam asked.

The little girl grabbed her backpack, snatching a tattered blue elephant and a threadbare green lizard from its zippered opening. She seated them on the small white chairs, chattering about tea.

“Tamsin, come.” Nina patted the one open setting.

Tamsin glanced at Molly, adolescent reluctance all over her face. Sam fought a fond smile. She showed inordinate patience with her little sister, but what teenager wanted to take tea with a green lizard in front of a stranger?

“Would you like to see your room?” Molly asked her.

“No—after tea,” Nina said.

“I’ll come back, Nina.” Tamsin turned toward their hostess.

Molly edged around Sam, trailing a whiff of spice and woman that disturbed him. She crossed his room to open another door. “Here you go.”

Tamsin hauled her bag behind her. At the door, she glanced from her assigned quarters to Molly, and her bright smile made Sam glad he’d dragged her here.

“It’s great,” Tamsin said.

He was dying to see it, but she didn’t invite him in, and experience had taught him to wait for her to make the first move.

Molly clasped her hands as if to say “My work here is done,” and backed out, pausing at Sam’s hallway door.

“Dinner will be waiting. I’m sure Mom will find something fun for Nina.” She already knew Tamsin wouldn’t want to be classified with her sister. “When you come out of your rooms, turn left and go past the stairs. Mom and Dad use that end of the house, and the hall ends in a door to the kitchen stairs.”

Hearing her call his birth mother “Mom” shocked Sam. He nodded, trying to look as if he felt nothing, but her gaze narrowed as she caught his response, anyway. After a moment, she continued through the door.

She left it open, so he had to close it, but he couldn’t help watching her stroll toward the family side of the house. Her slender back and the gentle sway of her hips drew his gaze, inappropriate as that was. For God’s sake, she couldn’t be more than twenty-five.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Nina had entered his room again. “You look sad.”

“Sad?” He shut the door and scooped her into his arms. “Why would I be sad when you and Tamsin and I are going hiking tomorrow, and you’ve got this great room to sleep in tonight?”

She planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “I like this place. It’s cool.”

Astounding him, tears stuck in his throat. Nothing had been cool for her since she’d lost her mom. In fact, he didn’t believe his baby had ever used that word before. “Where did you learn ‘cool,’ Nina?”

“Tamsin says lots of stuff is cool. Daddy—” she pointed her toes toward the floor “—lemme down. Judy wants tea with Lizzie and Norm.”

Out of her pack came Judy, a doll with short blond hair that stood on end and bright blue eyes nearly kissed off her painted face. Fiona had named Judy before Nina could even turn over.

“Settle Judy and the gang and then wash your hands and face, and we’ll go downstairs.”

He couldn’t say if it was the long drive or his daughters’ excitement at their temporary rooms, but like Tamsin and Nina, he was suddenly interested in his surroundings.

Until he remembered he had to find a way to tell Eliza Calvert who he was.

MAYBE AN HOUR AGO she’d assured Sophie she wasn’t looking for a man, but Molly was an honest woman and she couldn’t restrain herself from listening for the least little sound from above. Inappropriate. A man who loved his daughters the way Sam Lockwood clearly worshipped Nina and the reluctant Tamsin, probably also loved his absent wife.

Sam’s reasons for traveling alone with his daughters made her curious, but she didn’t sense a divorce. Molly had dealt with plenty of children in the past four years. Usually, the extroverts like Nina, who believed even the adults around her were waiting for her conversation, came from a loving home. Tamsin was too quiet, but under all that Goth makeup, she was a young woman enduring the torture of her teenage years.

“They’re nice girls?” her mom asked.

Molly looked up from the beans she’d been staring at instead of snapping. “Nina’s chatty.” She broke a couple of beans at once. “She loves the room. Tamsin, the older girl, seems…”

The more Molly thought about it, the more she realized Tamsin seemed unusually quiet. She wore the unnerving yet familiar air of the walking wounded.

“I knew Nina’d like the dressing room.” Molly’s dad came in from the pantry behind the kitchen, brandishing several freshly cleaned trout. “Think they’ll enjoy these?”

“You’re going all out.” Tamsin was none of her business. Molly tried to put the girl out of her mind—or relegate her to the position she should occupy, that of a guest. “I thought we were doing leftovers.”

Her dad grinned. “I liked the way Nina called you the ‘big girl.’ And her sister looks as if she could use a treat.”

“The father sounded tired even from here,” Eliza said. “We might as well start their visit with a special dinner.”

“You’re staying, Molly?” her dad asked. “I cleaned one for you.”

Molly pried her gaze away from her mother’s face. She hadn’t imagined Sam Lockwood’s fatigue if her mother had sensed it, too, but Molly’s interest in the little family felt inappropriate. She’d resisted rash acts for ten years. No need to ruin her record and let herself feel involved because something about Tamsin spoke to her past. “I have stuff to do for a science project at school tomorrow.”

“You have to eat,” her mother said. “Stay.”

Upstairs, the door squeaked and Sam’s voice floated down. “Hold my hand, Nina. Don’t run. Hold on to the rail.”

“He’s overprotective.” Eliza looked upward. “Those stairs are perfectly safe.”

“Sh.” Patrick clearly felt the Lockwood family deserved privacy.

Her mom returned to the stove. Molly snapped the last of the beans and carried them to the sink as Nina’s sneakers slapped across the black-and-white-tile floor.

“We’re back,” she said.

Molly searched their faces for some hint about Tamsin’s restlessness and pain. Sam looked away, but not before she caught the trace of an old injury in his eyes. Something was wrong.

“I tried to bring Judy, but Daddy said she needed a bath before she sat at a strange guy’s table.”

“Stranger,” Sam said. His discomfited silence stretched. “That sounds pretty bad, too.”

“Not at all.” Molly’s mom took over. “I’m Eliza Calvert. Welcome to our home.”

Sam remained too quiet for too long. Molly turned to find her mother holding out her hand, while their guest stared at her with blank black eyes that reminded Molly of Eliza when she was annoyed and trying to hide it. At last he took her hand.

“Mrs. Calvert.” He quickly let go, still staring at her.

Molly turned completely to face him. His distracted glance barely brushed her face, but then he started as if he realized his response wasn’t entirely normal.

“Thanks for the great rooms.” He reached for his older daughter, who avoided his hand, stepping off the stairs in front of him. “This is Tamsin. I’m Sam Lockwood. The little one’s Nina.”

She marched across the room to peer into the sink. “I don’t like beans.”

“Nina.”

“But I’ll eat ’em.” Her forced enthusiasm drew laughter from everyone except Sam and Tamsin.

“I stir-fry them,” Eliza told her. “You’ll love them. They taste sweet.”

“I liked my mom’s.”

Sam offered an apologetic grimace. Tamsin turned to inspect the tile backsplash over the dark granite counter. With a troubled expression, Sam dropped his hand on Nina’s head. “My wife…passed away…sixteen months ago.”

Molly forgot about not getting involved. His control made his grief more palpable, and the loss of her mother explained Tamsin’s pain. Molly’s parents closed ranks with her, offering silent, united support.

Sam rounded up his girls, clearly unable to handle one more nuance of sympathy. “Why don’t we go outside and clean your snack stuff out of the car before we eat?”

Nina skipped ahead of him. Again, Tamsin evaded comfort. Sam glanced over his shoulder at Eliza.

Molly’s heart thudded. He stared at her mom as if he knew her. His inexplicable concentration seemed to include her dad and Molly, too.

She barely waited for the door to close. “Have you met him before, Mom?”

Her dad looked surprised. “How would your mom know Sam Lockwood?”

“Actually, he seems familiar, and I can tell he thinks I do, too.” Eliza took the beans. “I’m trying to think where I might have met him.”

“You couldn’t have,” Patrick said. “He’s driven a long way today and he’s tired. The little girl’s a sweetie, but she keeps him hopping, and he’s obviously concerned about the older one. You two are reading more into that.”

“Maybe,” Eliza said.

Molly couldn’t agree. Her parents were such innocents. Sam had definitely looked at her mother as if he knew her. Later, Molly eyed him as they all sat down to dinner.

Sam checked Nina’s trout for bones before he started his own meal. Suddenly, he looked up, his knife in midair. “I thought you mentioned sandwiches, Molly. I hope you haven’t gone to all this trouble for us.”

“I caught these earlier today.” Molly’s dad chewed with enjoyment. “We planned to have them for breakfast.”

Sam set his fork on the table. Tamsin did likewise. “Will you have enough?” he asked.

“We can supplement with bacon and eggs.” Eliza flicked Molly a glance. “What my daughter calls a breakfast platter.”

“A breakfast platter?” Sam trained his dark eyes on Molly.

Heat climbed her throat. Annoyed, she answered without thinking. “I spent a lot of time in diners before—” This stranger had no need to know about her homeless days at the age of eight. “Before,” she finished.

He nodded, compassion softening his eyes. Molly placed her own utensils on the table as a chill fingered her spine. He knew about her. He wouldn’t feel sorry for a woman who’d just happened to eat in a few diners.

This man didn’t deserve their trust. “Mom,” she said, “I’m too tired to drive home tonight. I’ll stay here.”

CHAPTER TWO

THAT NIGHT NINA WAS SO exhausted, she slumped against the bathroom cabinet as Sam washed her hands and face and then helped her brush her teeth. She was asleep before he tucked her and Judy into the little bed. He turned off the light and closed her door except for a thin wedge of space. Bad dreams woke her most nights, and he wanted to make sure he heard if she called.

It was still early. Barely nine o’clock, according to the art deco clock on the mantel. Glancing at Tamsin’s closed door, he crossed to his open window and looked out on the verdant garden Eliza and Molly had discussed during dinner. According to her proud daughter, Eliza had a green thumb. Apparently, she could nurture anything except a son.

He shook his head, ashamed of being unfair. There was more to her story than his investigator had uncovered. Sam had the facts, but Eliza’s motivation remained a mystery. Not that it mattered anymore. Finding out why she’d given him up had once been a priority, but now he just needed her to be a loving grandmother to his daughters.

Movement near a lamp below drew his gaze. It was Molly, sitting on a stone wall. As if she felt him staring, she glanced up. He nearly backed out of sight, but he was tired of hiding. Tomorrow, when the B and B was quiet, he’d tell Eliza the truth. She could decide what came next, but he looked forward to being honest.

Not that his act had succeeded. Molly’s silences had grown more speculative as trout and vegetables progressed to fruit and cheese for the adults and Tamsin, and a dish of homemade chocolate ice cream for Nina. More streetwise than her parents, Molly had recognized his interest in Eliza—and in her.

She’d decided to stay here tonight because of him, and he didn’t blame her. He’d gone to dramatic lengths to find protection for his family.

Sam turned his back on her and the compelling view of moon and darkness over the courthouse square, and knocked on Tamsin’s door.

“Yeah?”

Close enough to “Come in.” With her knees up beneath the fluffy comforter, she was reading. Her face devoid of makeup, her dark hair in a ponytail, she looked so much like his little girl that she filled an ache in his heart.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Tired.” She set down her book and reached for the nightstand lamp.

“Wait. I’m serious.” He’d almost said “concerned.” That would have been a mistake. “You didn’t say much at dinner.”

“Who can get in a word with Nina babbling?” A soft tone betrayed love for her sister, despite her harsh question.

“I know you’re unsure about being here.”

“Because you’re about to spring us on a woman who didn’t want you?”

He refused to back down. He should have come alone, but since the accident, he’d feared losing his girls every time they left his sight. Besides, once Tamsin had snooped through his papers, she’d known the worst.

“Honey, I have no other family. If something happened to me—” He broke off, and Tamsin swallowed hard. They’d both learned death arrived in an unsuspecting second. “If something happened to me, you and Nina would be put in state care. If Eliza regrets a decision she made at sixteen, you’ll gain more family than either of us could imagine.”

“We have friends in Savannah, Dad.”

Wrong. He’d cultivated colleagues. Fiona had made friends. He’d been so intent on perfecting procedures to keep a sick heart alive, he’d managed to forget that humans needed less tangible sustenance, too.

“I don’t know anyone well enough to trust them with your future.”

She twisted her sweet young face into a scowl of contempt. “But you figure we’ll be able to trust strangers who suddenly find out we exist?”

“I trust blood,” he said, unable to explain that his adoptive mother had loved him but had held back, still longing for a child of her own. He’d only known such ties with Tamsin and Nina, and nothing short of death could ever part him from them. “You’re predisposed to love the people who share your blood.”

“No, you are. Other adopted kids get along just fine without launching a sneak attack on the people who didn’t want them.”

“You’re talking out of pride, which I can’t afford. I need to give you and Nina someone else to depend on.”

“These people treat strangers like family. They deserve better.”

“I’m not too proud of myself right now, but nothing changes our situation.” His smile hurt. “If Eliza doesn’t want us, we’ll go home, and I’ll pray we stumble across friends who’d make good substitute parents.”

“Only you would look at it that way. We might as well take out personal ads.”

“What do you know about personal ads?” He kissed her head. Stubbornly, she slid away. She wanted her mom. No one else would do.

“I’m no kid, you know.”

Since her mother’s death she’d tried to separate herself, as if she could lose him or Nina with less grief if she stopped caring about them. Sam figured that if he kept proving he’d love her no matter what, she’d eventually realize that loving was still safe. He started toward his room, and she turned off the light before he reached their adjoining door.

“’Night, Tamsin. I love you.”

“Uh-huh.”

He left her door open about an inch, too, and she didn’t shut it.

The next morning he woke the girls in time for a late breakfast. Tamsin claimed she wasn’t hungry. To her disgust, he checked her for a temperature, but let her go back to sleep.

After a quick bath, he wrestled Nina’s long blond hair into a sad-looking braid. Fortunately, she was still too young to care that his surgeon’s hands were useless for styling hair. Unless she was too grown-up at five to hurt his feelings. He kissed her cheek.

“Hungry?”

She nodded, head-butting him, and he stood, eyes watering as he rubbed his nose.

“Tamsin, we’ll bring ya something.” Nina tore out of the room and down the hall ahead of him. He caught her before she reached the stairs.

“The dining room, today,” he said. “We have to be invited to use the kitchen.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

At the bottom, they found Eliza carrying a heavy tray from the kitchen. Sam took it.

“Thanks.” She inspected them, clearly looking for his older daughter. “Where’s Tamsin?”

“She chose sleep over breakfast.”

“Molly was the same at her age. Trout or the breakfast platter for you two?” She beamed at Nina. “We have plenty.”

“Two slices of bacon and a scrambled egg for Nina,” Sam said, “and I’d like the trout again.”

“Great.” She pointed at a couple just inside the room. A baby lay in a stroller next to the blond woman. “The tray goes to them. Sophie, Ian, this is Sam Lockwood and his daughter Nina.”

The man stood, reaching for the tray as he nodded a greeting. Sophie shook Sam’s hand and then patted Nina’s shoulder.

“Good morning,” she said. “Aunt Eliza mentioned you’d checked in yesterday evening. First time in the Smokies?”

“Yeah, so we’re going for a long walk if my sister wakes up.” Nina had a future as a society page columnist. “Can I look at your baby?”

“Sure. Her name is Chloe.” Sophie pulled back the blankets so Nina could examine the infant.

“What brings you here?” Ian asked. “We’re out of the way.”

“A brochure.” A lie this late seemed pointless, but Eliza might need the cover if she sent them home. “One of my patients had it, and I thought my daughters might enjoy the mountains.”

“You’re a doctor?” Ian glanced at Sophie, who was completely absorbed in Nina and the pink-swathed baby. “So is my wife. An OB-GYN.”

“I’m a cardiologist,” Sam said.

Sophie looked up with interest. “You wouldn’t be looking for a change of pace?”

He smiled blandly, not understanding.

“She’s always thinking of work.” Ian grimaced. “Sophie and a few other physicians from the surrounding area are opening a clinic in town and they’re still scouting for staff.”

His wife looked regretful. “I don’t suppose we’d have the facilities you’re used to.”

Sam didn’t suppose Tamsin would survive even talk of a permanent move. She’d made him promise not to think of it, and Nina, coming in on the tail end of that battle, had chimed in, though she’d really had no clue what they were arguing about. “I’m settled in Savannah.”

“I love Savannah.” Eliza stopped herself before she said more, but Sam pressed his advantage.

“You’ve been there often?”

Her blush was as good as a confession. “I grew up there, but when I graduated from college in Knoxville, I answered an ad for a teacher’s position here. In fact, I used to teach kindergarten and first grade in our little school, just like Molly. Then I met Patrick, and he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Sam tried to laugh with the others, but her lighthearted recovery hurt a little. He hadn’t tempted her to keep him. His children might not tempt her to want them, either.

“What’s the big girl doing out there?” Nina pointed at Molly, who was out in the garden with her back to the window, leaning over a tall, gray tank.

“Blowing up balloons.” Eliza smoothed Nina’s braid with her palm, unconsciously trying to tidy it. “She needs them for school today.”

Nina latched on to Sam’s hand. “I want to go to school, Daddy.” She turned to Sophie. “I can write my name, and I can make numbers up to ten.”

Sam let her swing from his arms. “She’s been badgering me to let her go to ‘big kid’ school for the past year. You can’t go today, Nina. We’re hiking, remember?”

“I wanna do balloons with the big girl!”

Heading off her tantrum, Sam smiled an apology at Sophie, Ian and Eliza, and guided his suddenly weeping daughter toward a back table. As he settled her in a chair, Eliza appeared at his elbow, offering a small square whiteboard and a couple of markers.

“I thought she might like these.”

“Thanks.” He took them, searching her gaze. A thoughtful woman planned ahead for young customers—a kind woman gave them markers that could destroy her furniture. He handed the board and markers to Nina. “Thank Mrs. Calvert.”

“Thank you,” Nina said through a haze of tears. She grabbed her napkin and wiped her nose, and Sam stared, appalled. Fiona had instilled a deeper respect for linen in her daughters.

Eliza misunderstood his dismay. “Don’t worry. I’ll get her a clean one. And then bacon and eggs. Do you like cheese with your eggs, Nina?”

Up and down went her head. A wisp of hair fell out of her braid and poked her eye. Sam hooked it away with his little finger. With a fortifying smile at both of them, Eliza hugged Nina and hurried back to the kitchen.

“No more crying, Nina, okay?” He sat across from her, and she nodded, sniffing back the last of her tears.

“But I wanna go to school. I like balloons.”

“You don’t have to go to school to play with balloons. We’ll find one in town.”

“The big girl has better ones.”

“Her name is Miss Calvert.”

“I thought that was her mommy’s name.”

He gave up. “Just try calling her Miss Calvert when you see her.”

As they waited for their breakfast, Nina taught him to write her name and then speedily learned how to write his. Every so often, he followed his daughter’s glance to the garden, where Molly was stuffing filled balloons into large white plastic bags.

Strands of dark red curls slipped over Molly’s shoulder, lifting with the same breeze that wrapped her long, feminine skirt around her legs. Sam returned his attention to his child.

Eliza brought their breakfast about the time Sophie went out to the garden and distracted Molly from the balloons. Ian took their baby out to join them, and Nina finally lost interest enough to eat. At least until Sophie and Ian left and Molly returned to her work.

“Can I go out, Daddy?”

“I’ll come with you.” She might try to climb into one of the bags. Holding her hand, he led her through the garden door.

Outside, Molly looked up, flustered, her skin pink from battling the slippery balloons.

He liked her happy smile for Nina. He couldn’t look away from the faint sheen of moisture on her cheekbones and throat. Sixteen months alone, and his mother’s daughter had to be the one woman who reminded him he was a man.

“Hi, Nina.” Finally, Molly looked at Sam, who wished he could backpedal to the house. “Children can’t resist these things.” She tied a knot in a bright yellow one. “The machine broke two balloons ago, and I still have to blow up a few more.”

“I’ll help.”

“I’ll manage.” She peered through the window at his full plate. He hadn’t finished a meal since the day he’d become a single parent. “Eat,” Molly said. “If Nina blows one of these up, she can keep it.”

Nina clapped her hands. “Daddy?”

He stared, speechless with guilt. If Molly looked after Nina, he’d be free to explain everything to Eliza. The plan might stink for Molly, but it helped him.

“She’s fine.” Molly’s too-neutral tone betrayed her wish that he leave. He didn’t have time to diagnose her motives. She’d offered him a better opportunity to talk to Eliza than he could have hoped for. No one else ever had to know anything if Eliza rejected him.

“Thanks.” He knelt beside Nina on the damp grass. “Don’t get in Miss Calvert’s way, and if she leaves, come back inside.” With a lick of his finger, he rubbed a smudge of cheese off his daughter’s nose while she wrestled for freedom.