1022 Evergreen Place

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“I hate tacos,” her stepdaughter said.

“Since when?”

“Since you started cooking them. My dad used to make them better. We made tacos together and had a lot of fun.”

In other words, Rachel’s advent into their lives had ruined everything.

“I’d love your help,” Rachel said, striving to speak pleasantly and disregard Jolene’s insults. “If you showed me how, then maybe I could make them the way you like them.”

“Not a chance,” Jolene said, and disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom.

Trying to salvage the evening, Rachel went to work; she seasoned the chicken with taco seasoning, grated the cheese, diced fresh tomatoes and shredded lettuce. Then she put the meal on the table, which, to her pleasure, Bruce had set without being reminded. He summoned Jolene and the three of them sat down.

“How was school?” Bruce asked his daughter.

“Great. I got an A on my history test.”

“Congratulations,” Rachel said.

Jolene glanced away as if to discount any praise from Rachel. “Misty asked me to spend the night on Friday. I can, can’t I, Dad?”

Bruce looked at Rachel. “I don’t have any objection if you don’t.”

“I thought Misty’s parents worked swing shift.”

“So?” he asked.

“So, who else will be there until her parents get home?”

“No one,” Jolene said irritably. “Her parents let her take care of herself. We’re not babies, you know.”

“Jolene’s spent the night at Misty’s before,” Bruce added, siding with his daughter.

“But that was a Saturday and her parents were home,” Rachel pointed out.

“Oh, right.”

“Why don’t you have Misty spend the night at our place?” Rachel suggested.

Jolene glared across the table at her. “Not with you here.”

“Jolene,” Bruce snapped, reprimanding her.

“I wish you’d never married Rachel,” she shouted at her father. “I hate having her in our house. I want it to be like it was before.”

“Jolene, please …” Rachel began but her stepdaughter wasn’t willing to listen. Instead, she jumped up from the table and ran down the hallway to her room. Rachel flinched as the door slammed shut.

After a moment of silence, she met her husband’s eyes across the table. Bruce released a pent-up sigh. “I’m sorry. That was … unfortunate.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Hard as Rachel tried, it never seemed to do any good.

“No, you brought up a valid point. If Jolene spends the night with one of her girlfriends, I want there to be adult supervision. I know Misty’s grandmother stays with her some of the nights her parents are gone, but apparently she’s alone the rest of the time. Those two girls together, without any supervision, could get into trouble.”

Rachel stood and started to clear the table. She considered bringing up the possibility of counseling, then decided to wait until she didn’t feel quite so tired.

“Do you want me to get Jolene to help with the dishes?” he asked.

If he did, Jolene would sulk and argue, and that would only increase Rachel’s stress. “No, thanks. I’ll do them.”

Bruce frowned. “She should be doing chores.”

“Yes, but … not tonight. She’s upset with us both. She can do the dishes tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

Rachel nodded wearily. A few minutes later, as she stood at the sink, rinsing off the plates and setting them in the bottom rack of the dishwasher, Bruce moved in behind her. He’d finished clearing the table and had put the leftovers in the refrigerator. Now he slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck, dropping warm, moist kisses beside her ear. Shivers of awareness raced down her spine.

“Bruce …” she whispered, but then she let him continue. She closed her eyes and leaned back, her weight resting against his strength. She was vaguely aware of a noise behind her, but it didn’t register at first. When she realized Jolene had come into the room, she instantly stiffened.

“You two are disgusting!” the girl screamed. “I can’t have friends over because you embarrass me. It would help if you could keep your hands off each other for five minutes, you know.” With that, she stormed down the hallway and banged her bedroom door shut for the second time that night.

Bruce released Rachel and sighed. “I guess that means Misty won’t be spending Friday night with us.”

Rachel didn’t know if he was joking or simply unobservant. Either way, the only response she could manage was to roll her eyes.

Eight

Mary Jo Wyse woke, startled out of a deep sleep. She wasn’t sure if that was because of a dream she’d been having or because Noelle had made some small noise as she slept. At almost five months, the baby was sleeping through the night—well, practically every night. Mary Jo was grateful for that. Noelle slept in a crib in her room; Mary Jo wasn’t ready to move her to the nursery yet.

As she lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, Mary Jo mulled over what she’d discovered the previous weekend. Mack owned the duplex. He’d wanted her living close by and, in order to make that happen, he’d misled her into thinking a distant friend of his was the owner.

His lie disappointed her deeply. She liked Mack; in fact, she liked him a great deal. Nevertheless, she was wary of embarking on another relationship. David Rhodes had taught her several painful lessons and she’d be a fool if she didn’t take those lessons to heart.

The problem was that she wanted to trust Mack. But she’d yearned to believe in David, too. She’d clung for much too long to the fiction that her baby’s father loved her and welcomed their child, refusing to accept what was obvious to everyone else … and should’ve been to her.

Even her brothers knew what kind of man David was without ever meeting him. When she’d finally recognized the truth, Mary Jo had been devastated. Yet, despite everything, she’d never regret having Noelle. The baby gave her life purpose. And hope.

Because of Noelle, there was more to think about than herself. Any decision she made, any action she took, would have an impact on her daughter, too.

To his credit Mack had tried to make amends. Monday afternoon Mary Jo arrived home from her job at Allan Harris’s law firm to find a large bouquet of flowers on her doorstep. The card that accompanied it said simply, “I’m sorry,” and was signed by Mack.

Tuesday and Wednesday nights he was at the fire station, but on Thursday there was another gift. A set of cake pans.