family room. But the girls weren't on the couch, watching Paw Patrol or just about anything that sang, danced, or moved.
Where were they? Outside?
Dear Lord, no. It was full-blown winter out there.
He dragged himself up the stairs, stumbling toward the girls' bedroom, sweating with the effort, his head spinning. He pushed open the door, his heart pounding, hoping, praying.
Then relief flooded through him.
They both lay in Maya's bed, curled up together, their arms wrapped around each other like they’d been when they were new-born. Didn't matter how many times he moved them in the night, they would find each other and sleep together.
He eased out a sigh and sent up a prayer of thanks as he clung to the door, trembling with the fever that still gripped him.
How long had he been out of it? All he could remember was stumbling into the house after doing chores, stripping off his shirt because he was hot. After that it was just a blur of pain and debilitating nausea.
He mustered what little strength he could and staggered over to their bed, dropping beside them, stroking Maria’s curls away from her forehead. Her hair was soft and silky. It felt like she had washed it. Maya wasn't wearing that ridiculous princess dress she had insisted on wearing ever since she had found it in a bag of clothes that Alicia Mays had given him at church on Sunday.
Now they both wore pajamas, and they smelled good. Maria lay curled up, spooning with Maya, who was sucking her thumb.
He stroked their hair, catching his breath, wishing he didn't feel so weak.
He pressed his hand to his still aching head, trying to corral his confused thoughts.
He had vague memories of a woman helping him to a bedroom. Giving him pills.
His heart stuttered again as that thought dropped through the fuzz in his brain. He didn't know her. Was she still here? How did she get here?
Struggling to his feet, he staggered out of the bedroom, holding on to the wall as he went. He first checked his bedroom, across the hall, but the bed was still made.
He checked the room his brother Reuben used to sleep in, then Finn's former room, but no one was sleeping in them either. Finally, he came to his sister, Carly's room.
And there she was. The woman who helped him, fast asleep in his sister's old double bed, a little boy who looked to be about five years old curled up beside her. Her brown curly hair spilled over the pillow, her dark lashes a crescent against her freckled cheeks.
Who was she and why was she here? And who was the boy?
As if his thoughts drifted into her mind, he saw her eyes open slowly then look around the room, looking disoriented. Then she saw him, and she jolted upright, clutching the blankets to her chest. Her long brown hair was a tangle, her gray eyes wide.
Part of his brain acknowledged the fact that she was exotically beautiful
"What? What's going on?" she gasped, staring at him with wide, unfocused eyes.
"I think that's my line," Wyatt said.
The woman blinked, blew out her breath, then laid back down on the bed, her arm over her eyes.
"Can you please leave and let me get dressed, and I'll tell you what's happening."
Wyatt's eyes skimmed to the little boy in the bed, the curve of his cheek, his copper curls teasing out a memory that he couldn't grasp.
He gave the woman a tight nod, closed the door. Then he made his way downstairs to make some coffee. Hopefully that would clear his brain.
Chapter Three
Adele’s fingers trembled as she tucked her shirt into her blue jeans. Thankfully there was a mirror over the dresser in the room, and she finger-combed her hair, looking at her reflection. She ran her tongue over her teeth, wishing she had her cosmetic bag.
Of course, this little sleepover wasn't supposed to happen. This visit was supposed to be a quick hello, an introduction, however awkward that might be.
Then she and Dean were supposed to head back to the Airbnb in Millar’s Crossing and spend the night.
Instead, she had bathed the three kids, put the girls in their pajamas and tucked them into bed, trying to figure out what they were saying when they told her she had to do prayers with them. She knew Sally sang a prayer with Dean every night. She remembered the tune but not the words, so she just hummed it. That seemed to be enough to