the tile counter. Her face was colorless and vulnerable when she looked up. "But I still won’t let you have her."
Was that what he’d hoped? If so, he’d been a fool.
“We’re stuck with each other," he said.
"It would seem so." She sounded as conflicted as he felt.
Adam set down the knife for the second time. He held out his hand across the kitchen island. "Well, Ms. Chanak, I suggest we make the best of it."
This smile, a twist of her lips, didn’t produce dimples or the tiny crinkle of lines on the bridge of her nose. Her gray-green eyes remained grave as she took his hand, her own small and fragile in his stronger grip. "You have a deal."
Somehow her hand lingered in his; somehow he was reluctant to let her go. Solidarity, he told himself. Relief. Maybe they could be friends.
"Tell you what," he said. "Why don’t you call the girls? This is a do-it-yourself pizza lunch, and I’m ready for everybody to make some hard decisions."
This smile was more natural, dimples and a curve of cheek as she started from the kitchen. "That kind of decision," she agreed, "I can make."
He didn’t have to wonder what she meant.
CHAPTER SIX
DESPITE THEIR LITTLE TALK, the next couple of visits were no easier. Rose definitely didn’t want Daddy to leave her, although she and Shelly had a grand time together so long as he stayed near. When he did leave, she cried inconsolably. Brave Shelly did somewhat better after that first time at the Landrys’ house, but the third time Lynn came back, after an absence of five hours, only to be met at the door by a grim Adam.
His formerly pristine shirt was rumpled, rolled up at the sleeves and wet. His hair stood on end and an unpleasant odor wafted from him.
"Shelly’s throwing up," he said bluntly. "I was about ready to call the doctor."
"Oh, no." Panic, well out of proportion, surged through her. Lynn whisked past him. "Where is she?"
"Lying down in Rose’s bed." Although she moved fast, he was right behind her. "She has a big bowl next to her. For what good it does."
Lynn paused in the hall a few steps from Rose’s open bedroom door. "She missed?"
He made a sound in his throat. "She’s puked on the floor, Rose’s bed and me. Rose is crying because she’s scared. I think Shelly has a fever, but she doesn’t want me taking her temperature. I couldn’t give her anything to lower her temp anyway. It would just come right back up."
The panic had begun to subside. Or, more accurately, she had recognized it for what it was: guilt. Her little girl had needed her, and she wasn’t here.
"I wondered why she was so tired this morning," Lynn said, remembering. "Her friend Laura has been sick."
"Now you tell me," Adam muttered.
She ignored him and went in to see her daughter. The girls had done some damage, she saw on the way. Puzzle pieces were jumbled on the floor and unkempt Barbies strewn as if a tornado had swept through the room. It almost looked normal for a child’s bedroom.
Rose curled, teary eyed, on the window seat. Face wan, Shelly lay in bed, looking so small and fragile and miserable that Lynn’s own eyes burned.
"Oh, sweetie!" She detoured to give Rose a quick kiss on the head and murmured, "Shelly will be okay. Don’t worry." Then she sat on the edge of the bed and laid the back of her hand on Shelly’s forehead. "You’re toaster hot. Gracious, you’ve had an awful day, haven’t you?"
Her daughter’s face crumpled. "Where were you?" she wailed. "I wanted you!"
Gathering Shelly into her arms, Lynn whispered, "I know, I know. But Adam has taken good care of you, hasn’t he?"
The three-year-old shook her head hard. "I wanna go home!"
Lynn glanced toward the doorway and saw the hurt in Adam’s eyes before he shuttered his expression.
Hugging and swaying, Lynn said softly, "I don’t know, sweet pea. The drive would be awful if you’re throwing up."
"Don’t go!" Her daughter latched convulsively onto her.
In a friendly voice that gave away nothing of what he must be feeling, Adam said, "Why don’t you two spend the night? Your mom can have a room down the hall, and you can either stay here in Rose’s bed, or share with Mom."
Lynn hated the alternatives. How could she say no and subject poor Shelly to the long, winding drive home over the Coast Range? But to stay, when she at