do better than that. “Very pretty.”
“Thanks.” She shot him a quick smile. “I need to leave soon, but please take your time over breakfast and make yourself at home.”
“You have plans?” He scooped a forkful of eggs into his mouth, fluffy and perfectly salted.
“I’m sorry.” Leah grabbed a washcloth and wiped Helen’s face to tiny protests. “This is my morning volunteering at the library in town. I called yesterday after I received your message, but Mrs. Sheridan didn’t answer. So I really should go in.”
“That makes sense.” The potatoes were even better—crisp, with just a bit of chili powder.
“Come on, sweetie,” Leah cooed to Helen as she extracted her from the high chair. “Ready for a fun morning with Mrs. Travers and Carrie?”
“Mrs. Travers?” Clay took a swig of coffee.
Leah walked back to her room with Helen on her hip. “She’s the lady I met at church. We take turns volunteering and watching babies.”
“That’s right. You told me.” He tried not to admire the way she walked, but she had a fine, womanly walk. Motherhood had been good to her in many ways.
“I’m taking the baby to her house,” Leah called from the bedroom. “Then I’m supposed to volunteer from eight until noon, but I know Mrs. Sheridan won’t mind if I leave at eleven so we can meet with the lawyer.”
The lump of eggs in Clay’s mouth turned icy cold. Somehow he swallowed. “Lawyer?”
Leah strode out of the bedroom with the baby, and she lifted a big bag over her shoulder. “I forgot to tell you yesterday, but I made an appointment for us at eleven. Here’s his card with the address.” She pulled a business card from on top of the icebox and set it next to Clay.
The eggs curdled in his stomach. “What’s this about?” But he knew.
“I’m sure you’ll want to start the divorce proceedings right away.” She went to the door and took her purse off a hook, speaking as breezily as if she were announcing a run to the grocery and dry cleaners. “I have no idea how long it’ll take, so we should get started. You have so many wonderful plans, and I know you’ll want to move forward with your life.”
Clay’s hand froze around his fork, and his mind froze around that hated word—divorce.
Leah faced him with the serene smile he’d always loved. “I’m so happy for you. I really am. I’ll see you at eleven. Good-bye.”
And she was gone.
Silence flooded the house.
The remaining eggs and potatoes sat forlorn on his plate, never to be eaten.
Clay shoved back his chair and wandered around the table. She didn’t want him. She liked him as a friend, but she didn’t want him for a husband.
Who would?
“Why would I want to marry Clay?” He could still hear Ellen Hill as Daddy pleaded with her to marry Clay for the sake of her baby.
He could still see the defiance on Ellen’s face, hear the contempt in her voice. “I’ve always loved Adler. I never loved Clay. How could I marry a dirty Mex—”
At least Ellen had enough sense to shut her mouth when Daddy’s face turned redder than Mama’s enchilada sauce. After all, Daddy had married a Mexican.
Clay punched his fist into his open hand. Whatever made him think any woman could love him? Not Ellen. Not Leah.
Except he’d never truly loved Ellen. He’d thought he was in love, but he’d only been enamored by her beauty.
Leah, on the other hand . . .
He loved Leah heart and soul.
Clay moaned and went back into the kitchen. He loved how she’d learned to make his favorite recipes. He loved the yellow checkered curtains she’d made, hanging at the window over the sink. He loved how her few dishes and pans were set in order in the cupboards.
He wandered into Leah’s bedroom. He probably shouldn’t have, but he did.
The bed, made so neatly it would have passed Sergeant Lombardi’s inspections. And big enough for two. Not that it mattered.
He averted his eyes and stepped into the nursery, a tiny room with a crib and a chair and a dresser topped with baby things. Everything smelled clean and fresh.
Clay abandoned their private space and went back into the living room. A small bookcase contained his books and hers, with his childhood books on the bottom shelf where Helen could reach them when she was able.
His violin. His radio. A red truck with “Paxton Trucking” in Daddy’s printing. The playpen with a white stuffed bunny and Clay’s old teddy bear.
He