“How do you keep track of it all?”

    “We have a very detailed calendar. Not only do I have to keep track of jobs, the kids have to know where I am and I have to know where they are. If everyone keeps an eye on the calendar, it somehow works. I haven’t misplaced a kid yet, though I’ve come close.”

    “How often do you have to get family to help?” she asked. “Because that’s the hard part for me. My mom and dad aren’t as young as they were and they still work, too.”

    “I think I get help from my mom or dad or my brother almost every week. When we have to be two places at once, usually. I’d be lost without them. But I try hard as I can to give back. And so do the kids if I motivate them. As in—I promise not to hate them. Or ground them. Or confiscate phones. You know, there are two things those phones do for me that are priceless—they let the kids stay in touch so I always know where they are. And they’re great contraband for confiscation.” He laughed. “Those kids will do anything to keep their phones.”

    “I know—I have the same situation. You know how I’d really love to spend my time till retirement? If money were no object?”

    “How?”

    “Flipping houses,” she said, grinning.

    “As in—flipping houses?”

    “As in, buying fixer-uppers, remodeling, selling them. Not only do I get a discount at Home Depot, you can’t imagine the stuff I’ve learned there.”

    “I’ve done that twice,” he said. “Took way too much time, but if I could do it full-time, it could make money. I lost money on the first one but I learned a lot and doubled my money on the second one.”

    “Have you ever thought about doing it again?” she asked brightly.

    “Lola, I’m thinking about ways to make money all the time. Those kids aren’t going to stop eating up money until they qualify for Social Security.”

    They talked about his remodel of his big house, his remodel jobs elsewhere; she talked about some of the work she’d done on her old house and how much she’d enjoyed the work. She had to hire help for some things but she was hands-on for most of it. She did her own landscaping and her garden was plentiful. Tom didn’t have time for much of a garden. Just keeping the yard looking decent was a big enough job and he had a big house on a small lot.

    They talked about the stress of managing college tuition for the kids, how difficult it could be having an ex-spouse who wasn’t exactly on a visitation or support payment schedule, the guilt of needing to rely on family support.

    And then it was four o’clock. Tom realized he’d been on her porch more than two hours, checking texts from kids now and then. “I better get going. I insisted everyone be home before five—we’re going to my folks for dinner.”

    “And I have a chicken to burn for our dinner. I remodeled the bathroom almost totally by myself but I’m dangerous in the kitchen. Good cooks have to have time to putter and I’m always on the move.”

    “I know what you mean.” He stood up. “You know when you asked me what I want?”

    “Yeah?”

    “This,” he said. “I wanted this. Thanks. It’s the best two hours I’ve had in a long time.”

    “Well, go ahead and buy me another geranium sometime.”

           A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.

    —Mark Twain

    Chapter 10

    CONRAD HAD BEEN feeling pretty good about himself. He supposed the secret was out—he liked Sierra. If he wasn’t at the diner to see her, he was out at the Crossing. He’d spent a little time in the hammock with her, helped her in the garden—they’d started harvesting the first crop. He talked her into helping him work out by climbing onto his back while he hiked awhile. His reward was usually several amazing kisses.

    She was completely off the crutches now but by the end of a long day her ankle was sore and she might favor it a little. No hiking yet, but Conrad didn’t mind carrying all the weight. Literally.

    He was walking down the street from the firehouse to the grocery to pick up a couple of things for lunch when he was called from behind. “Connie?”

    He turned to see exactly who he knew he’d see—Alyssa.

    It always shook him a little bit when he saw her. She was still so gorgeous. She was statuesque and exotic with her dark hair, dark eyes. There was a time, when they were a couple, that he couldn’t believe a woman as beautiful as Alyssa was with him.

    But then, she hadn’t really been with him, had she?

    When he’d caught her and Chris in bed, she’d been defiant. Angry and remorseless. He had been stunned by what he thought was her stark indifference to their relationship but he would learn soon after that ugly day, Alyssa thought she was making a trade, that she’d leave Conrad’s house only to move in with her new lover, Chris.

    But Christian Derringer was not going to leave his wife. And young Mrs. Derringer was not going to throw out her husband. The look of rage and rebellion turned to regret and shame as Alyssa begged Connie for forgiveness. But no, he was not ever going through something like that again. All he’d had to do was think back over her strange behavior, her panties under the car seat, her whispering into the phone, and he had quickly realized she’d been unfaithful for a long time before he realized it.

    As he looked at her now, standing on the sidewalk, twisting her hands in front of her, her eyes wet with tears, she didn’t look so powerful. So bold. She looked so sad. She was five-ten. For a woman of her stature to appear vulnerable was momentarily jarring. She must have seen him walk by the beauty shop; she was still wearing her smock.