A Gift for All Seasons

April’s forehead scrunched. “What? Oh. You mean, because of Clay?”

“Exactly. Because …” Mama glanced toward the hall, then lowered her voice. “Because after taking care of your father all those months, I know how hard that must’ve been on you. At the … at the end.”

“But this isn’t even remotely the same thing—”

“And for you to lose your husband so early,” her mother went on, clearly determined to keep this particular train off track, “it was so unfair, honey. Especially since … well.”

Especially since she and Clayton hadn’t had children. But then Mama wasn’t privy to the particulars. Probably never would be, either, it being a nonissue now. Because if she had known … oh, Lord. Woman would’ve had a fit and fallen into it.

And for somebody who considered herself an honest person, April had more secrets than a TV preacher.

Mama cleared her throat. “What Clayton did for us … I still thank him in my prayers every day. Thank God that he was in our lives, even if only for such a short time. He truly was the most generous man on earth.”

“Yes. He was—”

“Then, baby, don’t you think, after what you’ve been through, he’d want you to take things easy? To enjoy life?”

Laughing, April went to the kitchen for a pitcher of tea. “I’m only twenty-six, Mama. Not sure how I’m supposed to enjoy life without living it. To …” She swung the tea pitcher, making her mother suck in a breath. “Embrace unexpected opportunities.”

Her mother hurried over to rescue the hapless pitcher, clutching it to her stomach as she stared at April. “By running an inn?”

“By realizing my dream, of having my own business, doing what I love to do. That’s what Clayton would have wanted for me. And that’s the best way I know how to honor him,” she added before her mother could shoehorn in another protest. Which she did, anyway.

“But it doesn’t make sense—”

Mama clamped shut her mouth as Daddy finally shuffled in from their bedroom where he’d been watching TV, grunting appreciatively at the array of sandwiches before lowering himself into his chair with a contented sigh. Although thinner than he used to be, Edward Ross was otherwise remarkably fit for someone who’d all but rubbed shoulders with death not three years before, even if his entrepreneurial days were in all likelihood behind him. And praise Jesus for that. But what brought tears to April’s eyes was knowing that, thanks to Clayton, her parents’ needs would be met for the rest of their lives. That in exchange for putting her dreams on hold for a few years, he’d now given her the freedom to follow them.

Wherever they led her.

And however scary they were.

A thrill of anticipation shunted through her as she turned to her mother and said softly, “And you of all people should understand that what makes us happy isn’t necessarily what makes sense.”

Another moment or two passed before her mother muttered, “Then you’re as much of a blamed fool as the rest of us,” before carting the pitcher over to the table to pour her husband his tea. Only as April opened her mouth to refute her mother’s statement, she couldn’t seem to shove the words past a certain somebody’s lethal blue gaze.

Lethal … and, unless she was sadly mistaken, needy.

Yeah. What Mama said.

Chapter Three

Patrick saw Lilianna’s face crumple and thought, It’s too damn early for this. And the thing was, the morning had gone reasonably well so far. She hadn’t given him grief over what he’d picked for her to wear—blue tights, green tutu, the first hoodie he put his hands on. Or the scrambled egg and OJ he’d plunked down in front of her while she watched Sesame Street from his sister’s cast-off bistro table in the funky little apartment on the top floor of an equally funky little carriage house in town, not far from his parents. Except then she’d asked for a Toaster Strudel and it all went south.

Because, in his hurry to get the kid fed and over to his mother’s before his crew started wondering where the hell he was, he accidentally let a ribbon of frosting dribble onto the plastic Tinkerbelle plate.

“Baby, baby … it’s okay,” Patrick said over the resulting wail. “Just scoop it up with your finger and suck it off, no biggee.”

“I c-can’t.” Tiny arms clamped over little chest. “You r-rooned it.”

Patrick sighed, knowing the dramatics had far less to do with his sloppy frosting technique than it did Natalie’s in-and-out visit the day before. For hours after his ex’s departure, Lili had clung to him like a little monkey, thumb in mouth, bursting into inconsolable tears when he finally had to put her down to visit the john. To be fair, he knew Nat felt bad about the arrangement, but the support system and Patrick’s job were here in St. Mary’s, and Nat’s school was in Philly, and they’d both agreed Lili needed the stability more than she needed her yet-to-get-her-act-together mother. But how did you explain that to a little kid?

However, even though he hated seeing Lili so miserable, his own mother would smack him into next week for indulging the tantrum. So he squatted beside her at the table and said softly, “Eat it or not, makes no difference to me. But sometimes things don’t turn out the way we want them to.” He cupped her curly head, leaned over to kiss her puckered brow before standing again, crossing to the coffeemaker to fill his thermos. Giving her some space. “All you can do is deal with it.”

Although whether any of that made any sense or not to a four-year-old, God only knew. Especially since he was still feeling his way with this daddy thing. Heck, he barely saw her until she was three, and even then he wasn’t around all that much, since his life at that point still revolved around seemingly endless, and often excruciating, therapies and treatments. And when he was with her, he was constantly battling both frustration and guilt that he couldn’t be the kind of hands-on parent he’d envisioned.

Not to mention husband.

Patrick skimmed a hand over his close-cropped hair—since the burns had eaten half his scalp, there was no point trying to grow out the hair on the side that still functioned properly. No wonder Natalie left him. Not what she’d signed up for, either. Yeah, you could go on about how nobody gets to choose what life throws in their path, but the fact remained that some people handled the crap better than others. That was life, too. So while, sure, it’d hurt that Nat hadn’t been able to cope, neither had he been surprised—

“All done.”

Thermos in hand, Patrick turned to see his grinning daughter holding up her empty plate, pink cheeks smeared with blueberry filling and frosting, and his heart melted more than the frosting. Then he chuckled.

“Guess you were hungry, huh?”

“Yep,” Lili said, giggling, all signs of Cranky Baby vanished. Patrick grabbed a wet paper towel to clean her up, plunked her dish in the dishwasher, then hauled her out of the chair to let her do the baby monkey thing, more determined than ever that nobody was gonna hurt his little girl.

Ever.

Despite his best efforts, Patrick still arrived at the job site after his crew. Good thing, then, he’d reviewed the plans with them well enough that they’d already begun prepping the site, yanking out dead trees and bushes, grading the lot in order to lay the walkways and driveway Blythe and he had codesigned.

Speaking of whom … in jeans and some baggy, drapey thing that made her look like a large blond moth, April’s cousin traipsed across the muddy yard, reaching his truck as he got out.

“Sorry I’m late,” he muttered, grabbing his thermos from the cup holder before slamming shut the door.

“Not a problem, your guys seem to have everything under control.”

Patrick grunted, then said, “April around?”

“No, she’s at her folks for a few days, she’ll be back later in the week.”

He’d been right that Natalie’s visit, and the resulting fallout, had more or less shoved thoughts about April Ross to the back of his brain. Except the minute he got back in his truck after dropping Lili off at his mom’s, it was like the floodgates opened. The whole way out here, in fact, all he could think about was April. In ways he had no right to think about a married woman. It’d been years since he’d been to confession—figuring, he supposed, that since he’d already been through hell, God would cut him some slack—but even Patrick had to admit he’d probably have some serious atoning to do with this one.

So it’d been with a mix of trepidation and anticipation that he’d pulled up to her house, expecting to see her. Hear her voice. See her smile. That light in her eyes that seared straight through him. Gave him, for lack of a better word, hope.

Only she wasn’t here. And for some reason his brain was having a real hard time processing that information.

Which might account for why he then said to Blythe, “Her husband go with her?”

The blonde frowned. “Her husband?”

“Yeah. Not that I’ve ever seen him, but …” He pointed to his own left hand, the base of his ring finger still slightly indented. “Her rings?”

“Oooh.” Blythe pressed her lips together, like she wasn’t sure what to say next. “I forget not everyone knows. April’s husband passed away, Patrick. Several months before she returned to St. Mary’s.”

“What?”

Blythe smiled. Gently. “Yep, she’s a widow.”