The Pint-Sized Secret

“Okay, then, I’ll help,” he volunteered.

Taken aback by the unexpected offer, she stared at him. “You’ll help?” she repeated, as if his offer hadn’t been entirely clear. When he nodded, she asked, “Why?”

“Why not? I can run a vacuum or dust as well as the next person, though I’m a little curious why a woman with so much on her plate and making your salary wouldn’t have a maid.”

“Because I have better uses for my money,” she said tersely, brushing past him and going inside, hoping to put an end to this absurd discussion. If she could have, she would have slammed the door in his face, but there were a whole lot of reasons for not doing that, starting with his ability to make trouble for her at the office. Naturally, he didn’t take the hint. He followed.

The minute he crossed the threshold, she very nearly panicked. Had she left the door to Emma’s room closed, as she usually did? Though the townhouse was a recent acquisition, purchased in the aftermath of the divorce because she no longer had the funds or the time to cope with the upkeep on the house she and her ex had shared, she had decorated a room for her daughter. It was filled with dolls and stuffed animals, the overflow from a collection too big for Emma’s room at the rehab center.

The bed was a little girl’s dream, a white four-poster with a pink eyelet canopy and matching comforter. Emma had picked it out just before the accident, but she had never slept in it. It had been delivered during those awful days when they hadn’t known if she would live or die. When Larry would have sent it back, Brianna had insisted on keeping it, clinging to it as a talisman that her daughter would get well and come home again.

“Excuse me a minute,” she said, and dashed upstairs to check the door. If she couldn’t talk Jeb into leaving, she had to be sure he wouldn’t spot any evidence that she had a daughter.