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in the room, when you talk to them if you want. You can snuggle on my lap.”
    “I can?”
    “Totally. That’s what my lap is for. Now, go on upstairs, wash your face and come back down to help me put away the groceries, okay?”
    Rennie perked up. “Okay. Be right back!” She ran upstairs, her footfalls a thunder above Elise’s head as she headed into her bathroom.
    God, she hated that her child got so upset over the calls from the Sorensons. She hated being powerless to protect her from it.
    Hated that it was the lesser of many evils so they had to endure it in exchange for those people staying out of Rennie’s life on any greater level.
    Her upset forgotten, Rennie charged back downstairs, ready to help. Her normal demeanor was back in evidence and Elise relaxed a bit as they began to unload the groceries.
    Rennie danced around the kitchen, singing a song from her endlessly changing repertoire as she spun and put things in cabinets.
    The kid not only had her father’s eye for painting and drawing, but also the natural grace of her mother. Elise was proud and wary of that power and talent. It took so much energy to guide her daughter in the right direction. Rennie needed the stimulus, thrived on experience and affection as any child would. There were times when Elise wondered if she was enough.
    A wave of longing for her family hit her so hard she gripped the counter. They’d been such an integral part of her life, of Rennie’s life. Elise missed that connection.

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    Tug, tug, tug on her shirt hem. Elise looked down into blue eyes very much like her own. She couldn’t help but smile. “Momma, can we have tacos?”
    Thank God for Rennie. Something to keep Elise from wallowing. She swallowed back her loneliness and nodded. “Sure thing. I got avocados for some guacamole too.”
    “Wheeee!”
    With a laugh, Elise began to assemble dinner, her heart a bit lighter.

    5
    Brody rode his bike up the driveway and turned the ignition off.
    When he slid his sunglasses down his nose, he watched Elise get out of her car, and smiled at all the crap she wrestled from the trunk as the kid bounced around the yard.
    He saw her trash cans at the curb and thought, Why not?
    Hailing her with a call of her name and a smile, he took one can per hand and carried them up toward where she stood. “Can I put these somewhere for you?”
    “Um. Yeah, the garage. Here.” She bent into the car and hit the garage door opener. He didn’t fail to see how flexible she was, and a brief flash of what she’d look like naked, sweaty and beneath him, flitted through his brain.
    He hurried past and put the cans inside, stepping out as she closed the door again.
    “Most people park in their garage.” He grinned.
    “I will soon enough. Pete and Emmabeth—the couple who lived here before? They’re friends of a friend. They sold me this house on C O M I N G
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    very short notice and asked if they could leave their furniture here in the garage until the fall. They went on a trip to see their kids and then to Europe.”
    “Oh. I was wondering what happened to them. They were nice people. I’m glad they sold their house to another nice person.”
    “Wow. You’re really good, aren’t you?”
    She cocked her head, and he realized she’d relaxed around him enough to actually joke, partially even flirt. Christ, her mouth, those eyes . . . He swallowed back the tide of longing, the urge to lean down and brush his lips over the curve of her cheek.
    Instead he struggled for nonchalance. “I do try.”
    “Thank you for bringing my cans in. How are you feeling?”
    “Much better. No soreness anymore. My brother finally went home, and he and my sister only call to check on me twice a day.
    The bruises on my side”—he raised his T-shirt to show her—“are all gone. They arrested the guy, by the way. The one who hit me.
    He confessed it to several people. They tell me he’s going to make a guilty plea