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told her this place was better than his home. Considering Ray had been the spitting image of Vernon in every way, including his fondness for the bottle, she could only imagine.
    She’d spent many a sleepless night wondering what Jake and Rose had endured at home, away from prying eyes. Any time they’d visited here, she’d watched for signs of abuse. But Rose had seem ed a happy child, if a little shy. It had been Jake who’d borne the brunt of Ray’s alcohol-fueled temper; she’d bet her life on it.
    Even as a child, he’d had that wary glint in his eyes, like he’d seen too much. She’d tried to mother the kids as best she could, spoiling them with home-cooked meals and long walks in the fresh air, but there hadn’t been much she could do when they went home.
    She’d grieved more for the loss of her relationship with Jake and Rose than she had for Vernon. After her husband’s death, she hadn’t been surprised when Ray cut off contact between her and his kids. She’d expected it but, regardless, she had kept hoping he’d allow her visits for the sake of Jake and Rose.
    But Ray had been as downright cussed as Vernon and she’d given up. As the kids grew older, she’d hoped they’d contact her. But they hadn’t, and she hadn’t pushed the issue out of respect. She’d left her past behind when Vernon died and she imagined Jake and Rose had done the same. Maybe they didn’t need an aunt who reminded them of times they’d rather forget.
    So the fact Jake had contacted her again after eighteen years meant one of two things: he’d grown a conscience or he was in trouble. She hoped it wasn’t the latter.
    A car pulled up in the drive and the engine was shut off. Curiosity drove her to the front door and she had it open before Jake had made it halfway up the garden path.
    His size struck her immediately. Jake had grown into a strapping young man, too handsome for his own good. Though a vague resemblance , something around the mouth, or the cheekbones, reminded her of Vernon. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself , with a slight swagger that oozed confidence. Yeah, Jake was a Mathieson through and through.
    Even more startling than his resemblance to her husband—he wasn’t alone.
    A young boy slouched beside him, scuffing his shoes deliberately with every step, shooting the occasional scowl Jake’s way while trying not to appear too excited as he glanced around. He had curly brown hair in need of a trim, was a tad too skinny and wore a faded blue T-shirt and shorts.
    The boy didn’t look like Jake but why else would Jake have a child with him unless it was his son?
    Fixing a welcoming smile, she stepped out onto the front porch.
    “Good to see you, Aunt Cilla.” Jake took the steps two at a time, like he’d always done, and the memory brought a lump to her throat. “You look amazing.”
    “I look old,” she said, surprised to feel her cheeks heating with a blush. “And you’re all grown up.”
    He enveloped her in a bear hug. A good, strong hug that alleviated some of her fears that their first meeting would be awkward after all this time.
    When they eased apart, Jake laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, urging him forward. “And this is Olly, my nephew. Rose’s son.”
    Olly shrugged off Jake’s hand as if he abhorred the contact so Cilla quelled her first instinct to hug the boy too.
    So Rose had a son. She must’ve had him young, judging by the boy’s age, around six or seven. The question was, why was Jake bringing him for a visit after all this time, without Rose?
    “Nice to meet you, Olly.” She held up her hand for a high-five. She spent a fair bit of time with the youth group in town and if there was one thing she’d learned, it was that they favored this weird ritual over a handshake any day.
    Olly stared at her hand in surprise before slapping his palm against hers. “Hey.”
    He hadn’t ignored her so that was a start. She noted the relief on Jake’s face, the way his