The Man from Her Past. Anna Adams

and I can’t talk about.” Nor could he explain he’d been walking through life blind, not living since she’d left him. “I was surprised about Hope. A man doesn’t expect his former—” He glanced toward the kitchen. “I never thought about you having a baby and me not knowing, but none of this is her fault. I want her to feel comfortable around me, and you’d better want that, too, because someone has to look after her while you visit your father.”

      Maybe Hope could hang out with one of the nurses for the few minutes it would take for him to—“I’m the closest thing to family he’s had for the past few days. You need me to remind him who you are.”

      VAN’S SPEECH, half apology and a whole lot of assumption, hung in the air.

      Cassie stared, her mouth half-open until she noticed she was catching flies and closed it. “Remind him?” The bag slipped in her arms. She managed to catch it. “You honestly think he won’t know me?”

      Van eyed her right back as if he was worried she might also be losing her memory. “I told you that, Cassie.”

      “I didn’t understand.” She turned with the bag, not certain where to go next. “How am I going to make sure no one tells him about—I don’t care if he hates me, but I don’t want him to hurt her.” Van’s reaction to Hope had proved she was right to shield her daughter from everyone in Honesty. “Plus, I don’t want him to get worse. Making him angry could easily make him sicker.”

      “What are you talking about? You think he hates you?”

      She lifted her head, an animal scenting a challenge. “I liked you better when you couldn’t hide anything you felt.” Including the fact that he’d blamed her, too. “He thought what happened was my fault.”

      “He was scared. Still is, but he doesn’t hate you.”

      Trust Van to protect her father. She went toe to toe with the only man she’d ever loved more than her dad. “I could never blame Hope for something like that. That’s how I know his love wasn’t enough, and he does blame me.”

      Deep down, she realized she was still accusing Van, too. She couldn’t help it. His rejection—turning from her in their bed, stepping away from her as they’d gazed together out of their kitchen window—those moments lived under her skin, thorns too sharp to bear.

      They’d argued until he had no more words, and hers only made him angry.

      “Your father isn’t well.”

      “He was fine five years ago.” A new rush of resentment shocked her. She had to get a grip. “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her forehead. “Seeing you and being here brings it all back.”

      “I didn’t like your answers to our problems then. I still don’t.” Answers. Nice, antiseptic way to describe ripping out her own heart and throwing it onto a barbed-wire fence.

      “You don’t get a choice,” she said, not to be unkind but to make him see it was too late to change things.

      Faltering, Van turned to a safer subject. “Leo’s worse when he’s tired, and what about Hope? I’ll be glad to look after her, but she’ll have to go with us when I introduce you to him.”

      “I can explain if he doesn’t know me.” She hated the thought of accepting his help. As if coming back had turned her into the naive young woman who’d married her personal Prince Charming, the habit of leaning on Van tempted her. “And Hope doesn’t know you. I’m not comfortable leaving her with anyone.”

      “Like it or not, I’m not just anyone.”

      “Close enough.”

      He looked her straight in the eye and pretended not to have heard. “I could ask my sister to come to the hospital.”

      “Beth.” Her heart ached. She’d lost more than her father and Van. “I’ve missed her.”

      “You could have stayed in touch.”

      “How would I have asked her not to tell you about Hope?”

      “You couldn’t.” He lifted the other bag of food. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

      Hope appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Mommy, I’m starwing. I need foods.”

      “Coming, sweetie.” Cassie led the way. “I’ll call the hospital and see if my father’s still awake.”

      In the kitchen, Hope climbed back into a chair. The water Cassie had set to boil in a saucepan on the stove was still, the gas beneath it turned off.

      Hope looked up as Cassie put two and two together. “I did it.”

      The stove was like theirs at home, far from here. Her little girl wanted to be a big girl as quick as she could and never thought about saucepan handles. “I’ve asked you not to mess with stoves when I’m not in the room.”

      “I’m okay. It’s like ours. I knew how.”

      “Hope, I’ve asked you…”

      “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

      “Do you like to help cook, Hope?” Van started removing paper cartons from his sack. The poisonous resentment in his voice had faded.

      He was so very friendly.

      “We were gonna have those instant grits.” She pointed at the counter.

      He made a face at the box. “I’ve saved you from an ugly fate.”

      “Mommy likes ’em.” She slid out of her chair and went to his elbow.

      “You’re not such a big fan?”

      He still hadn’t looked into her innocent face.

      “I don’t mind ’em.” Lying, Hope smiled at Cassie, offering her loyalty.

      “Maybe you’ll like this stuff instead.” Setting the last carton on the table, he looked at Hope and a smile spread across his face. A real smile. Wide, warm. Real.

      Hope laughed out loud. “I was kinda scared to come here, but you’re nice, Mr. Van. I like your face.”

      He laughed, too. Slowly, his hand curved around the back of Hope’s head.

      For a split second, before he pulled back and whisked the bag off the table.