The bed in Grayson’s former room was a queen-size, with plenty of space for two little boys to share it without bumping into each other or accidentally pushing each other off the mattress. But the second Sam and Tyler were tucked under the sheets, they rolled toward each other, as if seeking comfort.
Gray reached for the lamp on the nightstand. “I’ll get some night-lights, but can we leave this on for now? Tyler’s a tough little dude during the day, but he hates the dark. The last thing I’d want is for him to wake up scared in an unfamiliar place.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should have timed the drive differently, so that we arrived during the day and they’d have a few hours to acclimate.”
“Don’t second-guess yourself. If they’d spent the afternoon in the new place, they might have been too anxious or excited to fall asleep. You’ll be right next door if they need you tonight. In the meantime, they look like they’re getting much-needed rest. What about you? When was the last time you got eight hours?”
His laugh was hollow. Over the past decade, he’d trained himself to sleep anywhere, from noisy hotels with thin walls to the ground on occasional cattle drives. But the last decent night’s sleep he’d had was before the phone call about Blaine and Miranda.
“I keep a bottle of emergency whiskey over the fridge,” she said. “Think a slug of that would help you sleep?”
“I don’t touch alcohol.”
“Understandable. Hot tea, then? I’m going to have some lemon balm. Valerian is relaxing, too.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Thanks, but I’m not really a hot-tea kind of guy. All I need is a glass of water and...maybe a cookie?”
“I baked a fresh batch of oatmeal cranberry last night.”
They made their way to the kitchen, where the smallest dog—a mixed breed with the coloring of an Australian shepherd but the implausibly short legs of a dachshund or corgi—was impatiently turning circles by the counter, whimpering for her nightly treat.
“That’s Shep,” Vi said. “The one-eyed beauty behind you is Tiff and the golden doodle who grew a lot bigger than his former owner’s expectations is Buster.”
“You and your strays.” Thank God she was so willing to open her doors to anything that needed refuge. I hope the boys like animals. “You must have the biggest heart in Texas.”
She looked away, her expression troubled. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve had my share of selfish moments, made my share of mistakes. In fact...”
He reached for the Holstein-patterned cookie jar, so delighted to be back in this kitchen that it took him a moment to realize she trailed off. He might hate the surrounding town—the place where everyone knew his mom hadn’t wanted him, where classmates bullied him until his freshman growth spurt, where his dad’s drinking was public knowledge—but all of that mattered a little less at Violet’s kitchen table. “You were saying?” he asked as he pulled out three cookies.
“Never mind. You’ve already had a long day. Plenty of time for us to talk later.” She stuck her head in the pantry and emerged with a box of tea bags. “It’s so weird. Sometimes when I look in your direction, I still expect to see a dark-haired kid with two front teeth missing, not a six-foot cowboy.”
“Whereas you never age,” he said fondly. “If hot tea is your secret, maybe I should rethink turning it down.”
“Pffft. The laugh lines are increasing, the red in the hair is fading and working at home has destroyed any sense of fashion I may have once possessed.” She held her arms wide, showing off the ancient University of Texas shirt she wore with purple plaid pajama shorts.
“You’re gorgeous. You look like that actress...” He snapped his fingers. “Jessica Chastain.”
“Uh-huh. Spoken like a guy sucking up to get baked goods.”
Grinning, he bit a cookie in half. “Mmm. It’s been too long since I had these.”
“Maybe you should have visited more.”
Shame flooded him. He’d sent her tickets to watch him in the rodeo and had even convinced her to spend a sandy Christmas at a beach resort with him, but he knew his unwillingness to come to Cupid’s Bow had stung her. She’d deserved better. At eighteen, he’d been so hell-bent on leaving that he’d gone the day after his last high-school exam, depriving her of even watching him walk across the stage a week later to get his diploma. “Vi, I—”
“Don’t worry about it. I was teasing, and I shouldn’t have. You have a lot on your plate right now and don’t need me guilt-tripping you. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry. You must feel taken for granted, with me staying away until I needed a huge favor.”
“The favor was my idea,” she reminded him. “And I’m happy to help. That’s what families do.”
Theoretically. His mother had apparently missed that memo. At least I have an aunt who loves me. Blaine, who’d grown up in the foster-care system, had been less lucky.
“I am beyond grateful. And I promise, I won’t take advantage of the situation, leaving all the parenting to you. These boys are my responsibility. I won’t be a slacker guardian, but day cares are expensive, and it could be up to a month before the life-insurance money comes.” More than a babysitter, though, what he really needed was a second opinion. Last summer, Blaine had accepted a promotion that moved his family to Oklahoma so it had been nearly a year since the boys had seen Grayson. He must seem like a stranger to them, and he had no idea what he was doing.
Self-doubt scraped him raw. “Every decision I make feels like a trap. Honest to God, Vi, I’ve had broken ribs that hurt less than the worry I’ll somehow make this worse for them.”
“I felt the same way. I think everyone questions their ability to raise kids—biological parents, adoptive parents, experienced parents who already know the ropes. But you can do this. Imagine it like bronc riding. It won’t be easy, but you hold on and hope for the best.”
And pray you survive.
“It’s always the quiet ones.”
Hadley Lanier glanced up from the computer, where she’d been entering a request for a book transfer from one of the county’s sister libraries. “Hey, Becca.” She grinned at the strawberry blonde. “Or should I say Madame Mayor?” Even with all the months that had passed since her friend had been sworn in, Hadley was still thrilled. Becca was terrific for Cupid’s Bow, a natural leader. And, on a more selfish note, Hadley had helped with the campaign, so she considered herself a tiny part of the victory. “What quiet ones are you talking about?”
“You.” Becca set a stack of books on the library counter, the top one a thriller with blood-red letters across the cover. “Of the nine women in our book club, you’re the Quiet One, but—”
“I am?” Hadley was shy as a kid but hadn’t thought of herself that way in years. Straight A’s in school had bolstered her confidence, but the real breakthrough had been on the softball field, with a crowd cheering her on from the bleachers. A pang of nostalgia went through her, and she absently rubbed her shoulder.
Becca frowned. “Well, yeah. But maybe that’s just in comparison to the rest of us because we’re such loudmouths. You know how Sierra is, and I’ve been bossy since birth. So you come across as the sweet, quiet one. But I just finished the book you picked for tomorrow, and, quiet or not, you have a dark side.”
“You didn’t like