Bill’s lopsided grin defined the word charming. “Most women. Except those who think I’m a psychotic killer.”
He meant her. His lighthearted tone told Grace he wasn’t upset. If anything, he made her suspicions sound...endearing. But she was still embarrassed.
“I’ll carry him to the guest room.” He lifted Liam up. “Don’t forget Peanut.”
Liam hugged the elephant and settled comfortably in Bill’s arms, against Bill’s chest. “Peanut like to be carried.”
“Good,” Bill said. “Because I like to carry.”
Watching the two was bittersweet for Grace. The last time Damon had carried their son, Liam had been a year old, barely walking. Babbling, not talking.
Don’t look back.
Grace was moving west to start over. She couldn’t change the past. Damon was never coming back. She needed to look forward for both her and Liam’s sake.
She followed Bill down the hallway to a room with a queen-size cherry sleigh bed and matching dresser and nightstand. A patchwork quilt covered the bed, with coordinating shams on the pillows. Framed pictures hung on the wall. The room sure beat a cheap motel with paper-thin walls, or an expensive hotel she couldn’t afford.
“This is lovely.” But odd considering the house belonged to a single guy. “Did you decorate the room yourself?”
“My mom helped me with the entire house. She thought my apartment was too much a man cave. I give her full credit for making sure everything coordinated.”
“Your mother did a good job.”
Holding Liam with one arm, Bill pulled down the covers. He gently set the little boy on the bed. “There you go, bud.”
Liam thrust out his lower lip. “Not tired. More cocoa and cookies.”
“I’ll take you to the bathroom,” Grace said. “Then I bet you and Peanut will be ready for bed.”
At least she hoped so, because she didn’t think her heavy eyelids would remain open much longer. Her feet ached for rest. Her brain wanted to shut down for the night.
“Want Bill.” Liam’s tiny fingers wiggled, reaching for the firefighter. “P-nut want Bill, too.”
Grace opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. This was the first time Liam had asked for someone else. She tried to ignore the prick of hurt, telling herself this was no big deal.
Bill knelt next to the bed, giving her son the height advantage. “Listen. I’m going to be in the room next to the bathroom. That’s across the hall. When you wake up, we can have breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes sound good?”
Liam nodded about a hundred times.
“We’ll make a snowman if the storm lets up.” Bill stood. “But you and Peanut need to be well rested, okay?”
Another nod from Liam. This time Peanut joined in.
Grace mouthed a thank-you.
Bill stepped away from the bed. “Give me your keys. I’ll get your suitcases out of the truck.”
She thought for a moment, touched her hand to her face. “Oh, no. I left the keys in the ignition. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
He had no idea. “Our suitcase is on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Everything else we own is in the back.”
Compassion filled his eyes, not the usual pity people lavished on a widow.
She appreciated that.
Bill glanced toward the window. “Under a tarp or do you have a shell?”
“Shell.”
“I hope there aren’t any cracks from the accident.”
“If there are, I don’t want to know.” She looked at Liam, who was bouncing Peanut on the bed as if the mattress was a trampoline. “Not until morning.”
Bill drew his hand across his mouth as if he were zipping his lips.
The gesture was kidlike and sweet at the same time. “Thanks.”
His gaze rested on Liam. “It’s not easy being a single parent.”
The sincerity of Bill’s voice made Grace wonder if he knew someone who’d lost a spouse. She thought about asking, but didn’t want to pry. “You do what you have to do. I’m not the first wife to have lost her husband. Or Liam his father.”
“It still sucks.”
Bill’s words cut through the pleasantries—aka crap—people said to her, trying to make the bad stuff bearable. “Yes, it does. But you’re right about having memories and Liam. That’s made all the difference. And now we have our own Ranger angel looking out for us. Damon definitely had our six tonight.”
A thoughtful expression formed on Bill’s face. “You’re lucky you walked away from that snowbank without any injuries.”
“True, but that’s not what I meant.” Grace smiled up at him, a smile straight from her heart, something usually reserved for Liam alone. “I was talking about us finding you.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE SMELL OF freshly brewed coffee enticed Grace to open her heavy eyelids. The scent made her mouth water and her tummy grumble. A cup of java and one of Damon’s banana walnut muffins sounded so—
Wait a minute.
Her husband was dead. She was in bed.
Who made the coffee?
She blinked, disoriented and confused.
Light filtered through the window blinds. Not her apartment. Not anyplace she recognized.
Grace bolted upright.
Tall dresser, closet door, closed bedroom door.
Memories of the night before exploded in her mind. Driving in the blizzard. Crashing into the snowbank. Stumbling to Bill Paulson’s front door. She hadn’t been dreaming. Last night had been real.
Grace stretched her sleep-drenched arms and arched her back, like a drowsy cat waking from a much-needed nap.
She’d slept through the night. No bad dreams to wake her.
Amazing, considering she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since Damon’s death, and odd, since she was sleeping in a strange house in a stranger’s guest room. Maybe this move to Astoria hadn’t been the worst idea since skinny jeans.
Wind shook the window. The storm hadn’t let up.
“We sure aren’t in Columbus anymore, baby.”
Grace moved her hand to the right to touch her son. Her fingers hit the mattress. “Liam?”
The spot next to her was empty.
No Liam.
No Peanut.
Her stomach clenched. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. “Liam.”
No answer.
A million and one thoughts raced through her head, none of them good.
She scrambled out of bed, threw open the door and raced down the hallway. Every muscle bunched.
The sheriff had vouched for Bill Paulson. She’d been taken with the handsome firefighter herself. But Bill wasn’t used to having kids in the house. What if he’d left cleaning solution where Liam could reach it? What if he’d left a door unlocked and Liam had wandered out of the house? What if? What if? What if?
Every