Seth was waiting. Elizabeth hadn’t helped her kids unpack yesterday, but obviously Harry had neglected to do laundry. He hadn’t packed their belongings clean and folded as she would have done; as always, he’d relied on Elizabeth to pick up his slack. With another groan, she put her legs over the side of the bed, then didn’t move.
A familiar wave of nausea held her still. “Come here, Seth.” He bounded into her room, landed on her in bed and giggled as he smacked a kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek. Her stomach rolled. “Honeybunch, Mama’s not awake yet.”
His eyes twinkled. “But are you happy?”
“You mean because you’re here? Yes, silly. I love you to the moon and back. Shall we see what’s for breakfast? I know there’s cereal.”
“At the ski village I had a humongous breakfast every day. In the dining room. They had everything. Bacon, eggs, pancakes...”
“Delicious,” she said, fighting nausea and trying not to further resent Harry. He’d made things easy for himself there too. “I’m glad you ate well. Let’s make a list for the store—right after breakfast.” And yet, she lay there, cuddled against Seth, as if she hadn’t slept at all. She really needed to reestablish a better, more healthful routine now.
It wasn’t until Jordan came in, followed by Stella, both demanding to be fed, that Elizabeth hauled herself from her warm bed and went downstairs. Feeling out of sorts, she fixed cereal with honey and milk for the kids, and brewed tea for herself. The quiet while Elizabeth nursed her first cup and everyone else ate seemed like heaven. The fighting didn’t start until three stomachs were full.
“I did not steal your dragon, baby,” Jordan said.
“Did too!”
Stella, bursting into tears, yelled, “Seth took my doll. Where did you hide Victoria?”
Seth gave her an impish grin. “Maybe I burned her in the backyard.”
The firepit there had been Harry’s gift to the family last Christmas. The kids loved it. To Elizabeth it was an accident waiting to happen.
Stella wept even harder. “Mommy, make him stop!”
“Seth, don’t tease.”
“I did, I did—” he danced around the table “—and you can’t get me!”
He charged off through the living room, up the stairs with Jordan and Stella, who was sobbing, at his heels. “I love Victoria. You’re mean!” Then, “Ow! Jordan, you stepped on my foot.”
Elizabeth stopped listening. As a mom, she had better selective hearing than Harry did. And to think, she’d missed their noise and constant questions, the sibling rivalry. She’d abhorred the echoes in every room.
She leaned her elbows on the counter and contemplated the house next door, envying the single man who lived there even when she wouldn’t have traded her children for anyone else, and tried not to remember how well he kissed. She’d been grateful for his presence last evening, though, as the kids slept upstairs while she and Dallas discussed the charity for Dusty Malone. He was in the hospital after surgery following his accident with the hay baler. Elizabeth also liked the idea of the rodeo money going directly to Dusty’s family, such a great cause. They expected a strong response from the townspeople. How could she fret about her own problems?
She’d taken a last swig of tea when her stomach finally rebelled, and Elizabeth ran for the bathroom.
“ELIZABETH?” A WOMAN’S voice called from the main room of Olivia McCord Antiques.
“Anybody here?” said another.
“Just me.” Becca hurried from the office into the showroom, where Clara McMann and Jenna Smith had just stepped inside, fanning themselves against the rapidly increasing heat outdoors. Barren was having one hot summer. The shop wasn’t busy this morning, thank her lucky stars, but she wouldn’t know what to do if it was.
“Elizabeth hasn’t come in,” she told them. Becca didn’t like having to manage the store. She wasn’t much of a self-starter, except she’d had no trouble starting the new life she carried. But we only...that one time... Calvin had said. She pulled herself from the perplexing thought. “Can I help you?”
Clara held a sheaf of brightly colored papers, red and blue and yellow. “We’ve brought you some flyers about the rodeo. And are you a baker, dear? We’ll be holding a competition.”
Becca flushed. By necessity she’d learned to cook after her mom died, one way in which she tried to take care of her father. Oh, she’d done that all right last night. “I make a pretty good pumpkin pie, not a bad apple, but I like raisins in mine. Some people don’t,” she said. Her dad had always loved the raisins, having been her greatest supporter, past tense. He hadn’t said a word since he’d guessed about Becca’s baby.
“We’ll count on you, then,” Clara said. “Jenna and I are going to judge fruits and vegetables, so if you have a garden...” With a slight wince, she didn’t continue. Becca’s mom had raised world-class tomatoes and peppers. Once, her squash had taken second place at the Stewart county fair, her pumpkin a blue ribbon.
“My dad didn’t want a big garden this year. We use everything we grow.”
Becca skimmed a hand over her stomach, hoping the two women couldn’t tell it seemed to be growing by the hour. She wouldn’t dwell on the past, when her mom was still alive, her dad was happy and Becca didn’t worry about boyfriends...or babies.
Now she was living on borrowed time, waiting for her dad to throw her out. He’d risen early this morning as he usually did, but he took his coffee and daily toast out to the barn instead of eating with Becca. He must have come into the house to have his full breakfast once he sensed she’d left for work. And she still hadn’t heard from Calvin.
“What do you want me to do with these flyers?” she asked.
Jenna took a batch from Clara. “If you don’t mind—I know Elizabeth wouldn’t—we’ll leave a stack by the front register. We’re going to paper every store in town.”
“Let’s put one
