managed a smile, despite the tug of longing in her own heart—and the twinge of guilt that she wasn’t being completely honest with her sister. “I have no doubt that your time will come.”
“Maybe. But until then, I’ll be happy to dote on your beautiful babies.”
“You’d be able to dote a lot more if you didn’t live twenty-five hundred miles away,” she felt compelled to point out.
“I know,” her sister acknowledged. “I love New York, my job, my coworkers and all the kids. And I have a great apartment that I share with wonderful friends. But there are times when I miss being here. When I miss you and Kenzie and—well, I miss you and Kenzie.”
Regan’s smile came more easily this time. “So come home,” she urged.
Brie shook her head. “There’s one elementary school in Haven and it already has a kindergarten teacher.”
“That’s what’s holding you back?” Regan asked skeptically. “A lack of job opportunities?”
“It’s a valid consideration,” her sister said. Then, when she heard a sound emanate from the monitor, “Is that one of my nieces that I hear now?”
Regan chuckled, even as her breasts instinctively responded to the sound of the infant stirring. “You know, most people don’t celebrate the sound of a baby crying,” she remarked.
“But doting aunts are always happy to help with snuggles and cuddles.”
“And diaper changes?”
“Whatever you need,” Brie promised.
As soon as Connor and Baxter stepped outside, the dog put his nose to the ground and set off, eager to explore all the sights and smells. They had a specific route that they walked in the mornings and a different, longer route they usually followed later in the day. At the end of the street, Baxter instinctively turned east, to follow the longer route.
“We’re doing the short route this afternoon,” he said. Although he enjoyed their twice-daily walks almost as much as the dog, he didn’t want to leave Regan for too long on her first day back from the hospital.
He knew it was silly, especially considering that her sister was there to help with anything she might need help with. But Connor was the one who’d been with her through every minute of twenty-two hours of labor and for most of the eight days since, and he was feeling protective of the new mom and babies—and maybe a little proprietary.
Baxter gave him a look that, on a human, might have been disapproving, but the dog obediently turned in the opposite direction.
Connor started to jog, hoping to compensate for the abbreviated course with more intense exercise. Baxter trotted beside him, tongue hanging out of his mouth, tail wagging.
He lifted a hand in response to Cal Thompson’s wave and nodded to Sherry Witmer, who was carrying an armload of groceries into her house. It had taken some time, but he was finally beginning to feel as if he was part of the community he’d moved into three years earlier.
There were still some residents who pretended they didn’t see him when he walked by. People like Joyce Cline, the retired music teacher whose disapproval of “that no-good Neal boy” went back to his days in high school. And Rick Beamer, whose daughter Connor had gone out with exactly twice, more than a dozen years earlier.
But he was pleased to note that the Joyce Clines and Rick Beamers were outnumbered in the neighborhood. The day that Connor moved in, he’d barely started to unpack when Darlene and Ron Grassley were at his door to introduce themselves—and to give him a tray of stuffed peppers. An hour later, Lois Barkowsky had stopped by with a plate of homemade brownies—assuring him that they weren’t the “funny kind,” even though recreational marijuana use was now legal in Nevada. He told her that he was aware of the law and thanked her for the goodies.
Over the next few weeks, he’d gotten to know most of the residents of Larrea Street. When he’d taken in Baxter and started walking on a regular basis, he’d met several more who lived in the surrounding area.
Estela Lopez was one of those people, and as he and Baxter turned onto Chaparral Street, they saw the older woman coming toward them. At seventy-nine years of age, she kept herself active, walking every morning before breakfast and every evening after supper—and apparently also at other times in between.
“Oh, this is a treat,” she said, clearly delighted to see them.
In response to the word treat, Baxter immediately assumed the “sit” position and waited expectantly. She chuckled and reached into the pocket of her coat for one of the many biscuits she always had on hand. Baxter gobbled up the offering.
An avid dog lover who’d had to say goodbye to her seventeen-year-old Jack Russell the previous winter, Estela worried that she wasn’t able-bodied enough to take on the responsibility of another animal. Instead, she gave her love and doggy biscuits to the neighborhood canines who wandered by.
“How are you doing, Mrs. Lopez?” Connor asked her.
“I’m eager to see pictures of your girls,” the old woman told him.
Connor dutifully pulled out his phone. “They came home today.”
“Eight days later.” She shook her head. “I remember when they kicked you out of the hospital after only a day or two. Of course, most people couldn’t afford to stay any longer than that.”
Which they both knew wasn’t a concern for his wife, whose family had not only paid the hospital bill but made a significant donation to the maternity ward as a thank you to the staff for their care of Regan and the twins.
He opened the screen and scrolled through numerous images of Piper and Poppy—a few individual snaps of each girl, others of them together and a couple with their mom.
“Oh, my, they are so precious,” Estela proclaimed. “And Regan doesn’t look like she labored for twenty-something hours.”
“Twenty-two,” Connor said. “And she did. And she was a trouper.”
“You’re a lucky man, Deputy Neal.”
“I know it,” he assured her.
Baxter nudged her leg with his nose, as if to remind her of his presence. She obligingly reached down and scratched behind his ears.
“I heard your sister-in-law made a surprise visit from New York City.”
“Well, there’s obviously nothing wrong with your hearing,” Connor teased.
“I was at The Daily Grind, having coffee with Dolores Lorenzo, when she stopped in to pick up a dozen oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,” Estela confided.
“Regan’s favorite.”
“I almost didn’t recognize her—Brielle, I mean,” Estela clarified. “Of course, she’s only been back a few times since she moved out East—it’s
