in their sleepers, tucked into their matching beds.
More than a bit amazed, Flynn studied Cindy as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. He wondered if she was part magician, making the care of the triplets seem effortless.
Having reassembled much of the parlor, he began gathering some of the scarves still strewn across the floor.
Cindy stooped down, as well, carefully picking up each ancient slip of fabric.
“These are really…different,” Flynn finally decided aloud.
“That doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment.”
He held up one sheer red scarf, threaded with gold, edged with long strands of dark fringe. “They suit you.”
Her smile was wry. “Again, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
Flynn paused, the scarf awkwardly filling his hands. “Look, I know we don’t see many things the same way.” He held up the exotic red silk. “But I don’t have any frame of reference for stuff like this.”
“Granted,” she replied, a touch of a sigh flavoring the solitary word. “Julia was always practical, unlike me. Cotton versus silk, that was us.”
He studied the weariness she couldn’t quite disguise. “We haven’t gotten off to the best start, have we?”
She shrugged. “It’s a big adjustment. You’re used to running things your way.”
“And you’re used to being on your own.”
Cindy lifted her face, new shadows deepening her obvious fatigue. “Yes. That I am.”
Flynn sighed. “I knew this was a bad idea. We’re messing up your life, your home.”
“I’m not a neat freak,” she replied after the barest pause. Then her eyes shifted away. “We knew going in this wasn’t an ideal situation, but if it helps the girls, I can manage. How about you?”
He fingered the soft, exotic scarf. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make the girls happy.”
“Then there’s no more to say,” she responded.
Flynn wanted to search her eyes, to see how Cindy really felt, but she stood, turning to the brass rack. He owed her an apology, but it was difficult to spit out. He’d spent the better part of his adult life making certain he had nothing else to be sorry for. And he doubted even his unsettling sister-in-law could change that.
Cindy chose to be especially quiet the following morning as she worked in the downstairs conservatory. Not wanting a repeat of Flynn’s displeasure, she’d tiptoed around her bedroom as she’d dressed, then slipped silently down the stairs, knowing how to avoid the creaks in the ancient steps.
Her night had been restless, filled with dreams caused by thoughts she couldn’t chase away. So she’d risen early to escape them, needing to lose herself in activity.
Picking up a box filled with old photos, she started to put it aside. Then she glanced at the picture on top. Settling the box on top of the table, she withdrew the photo. It had been taken years ago. Her parents, Julia and herself. They were on vacation at Disneyland. Julia and their mother both looked pretty, smiling gracefully. But Cindy and her father were wearing goofy hats and glasses, wide, silly grins covering their faces. She eased a thumb over the slick surface, remembering the good times, the pain of loss that had faded, but never disappeared.
Flynn coughed from the doorway.
Startled, Cindy dropped the photograph.
He entered, reaching down to pick it up before she could. “Nice picture.”
She nodded, not willing to delve into her unreconciled loss. “Kind of early in the morning for reminiscing, isn’t it?”
“I wasn’t actually. Just saw that picture and it brought back a lot of memories.”
He looked at it again. “You and Julia were on different wavelengths.”
Cindy swallowed the pain of that comment. “She was always more like Mother, refined, graceful, elegant.”
“And you were like your father?”
“I guess so. He was the adventurer—the one who wildcatted after the days of oil wildcatting were past. He liked to pursue the impossible.”
Flynn’s gaze shifted between Cindy and the picture. “I’m not like my mother, either.”
Never having heard much about his family, she wondered about them. “What was she like?”
His face closed. Tossing down the picture, he shrugged. “Just a mother.” Then he glanced at the newly cleared desk. “What are you doing in here?”
“Making a temporary office for you.”
His eyes swept over the newly arranged room. “You didn’t have to do this—”
“You’re beginning to sound like a broken record,” she interrupted. “You need a place to work in until you get the office space you want.”
“I’m hoping to get that set up soon.”
“Fine. I’ll need the room back after a while anyway. It’s one I use sometimes for one of my volunteer functions. And in the future it may be the permanent spot for the class.”
He frowned. “Then why go to so much trouble?”
This time she didn’t shift her gaze, instead meeting his. “It’s who I am.”
He studied her, clearly baffled.
But then that was the point. She’d always baffled and alienated him. And moving to Rosewood wasn’t going to change his impression. Only reinforce it.
Chapter Four
Two days later, Flynn pushed aside the sage-green sheers that covered the tall conservatory windows. Tapestry drapes that puddled beyond the woodwork onto the floor were tied back with thick, silky tassels. It seemed Cindy left no detail unattended. Two pairs of aged leather wing chairs were grouped beside a small fireplace. And a Georgian library table served as a desk, covered by neat stacks of his work papers.
Like the rest of the house, this room was cozy. He was no decorator, but the furnishings she chose reminded him of older homes he’d visited in England and France. Even the landscapes and botanical prints looked as though they could be European in origin.
It was restful, snug and casual, yet he itched with discomfort. He glanced down at the candy bowl filled with sunflower and pumpkin seeds. The house and the temporary office suited him no better than the birdseed she called food.
From the window he could see the swish of a weeping willow in the gentle breeze. And across the street, an elderly gentleman handled his roses with the care usually reserved for rare orchids.
A knock, so quiet it barely penetrated the thick mahogany door, reached him. He turned. “Come
