arms flung open.
Matthew barely had time to brace himself before the boys threw their arms around his knees and held on tight, bouncing and shouting. “Did you three give your gramma so much trouble she decided to give you back?”
“It was tempting,” Mom teased over the racket of the boys talking at once. He heard the words “fire,” “fireman” and “big truck.” “Agnes had a small kitchen fire and wanted you to give her an estimate on the damage.”
“You could have called, Mom.” Matthew lifted Josh onto his hip.
“Yes, but you know I hate talking to that beeper thing of yours. Hope, what a pleasure to see you again.” Mom practically beamed as she approached the slim woman who stood off by herself, as if not sure what to think of them all. “I heard from Nora you were in town.”
“She finally figured out a way to get me back here.” Hope took Mom’s hand, her manner warm, as if she wasn’t upset in the slightest. “It’s good to see you again, Patsy.”
The boys demanded Matthew’s attention, telling him everything about the sirens and the big red truck, but his gaze kept straying to the woman talking with his mother, whose girl-next-door freshness was at odds with everything he remembered about Hope Ashton from high school.
“Is that lady gonna take us?” Josh asked, both fists tight in Matthew’s T-shirt.
The other boys turned to frown at Hope, and before Matthew could answer, she did.
“No, but I did bring you boys something.” Hope swirled away from his mother and snatched the paper bag from the blanket.
Of course, his mother took one look at the blanket, not an item he usually took to work with him, and lifted one curious—or was that accusing?—eyebrow.
Ian took one step forward, interested in Hope’s paper bag. “Cookies?”
“Candy?” Kale looked tempted.
Josh buried his face in Matthew’s shoulder and held on tight.
Matthew watched as Hope shook her head, dark wisps tangling in the wind, and knelt down, opening the sack. “If you boys don’t like cinnamon rolls, I could eat them all by myself—”
“Cinnamon rolls?” Kale shot forward, not caring if this woman was a stranger. “Like the kind Gramma makes? With frosting?”
“With frosting.”
Ian scrambled closer. “Does it got raisins? Don’t like raisins.”
“No raisins, but they do have icing. Go ahead and try one.” Hope shook the bag, as if she were trying to coax them closer.
Huge mistake. Matthew set out to rescue her as both boys plunged their hands into the sack, fighting for the biggest roll. But Hope only laughed, a warm gentle sound that made him stop and really look at her, at this outsider who had never quite belonged in their small Montana town.
She didn’t look like an outsider now. Her faded denims hugged her slender legs with an easy casualness, and her T-shirt was probably a big-label brand, but the cherry-red color brought out the bronzed hue of her skin and the gleam of laughter in her eyes. She didn’t look like a millionaire’s daughter and an established photographer.
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