keeping her arms linked loosely around him.
“And you’re going to put junk in jars,” he said.
“Canning tomatoes and peaches and corn and green beans to send to the food pantry in Phoenix,” she said, knowing he probably wouldn’t remember that part. A group of older ladies from the three churches in Shelter Valley met every year for the service project. They had lost a couple of members of their group during the past year and needed extra hands. Ellen was good in the kitchen—and eager to learn how to can.
Aaron still hadn’t appeared. Josh was shifting weight from one foot to the other and picking at a thread from the flowered embroidery on the front of Ellen’s T-shirt.
“What else?” she asked. “What am I going to be doing for you?”
“Painting my room.”
“Painting what in your room?”
He grinned. “Trains.”
“That’s right. What colors?”
“The engine is black, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And the caboose is red so the trains coming behind it will see it.”
“Okay.”
“And blue for my favorite color.”
“And purple for mine.”
“And—” Josh stopped when Ellen stood.
“Daddy’s coming,” she said.
Please, heart, don’t make it difficult for me to breathe. Don’t let me need anything from Aaron Hanaran. With her son’s hand in hers, she approached the man she’d once vowed to love, honor and cherish—and sleep with—until death did them part.
“Hey, sport!” Aaron’s grin was huge as he sped up the last few steps and scooped his son into his arms, hugging him tight. “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Josh said.
Ellen stared at those little arms clutching his father’s neck. Josh needed this time with Aaron. He needed his father.
Then, with their son perched on his hip, Aaron’s eyebrows drew together in concern as he looked at her. “How you doing, El?”
“Fine! Great!” The smile she gave him was genuine. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.”
Then they stood there with nothing to say. There had been no big angry outbursts between them, no hatred or resentment or bitterness. Just a sadness that had infiltrated every breath they took together.
“I better get him through security.” Aaron’s comment filled the dead air. “Our flight will be boarding in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. Well, then…”
Aaron put Josh down. “We’ll call you the second we land, El, I promise,” he said, his gaze filled with the sympathy she’d learned to dread. “And you have my cell number. Call anytime. As often as you…need.”
She knelt in front of Josh. “You be a good boy and listen to your daddy.”
He nodded, tears in his eyes again.
“I love you, bud.”
“I love you, too.”
Ellen kissed him. Josh kissed her back. Like usual. Then the little boy threw his arms around her neck, clutching her in a death grip.
Ellen couldn’t breathe. Without thought she jerked the boy’s arms apart, stopping herself in time to keep from flinging those tiny arms completely away from her. She held on to Josh’s small hands, instead, squeezing them.
The boy didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. A glance at Aaron’s closed face told her his father had witnessed her reaction.
She gathered her son against her, close to her heart, and held on before finally letting go. “Now, have fun and remember to store up all kinds of things to tell me when you call,” she said with a smile as she stood.
“’Kay.”
She watched as the two men who used to be her entire world walked away, her jaw hurting with the effort to keep the smile in place in case Josh turned around to wave goodbye.
She made it outside the airport before she let the tears fall. But she let go for only a second. Josh was going to be fine. And so was she.
ELLEN WAS COMING AROUND the corner of Mesa and Lantana streets Tuesday afternoon, her second jog since Josh had left, when she heard the bike roar into town. Without conscious thought, she took stock of her surroundings. Ben and Tory Sanders’ home was on the corner. Bonnie Nielson—owner of the day care Josh had attended the first four years of his life and would attend after school once kindergarten started the following month—had a home around the next corner. Bonnie and Keith wouldn’t be home. Tory would be. It took only a second for the awareness to settle over Ellen.
Staying safe was second nature to her. She always knew, at any given moment, where her safety spots were.
She didn’t alter her course, though. Not yet. Though she wanted to. But because she wanted to run for cover, she maintained her trek.
Slowing her pace, Ellen controlled her breathing with effort, her gaze pinned to the spot where the bike would appear—a stop sign at the corner. Waited to see who would roar past her.
Sam Montford had a new motorcycle. But it had a muffler, or something that made it run much quieter than the noise pollution she was hearing.
Sheriff Greg Richards had one now, too. He’d bought it as a gas saving measure. His bike was like Sam’s—the quieter variety.
And there he was. A body in black leather on a black machine framed by shiny chrome. She didn’t have to know anything about motorcycles to know that this monstrosity was top-of-the-line. It even had a trunk-looking thing that was big enough for a suitcase.
Ellen noticed, without stopping. Shortening her stride, she jogged. And watched.
Black Leather was not from around Shelter Valley. Of that she was certain. The bike and black leather were dead giveaways. The ponytail hanging down the guy’s back was advertisement for outsider.
Tensing, Ellen paused, jogging in place at the end of Tory’s driveway. If the guy turned onto this street, she was running to the front door.
If not, she’d continue with her run. Her day. Her life.
Her mother was having a family dinner tonight— Rebecca and her husband, Shelley and, of course, Tim, who still lived at home—and Ellen was bringing brownies for dessert. Brownies that weren’t yet made.
She also had to stop by the Stricklands’ house to collect the mail. And she wanted to call Josh. It was an hour later in Colorado. Her son would be in bed
