walked out onto the porch.
Mac was surprised to see she’d let her hair down. It glowed like rich honey in the early evening light, and flowed over her shoulders in thick, gorgeous curls. She was still in jeans, but had taken off the calico shirt and put on a short-sleeved, scoop-necked T-shirt that matched the peachy hue of her cheeks. Somehow, she seemed less businesswoman, more easygoing Mom. But every bit as sexy as before.
“Guys, go easy on her, okay? You’ve got twenty minutes until you have to wash up.”
“Okay, Mom!” Stevie answered.
Her smile cordial, Erin ushered Mac inside. The interior was both rustic and homey, with wide-plank wood floors, colorful Southwestern rugs and sun-washed yellow walls. Big, comfortable-looking furniture was accented with lots of Texana memorabilia and family photos.
She came closer in a drift of lilac perfume. “What can I get you to drink?” she asked almost too pleasantly.
Mac reminded himself he wasn’t here to challenge her hospitality or to put the moves on her. He leaned against the white limestone fireplace that went all the way up to the cathedral ceiling of the main living area. “Iced tea, if you have it.”
She pivoted and headed to the kitchen. “Coming right up.”
Mac followed, his eyes on her hips.
Erin paused to check on a casserole baking in the oven. “Nicholas went to pick up a couple of his friends. They’ll be back shortly, so prepare yourself for the nonstop questions about your line of work.”
Mac had figured as much. He watched her plunk ice into a glass, noticing the lack of wedding ring on her hand. “What about the rest of your siblings?” And her husband? Where was he? Was she divorced? Widowed? Belatedly, he realized he should have done better research on the alluring woman in front of him.
“Bridget and Bess won’t be here. They’re staying on campus in San Angelo, studying for an exam. Gavin should be home from the hospital soon, though.” Erin met Mac’s gaze for a long, highly charged moment.
“I look forward to meeting him.”
She nodded and handed him his iced tea, careful not to let their fingers touch, then turned away. “I’m going to check on the kids.”
Mac trailed her back to the front of the house, where she glanced out a window. And promptly turned as pale as a ghost.
Chapter Three
For a moment, it was as if Erin had hurtled back through time, to what might have been. Heart constricting, she forced her eyes away from the sight of Heather riding bikes with the boys.
She had to stop doing this, she told herself sternly. Stop thinking, remembering, wishing things had been different....
Because they weren’t different—and never would be, no matter how she yearned to go back, find a different outcome.
Her throat aching with the effort it took to hold back a sob, she swung away from the window.
Mac was staring at her, his handsome face creased with concern. “What’s wrong?”
Wishing he could pull her into his arms and comfort her—the way he’d comforted his daughter when she’d been upset—Erin rushed back through the house. Mac was right behind her.
The logical side of her knew he deserved an explanation. This was the second time she’d reacted emotionally, in just a few hours. Because she couldn’t let go of the past.
She lifted a palm. “It’s nothing.”
“The hell it is,” he countered gruffly, refusing to let her cut and run.
Feeling her body heat under his probing gaze, she tried again. “I just...I didn’t expect—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed. He wasn’t going to give up until he knew, so she shook her head, forced herself to go on. “Angelica...”
“Who’s Angelica?” he asked gently.
Hot, bitter tears pushed at the back of her eyes. Her throat ached so badly she could barely speak. “My daughter. She died two years ago, when she was six.” Erin grabbed hold of the kitchen counter and shut her eyes. She could feel Mac next to her, hovering, patiently waiting for her to confide in him.
He moved closer, and Erin felt a wave of comforting strength emanating from him. Eventually she choked out, “That was Angelica’s bike that Heather is riding.”
“Would you like me to ask her to stop?” Mac’s voice sounded a little raspy, too.
Swallowing hard, Erin opened her eyes and turned toward him. “No, of course not. Not when they’re all having such a good time. In fact, I haven’t seen my boys look so happy in a long time. Not since they had a little sister to play with.”
Mac took a look at the photos strewn across the top of the kitchen hutch. One of a much younger Erin, and her brothers and sisters, standing with their parents. Another of Erin and her husband, surrounded by their three kids. The photos of Erin’s daughter caught his attention, too. Mac paused in shock. “Our daughters look so much alike,” he murmured.
Erin nodded, her heart constricting again. Heather and Angelica might have been sisters. The two little girls had the same thick, curly blond hair and piquant faces, the same exuberance and zest for life. The only difference being that Erin’s child was dead now, while Mac’s was still very much alive.
Erin couldn’t help but envy him that.
He took her hand and led her into the family room. Too overwrought to protest, she followed numbly. “What happened?” He guided her to the sofa and sank down beside her.
Erin made no protest when he slung a comforting arm around her shoulders. She didn’t often talk about this, but knew she needed to tonight. With him. She turned and looked into Mac’s eyes, still stunned about the unexpectedness of it all. “She had cancer.”
He tightened his grip on her. His eyes were steady. Calm. And so filled with tenderness and compassion, she wanted to weep. “How long was she sick?” he asked quietly.
Erin swallowed again. “Ten months.” Ten hellishly long, yet way-too-short months.
“How did you find out?”
Determined not to lose it again, she slid a shaking hand over her thigh. “The bike Heather’s riding...” Mac’s brow furrowed and Erin forced herself to continue, “Angelica learned to ride when she was four. It only took her a couple of weeks to master it without the training wheels, and she was so proud of herself. So happy to be out riding around the driveway with her big brothers. Then one day, when she was five and a half—” Erin’s voice broke at the memory of that last “completely normal” day “—she fell off for no reason anyone could see, and scraped up her hands and knees.”
Mac grimaced in sympathy as the memories engulfed Erin.
“That night she started complaining about her head hurting. Even though she’d been wearing a helmet, I was scared. I thought she might have hurt something in the fall, so
