style="font-size:15px;"> A girl-child dashed in, long butternut hair flowing behind her. “Shoes!” she yelled.
Molly smiled—until she saw the man coming through the doorway in the little girl’s wake.
Keegan.
McKettrick.
“I do read, you know,” Molly said defensively, to explain her presence.
Keegan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.
Molly flushed, furious with herself. It was free country, for Pete’s sake. She didn’t need a reason to be in a bookstore.
Keegan crouched in front of the stroller, much as Emma had done a few minutes before. “Hey, buddy,” he said.
“Hey, buddy,” Lucas echoed.
Keegan smiled at that, and Molly was thunderstruck by the effect of it. The man’s whole countenance changed when he wasn’t being a judgmental hard-ass. There might even be a human being in there somewhere, behind all that attitude.
As if he felt her gaze on him, Keegan looked up.
The second Ice Age arrived instantly.
“Does Psyche know you’re here?” he asked, rising to his full height.
Molly’s face heated. “No,” she snapped, keeping her voice down because of Lucas and the three little girls parading around in Emma’s high-heeled shoes. “I thought we’d make a break for it, Lucas and I. I plan to push his stroller overland. We’ll travel by night and sleep in trees during the day.”
He chuckled, and the sound was even more disconcerting than the smile had been.
Molly was still getting over it when Emma returned with the coffee.
“Keegan!” she cried, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“Tell me you’ve come to your senses,” Keegan teased. “You’re dumping Rance and marrying me.”
Molly, standing on the edge of the encounter, wondered what it would be like to know this other Keegan.
Emma handed Molly a ceramic mug filled with fresh coffee, but she was looking at Keegan. Smiling. “You’re a shameless flirt,” she accused.
The little girl who’d come in with Keegan high-heeled it over to Molly. “Do you like shoes?” she asked.
“I have a closetful,” Molly said, confused.
“I’m Devon,” the child told her. “Devon McKettrick. This is my dad.”
Molly smiled stiffly. “Hello, Devon,” she responded, glancing at Keegan. “My name is Molly Shields. Your dad and I have already met.”
“She has a lot of shoes,” Devon told her father.
“Go play,” Keegan answered.
Devon didn’t move. She looked down at Lucas, then up at Molly. “Is this your little boy?”
Molly didn’t know how to answer.
“Go and play, Devon,” Keegan repeated.
“I’m just trying to find out if she’s on the market,” Devon told him.
Emma laughed.
Keegan’s neck reddened.
“Are you married?” Devon persisted, turning back to Molly, keen as a prosecutor pursuing a point of law in a courtroom.
“Devon,” Keegan warned.
“No,” Molly said nervously. “No, I’m not married.”
“But you have a baby?”
Keegan awaited her answer.
Emma shuffled Devon off to join the other kids at the shoe-fest.
“What’s with that kid and shoes?” Molly asked, to forestall the sarcastic remark Keegan had surely been planning to make.
“It’s a fixation, hopefully temporary,” Keegan said. “How’s Psyche?”
Molly sighed, saddened. “Weak. She’s hoping to attend the Fourth of July picnic and stay for the fireworks, though.”
Pain flashed in Keegan’s eyes. He started to say something, then stopped.
Molly felt compelled to speak, even though she knew it would have been better to hold her tongue. “Florence and I both thought she should rest,” she said, “but Psyche’s got her heart set on joining the celebration. So we’re bringing her.”
Keegan considered the plan in silence, probably disapproving.
Molly pushed the stroller over to the counter and set the coffee mug down. “I guess Lucas and I had better be getting back,” she said. She smiled at Emma. “Thank you.”
“Come back soon,” Emma said, looking puzzled.
Keegan held the door open so Molly could push the stroller out onto the sidewalk. Was he being courteous, or did he just want to get rid of her as quickly as possible?
He followed her outside. “Molly?”
She turned, frowning.
“I could give you and the boy a ride back to Psyche’s,” he said.
“Do you have a car seat?” Molly heard herself ask. As if she’d get in a car with Keegan McKettrick, after the way he’d treated her.
He shook his head.
“We’ll walk, then,” Molly said righteously.
It gave her some satisfaction to march off down the street without once looking back.
But not much.
* * *
SEATED ON THE FRONT PORCH swing, Psyche watched through the screen as Molly pushed Lucas up the walk. He’d fallen asleep in the stroller, hunkered down, with his head lolling to one side.
“They’re bonding,” she said to Florence, who was setting out a light lunch on the small wrought-iron patio table.
Florence grumbled as she poured lemonade into chilled glasses, one for Psyche, one for Molly and one for herself.
“Give her a chance, Florence,” Psyche pleaded softly.
“She’s probably some kind of crook,” Florence whispered. “Keegan thinks so, and so do I.”
“Well, you’re both full of sheep-dip,” Psyche said. “I had Molly’s background checked. Do you think I’d hand my baby over to some stranger?”
