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Megan couldn’t understand why her brother didn’t simply pick up and move away from the rumors and innuendo. His life would be so much easier. His construction business had struggled the last few years. Funny, but people could be a bit wary about employing a suspected murderer to build their homes.
Every time she asked him why he stayed, Luke only said this was his home and his children’s home and he wouldn’t let small-minded people push him out of it.
Because he stayed, she stayed. As simple as that. He needed her help with Cassie and Bridger and she didn’t know how she could walk away either.
“You’re coming to help us with the project tomorrow, aren’t you?” Katrina Callahan asked as everyone began gathering up their belongings and started clearing out the bleachers to make room for the next game. Kat held hands with a little girl who had the distinctive features of someone with Down syndrome—her daughter, Gabriella, who grinned at Megan.
“Oh, I forgot about the project,” she exclaimed. “What time?”
“We’re hoping to finish scraping the paint in the morning so we can start priming the place in the afternoon.”
Since the previous Christmas, the service organization they both belonged to had taken on the cause of an older woman in the nearby town of Shelter Springs, helping spruce up her house and yard. Before Christmas, Janet Wells had taken custody of her three grandchildren after their mother had been arrested on drug-related charges. The cobbled-together family was struggling with even the most basic care.
Megan had helped do a few other things at the house and greatly respected the woman for what she was doing. It was, unfortunately, a too-common situation, grandparents raising grandchildren.
Or in her own case, aunts helping to raise nieces and nephews.
“I would love to help but I’ll have to see how the day goes,” she said to Kat.
“I hope you can make it.”
“I can’t make any promises. I’ve got a million things to do tomorrow, between the inn and the art exhibit in a few weeks.”
Wynona Emmett, wife of the Haven Point police chief, joined them in time to hear that. “I can’t believe your gallery exhibit is all the way in Colorado! We have galleries here. Why couldn’t you have it somewhere closer to home?”
Maybe because nobody here had invited her to do a showing.
“It’s crazy that you have to leave the state entirely to exhibit a photography collection that focuses on Haven Point,” Katrina added.
“I guess it doesn’t really matter where it is,” Wyn went on. “I’m just so excited someone besides us is finally recognizing how amazing you are.”
“Thank you,” Megan said, warmth seeping through her at her friends’ confidence, which she was far from sharing.
What would she do without the Haven Point Helping Hands? They had carried her through some dark and difficult times.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow at Janet’s place,” Wyn insisted. “We should have plenty of volunteers. You should focus on the preparation you need to do for your gallery showing, doing whatever it takes to knock their socks off.”
“I’ll see how things go. I might be able to make it over in the afternoon to work on the painting,” she said, just as the girls finished giving their cheer and headed out into the bleachers to greet their families.
Cassie came straight toward her, beaming a thousand-watt smile. “Did you see me, Auntie Meg?”
“I watched the whole thing. Great game, kiddo.”
“Coach said I can pitch again next week.”
She set her camera aside to hug her. “Perfect! I can’t wait.”
“Did you get any pictures of me?”
“You know it, honey. We can look through them later while we’re having pizza.”
“Yay! Pizza!” Bridger exclaimed as he and Luke walked down the steps of the bleachers toward them.
“Are you sure you have time?” her brother asked. “I heard you tell Wyn and Kat how busy you are.”
“Don’t worry. I always have time for pizza.”
“We’ll meet you at Serranos, then. I’m not crazy about the crowd here.” Luke didn’t look in the direction of Elliot but she knew exactly what he meant.
The two men once had been close friends, but all that changed after Elizabeth vanished, when Elliot came down firmly on the side of those who thought Luke had been involved.
Elliot wasn’t the only friend Luke had lost following his wife’s disappearance, but it was probably the relationship he missed most. Not that her brother would talk about things like relationships or hurt feelings, but she could tell.
Having Elliot here had to be painful for Luke. Oh, she wished the man had never come home.
* * *
“GREAT TO HAVE you join us for dinner, though I’m a little surprised.”
At his brother’s words, Elliot raised an eyebrow. “What’s so surprising about gathering with my family to celebrate a mighty victory?”
Chloe, seated across the long expanse of table from him, preened at his words, and he gave her a little smile. She was a cute kid, he had to admit. So was her brother Will. The two of them had enriched all their lives.
Two years ago, he hadn’t had any nieces or nephews. Now he counted five. Milo, Gabriella, Christopher, Will and Chloe. Three-year-old Gabi, the child Katrina had adopted from Colombia earlier that year, was the youngest.
All of the children had been absorbed into the Bailey clan through rather unorthodox ways, but now he couldn’t imagine their family without them.
“Nothing, really,” Marshall said. “Only that you seemed in a big hurry to leave after the softball game, for a moment there. I’m glad you changed your mind, especially since I’m sure you’ve got work to do on your book.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he claimed. It wasn’t precisely the truth, but close enough.
“Whatever your reason, I’m so glad you’re here.” Marshall’s wife, Andie, beamed at Elliot. “My children don’t see enough of their favorite uncle.”
“Hey, what about me?” Cade Emmett protested.
“Or me,” Bowie Callahan said with a mock glower.
Andie smiled diplomatically at Wyn’s and Katrina’s respective husbands. “Their other favorite uncle.”
Over the past eighteen months, he had come to care deeply for Andie. She had been wonderful for Marshall, had softened his hard edges and brought laughter and joy into his world.
“My