figured that with Abby at the ranch, he’d be calling on God, a lot.
* * *
From the moment Max had introduced his best friend, Abby had realized that Cade, like Max, was a man who seized control. Today she was going to sit back and let him.
What else could she do?
She’d prayed so hard. She’d trusted and waited and prayed. Now she’d run out of options. Maybe Cade was God’s answer to her prayers. If Max’s buddy could think of a way to help her out of this mess, she’d grab it with thanks because she’d used up all the options she could think of and she was too tired to do anything more.
Aware of Cade’s presence just outside the door, Abby pressed her knuckled fist against her lips to muffle her sob of loss. A memory of Max’s booming voice echoed through her mind.
This is our home. You and I together will make it so.
Only it never had been. From the first day of their impetuous marriage she’d known something was wrong between them. Max had been generous, loving and kind but he’d never really let her get truly close, never let her help when the night terrors woke him or a sound made him startle. Too late, Abby had realized that Max had chosen her because she was safe; he’d called her his refuge. She’d stayed with him because she’d promised to love him forever and Abby, the missionary’s daughter, could not break that promise.
Stiffening her shoulders, Abby walked through the rooms as fragments of memories flooded her mind. The windowpanes she’d scrubbed free of paint. The old wooden floors they’d refinished. The mounds of wallpaper they’d raced to remove. But memories were a blessing and a curse, so finally she returned to the front door, shoulders back, exhaling the past. She’d cried enough over her failure to be what Max needed. Whatever solution Cade offered, it had to be better than the misery and fear she’d endured here since Max’s death.
“Goodbye, Max,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I failed to love you the way you needed. I know it was my fault. I’m not the kind of woman you should have married. I didn’t have enough strength to force you to get the help you should have had. If I had, maybe you would have retired or opted out of Special Forces into some other branch of service instead of going on that mission to Afghanistan. Maybe then you wouldn’t have died.”
She gulped, swallowing the last of her regrets because there was nothing she could change now.
“I won’t make that mistake again, Max. I’ll focus on loving our babies. Maybe then I can make up for failing you.” Then she walked out to meet Cade.
“Ready?” He waited for her nod, his face implacable. “Let’s go, then.”
He closed and locked the front door. But this time when he scooped her up and set her inside the truck, Abby was prepared. Even so, her breath caught when his face loomed mere inches from hers and his breath feathered over her cheeks. She told herself her reaction was purely hormonal, that she’d missed that kind of male strength.
Abby composed herself as Cade drove her to a warm, homey restaurant with tantalizing aromas that made her stomach growl. Relieved he’d asked for a table instead of a booth where she wouldn’t fit, Abby snuggled a mug of steaming peppermint tea in her palms as they waited for their food order to arrive.
“I know Max didn’t have any family left but he never told me much about you, Abby. Do you have family?” Cade asked.
“None that I know of.” She smiled at his questioning look. “I was three when I was adopted. My parents were older, very strict and the most loving people I’ve ever known. I adored them. To me they’re my true parents. I never wanted or needed anyone else. I guess that’s why I never felt compelled to discover my birth history.”
“I see.” Cade sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Your adoptive parents are gone now?” His brows drew together when she nodded. “So there’s no one you can contact for help?”
“I’m afraid not.” Warmth rose at the concern Abby saw on his face. How wonderful it felt to have someone worry about her, even for a moment. “I’m not your problem, Cade. I’ll figure out something.” As if she hadn’t tried. He didn’t need to know that, although he’d probably guessed she was out of options.
“Max said you were a social worker.”
“I am.” Abby leaned back, closed her eyes and smiled. “The day I learned in third grade that not every kid had parents like mine was the day I decided I was going to be the one to help kids find the best parents they could. It’s a job I love. I’d still be doing it, too, if the government hadn’t cut back and laid me off.”
Abby could feel his sympathy, could see it in the softening of his baby-blue eyes. The rancher was big and comfortable and—nice, she decided, choosing the simple word. Cade was genuinely nice.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said, trying to disguise the sourness that sometimes bubbled inside. “There aren’t any less children who need help. And there are even fewer workers to handle all the cases. But—” She shrugged. “What can I do? I was out of work and I couldn’t find another job, no matter how hard I looked.”
“And then you learned you were pregnant.” Cade looked straight at her. “That must have been a frightening time, to be alone, without a job, knowing you’re going to have twins. I wish you’d told me when I called. I would have come to help you, you know.”
“I do know.” Touched, she reached out to brush his hand with her fingers, to comfort him. “But I felt I had to handle things on my own.”
Abby’s heart melted as she watched Cade helplessly rake a hand through his very short black hair. His lean, chiseled face had lost some of its harshness, though the lines around his eyes and full lips remained and the cleft in his chin deepened with his frown.
“It’s okay, Cade,” she murmured.
“It isn’t okay at all. Max would never have allowed you to handle this alone.” His voice tightened, dropped to a low growl. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you, Abby.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just a problem I have to figure out.” She was glad their server brought their meals just then. Maybe eating would ease the strain that was building and help them both avoid awkward, useless moments of regret. She scrounged up a smile. “I haven’t had a turkey dinner in aeons,” she said, licking rich gravy off her fork.
“Christmas wasn’t that long ago.” Cade paused, lifted his head and stared at her. His pupils widened. “You didn’t have Christmas dinner, did you?” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Oh, Abby.”
She’d made him feel guilty again. She knew because she carried her own load. But she didn’t want Cade’s guilt. So what did she want? Because Abby didn’t want to explore that thought she set down her fork and reassured him.
“Actually I did have Christmas dinner, Cade. I’ve been volunteering at a kids’ shelter and they served a lovely meal.” She chuckled. “But I didn’t have much time to enjoy it.”
“Why?” Cade crunched on a pickle as he waited for her to explain.
“One
