“We brought food!” Claire announced, her tone overly chipper. “We just flew in from Palo Verde this morning. I made this batch just before I left.”
Claire owned a diner in the small town of Palo Verde, a couple of hours away. Jonathon, Ford and Matt had grown up in Palo Verde. If Claire had baked whatever was in the box, she couldn’t wait to dive in. And if fate was kind at all, the box would be filled with the spicy, dark chocolate doughnuts that the diner was known for.
Kitty gave Wendy a once-over, then announced, “Since you’re obviously too tired to invite us in, why not just step aside.” She held out her hands. “Here, hand me the baby. You take the doughnuts. Please, eat some before I fight you for them.”
Mutely, Wendy handed the fussy Peyton over to Kitty.
Kitty Langley was the kind of woman who looked as if she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. The jewelry-store-heiress-turned-jewelry-designer had lived in New York until falling in love with and marrying Ford the previous year. How that woman could look glamorous while cradling a baby in her arms, Wendy didn’t know. But she did envy the skill, since she was pretty sure she herself looked as if she was recovering from the flu.
Wendy happily traded baby for doughnuts.
Though her arms ached from the hours of holding Peyton, the bone-deep weariness melted a bit as she sank her teeth into the dense buttermilk doughnut.
“I’m not sure why you came,” she muttered past a mouthful of heaven. “But, frankly, I no longer care. You can hold me at gunpoint. Rob me. Even take the baby. Just leave the doughnuts and I’ll be happy.”
Kitty stifled a smile as she pressed her bright red lips to the crown of Peyton’s head. “You’re in that too-exhausted-to-be-tired stage, aren’t you?”
After a few minutes of being held by Kitty, Peyton stopped fussing long enough to put her head down on Kitty’s shoulder. And then there was silence. Peyton’s eyes drifted closed and she exhaled a slow, shaky breath. Then her back settled into the gentle rhythm of sleep.
Tension seeped out of every pore in Wendy’s body.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she muttered.
Claire smiled wryly. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
“A couple of hours here and there,” she admitted. “This caring for a baby gig is way harder than I expected.”
“Oh, honey, you said a mouthful there.” Kitty gave a low whistle, no doubt remembering her own new-to-mothering days. Walking with an exaggerated sway, Kitty crossed to the bassinet, so she could lay the baby down. “And at least I had seven months to get used to the idea.”
The room fell silent as Kitty eased the sleeping Peyton down. Claire trotted off to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of coffee. “With cream and sugar,” she said as she handed it over. “I assume all sane people take it that way.”
Wendy took a grateful sip as Kitty asked, “Can we get you anything else? Something to eat maybe? I can’t cook worth a damn, but Claire could McGyver a feast out of the barest cupboard.”
Wendy didn’t doubt it. “I think I’ll save room for another doughnut.”
“You sure?” Claire asked, in hushed tones so as not to wake the baby. “I could whip up an omelet. Or something else? I saw some nice Gouda in the fridge when I was foraging for cream.” With a smile she added, “I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich so good you’ll cry.”
“No, thank you.”
“You should try the grilled cheese,” Kitty urged. “It’s amazing.”
“No, really. I’m okay.” Wendy looked from Kitty to Claire, suddenly suspicious. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being plied with food for nefarious reasons?”
Kitty and Claire exchanged a look.
Wendy raised an eyebrow. “Come on, spill. What’s up?”
Claire’s cheeks reddened with what Wendy could only assume was guilt. Kitty played her cards closer to her chest. Her expression revealed nothing.
“Okay, obviously you have some bad news for me. Either that or you’re going to try to get me to join a cult. Which is it?”
Claire bit down on her lip, her chin jutting out at a rebellious angle.
Kitty gave a little eye roll and sighed with obvious exasperation. “Fine,” Kitty said, managing to flounce a bit while sitting almost perfectly still. “We’re worried about Jonathon.”
Wendy gave a little grunt of surprise and sat back against the sofa. “Worried? About Jonathon?”
“Whatever is going on between you and Jonathon,” Claire began, “obviously has something to do with Peyton.”