“MOOOOOOOOOM!”

The camera in my hands jumped, and that perfect angle, the perfect highlight of the sun’s rays coming through my kitchen window and traipsing across my gorgeous display of a salad—if I did say so myself—disappeared in a flash.

No pun intended.

Footsteps pounded across the floor overhead. Eight feet. From two kids and one dog. The trio was streaking across the hallway, preparing to hurtle themselves down the stairs.

Which meant I had approximately twelve seconds to get the shot before chaos descended.

Back up on my tiptoes, extending my arm precariously over the plate as I leaned—read: contorted—myself in such a way as to obtain that perfect angle without marring the photograph with something as egregious as my shadow.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Ow!” Allie. She’d just turned five and was a terror on two legs. “I’m telling Mom!”

“Almost there,” I puffed.

“It was your fault.” Max. My sweet boy. Now eight and not so little.

“Ruff!” The dog. The terror on four legs. Rocco was seven months old and sixty pounds of exuberant energy, potty accidents, and counter surfing.

But Rob loved the fluffball.

Rob.

My eyes burned.

The trio slid around the corner into the kitchen, Rocco colliding with the far wall.

His brakes weren’t great yet.

With the group’s appearance, the noise level in the room rose to deafening.

Click.

I checked the shot and breathed out a sigh of relief. Perfect.

Stepping down from the stool I’d been perched on, I stashed my camera carefully out of reach of canine and human troublemakers then stowed the plate in the fridge. Another taste test wouldn’t hurt, just to perfect the recipe.

And really, I wasn’t going to waste one crumb of that goat cheese. Not when it was so expensive and difficult to find in Nowhere, Utah.

Or rather, Darlington, Utah.

“Mom.”

Max stood with his arms crossed. He was tall for his age with dark hair and eyes and the spitting image of Rob, a fact that made my bruised heart ache all the more.

Allie was like me: slender, tall, and blond with pale brown eyes and skin that never failed to burn in the sun.

We needed to invest in sunscreen stock. God knew we bought enough of the stuff.

Both kids were talking over each other, furious frowns pulling their brows down as they tried to prove their point . . . or, rather, ruin my eardrums by being the loudest.

Even Rocco chimed in with several well-timed barks.

I did what I always did in these situations.

I stood silently. And waited.

It never took long, I’d found. If I tried to raise my voice over theirs, tried to shout my way for quiet, like Rob did, nothing. He used his magical cop skills to reign tough over the kids—and dog, I thought, as Rocco eyed the countertop like it held a king’s trove of treasure.

My voice didn’t do that.

My glare did, however.

Rocco paused mid-leap and plunked his front paws back on the tile floor.

Max was the first human to stop contributing to the noise. Older and wiser, he was.

Allie went on for a few more beats before her eyes widened and her mouth clamped closed.

“Max, explain your side first.”

“I was playing with my Legos, and Allie barged in and broke my set—”

“I did not!” Allie protested.

“It’s not your turn to speak,” I told her.

She huffed and crossed her arms.

“She broke my house, and I’ll never be able to find all of the pieces, and I-I—” Tears welled in his brown eyes, and I had to steel my heart against those glistening orbs. He might be cute, but he was also smart.

Too smart for my good.

“Okay,” I said. “Allie, your side.”

“He took my Lego set, and I wanted to get the pieces back. It was my house, and he can’t keep it.”

“You let me borrow it!” Max said, indignant.

“I want it back.”

“I—”

“You—”

I waited.

The second round took less time.

“What happens when you fight over toys?” I asked.

Two sets of eyes went wide. Rocco whined and lay down on the floor, burying his nose in his paws.

Max glanced at Allie. “How about you use my Legos and build your own house?”

Allie considered this. “And then when we’re done we can switch back!”

Max nodded. “Okay.”

They ran off, Rocco trailing their progress, leaving with as much noise as they’d entered the room.

“Ten minutes until bath time!” I called, but they were already out of earshot.

With a rueful smile, I pulled my plate from the fridge and a fork out of the drawer.

“You’re sexy when you pull that stern glare out.”

I shivered at the voice in my ear, the chest very close to my spine. My body knew my husband’s on an intrinsic level, and so I didn’t jump in surprise or shriek in fear.

Instead, I melted into his warmth, soaked up his scent.

“Hi, baby,” he said with a soft kiss to the side of my neck.

“Hi, yourself.” I turned, slipping carefully out of his embrace. Because even though I loved this man with every fiber of my being, he might not feel the same.

Text messages from another woman.

A hidden cell phone.

Sudden long hours away from his family.

Cheating.

There was a strong possibility that the man I loved was cheating on me.