The pumpkin-carving challenge sponsored by Pete’s was in full swing, and as expected, the seasonal favorite was creating an enormous mess.

Remy was enjoying herself more than she expected. Finn’s scheduling of the weeklong Spooktacular events and activities was nothing short of brilliant. He carved out family times with an eye to the realities of school schedules and kept the adult craziness for later in the evening.

Tonight was the opening round of the mechanical bull riding challenge, and as expected, Sophie was upsetting the apple cart before things even got started. Her jaw-dropping ability to stand on, not just ride, the moving bull was downright astonishing, and despite her father making a fuss and all but begging her to cut it out, her daring side just wouldn’t let it be.

Finn had a cell phone video of Alex’s sister performing atop the bull to Aerosmith’s “Walk this Way.” Those assembled during this raunchy show went apeshit on general principle, but it was her elegant handstand and twisting dismount that put Sophie Marquez in the running for the Bendover Olympics should there ever be such an event.

The high schoolers Pete’s hired to help manage the kids’ activities and take care of cleanup were fantastic. Rounding up a dozen teenagers eager to earn money was easier than anyone expected. The community bulletin board at the Double M was proving to be an invaluable resource for local manpower.

“Remy! Yo!” a booming voice shouted.

She scowled internally and wrinkled her nose at the distasteful sound. It was Randy Bell, the bass player of the Chixie Dicks, and the guy gave her the creeps. It wasn’t helpful that since the first time they met, he was persistent as fuck. She was with Finn, but Randy was a special kind of asshole—the type who thought he didn’t stink when, in fact, he was an overflowing cesspool. In his mind, he was all that and then some.

“Randy,” she sneered as he approached. She’d stopped pretending to be polite a long time ago. “What are you doing here?”

Men who hitched their pants for effect drove her crazy. Did they imagine the weird, jerking pants adjustment was manly? Or, heaven forbid, sexy? Watching Randy go through the motions, she shuddered at the thought and nearly gagged.

“Checking on my little dude. That’s my son on the end.”

Oh, for shitfucker’s sake! This guy procreated? She looked down the table of kids when he pointed at a pudgy redhead who was enthusiastically stabbing a pumpkin.

“Sanderson,” he bellowed. The kid looked over at them, and Randy gave him a thumbs-up.

Really? she thought. Destroying a pumpkin instead of carving it like everyone else deserved a thumbs-up? What a dick.

And what the hell was with the names? Randy Bell and Sandy Bell? She assumed that was why the kid was named Sanderson.

Things got a thousand times worse when the dickhead dropped a little information in her lap.

“Guess what?” he blurted in a boastful voice. “I’m doing the plumbing at your place.”

She squinted for a moment as if that was going to help her figure out what the fuck he was getting at. Plumbing? Huh?

“You know,” he added in a tone that suggested she was dimwitted. “Your place at the Marquez Villa. It’s being renovated, right?”

Startled but unsure exactly why, she stiffened and took a step back. “It’s hardly my place,” she shot back defensively. “And I’ve, uh, moved out,” she stammered.

“Well, I guess you’d have to,” Randy replied. “The plans call for a total gut.”

A bunch of things converged inside her at once. Wanting to drop-kick Randy wasn’t unusual, but the desire to melt away and be invisible was. She didn’t like the idea that this fucking guy had any knowledge whatsoever of her life.

An old, familiar panic fed into her veins like icy water dripping along a downspout. Her eyes darted about. Where was Finn? She needed Finn.

And just like that, a warm hand slid under her hair and gently squeezed her shoulder. Relief like she’d never felt before engulfed Remy. She leaned into Finn when he planted himself possessively at her side.

“Randy,” he said in a voice that sounded hard. The two men eyed each other warily and shook hands.

Finn had a way of marginalizing people if he didn’t like them or wasn’t into whatever shit they were peddling. With a single comment, he distinctly trivialized Randy’s obvious attempt to poach what did not belong to him.

She inwardly smiled. Belonging to Finn O’Brien was not the capitulation she once imagined it would be. He made her the focus of everything and gave her a sense of belonging and trust she didn’t think would ever be possible.

“Are you ready for your turn at the microphone? Bet the Dicks are on their knees in prayer, huh?”

Randy’s expression dropped, and he scowled. He was the weakest musical link in the Chixie Dicks chain, and everyone knew it.

Finn’s snarky taunt was the perfect put-down, but little dicks like Randy always tried to come back with a clever, meaningful retort. This one bounced off Finn.

“Look who’s blowing shit.” He sniggered. “Your bassist isn’t known for carrying a tune or even talking, for that matter.”

“He doesn’t talk, you shithead, because he’s a mute. Didn’t you know?” Finn barked in a heavy Boston twang. “Lost his voice as a kid. Contracted gargledicosis. There was nothing they could do.”

Gargledicosis. Jesus Christ. She chomped down hard on the inside of her cheek and thought about beached whales to swallow down her urge to laugh.

Randy frowned. He was trying to determine if Finn was serious.

Remembering how this encounter got started, she instantly sobered and turned to Finn. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He didn’t hesitate or give Randy another second of thought. “Yep. I’m all yours, babe.”

They rudely walked away, and try as she might to feel bad, she couldn’t. Sometimes, it was better to cut and run—saved time and minimized headaches.

“Wanna get some air?” he asked.

“That’d be great.”

“Barry!” Finn yelled to his partner just before they stepped into the parking lot. “Taking a break. You got this?”

Barry made the okay sign and went back to what he’d been doing. She sucked in oxygen once they were outside and started to feel better. Finn guided her around the side of the building where the tents were set up for this weekend’s event. A crew was working on the second stage for the battle of the bands while across the way at the far end of the long tent stood a brand spanking new pavilion large enough for Thunder to do their thing.

“Want a soda?” he asked as he popped the lid of a large cooler. “Stocked up on A&W just for you. It’s your favorite, right?”

Remy laughed. “You’re a nut, Beantown. I told you that while I was drunk, and if I recall, what I actually said was A&W with a scoop of really good vanilla ice cream might be better than sex.”

What was that stupid saying they always used in romance novels? The fire in his eyes made her loins burn? That was it, right?

Yeah, that.

As though he was pontificating from on high, her sexy Irishman boomed, “I am prepared to change your mind. About the sex thing.”

She gazed into his dreamy eyes, started to laugh, and ended up shaking her head while smirking. He didn’t know it yet, but his long drought was about to be over—sooner rather than later.

He popped the tab on the can of ice-cold soda and handed it to her. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

Ordinarily, she’d hem and haw until some clever, usually snarky, but always strongly stated way to share what she was thinking came to her. This time, she hastily ran into the burning building and spewed a shit ton of insecurity in her wake.

“Did you know Randy was doing the plumbing at my place?”

Finn shrugged and appeared unconcerned. “Uh, he’s a plumber.”

She put the can down on empty catering table and wrung her hands. “I don’t like it.”

Only a dead man wouldn’t notice her agitation. To Finn’s credit, he noticed and reacted. “Tell me why and I’ll take care of it.”

She went off like an infantry barrage.

“He’s a disrespectful cunt, and I don’t like it.”

Finn’s brows shot up at the vulgar insult, but he said nothing and just let her have at it.

“It pisses me off that he won’t back down, and this thing where he pretends you and I aren’t together, well, it makes me uncomfortable. And he knows too much.” She took a breath and kept going without caring how crazy she sounded. “He’ll know details about my bathroom, Finn, and I’m sorry if I sound unglued, but you can’t convince me that creepy fucker won’t be thinking all sorts of sick shit while he’s doing the install. Oh, and wait. There’s more. Is that fucker married? He said he’s here with his kid. Holy god. He comes on to me constantly. Ew.”

“Oh, yeah. About that. Grey told me that Randy is a well-known serial cheater. I guess Mrs. Bell turns a blind eye because he’s the only licensed plumbing and HVAC installer for miles around, and the business has been kind to his bank account.”

“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement for marriage.”

A small, mischievous smirk played at the edges of Finn’s mouth. “Yes, well, be that as it may.” He shrugged. “You have nothing to worry about because in case you haven’t done the research yet, leprechaun’s mate for life.”

He touched her hair and then her face. “And as for the other thing, leave it to me. Randy Bell won’t get within pissing distance of our place.”

She started to demur, but he waved her off.

“Let me worry about Alex, okay?”

She nodded but felt an embarrassed blush crawl up her neck because she wasn’t used to Finn fighting her battles. Sensing that he was staring a hole through her head, she searched for his eyes, and mumbled, “What?”

“I want us to move into the casita immediately.”

Coloring more, she admitted, “I told Randy I’d already moved out.”

“You know what? How about we start by correcting one thing. You aren’t doing anything—we are. And it’s not just your bathroom—it’s mine too.”

Their eyes held for a long time.

“And you’re right. Randy conjuring up filthy thoughts while installing our shower doesn’t work for me either. He’s a fucker, so don’t you worry, babe. Cutting off his access to you is at the top of my list.”

“Thank you.”

“So we can move into the casita now and stop pretending?”

“Yes,” she agreed easily. “I’d like that.”

“Good. And I like it when we solve problems together.” He smiled warmly. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I almost forgot.” He chortled. His hand thumped the side of his head, and he made a goofy face. “Stephanie called earlier. She’s finished with your outfit and wants you to stop by. Sorry. My bad.”

Ooh, how exciting! She grinned at her forgetful boyfriend. “Did she tell you what I did? The go-go dancer thing won’t work for Berger’s song and our number too even though the songs are just three years apart on the rock and roll timeline. So we looked up Woodstock fashion and made our own cool design based on Grace Slick’s white-fringed dress. Found vintage bell-bottoms on Etsy and she altered them to fit me. All I need now are a pair of funky platform shoes, and I’m ready to rock the roll.”

“Parker is such a stickler for authenticity. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled by your attention to detail.”

“Detail, shme-tail.” She chortled. “I was just itching for a chance to work with someone who knows the stage presence game better than anyone.”

“Stephanie Dane is the bomb,” he agreed. “When you slide by her place, give my godson a kiss for me. With everything going on, I haven’t had much time to make the rounds of babies. Bella gets hers, of course. That girl doesn’t care about my schedule. The FaceTime thing is how they do in her generation. She rings me up whenever the whim strikes.”

In the farthest corner of her peripheral vision, she saw Parker moving in their direction. It was the middle of a workday, and Whiskey Pete’s wasn’t close enough to the Sedona office of Sullivan Legal for this to be a casual visit.

“Parker is headed this way,” she told Finn.

He glanced over his shoulder, paused, and then grunted. “Fuck. He’s got a briefcase.”

She chuckled. “Oh, so that means your lawyer has stopped by. Anything you wanna confess?”

“No can do, Frenchy. Top secret stuff. Highly classified.”

That piqued her curiosity. What was he up to, and how did a lawyer figure in?

Something new happened when Parker joined them. Somewhere between one day and the next, she went from lurking in the shadows to being at Finn’s side, and this transition earned her an affectionate greeting complete with a quick peck on her cheek.

“Remington,” Parker drawled. “I see you’re still hanging out with this shithead.”

Finn nearly dropped with laughter when she leaned into the lawyer and joshed, “Have you seen his shillelagh? I mean, come on! That thing is like a knotty club—every girl’s dream.”

She left them doubled over with howling laughter and headed back inside to check on the pumpkin-carving fun.

Memories of Victoria as a little girl swamped Stephanie as she and Bella tidied Snowflake’s stall. The two precocious young ladies, a generation apart, had similarities.

Tori hated clutter of any kind. From her earliest days, she groused if surrounded by stuff. Later, though, when material things became unavoidable, her geekiness shone through in the form of sometimes elaborate organization frenzies that rivaled the Dewey Decimal System. The girl could take a shitshow mess, break it down into manageable parts, and then rebuild the whole shebang in a left brain and orderly way.

Bella showed the same sensibility. Case in point: right now, the serious side of the almost seven-year-old was large and in charge. Snowflake proved to be a well-mannered pony who was also a bit of an equine diva due to her status as a Junior Justice treasure, and the lil’ Captain made sure everyone knew it. The self-appointed boss demanded special blankets, and the door to Snowflake’s stall was not just decorated, it was literally bedazzled.

Out of the blue, Bella emphatically stated, “She wants a night-light.”

Stephanie and Snowflake looked at Bella at the same time. Diva pony says what?

She whittled down the worried sigh inside her and managed to transform it into a soft breath. Everyone was concerned about this child.

Bella Mia was all of them in some peculiar way. Harshly tested by life at a horrifyingly early age, the resilient girl gave them all a master class in how to move on and get shit done by growing a set or at least strapping on a pair. She was a reminder to everyone about not losing heart when life wasn’t kind or fair.

Recently, however, something changed. She was still spunky, hilarious, and full of mischief, but an imbalance simmered just below the surface. A night-light demand in a pony stall felt like part of the bubbling brew.

Stroking Snowflake’s neck as she moved closer to Bella, Stephanie offered the girl a placid smile. The standard-issue mom-grandmom facial expression was almost guaranteed to draw the child out.

Tugging gently on one of Bella’s pigtails, she asked, “What sort of night-light, sweetie?” Stephanie knew whatever was on the girl’s mind, it wasn’t actually about a physical night-light.

“When you turn the stable lights off at night, it gets dark in here. She needs to see the corners.”

Needs to see the corners. Hmm.

“What’s in the corners, Bella?”

“You know.” The girl shrugged. “Maybe things and people and stuff.”

Things and people and stuff. Holy shit.

Confident she and Bella were having a moment, Stephanie cautiously dug deeper.

“Bad things, honey?”

A jerky nod answered the question. In Stephanie’s head, she heard her own voice urging calm. This wasn’t the time to freak out.

Snowflake made a soft snort as if to ask what the hell was going on.

“Come here, Bella,” she said with her hand held out for the child to take.

When she had her firmly in hand, Stephanie reassured the worried pony with a little pat and drew Bella away so they could sit on a crate that was always next to Snowflake’s stall. The wood box was for the little ones to stand on when they came by for a visit.

Bella fidgeted and toyed with a long tail of braided hair. To put her at ease, Stephanie wrapped an arm around the child’s shoulders and gave her a little squeeze.

“Uncle Thor and I are so happy to have you in our lives. I don’t know about him,” she joked, “but I need a little girl to spoil and have fun with.”

“Aunt Toto needs a daughter,” Bella replied with childlike glee. “Unca Drae says she’s outnumbered by boys.”

“He’s right,” Stephanie agreed, “which is why I’m so glad I have you, shugah.”

Bella hugged her tight. “My Heather, I mean, my mom, she says we have a tribe of girls. I think that’s funny.”

“Ah, yes,” Stephanie drawled. “The Justice ladies. Tribe is probably a good word. You’re a Justice gal, Miss Bella! Auntie Meghan says you lead Junior Justice. Think you can wrangle all the younglings?”

“Sure.” She snicker-snorted. “I know how. Babies like me.”

Knowing just enough about the early days of Brody’s daughter to be certain a light had appeared at the end of a tunnel, she gently pressed.

“I know,” she offered with a nudge of teasing praise. “Even Mamita says you have mad baby minding skills.”

She needed a shovel to wade through the wealth of emotion disguised in the girl’s implausibly nonchalant shrug. “They just want someone, that’s all.”

“Want someone to what, Bella?”

Another shrug. This one even less believable.

“Um, dunno.”

Knowing this line of questioning just shut down, Stephanie hoped her timing wasn’t miserably wrong when she circled back to the bad things.

“We all need someone, shugah. And if bad things are happening, I suppose it can be pretty scary if there’s no one. Am I right?”

Bella grabbed Stephanie’s hand, and in a whisper fraught with tension, she said, “Bad things happen in the dark when no one is around.”

Now would be a really shitty time to upchuck my breakfast all over the child’s boots, her brain grimly quipped although swallowing the urge to vomit took all her strength.

“Did something bad happen to you, baby Bella?”

“My daddy came and took me away.”

Her mom brain scrambled for a comeback. “He searched so hard for you. Did he find you in time?”

Oh, god. Please say yes. Please say yes. Stephanie wasn’t sure her heart could handle a no.

“They cut my hair and called me bad names.”

“Is that all?” She held her breath waiting for a reply.

“Sometimes they hit us. I p’tected the babies.”

Where were the guns? Did she have access, or was it necessary to get Alex involved? Whatever. Didn’t matter. She’d talk to Cam, find out where the motherfuckers who had Bella were hiding, and go take care of it herself.

“It’s not okay for anyone to touch you in anger. Ever. You know that, right, shugah?”

“They laughed in the dark corners,” Bella muttered.

Yep. Guns. Maybe a couple. And ammo. Lots of it. What was Domineau doing right about now? Stephanie lifted the antique timepiece brooch on her left breast and checked the time.

“Well, then,” she firmly announced. “There you have it. Snowflake gets a night-light, and anytime you find a dark corner, you come and tell me, okay?”

They fist-bumped.

Standing, Stephanie brushed off her blue-jeaned butt and saluted the lil’ Captain. This little girl had more in the way of courage than all of the Justice warriors smooshed together.

“Consider me your light lieutenant. You tell me whenever something dark appears, and I’ll personally come and shine the light. Deal?”

“Are you gonna tell Daddy?”

Stephanie understood the girl code as well as anyone. Shared secrets required special handling.

“No, shugah, but I am going to speak to your mom. This is girl stuff. Let’s let the Justice ladies handle it, okay?”

Bella lunged at her and hugged Stephanie around the waist. Then she giggled, and adorable Bella was back. “Can we make T-shirts?”

She laughed and playfully tugged on the giggling child’s pigtails. “You mean tribal shirts? A logo or something?”

The wily child knew which of Stephanie’s buttons to push and appealed to her craft lady side. “Okay. You could draw something. And I betcha Matty’s mom could make something pretty.”

“Ooh, yes! That sounds like fun. I’ll talk to Kelly and see what we can come up with.”

“Can I help?”

“Of course! You get final approval on the design. How’s that?”

“I want Molly to help. And Matty. Oh, and Paulie, too. He’s oldest now. Wait, no. He’s a boy. So is Matty. Hmm. No boys, right?”

Nothing was quite as entertaining as a child’s bouncing and simple logic.

“Girl power, shugah,” Stephanie teased.

“Yes!” Bella said as she jumped up and down. “Girl power! Yay!”

“Is that the sound of Bella jumping for joy?” a teasing voice asked. It was Remy, and her big smile when she looked at Bella warmed Stephanie’s heart.

“Hiya, Remy! Guess what? We’re getting T-shirts.” Bella ran to her friend and hugged Remy tight. “Girl power.”

Remy tugged a pigtail. “No boys allowed? You mean that kind of girl power?”

“We were discussing girl stuff. Secrets and things like that,” Stephanie pointedly told the raven-haired beauty. Remy’s eyes widened with understanding. She nodded quickly as a sign that she understood what was going on.

Bella sensed the serious shift. It was obvious when she clung to Remy.

“I don’t want Daddy to worry,” she mumbled.

“Worry about what, sweet pea?” Remy’s gaze met Stephanie’s as she asked the question.

“Oh, um, well,” Stephanie began with an abundance of caution and hesitation. “It turns out that Bella Mia doesn’t care for dark places.”

The flash of awareness in Remington’s eyes confirmed that she got the picture without any more being said. Her face hardened. Stephanie swallowed with a bit of difficulty. Remy knew all about the dark places.

She squatted in front of Bella and took hold of the child’s hands.

“Sweetie, I’ve been in the dark place too.”

“Yeah?” Bella’s voice quivered with hopefulness.

“Uh-huh,” Remy continued. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“Domineau held my hand and helped me find the light.”

A small, trembling smile started at one corner of Bella’s mouth and spread slowly to the other. Stephanie couldn’t imagine what triggered the reaction until young Bella explained.

“Matty said she had superpowers. Did she use her powers to save you? That’d be so cool if she did.”

Remy hugged the child and laughed. “Absolutely, Bella. She’s a, uh, flame thrower. That’s her power. We built a big bonfire late at night. It lit up the whole sky.”

“Light in the darkness,” Stephanie interjected because symbolism was important to how a child processed information.

“Wow,” Bella exclaimed. She looked at Stephanie. “Momo,” she said in a hushed voice, using the nickname that the older kids started calling her, “you’re my night-light.”

Emotion squeezed her heart. She loved this child. Everyone did. Where Bella Jensen was concerned, it was all hands on deck.

“Girl power?” Remy asked. “I like this idea.”

Stephanie checked the small brooch timepiece pinned to her shirt. It was time for Bella to get picked up. Her schedule was jam-packed during the school year.

“Better go and wash up, shugah. Daddy said he’d be by to get you when he finished at the kennel.”

Bella’s slight hesitation made Stephanie jump into action. The child needed reassurance that her worries weren’t about to be exposed.

She held out her little finger and winked. “Pinky swear, Bella.”

They linked pinkies, and Stephanie pulled the girl close. “Promises are made to be kept. Okay?”

A jerky series of nods brought the moment to a close. After waving and politely saying goodbye, Bella dashed off toward the bathroom in Stephanie’s office where she could clean up and change her clothes.

She looked at Remy, and drawled, “You got my message, I presume?”

“Yeah. Costume ready. Check. But Bella. Stephanie, holy crap, what did I walk in on?”

“I won’t bother shugah-coatin’ it. We both know trying to sell that child a fairy tale about her experiences is beyond stupid—which leaves us with a jolt of her reality that’s guaranteed to release the rage monsters. I promised that the Justice ladies had her back.”

“Meaning you’re not telling Brody. Am I right?”

“Precisely. Look, I don’t know what it means, but she just told me that bad things happened in the dark—to the other kids—and that they laughed at Bella and called her names … in the dark.”

“And the night-light? What’s that?”

Stephanie sighed. “She wants Snowflake to have a night-light. I agreed, and then we made a pact that if she sees dark places or gets scared, she could come talk to me.”

“Momo to the rescue.” Remy chewed her lip and seemed to think about what she’d just heard. “Give it to me straight. Is Justice required?”

The play on the one word wasn’t lost on Stephanie. “Maybe. I’m not sure. And to be honest, for all I know, Brody and Cam took care of it already.”

“Oh, my god,” Remy groaned. “I just want all of this bad shit to stop and go away. I’m sick of it, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I want it to be over too, but I’m equally as terrified of what that means. I have a bad feeling about all of this. Bella’s trauma is a secondary issue that we can barely address until the bigger threat is taken care of.”

Calder caught sight of the Duchess the minute he stepped into the stable. She was near Snowflake’s luxurious cubbyhole at the end of a double row of occupied stalls. Remington was with her, and they appeared to be having a serious conversation.

Nerves, the same jitters he’d had since their ill-fated trip to Scottsdale, started line dancing in his gut. It was so bad that he started mainlining heartburn tablets the same day as their return home.

He could pretend everything was fine, but he’d be knowingly lying and was sure that jamming his head up his ass wasn’t the way to go. Stephanie was hurt, and it was his fault. The woman he swore to love, cherish, and protect wasn’t feeling all that cherished at the moment. Not since Carter Beckwith rode in on her damn broom and ruined everything.

His stomach did a quarter flip. In what universe was he unlucky enough to take his beloved on a romantic weekend only to have the whole thing crash and burn in epic Hindenburg-like fireworks courtesy of a person he hadn’t thought about in a decade or more?

Shit.

Since their return, his normally chatty wife refused to discuss what happened. She simply snapped her fingers, declared the subject off-limits, and that was that. He would have been okay with sweeping the whole tawdry business under the rug if not for the fact that Stephanie suddenly started wearing pajamas and was keeping to her side of the bed. And if that wasn’t horror enough, the source of their problems, Carter, wasn’t going away quietly. Somehow, she got his number. Calder shuddered to think of what sort of verbal gymnastics and outright lies she employed to wheedle his info out of the half dozen or so people they knew in common.

Her first text was innocuous—some fucking drivel about being sorry if she upset him. Him! No mention of her being a bitch to his wife. The second text raised the bar and sent fear rushing into his system. She wanted to renew their friendship. Their close friendship. Just like that? Out of the damn blue? A chance meeting and now she wanted to ruin his marriage? Who did that kind of shit?

Carter Beckwith, that was who. She’d always shown succubus tendencies, and now that she had revealed her true colors and publicly disrespected his wife, Calder was sure a piece of burnt charcoal was all that was left of her soul.

Lurking quietly, he watched as Bella came running from Stephanie’s business suite through the double doors in the middle of the stable. She hurried to Stephanie and Remy. They laughed and did a little dance. Then Brody showed up, and Bella flew into his arms.

Seeing his opportunity, Calder stepped from the shadows and strolled toward them. Bella saw him first, exclaimed, “Uncle Thor!” and came dashing at him.

Stephanie looked straight at him, briefly smiled, and then her expression shuttered. It didn’t make him feel any better when he got close enough to see her paleness and the beginning of dark smudges beneath her worried eyes.

Incredible as it seemed, she thought she was losing him, and while her fears were unfounded and far from the truth, he tiptoed cautiously through all their interactions. At the end of the day, whether she was mad at him or not, her well-being was his responsibility.

Brody greeted him warmly and asked about the dogs. It was all friendly and pleasant if you discounted that Stephanie smiled wanly but said nothing.

There was idle chitchat and talk about the family movie night Pete’s was hosting. Wolf was too young for stuff like that, so he and Stephanie were staying home. Bella rambled on and on about the Toy Story and Pooh movies Finn picked.

“Okay, Bella darlin’,” Brody said. He was checking his watch. “If we leave now, I think there’s plenty of time to stop by the market on our way home.”

“Pop-Tarts,” Bella gravely explained. “Mommy says they are, um … what’s that word, Daddy?”

“Nutritionally bankrupt,” Brody drawled. “And that’s two words.”

Bella waved him off with a, “Pfft,” and some six-year-old hair tossing. “I don’t know what that means, but Mommy doesn’t like ’em. Says that no way can they be breakfast.” She lowered her voice to a loudly conspiratorial volume. “Daddy and I sneak them, don’t we?” She bobbed her head and gave Brody a fist bump.

“As a treat, though, right, Bells? They’re like cookies. One at a time and only if you have a happy dish.”

“Happy dish,” Bella howled. “Daddy! That’s a kid thing!”

Stephanie stroked Bella’s hair and met Calder’s eyes. He winked. She smiled.

“Everyone has a secret stash of something,” Remy drily added.

Bella hooted with laughter, and the two of them bawled, “Ding Dongs,” in unison.

Brody and Bella took off, walking hand in hand to the parking lot. Calder’s heart squeezed. He missed holding Stephanie’s hand.

“Your costume is in the back of my car. If you give me a few minutes to grab my things and tell Becca I’m heading out, you can take it from there.”

“Sounds good,” Remy answered. “Any luck with the shoes?”

“Don’t laugh but Wendy Sullivan thinks she has just what you need. Apparently, she keeps a hippie shrine and hasn’t weeded through her wardrobe in decades.”

Stephanie looked at him, bit her lip, and excused herself so fast he got whiplash.

Remy arched a brow. “What did you do?”

The knee-jerk male response would be to challenge the assumption that the wrongdoer was him, but he had more sense than that.

He didn’t mince words. Not with Remington. She was a staunch taker of no shit, so he acknowledged the disturbance in the air with a pained expression.

“Let me be clear, Remy. That woman is my whole life. Understand?”

She nodded, but her snarky expression didn’t change.

“Abridged version,” he continued. “The past, the far distant past, came knocking at an inopportune moment.”

“Must be one hell of a past,” she tersely replied. “I’m assuming we’re talking about yours?”

“Yes. Guilty. No room for a plea agreement. But in my defense, I really am talking decades.”

“Good lord, Calder. I’ve never seen Stephanie so unbalanced. What the hell?”

He ran his hands through his hair and groaned. “I don’t fucking know, Remy. She’s been a little off recently. Her responsibilities here, at home, with Wolf and everything else are a lot, right?” he asked for reassurance. “So I figured a weekend at a swank hotel and every indulgence on the spa menu would act as a reset.”

“And it wasn’t?” Remy asked in a disbelieving tone.

“It was until someone I haven’t thought about in this century was in the restaurant, saw me across the room, and swooped in for a reunion.”

“Okay. And?”

He scowled remembering Carter’s awful behavior. “Uh, well, my wife may as well have been invisible.”

Remy flinched. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “It was the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time.”

“Can I assume you didn’t handle it well?”

“Oh, fuck. Well? Not even close. Shock combined with confusion and discomfort led to an epic dumb guy moment. It went downhill from there.”

The woman’s assessing gaze studied him. She glanced away toward the doors to Stephanie’s suite of office room and then back at him.

“There’s more, Calder. I can sense these things.”

A long, pained sigh left his mouth. “This is between us, okay? I think she’s far too fragile for the whole family to weigh in.”

“No worries,” she assured him. “Maybe it’s hormonal although, for Christ’s sake, don’t tell her I said that.”

He snickered halfheartedly. “She’s touchy about the age thing.”

Remy grimaced. “I apologize up front for asking this question. Your past, is it pretty?”

“What do you mean?” He was confused by the question. His past with Carter was far from picture perfect.

“This woman,” she drawled. “I’m assuming we’re talking about a female, right? I mean your past doesn’t include swapping spit with guys, does it?”

“Get real,” he snarled.

“Okay. Point clarified. Thank you. Now, back to this woman. Is she pretty, and further, how old is she?”

He gulped. An actual gulp. How stupid was he that he never considered the optics?

“Oh, well, um, she’s my age, I guess. We went to the same grad school. Women in tech were rare, and she kind of stood out.”

“Stood out? How?”

“She’s British, Oxford-educated, and frankly, brilliant. I think her daddy was a member of Parliament.”

“I can tell already that this isn’t good. What does this sixtyish woman look like? Please tell me she’s a dead ringer for Einstein.”

He frowned. What did Carter look like? It took a good few seconds of focus to even bring her memory into view—that was how little he gave a shit.

“Uh, well, she looks great. For her age.”

Remy groaned and smacked a hand to her forehead. “Dude,” she growled. “You’re a dead man.”

“Why?” he asked. “What did I say?”

“Newsflash, Mr. Dane. Outside of family, no woman who isn’t your wife ever looks great.” She tsk’ed several times and shook her head. “I can only conclude you are either insane or missed the husband memo.”

Right, right, right. He knew this. Quickly recalculating, he came back with an alternate response.

“She looked like a sixty-something female with a great plastic surgeon. Better?”

The nod and amused snicker told him he hit the mark.

“More, Calder. What else? Tall or short? Thin or curvy? Hair color and style? Your wife is a goddamn beauty queen with a couple of decades of pageant experience. I guarantee she can tell you what shoes this woman wore and whether her dress had a label. You’ll never get away with offhand observations.”

Feeling trapped by female logic, he held his hands up and shrugged. “No matter what I say, I’m fucked.”

“Is it that bad?” Remy asked with a hint of alarm.

“You tell me,” he snarled. “Long, dark hair. She looked like she just came from a professional blow out. Her figure is okay, I guess. Nothing to write home about. It was her attitude that struck me mute. She swooped in for a kiss and …”

Remy’s harsh gasp shocked him. “You let another woman kiss you while Stephanie watched? Calder! How fucking stupid are you?”

“Goddammit,” he barked. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m the fucking victim here! She came out of nowhere, stuck her tongue in my mouth, and then completely ignored my wife. What was I supposed to do? Wrestle her to the floor and demand she be nice?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly what you do.” Remy pointed toward the office suite. “That fifty-year-old woman gave you a healthy baby. You cried at your wedding. Don’t you get it, Calder? If a few moments of embarrassment are all it takes to let your wife know she comes before anything else, what’s the big deal? You knew this person was being a shit. Sometimes being polite makes things worse.”

God. She was right. When something unwanted happened, he should have been a white knight for his beloved Duchess. After all, what did he fucking care what Carter thought?

“Last question and sorry for the bluntness. Are we talking friends with benefits, one-night stand, or something with longevity?”

“Define longevity.”

“Longevity in this instance might include exclusivity and a general assumption of coupledom.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I see.” He didn’t want to answer. Remy glared at him harder with each passing silent second.

“It wasn’t a romance, okay?” He wasn’t thrilled about it and let his attitude speak for itself. “We worked on a project together. She was part of a seven-man team doing a guidance system mockup for NASA. It was friendly sex that looked like coupledom. When the project was over, we went our separate ways.”

“And you never saw her again?”

“I didn’t say that. We have friends in common. I’m not kidding about women being rare in the early Silicon Valley days. She hops continents. We’d run into each other, but that was it. I haven’t laid eyes on her since before Alex’s injury.”

“There’s something in your voice, Calder. What aren’t you saying?”

Conflict welled inside him. What should he do? Confide in Remington or continue to pretend?

“She’s texted. Recently. Twice.”

Remy whistled. The sound cut through him like a knife. “What does she want?”

“Me.”

“She knows you’re married.”

“Yes, and she knows I’m a father.”

“So,” Remy muttered, “she knows and doesn’t care. She’s a poacher, and she’s poaching for fun, isn’t she?”

He gravely nodded. “I’d say that’s a fair appraisal of her motives.”

“Cut her off. Now. Don’t wait. And be blunt about it. Don’t search for the right way. Just get it done and then focus on Stephanie. Don’t fuck around, Calder. This is serious.”

You’re damn right, it was serious.