Sammie held up a pair of soft fleece pants. Pale blue, with fluffy white lambs printed on them. "Clare, sweetie. These are your favorite pajamas. Don't you want to wear them?"

"No." Clare shook her head, giggled, then dashed to the other side of the small bed.

"Come on, Boo. You need to put your jammies on."

"No!" Another shake of her head, this one strong enough to send the young girl's hair flying around her face. Sammie gritted her teeth and thought about lunging over the bed. With anyone else, the move would work—but not with Clare. The little girl would simply make another mad dash, probably between Sammie's legs before running for the door.

"Get over here. Now."

"No! No no no no." The small grin that had been on her daughter's face a few seconds ago disappeared and was promptly replaced by a frown. Wide hazel eyes narrowed in displeasure and pale pink lips pursed in determination.

Two could play that game.

Sammie balled the pajamas in her hand and placed both fists on her hips. She schooled her face into a mask of authority and stared her daughter in the eye. "Young lady, do not tell me no. I said get over here. Now."

Clare hesitated and looked away for a brief second, her gaze darting to the door behind Sammie—no doubt trying to figure out if she could escape.

"Don't even think about it. Now get over here and let me help with your jammies."

"Don't wanna."

Sammie almost asked her why she didn't want to, then changed her mind. Did she really want to set herself up for failure by arguing with a three-year-old? No, she didn't. She needed to set the boundaries, now, or Clare would continue to push.

And when had that had even happened? Until a week ago, her daughter had been happy. Smiling. Always willing to do what was asked of her. And then—boom. Just like that, almost overnight, her sweet, innocent little girl had turned into a stubborn little monster.

And they said the twos were terrible. Just proved they—whoever they were—had no idea what they were talking about.

"If you don't get over here right now and get these jammies on, I—" Sammie paused, trying to think of a punishment that would suit the crime. "I won't read you a bedtime story."

Tears filled Clare's eyes and her lower lip started trembling. "Don't wanna."

"Boo. Sweetie. Come on. Just put your jammies on and I'll read you a story and then you can go to sleep. Okay?"

The tears disappeared from her daughter's eyes and that stubborn look settled over her flushed face once more. "No! No no no."

"That's it. Don't even think about it. I told you—"

"Clare. Do as your mother says. Now."

Sammie turned at the sound of the voice behind her, unsure if she should be grateful or annoyed.

Her mother stood in the doorway, slim arms crossed in front of her, her narrow face schooled into a mask of authority. Her dark eyes, so much like Sammie's, twinkled with amusement, though. Sammie knew she was trying to be helpful, and most of the time she appreciated it. Now wasn't one of those times. Whatever stage Clare was going through, she needed to learn that her mother—that Sammie—was the one who set the boundaries. It was hard enough to do that when Clare spent most of her days with her grandmother. It really wouldn't happen if Sammie's mom kept intervening when Sammie was here.

"Mom, please. I've got this."

Margaret Warner shifted her gaze from Clare to Sammie, understanding flashing through her eyes. She pulled in a hasty breath and nodded, then continued down the hall. Sammie heard her footsteps on the stairs, listened as the sound drifted away as her mother walked through the house toward the family room.

Should Sammie feel guilty?

Yes.

No.

No, she shouldn't. She and her parents had reached an agreement before Sammie moved back in with them, and this situation fell under that agreement. But it would be so easy to let her mom handle this. To fall back into the role of the child herself instead of the parent. To let her parents take care of not only Clare but her as well. She absolutely could not let that happen.

She turned back to face her daughter. "Clare Margaret Reigler. Get over here right now and get these jammies on."

Sammie held her breath, waiting to see if Clare would listen or if she would throw a full-blown tantrum. Long seconds ticked by before Clare finally heaved a long-suffering sigh and made her way across the room, each step slow and heavy, as if she was walking toward certain doom.

Sammie bit back her smile then pulled Clare into her arms and carried her to the bed. Several minutes later, her daughter was dressed in her pajamas and snuggled against Sammie's side as she read her a bedtime story. And not long after that, Clare's small body relaxed, the sounds of her breathing deep and even.

Sammie closed the book and placed it on the white nightstand, then gently eased away from Clare and tucked the covers around her. So peaceful, so serene.

Sammie's heart grew in her chest, threatening to explode with the love she had for her daughter. Clare was everything to her. Her reason for breathing. Her reason for living. She was…everything.

And God, she was getting so big. Growing up every single day. Sammie reached out and smoothed the curls from Clare's face then brushed her knuckles against the soft skin of her sleep-flushed face. It wasn't quite as round as it had been, even a few short months ago. Her little girl was growing up, becoming her own little person.

Sammie blinked against the tears burning her eyes then eased away from the bed, her steps soft so she wouldn't disturb Clare. She palmed the light switch, throwing the room into shadowy darkness broken only by the small nightlight in the corner, then pulled the door closed behind her.

Her parents looked up when she entered the family room a few minutes later. Her mother sat in the corner of the overstuffed sofa, legs curled under her, her finger holding the spot in the book she was reading. Her mother was so much like Sammie in build and looks, with dark curly hair threaded through with fine strands of silver hair, barely noticeable among the highlights she'd added a few weeks ago.

Her father was in his usual spot in the recliner, the open paper spread across his lap ignored in favor of the television. Sammie glanced at the flat screen television mounted on the wall, not surprised to see that some war documentary was flashing across the screen. He reached for the remote and nudged the volume down.

"Did you get her all settled in?"

"Yes, finally." Sammie flopped onto the loveseat with a sigh and a small smile. "She's really starting to become a handful, testing those boundaries."

"Just like you did when you were her age."

Sammie glanced at her mom and frowned. "Me? You said I was a happy, quiet baby."

"Baby, yes. Toddler…" Her mom's voice trailed off as she shared a conspiratorial look with her father. "Maybe not so much."

"Don't worry. Clare will outgrow it just like you did. It's just a stage."

"I know. I just didn't expect her to flip the switch so quick, you know?" Sammie leaned to the side and grabbed her e-reader from the end table, but instead of turning it on, she just sat there, staring at nothing.

"Everything okay, Sam?"

"Hm?" She looked up and noticed her father watching her, his brow creased in a small frown. Which meant absolutely nothing, because her father always looked like that, like he was trying to figure out the solution to some puzzle only he could see. Her mom always laughed and teased him about it, then told everyone it came from living in a house full of women.

Her father shifted his bulk in the chair as he carefully folded the newspaper, making sure each crease was crisp and perfect. "You just looked like you were in deep thought."

"No, just zoning, I guess. Reviewing my schedule for this week. Wondering what I was forgetting to do. Things like that."

"Anything on the schedule other than the usual?"

"No. Work. Practice Tuesday and Thursday. Game on Saturday." Should she tell them about the interview she was supposed to be doing with one of the local papers Tuesday night? No, they'd only ask a million different questions and make a big deal out of it. At least, a bigger deal.

Sammie was going to be interviewed about playing on the team, about how important it was to be playing for the Blades and how she juggled the team, working full-time, and being a single parent. She was nervous enough about it, worried that she'd say all the wrong things. Having her mom and dad ask about it would only make it worse.

"At home? Maybe we can bring Clare since we had to miss it yesterday."

Sammie frowned, trying to figure out what she missed. Oh, that's right. They were talking about the game this weekend. "Yes, home. We're playing Philly."

"Maybe we should go, take Clare—"

"Thanks, Dad, but don't worry about it. She's got her heart set on going to that matinee you promised to take her to." Just one more thing Sammie seemed to be missing out on lately. "That would make for a really long day. For all of you, but especially for Clare."

"And what about you? All your days are pretty long, it seems. How are you holding up?"

"Fine. Everything's fine." So what if she was tired? This was still new to her, juggling work and hockey and weekend schedules. She'd get used to it.

"Are you sure you don't want us to bring Clare next weekend? I just hate that we had to miss the game yesterday."

"It's not a big deal. Honest."

"It is to us. We're proud of you. We want you to know that."

"I do know." Sammie swallowed against the lump growing in her throat and offered her dad a small smile. What was with her today? She wasn't usually this emotional, not really. Maybe she was just overly tired. Maybe she should go upstairs and go to sleep instead of sitting down here to read.

"How's your jaw feeling?"

"Better." And it was—for the most part. As long as she was careful and didn't chew on her right side, or accidentally hit it somehow, she barely noticed it. At least, until she looked in the mirror. Then she couldn't help but notice it, not when it was a slightly-swollen purple blotch that stood out against her fair complexion.

That didn't mean she had any intention of hiding it with makeup or anything. She was proud of the bruise, proud of how she'd gotten it. It made her feel like a professional athlete, wearing a badge of honor.

"If you need more ice, let me know. I made sure there were extra cold packs in the freezer."

"I'm fine. Really." Sammie placed her e-reader back in its normal spot then pushed to her feet. "I think I'm going to head up. Maybe get an extra hour of sleep."

"Already?" Her mother glanced at her watch then looked back at Sammie. "It's not even seven-thirty yet. Are you sure everything's okay?"

"I'm positive, Mom. It's just been a long weekend." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother's cheek, then did the same to her dad as she passed. She didn't miss the concerned looks they exchanged, or her mother's quiet murmur of worried words as she left the room.

Sammie wanted to reassure them again that nothing was wrong. That she was simply tired. And that was the truth. A little more tired than usual, maybe, but nothing to worry about. It was just the frantic schedule. Teaching every day then hurrying to practice twice a week for several hours to prepare for the weekend game—all while making sure she carved out enough precious time for Clare.

At least being busy made sure she didn't have time to think about how lonely she was. About how lonely she'd been for the last two years.

Yeah, she definitely needed some extra sleep. A good night's sleep would help with all these ridiculous, morose thoughts she'd been having lately.

Sammie had just placed her foot on the bottom step to head upstairs when she heard the knock on the front door. Hesitant at first, like whoever was there was afraid of disturbing the household. Then louder, a little more determined somehow.

Knock. Knock knock. Knock.

Sammie glanced at her watch and frowned, wondering who might be stopping in for a visit at this hour on a Sunday night. They didn't have any close neighbors, not up here in the mostly rural area of the north county.

Sammie backtracked to the front door, curiosity eating at her. Maybe a stranded motorist had somehow found their long drive. Or maybe it really was one of the neighbors, stopping by to borrow something or see her dad for some reason. He was retired from his veterinary practice now, but he still offered help if any of their neighbors needed it for any of their animals.

She turned the knob then tugged on the door, a small smile of greeting on her face. The smile faltered then quickly died as the blood froze in her veins. Her lungs seized, forcing the air from her chest, making it impossible for her to breathe. The sounds of a million crickets filled her ears, obscuring all other sounds. No, not crickets. Bees. Wasps. Loud and buzzing, dangerous, the sound growing louder with each passing second as she stood there, her fingers curled in a death grip around the edge of the door.

It couldn't be. She was hallucinating. Seeing things. She was caught in a nightmare. All she had to do was force herself to wake up, and this would all be over.

But she wasn't in a nightmare. At least, not a sleeping one. And instead of waking up, Sammie was very much afraid she was close to passing out. She tightened her grip on the door, using it to prop herself up as she stared at the man in front of her through the haze of gray filling her vision.

Jon.