Which meant he would be too frazzled to worry about arguing with her—or lecturing her about going off on her own that morning.

Which she’d had a right to do, she reminded herself. More, she’d had an obligation. But she just didn’t have the time or inclination to get into all that tonight.

So, Simon would wear him out, he’d go on home, and she’d have a quiet evening to finish her work and plan her strategy for the next few days.

Plus, she decided as she walked back to the sewing machine, she might just get the slipcovers knocked out.

She listened to their voices, the odd harmony of man and boy, then set up for the next running seam. One of them would shout for her when they hit impasse.

She heard laughter—maniacal on Simon’s part, and smirked. Figuring her time was going to be very limited, she concentrated on the task at hand.

She lost track of time, and didn’t surface until she realized just how quiet her house had become. No raised voices, no barking dog.

Concerned, she pushed away from the machine and hurried to the bathroom across the hall. It appeared that a very wild, very wet war had been waged. Towels were sopping up some of the water on the floor, and there was a skim of froth in the tub, telling her Simon had opted for bubbles along with the convoy of plastic vehicles and army of plastic men scattered in the tub.

Bradley’s suit jacket hung on the hook on the back of the door. Absently, she took it off, smoothing the bump the hook had put in the collar.

Armani, she noted when she glanced at the label. That was surely a first. Italian designs didn’t generally hang on her bathroom hook.

Carrying it with her, she walked toward Simon’s room. She could hear him reading—his voice taking on that weight it did when he was sleepy.

Careful to be quiet, she peeked in the door. Then simply stood, staring, with the suit jacket clutched to her heart.

Her son was in bed, on the top bunk. He wore his Harry Potter pajamas, and his hair was shiny from its shampooing.

Moe was stretched out on the bottom bunk, his head on the pillow, and already snoring.

And the man whose jacket she held was up in the bunk with her boy, his back braced against the wall, his eyes—like Simon’s—on the book.

Simon was nuzzled up against him, his head resting on Brad’s shoulder while he read Captain Underpants out loud.

Her heart simply fell. She didn’t try to stop it, wasn’t capable of launching any sort of defense. In that single moment, she loved both of them with everything she had.

Whatever happened tomorrow, she would always have this picture of them in her mind. And so, she knew, would Simon. For that single moment, she owed Bradley Vane more than she could ever pay.

Not wanting to disturb them, she eased back and slipped quietly down to the kitchen.

She put on coffee, got cookies out of the jar. If he was going to yell at her, they might as well be civilized about it. When they were finished, and she was alone, she would try to think clearly once more. She would try to figure out what loving Bradley meant.

Because she was listening for him, she heard him come down the little hall. She reached for the pot to keep her hands busy, and was pouring the coffee when he came in.

“He give you much trouble?”

“Not especially. You finish the sewing?”

“Close enough.” She turned to offer him the mug, and her heart bobbled again. He was barefoot, with the sleeves of his beautiful blue shirt rolled to his elbows. The cuffs of his pants were damp.

“I know you’re angry with me, and I guess you think you’ve got some reasons to be. I was going to be angry back, and say all these things about running my own life and doing what I promised to do.”

She ran her hand over the shoulders of the jacket, which she’d draped on the back of a chair. “Since I’ve been thinking about it for a while, I had some pretty good stuff to say. But I just don’t feel like saying it now. So I wish you weren’t angry.”

“I wish I wasn’t either.” He glanced at the table. “So, are we going to sit down and argue over coffee and cookies?”

“I don’t think I can argue with you, Bradley, not after you put my boy to bed that way.” Emotion swamped her. “But I’ll listen while you yell at me.”

“You sure know how to punch the stuffing out of a good fight.” He sat, waited for her to sit across from him. “Let me see your arms.”

Saying nothing, she pushed up the sleeves of her sweatshirt to reveal the cuts and scratches. When the silence dragged out, she tugged them down again.

“It was just briars, that’s all,” she said quickly. “I’ve had worse from gardening in my own yard.”

She stopped, struck to silence by the cold glint in his eyes when they shifted to her face. “It could have been worse. A hell of a lot worse. You were alone, for Christ’s sake. What possessed you to go driving off to West Virginia and tromping around the woods by yourself?”

“I grew up there, Bradley. I grew up in those woods. It’s not wilderness once you cross the Pennsylvania border.” To give herself something to do, she lit the three-wick candle she’d made for the kitchen table, one that smelled of blueberries. “My mother lives there in the trailer court beside those woods. Simon was very likely conceived in those woods.”

“You want to go visit your mother or your childhood stomping grounds, that’s fine. But these are not normal circumstances. You didn’t say a thing to me about going there this morning.”

“I know I didn’t. If I had, you’d have wanted to go with me, and I didn’t want you to. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, but I wanted to go on my own. I needed to.”

He swallowed the resentment, though it scorched his throat. “You didn’t let Dana or Malory know where you would be either. You took off without telling anyone, and you were attacked.”

“It didn’t occur to me to tell anyone. That makes you mad,” she said with a nod. “You’ll just have to be mad, then. I made an agreement. I gave my word, and I’m trying to do what I promised to do, and you can’t sit there and tell me you wouldn’t do the same. Going back there this morning was part of that. I think I was supposed to go. I think I needed to.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. I’ve got some pride and some shame along with the rest of it. I’m entitled to what I feel, Bradley. Do you think I wanted to take you along, in your Armani suit, to that broken-down trailer?”