Reunited Hearts. Ruth Herne Logan

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      “Your mother’s right.” Gary opened the folded newspaper, scanned the headlines, muttered something derogatory about politicians and sighed. “You can pay us back later. Or get the money from Trent. He’d probably be happy to shell out for anything to do with football.”

      “I’m not after Trent’s money.”

      “Well if he’s wearing a suit and working for Helen, money won’t be a problem,” Gary noted. “And a man pays for his mistakes in this world.”

      “Jaden isn’t a mistake.”

      “He’s a brother,” Cory announced, her expression proud, her lilting voice sincere. Jaden had proven to be a wonderful big brother, gentle and protective of Cory since her birth.

      Cory’s assertion reminded them of her presence. Alyssa nodded her way, ending the discussion. “Yes, he is, honey.” Straightening, she switched her gaze to Susan. “Are you okay with her while I finish up the painting out back? I should be able to move in soon.”

      “Glad to. And I’m doing the evening shift tonight so you can get things done.”

      “Mom—”

      Susan’s look said arguing was pointless. Alyssa nodded, reading between the lines. She’d seek Trent out tonight, discern his intentions. Her father’s observation had raised a scary but valid point. Trent appeared well-set financially.

      He could bankroll an attorney as a means to an end.

      Destitute, living on the kindness of her parents, Alyssa couldn’t bankroll lunch. And coming off a rough winter with diminished business in their economically challenged county, she knew her parents’ funds were thin. A busy summer season would help, but Alyssa had been raised in the restaurant trade and she understood the debit and credits of a successful business. The Edge needed to bring in either more business annually or pump up their summer trade. But how?

      And what on earth was she going to do about Trent?

      Fear knotted again, mixed with regret. Why hadn’t she taken care of this sooner? Come forward and confessed what she’d done? If she’d met with Trent openly and honestly once he’d graduated from the academy, he’d have been upset but might have understood. At least understood better.

      She’d been such a coward….

      The prayer resurfaced. Dear God… Please… Please.

      Lame, Alyssa. And late, besides. Good try, though. She bit her lip, grabbed an old stained sweatshirt that wouldn’t be wrecked by daubs of paint, kissed Cory’s cheek and headed out the door. “I’ve got my cell phone.”

      Susan’s look encompassed the short distance from the house to the two-story carriage barn at the end of the drive. “Seriously? If I need you, I’ll walk over.”

      That made Alyssa smile. “Good point.” She swept the phone a look as she tucked it into her pocket. “These things get addictive.”

      “Only if you let them.” Susan’s wisdom followed her out the door.

      Alyssa had missed her mother’s gentle, commonsense directives. Her humor, her steadfast belief in right and wrong, good and evil. Somewhere along the way Alyssa had blurred those borders. She’d made mistakes and made excuses.

      Was it too late to begin anew? She hoped not.

      Did that scare her to death?

      Absolutely.

      Chapter Four

      Trent pounded up O’Rourke’s Hill, pushing more than usual, the thick grass beneath his feet God’s carpet, nature’s bounty.

      But no matter how fast or far he ran, thoughts of Alyssa and the boy refused to be laid to rest.

      His son. Half-grown. Looking more like him than he’d have thought humanly possible.

      His heart clenched, or maybe it was his gut. At this pace it was hard to tell, but as he rounded the curve leading down to the motel, he saw Lyssa standing there, the evening breeze pushing her hair back, away from a face he knew as well as he knew his own.

      What a pity that knowledge hadn’t gone more than skin deep.

      Another clench hit, mid-stride. Stronger. Tighter. This time there was no doubt his heart was involved. He slowed his pace as she watched him approach, using the time to rein in his emotions.

      She studied him, eyes narrowed, jaw tight, worry drawing her brow.

      He studied her right back, masking his turmoil. The Army had trained him to show nerves of steel, flat-faced, taciturn. He had no problem employing those tactics now. Drawing near, he noticed little things without shifting his gaze.

      Her hands clutched a worn purse held by a frayed strap across her shoulder. Her shoes matched the purse’s condition, a coat of polish not enough to mask the dull scuffs beneath. She wore thin blue jeans that fit loosely, not as a fashion statement, more like they were the wrong size. Her short-sleeved top wasn’t quite enough for the dropping temperatures, especially in the shadowed overhang. Goose pimples dotted her arms from the elbows down. Right now, after an eight-mile run through the hills, the shadowed cement terrace felt real good to him. He stopped just short of her, eyes locked, noting her rise of apprehension as they came face to face.

      At the last minute she shifted her gaze, avoiding the intensity, a quick breath telegraphing her uneasiness.

      Or guilt.

      Or both.

      She had good reason to feel both and he was disinclined to lighten the moment. “What do you want?”

      She inhaled deeply, then brought her eyes back to his. A fresh round of goose pimples rose on her forearms, a chill coursing her.

      He refused to care. He stood firm, feet braced, shoulders back, chest out. “Well?”

      She mulled him a moment, her expression unreadable, her eyes pensive. “I need to know what you’re going to do.”

      Trent snorted disgust and started to turn. She put a hand to his arm, her fingers soft, the grip tight. “Trent. Please.”

      “Don’t ‘please’ me, Lyssa.” He swung back, shrugged her hand away and leaned forward. “You ran off twelve years ago carrying my child, then hid my son from me for over a decade. There is no excuse for what you’ve done.” He enunciated the last words slowly, pumping their intensity with pointed deliberation, then ran a hand through his hair and tried to rationalize her choices. But he couldn’t. Nothing excused that behavior. Nothing.

      “I know.”

      Her soft voice paused him. His heart clenched again, this time a combination of feelings and memories waging war for top billing.

      He’d loved that voice once. Soft and deep, a little breathless, the raspiness making it stand out. How many times over the years had he turned, hearing a similar voice, his ears drawn to that unique combination of sweet and sensual, memories spiked by the sound of that voice? It was never her.

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