Her Second-Chance Family. Holly Jacobs

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      “It’s nothing to do with nice. It just seemed silly to make you haul your lawn mower over here every week.”

      “I maintain that you are nice, but I’ll let you keep your illusion that you’re not. And thank you.” She turned and headed toward the front of the house.

      He followed her. The kids were busy loading stuff in the car.

      “And thank you again for giving Willow a chance.”

      Sawyer looked at Audrey. “May I ask why you took in a kid who’s only a dozen years younger than you and has a record?”

      She turned to him and her brown eyes met his. He noticed there were gold flecks in them. “Because no one else would.”

      He waited to see if she was going to add anything else, but it became apparent she wasn’t. “There’s more to it than that. You’re young. Why saddle yourself with three kids?” Throwaways, Willow had said.

      “Because when I was young, I was just like them. Moved from family to family, from home to home, but none of the places I lived was my home—my family. I had two friends back then. They cared. And that made all the difference. I never got a home, but I’ve given those three kids one. It’s not traditional family, and you’re right, I’m young. But no kid in the foster system is looking for a perfect family...they just want someone to belong to. Someplace to call home. I try to do that for these three.”

      “But how did you get started?” he asked.

      “That is a long story.”

      He was about to say he could manage long when she added, “Too long for today.” She looked away from him, her attention back on the kids.

      “Come on, Aud,” Clinton called.

      It took Sawyer a second to realize the boy had called her Aud, not Odd. He might not know Audrey very well yet, but he knew she was odd—in a very good way. Not many people her age took on the responsibility of three kids, one of whom had a checkered past.

      “What time would you like us to come over on Saturday?” Audrey asked as she started toward the car.

      “How about noon?”

      “That sounds great.”

      “Have the kids bring their suits,” he reminded her.

      Audrey nodded. “See you then.” With that, she got in the car with the kids and backed out of his driveway. With other women, even his ex, Millie, he’d had playing it cool down to a science. He did enough, but not too much. He called, but not too often. Now as he stood staring down the road long after she’d disappeared, he realized he was anxious to see Audrey.

      Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

      * * *

      “SO, WHAT DO you think?” Audrey asked Willow as she drove toward home. Bea and Clinton were in the back playing some game on the iPad.

      She was really directing the question to herself. What did she think about Sawyer Williams?

      “About what?” Willow asked.

      “About Sawyer.” He was a handsome man, but that didn’t count much in Audrey’s book. Sure, she noticed, but more than that she’d noticed he was kind. He’d gone out and bought a lawn mower so they wouldn’t have to haul hers back and forth.

      And he’d given Willow a chance. A lot of men wouldn’t have. That was kind.

      She didn’t say any of that. Instead, she said, “I’ve noticed he’s been around on the afternoons you mow.”

      Willow snorted. “Yeah, I think that’s a case of self-preservation. He’s probably afraid I’m going to break in again.”

      “If that was true, I don’t think he’d come down and help you clean up.”

      Audrey was watching the road, but she caught Willow’s shrug.

      “He seems okay for an old guy,” she admitted grudgingly. “And he’s been pretty decent to me, despite the fact I broke into his house.”

      “Not just you. You and someone else.”

      Willow hadn’t ever admitted anyone was with her. But her caseworker said that Sawyer had heard voices. Plural.

      Willow didn’t respond. Not that Audrey expected her to. She kept hoping Willow would confide in her, but she reminded herself that she couldn’t push. “Sawyer’s invited us to his place for a picnic on the Fourth.”

      “I was thinking about going down to the bay to watch fireworks with some friends.” Willow’s tone said more than her words. She didn’t want to spend the day at Sawyer’s. Or maybe she didn’t want to spend the day with Audrey and the kids.

      Or maybe she was a sixteen-year-old who simply wanted to spend time with friends.

      As much as Audrey worried about Willow’s friends, wondering if they were the kids Willow was protecting, she knew she had to trust her.

      Her job as guardian was to give Willow rules and guidelines, and then trust that she would act wisely. Well, as wisely as any sixteen-year-old ever acted. “I think we can manage both. I was planning on all of us driving down to the bayfront for the fireworks. We’re going over to Sawyer’s place around noon, so there will be plenty of time after.”

      She could almost feel the air shift around Willow’s shrug. “Guess you’ve made up your mind.”

      “You can meet up with your friends when we get downtown,” Audrey offered.

      For a moment she thought Willow was going to argue, but instead the girl simply said, “Okay.”

      “Who’re you meeting?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage.

      “Just some friends.”

      Audrey fought back her frustration. Patience, she reminded herself. Time and patience.

      “So we gotta go back there on Saturday?” Clinton asked from the backseat.

      “For a picnic. Sawyer said bring your swimsuits.”

      Bea started shrieking. Audrey glanced back and saw Clinton smile indulgently at Bea. And though Willow didn’t say anything, there was a hint of a smile on her face.

      Audrey had to admit she felt excited about the prospect of seeing Sawyer on Saturday. She tried to tell herself it was merely because the kids would have fun swimming, but she suspected she was lying to herself.

      * * *

      MAGGIE MAY WAS at Audrey’s front door promptly at seven-thirty the next morning. She had on the tie-dyed oven mitts Clinton and Bea had bought her last Christmas. Those mitts gripped a cake tin of cinnamon rolls, Maggie May’s specialty.

      “What’s the occasion?” Audrey asked as she let her in.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ