The Prodigal Comes Home. Kathryn Springer

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      “Thank you.” Zoey dropped an armful of jeans into the box, inwardly chiding herself for not taking the time to retrieve her suitcase from her landlord’s storage unit.

      A pink kneesock decorated with winged musical notes tumbled to the ground, but before Zoey could swoop down and retrieve it, Matt got there first.

      “Here you go.”

      She plucked it from his hand.

      Was there no end to the man’s charity? Zoey wondered.

      There will be. Just wait.

      The thought almost made her drop the Bible she’d wrapped in a stack of T-shirts.

      Matt propped a hip against the side of her car. In spite of his comment that he had to get back to the church for an appointment, he seemed in no hurry to leave. “Liz was happy to see you. I haven’t seen her look so perky in quite a while. A lot of us have been concerned about her. Contracting pneumonia was bad enough, but the complications that kept her in the hospital an extra week took quite a toll on her health.”

      “I didn’t find out that she was in the hospital until yesterday,” Zoey muttered.

      That was her fault, too.

      Her parents had grown accustomed to her avoiding contact with them. They never failed to send a card for her birthday or on holidays, but the majority of communication had been reduced to a few stilted conversations spread out over the year.

      Regret sliced through Zoey. She could have been here sooner. Could have sat next to Gran’s hospital bed, the way Gran had once sat next to hers…

      The memories pressed down on her conscience and she tried to shake them away. The effort drained Zoey’s already-depleted reserve of energy. She picked up a tasseled silk pillow, resisting the urge to bury her face in it.

      “How far did you drive?”

      Here it was. Question Number One. Zoey braced herself for the inquisition.

      “A few hours. I live near Lake Delton.”

      “Wisconsin Dells area?”

      Zoey nodded curtly, wishing he would go away. She swept up the box as he bent down to retrieve it. “I’ve got it.”

      Matt straightened, parking his hands on his hips. Zoey tried not to stare. He’d been attractive in loose-fitting sweats. In faded jeans, a marled blue fisherman’s sweater and hiking boots, he looked more like the cover model for a popular outdoor men’s magazine.

      “Liz is special,” Matt said after a moment. “Everyone loves her. She sort of became my adoptive grandmother when I moved to town…” He paused.

      Here it comes, Zoey thought.

      The Warning.

      You better not take advantage of her a) hospitality, b) generosity, c) kindness. Or d) all of the above.

      “I’m glad you’re here, Zoey. She needs her family.”

      Family.

      The word echoed through the hollow places in Zoey’s heart.

      It was the best…and the worst…thing he could have said.

      What had he said?

      Matt watched myriad emotions skim through Zoey’s expressive eyes, as if he’d skipped a rock across the lake and created ripples across the surface.

      “It looks like she has you, too.” Zoey looked down at the ground. The winter sunlight had gained strength as the morning wore on and brought out a cherry-cola sheen in the tangle of dark curls that skimmed her shoulders.

      “She does.” Matt wondered why Zoey had such a difficult time looking at him. “She has a lot of people who care about her.”

      Zoey slammed the door of the Jeep, triggering an avalanche of rust that rained onto his boots.

      Matt thought he heard her groan.

      “Are you sure you don’t need help with that?”

      “I can manage on my own.”

      Without even trying, he’d managed to insult her again.

      “But…thank you.” Zoey’s voice was so soft, Matt had to strain to hear the words. “I’m glad you’ve been here. To look out for Gran.” Her expression turned wistful as she stared at the house.

      She continued to surprise him. An intriguing mix of toughness and vulnerability. Honesty and secrets.

      “I’m sorry about the carriage house,” he heard himself say. “After the last pastor retired, the congregation voted to sell the parsonage to cut down on costs. Liz mentioned she had a separate apartment and asked if I’d be interested in living there.”

      Matt remembered the conversation as if it had taken place the day before. Liz had not only offered him a place to live, but she’d also informed him that she and Jonathan had always planned to use the extra apartment space as a “blessing” to others and refused to accept any rent.

      “Don’t worry about it.” Zoey’s slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Gran’s right. There’s plenty of room in the house and I’ll be able to hear her if she gets up in the night.”

      “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re there, that’s for sure.”

      “Will you?” she asked evenly.

      For a man who’d frequently been told that he was “eloquent,” Matt didn’t know what to say. It was almost as if she expected him to be suspicious of her.

      “Yes.” Based on what he’d seen so far, it was the truth.

      Zoey took a step back. “I better go inside before Gran decides to put fresh sheets on the bed.”

      “It was nice to meet you. Again.” Matt smiled in a blatant attempt to coax one out of her. Because smiles were supposed to be contagious, weren’t they?

      It didn’t work.

      She pivoted away from him, hugging the box against her chest.

      Matt had the distinct impression that Zoey Decker kept her secrets just as close.

      Zoey collapsed facedown on the comforter covering the canopy bed and immediately sank into a cloud of lavender-scented chiffon. Lace from the pillow sham ticked her nose so she rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Above her head, an uneven constellation of plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars circled the antique light fixture.

      Oh, Gran.

      Zoey wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Although she’d been warned that her old bedroom hadn’t undergone any significant changes, Zoey hadn’t been prepared to open the door and be instantly transported into the past, courtesy of a frothy pink and white time machine.

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