shook his head, and his eyes flashed with emotion. "People shouldn't be alone when they're upset. If I were her brother, I wouldn't care what she'd said in a note. I'd want to see her. Make sure she was okay."
Clayton sighed, torn between following the other man's advice and honoring his sister's wish. Finally, Nick's advice, sound and heartfelt, won the tug-of-war.
And the key to finding Molly was right there, in those short shorts and the little white tank top that revealed a tanned midriff and the tiny waist that his hands had spanned last night when he'd held her close. When he'd kissed her.
"Thank you, Abby, for helping me clean up the mess." Mrs. Hild said.
Abby held tight to the other woman's hand, helping her up from her lawn. Eight years ago she'd thought the woman too old to spend so much time playing in the dirt. Now she understood. Mrs. Hild's roses were like the children she'd never had. "I'm sorry."
"It was those crazy Hendrix boys, not you."
"This time," Abby agreed. "But I've been responsible for tearing up your yard before."
"A long time ago," Mrs. Hild said, "and you always helped me clean up after."
Because Mrs. Hild had insisted she'd press charges if Abby didn't. And so she'd learned her gardening skills from the woman.
"I shouldn't have held you responsible," Mrs. Hild admitted. "Like Mary McClintock reminded me after you left, you didn't have an easy childhood."
She hadn't really had a childhood at all, except when she'd been over at the McClintocks'. "That's no excuse."
"Ah, honey." Mrs. Hild squeezed Abby's hand. "Come inside for some coffee."
Caffeine was the last thing she needed, especially after last night and Clayton's kiss. His kiss had wound her up more than a double espresso. After talking to her friends, she'd left the crowded reception hall for the security of Mrs. Mick's Dutch Colonial, using it as a refuge just as she had when she was a kid.
Apparently, she'd worried for nothing about anyone having witnessed the kiss. Mrs. Hild hadn't mentioned it, and she was the biggest busybody in Cloverville.
"I'd love to have coffee with you," Abby admitted, still stunned at the woman's change of attitude. But her attitude change wasn't nearly as surprising as Clayton's. He'd gone from hating her to kissing her? "I'll have to join you another time, though. I want to finish my run before Lara wakes up."
"She's a beautiful little girl," the older woman said, squeezing Abby's hand again. "And so well-behaved."
"Yes, she is." Abby's heart expanded, filling with pride. "I'm so lucky."
"You're not lucky," Mrs. Hild protested. "You're a good mother."
"I'd like to take the credit, but I had a lot of help."
"Not from your family," Mrs. Hild surmised.
"No." Abby hadn't seen her mother since she'd left Cloverville, and her father had stopped coming home long before that. After Abby had run away, she'd heard her mother had, too, with a married bartender.
"Lara had a wonderful nanny. Miss Ramsey—a retired schoolteacher." And the woman had mothered Abby as much as she had Lara. "But recently she had to retire from babysitting to take care of her ailing mother in Florida. So she had to leave Chicago."
"You should, too," Mrs. Hild advised, still holding tight to Abby's hand. "You should come home, where family can help you raise your daughter."
"I don't have any family here," Abby reminded the woman. Maybe her memory had begun to slip.
"Honey, everyone in Cloverville is family." Despite her age, Mrs. Hild was strong enough to pull Abby into a tight embrace. "You shouldn't have stayed away so long."
Abby blinked hard, fighting back the mist of tears that was threatening to blind her. "I didn't think I'd be welcome," she murmured, ducking her head beneath the wide brim of Mrs. Hild's flower-trimmed straw hat.
"You didn't stick around long enough for tempers to cool and for everyone to settle down. No one was as upset about what happened to the colonel as they were about Mr. McClintock.
Clayton sighed, torn between following the other man's advice and honoring his sister's wish. Finally, Nick's advice, sound and heartfelt, won the tug-of-war.
And the key to finding Molly was right there, in those short shorts and the little white tank top that revealed a tanned midriff and the tiny waist that his hands had spanned last night when he'd held her close. When he'd kissed her.
"Thank you, Abby, for helping me clean up the mess." Mrs. Hild said.
Abby held tight to the other woman's hand, helping her up from her lawn. Eight years ago she'd thought the woman too old to spend so much time playing in the dirt. Now she understood. Mrs. Hild's roses were like the children she'd never had. "I'm sorry."
"It was those crazy Hendrix boys, not you."
"This time," Abby agreed. "But I've been responsible for tearing up your yard before."
"A long time ago," Mrs. Hild said, "and you always helped me clean up after."
Because Mrs. Hild had insisted she'd press charges if Abby didn't. And so she'd learned her gardening skills from the woman.
"I shouldn't have held you responsible," Mrs. Hild admitted. "Like Mary McClintock reminded me after you left, you didn't have an easy childhood."
She hadn't really had a childhood at all, except when she'd been over at the McClintocks'. "That's no excuse."
"Ah, honey." Mrs. Hild squeezed Abby's hand. "Come inside for some coffee."
Caffeine was the last thing she needed, especially after last night and Clayton's kiss. His kiss had wound her up more than a double espresso. After talking to her friends, she'd left the crowded reception hall for the security of Mrs. Mick's Dutch Colonial, using it as a refuge just as she had when she was a kid.
Apparently, she'd worried for nothing about anyone having witnessed the kiss. Mrs. Hild hadn't mentioned it, and she was the biggest busybody in Cloverville.
"I'd love to have coffee with you," Abby admitted, still stunned at the woman's change of attitude. But her attitude change wasn't nearly as surprising as Clayton's. He'd gone from hating her to kissing her? "I'll have to join you another time, though. I want to finish my run before Lara wakes up."
"She's a beautiful little girl," the older woman said, squeezing Abby's hand again. "And so well-behaved."
"Yes, she is." Abby's heart expanded, filling with pride. "I'm so lucky."
"You're not lucky," Mrs. Hild protested. "You're a good mother."
"I'd like to take the credit, but I had a lot of help."
"Not from your family," Mrs. Hild surmised.
"No." Abby hadn't seen her mother since she'd left Cloverville, and her father had stopped coming home long before that. After Abby had run away, she'd heard her mother had, too, with a married bartender.
"Lara had a wonderful nanny. Miss Ramsey—a retired schoolteacher." And the woman had mothered Abby as much as she had Lara. "But recently she had to retire from babysitting to take care of her ailing mother in Florida. So she had to leave Chicago."
"You should, too," Mrs. Hild advised, still holding tight to Abby's hand. "You should come home, where family can help you raise your daughter."
"I don't have any family here," Abby reminded the woman. Maybe her memory had begun to slip.
"Honey, everyone in Cloverville is family." Despite her age, Mrs. Hild was strong enough to pull Abby into a tight embrace. "You shouldn't have stayed away so long."
Abby blinked hard, fighting back the mist of tears that was threatening to blind her. "I didn't think I'd be welcome," she murmured, ducking her head beneath the wide brim of Mrs. Hild's flower-trimmed straw hat.
"You didn't stick around long enough for tempers to cool and for everyone to settle down. No one was as upset about what happened to the colonel as they were about Mr. McClintock.
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