Annie and Hollis ran alongside Callie, who wobbled at first but soon found her center. Five minutes later, Callie announced she was fine on her own and Annie stood back with Hollis while Callie carefully rode the bike in a circle around the big parking lot.

“I can’t believe how big she seems now,” Annie murmured.

“I know. I was just thinking about how small she was when I delivered her.”

Annie caught her breath. Whenever memories of that night caught her unawares, she remembered pain and fear and the hands of strangers. A face came into focus, surrounded by bright lights that hurt her eyes, distorted by the red haze of agony. Hollis’s face. Hollis’s voice. Trust me.

She had no memory of the operating room or Callie’s first breath, her first cry, her first instinctive drive to suckle, but she hadn’t been alone as she had always believed. Hollis had been there. Hollis had been the first one to hold her child. And now Hollis was here, coming dangerously close to the places she protected with all her will. Still, she wanted a piece of that memory. “Was she beautiful?”

“Gorgeous,” Hollis murmured, watching Callie as she laughed and steered in a big, almost-steady circle. “She had a full head of hair, I remember—red-gold wisps of fire—and she was strong, Annie, like you. Perfect.” She looked at Annie. “I’m sorry you didn’t see her in those first moments.”

Annie shook her head. “It’s okay. I have her. I’ll have her every day for the rest of my life.” She touched Hollis’s wrist—a brush of thanks. “You were there. You took care of us both. I should have thanked you the second I saw you again.”

“No need—”

“Thank you, Hollis, for my daughter.”

Hollis swallowed. “You’re welcome.”

Annie smiled, feeling sad but somehow right. A circle had been closed, a chapter finally completed. It was time to let go, and maybe it had taken knowing Hollis for that to happen.

“Mommy,” Callie said breathlessly, barreling down on them. “Can I have—”

“Brakes, Cal,” Hollis called and caught the handlebars before Callie mowed Annie down.

“Oops,” Callie said, working the brake to stop the bike. “I’ll remember next time. Mommy, can I have this one?”

“Looks like it’s yours already.” Annie nodded to the clerk. “Go ahead and write it up.”

Annie paid, and Hollis helped her load the bike into the back of her Volvo. “Thanks.” Callie climbed in and Annie closed the door.

Hollis slipped an arm around her waist. “Six o’clock okay?”

Annie took a breath. “I’m going to pass on dinner tonight, Hollis. I’d rather be free if my patient goes into active labor.”

Hollis regarded her through appraising eyes. “What happened?”

“What? Noth—”

“Annie,” Hollis said softly.

“I’m sorry.” Annie brushed away a strand of hair the wind blew into her eyes. Hollis deserved better. “You’ve been wonderful and I owe you so much.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Hollis’s voice was still calm but her eyes had grown wintery.

“I do, of course I do.”

“I don’t want your gratitude.” Hollis swept a hand down Annie’s arm. “I know you feel it—the connection. I know you know I want you.”

Annie glanced into the car. Callie was engrossed in one of the children’s books Annie always kept in the console for emergency entertainment. What did she feel? Hollis stirred a great many things she had never expected and wasn’t at all sure she wanted, but one thing was certain—the desolation of finding herself utterly alone was something she never wanted to revisit. She took a breath. “Hollis, we’re already friends. Callie is fond of you.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Hollis frowned. “That Callie will get caught in the middle somehow?”

“Partly, yes. But I’ve never—” Annie sighed, knowing she was blushing. “Casual relationships just aren’t my style.”

“What makes you think I want a casual relationship?”

Hollis’s fingers drifted up and down Annie’s back, and the touch was like a live wire coiling beneath her skin. Annie tightened, want flooding through her. No, she wouldn’t be able to do casual with Hollis. “I’m not in the market for anything else.”

“I’m not Jeff, Annie.” Hollis’s voice was chillingly flat. She pulled keys from her pocket and bounced them once in her hand, searching Annie’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Annie whispered. She couldn’t take the chance of losing herself again. She just couldn’t.

Hollis’s eyes shuttered closed. “Someday you’re going to have to trust your feelings.”

Annie hurried around to the other side of the car, wincing when she heard Hollis roar out of the parking lot and into the street. She didn’t look after her, couldn’t watch her leave.

Trust her feelings? No, better not to have them at all.

Chapter Twenty-five

“Thanks,” Hollis said, accepting the cup of coffee Honor handed to her. She settled into the curve of the wooden deck chair on the back porch next to Quinn. She’d almost canceled the dinner invitation when she’d gotten home from the bike shop, still reeling from Annie’s rejection. The day had been so goddamned perfect she’d been blindsided. She’d let down her guard and she’d paid for it. She had good reasons for not letting people get close to her, and Annie had proved her right. Opening herself up, letting herself care, was an invitation to be hurt, and when the people she loved inevitably disappeared from her life, she bled. Annie had made her forget about her vow not to bleed again. Annie, with her warm touch and knowing eyes. Annie, together with Callie’s infectious joy and innocent excitement, had cracked open the shell surrounding her heart and teased her with the promise of happiness. She hadn’t been looking for happiness, she’d been content with the life she had. She ought to thank Annie for the reminder. Maybe she would, when the pain dulled and she could think rationally again.

“You two want some pie?” Honor asked.

“No, thanks,” Hollis said, forcing herself to stay in the moment. “Dinner was so good I didn’t leave any room.”

The raucous evening with Honor and Quinn and their kids, and Linda and Robin and theirs, had helped keep her mind off Annie. Linda and Robin had already left, Arly had taken Jack over to their grandmother’s next door, and the quiet left in their wake was soothing if a little hollow. Damn it—she missed Annie and Callie. God, it hurt.

Quinn looked over her shoulder at Honor. “Need help in there?”

“No,” Honor said, brushing her fingers over the back of Quinn’s head. “There’s not much to do. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Sounds like you and Arly have been doing some pretty serious cycling,” Hollis said to Quinn. Night was coming on quickly, and the backyard was a mass of shifting shadows as the moon rose over the large maple trees.

“Pretty serious for me,” Quinn said. “Arly’s the natural. She never gets tired. I’m going to have to work some to keep up with her on a ninety-mile haul.”

Quinn didn’t sound like she minded the challenge.

“I thought I’d ride in it too,” Hollis said. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything of that distance, though.”

“We’ve still got a couple of months to put in some hours. How much do you usually ride?” Quinn asked.

“Twenty miles or so, four or five times a week.”

Quinn snorted. “Sounds like you’ll be fine, then. I’m lucky if I can get out three times a week. But Arly’s got her heart set on this ride, so I’m going to make it, no matter what I have to do.”

Hollis cradled her coffee cup in both hands, remembering the glint in Arly’s eyes and the excitement in her voice when she’d explained over dinner how Quinn was training with her so they could ride in the Ride for Life together. Arly’s enthusiasm reminded her of Callie’s earlier in the day, when she’d picked out her bike and climbed on for the first time. Hollis envied Quinn that bond.

“You’re welcome to ride with us, if you want,” Quinn said. “Give me a little more incentive to keep up.”

“Doubt you’ll have any problem,” Hollis said. Quinn might not be a seasoned cyclist but she looked to be in great shape. She coached a couple of soccer teams—she had to be. “But if you’re looking for another team rider, I’d like that. I know you don’t know me, but I’ve been riding all my life. If you want me to take Arly out when you can’t make it, I’d be happy to do that.”

“Hell, Hollis,” Quinn said. “Arly’s twelve, and a smart, responsible rider. I’d be fine with her going out with you.”

“Thanks. How is she with early-morning rides?”

The screen door opened and closed behind them, and Honor sat down on the far side of Quinn. “I caught the tail end of that. Arly is a doctor’s daughter.” She smiled at Quinn and took her hand. “Two doctors. She’s used to getting up early.”

“She ought to be back from her grandmother’s soon,” Quinn said. “You can talk to her about your schedule then.”

“Okay,” Hollis said.

“In fact,” Quinn said, rising, “it’s time to put Jack to bed.” She leaned down and kissed Honor. “Relax—you worked hard doing dinner. My turn.”

Honor stroked Quinn’s arm. “See you soon.”

When Quinn disappeared down the stairs and across the yard toward the adjoining twin, Honor moved over into Quinn’s chair, her own cup of coffee in hand. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me too. Thanks for asking me.” Hollis looked out over the yard, took in the picnic table, the climbing set, the barbecue. Signs of a full life. “You’ve got a great family.”

“Thanks.” After a moment, Honor said quietly, “How are you?”

Hollis’s immediate reaction was to say fine, but Honor had offered her friendship, had opened her home to her, had shared her family with her. She didn’t have to pretend with her. “I’m not really sure. I’m trying to figure out what to do about a woman who says she’s not interested.”

Honor laughed softly. “Is that a rare occurrence?”

Hollis laughed too, Honor’s gentle teasing making it easier for her to talk. “Actually, I don’t really know. I don’t usually get into situations like that with women. Most of my relationships are kind of casual friendships. Nothing that requires any negotiating. But—” She stopped, wanting to protect Annie’s privacy.

“But this isn’t like that,” Honor finished for her.

“Exactly. She says she doesn’t want a relationship, but how can she know if she won’t even try?”

“Do you? Want a relationship, I mean.”

“Not long ago I would’ve said no.” Hollis sighed and tilted her head back, watching clouds sluice across the surface of the moon, glowing silver around the edges as they trapped the moonbeams inside. “Now I think—I’m not sure what I think. I just think I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Well, I’m not exactly a relationship expert—considering I’ve only had two serious relationships in my life—but I’m guessing you wouldn’t be so interested if you didn’t feel something coming back from her.”

“I told her to trust what she feels today, but I think what that really means is trust me. And she doesn’t.”

“Maybe given some time, she will.”

“Maybe.” Hollis sighed. “And maybe she’s right to back off.”

Honor squeezed Hollis’s knee briefly. “I can’t imagine waiting is easy—it wasn’t for me and I thought I wanted to get away.”

“Sorry to dump all this on you,” Hollis said, feeling foolish. She didn’t get hung up on women. Especially not women who walked out on her. “Probably smartest of me to let it go. Sometimes it’s better not to rock the boat.”

“Sometimes you’re right—and sometimes the boat needs rocking. I guess what really matters is that you can tell the difference.”

“I think this time the decision’s been made for me.”

*

The baby arrived at five fifty-nine Sunday morning with barely a fuss. She was, her father declared, as calm and quiet as her brother had been noisy. By seven, Annie was on her way to Suzanne’s to pick up Callie. She hadn’t slept, and she was exhausted in body and soul. The usual post-delivery exhilaration had faded quickly in the face of her thoughts of how she’d left things with Hollis. She’d made the right decision, she was certain of it, but she hadn’t expected the aftermath to hurt so much. The icy pain in Hollis’s eyes when she’d walked away had haunted her all night. Now all she wanted was to collect her daughter, get some sleep, and forget the ache that accompanied every breath.

She parked in front of the white clapboard twin, climbed the wooden steps to the porch, and rang the doorbell. A minute later Suzanne, a small curvy blonde, opened the door. “Hi. How did it go?”

“Wonderful. Healthy baby girl. Once Pam’s labor got going, it didn’t take her long.” Annie rolled her shoulders but couldn’t dispel the tightness. “I didn’t wake everyone up, did I?”