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boy and one girl, she hoped.
“Amy?”
“Last I looked, sulking because someone else already took Boardwalk.”
“Oh, dear.”
He frowned. “Quit worrying about them.”
“But they’re…”
“Your responsibility. I know. But they’re not toddlers.”
“No, they’re teenagers, which is almost worse.”
Why did he look irritated? Was he tired of her fussing?
He picked up the piled towels before she could. “I’ll put these away.”
“I can…”
He ignored her, of course. Frustrated, she watched him limp out of the laundry room, leaving her to the sound of running water in the washer and the spinning dryer. Why did the wretched man have to be so hard to read? And why couldn’t he be, oh, fifty years old, balding and potbellied? Or the wizened old man Dieter had said used to own the lodge?
Fiona sighed and went to see what the kids were up to.
She found them sprawled in chairs and on the floor around a couple of different gameboards. Dieter, Hopper, Tabitha and Amy played Monopoly, Kelli and Troy Chinese checkers. Erin was curled like a cat in an upholstered chair reading. Only Willow was missing.
“Anybody seen Willow?”
They hardly glanced up.
“Nope.”
“Not in a while.”
“Uh-uh.”
Fiona hesitated, hating to look as if she was following John, but finally started up the stairs. He was just closing the door to the linen closet when she reached the top.
“Missing a kid,” she said. “Seen one?”
He shook his head. “Let me know if you need help.”
Fiona glanced in the first bedroom on the girls’ side—beds still unmade, she saw—then knocked on the door to Erin and Willow’s room. “Willow, you in there?”
“Yes.” The voice sounded small.
“I’d better feed the fire.” John passed her, his shoulder brushing hers.
Even that minor, incidental physical contact made her heart jump. Darn it, he was the sexiest man she’d ever met, even with a scar and limp. And she must be feeling a little more vulnerable than usual.
The kids. Think about the kids.
She took a deep breath. “Can I come in?”
“If you want,” Willow agreed.
Fiona pushed open the door. Willow lay on the bed, curled on her side around a pillow she clutched to her middle. Fiona sat on the edge of the bed.
“You okay, kiddo?”
Face wan, she nodded. “I have cramps.”
“Period starting?” Thank heavens for the tampons John had produced yesterday.
“Not yet. But it must be.”
“Have you taken anything?”
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