Brett stroked her hair and rubbed slow circles along her back. For the first time in years, Willow felt safe—cared for…

      But he was only being nice. When she told him the truth about Sam, there was no telling how he’d act. He might hate her.

      “Willow,” Brett said softly. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

      She sucked in a sharp breath and wiped at her eyes. Brett produced a handkerchief and slipped it into her hands. She wiped her face, then looked up into his.

      He had the darkest, most gorgeous green eyes she’d ever seen.

      She wanted to soak in his features, but looking at that handsome, strong face only reminded her of her little boy, who looked so much like him that it hurt.

      He rubbed her arms with his hands. “Willow, talk to me.”

      “I…don’t know where to begin.”

      “You said it was a matter of life and death. I noticed the pickup truck outside and the crunched bike. Is that what this is about?”

      “I wish it was that simple.”