Chapter Four

      A few days later, Ryder’s words were still playing through Lindsay’s mind. That was what she wanted, too, wasn’t it? For Ryder to prove himself. Not to her, because this couldn’t be about her and it certainly couldn’t be about that something she’d felt when he stood so close to her in grandmother’s living room. No, this had to be about Ryder proving he could be someone Robbie could trust, someone he could count on.

      Even if their relationship would be a long-distance one, even if—heaven help her—that relationship would be limited to a few weeks over summer vacation, spring break, and joint custody for every other holiday, Lindsay couldn’t deny that Robbie needed a father in his life.

      And Ryder deserved a chance to show her that he could be that father.

      Which was why she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. “Stop it!” she hissed at her own reflection. “This isn’t a date.”

      Despite the warning, Lindsay’s pulse jumped at every sound coming from downstairs, though so far she heard nothing more than her gran making breakfast. She’d go down to help but only after getting dressed and making sure every strand of hair was perfectly in place. Ryder Kincaid was not catching her with her beagle slippers on again.

      As promised, he’d left her with a list of references as well as his initial quote once Lindsay showed him the work that needed to be done. She cringed when she thought of all the additional problems Ryder had found. She’d called around checking those references, relieved to have found names on the list she didn’t recognize. Word would get out soon enough that she had hired Pirelli Construction, but Lindsay wasn’t looking forward to explaining.

      Another point for life in Phoenix, where she didn’t have to explain. Where people accepted that she was a single mom and rarely bothered to ask questions that couldn’t be waved away with nothing more than a simple “it was a long time ago” response.

      Even Robbie had stopped asking questions about who his father was...

      Underneath Lindsay’s relief, though, was a niggling concern. Shouldn’t her son be more curious? Years ago, she had explained that his father was an old friend from Clearville who wasn’t a part of their lives. But Robbie had always been an inquisitive kid, the type to keep asking “why?” long after Lindsay had run out of answers.

      At an age when Lindsay had braced herself for more questions, Robbie remained silent. Of course, he had plenty of classmates with divorced parents or who lived in single-parent homes. Maybe Robbie had simply accepted that it was just the two of them.

      But as Lindsay skipped down the stairs, a low masculine murmur reminded her that it wasn’t just the two of them. At least not right now. How had she missed Ryder’s arrival? Easily enough, she figured, deciding her grandmother had probably told him to let himself in. No need to knock and who bothered to lock their doors in little ol’ Clearville?

      Chalk it up to living in Phoenix too long, but she was adding installing a dead bolt to Ryder’s list of things to do.

      “And see here?” Ellie was asking. “My Robert installed these lovely wall sconces. Sometimes you have to jiggle them a bit before they work...”

      Oh, shoot. She’d wanted the chance to warn Ryder that the “shoddy craftsmanship” another contractor had kept pointing out to her over and over had been done by her grandfather. It would break her grandmother’s heart to hear the work her grandfather had taken such pride in described that way.

      Ryder and Ellie were standing beneath the somewhat gaudy gilded and glass lamps—her gran in a pair of sea-foam-green capris and a beige T-shirt with floral appliqués across the front, Ryder towering over her in jeans and a navy T-shirt. Lindsay swallowed hard, her plan to interrupt their conversation stalling as the words—and her very breath—lodged in her throat at the sight of him.

      He’d braced his hands above the tool belt hanging low on his lean hips, the muscles in his arms flexed beneath tanned skin. The masculine stance emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, flat stomach and long legs. His posture spoke of confidence—maybe even a bit of cockiness—and Lindsay waited, dreading the moment when he would say—

      “I can see by all the work your husband did around here that he must have loved this place very much.”

      Lindsay sucked in a soft breath even as unexpected tears stung her eyes. She would have instructed Ryder not to say anything about the workmanship, but the words he’d chosen were far better than a telling silence. He’d been completely honest and yet, at the same time, had managed not to criticize her grandfather.

      Lindsay didn’t know if he’d heard the sound she’d made, but he glanced over his shoulder. He shot her a quick, conspiratorial wink as if the two of them were in this together. Both of them out to preserve the wonderful old Victorian as well as her grandfather’s memory. The press of tears gathered behind her eyes along with a pressure in her chest, and Lindsay sucked in a deep breath before all that emotion could build up into a soft sob.

      Together. Working as a team. She...and Ryder.

      It was almost overwhelming, and Lindsay steeled herself against the weakness. A split-second shared moment wasn’t enough to close a ten-year gap or give her insight into the man Ryder was now. And it certainly wasn’t enough of a foundation to build a father-son relationship on.