Family Ties. Bonnie K. Winn
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be the children. Cindy intended to delay her return to Rosewood. She wouldn’t abandon her sister’s children. She owed it to Julia and even Flynn’s resistance wouldn’t stop her. She knew, however, it was only temporary. She couldn’t hope to be included where she wasn’t wanted. But in the meantime she would shower the girls with love…and pray they wouldn’t forget her.
Chapter One
Rosewood, Texas
One year later
Driving slowly, Flynn Mallory surveyed the main street of the small Hill Country town he’d chosen to call home, a hamlet far different from Houston. And incredibly far from the only roots he’d ever known. He and Julia had never visited Rosewood. Cindy had made the infrequent trips to Houston, saying she could combine business with pleasure. It had suited Flynn. It wasn’t easy to travel with the triplets and he’d felt no need to survey Rosewood until now.
But Rosewood offered what his daughters really wanted—their aunt Cindy. For the millionth time, Flynn regretted the loss of his family…his entire family. There was no loving family member to turn to. No one who could offer help or advice. No Mallory grandparent, aunt or uncle who could help the girls know they were loved. Cindy wouldn’t have been his choice if he’d had anyone else to turn to. But his relatives were all dead and Cindy was the only member left of Julia’s family. Cindy was irresponsible and fun loving, but he could provide the stability his children needed. They could visit with Cindy once a week and get the emotional bonding they craved while he ensured a secure environment.
For a moment Flynn thought he’d taken a wrong turn. The eclectic, charming neighborhood was old and well-worn, the yards filled with ancient oaks and carefully pruned rose gardens.
Expecting a sleekly modern condo, Flynn looked for a place where he could turn his vehicle around. But then he spotted Cindy’s address. There was no mistake. The numbers sat atop a nameplate of swirling letters that spelled out Thompson. But he still wasn’t reassured. The softly faded old Victorian house didn’t fit his image of Cindy.
Climbing out of his SUV, Flynn strolled up the red brick sidewalk. A magnificent aged magnolia tree perfumed the air, its dark glossy leaves looking as though they’d been polished by hand. Flynn knew the slow-growing tree had to be at least one hundred years old. But the house looked that and then some.
Unable to stop staring, he climbed the steps to the wraparound porch. Flynn reached for a doorbell and found an old brass knocker instead. He glanced upward at the gently curving eaves, pounding a bit more loudly than he intended. And within seconds the door whipped open. A disheveled, startled-looking Cindy stared at him.
Since she looked flustered, he offered a smile. “I did call.”
Cindy pushed at a lock of flame-colored hair framing her forehead. Then she pulled back the door, opening it wider, looking surprisingly flushed. “Of course. I’m sorry. I got caught up in some painting and lost track of time.” She held up a brush covered in bright yellow paint, then glanced down at her paint-splattered overalls. “Give me just a minute to wash my hands.” She gestured past the foyer to an inviting room. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Not surprised that the irresponsible Cindy was off schedule, Flynn nodded, walked in, then went down the single wooden step into the parlor.
It was the only word to describe the room. A huge, leaded-glass bay window kept the old-fashioned room bright. The whimsical furniture was as intriguing as it was impractical. Delicate needlepoint chairs that didn’t look as though they could support real humans were drawn up to a table set with translucent cups and saucers, a matching bone-china teapot, and bite-size sandwiches.
Raising his eyebrows, he noted that a fainting couch replaced a more conventional sofa. Nothing about Cindy’s house met his expectations.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gliding into the room, sounding a bit breathless. “I promised my friend Katherine I’d have the bookcases for the Sunday school rooms painted this week. There didn’t seem to be so many when I volunteered,” she ended with a smile.
He shrugged, knowing little about Sunday school and its expectations. He’d been a boy when he’d last attended church. And that was a lifetime ago.
She moved toward the prepared table with a teapot. “It’s hot.” She gestured to the thick fabric covering the pot. “The cozy keeps it warm. Tea?”
“It’s not necessary.”
Cindy kept her smile in place. “Perhaps not, but it’s very civil.”
He relented, realizing she was being gracious and he was being ungrateful. There had been little time in the last year for niceties. Every available moment had been spent chasing the triplets and trying to decide whether he was making the right decision in moving to Rosewood. It wasn’t Cindy’s fault that he was feeling so pressed. She was simply trying to help. He forced himself to relax. “My appointment with the Realtor isn’t for another hour.”
Cindy poured the tea and handed Flynn a cup. “So you’re still certain you want to move here?”
Awkwardly he balanced the small, fragile cup, not ready to admit his apprehension. “I’m ready for a change of scenery. Everywhere I look or go, I’m reminded of Julia.” He caught her questioning gaze. “Not that I don’t want to remember…”
“I understand. But won’t you have to face it sometime?”
He frowned. “I’ve faced her death, the fact that I have to go on alone. But the girls need a change.” Unwilling to share how upsetting this was with her, he switched subjects. “And I couldn’t take looking for another baby-sitter.”
She offered him the sandwich platter. “That bad?”
He took a few of the crustless diamond-shaped snacks, his hands seeming unusually large and clumsy amidst the fragile delicacies. “Worse. I wanted to be sure that whoever was taking care of the girls was responsible.”
She drew her brows together, a shadow eclipsing the bright curiosity in her eyes. “That didn’t work?”
He paused for a moment, examining the odd little sprouts that edged the filling of the delicate sandwich. “Depends on your point of view. The first baby-sitter, Mrs. Sanders, took charge immediately. I imagine there were POW camps run with more humor. Even I was tiptoeing around the woman. I didn’t want the girls growing up believing they had to snap to attention in their own home.”
Cindy laughed. “Surely there was a compromise.”
“I hired former schoolteachers, and even a registered nurse.”
“Weren’t they better than the commandant?”
“Somewhat. But the truth is no professional caretaker’s going to love the girls and care for them like someone in the family would.”
Cindy’s fingers tightened around the handle of her teacup and she paused for a moment before she spoke. “You’re right, of course. But aren’t you worried about uprooting the girls?”
“From preschool?” Flynn shook his head, knowing it wasn’t the girls who would be uprooted. “They’re young enough to adjust to a move. More so than to the loss of their mother. The only reason I’m considering relocating is because of them.” Even if it meant reconnecting with a woman he considered best forgotten. “Everything I do is in their best interest.”
“I know it is, Flynn,” she responded, her gaze resting on him intently. “I’m just trying to be a good sounding board. This is a big step, and Julia’s only been gone for a year.”
“True. But I didn’t just wake up one morning with a wild hair. I’m able to provide almost every monetary need my children have, but I can’t produce a family I don’t have.”
Cindy nodded, knowing he, too, was the last member of his family. “I may be one of the few people in the world who can understand that.” It had been a devastating blow for Cindy to lose Julia since