CHAPTER TWO

      Three years later...

      WALKING THE BROKEN mountain bike uphill would have been a challenge even without her sprained ankle. Billie hoped the owner of Ike’s Bikes had earned his reputation as the guy who could fix anything, because the Cannondale had cost, used, almost as much as her four-cylinder pickup had, new.

      She rolled the bike between two others in the rack—a McLaren Venge, easily eighteen thousand dollars, and the slightly more affordable Scott Spark Limited. After clicking her spokes lock into place, Billie noticed movement on the other side of the shop’s floor-to-ceiling door. The owner of the Venge, she presumed, garbed head to toe in Gucci, just like her ex had worn.

      A tinny bell announced her entrance, and Gucci waved. Billie pretended not to notice by sliding onto a stool at the counter and leafing through a dog-eared copy of Bicycling Magazine.

      “Be right with you,” called a DJ-deep voice from the back room.

      Billie tensed. If the shop’s regulars dressed like Gucci, could she afford to have Ike repair the Cannondale?

      Another customer—a guy in threadbare jeans and a paint-spattered T-shirt—appeared from the back room, nodding a cordial hello to her, then Gucci, as he left the shop.

      “Been riding long?” Gucci asked her.

      “Not really.”

      And though she hadn’t encouraged conversation, he launched into the story of how his first bike had been a Cannondale. A great way to break into the sport, he said, without breaking the bank. But Billie barely heard him because she was too busy remembering how she’d come into possession of hers: her obstetrician had recommended mountain biking as a great way to get back into shape, physically and emotionally, after Billie’s baby was stillborn. Dr. Ryan had recently upgraded to a SuperSix, and made her a deal on the Cannondale she hadn’t been able to refuse.

      Gucci pointed. “So what happened to the ankle?”

      “Tripped.” He didn’t need to know that she’d taken a curve too fast and skidded off the trail on Pennsylvania’s Highland Plateau.

      “Name’s Jeff, by the way.” He took a step closer, stuck out his right hand. “Jeff Graham.”

      “Billie,” she said, shaking it. “Nice to meet you.” She wasn’t pleased to meet him, because his looks reminded her too much of her ex-husband, and triggered memories of the ugliness that had begun once he’d discovered her antibiotics had canceled out her birth control. Chuck had used the surprise pregnancy as an excuse to come clean about everything he’d been up to, including his affair with Amber. She hadn’t been his first dalliance, and probably wouldn’t be his last, but she’d do for now, because he didn’t want kids, and neither did she. As if the awful truth hadn’t hurt enough, he had accused Billie of getting pregnant on purpose, to trap him into staying.

      “So I noticed you walked your bike here.” Jeff nodded toward the rack out front. “You must live nearby.”

      She shook off the bad memory. “Couple of blocks.”

      “I live in Oella,” he said, pointing east. “Rehabbed a hundred-year-old row house.”

      He wasn’t guilty of anything, really, just making polite conversation, like any normal person. It wasn’t his fault that she hadn’t felt normal since Chuck had told her he was leaving, and that he refused to have anything to do with their child. Would he have stayed if he’d known the baby would die, even before she was born? Friends and family said they understood how losing her husband and child in the same calendar year could break her spirit. But that had been two whole years ago, they said; she’d healed physically, and it was long past time to get over it psychologically. Besides, what chance did she have of finding love or having another baby if she judged every man by Chuck’s callous behavior?

      Get over it, indeed. If they saw the way she reacted to baby food commercials, kids in playgrounds and moms pushing their babies in strollers, they’d know Billie felt anything but strong. At least, not strong enough to survive loss like that again.

      “Took years,” Jeff was saying, “but the place looks pretty good now, if I do say so myself.”

      She met his eyes, and decided it wouldn’t kill her to at least be civil. “Sounds like a lot of work. And expense.”

      “I’ll say! My wife thought I’d never finish. But I gave her my word that I’d be done before the baby was born. And I did. Now I’m working on an addition for the new baby.”

      Being sociable hadn’t killed her, but now she was stuck passing time with this Jeff person, the total opposite of Chuck: married, with two children, and happy about it. Billie groaned inwardly, hoping he wouldn’t whip out his wallet and show her a bunch of home-and-family photos.

      She caught sight of herself in the big mirror behind the counter. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that its purpose was to make the narrow shop appear wider. Too bad it couldn’t give the illusion that she was something other than an ill-tempered, self-centered—

      A small girl skipped out of the back room, singing “What a Wonderful World,” as her shoulder-length ponytails bounced in sync with her stuffed bunny’s floppy ears. When she spotted Jeff, she lit up as if Santa himself stood before her.

      “Mr. Jeff!”

      Hoisting her in his arms, he said, “How are you today?”

      “Happy to see you.” She looked behind him. “Where’s baby Jeff?”

      “Home with his mom. Nap time, y’know?”

      “Now that I’m seven, Daddy says I don’t have to take naps.”

      The baby Billie lost had been a girl....

      Jeff put the child down as she reported, “Daddy said to tell you it’ll take at least another hour before he can start on your bike. He’s having troubles with that other one.”

      “No problem. Tell him I’ll come back this afternoon.”

      As she ran off to deliver the message, Jeff shook his head. “She’s a handful, that one. I’d invite her to my place, give her dad a break from the constant noise and motion, but he won’t let her out of his sight.” He glanced toward the back room. “My wife took it personally at first, and to be honest, so did I. Took us a while, but eventually we figured out that some single dads never trust anyone.”

      Billie had come here to drop off her broken bike, not to make friends or speculate about the shop owner’s parenting and social skills.

      The child returned to say, “If you’re not in a hurry, Daddy wants to know if tomorrow morning would be okay with you.”

      Jeff patted the top of her head. “That’s more than okay. In fact, it’s better than okay. Looks like I’ll see you in the morning, Alyssa m’dear.”

      Billie blinked back tears. The name on her daughter’s angel-adorned tombstone