The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(64)

Linc grinned. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re too smart for your own good?”

“You, Daddy. All the time.”

He gently tugged one of her pigtails. He was the only one allowed to touch her hair like that, and it made Mindy’s heart squeeze hard.

“Do you think you can help us keep the secret for your brothers?” Linc asked. “For all the other holidays?”

A frown furrowed Millie’s brow. “For all the other holidays . . . ?” Then her mouth dropped open. “Wait. So the Easter Bunny isn’t real, either?” she wailed. “Or . . . Santa Claus?” Without waiting for an answer, she ran off sobbing to her room, which they knew because she slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows.

“I’ve got this,” Linc said, and went after Millie. When he came back ten minutes later, he shrugged. “She’s okay. But I might’ve bribed her into being okay with the promise of a movie this weekend. With popcorn and soda.”

“Why does everything keep going wrong?” Mindy asked.

“Okay, so that was my bad, and I feel shitty about the way it happened, but it’s not the end of the world. She’d have found out sooner or later anyway, right?”

That it was true only made Mindy ache all the more. She’d lost her sister, and now she was losing her baby. And maybe her marriage. She closed her eyes. “I can’t seem to find my happy, Linc. I know you’re trying, but for the longest time it’s just been me here with the kids, lonely as hell while you worked around the clock. I’ve got all this . . .”

“Resentment?” he asked softly.

She opened her eyes and bit her lower lip as she slowly nodded.

“I’m making changes, Min. I’m doing my best.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She gave him a nod, her gaze locked on his so he could see that she knew he was. “Yes, and you’re not the only one trying to make changes. My happiness can’t be based on you. It’s gotta come from me. I’m working on that, too.”

“Maybe I can help . . .” he murmured, reaching for her. Her heart took a little hopeful leap and she stepped into him, meeting him halfway. Their lips had almost touched when his phone buzzed.

She stilled.

And swore.

“Tell me it’s not work,” she said, fisting her hands in his shirt, her eyes on his mouth, which she wanted on her. “Tell me you’re not on call.”

He looked at his phone screen and grimaced.

“Seriously? You just got home. That means Ethan’s on call, not you.”

“He didn’t answer his phone. One of our patients slipped and fell and broke his hip. I’ve got to meet the ambulance at the hospital.”

A sigh escaped her and she gave him a little nudge that might have been more like a push. “Go.”

“Min—”

“Go.” She gave a small smile at the look of genuine regret on his face. “It’s okay, I get it. I do,” she said, when he didn’t look convinced. “It’s what you do, it’s who you are.”

When he was gone, she stared at her pale reflection in the nightie that she’d hoped would fix things. But she was starting to realize the problem wasn’t Linc at all—it was her.

THE NEXT MORNING, Mindy was sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea, staring at her binder. She was chilly, but the cold felt like it was coming from deep inside her, and she didn’t know how to get warm.

Brooke staggered in the back door and headed right for the coffeepot. Given the untamed hair haloing her face and the camisole and matching teeny pajama boy shorts she was barely wearing, she was clearly right out of bed. She poured coffee into one of Linc’s mugs that read WORLD’S BEST FARTER FATHER.

Mindy didn’t want to be envious of her, but she was. In fact, she was green with it. Even wild, Brooke’s hair was better—shinier, healthier—and her body . . . well, frankly, Mindy would kill for it. Lean, toned, yet curvy in all the right spots, without a spare ounce of fat. And when Brooke grabbed a chocolate chip croissant, made by one of Linc’s patients, from a bag on the counter, Mindy hated her all the more.

“What?” Brooke asked.

“Nothing.”

“Right. Steam’s coming out of your ears for nothing.” Brooke licked chocolate off her thumb.

Mindy felt her blood pressure rising. “You do realize you can’t just parade around in your pj’s like that. Linc’s sleeping on the couch, and Garrett’s in and out of this kitchen all the time, and you’re practically buck-ass naked.”

“Butt-ass naked,” Brooke said.

“What?”

“The saying is ‘butt-ass naked,’ not ‘buck-ass naked.’” Brooke looked down at herself. “And I’m more covered than I would be in a bathing suit. Or the tee and jean shorts I plan on wearing today. It’s going to be hot as hell.”

Mindy shut her binder. “You’re missing my point.”

Brooke reached for a second croissant. “Why is Linc still sleeping on the couch?”

Good question. She had no idea why he hadn’t come to bed when he’d gotten home last night. She hadn’t even heard him arrive. It made her cranky as hell. “Chocolate makes you break out,” she heard herself say, only slightly gratified when Brooke hesitated with a bite halfway to her mouth. “And you used my expensive blender last night and didn’t clean it.”