The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(74)

“Yeah,” his dad said with a sigh. “I came, I saw, and I forgot what I was doing. But mostly, it turns out that once you get in this chair, you’re kinda stuck until someone a few decades younger who still has abdominals can pull you out.”

Garrett strode over there and pulled him up. “Why didn’t you say something? And where are your pants?”

“That’s another funny story. Sort of.” He grimaced. “I forgot ’em. I also forgot why I was coming outside in the first place, so don’t bother asking me.”

“Sorry to intrude.”

They both turned at the sound of Brooke’s voice. She was back, standing at the bottom of the porch steps, barefoot, hair wild around her face, eyes solemn, face pale. In her tiny jean shorts and tank top, she looked like jailbait.

“Brooke.” With huge relief, Garrett took a step toward her, but she shook her head.

“Just forgot my keys.” She moved past him and into the house, coming out not a minute later, keys in hand. Carefully not looking at Garrett, she turned to his dad. “We didn’t get to formally meet. I’m Brooke Lemon.”

His dad smiled at her. “And I’m Gary Montgomery, Garrett’s dad, though not a particularly good one. As you can see, I forgot my pants. Sorry about that.”

Brooke returned his smile. “I’m not a big fan of pants myself. And it’s never too late to learn to be good at something, right?”

She was being effortlessly kind, handling his dad with more care and affection than Garrett had ever managed.

“Are you the one seeing my son?” his dad asked.

Garrett let out a breath. “Ignore him,” he said, and took her hand. “We’re not finished talking.”

She raised a brow at his tone, which, okay, had definitely made that come out sounding like a demand, but it was more desperation than anything else.

“He don’t seem to know much about women,” his dad said to Brooke with a shake of his head. “But that might be my fault. I wasn’t around to teach him anything.”

Garrett shook his head. “Brooke. Can we talk? Please?”

“I’ll just get out of your hair,” his dad said, but then he sort of wobbled and sat back hard into the porch chair.

“Are you dizzy?” Brooke asked immediately, crouching at his dad’s side, her hand on his wrist, checking his pulse. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.” His dad tried to wave her off. “I’m fine. I’m just getting too old for this shit.”

Brooke nodded, but she didn’t budge from his side, her eyes carefully assessing. “Every day I understand that phrase on an even deeper level than I ever have before. Is it too cold out here for you?” She glanced over her shoulder at Garrett with an accusing look, like this was all his fault.

And hell. It actually probably was.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked his dad.

“An hour or so. Garrett went to bed early, and I didn’t want to bother him with the doorbell. Especially once I saw you rush inside.”

Brooke very carefully didn’t look at Garrett. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“You were in a hurry.”

“The bell doesn’t work anyway,” Garrett said.

“Sure it does. I fixed it yesterday.”

Garrett didn’t bother to sigh. “I told you not to worry about working on the house. You don’t have to earn your keep here.”

His dad’s expression was dialed into stubborn, a look that Garrett was startled to realize he recognized all too well—from looking in the mirror.

“I think what your son means to say,” Brooke said, “is thank you for fixing the doorbell.”

“Manners don’t run real strong in the Montgomery family,” his dad said.

“Let’s go,” Garrett said to his dad. “I’ll get you inside, and then . . .” He looked at Brooke. “I’ll be right back.”

He got his dad into bed, complete with extra blankets. But then he wanted a cookie. And then, like the children’s book, a glass of warm milk to go with it. By the time Garrett got back outside, Brooke was long gone.

His phone vibrated with an incoming text. It was from his father from upstairs: She needed a time-out. You’re welcome.





Chapter 18


“I’m prepared to do this slow and easy, or hard and fast. Which is it going to be?”

Mindy lay in her great big huge bed with her cold feet, missing her husband even though he stole her pillow and hogged the blankets. She even missed his snoring.

He was late tonight.

He’d been really working at getting home earlier, taking over the kids’ bedtime regimen, and she’d loved watching him come into his daddy-hood. But she’d been holding back with him, a part of her just waiting for him to revert to his old habits, even as she’d started softening toward the man she still loved more than anything. What was holding her back? Fear. She was afraid that if she gave in, she’d end up right back where she started . . .

Alone and lonely.

Like she was right now . . .

Somehow she fell asleep in spite of herself and woke up to sunshine streaming into the bedroom. She looked at the clock and gasped. Ten thirty! She’d never slept so late in her life. She could hear the kids in the kitchen, and Linc’s low calm voice.