The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(9)

But the helo crash had changed everything she thought she knew about herself, and now, even seven years later, she still didn’t know who she was.

She unlocked the front door with Maddox in one arm and Mason in the other, meanwhile nudging Millie along with a knee—seriously, why did people have three kids when they had only two hands?

In the foyer, one wall was lined with tools and a stack of tarps. Linc and Mindy appeared to be in the midst of a remodel, which turned out to be a blessing. With everything looking so completely different, she didn’t drown in memories. A bonus. Boosted by that, she got everyone inside, and Mindy was right—it did stink in here. “What’s that?”

“Smells like one of Mad Dog’s diapers,” Millie said, wrinkling her nose.

Sure enough, the trash hadn’t been taken out. Brooke handled that pronto and then gathered everyone in the kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” Princess Millie announced.

“Me, too,” Mason said.

“You only said that because I said it,” Millie said. “You’re a copycat.”

“But I am hungry,” Mason said.

Maddox barked, whether to say he was hungry or in agreement that Mason was a copycat, Brooke had no idea. She went through the kitchen and knew she’d have to go to the store first thing in the morning. If she’d been home, she’d just order groceries online and have them delivered same day. But when she brought up a food delivery app, she discovered Wildstone hadn’t joined the digital age. There was no same-day delivery. There was no delivery service at all. In the freezer, she found some gluten-free, dairy-free mac and cheese that sounded . . . not promising. But there were also chicken hot dogs. So she panfried those, nuked the mac and cheese, chopped up some broccoli, and tossed it all together.

“Momma says the mac and cheese is for emergencies only,” Millie said. “Our plates are supposed to have at least three colors. Mostly we have to eat stuff that comes from the ground.”

“Tonight’s orange and brown!” Mason said cheerfully, and licked his plate clean.

“And green,” Brooke said. “That’s three.”

Millie held up her hands and walked to the sink to wash them for the hundredth time that day. She carefully dried off, then stared at them. “My skin’s ircated.”

“Irritated. And maybe you could try and skip a few washings.”

“Can’t.”

Brooke nodded. She got it. She pulled a hand lotion from her backpack and set it on the counter. “Use this after you wash. It’ll help.”

She then unpacked the kids and ran laundry with everyone underfoot, making her realize she hadn’t had a second alone to herself, not even to pee. Apparently privacy went the way of the dodo bird when you were a mom. She texted Mindy to check in and then ignored her sister’s million subsequent texts attempting to micromanage from LA.

She was really starting to understand Linc’s single-check-intext-a-day rule.

At some point, Maddox had stripped and was running around with his biscuits hanging out. Mason was trying on Millie’s clean clothes, and since this didn’t seem to upset Millie in the least, Brooke let him be. When she got down to the socks in the clean laundry basket, she whistled for everyone to gather round. “We’re going to play the sock game. Whoever matches the most pairs wins and gets to pick tonight’s movie.”

“Don’t let Millie win,” Mason whined, wearing a sunshine-yellow sundress and black tube socks. “She’ll pick a princess movie!”

“The princess movies are all broken,” Brooke said, and was surprised when everyone accepted this as gospel. Hey, she thought, maybe this isn’t so hard . . .

BUT BY BEDTIME, Brooke was stick-a-fork-in-her done. She got the kids into their beds and watched Maddox fall asleep on his back, arms and legs flung out, blissfully peaceful.

“Don’t grow up,” she whispered, and stroked his hair from his face. “It’s a trap.”

She wandered the house. Her childhood bedroom was now Millie’s. The master bedroom suite was available, but that didn’t feel right. So instead of going to sleep, she got herself a big, fat bowl of the ice cream she’d found in the freezer and stepped out onto the back porch.

The silence was the first thing to strike her. She’d forgotten the quiet of Wildstone. No highway noise, no trucks, no temper-driven honking from drivers stuck in traffic, no city lights . . . nothing but the sound of the night breeze in the oak trees, the singing crickets, the faraway sound of a coyote howl, and . . . a meow.

She straightened and strained to hear it again. When it came, she left the porch and followed the sound across the yard, passing the homemade Slip ’N Slide, to the house next door. For her entire childhood, the neighboring property had belonged to a wonderful woman she’d known only as Ann, who’d been a foster parent to so many kids over the years that Brooke had lost count.

She ended up on Ann’s back deck, where she was pretty sure the soft, hungry, sad-sounding meow had come from. “Hello?” she called softly. “Are you hurt?”

“Meow.” The cat that came out from beneath the porch was black as night, except for four white paws, and massive. With a welcoming chirp, she trotted toward Brooke, belly swinging to and fro with every step.

“Aw.” She bent down as the cat wrapped around her ankles. “Are you scared? Have you been abandoned? Are you hungry?”