Neal West, man of the hour and recipient of the most patient boyfriend award, ruffled a passing Henry’s ear with one hand and stroked her hair with the other. How could he be so calm? “We’ll figure it out, Tess. Why don’t I pour us a glass of wine and we’ll talk about it?”

We’ll figure it out. Neal meant it, too. He planned to sit down and draw up a solution as though he were preparing a lecture for his students. Most men would get a bit edgy if their girlfriend delivered a blow and told them she had a sick mother who required specialists, possible chemotherapy, and might be moving in. Not Neal.

“I can’t drink wine right now. What if I get drowsy? I have to keep a level head.”

That made Neal smile. “One glass of wine will not steal your deductive reasoning. I promise.”

His assurance did nothing for her nerves. “And where would she sleep? On the trundle bed? That was one of the most ridiculous purchases I’ve ever made.”

“You love that bed.”

“That’s not the point. It’s totally impractical for a sick woman.”

“Wine, Tess. Now. And a deep breath. No, make that two wines and three deep breaths.”

Maybe he was right, wine and breathing practice might relax her. Lord knew, she needed something. Tess followed Neal’s instructions. She might have advanced degrees in psychology but sometimes knowing too much only made things worse because it made you aware of every possible scenario that could go wrong. It could make a person crazy. And right now, she was well on her way.

The wine did help. So did the breathing. But mostly, it was Neal’s soothing voice stilling her doubts, telling her this might be a sign. For what, she didn’t ask, didn’t need to really, because she knew what he was thinking. Neal took it as a sign that tomorrows were uncertain. They’d been together two years. He’d proposed twice and both times she’d told him she wasn’t ready.

Now, maybe she would be. She sipped her wine. Maybe this was a sign.

“I think you should call your mother and arrange a trip back to Magdalena.”

There it was, the other worry that burned her gut like too much Tabasco. Neal knew Tess’s story, knew how she’d fallen hard and fast for a boy who was searching for love and belonging just as much as she was. And when disaster happened and her whole world ripped apart, Neal knew what she’d done.

And he hadn’t judged her.

“Tess?”

“I heard you.” She settled her gaze on Henry’s black head. He’d travel to Magdalena with her as her talisman. A week, maybe nine days, to convince her mother to get treatment in Richmond. But first, Tess had to get Olivia Carrick to confess her illness.

“My mother prides herself on her toughness. She’ll tell you we would have starved if she’d left the money and the decisions up to our father. Unfortunately, she’s probably right. Dad was always a dreamer, traveling state to state, selling dog food and looking for that elusive something. I don’t think he ever found it. Mom worried he’d die on the road; a semi would broadside him or he’d fall asleep at the wheel. But he died in his own bed while she was at some two-day quilting getaway. I don’t think she ever forgave herself for that.”