He glanced toward the house and the kitchen, where her kids were lurking near the open door. He nodded. “Thanks for the offer,” he said. “Another time, maybe. Thanks.” Then he went through the screen door and Tiffany didn’t know whether to be relieved that he was gone or insulted that he hadn’t accepted her invitation. It had been her way of offering an olive branch, a way to bridge the gap that had been forever between them.

Not forever, she reminded herself. There had been a time when she’d been close to her brother-in-law. Too close. She swallowed hard and let out her breath as she watched him walk through the kitchen and press a shoulder against the swinging door to the hallway. She wondered if his limp was permanent but decided it didn’t matter. Any way you looked at it, J.D. Santini was a very sexy man. Just the kind of man she didn’t need around here.

“J.D.’s a jerk,” Stephen said as she returned to the house and set the empty saucepan in the sink.

“Let’s not tell him, okay?” Tiffany flipped on the faucet and rinsed the small pot.

“Why not?”

“’Cause it’s not nice,” Christina said with a knowing nod that caused her curls to bounce precociously.

“Big deal. I thought we were always supposed to tell the truth.”

Tiffany placed a bowl of pasta salad on the table, zapped some leftover garlic bread in the microwave and decided to ignore her son’s need to vent some of his anger. How could she defend J.D.? The man was an enigma and someone she was certain would only cause her trouble.

She poured the kids each a glass of milk and hesitated, thinking she might have a small glass of wine, then discarded the idea. As long as J.D. was living here, she would need a clear head.

Who knew really why he was in Bittersweet? Judging from past experience, she realized she couldn’t trust him.

J.D. was and always had been dangerous. If she were smart, she’d stay as far away from him as possible.

Even if he was living in her house.

* * *

The kid was already in trouble with the law.

“Hell.” J.D. sat on the edge of his new bed and ignored the mental image that leveled a guilty finger in his direction. It wasn’t his fault that Stephen had decided to rebel. What thirteen-year-old wouldn’t? Stephen had lost his father, been uprooted and moved to a new town, and become the man of the family all in one fell swoop.

It was too much for any boy. No wonder the kid was full of piss and vinegar.