Though Stephen acted as if he’d do just about anything to escape from his uncle’s proposed list of duties, he finished his breakfast, dropped his plate into the sink and followed J.D. outside. Tiffany, still recovering from her son’s interrogation, cleaned the kitchen, then helped Christina take a shower while J.D. and Stephen tackled everything from the gutters to the back porch.

It was almost as if they were a small family.

Be careful, Tiffany, she cautioned herself. That kind of thinking might land you in trouble. Big trouble. J.D. is your brother-in-law. Not your husband!

But Christina didn’t know it. She seemed to be in heaven hanging around outside, a satellite who orbited around her uncle. Stephen, on the other hand, made no bones about the fact that he felt used and overworked. He grumbled continuously as he and J.D. cleaned the gutters and straightened the fence. He complained that he was supposed to meet friends, that his back hurt, that he was tired, but his uncle would have none of it and ran the boy ragged.

They stopped around one for sandwiches and lemonade, then went back to fixing the back porch where it sagged. Meanwhile, with the sound of hammers pounding nails ringing through the house, Tiffany changed the beds, did the laundry and caught up on some neglected paperwork.

Christina had protested vehemently against a nap and was starting to get cranky around three-thirty. By that time, Stephen looked exhausted and J.D. finally released him from his duties.

Stephen was on the phone in a second and had made plans before Tiffany could say anything. “We’re going swimming,” he announced.

“Who?”

“Me and Sam.”

“Sam and I,” she automatically corrected.

Stephen rolled his eyes while Christina chased a grasshopper through the dry lawn.

“Be back by six for dinner,” Tiffany told her son as he grabbed his scarred skateboard and sailed down the sidewalk.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be,” she called after him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said before adjusting his balance and coasting agilely around the corner.

“He’s not such a bad kid.” J.D. said, watching Stephen vanish past a stand of pine trees and draping an arm familiarly over Tiffany’s shoulders. They stood at the edge of her rose garden near one side of the house. Honey bees buzzed around the blooms and their fragrance filled the hot air. Why did it feel so natural for his hand to rest on her shoulder? Why did the scent of his after-shave tickle her nostrils and make her think of tumbling into bed with him?

“Never said he was.” She shrugged and slid away from his touch.

“I was kidding, Tiff. You’ve always stood up for your kids and your family. Even Philip.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”