Katie stepped aside as the rig rolled to a stop.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Tiffany apologized. Her face was flushed, her gold eyes bright as she climbed out of the Cherokee. “We went to the farm and the kids swam in the lake and . . . Well, we just lost track of time.”

J.D. stretched out of the rig. His grin was wide, a slash of perfect white teeth against a dark complexion.

“Don’t let her kid you,” he said, winking at Katie. “Stephen, Josh and Christina amused themselves and this one”—he slung his arm familiarly over Tiffany’s shoulders—“couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

Tiffany burst out laughing and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Dream on, Santini,” she teased, but she wasn’t able to hide the sparkle in her gaze. She was, without a doubt, totally and gloriously in love.

Katie didn’t feel the least little bit of envy. She believed in love—for other people. It just wasn’t in her cards. “I haven’t been here long and besides, I got to meet your new tenant.”

“Luke? Hmm.” Tiffany frowned slightly. “He keeps to himself most of the time.”

The boys climbed out of the back of the Jeep and Christina, Tiffany’s three-year-old daughter, hopped to the ground. The minute her sandals hit dry grass she ran, black curls bouncing at her shoulders, plump little arms stretched upward to J.D., the man who was her uncle and was about to become her stepfather. “Piggyback ride!”

“Sure, dumpling.” J.D. lifted her to his shoulders. Christina giggled and clung to J.D.’s head and for the first time in a long while, Katie felt a touch of sadness that her son hadn’t yet met his father. In time. All in good time, she, told herself.

“Hey, Mom, what’re you doin’ here?” At ten, Josh had teeth that were still too big for his face, freckles that stood out and huge, deep coffee-brown eyes.

“Picking you up.”

“Already?”

“You’ve got soccer practice.”

“Not until five.”

“He can stay—” Tiffany started to offer but caught the quick shake of Katie’s head.

“Another time.”

“Okay, but at least come into the house for a quick glass of iced tea or lemonade. There’s something I need to talk about.”

“It sounds mysterious,” Katie said.

“Everything sounds mysterious to you. Believe me, this isn’t anything you’ll want to write in the paper.”

“You never know,” she teased. After having grown up in a houseful of older half-brothers Katie was overjoyed to discover she had not one, but two half-sisters. For most of her life she hadn’t known that Tiffany was her sister; it was only after her husband died that Tiffany had decided to move to Bittersweet where her grandmother, Octavia Nesbitt, had spent most of her life.

The boys took off for the house at a dead run and by the time Katie, Tiffany and J.D. had crossed the shaded backyard and climbed the few steps to the back porch, the wail of an electric guitar screamed through the open window of Stephen’s room. “My son, the rock star,” Tiffany said with a laugh.