The back door of the house burst open, then slammed against the side of the house. J.D. hurtled down the steps. His face was a mask of concern and his eyes focused hard on Christina. “What happened?” he demanded, sprinting across the backyard with long, athletic strides. At the sight of J.D., the child brightened visibly.

“A minor catastrophe.” Tiffany was holding her daughter close and Christina, who had been quieting down, started crying hysterically again.

“Is that right? Looks pretty major to me. Come here, dumpling,” he said, prying Christina from her mother’s arms. “Let’s make sure you’re gonna live.”

Christina’s tears stopped and she offered J.D. an impish smile that made Katie think her injuries weren’t quite as painful as she’d let on. But then, she was only three.

“I’ll see you later,” Katie said as Josh climbed into the passenger seat. She waved to the small family as she climbed behind the steering wheel. She tried to start her car. The ignition ground and she pumped the gas before the convertible coughed twice, then sputtered. She swore under her breath and said a quick little prayer. Again she twisted the ignition. With a sound like the crack of a rifle, a spurt of blue smoke shot out of the tailpipe and the engine caught. “Good girl.” Katie patted the dash. At least the darned thing was running. She only hoped that the temperamental car wouldn’t die as she backed out of the drive.

“Can we stop and get a hamburger?” Josh asked. He adjusted his seat belt and leaned his seat into a half-reclining position.

“I suppose. I was planning pasta salad for dinner but”—she glanced his way and saw the expression of distaste on his oversize features—“I guess a bacon cheeseburger and a basket of curly fries sounds better.”

“And a milk shake.”

“Chocolate.”

“Good deal, Mom.” Josh gave her a thumbs-up. “I hate pasta salad.”

“I know,” she said and swallowed a smile as she reached over to rumple his stick-straight hair. Right now, staring out the bug-spattered window, he reminded her of his father; a man she hadn’t seen in eleven years, a man who probably still didn’t know he had a child. Her hands started to sweat against the wheel. For years she’d told herself that Dave didn’t need to know he had a son, that he’d run out on her and left her pregnant without a backward glance, that he didn’t deserve Josh’s attention.

Lately, however, seeing all the mistrust and damage that had occurred because of her own father’s lies, she doubted the wisdom of a hasty, emotional decision made when she was a scared, pregnant teenager. Wouldn’t it be better for Josh to know his dad? To understand where he’d come from?