His attention wavered. He’d just gotten used to the idea of pie. He wasn’t certain about the sharing part at all.

“Can’t you, Buddy?” Debbie was persistent.

He caved in. “Lily named her baby, Charles Morgan Longren. I think I’ll call him Charlie.”

Debbie and Morgan stared at each other, trying to make sense of what Buddy had just said. They knew the baby had been named for both grandfathers. What it had to do with cherry pies was beyond either of them.

“That’s a good idea, son,” Morgan said as Buddy wandered away. And then he turned and fixed Debbie with a hard, warning look. “If you and Cole have a child like Buddy, I may disown the both of you.”

She blushed. First at the thought of having Cole’s child, and then at the thought that Morgan knew it might be possible. That meant he knew, or suspected, what had happened between them.

“Don’t,” Morgan said, instantly sorry for what he’d inadvertently implied. “I’m sorry. I’m just an old man meddling into other people’s—”

“You’re not old, and you don’t meddle.” She laughed. “And I’ve got to go make a pie.”

She disappeared into the kitchen. Morgan saw the shadows in her eyes. He knew she masked her apprehension behind teasing and laughter. And he suspected that his son was dragging his feet about commitments. He sighed. I’m too old for this nonsense, he thought. And Cole is a bigger fool than I’d ever imagined if he lets this one get away.

*  *  *

A smaller version of Rick Garza met them at the door wearing the latest in Batman gear and sporting a Superman cape. Debbie smiled. This kid was hedging his bets. If one superhero failed him, he had another on which to fall back.

“Hi, Uncle Cole. Who’s that?” He pointed at Debbie and blew a bubble that popped across his nose and chin.

“That’s my girl,” Cole answered, and grinned as the small child made a gagging noise and fell to the floor in an exaggerated fit of disgust.

“Yuck,” Enrique said, his dark eyes flashing with merriment. He heard his mother coming and rolled to his feet as she came dashing into the room.

“Enrique! Your manners.” Rick’s wife, Tina, made a flying leap for her child and frowned as he ducked her grab and swooped away down the hall shrieking the theme from Batman.

“I’m sorry,” Tina Garza said. “Seven is a difficult age.” And then she grinned. “Six wasn’t any better and neither was five or…” she shrugged. “You get the picture. Come in. You must be Debbie.”

Debbie nodded and walked into a house warm with laughter and love, smothered in jalapeños and cheeses. The aroma of something delicious and Mexican drifted across her path.