Because of this, she started talking as soon as he circled the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. “She put the house up as collateral.”

He shot her a quick but penetrating glance, and she wasn’t sure whether that look meant he was surprised by the news or already knew and was just checking to see how she was taking it. Knowing John, it was the latter.

“It’s my fault.” The words started tumbling out more quickly, the relief of talking about it making her spill what she probably should’ve kept to herself. “I should’ve pushed Mom to transfer the title over to us rather than taking the drama-free route of just paying it off while it was still under her name. I never thought she’d yank it out from under us like this.”

As she heard her words out loud, she realized how silly and naive she had been. Why had she assumed that Jane wouldn’t grab any and all assets she could? When had her mom ever kept her sticky, greedy fingers off any source of money, no matter how sacred? If she hadn’t cared if her kids had enough to eat or heat in the winter when they were small, why would she care if those same kids were suddenly homeless as adults?

“None of this is your fault,” John said, sounding so sure that what he was saying was the absolute truth. The utter confidence of his words untied a sticky knot in Molly’s chest, and her tight shoulders relaxed a fraction. “This is all on your mom.”

“I was stupid,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to deal with a huge fight, so I put all of us in this situation. We could lose our house because I was too big of a weenis to insist she sign it over when we paid it off.”

He made a sound somewhere between a cough and a choke. “Weenis?”

Molly gave him a stern look, trying very hard not to be charmed by the way his suppressed smile dug vertical grooves into his cheeks. “Focus, Carmondy. We’re not twelve.”

His expression turned offended, although amusement still lurked under the surface. “I’m not the one who said ‘weenis.’”

Flipping her hand in a dismissive gesture, she resisted the urge to engage in an off-track conversation about nonsexist synonyms for wimp. She needed to concentrate on the issue of Barney’s hold on their lives. She dug her cell phone from her pocket. “Whatever. I need to call Jeremy Tremaine.”

Instantly, all humor was gone from John’s expression, his face all hard angles and sharp glares. The change startled Molly enough that she almost dropped her phone before she reminded herself that it was just John. “Why?” he barked, making her stare at his etched profile.

“Because he’ll know if Barney really can take our house before Mom’s first court date if it looks like she’s taken off.” The words came out sounding more tentative than she would’ve liked, and she straightened her shoulders, refusing to let John intimidate her, even if he suddenly looked like an angry gargoyle. A hot angry gargoyle. She shifted in her seat, not liking her body’s reaction to this oddly stern version of her usually easygoing rival.