Whatever the reason, she found herself spilling the whole—albeit abridged—story once he climbed into the driver’s seat. “My mom and I moved in here when I was a baby, so I grew up in this house. After he died…” The word still stuck in her throat. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d called him her favorite, even though he’d died when she was just a little kid. “After he died, Mom got the house, and we stayed here, even after she married again…twice.”

John made a thoughtful sound as he backed out of the driveway, his headlights reflecting off the somewhat battered garage door. Now that they were talking about how she and her sisters didn’t really fit in the neighborhood, the differences were more obvious, even under the cover of night. Despite her best efforts to keep up with repairs and maintenance, their house looked shabby and tired next to its polished and perfect neighbors. No wonder everyone in the area—from Mr. P and the Villaneaus to the owner of the hunting resort—had tried to buy it from them.

“I’m surprised Jane didn’t sell it,” John said. He winced slightly afterward, shooting her a sideways look as if checking to see if his comment had offended her.

Molly huffed a short laugh. There wasn’t anything negative he could say about Jane that one or all of her daughters hadn’t at least thought. “Me too. She did get a reverse mortgage on it and stopped making the payments, so it was really close to foreclosure. The bank would have it right now if I hadn’t taken over paying the bills.”

Again, he glanced at her quickly. “How old were you?”

“Too young.” The topic was depressing her and making her anxious at the same time, so she decided to change the subject. “What’s the plan at Dutch’s?”

“Plan?” He went with the abrupt switch in topics smoothly, and she appreciated his tact—or his short attention span. Either way, she breathed a relieved sigh and settled back in her seat as he pulled up to a red stoplight. “We need a plan?”

“Of course we need a plan.” She frowned at his profile. “Several plans, if possible.”

“Huh.” He rubbed his jaw, the rasping sound of the heel of his hand against day-old beard stubble making her shiver. She wasn’t sure if she liked the sound or not. It made her feel overly sensitive, like his rough cheek was brushing the delicate skin over her spine. The mental image immediately sent heat to her face and other places, and she tore her gaze away from him, focusing grimly at the now-green stoplight. “Why?” he asked as he accelerated. She liked how he drove, competent but not cocky, assertive but safe.

“Why? Because we need one! What do you do?” The heat in her cheeks began to gradually subside, although she still didn’t want to risk looking directly at him. He’s like an eclipse, she decided. It was utterly tempting to stare at him, but it was equally dangerous. Carefully keeping her gaze directed through the windshield, she tried to ignore the urge to watch him. “If you don’t have a plan, do you just run in there willy-nilly and hope things work out?”