Hannah would have rolled her eyes if movement of her eyeballs didn’t hurt. “You’re still talking about me as if I’m not here.”

Both men ignored her.

Royce said, “Yes, discharge papers are on the way. She tried to refuse admittance.”

The men exchanged an Of course she did look.

“I just want to go home, Grant,” she said, embarrassed at the pitiful tone of her voice. “My injuries are minor.” Really, she was achy and bruised, but Royce’s worries seemed overboard. The doctor hadn’t seemed nearly as concerned.

He squeezed her hand. “OK.”

Royce turned to Hannah. “I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

After a long flight and drive, Hannah’s sore muscles and bruises had stiffened. Grant led her inside the fixer-upper he and his surely soon-to-be fiancée, Ellie, had bought over the summer. Hannah limped into the house. Baby gates blocked off the dining and living rooms on either side of the foyer. Though Halloween had passed more than a week ago, three paper bats hung from the foyer light fixture.

Barking, AnnaBelle the golden retriever barreled down the hall. Grant stopped the dog with one hand. “Whoa.”

“She’s fine.” Hannah scratched behind the silky ears. “Good girl.”

Hannah vaguely registered a gated-off room full of building and painting supplies.

“Aunt Hannah!” Carson ran down the stairs in race-car pajamas. He threw his arms around her waist and buried his face in her sweater. “I missed you.”

Her bruised tailbone protested as she stooped to hug him. She held him close, the contact with his small body—and giant affection—softening her like butter left in the sun. “I missed you, too. It’s so late. What are you doing up?”

“I heard AnnaBelle bark, and I knew you were here.” He rubbed his sleepy eyes.

An earsplitting scream rattled the walls.

“And the baby who never sleeps wants her hug.” Ellie appeared at the end of the hall. In her robe and slippers, she looked ragged. “You might want to change first.”

“How long has she been up?” Grant asked.

“Half hour,” Ellie said. “I gave her some Tylenol.”

Stretching her grubby hands toward Hannah, Faith tottered down the hall.

“Oh, my God. She’s walking.” With one arm around Carson, Hannah reached for the baby. “What is that on her hands?”

Carson eased away. “Ew.”

“Looks like dog food.” Ellie sighed. “I thought the bowl was empty. AnnaBelle must have filled up on macaroni and cheese. I swear more of Faith’s food ends up on the floor than in her mouth. She’s the Tasmanian Devil baby.”

Faith reached Hannah, squealed, and grabbed her aunt’s slacks with two disgusting fists. Hannah scooped her up. Definitely dog food. “Girlfriend, let’s wash those hands.”