“I know.” He did know. She’d sat with him for hours after he was shot, reading to him, watching whatever he wanted on the TV. Encouraging him when he was down. Little touches that he’d quickly realized were a big deal for her. “But now she hugs you back?”

“Yes, but it took a long time. Not until I took her home for Sunday dinner and my mama got hold of her. Mama cuddled her and fed her and fussed over her and Mercy hadn’t ever had that before.”

“She’d been in foster care up until that point,” Rafe said carefully, not sure how to get the information he wanted without violating Mercy’s confidences.

“Yes, she had. They weren’t bad people, her fosters. They wanted to give her love and affection. They wanted to adopt her, but Mercy wasn’t ready for that. I guess she finally was by the time our paths crossed.”

That Mercy’s foster family had been good to her was a relief. That they’d wanted to adopt her was a surprise. He was almost certain that Gideon hadn’t been aware of it. But another question rose in his mind, because Mercy’s path had crossed Farrah’s. “Why New Orleans? What brought Mercy there?”

Farrah focused on stirring the stew. “That’s a question you’ll have to ask Mercy.”

“I will.” He steered the conversation away from Mercy because that creak of the floorboard meant that someone was coming. “But you’re a New Orleans native?”

Farrah grinned. “Born and raised. Probably’ll stay there till I’m old and pruney.”

Rafe was charmed. “Why?”

“Because my family is there.”

“And her captain,” Mercy said, entering the kitchen. She took a deep, appreciative breath before gingerly sitting at the table next to Rafe. “That stew smells really good.”

He tried not to get too excited by her seating choice, but it was hard when she was so near. She smelled like flowers, and the emerald green sweater she’d changed into hugged every one of her lush curves. Don’t rush her. Do not rush her. “Did Mom get you fixed up?”

Mercy nodded. “It needed a few butterfly bandages, just like I said. What smells so good?”

So her injury was not a topic of conversation. Rafe could work around it. For now. “It’s kavardak, which is really just a homestyle beef stew. The word means ‘mess,’ so you basically throw whatever you want into it. Mom’s is the best.” He pointed to Farrah. “Who is her captain?”

“Captain André Holmes,” Mercy said with a fond smile. “Farrah’s . . . intended.”

Farrah snorted a laugh. “That’s what he calls himself. My ‘intended.’” She wiggled the fingers on her left hand, showing off a diamond that sparkled. “But he put a ring on it, so he can call it whatever he likes, even if he’s old-fashioned about it.”

“Pozdravlayu c pomolvkoy!” Rafe told her. “Congratulations on your engagement. May you have a happy home, blessed with laughter.”

“Who is to have a happy home?” his mother asked, shooing Farrah away from the stove after entering the room. “I’ll take over here. You are a guest. You sit and relax. I’ll make tea.”