“I used to live here,” she reminded Libby, then kissed her again while William stood back and grinned. They were two of the three most important women in his life. Though they were a generation apart, he noted with pride that his wife looked hardly older than his daughter. Their coloring and build was so similar that more often than not they were mistaken for sisters.

“What am I?” he demanded. “Part of the scenery?” He spun Libby around for one of his hard, swaying hugs. “My baby,” he said, and gave her a loud, smacking kiss. “The scientist.”

“My daddy,” she responded in kind, “the executive.”

He winced just a little. “Don’t let it get around. So, let me get a look at you.”

Grinning, Libby took her own survey. He still wore his hair too long to be conservative, though there was a sprinkle of silver in the dark blond waves, and a bit more dashed through his beard. Both were trimmed now by a barber with a French accent, but little else about William Stone had changed. He was still the man she remembered, the man who had carried her papoose-style through the forest.

He was tall, and at best he would be considered stringy. Long legs and arms gave him a gangly look. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones sunken. His eyes were a deep, pure gray that promised honesty.

“So?” Libby turned in a saucy circle. “What do you think?”

“Not too bad.” He slipped an arm around Caroline’s shoulders. Together they looked as they always had. United. “We did a pretty good job on the first two, Caro.”

“You did an excellent job,” Libby corrected. Then she stopped. “First two?”

“You and Sunbeam, love.” With an easy smile, Caroline reached in the back of the pickup. “Why don’t we get the groceries inside?”

“But I—Groceries.” Biting her lip, Libby watched her parents pull out bags. Several bags. She had to tell them . . . something. “I’m so happy to see both of you.” She grunted a bit when her father set two heavy brown sacks in her arms. “And I’d like to . . . that is, I should tell you that I’m not . . . alone.”

“That’s nice.” Absently William pulled out another sack. He wondered if his wife had noticed the bag of barbecued potato chips he’d stashed inside. Of course she had, he thought. She never missed anything. “We always like to meet your friends, baby.”

“Yes, I know, but this one—”

“Caro, take that one along inside. One’s enough for you to carry.”

“Dad.” Seeing no other way, Libby blocked her father’s progress. She snagged her lip again when she heard the door swing open and shut behind her mother. “I really should explain.” Explain what, she wondered? And how?

“I’m listening, Libby, but these bags are getting heavy.” He shifted them. “Must be all the tofu.”

“It’s about Caleb.”