The B and B held eight rooms, although most of them were empty at the time. Her heartbeat stuttered for a moment, but she told herself not to panic. A few toys were scattered around the floor, a sign he’d gotten up to play after she’d tucked him in the night before.įiguring he was playing some imaginary game, she darted into his bathroom. She pulled a pan of homemade cinnamon rolls from the oven to let them cool before her guests at the B and B she owned surfaced for breakfast, then went upstairs to check on her son.īenji was normally up by now, underfoot in the kitchen when she was cooking-chatting and asking questions and sneaking bacon as soon as she took it off the pan.īut when she opened Benji’s door, he wasn’t in bed. He was going to be ecstatic on Christmas morning to find the softball and glove he’d asked for.
Together they’d made ornaments to hang on the tree, and when he was asleep last night, she’d wrapped his gift. Her gaze strayed to the tabletop tree she and Benji had decorated just yesterday. Then Ron Lewis had come along a few months ago and swept her off her feet with his kindness and intelligence-and treated Benji like his own son. Still, she couldn’t throw a softball worth a darn, and baiting her own hook to go fishing at the pond literally made her feel faint. She’d worried about him not having a man in his life and done her best to be two parents in one. Her three-year-old Benji had never met his father. Then those promises had evaporated, like rain on a strip of scorching-hot pavement. Promises of love and happily ever after-until she’d gotten pregnant.
Not after the way Trace Lanier had treated her. Sage Freeport vowed never to trust a man again.
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