He was the same force of nature she remembered him being, and when his focus was directed solely at her, he wasn’t an easy man to ignore. Old feelings stirred inside her even though she didn’t want them and the only thing that was keeping her sane at the moment was the fact that it wasn’t just her own heart in danger, it was Caroline’s. And that Isabelle just couldn’t risk. She had to find a way to appease Wes, avoid acting on what she was feeling for him and protect Caroline at the same time. She just didn’t know yet how she would pull it off.
“Well,” Edna said when Isabelle walked into the kitchen. “You look terrible.”
Isabelle sighed. Makeup, it seemed, couldn’t perform the miracles all the TV commercials promised. “Thanks. Just what I needed to hear.”
Edna was in her sixties, with short silver hair that stood up in tufted spikes. Her brown eyes were warm and kind and a little too knowing sometimes. Today she wore her favored black jeans, black sneakers and a red sweatshirt that proclaimed, For Most of History, Anonymous Was a Woman.—Virginia Woolf.
“Seriously, did you get any sleep?” Edna pulled a mug from under the single-serve coffeemaker and handed it over.
It was gray and cold outside, typical January weather in Colorado. But the kitchen was bright and warm and filled with the scents of coffee and the breakfast Edna insisted on making fresh every morning.
Grateful for the ready coffee, Isabelle took the cup and had her first glorious sip. As the hot caffeine slid into her system, she looked at her housekeeper and gave her a wry smile. “Not much.”
Sipping her own coffee, Edna gave her a hard look. “Because of Wes?”
She jolted and stared at the other woman. “How do you know about him?”
“Caro told us this morning. She says he’s pretty and that you said he’s a friend.” Edna tipped her head to one side. “Marco told me to butt out, but who listens to husbands? So, Wes is more than a friend, isn’t he?”
Before answering that question, Isabelle looked around and then asked, “Where’s Caro?”
“Outside with Marco. She wanted to make sure the snowman they made last weekend was still standing.” She paused. “So? Who is he?”
“We’ve known each other way too long.”
Edna laughed. “That’s what happens when you grow up in a town of twelve hundred people. We all know too much about each other. Probably keeps us all on the up and up. Can’t do a damn thing wrong around here and get away with it.” She narrowed her eyes. “And you’re stalling.”
“I know.” Pulling out a stool at the island counter, Isabelle dropped onto it and reached out to grab a biscuit she knew would be stuffed with ham and scrambled eggs. It was Caroline’s favorite breakfast, so naturally the indulgent Edna made them a lot. Taking a bite she chewed and said, “He’s Caro’s father.”
“Whoa.” Edna’s eyebrows shot up. “Wasn’t expecting that.” She leaned on the countertop. “What does he want?”
“Caro.” She took another bite and chewed glumly.
The other woman straightened up in a blink. “Well, he can’t have her.”
It was good to have friends, Isabelle told herself with a quiet sigh. She’d known Edna and Marco her whole life. They’d both worked for her family since Isabelle was a child. And at an age when they could have retired, instead, they’d come to work for Isabelle, to help raise Caro. And she knew that she would never be able to pay them back for their friendship or their loyalty.
Smiling, Isabelle said, “No, he can’t. But to be fair, he doesn’t want to take her away, he just wants to be a part of her life.”
“That’s a bad thing?” Edna pushed the plate of biscuits closer to Isabelle. “Talk and eat. You’re too thin.”
Isabelle knew it was useless to argue, so she dutifully took another one. “It’s not bad necessarily,” she said, breaking off a piece of biscuit and egg to pop into her mouth. “But it’s...complicated. Caro doesn’t know who he is and I don’t know how much he’s going to push for. Plus, he’s so angry that I never told him about her that he’s not even trying to be reasonable...”
“Are you?”
Isabelle’s gaze shot to Edna’s. “Hey. Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Yours. Absolutely.” Reaching over for a dishcloth, Edna wiped up a few crumbs. “But come on, sweetie. The man’s a father and you never told him. Most men like to know if their sperm scores a goal.”
She snorted a laugh even while she nodded. “True. But he said he didn’t want kids.”
“That’s before he had one.” Edna sighed and leaned on the counter again so she could look directly into Isabelle’s eyes. “Even Marco didn’t want kids till we had our first one.”
“That’s hard to believe.” Frowning, Isabelle remembered how Marco had devoted himself to Edna and their three kids. Even now, he spent most of his free time with their grandchildren. A more family-based man she’d never known.
“Well, it’s true.” Edna shook her head and grinned. “When I told him I was pregnant the first time, the man went pale—and with that Italian olive complexion of his, it wasn’t easy.”
Isabelle laughed a little. True.