“You slept with him,” said a voice like my mother’s. Her exact words when my twenty-year-old unmarried self told her I was pregnant with Meg.“You deal with it.”
“Mom?” Amy asked.
I met her eyes. Blue, like her father’s. His princess, he called her.
My days of hands-on parenting were over. But the instinct to protect my children was still there. Whatever was going on between Ash and me—Drunken Wedding Sex, indeed—I wanted Amy to think well of her father. And selfishly, I didn’t want her to think less of me.
“You’ll have to talk to your father.”
“Is he here?”
“He’s at work.” Same as always. Left right after his morning cup of coffee.
Ash ran a nonprofit for returning vets, helping them reintegrate into civilian life, providing counseling for PTSD. I’d mortgaged thefarm so he could open it, a storefront ministry in the center of town, after his final deployment.
“He was here last night,” Amy said. Wary. Hopeful.
My heart cracked for her, our youngest girl, who tried so hard to hide her feelings and cared so much what other people thought of her.
“He’s not moving in, honey,” I said gently.
“Does he know that? Because his bags were already packed.”
I sucked in my breath.
Right on cue, Ash came up the drive, parking behind Amy. He got out of the car, still wearing the pants from his wedding suit and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Such a gentleman. I wanted to throw something at him.
“Amy’s got your clothes,” I said.
He stopped, his gaze flickering from me to Amy.
“I had to leave the books,” Amy said. “The cartons didn’t fit in the car.”
I folded my arms. “Did you pack before the wedding?”Did you know when you took me to bed last night that you needed another place to stay in the morning?
A muscle ticked in his cheek.Say no, I begged silently. But he wouldn’t lie. Not Ash.
“Yes.”
I nodded shortly. “You can leave your things in the barn.”Closing the door after the horse had bolted, I thought with a twist of my heart.
He inclined his head, polite as always. “Thank you.” He hesitated. “Perhaps I can sleep in Jo’s old room. Only for tonight.”
I didn’t want him sleeping in my attic, a short flight of stairs away. I didn’t want him in my kitchen every morning, drinking my coffee.
“He can bunk with me,” Dan said behind me.
How long had he been standing there? “I don’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not.” He looked at Ash. “Trailer has two bedrooms.”
I wondered if Dan was offering as a friend or a fellow vet, as somebody Ash had helped or as a way to help me out. Not that it mattered.
“Thank you,” Ash said with grave courtesy. He turned to me. “If that’s all right with Abby.”
It was not all right. I didn’t want my ex-husband—husband—on my farm. In my space. But where else did he have to go?
CHAPTER 11
