An uncomfortable twinge of . . . something . . . pierced Faith’s stomach as Zane cupped Beth’s swollen belly and leaned down for a kiss. The rumbling in her stomach had nothing to do with envy—no sir, no way—it was just hunger pains. Even though her appetite had been nonexistent over the past week.
The twinge struck again, stronger, as Cosky dragged Kait into his arms and swooped down until their mouths met.
Okay, maybe she was a little envious. Like microscopically. But it wasn’t because of the kissing, although she liked kissing as much as the next woman. It was the instant, unconditional support so evident between the couples. It would be so comforting to have someone to depend on like that: a solid, unflappable fixture bolstering her through life’s turbulence. Someone like Zane. Or Cosky.
Or Rawls . . .
She instantly shook the stray thought away. Where had that come from anyway? From the man’s actions over the course of the day, he hardly fell into the category of unflappable, or even supportive. He had, after all, abandoned her twice now, and when she could have used his reassurance too. Hardly the kind of steadfast companion she was looking for.
Her gaze narrowed on the two couples headed toward the lodge, each with their arms around their partner’s waist. A soft-bodied older woman with flyaway silver hair took Kait’s arm, tilted her head up, and leaned into the tall blonde as they walked. Behind the threesome was Amy, a dark-haired child on either side, followed by Beth and—
Suddenly it occurred to her that the horde was descending and she hadn’t put the biscuits in the oven yet, or started mashing the potatoes. Turning, she fled back to the kitchen. She’d just set the timer for the biscuits as the door slammed open and loud footsteps and even louder voices claimed the lodge. As the room filled with people, Faith identified at least four distinct conversations. From the relaxed voices and laughter, the rendezvous and reunion with Amy’s children must have gone as planned.
“Faith,” Kait said, lifting the soft white hand of the older woman standing next to her. “This is Marion, Marcus’s mom.”
“Nice to meet you,” Faith offered politely, only to stiffen as the older woman bustled around the kitchen counter and approached her with wide-open arms.
“Oh my poor, poor lamb!”
Faith took a giant step back but found herself enveloped in a soft, fragrant embrace anyway.
“What an awful, awful thing to survive. But don’t you worry—” Marion said, punctuating her sentences with pats on the back and slow, circular massages. “My boys will keep you safe.”
Boys?
Faith’s gaze skidded from one hard masculine face to another. Nothing about the three men dominating the interior of the lodge resembled a boy, and the reference to the stern-eyed warriors as boys added to the sense of unreality shrouding her.
Just as she prepared to extricate herself from the other woman’s floral embrace, Marion let go and nudged her aside. It took Faith a few seconds to realize Cosky’s mother was lifting pot lids and taking inventory.
“Mashed potatoes?” Marion asked as she picked up the carving fork and speared one of the potatoes. “Looks like they’re soft enough.” She stopped talking long enough to take an appreciative sniff. “And whatever you have in that roaster smells divine.”
“Pork roast,” Faith managed faintly, watching helplessly as she lost control of the kitchen.
“It smells delicious, darling. And oh my, look at all those goodies on the counter. I can already feel my pants getting tighter. Now you go catch up with everyone and take a load off your feet while the girls and I finish up. You deserve a break after putting this together for us.”
“But . . . but . . . but . . .” Her protest came too late and too low, and Faith found herself expelled from the kitchen.
She hovered in the mouth of the kitchen, listening to the laughter, chatter, and flurry of final dinner preparation between Beth, Kait, and Marion. The three women moved in sync, a well-choreographed machine, as though they’d been cooking together for years.
Feeling oddly abandoned, she sidled forward, preparing to slip back into her haven and reclaim at least one of the last-minute tasks.
“I rode on a hellcopper,” a voice shrill with childhood said from behind and below her as a surprisingly strong tug dragged the hem of her ivory blouse down.
Faith turned. The smallest and youngest of the children Amy had returned with stood staring up at her with excited, shining eyes.
“You did,” Faith said, forcing a smile, which she just knew was unwelcoming and stiff. “I hope you had a good flight.”
I hope you had a good flight?
Really? Really? That’s all you could come up with? You’re not a damn flight attendant.
And you’re going to share a house with these children for the night?
Luckily the boy didn’t take offense. He didn’t appear to even notice her discomfort.