Sheila’s question about Cal swam back into her mind. She had never even remotely connected him with anything romantic—but then, she hadn’t thought romantically about anyone. She still couldn’t get her mind around that concept, but she felt that odd little pain in her stomach again as she wondered once more why he was so closemouthed around her. If he could chat with other people, why not her? Was something wrong with her? Did he shy away from her because he didn’t want her to get ideas about him? The idea was almost laughable—and yet it wasn’t. She had two small children. A lot of men didn’t want to get involved with women who had children from a previous marriage.

But why was she even thinking this way about Cal? She had no basis for that supposition. She’d never been interested in him in that way, and if he had any such ideas about her, then he was the world’s best actor, because he’d revealed nothing.

She shoved the whole subject away. It was nuts, and she was nuts for letting herself obsess about it. She should be making plans for the next two weeks.

While the boys were gone, she could get some things done, such as clean out the freezer and pantry, and pile rocks around the circumference of the parking lot to make it more official-looking than just some gravel spread around. She could go through their clothes and pack up the things that were too small or too worn, and put them in the attic. She should probably donate the clothes to a shelter or something, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with their things vet. She still had all their baby clothes, the tiny onesies, the bibs and socks and adorable little shoes. Maybe by the time they started school, she would get over this ridiculous attachment to their outgrown clothing; if she didn’t, she could foresee the entire house being used as storage.

Yes, she had a lot with which to occupy herself while the boys were gone. Maybe she’d be so tired at the end of the day she wouldn’t be in tears from missing them so much.

That reminded her that if she didn’t gel inside in a hurry, they would already be asleep. She wouldn’t have the opportunity to tuck them in and read them a story for the next two weeks, so she didn’t want to miss tonight.

Sheila was just getting them into their pajamas when Cate entered the steamy bathroom. “All clean,” Tucker said, beaming up at her.

She bent to kiss the top of his head, hugging him close and then straightening with him in her arms. He snuggled close, his head on her shoulder, making her heart squeeze at the knowledge that these days were flying by and soon they would be too big for her to pick up—not that they’d want her to. By then they probably wouldn’t want her hugging and kissing them, either.

Cate picked up Tanner, who wound his arm around her neck and smiled winsomely at her. She pulled back a little, narrowing her eyes at him, which might have been a little more effective if she hadn’t been patting his back at the same time. “You’re up to something,” she said suspiciously.

“Not,” he assured her, and smothered a yawn.

They were tired and ready for bed. but too excited to settle down. First they couldn’t decide what story they wanted to hear; then Tanner wanted one of his dinosaurs to hold, which meant Tucker had to decide which toy he wanted, too. Finally he settled on his Batman figure, which he bounced around on the covers.

Tanner laid down his dinosaur and gave her a very serious look. “I’m going to be in the army when I grow up,” he announced.

Tucker nodded, too caught up in a yawn to say anything.

Last week they’d been set on being firemen, so Cate could only wonder at how fast they changed. “Do you know where kings keep their armies?” she asked in wide-eyed seriousness.

They both shook their heads, their own eyes going big.

“In their sleevies.”

For several long seconds they stared at her in silence, then began giggling as they got the joke. Sometimes she had to explain jokes to them, but that frustrated them and they loved it when they caught on all by themselves. Behind her her mother gave a soft groan, probably because she remembered that at the twins’ age repetition was the name of the game and now she could count on hearing that joke at least a hundred times over the next two weeks.

Cate read them their story, which lulled them to sleep within five minutes. She kissed them good night, then tiptoed out of the room.

Sheila saw the tears in her eyes and hugged her. “You’ll be all right, I promise. Just wait until the first day of school; that’s when you’ll cry your eyes out.”

Through her tears Cate had to laugh. “Thanks, Mom, that’s such a comfort to know.”

“Yes, but if I told you it wouldn’t bother you at all, when the day came you’d know I’d lied and you wouldn’t trust me again. Of course,” Sheila said thoughtfully, “I didn’t cry at all when Patrick started school. As I remember, I turned handsprings on the lawn.”

Sheila continued to reminisce about Patrick, keeping Cate smiling, until they went to bed. As soon as Cate told her mother good night and closed her bedroom door, however, her eyes filled and her chin wobbled. The boys had never been away overnight before. She was devastated by the prospect. They’d be so far away; if anything happened it would lake her hours and hours to get to them. She wouldn’t be able to hear them playing during the day, their shouts and squeals and laughter, the pounding of their feet as they raced around. She wouldn’t be able to hug them tight, feel their little bodies close to her own and know they were okay.

Bitterly she wished she’d kept her mouth shut about them going home with her mother, but at the time she’d been panic-stricken—which had been a perfectly normal reaction to having had a gun pointed at her. Her only thought had been to get her children away from any possible danger.

She hadn’t known cutting the apron strings would be so difficult. Nor had she intended to cut them now?. When they were five would have been about right. Or six. Maybe even seven.

She had to laugh at herself, a watery gurgle that caught in a hiccup. Part of her had wanted them to be more independent, because being a single parent of two active little boys wasn’t easy. She felt as if she never had any downtime, as if she had to be alert every minute of every day, because they could get into trouble in a second. If they were older, more responsible, she could relax a little. She just didn’t want them to be older and more responsible right now.

Giving herself pep talks didn’t help; neither did reasoning with herself. She cried herself to sleep, already missing the boys so much she ached.

The next morning Cate got up even earlier than usual so she could help her mother get the boys and their stuff loaded in the SUV, as well as do her normal morning cooking. She made hot oatmeal for the boys. because the predawn air was downright cold, but they were too sleepy to eat more than a few bites. Knowing they’d never last all the way to Boise without getting hungry, she prepared each of them a zippered plastic bag of cereal, and sent along two apples just in case.

Dawn hadn’t yet arrived when they shepherded the boys outside. Even the cold air didn’t rouse them very much. They climbed into their seats, looking adorable in their jeans and sneakers, their little flannel shirts left unbuttoned over their T-shirts. They had resisted wearing jackets, so Cate had gone outside and started the SUV ahead of time, turning the heater on high, and the interior was nice and warm. They settled in, each clutching a chosen toy. Cate kissed each of them, told them to have fun and that they should do what Mimi told them to do, then hugged her mother. “Have a safe trip,” she managed to say without her voice quivering too much.

Sheila hugged her in return, patting her back just as she had when Cate was little. “You’ll be fine,” she said soothingly. “I’ll call when we get home, and I’ll call or e-mail every day.”