Page 39 of Serenity Harbor

She sighed. So much for all her good intentions about not being frustrated with her mother.

“That is all true,” she said. “But I’m not interested in Bowie. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you that.”

Perhaps the one she really needed to be telling was herself. She thought of those moments the night before in his arms and the heat and magic that swirled around them and did her best to fight back a shiver.

“Just keep an open mind. That’s all I’m saying. When you do that, you never know what might happen. Why, if I hadn’t been willing to keep an open mind, I never would’ve given Mike a chance. I never would have seen him as anything other than my former brother-in-law.”

Mike sipped at his coffee, color crawling up his cheeks above his beard.

“And look at you now,” Katrina said.

“Exactly! Both of us would have been alone and miserable. Instead, here we are looking at the rest of our lives together, and we couldn’t be happier.”

“Not everybody is as lucky as you two,” she murmured. Especially not when they waste time on guys like Carter Ross when they know from the beginning they’re completely wrong for them.

“Look at your sister and Cade,” Charlene protested. “And Marshall and Andie. It’s your turn, wouldn’t you say?”

Katrina had a daughter to worry about now, but she knew Charlene wouldn’t want to hear that. She probably wouldn’t listen to anything Kat had to say, anyway. Her mother’s mind had been made up before Katrina even came back to town.

Frustrated and a little sad, she took a bite of the toast, then dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink. “Thanks for the toast. I’ll eat it on the way.”

“You can’t take five minutes?” Her mother looked disappointed, though Katrina had a feeling that was only because Charlene was gearing up to offer moreadvice.

“I need to hurry or I’ll be late. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Just be careful,” Mike said.

“And don’t forget to smile,” Charlene added. “You have such a pretty smile.”

She pasted on a fake smile, picked up her laptop bag and suitcase, and headed for the door.

CHAPTER NINE

BOWIEHADNEVERbeen so close to pulling out his hair—and that even counted the time he spent thirty-six hours straight, back-to-back with Aidan on their respective computers, trying to fix a critical software glitch in one of the early Caine Tech apps.

He sucked in a breath and tried not to let the frustration trickle into his voice. “You made the mess, you’re going to clean it up,” he said calmly, doing his best not to step into the ever-widening puddle of milk and Cheerios beside the kitchen table.

In answer, Milo crossed his arms defiantly over his chest, chin screwed up and eyes narrowed to slits.

Bowie tried to count backward from ten. He made it to three before the tenuous hold on his temper started to fray. The entire past two hours had been a series of confrontations—made even more frustrating because Milo did all his arguing without words.

“You wouldn’t tell me what kind of cereal you wanted, remember? I asked you four times, and you were too busy playing with your toys to answer me. New rule. When you refuse to tell me what you want, you aren’t allowed to complain at what you get—and you’re absolutely not allowed to throw your bowl of cereal on the floor because you’re mad about what I gave you. Got it?”

He couldn’t tell whether Milo was listening or not. His brother continued giving him that same snake-eyed stare. What was spinning around inside the boy’s mind? Bowie would give anything to know.

“Come on. Help me clean it up or you won’t see your purple car for the rest of the day.” Autism or not, Milo needed to learn his actions had consequences.

They continued their silent battle of wills for a full ninety seconds. He was asking himself how the hell he was going to follow through on his threat and wrestle a beloved toy away from a six-year-old with autism when, without warning, Milo dropped to the ground and started wiping at the spill with the paper towels Bowie had pulled from the roll.

Bowie sat back on his heels, watching his brother. This little interaction was even more proof that Milo understood far more than he could communicate back. Not that he needed more evidence. From the beginning, he could tell Milo’s delays probably had as much to do with neglect than from severe cognitive deficits.

Guilt, his constant companion, churned through him. His brother’s rough start in life wasn’t his fault. He knew it. He couldn’t change the past. All he could focus on now was providing his brother the best possible future, one where Milo could have friends and a purpose, where he could communicate what he wanted.

“You’re doing a great job so far,” he said after a moment, when Milo tried to hand him the soggy paper towel. “Looks like there’s a little more cereal under the table. Would you like me to help you reach it?”

Milo nodded and the two of them worked together, with Milo cleaning up the milk and cereal and Bowie going along behind him with a wet cloth so Mrs. Nielson didn’t get too mad at them for leaving another mess for her to mop. They were nearly finished with the job when he heard someone punching in the code for the door, and a moment later Katrina walked in looking fresh and sweet and lovely in a peach flowered skirt, white T-shirt and strappy sandals.

He was both astonished and dismayed at the way his heart seemed to kick in his chest like a rabbit in a cage.

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