Page 19 of Backtrack

A knock on her cabin door drew her out of the memory. It was barely audible from the balcony with the hush of the sea in her ears. Odd that anyone would be knocking at all. She’d already tipped the room steward.

She looked through the peephole. Arliss would have chided her for that. Better not to open the door at all than stick your eye right where someone expected it to be if they wanted to hurt you.

She flushed when she saw the hulking figure standing in the hallway.

“Minnesota Steve!” She yanked open the door. Steve Cruz had a bit of a dad bod, but that was okay. Nobody was asking her to doSports Illustratedphoto shoots either. Joellen felt every one of her forty-three years in her bones. She could forgive some love handles as long as they came with that rugged jaw and curly mop. Single guys who came on cruises were either on the desiccated side or wore sweatpants so they could devote themselves fully to the buffet.

She leaned against the doorjamb, hoping it looked coy. In reality, she was trying not to tower. She had almost two inches of altitude on the guy.

“I thought we were meeting at the bar. You’re fifteen minutes early.”

It occurred to her that she hadn’t given him her cabin number. She wasn’t against hooking up on a cruise, but she’d learned thehard way that first impressions could be oh-so-wrong. Better to keep a few things to herself until she got a better read on a person. “How did you—”

Steve gave a sheepish grimace. “I saw your cabin number when we were checking in. Guess I just can’t shake the investigator in me. I apologize if I’ve come off like a stalker.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “But I’m not quite ready.”

He filled up the door like a linebacker, all dapper in his khaki slacks and classy navy-blue sport jacket. Did this guy actually scuff his shoe against the carpet? She half expected him to sayaw shucks.

He gave an embarrassed grin. “This may come as a shock, what with my debonair ways, but I’ve been out of the dating game for a good while. I’ll wait for you by the elevators. That is, if you still want to go, considering I’ve crowded you from the get-go. …”

“It’s all good,” Jolene said. Then she pushed the door open wider. “Come on in. You can wait on the couch while I finish getting ready.”

Letting a man she’d only just met in her room—that would piss off Arliss for sure—which, if she was honest with herself, was exactly why she did it.

CHAPTER 8

Mim met Cutter at the front door, all but dragging him into the house. Her set jaw and narrowed eyes said she meant business, so he didn’t resist. Fuzzy slippers slapped the wood flooring, the loose terry-cloth robe trailed behind her like a cape as she marched him past the kitchen, where her twin nine-year-old sons were locked in fierce battle over who got to crack the most eggs—Matthew, the more emotional, or Michael, the oldest by twelve minutes.

The boys’ sixteen-year-old sister, Constance, stood at the kitchen island pouring buttermilk into a measuring cup. Arliss thought she was showing remarkable restraint until he realized she was making pancakes with AirPods in her ears.

If the kids were surprised when their mother breezed by with him in tow, they didn’t show it.

Mim shut the door behind them and then fell back on the bed with an exaggerated gasp. She kicked off her slippers and then closed her eyes. Her T-shirt rode up below her breasts, exposing a very pregnant belly above the low waistband of her sweats.

Cutter stood rooted in place, war bag in hand, blinking stupidly at the sight of this beautiful woman who was carrying his child. He’d not imagined it possible that she could ever be more beautiful than when they’d first met as sixteen year olds, but the pregnancy had exaggerated the freckles across her smallish nose and the brightness of her peaches and cream complexion.

Mim snapped her fingers, bringing him out of his stupor. “Thesefeet aren’t going to rub themselves, mister. And anyway, you look like you should sit down before you fall down.”

Cutter dropped his bag to the floor and all but collapsed on the edge of the bed.

Mim’s eyes fluttered when he bent back her toes.

“I assume you’re flying down to Ketchikan to check on Joellen,” she said.

Cutter raised a brow. “Well, hello to you, too.”

“Sorry.” Mim chuckled. “This brain fog is hitting me hard. I have to triage important thoughts before they fade into the ether. You know, it really ticks me off when my doctor calls this a geriatric pregnancy, but I’m beginning to think she has a point. Anyway, you’re absolutely right. Welcome home. Sounds like you enjoyed England.”

“It was an eventful trip,” he said. “I brought you a fridge magnet and a scarf from an Irish wool store near the British Museum.”

“Nice!”

“I like this new normal,” he said.

“New normal?”

“You know, rubbing your feet while the kids make breakfast for dinner. It’s … it’s new to me.”