Paloma rounded the corner and raced toward her, collapsing in her arms. “I’m tired,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around Britt’s shoulders. “Can we finish the rest later?”
Britt returned the hug and held her close for a long moment. It felt so right to hold her, like they were meant to have thousands of moments like this. Like they truly were mother and daughter. She kissed her head, inhaling the strawberry scent of her shampoo. A flash of singing "You Are My Sunshine" while bathing a much smaller version of a child flashed in her mind, flooded with the same scent.
“How about we take a cookie break? Then we’ll have energy to finish putting all the Barbies away.”
“Yes! Cookies!” The smile Paloma gave Britt reached deep into her soul.
Britt cradled the little girl in her arms as she stood up, happy to carry her to the kitchen where she’d seen a glass container filled to the top with Oreo cookies.
“You must love Oreos,” Britt said.
Paloma yawned, holding on to her tighter. “They’re my favorite. What’s your favorite cookie?”
“Chocolate chip,” Britt said. “Do you like those?”
“They’re too crunchy,” Paloma said, making a yucky face.
“When you make them from scratch, they’re not. They are soft and gooey and sweet and so chocolatey.”
“You know how to make cookies from scratch?”
“I do,” Britt said, smiling. “I can’t make Oreos, but I can make chocolate chip cookies.”
“Will you make me some? I’ll love them if you make them,” Paloma said, her eyes shining with hope that twisted Britt's heart.
Britt lowered her to the floor, then opened the container. Paloma grabbed two cookies, then placed them on her eyes. “I’m the Cookie Monster!” she said, then erupted into giggles?—
“Who are you, and what are you doing in Lachlan’s house?”
Chapter 27
Every muscle in her body tensed, an instinctive need to shield Paloma from this intruder overwhelming her. She turned around and stared at a petite woman, modestly pretty with a short pixie cut and a slight frame.
“Lachlan’s … house,” Britt whispered as blood roared through her ears. No, that couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be Lachlan’s house. Because if it were his house, then that would mean Paloma was his … daughter. Was that why he agreed to be her bodyguard? Because he thought she might be the mother of his child, returning from the grave with a shattered memory? Why wouldn’t he tell her that he recognized her? That the magnetic pull between them could be because they shared a past … unless they didn’t. He could be suspicious, keeping her close to find out why she had the face of the dead mother of his child.
“Paloma, come here, sweetie.” The woman reached for the child, a maternal protectiveness in her voice that made Britt’s jaw clench.
Paloma looked at Britt, tears brimming in her brown eyes. She pressed closer to Britt's side, her small fingers clutching Britt's shirt. “Why? We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“You barge into someone’s home and think you have the right to demand who I am? How about you start by explaining who you are?” Britt asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave she didn't recognize. Her mind raced with possibilities—was this woman special to Lachlan, despite him telling Britt he wasn't with anyone? A flutter of jealousy twisted through her gut at the thought of this woman playing house ... with Lachlan and Paloma.
“That’s Stacy,” Paloma answered, her tone distinctly cooler than her usual cheerful voice. “She’s Daddy’s friend.”
“And I’m your friend, too, Paloma,” Stacy said, still angling to get the child from Britt. She bent lower to stare at Paloma with soft eyes. “Does your daddy know you’re here with this woman?—”
“I can assure you that Lachlan has no problem with me being here. But I’m sure he’d have a problem with you letting yourself into his house unannounced.” Britt's words came out sharp and precise, laden with an authority she didn't understand but couldn't suppress.
Stacy faltered, a shadow of uncertainty passing over her features.
Britt’s suspicions were true. This woman was dropping by without Lachlan knowing, but why? What did she want with him? And why was she acting possessive of him and his daughter?
“How did you get in here, anyway?” Britt asked, lifting Paloma in her arms. Stacy wasn’t taking the child anywhere. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”
Stacy regained her confidence, then dangled a keyring at Britt. “I used my key.”
Britt pushed past the woman, walking into the living room. Placing Paloma down, she stared into the little girl’s panicked face. “Finish putting away your Barbies on the shelves like Ishowed you so everything is neat and pretty. Can you do that for me?”
Paloma beamed at her. “Okay!”
