Page 66 of Tracking Safety

She forced her lungs to loosen.

Then footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Small ones.

She set her mug down and turned.

Cora stood at the bottom of the stairs, her dark hair loose around her face and one hand still holding the stair rail. She blinked at Jenna with the solemn, slightly unfocused look of a child who’d just woken up.

Then a grin cracked her face. “You’re still here.”

“I’m still here.” Jenna kept her voice even, careful not to let the words catch in her throat. “Did you sleep okay?”

Cora padded across the kitchen floor in bare feet and climbed onto one of the stools at the island without answering. She studied Jenna, her chin resting in her hands.

“Your hair’s different than I remembered,” she finally said.

“It is. I used to keep it shorter.”

Cora considered this. “I like it longer.”

“Thank you.”

Cora frowned, looking as if she were trying to find the right words. “Do you know how to make pancakes?”

Jenna almost smiled. “I do.”

“Daddy usually burns the edges.”

“I won’t burn the edges.”

Cora slid off the stool and went to the pantry. She returned with a box of mix and set it on the counter in front of Jenna. “Then here. I’m sure Aunt Naomi won’t mind if you cook.”

Jenna took the box. With Cora’s help, she found a mixing bowl and griddle. She was measuring out the batter when Jonah appeared, trailing a stuffed rabbit by one ear.

He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and stared at her.

“She’s making pancakes,” Cora announced matter-of-factly.

“Yum.” Jonah climbed up on a barstool and watched.

Jenna kept her eyes on the griddle and her breathing steady. Memories flooded back to her—memories of making breakfast for her children in her own house, the one she’d built with Luke. She’d loved those slow, lazy mornings.

For a moment, all the time she’d lost with her children hit her. Those were years she’d never get back. She’d missed so much.

Moisture threatened to fill her eyes.

She poured the first round of batter and listened to it hiss against the heat.

She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not in front of the kids.

Jenna had done enough damage without adding tears to the morning.

Ruby came down twenty minutes later, already dressed. She stopped in the doorway when she saw the children eating and Jenna cleaning up the kitchen.

An unreadable emotion traveled through her gaze.

“Good morning,” Jenna said as she plunged another plate into the soapy water of the sink.