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He was a criminal. His choices had saved her sister and Madison and Haldyn’s lives. But she wouldn’t think about that now.
Her sister was coming home today.
They were going to focus on that, now.
And why Miguel had chosen to be the one to drive her home.
Heather had her theories about that man.
He had always been a planner, Miguel Rodriguez. He’d liked to know what happened next, to be in control. Something they had in common.
She suspected Miguel had a plan for Hope, too.
Iagan came barreling in. That boy—why walk when he could fly—was excited. He and Hope were very close. What had happened to her, so soon after what had happened to his grandmother and Crispin, had hurt that kid. He was just at that age when he was starting to be aware of the world and all of its dark secrets. She hurt for him, too. For that loss of innocence, of safety. “They’re here! Aunt Hope is back!”
“Go outside and tell Cara,” his mom said from where she was filling up sippy cups for the younger kids. “She’s out back feeding the ducks.”
“And arguing with Alex again,” Iagan said. “He told her the ducks were too scrawny to even think about eating. He insulted her ducks again. He just keeps doing that. I think he does it to make her mad at him.”
Everyone laughed. Cara was ridiculously protective of the last three ducks they’d brought with them from Oklahoma. Those ducks represented a connection to their former world in Oklahoma for her niece. Where Cara had felt safe before.
Heather shifted Ember as her baby nursed, and stood. When that door opened—she was going to be the first thing her baby sister saw.
No matter what.
She was.
There, coming up the back sidewalk, Heather’s sister in his arms, was one very beautiful Commander Miguel Rodriguez. Bonnie walked at his side. Norm and Marcia were coming up behind them. They’d driven down the night before, with their kids, so they could all be there. Everyone had been determined to be there when Hope came home where she belonged.
Miguel probably shouldn’t be carrying one hundred pounds of Hope right now, considering what had happened to him recently. But Heather kept that thought to herself. You couldn’t tell Miguel anything when he had that particular look in his eyes. That was his I-have-a-plan-get-out-of-my-way look she knew so well.
Nothing interfered with that man’s plans. Nothing.
Hope was in baggy sweatpants and a skateboarding elephant nightshirt. There weren’t any shoes on her feet, just fluorescent pink socks. There was another one of those slouchy knit hats that Summer made and embroidered to sell on the HHC website plopped on Hope’s head. Hope still had fans. She still skated occasionally, regionally. It was a part of her sister’s life, her identity. And that hat? Iconic.
Summer had even knit Ember a teeny tiny baby-sized one.
“Hey, big sister,” Hope gave her a weak grin. “I got a lift.”
“I can see that. How are you feeling?” Hope looked so scrawny in Miguel’s arms right there. But then again—anyone would look scrawny being carried by Miguel.
“Exhausted. Being a part of the ‘I’ve been shot!’ club is exhausting.”
“Well, you are home now. Nothing to do but rest and heal for the next three months. No matter what,” Bonnie told her. Again. Hope was a bit resistant to resting that long. They all knew that.
“I will go insane,” Hope said. “Three whole months. You sure?”
“Three whole months,” Bonnie said firmly. She was hovering. And had been since she’d been allowed in the room with Hope hours after the surgery. She probably would for a long while.
Bonnie was Hope’s mom. Of course, she was hovering.
Heather looked down at the baby girl in her own arms. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for one of her babies. No hesitation.
Miguel carried Hope inside. Everyone wanted to greet her. To look at her. To just make sure they still had her. Miguel had just gotten her settled on the living room couch—Hope hadn’t wanted to go upstairs—when Heather’s cell rang.
With an unlisted number.
Heather shifted the baby and answered automatically. “Hello?”
