So yeah.

Wary no more.

Not when you were doing it on the kitchen floor.

The animals, bless their furry little hearts, stayed sound asleep, despite the noise.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JACK HOLLAND WAS a happy man. For now, anyway.

After the kitchen floor encounter—which, by the way, yes—he’d led Emmaline into the master bathroom, turned on the bath taps and made out with her while the tub filled. Left her to get in while he uncorked the wine and brought them each a glass. Then he got in with her, pulling her back against his chest, so, so glad he’d gone for the big tub when he built the house.

The only sound was the water sloshing if either of them moved and the rain beating against the windows. The puppy came in and tried to drink out of the tub, making them both laugh, and if there was a better sound than Emmaline laughing, Jack didn’t know what it was.

Her skin was creamy and soft, and her body was solid and strong and perfect. After a little while, she couldn’t help notice that he was noticing, and she turned around to face him and they did it right there in the tub.

Come to think of it, Jack did know what sound was better than Emmaline laughing. It was her saying his name in a breathy, almost startled voice, and it made him feel incredible to make her feel so good.

Then he took her to bed and pulled her against him, her dark hair against his jaw, her hand over his heart. She was asleep within seconds, but Jack just lay there, feeling something he hadn’t felt in a while now.

Peace.

His marriage had been tumultuous, Jack never knowing which version of Hadley he’d be coming home to at the end of the day. The brief periods of happiness had been built on what he thought he knew, like judging a wine on its color and clarity, only to find it had turned to vinegar. After he’d walked in on Hadley and Oliver came that edgy, angry sense of failure—and loneliness.

And then, since the boys had gone into the water, his mind had been like a river after a savage flood, all sorts of sharp, dangerous things sliding under the current, sharp and unseen, sometimes rushing past, sometimes slamming into him without warning.

But now there was something else blanketing that, and for the first time in a very long while, Jack felt at peace.

He wouldn’t have guessed the potty-mouthed hockey-playing cop would’ve been the right one for him.

He’d have been wrong.

Lazarus jumped up on the bed, and, after a second, Jack heard the cat’s rusty purr. From Emmaline’s side, no less. Even his feral cat liked her.

He wasn’t aware that he’d fallen asleep until he heard a noise. A thudding.

Thunder?

No.

Someone was at the door.

The clock read 2:37 a.m.

He slid out of bed, pulled on his pants and went to the front door. It was Pru.

It couldn’t be good.

“I’ve been calling for forty-five minutes, Useless!” she barked. “Pops had a heart attack. Hurry up, Jack! It’s not good.”

Adrenaline shot through his arms and legs. He grabbed a sweatshirt from a hook and pulled it on, ran to get his wallet and keys. And phone.

Sixteen missed calls. A screen full of texts. Why the hell hadn’t he heard?

“Is everything okay?”

Em stood there, wearing his bathrobe, hair tangled.

“Our grandfather’s in the hospital,” Pru said. “Heart attack.”

“Oh, no! Can I do anything?”

“My phone was off,” Jack said tightly.

Her hand flew over her mouth. “Jack, I’m so sorry. I muted it before...”

Jesus H. Christ. That was something that Hadley would do. Not Emmaline. “We have to go,” he said. “I’ll call you later.”

He didn’t have time to discuss it.

His grandfather was dying, and he hadn’t even known.

* * *

EVERYONE WAS AT the hospital, sitting grimly in the waiting room of the E.R. Goggy was flanked by Honor and Faith; Abby was sobbing quietly in Ned’s arms; Carl, Levi, Charlie and Tom stood off to one side. Mrs. J. had her arm around Dad.

Jack went right to Goggy and knelt in front of her chair. “Oh, Jack,” she said, and hugged him.

“We don’t know anything right now,” Honor murmured. “Jeremy’s still with him.”

Apparently, Pops had awakened with chest pain radiating into his left arm. He’d been unable to talk, and Goggy didn’t waste time, just pressed the emergency button that all apartments at Rushing Creek had and shoved a baby aspirin in her husband’s mouth. The facility had its own ambulance service, and they’d gotten him to the hospital in fewer than fifteen minutes. Goggy also called Jeremy, who was Pops’s regular doctor, and Jer was with the cardiologist now.

“Sounds like you did everything right,” Jack told his grandmother. “Just like always.”

“We only just started liking each other last year.” She wept against his neck, and Jack hugged her closer.

“Now, now,” Jack murmured, his throat tight. “You know what he told me the other day? He said you were the love of his life.”

Goggy tried to smile. “Of course I am. Who else would put up with him?”

“Hey, guys,” Jeremy said from the hallway. “He’s stable for now. Elizabeth, he wants to see you in a minute. John, could you come with me?”

Dad looked at him, and Jack went with him, putting his arm around his father’s shoulders as they walked down the hall.

Usually, his sisters would make disgruntled comments about sexism in the family and call Jack the little prince. The fact that they didn’t was horrible.

No one lives forever, of course. That wasn’t exactly news, but it was still shocking when that universal truth hit home.

Pops was easy to dismiss as a joking, bickering old man, but that was just the surface. John Noble Holland, Jr., had a deep love of his family and land, the work ethic of a Spartan and a sentimental streak that he did his best to keep hidden. But he got choked up every time he saw Jack in his navy whites. He put flowers on all the graves in the Holland family cemetery on the anniversaries of their deaths and each April before the blessing of the crops. His eyes filled when Faith and Levi told everyone about the baby. Last year, when Goggy had almost died in a house fire, the fear of losing his wife had practically felled him.

Jeremy stopped outside a room and signaled them to go in.

Pops was gray, an oxygen mask over his face. If not for the beeping of the heart monitor, Jack would’ve assumed he was dead.

“We’re here, Dad,” his father said, taking the old man’s hand. His eyes were full of tears.

“Hey, Pops,” Jack said.

Pops’s eyes fluttered open. He gestured weakly to his face, and Jeremy leaned over and took the mask off. “Proud of you,” he whispered, looking at Dad, then Jack. “So proud of my boys.”

Then his eyes closed again, and the beeping of the monitor slowed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

TO SAY THAT Emmaline was writhing in guilt would not have been an exaggeration.

Shit. How could she have decided to mute Jack’s phone? Without even asking him? For the tenth time that morning, she scrubbed a hand over her face.

She was still at his house, though she had to go to work in half an hour. But she’d stayed, hoping to see him first. The coffeemaker was set up, and she’d even baked somewhere around 4:00 a.m.—an almond coffee cake, her grandmother’s recipe, and one of the few things Em could bake from memory. She’d imagined Jack coming home and telling her his grandpa was okay, what a night, had she baked, all was certainly forgiven, no worries on the phone thing.