Page 162 of The Woman Left Behind

She tossed him a grin. “Just some corn stalks, pumpkins, and about a hundred bats flying across the front of the house.”

“A hundred?” he teased.

“Okay, more like seventy-five.”

He chuckled.

The microwave binged.

He grabbed a spoon, his bowl, and he took them and his mug to the table, sitting catty-corner to her.

Lucy adjusted so she had her head on his foot.

He stirred his oatmeal and got into what he didn’t want to get into.

But he had to.

“We need to talk about where we’re at.”

Her startled eyes came to him.

“Where we’re at?” she asked.

Harry went carefully. “Dad’s at the house. The new windows are in, the cameras have been installed. It isn’t that.”

He knew she understood where he was going when her expression changed.

She didn’t seem panicked.

She seemed upset.

Even so, he asked, “Are you good with me going home?”

“Do you want to go home?” she returned.

“That isn’t an answer to my question,” he replied gently.

“I didn’t think—” She looked away.

“You didn’t think what?” he pressed.

“I thought…” She didn’t finish that either.

“You thought what, Lilly?” he asked softly.

She took a breath then returned to him. “The dogs are settled here.”

For a second, Harry didn’t move.

Then he busted out laughing.

“Harry.” He could tell by the snap in her voice, she didn’t think anything was funny.

With effort, he got control of himself and stirred his oatmeal, saying, “So I’m not going home.”

“Maybe you can go home when your dad heads back to Phoenix,” she suggested.

He was so not ever going home.

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