Stealing Home by Sherryl Woods Page B

hackles up. Maybe it was because she always sensed some inherent disapproval in her mother’s tone, if not her words.
    “You sound as if you’re on your last nerve,” her mother said. “What’s Bill done now?”
    Since there was little point in denying her husband’s role in her mood, Maddie gave her mother an abbreviated version of the scene that had just played out on her doorstep.
    “It’s plain he wasn’t thinking, but women are usually more sensitive to these things. What on earth possessed Noreen to think that she’d be welcome at your house?” her mother demanded.
    “I doubt she thought about it at all,” Maddie responded. “I imagine she was just doing what Bill told her to do.”
    “Or she wanted to rub this situation in your face,” her mother said heatedly. “Isn’t it enough that she destroyed your marriage?”
    “Apparently not,” Maddie said.
    Paula drew in a deep breath. “Okay, there’s no point in belaboring the woman’s lack of good sense. What can I do to help?”
    “The kids could really use a change of scenery,” Maddie said. “I hate to ask, but would you mind taking them to your place for a few hours? It won’t be the same as going to their dad’s, but maybe it’ll distract—”
    “How about I take them to Charleston instead?” her mother offered. “We’ll see a movie, eat hamburgers and greasy fries and I’ll bring them home exhausted.”
    Maddie was surprised. “Are you sure?”
    “Believe it or not, I find your children highly entertaining and they don’t seem to mind spending time with me. We’ll enjoy ourselves.”
    Maddie decided not to remind her that she’d once vetoed the idea of spending any time babysitting them. At the moment, she didn’t really care why that had changed. She was just grateful for it.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    “No thanks necessary,” her mother replied. “But one of these days I would like it if we could sit down and talk about why you hate asking for my help not just with the kids, but with anything.”
    Maddie sighed. How could she tell her mother it was because asking for help—especially from a woman as competent and self-sufficient as Paula Vreeland—always made her feel like a failure?
     
    “Well, you look downright pitiful,” Dana Sue observed when Maddie appeared in the doorway to the kitchen at Sullivan’s later that afternoon after depositing her surprisingly upbeat kids with her mother. “Come on in here and sit down. I’ll fix you a plate of spiced shrimp.”
    “Save the shrimp. I’ve already eaten lunch with the kids,” Maddie told her, not entirely certain why she’d dropped by. When a leisurely bubble bath had done nothing to soothe her, she’d sought out the one person who could understand what she was feeling. Dana Sue had been through her own nasty divorce from a cheating husband, but at least Ronnie hadn’t stuck around Serenity to rub the situation in her face.
    Dana Sue set a plate piled high with shrimp in front of her anyway. “Peeling those will keep your hands occupied while you tell me what’s going on.”
    “Are you sure you have time to talk?” Maddie asked, regarding the shrimp without interest but picking one up anyway.
    “The lunch crowd has dwindled and it’s hours till people start showing up for dinner,” Dana Sue said. “But even if I were busier than an ant at a picnic, I’d still have time for you.”
    “I could chop or dice or something,” Maddie offered.
    “No offense, but this is my kitchen. Any chopping or dicing will be done by me and my experienced staff. Besides, judging from the expression on your face, I’m not sure you ought to be trusted with sharp objects.”
    Maddie managed a faint grin. “You have a point.”
    “What’s Bill done now?”
    “What makes you think my mood is his fault?” Maddie inquired. Dana Sue was the second person to leap to that conclusion. Obviously her life and her moods were becoming too predictable.
    “Because you loved