“Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “I can be there tomorrow.”

“JUST SHOOT ME NOW,” Nicole Keyes said as she wiped down the kitchen counters. “I mean it, Wyatt. You must have a gun. Do it. I’ll write a note saying it’s not your fault.”

“Sorry. No guns at my house.”

None in hers, either, she thought glumly, then tossed the dishcloth back into the sink.

“The timing couldn’t be worse for my stupid surgery,” she muttered. “They’re telling me I can’t go back to work for six weeks. Six. The bakery isn’t going to run itself. And don’t you dare say anything about me asking Jesse. I mean it, Wyatt.”

Her soon-to-be-ex-brother-in-law held up both hands. “Not a word from me. I swear.”

She believed him. Not because she thought she frightened him but because she knew he understood that while some of the pain in her gut came from an inflamed gallbladder, most of it was about her sister Jesse’s betrayal.

“I hate this. I hate my body turning on me this way. What have I ever done to it?”

Wyatt pushed out a chair at the table. “Sit. Getting upset isn’t going to help.”

“You don’t actually know that.”

“I can guess.”

She plopped into the chair because it was easier than fighting. Sometimes, like now, she wondered if she had any fight left in her.

“What am I forgetting?” she asked. “I think I’ve gotten everything done. You remembered that I can’t take care of Amy for a while, right?”

Amy was his eight-year-old daughter. Nicole looked after her a few afternoons a week.

Wyatt leaned forward and put his hand on her forearm. “Relax,” he told her. “You didn’t forget anything. I’ll look in on the bakery every couple of days. You’ve got good people working for you. They love you and are loyal. Everything will be fine. You’ll be home in a few days and you can start healing.”

She knew he meant from more than just the surgery. There was also the issue of her soon-to-be-ex-husband.