“No, you won’t. You’ll sleep in my room; I’ll be comfortable enough downstairs.”

She shook her head firmly. “I have no intention of putting you out of your bed.” He needed his sleep. Anybody was grouchy without sleep, and being grouchy wouldn’t help him form a strong emotional bond with the boys.

Suddenly looming over her shoulder, Rafe said gently, “Don’t you think that’s a bit much food?”

She glanced down at the frying pan. A dozen egg yolks stared back at her. Had she really cracked all the eggs? “I’m starving,” she said weakly.

“Ah. For a minute there, I thought you were nervous.”

“Not at all.” She scrambled, fast.

He leaned back against the counter, watching her. “Because there’s no need to be nervous. This whole situation’s tough on both of us, and maybe you especially. We barely know each other, and neither one of us knows a darn thing about kids…We can just take it one thing at a time, Zoe.”

“Of course we can.”

He paused. “And I do understand that it’s extra rough on you, feeling about children the way you do…”

“It’s not that I dislike them. It’s just-”

“I understand.”

“I can’t help it, Rafe. I know it must sound cold and uncaring to admit flat-out that I can’t handle being around them, but…” Her tone turned to a whisper. Parker was shuffling toward the doorway. He’d lost a shoe, and his lower lip was trembling. Zoe sent the spatula flying and rushed over to him. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Where’s blankie?”

“Blankie?”

“My blankie. My yellow blankie. You promised you wouldn’t forget to pack it!”

“Oh, the blanket! We’ve got it, honey. Just a minute.” She hustled into the front hall, where their gear lay in untidy piles, looking like storm-shelter debris. When she finally found the ragged blanket, she hurried back to the kitchen. Parker folded his arms around it, his grin monumentally huge. She couldn’t help but drop a kiss on his forehead, and then he pattered off back to the television.