That temporary surveillance job became something Phil had never known, ever. It became his life, his family. Though keeping Claire safe and happy was still his top priority, his sense of responsibility grew the evening he felt Nichol move within her mother. Nichol was an extension of Claire. Part of him wanted to hate the beautiful, brown-eyed girl for what she’d done to her mother upon her arrival. Never in all of his years of service had he felt so impotent. But once again, Claire’s strength showed through, and Phil adored the child as much as he did her mother. How could he not? Nichol was the only baby he’d ever held.

The sense of family somehow over time even transferred to Rawlings himself. The egotistical, narcissistic, hothead who’d originally hired him had morphed into a kindred spirit. Despite the Rawlingses’ past history, Phil and Rawlings had a shared interest in keeping this family safe. On the tragic day at the estate, when faced with the inevitable, Rawlings looked into Phil’s eyes and placed his infant daughter in his arms. Trust. After failing them in Palo Alto, Phil had earned it back.

Phil remembered holding Nichol inside of his jacket to keep her warm and protect her from the cold water of the sprinklers and the bitter Iowa spring temperature. However, after receiving the greatest gift he could imagine from Rawlings, Phil once again failed to protect Claire and all of their lives spiraled out of control.

During the next two years he could’ve walked away. No one would’ve blamed him. Hell, Brent Simmons told him to leave, for his own good. Phil didn’t care about his own good. He never had. One doesn’t do what he’d done throughout his life while being concerned about his own well-being. There had always been another reason.

Did his infatuation start that day in March of 2013 when he saw Claire through the fourth-floor window, or perhaps in San Antonio? Phil couldn’t say. He’d foolishly shown his cards in San Diego when he sent Claire the note with her room service. No matter the time it began, Phil’s sense of duty was too ingrained. The Rawlingses were his responsibility. He’d failed them before and he wouldn’t do it now.

No matter how mixed up Phil’s feelings were about Taylor, she’d saved Claire and Nichol from Rudolf. He should welcome her knowledge and assistance. However, that one act didn’t give her the ability to share unsubstantiated information. Phil was still the go-to man on this team, as she called it. And he would do anything to keep Claire away from the dark place where she was unreachable, the place she’d been for two long years. It wasn’t as simple as keeping her physically safe. It was keeping her mentally stable. The way he saw it, a sense of unwavering security was a strong component of that mental health.

Keeping his employers uninformed didn’t only apply to Claire. From Phil’s perspective, Rawlings didn’t need the responsibility. Phil had plans for the sender of those gifts and cards. If things didn’t go as he intended, the Rawlingses could honestly claim ignorance. Neither one of them needed a public and lengthy legal battle. They’d both had their share.

CLAIRE SIPPED HER warm coffee as Courtney’s excitement bubbled forth with each word. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I feel like I might burst! Brent and I are so excited about Caleb’s call. Can you believe it? Can you honestly believe it?” She raised her chin and turned her profile to the left. “Come on, tell me the truth. Do I look like a grandmother?”

Claire giggled as she shook her head. “No, but if you stop going to those every-three-week salon appointments, you might.”

“Nonsense. I don’t need to be a white-haired, frail little thing to be a grandmother. I’m going to be the hottest grandma this side of the Mississippi.”

Claire’s laugh filled the restaurant. “Yes, Cort, you are! How’s Julia feeling?”

“She’s having morning sickness, or as Caleb said, morning, noon, and night sickness.”

Claire scrunched her nose. “Poor thing. I remember that with Nichol. Mine didn’t last too long, but even one bout is too many.”

“I told her that it doesn’t usually last past the first trimester. I mean, look at Emily. She’s feeling well. Isn’t she?”

Claire nodded, swallowing a bite of her salad. “She is. She’s just starting the dreaded third trimester. You know, when you’re ready to be done. I remember sleeping a lot. Em can’t do that, not with Michael. I guess she can with Becca helping her, but it’s still hard. She seems tired most of the time.”

As Courtney continued to talk about Julia’s pregnancy, Claire basked in the memories of her own. She tried to think of the good times, those of her and Tony on the island. A faint pinkness came to her cheeks as she recalled the difficulty and inventiveness of being together during those last few months. It would seem that in that enlarged state, sex would be the last thing she’d have wanted; however, Claire remembered it being the exact opposite. It wasn’t a subject she wanted to ask Emily about or bring up to Courtney. Heaven knows, with Courtney’s filter—or lack thereof—she might just say something to Julia, and Claire didn’t want to be the source of that uncomfortable daughter- and mother-in-law conversation.

The noontime crowd had thinned by the time the two ladies finished their lunch and last cup of coffee. They’d had too much to talk about to rush. “It’s been great to get some time to catch up,” Courtney said as she squeezed Claire’s hand.

With Claire’s response on the tip of her tongue, she saw Phil looking her direction from a table away. “It has,” she confirmed. “Are you ready for Phil to get the car?”