“She’s in bed,” Belle answered. “Sleep is a separate issue.” Stepping back to allow him to enter, she closed the door, locked it and said, “Usually, she lies awake for a while, talking to herself or to Lizzie.”

Wes stopped in the act of shrugging out of his jacket and looked at her. “Who’s Lizzie?”

“Her stuffed dog.”

“Oh.” Nodding, he took his jacket off and hung it on the coat tree beside the door. For a minute there he’d actually thought maybe he was the father of twins or something. Looking at Belle, he said, “I half expected you to not open the door to me tonight.”

“I thought...