Excerpt of Just for the Summer by Jenna Rutland

One of these children could be her son.

Dani Sullivan clutched the windowsill of her rented Lake Bliss bungalow and watched the small group of boys who played at the water's edge. She searched each child for something familiar, desperate after eight years to see the sweet face of one little auburn–haired boy.

Would she recognize anything of herself in the child? Or would his features trigger an unwanted memory?

A woman clad in a floral one–piece bathing suit hustled out of a lawn chair. Her long blonde ponytail swayed as she rushed toward a boy wearing bright red swim trunks who stood near two other kids throwing sand. He wore a navy Detroit Tigers ball cap, and tufts of his brown hair peeked out the back. The shade reminded Dani of nutmeg, a color that matched her own curls at that age. The shape of his face and the way he'd run—swinging his arms like they were the source of his locomotion—seemed so familiar. So right.

Her son?

An image of a baby boy flashed in her mind. A newborn, wrapped in a hospital–issued blanket, dark–eyed with a tuft of auburn hair. Her beautiful baby, whom Dani had promised a happy life.

As another woman's son.

Fueled by an overwhelming urge to get closer, she scurried onto the screened–in porch and grasped a wooden beam for support. Outboard motors roared on the lake, drowning out conversation. The woman appeared to scold the children next to him then guided the boy to sit on the end of the dock where it met the beach. The others gathered around. The woman removed the boy's cap and tilted his head upward. The child swiped first at his right eye then at the woman's hand.

That could be her son's adoptive mother.

Nausea tightened Dani's gut.

Without thought, she pushed open the screen door and took a few steps toward the beach. The sun was harsh on her face; the mixture of dried–out grass and weeds pricked her bare feet. She pulled her sunglasses from on top of her head and slid them onto her nose.

The voices at the beach escalated, and the woman grasped the boy's hand. Once again, he swatted her away and rubbed his eye. She massaged her temple in apparent agitation.

Instinct kicked in. Dani jogged the few yards to the beach and made her way to where the boy sat on the dock covering his eye. "Can I help? I'm a nurse."

The woman turned, her eyebrow raised in question.

"I'm Dani Sullivan, the new renter in cottage three. I thought maybe the boy needed help."

The woman glanced at the child, then back to Dani. "I think he's got sand in his eye. He won't let me look, and I'm not sure what to do."

Dani removed her sunglasses and squatted to get a better look at him, and he pulled his hand away from his face for just a moment. Though his eye was red, she didn't see any sand on his cornea, and his eye was no longer watering. She took the opportunity to scan his eyelashes, his mouth, his nose. Did they resemble hers? She'd seen her son eight years ago for barely an hour. Would she even know if this boy was him?

He rose from the dock. The faintest hint of unease surfaced in his uncovered eye. "Don't even think about giving me a shot."

His comment surprised a laugh from her. She would have made a similar remark. "I promise—no shots. Okay?"

After a quick nod, he lowered his hand, uncovering his eye. She took a few steps closer, the sun–heated sand gritty between her toes. She concentrated on dragging the humid air into her lungs. "What's your name, honey?"

"Sam Reagan."

Sam. A name she knew but hadn't chosen.

Her son.