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Gracie glared at her sister, who was still pretending to be enthralled by the discharge papers. "Mona, that giant truck I hear better be a FedEx delivery because I specifically told you not to call the boys at the firehouse."

Mona flung her hands, losing half of the discharge papers in the process. "Well, what else was I supposed to do? They insisted. You know how much those boys love you. And besides, we need the help. It's been thirty-two minutes, and you haven't even made it out of the car."

"It's been twenty-eight minutes, and I'm practically inside the house."

"Stop being so stubborn." Mona's phone began ringing.

"I'll stop being stubborn when I'm not on a deadline. Don't you dare reach for your phone. You are not taking that call until you tell them to leave. Did you hear me? I said you are not—"

"Mona speaking." Mona side-stepped Gracie's reach, answering with her professional Realtor voice, a voice that didn't betray the slightest hint her younger sister was currently hissing out ways she planned to murder her with pie.

"Hey, Miss Gracie." Wombat sauntered over, interrupting her pie tirade. He was wearing his volunteer fireman T-shirt, which Gracie was pretty sure he'd ordered online in bulk, along with tactical pants and red suspenders. It was his ensemble whether he was working as a tow truck driver, volunteering as a firefighter, shopping for groceries, or sitting in a pew at church. Should he ever get married, Gracie imagined he'd forego a tuxedo for his current attire.

He stooped down to gather her discharge papers. "Glad you're home. We hung the banner earlier, then figured we'd swing back by to see if you needed extra help with"—his eyes dropped to the papers—"constipation?"

Gracie snatched the papers and tossed them behind her. "I don't need help."

"She does. Can you get her into the house?" Mona spoke over Gracie, then pressed her phone back to her ear. "Not you. I told you the house wasn't ready. Now, you listen here, you little..." Mona marched off, leaving Gracie alone.

Well, alone not counting the four firefighters she used to babysit every summer when they were toddlers, and now fed at least once a month at the fire station, currently crowding around her, cracking their backs and rotating their necks.

"So how do you want to do this?" Wombat asked the other three. "I'll grab one thigh. You grab the other. You steady the head. Sound good?"

No. Being discussed like a turkey at Thanksgiving dinner did not sound good. Especially since Leo, the one she'd always had to hide the scissors from as a toddler, had an axe propped over his shoulder. "Listen. You guys are so sweet. I mean it. You're the best. But I'm good. Really. In fact, why don't you take a few of those casserole dishes with you? Maybe drop one off at the cottage for my new renter while you're at it? That would be the biggest help to me, because I'm telling you, I'm fine. See?" Gracie gripped the handle on the open car door and rose to a standing position.

Or at least tried to. Her rear end barely cleared the seat before a scream erupted from her lips.

All four men jumped a foot back. Leo swung the axe in front of himself like a weapon.

Okay, fine might've been a slight exaggeration.

Footsteps rushed to the car, kicking up pebbles and dirt before skidding to a stop in front of Gracie. "Wombat, hey. What's going on here?"

Oh thank goodness. Matt. Her kindhearted nephew. The one person on the planet who could hopefully bring a little sanity to this situation.

"Mom," he said to Mona. "You were supposed to call me once you left the hospital."

Mona lowered the phone and whisper-shouted to Matt. "I called Aimee."

"Why would you call Aimee?"

"She's your fiancée."

"How many times do I have to tell you, she's not my—" He clamped his jaw shut with a growl.

Gracie kind of wanted to do the same. "Matt, will you please help me stand? I promise I'll be fine if someone will just help me stand."

Matt gripped her elbows and lifted her to a standing position.

Holy hyssop! Gracie clamped her mouth shut, afraid of what words might escape past her lips, none of them holy. Felt like a fifteen- pound bowling ball was sitting inside her pelvis.

After several awful seconds, the pressure began to disappear. The sweat drizzling down her forehead and into her eyes, however...

"See?" she gritted out between her teeth. "Perfectly fine."