The Rancher Meets His Match

Raising three sons and running his ranch keeps single dad Jared McCreedy busy from sunup to sundown. Becoming involved with feisty single mom Maggie Tate is not on his to-do list. But he needs her help dealing with his youngest son’s learning problem. Like Jared, Maggie doesn’t want any romantic complications in her life...especially with a man whose take-charge attitude makes her temper flare—and her pulse race. But the risk of opening her heart is great and she has her daughter to think about. Then again, it is the season for faith and miracles....

Jared was out of his comfort zone.

He was used to women who wore comfortable shirts tucked into jeans. Maggie Tate wore enough pink to be a flamingo. She didn’t look old enough to be a parent, let alone one who gave advice when the going got tough.

“The most important things I can tell you are don’t be afraid to ask for help, take all the advice that is offered and also be willing to sacrifice to get it.”

“Sacrifice?”

“Time mostly. You asked me for advice,” Maggie reminded him. “Funny, but it all goes back to something we talked about the first time we met. Here’s the truth. When dealing with Caleb, patience isn’t a virtue—it’s your only barrier between sanity and chaos.”

Great, Jared thought, because if he remembered correctly, she had told him on that first meeting that patience was seldom found in a woman and never in a man.

PAMELA TRACY

is an award-winning author who lives with her husband (he claims to be the inspiration for most of her heroes) and son (he claims to be the interference for most of her writing time). She started writing at a very young age—a series of romances, all with David Cassidy as the hero. Sometimes Bobby Sherman would interfere. Then, while earning a BA in journalism at Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas, she picked up the pen again. (This time it was an electric typewriter on which she wrote a very bad science-fiction novel.)

First published in 1999, Pamela is a winner of the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Book of the Year award and has been a RITA® Award finalist. Readers can write to her at www.pamelakayetracy.com or c/o Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 01279. You can find out more about Pamela by visiting her blog, Craftie Ladies of Suspense, at www.ladiesofsuspense.blogspot.com.

Once Upon a Christmas

Pamela Tracy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the Lord searches every heart

and understands every motive behind the thoughts.

—1 Chronicles 28:9

To my vintage shopping buddies

and fellow English teachers—Marianne Botos,

Lyn McClelland and Stacey Rannik—

you guys keep me stylish and sane. Thanks so much!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

“I didn’t hit her.” Small arms folded across his chest, bottom lip at a salute, five-year-old Caleb McCreedy looked ready for battle.

Only three months into his kindergarten year and he’d managed what his two older brothers hadn’t.

A trip to the principal’s office.

“My lunch box hit her,” Caleb finished. He made a face and paused as if in deep thought.

John Deere baseball cap in hand, Jared McCreedy shifted uncomfortably on one of the hard brown chairs in the too small office and frowned. His youngest son was no stranger to battle. He had the example of two older brothers. They, however, knew better than to bring it to school.

Mrs. Ann Tyson, principal of Roanoke Elementary for all of three months, turned to Jared as if expecting him to do something besides sit and listen as the story unfolded. Although his memories of being in trouble a time or two should have helped him speak up, they hadn’t.

All he could do was frown.

“On purpose!” This outburst came from Cassidy Tate, a loud, little girl with wild brown curls.

The principal cleared her throat, not because she needed to, Jared could tell, but to let Cassidy know she’d been out of line. Then Mrs. Tyson glanced at the referral in her hand.

Jared took the time to study Cassidy. He’d heard about her many, many times from his middle son who sat behind her in a second-grade classroom.

Cassidy tore my paper.

Cassidy pulled the head off my LEGO and now I can’t find it. Never mind that Matt wasn’t allowed to take LEGOs to school.

Cassidy keeps following me.

“I like her,” Caleb informed the family every time Matt shared a “Cassidy” story. With Caleb, it was a love/hate relationship. Caleb loved her when he wasn’t throwing lunch boxes at her, and Matt, although he wasn’t allowed to hate, avoided her at all costs.

Cassidy’s mother, Maggie Tate, sat on the brown chair right next to Jared, but she didn’t look uncomfortable. At one time or another she must have spent time in a principal’s office, too, because she seemed to know exactly what to do, how to sit and what questions to ask. She looked in control, something he wanted very much to feel at the moment.

Since his wife’s death, Jared had tried for control but realized that his idea of being in control didn’t mesh with the chaos of his three sons, each with varying needs and each missing their mother.

He wished Mandy were here.

When the principal finally set down the referral, Maggie was ready. “Are you sure it was on purpose?” She didn’t raise her voice, change her expression, or so much as clench a fist.

“I’m sure.” Cassidy glared at Caleb who was trying hard not to wriggle in a couch designed for much bigger people.

That couch hadn’t been here the first time Jared had visited this office. He’d been five years old and had taken something that hadn’t belonged to him. He no longer remembered what.

The next time he’d stood before the same principal’s door, it was because the principal, Billy Staples, wanted permission to take something from Jared.

Jared remembered what. As oldest son, albeit in junior high, he’d willingly given his permission for his mother and Billy to marry.

Mrs. Tyson leaned forward, and Jared could see her fighting back a smile even as she said, “He did throw the lunch box up in the air on purpose. Three times. Along with five other little boys. The lunch aide asked them to stop. Two did. The aide was on her way over to intervene, yet again, when Caleb’s lunch box hit Cassidy in the face.”

“I wasn’t aiming for her face,” Caleb insisted, his voice breaking. “We were trying to see if—since our lunch boxes had peanut butter on them—they would stick to the roof if we threw them hard enough.”

“Ceiling,” Cassidy corrected.

Beside him, Maggie made a low-pitched, strangled sound. If Jared hadn’t been sitting so close to her, he wouldn’t have noticed. She was a master at keeping calm.

“But the fact that you might hit someone is exactly why the aide asked you to stop,” the principal said patiently.

“And you didn’t listen,” Jared added, finally getting his voice.

“But—”

“No buts.”

“If you’d packed me leftover turkey from Thanksgiving, like I wanted,” Caleb accused, “this wouldn’t have happened. Turkey doesn’t stick.”

“Caleb!”

Caleb had the good sense to stop talking.

Cassidy looked from Caleb to Jared before saying, “See, Mama, I told you it wasn’t me.”

Now that Jared looked again, the woman in question didn’t look old enough to be so in control of the situation, let alone a mama, or a business owner. Yet, she was all three. This past summer, Joel, Jared’s younger brother, had done some work on her vintage clothing shop. Because Joel’s fiancée wanted a vintage wedding, Joel had spent a lot of time talking about vintage clothes and about the shopkeeper. His description hadn’t done Maggie Tate justice.

Her deep brown hair fell in a blunt cut that was shorter than he liked and barely reached her shoulders. When she’d walked into the principal’s office, five minutes late and looking non-repentant, he’d noted the short gray-and-red dress that gave him a chance to admire a nice pair of legs encased in some sort of black tights. Black clunky shoes with ridiculous heels finished the outfit.

City girl.

She’d probably been chatting up a customer in her store when she’d gotten the call from the school. He’d been in the field wrapping up corn harvest.

She smelled of some sort of jasmine perfume; he smelled of sweat.

“...not the first time for either of them,” Mrs. Tyson was saying.

“What?” Jared straightened up. He’d missed the first half of the sentence.

Again came the half smile and Jared knew the principal was enjoying this. Maybe because Jared’s stepfather had been principal of Roanoke Elementary for thirty years and some parents still went to him first, only to be redirected back to Mrs. Tyson. Maybe because Mrs. Tyson had heard about the McCreedy boys, and their escapades, even though more than a decade had passed since they’d been students here. Maybe because Mrs. Tyson knew the color in Jared’s cheeks wasn’t because Caleb was in trouble but because it had been far too long since he had admired a pair of legs.

“I was talking about throwing lunch boxes. This is not the first time for either of them.”

Maggie looked at Cassidy. “Were you throwing lunch boxes, too?”

“Not today.”

“But some other day?” Maggie insisted. “Did you hit Caleb with a lunch box some other day?”

Cassidy’s lips went together. The answer was in her expression. Yes.

The principal’s brows went together. Clearly, this was the first she’d heard of it.

“Why did you tattle,” Maggie asked, “if you’ve done the same thing to him?”

Caleb and Cassidy exchanged a look, no longer adversaries, now conspirators.

“She didn’t tattle,” Mrs. Tyson said. “The aide did and the aide had plenty to say. Seems that while Caleb was removed from the lunchroom and escorted to his teacher, Cassidy hid his lunch box and doesn’t seem to remember where.”

Jared closed his eyes. Caleb’s teacher was soon to be Jared’s sister-in-law.

“We’ll take care of this at home,” he said firmly as he stood, giving Caleb a look that said we’re going. “I promise you that.”

“We’ll find the lunch box,” Maggie quickly offered. “Or—” she shot Cassidy a glance that could only mean trouble “—we’ll buy him a new one from your allowance.”

Cassidy’s mouth opened to an exaggerated O. That quickly, Caleb was back to adversary.

“If he threw the lunch box at her, she’s not buying him a new one,” Jared argued.

“People.” One word, that’s all it took when it was an elementary school principal.

Ten minutes later, Jared stood outside the principal’s office door tightly holding Caleb’s hand. Maggie and her daughter were still inside.

“This is my baddest day.” Caleb didn’t even try to fight the tears. Of Jared’s three boys, he was the one who cried freely, whined often and ran full tilt from the time he got out of bed until he fell back into it. He argued the most, too. But, Caleb was also the one who still climbed on Jared’s lap, laughed until tears came to his eyes and who knew the name of each and every animal on the farm.

If they didn’t have a name, Caleb gave them one.

“I doubt that,” Jared said calmly. “We’ll talk later. Now, don’t start whining.”

“I can’t help it. I really want my lunch box. It’s my favorite.”

Jared pictured the lunch boxes sitting on the kitchen counter. Grandpa Billy packed them every morning. Ryan’s was a plain blue. Nine-year-olds no longer needed action figures or at least his didn’t. Matt’s was Star Wars. Caleb’s was Spider-Man.

“We should go buy a new one,” Caleb suggested. “There’s a really cool one—”

“No, we should go to the cafeteria and see if the lunch ladies found it.”

Caleb followed, feet dragging. “I don’t want to go there.”

Of course he didn’t. The principal had just assigned him a full week of wiping down tables instead of going to recess. Jared intended to do the same at home along with no television for a week.

The cafeteria hadn’t changed all that much since Jared’s years. There were still rows of tables with benches that could be levered up to make mopping easier. Large gray trash baskets were in the four corners. Right now, decorations of snowflakes and wrapped presents were taped to the walls. Snowmen and Santas shared messages of “Don’t Forget our Winter Program.”

No way could Jared forget. He’d recently been put in charge of props. In just a few weeks, Caleb would be dressed like an elf and singing with his class. Ryan actually had the part of Santa. Matt would pretend to have a stomachache the night of the program. According to the note sent by Matt’s teacher, he had the role of delivering presents to people in the audience.

Smart teacher.

“You start in here,” Jared ordered. “I’ll go in the kitchen.”

A few minutes later, Maggie Tate joined them in the search. She poked her head in the kitchen door. “I’m so sorry. She’ll be wiping down lunch tables with him.”

Jared almost bumped his head as he looked up from the cabinet he’d been going through. “That’s okay.”

She nodded and then went into the cafeteria, presumably to search.

Jared was on his fifth cabinet when he heard the giggles.

He followed the noise to the cafeteria and stopped. In the middle of the lunchroom tables stood Maggie and the two children, all of them looking at the ceiling. In her hand, she held Caleb’s lunch box. Jared could see the peanut butter smeared all over it.

Finally, Maggie hunched down and shook her head. “Caleb, it would take a lot more peanut butter to make it stick.”

“I wondered about that,” Caleb admitted.

“I can go find some peanut butter,” Cassidy offered.

Maggie simply shook her head again, smiled at Jared and sashayed past him into the kitchen where she washed the offending lunch box before handing it to Jared.

For a brief moment he’d been worried she’d gone looking for peanut butter.

* * *

Maggie helped Cassidy into her coat and out the front door of Roanoke Elementary. Together they walked the mere block to Maggie’s shop Hand Me Ups.

Well, Maggie walked; Cassidy did more of a sideways hop with a scoot and jiggle follow-up.

“I don’t think it’s fair that I got in so much trouble,” Cassidy said after a moment. “I didn’t throw my lunch box at him, and we found the lunch box right where I hid it. And I only hid it so he wouldn’t throw it at me again.”

“But you didn’t tell people where you hid the lunch box when they asked. That was wrong.”

Cassidy contemplated, for all of thirty seconds. “But, if I gave it back, he might have thrown it at me again.”

“Once adults were involved, that wasn’t likely. You were wasting our time. I might have missed a customer at the shop. And I’m sure Caleb’s dad had work to do. Plus, even you admitted he didn’t exactly ‘throw’ it at you.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And, what if the lunch box was gone when we went back to get it?” Maggie asked.

“He could have one of mine.”

Cassidy had two, both pink and both secondhand, one with Dora on it and the other with Cinderella. Cassidy’s greatest wish was to get rid of both of them in order to buy a new one with a pony on it. Maggie doubted Caleb would be inclined to accept either.

“No, if the lunch box disappeared, we’d be getting him a new one, with your piggy bank money.”

“But I have to use that money to buy presents!” Cassidy’s scoot and jiggle stopped for all of a moment. Then, she was on to a new subject: one where her piggy bank wasn’t in danger and there were other problems to solve. “Am I pretty?”

“Getting prettier every day.”

“Today, Lisa Totwell said that she was the prettiest girl in class and that I was second.”

“Well,” Maggie said carefully, “do you want to be the prettiest, or is it okay if Lisa is?”

“It’s okay if she is. She’s my best friend, you know. Cuz we’re both the new students in second grade this year. Everyone else has been here forever.”

Yesterday, Brittney Callahan had been Cassidy’s best friend. Before that, it was Sarah, a girl Maggie had yet to put a last name or a face to.

Didn’t matter. Maggie was thrilled at how quickly Cassidy was fitting in—maybe fitting in a little too well. Coming to Roanoke, Iowa, was the right choice. For both of them.

“Cassidy, you know that Caleb is only in kindergarten, right?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe you need to play with the kids in your own class.”

Cassidy stopped so quickly, she nearly stumbled to the ground. “No way, Mom. Caleb is my friend, and he’s fun. Plus, he’s Matt’s brother.”

Matt McCreedy was the subject of many a conversation. He was the only one in Cassidy’s second grade who hadn’t been given best-friend status, and Maggie suspected Cassidy might be going through her first crush.

Now that Maggie had met Matt’s dad, she figured he and Matt were cut from the same cloth—rugged, sturdy denim. Caleb seemed to be cut from a different sort of cloth.

Which meant that Mr. Jared McCreedy didn’t understand his youngest son’s creative personality.

“We’ll talk about it later.” Maggie didn’t want to dwell on the plight of the misunderstood child.

She’d been one—an army brat with an errant mother and a father who was used to giving orders and having them followed with a “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” Her dad was a man who tried hard, but one who definitely didn’t understand girls.

“Mom, you’ve got that look on your face again,” Cassidy complained. “Did I do something?”

“Yes, you did something. You got sent to the principal’s office for the second time, and I had to leave work to come deal with it. After taking most of last week off, I really needed to spend time in the shop.”

Cassidy suddenly was very involved in staring at a crack in the sidewalk.

Maggie wasn’t deterred. “School’s only been in session three months. Next week is December and if you don’t...” Her words tapered off as a black truck drove by. Actually, she was glad for the interruption. She’d been about to bring up consequences, such as not attending Christmas activity at the church this Friday night or even the school’s winter play and the possibility of Cassidy not appearing in it.

Don’t threaten unless you mean it.

“Look, Mom!”

Jared McCreedy sat tall and oh-so-serious-looking behind the wheel of the Ford diesel truck. His three sons, the oldest in the front, two more in the back, all looked at Maggie and Cassidy. Caleb waved. Except for Matt, none of the boys appeared as serious as their father.

Cassidy frowned. “They have a dog. His name is Captain Rex.”

Something Cassidy asked for quite often, usually after figuring out that there was no way her mother would even listen when asked for a horse or a baby brother.

“Yes, they have a dog.”

Cassidy’s letter to Santa—not mailed because it wasn’t finished—had a dog in it, second on the list, right after a pair of red boots. Cassidy wouldn’t be getting a dog. The McCreedys had something Maggie and Cassidy did not: a house and yard. Maggie thought of two more things the McCreedys had: horses and baby brothers.

And family. They had plenty of family. They hadn’t had to fly to New York to celebrate Thanksgiving with her disapproving mother-in-law—the only relative who cared even to invite them.

The McCreedys, Maggie knew, had roots that ran deep in Roanoke, Iowa. She hadn’t seen Solitaire Farm, their place, but she’d heard about it and could picture what it looked like.

Big white house with a huge porch, complete with a swing and a rocker or two. Long driveway, winding its way to the front door, cars parked, meaning a large family. A barn. Lots of green, green grass to run across and trees to climb. Room to breathe. Plenty of animals, especially horses and, of course, acres of corn and soybeans.

Except for the corn, soybeans and animals bigger than a dog, what Maggie imagined was pretty much a portrait of one of her goals: a real home for Cassidy.

Too bad this farm was owned by a man who reminded her of her late husband, Dan, thinking of his duty above all else. Because, if Jared McCreedy had been a different kind of man—softer, more jubilant and easygoing—maybe Maggie would have engaged in a little flirting.

What would it have hurt?

It had been a year.

Not a chance. Jared even looked like Maggie’s late husband: tall, thick dark brown hair, and almost black piercing eyes. Both men were capable of walking into a room and suddenly making the room seem small. There were a few differences. Dan wore fatigues while Jared wore jeans and a flannel shirt. Dan had to wear his hair at a precision cut while Jared’s was long enough to cover his ears. Dan was always clean-shaven. Jared had a five-o’clock shadow that made Maggie think about how good whiskers felt during a kiss.

Whoa.

Been there, done that, not a chance Maggie wanted to deal with a man so intent on being in control that he didn’t know how to have fun.

Or appreciate the concept of getting a lunch box to stick to the ceiling with the help of a little peanut butter. Maggie smiled when she pictured the abject horror on Jared’s face when he spotted the sticky lunch box. No, Jared McCreedy was not her ideal man. No sense of thinking about him at all.

Chapter Two

It had been a tough week thanks to Monday’s phone call from the principal. And now once again, thanks to a Friday phone call from Caleb’s teacher, Jared was standing in the hallway of Roanoke Elementary.

He checked his watch. He had at least a dozen things to do today, starting with figuring out—since he was here—what props were needed for the school’s Christmas program. The father who had been in charge was now working extra hours and Beth, the woman he was about to see, had asked Joel, her fiancé and Jared’s brother, to help.

Joel had a rodeo, so right now, Jared was it.

But that had nothing to do with his visit today. No, Beth had something to say about Caleb, his youngest, who was responsible for Jared standing in the school’s hallway at four in the afternoon on a working day.

Through a window in the door, he could see Beth sitting at a small table. Someone else’s mom had her back to the door. So, maybe Caleb wasn’t the only one in trouble. Both women seemed overly fascinated by some paperwork spread out on the small table.

He didn’t intend to let any more time pass doing nothing. He needed to gather his boys, find the teacher in charge of the program, talk shop and head home. There was still an hour or two of Iowa daylight, and he had things to do and was already behind. He opened the classroom door and stepped in.

“Jared.” Beth Armstrong—Miss Armstrong to his son, Beth to him—twisted in her seat, looking surprised.

Funny, she’d called his cell phone and left a message requesting this meeting.

Then she glanced at the large clock just over her desk. “Is it that time already?”

“That time and then some,” Jared said, finally figuring out who was sitting with Beth. Hmm, she didn’t have a child in Beth’s class. Had something else happened between Caleb and Cassidy?

His future sister-in-law didn’t even blink, just nonchalantly walked over to where Jared stood. “Sorry, I was looking at pictures of wedding dresses and time got away from me. You know Maggie, right?”

“Away from us,” Maggie Tate agreed as she closed magazines and reached for some loose pictures, “and, yes, we’ve met.”

When Jared didn’t respond, didn’t say that keeping him waiting was okay, Beth grinned. She was getting entirely too good at teasing him. He could blame the fact that she was about to become his sister-in-law, but truth was, he’d known her most of his life. This time, she simply told him something he already knew. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Whoever coined that phrase wasn’t a single father of three with a farm to run,” Jared retorted.

“And I didn’t realize that you were standing outside waiting for Beth.” Maggie finished loading the papers into a canvas bag and made her way to the door. Jared couldn’t help but think her small frame looked right at home in the five-year-old wonderland of kindergarten.

His mouth went dry, and the annoyance he felt at being kept waiting almost vanished.

Almost.

Then, the young woman, her eyes twinkling, spoke again. “Patience is a virtue, have it if you can. Seldom found in a woman. Never in a man.”

Beth clapped her hands, clearly pleased that someone else shared the same opinion.

All Jared could think was, great, another female with a proverb. The only sayings he knew by heart were the ones his father said, and they were more advice than quips. Jared’s personal favorite: always plow around a stump.

He doubted the women would appreciate his contribution.

“Maggie’s helping me find my wedding dress,” Beth said.

“You’re a wedding planner, too?” Jared asked, forcing his gaze from Maggie’s deep green eyes. He had no time for a pretty face. And he was more than annoyed.

“Wedding planner?” Beth looked confused.

“I’m willing to add that to my list of occupations,” Maggie said. “But, at the moment, no. I’m just a shop owner and seamstress trying to keep a customer happy.”

Her shop, Jared knew, was all about vintage clothing, which explained the red velvet skirt. Who wore red velvet? Maybe Santa. Jared suppressed the smile that threatened to emerge. This woman was as alien to his world as, well, as an alien. Her skirt, tight at the knees, reminded him of one Marilyn Monroe had worn in an old movie he’d watched. She’d topped it with a simple white shirt and wide black belt. It was colder today than it had been on Monday. Maybe that’s why she had on a tiny, red sweater.

She’d freeze going out to the car.

Square-toed boots completed the outfit and kept Jared from admiring her legs the way he’d just admired her figure.

Good.

Frilly city girls made no sense to him.

Plus, she looked like she was ready to assist Santa or something.

“When I finished talking with my daughter’s teacher,” Maggie explained, “I checked to see if Beth happened to be alone. I’d brought some samples for her to look at.” Her voice was louder than Beth’s, stronger, and with an accent he couldn’t quite place, but definitely not Midwestern.

“I need to fetch Cassidy before she thinks I’ve forgotten her.” Maggie carefully slid by Jared, grabbed a coat from on top of a student’s desk and hurried toward the exit. “I’ll get going and let you have your time.”

“See if you can find me something like the first one we looked at,” Beth called.

Jared didn’t say anything, just held open the door so Maggie could exit gracefully.

“I really am sorry,” Beth said. “Time got away from me. And I do need to talk with you.”

Jared folded himself into the small orange chair Maggie’d just vacated. A fragrance that didn’t belong to five-year-olds or their teacher lingered—that jasmine smell again. He waited while Beth went to her desk and rummaged through a stack of papers.

Jared did his best not to hurry her. Unfortunately, the seconds ticked on and Jared started imagining all the suggestions she had for him. She probably wanted him to work with Caleb more. Jared got that, and would love suggestions, especially when it came to time management and incentives.

He stared at a bulletin board with a group of Christmas trees, stickers acting as ornaments, all bearing the names of Caleb’s classmates.

Caleb’s ornament read C-A-B. The B looked ready to fall down. Jared’s youngest son hadn’t bothered with the L or the E.

“Caleb behaving? I’ve asked him every day since Monday. He claims his light’s been green.”

Jared understood the traffic light system. Green meant Go, everything good. Yellow meant Pause, we need to think about this day and perhaps discuss how it could have been a bit better. Red meant no television, or no video games, or no LEGO bricks, depending on which kid decided not to obey the rules.

Beth didn’t answer, but finally found whatever she was looking for and came to sit down with Jared. She laid a few papers in front of him. “Caleb is trying very hard to behave but he complains a lot about his stomach hurting. He asks to go to the bathroom often.”

“He does that at home, too,” Jared admitted.

“Behavior is not why I called.”

She took a breath, and suddenly Jared got worried.

“It’s still very early,” Beth said softly, “and maybe if I hadn’t been around since Caleb was born, I’d wait. But, the music and PE teacher have both come to me with concerns, also. Jared, it’s not that he’s misbehaving, but he’s having trouble focusing, not just your typical trouble, either. Caleb can’t wait his turn, he bursts out with answers and he’s unable to sit long enough to complete a single paper.”

For a moment, Jared had trouble wrapping his mind around what Beth was saying. Yes, of his three boys, Caleb was the most energetic. Okay, downright wild at times. Jared saw that and somewhat blamed himself. After his wife, Mandy, had died four years ago, Jared had buried himself in the farm. For the first year, he’d walked around in a black fog. The three years that followed were a transitional period. He should have been paying more attention to Caleb.

But Caleb was still very young, only five.

“I think you need to schedule an appointment with your family doctor, see what he thinks. Honestly, Jared,” Beth continued, “I’m hoping it’s just immaturity, but if it’s not, I want to get help now so that first grade and beyond are easier. We might need to think about having some testing done and maybe seeing a developmental specialist.”

“Developmental specialist?” Jared’s tongue felt twice its normal size. Judging by his inability to say more than one or two words, he felt more like an observer to this conference than a participant. He shook his head and wished—like he wished almost every day—that Mandy were here instead of him, making these decisions when it came to this part of parenthood. Mandy always seemed to know what to do.

“Jared?” Beth said.

He looked at her, desperately trying to think of a response. “I think Caleb is fine,” he finally said. “He can count to a hundred. He’s been able to add and subtract single digits since he was three. You’ve trained my brother well. He’s been helping all the boys with math while they work at Solitaire’s Market.”

“I know, Jared,” she said softly. “Caleb likes numbers.”

He scooted back the chair and stood. “Do you have anything else you need to tell me?”

She looked at him, and he saw in her eyes so many shared memories. She’d been his late wife’s best friend and truly loved his sons.

“Caleb’s a charmer, but you already knew that.”

Jared nodded, wanting more than anything to get out of this room where everything was in miniature and the dominant smell was no longer jasmine but crayons, glue and children. He needed to get home, back in the field, where he could wrestle his oversize tractor and surround himself with the land, McCreedy land, and the rich smell of dirt that would not forsake.

Beth stood and held out yet another piece of paper, this time not one with Caleb’s scribbles. “It’s the developmental specialist the school recommends, just in case.”

“I didn’t even know the town was big enough to have a developmental specialist.”

“It’s not big enough,” Beth said. “You’ll have to go to Des Moines.”

“That’s over an hour.”

And still Beth held out the paper. He took it because he’d neither the time nor the inclination to argue. He went into Des Moines maybe once every two or three months. “I’ll think about it,” he finally said.

“You know,” Beth said thoughtfully, “you might want to talk to Maggie. She’s a friend and she’s told me to give her name to any parent needing help. Her daughter Cassidy’s just two years older than Caleb and has problems with focus, too. She’s already walking the path you’re about to travel.”

“I work best alone,” Jared said.

As he closed the door behind him, he heard her utter one word.

“Liar.”

* * *

Maggie pushed her chair away from the kitchen table and rested her elbows on the windowsill. She could feel the cold coming through the pane but she didn’t care, at least not enough to move. Tiny slivers of aged gold paint flecked onto the sleeves of her pink sweater. She did care a bit about the moisture gathering in the center of the pane. It meant she needed to replace the window.

One more thing on her list.

Just a month ago, Roanoke, Iowa, boasted a distant sea of green, orange, red and yellow leaves that Maggie could see from her second-story window. The sight of so many trees, some stretching over residential streets, never failed to take her breath away.

Because the view belonged to her.

Today, the trees stretched their empty, dark limbs like waiting fingers saying, Where’s the snow? We’re waiting.

It was her town. Just like the trees, she intended to put down roots, grow, thrive, make a home, never leave.

Please let this be a forever kind of place.

Even now, in the predawn light, her town was waking up and starting its day. Just like she was doing.

Across the wide street was a drugstore. It had the old-timey chairs but the only thing the owner served up was Thrifty ice cream. Maggie dreamed of a soda fountain. Next to it was a hardware store that Maggie avoided because the only things she liked to fix simply needed a needle and thread. Then there was an antiques store she couldn’t resist. The owner, one Henry Throxmorton, was unlocking the front door. He had a newspaper under his arm. She’d never seen him smile, but she knew his wife was sick a lot. Maybe that was why.

Just two days ago, Maggie had found in Roanoke’s Rummage—an awful name for an antiques store if you asked Maggie—the pair of red cowboy boots she’d been looking for. Looking unloved and extremely dusty, they’d been on the bottom shelf of a bookcase. There was no rhyme or reason to how Henry arranged his store. But, had they been on display, maybe some other enterprising mother would have found them.

All it took to make them look almost new was a thorough cleaning with saddle soap and then applying a cream-based polish of the same color. They were already wrapped and under the Christmas tree.

On the same side was also a small real estate office. Maggie sometimes dawdled by the front where there were pictures of homes for sale. The ones with big lawns attracted her the most, but she didn’t really do yard work. The ones with no backyards didn’t appeal at all.

Looking at the photos also exposed a curiosity Maggie had finally acted on. Her mother had been born in Roanoke in 1967. Could one of the houses have been her childhood home? Maggie didn’t have a clue. All she remembered of her mother was a woman who smoked cigarettes and cooked a lot of noodle soup.

Maggie hated noodle soup.

Life had handed Maggie’s mother an itinerary that she didn’t intend to follow. It included the destinations marriage and motherhood. The only reason Maggie knew about Roanoke was her mother’s birth certificate. Natalie had been seven pounds, six ounces, and twenty-one-inches long: a live birth, Caucasian. She’d been born to Mary Johnson. Either Mary had chosen not to put down a name for the father or she hadn’t known who the father was.

So, some help that was. In Roanoke, Johnson was the second-most popular name, nestled between Smith and Miller.

Moving to Roanoke to find a connection to an errant mother was akin to looking for a needle in a haystack and made about as much sense. But Maggie had two choices. Stay in New York with Dan’s mother or strike out on her own.

She didn’t regret her choice and there was nothing wrong with living above one’s place of business. It was very convenient in fact. But Cassidy needed a backyard, a place to run, a swing set, the dog she kept asking for. No, not the horse. And Maggie wanted her own bedroom.

Maybe in a few years.

Maggie shook off the daydream. This morning was a school day and tonight was a holiday party at Beth’s church. Cassidy had begged to go, had already planned what to wear. Maggie had too much to do to dawdle in front of the window any longer.

After brushing off the paint—she really needed to do something about sanding and repainting—she scooted back to her computer and started to push away some of Cassidy’s school papers. Why they were on Maggie’s desk, she didn’t know. Cassidy’s stuff seemed to have a mind of its own and liked to spread to every nook and cranny of their tiny apartment.

Cassidy’s letter to Santa was under a page of math homework, and it looked like her list had grown to three. Underneath the word puppy was added baby brother.

Great, another item that couldn’t be purchased at a discount store. Cassidy needed to start thinking of affordable alternatives or the red boots would be it.

If only the red boots could bark and be named Fido.

While Cassidy slumbered, Maggie—sitting next to the old wall heater and thinking about turning on the oven—updated the store’s records on her computer. Under her breath, she reminded herself that any small business needed four years to establish. Right now, thanks to her alteration business, she made enough to pay the bills and a few, very few, extras. Oh, it caused some late and restless nights, but with the economy the way it was, Maggie was just glad she had a way to make a living. So what if she went to the library instead of the bookstore. So what if they ate hamburgers instead of steaks.

Maggie had enough money for the essentials.

The used red cowboy boots under the tree were proof of that. She’d priced new red boots. Not this Christmas. Good thing hugs were free.

Finally, at seven, Maggie turned off the computer and headed for the kitchen to make breakfast. Cassidy still slept and Maggie wouldn’t wake her until the blueberry pancakes were ready, one large circle for a face, two small ovals for ears, then banana slices for eyes, a strawberry nose and raisin teeth.

It was a tradition that Maggie knew would end all too soon as her little girl grew up. Just when Maggie picked up a spoon, the doorbell rang.

Maggie quickly glanced at the calendar on the refrigerator. Two reminders were penciled in.

The only pickup Maggie had today was Rosalind Maynard. She’d wanted Maggie to find a 1930s denim chore jacket for her husband. They were getting their photo made for their seventieth wedding anniversary. Apparently, Rosalind’s husband came from a long line of farmers. His parents had also had a seventieth photo taken way back when, and George Jr. wanted to look like his dad, even down to the jacket.

It was the second notation that made Maggie frown. Yesterday, Jared McCreedy had called. He wanted to talk. She’d agreed, and she’d said any morning was good, but she hadn’t planned on this soon.

No, not possible. This morning was too soon for it to be Jared.

She hoped.

Quickly, Maggie hurried down the stairs and skidded, barefoot, across the cold, wooden floor. Maybe she could open the door, usher in Mrs. Maynard, grab the jacket, ring up the sale, usher out the customer, and still get her kid fed and to school on time.

Only it wasn’t Mrs. Maynard.

Jared McCreedy stood on the threshold, three boys by his side and cap in hand. He didn’t say a word when she threw open the door. He pretty much just stared.

His son Caleb wasn’t so shy. “Wow, I think you like pink.”

“Hush,” Jared said.

Hiding a smile, Maggie stepped back and let the entire clan in.

“Pink is a good color,” Maggie said to Caleb, “which is why I’m wearing it. I call this my Jane Fonda look.” Granted, leg warmers were very seventies, but she did own a vintage store, so she could get away with it.

“I like red,” Caleb admitted.

An older boy shook her hand, the only McCreedy she hadn’t met personally, and then sat on a chair right by the entry and whipped out some sort of handheld gaming device.

“That’s Ryan,” Caleb announced. “He’s in fourth grade.”

Matt looked around suspiciously. “Where’s Cassidy?”

“Upstairs asleep.”

“It’s time to go to school.” Matt was completely aghast.

“I was just making her breakfast when you rang the doorbell. We’re fast eaters and dressers.”

Matt, way too mature for a second grader, clearly had more to say on the subject, but Jared jumped in. “We don’t need to be keeping you. I saw your lights on, we were running early, and I don’t know what I was thinking stopping by unannounced. I’m so sorry. I can stop back by once I’ve dropped the boys off at school if that’s okay. I got up at five and thanks to the party tonight at church, I have a whole list of things to do. That’s no excuse, though. I simply forget the rest of the world can sleep in.”

It had been a week since she’d last seen Jared. He still managed to have that my-time-is-too-valuable-for-this look on his handsome face, but right now there was a hint of something else, maybe humbleness.

“I get up at five, too, Monday through Friday,” Maggie responded. “It’s when I do the books. That way my evening belongs to Cassidy.”

Jared shook his head. His dark hair, combed to the side, didn’t move. He opened his mouth, but instead of addressing Maggie, he looked past her and said sternly, “Caleb, those stairs do not belong to you.”

Halfway up the stairs Caleb paused indecisively, but before the little boy could make a decision, a loud thump, the sound of something breaking and then a howl came from above.

“Cassidy,” Maggie breathed.

The only McCreedy who beat her to the apartment’s kitchen was Caleb.

Cassidy stood in the middle of the room crying. Pancake batter splattered her pajama bottoms, the floor, the counters, the refrigerator door and even the ceiling. The bowl was in pieces.

“Now that’s a mess,” Matt said from behind her.

Jared’s snort could have been dismay, agreement, or it could have been him holding back laughter. Maggie couldn’t see his face.

“Don’t move,” Maggie ordered. Quickly she stepped amid the batter and shards, lifted her howling child under her arms and carried Cassidy into the bathroom. Flipping shut the toilet lid with her foot, Maggie stood her daughter on top and asked, “Are you bleeding?”

Cassidy continued howling.

Maggie knew neither cajoling nor scolding would have any effect. So, in a matter-of-fact voice, she reasoned, “Matt, from your class, is here. Do you want him to tell your friends that you’re a crybaby?”

Cassidy stopped.

“Now,” Maggie went on, gently wiping the tears from Cassidy’s face, “are you bleeding?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Cassidy searched desperately for some blood.

After a moment, Maggie nudged in a patient but firm voice, “Where do you hurt?”

The fact that Cassidy had to stop and think proved what Maggie already knew. Cassidy wasn’t bleeding and she wasn’t hurt. She was scared and embarrassed. The best cure for that was not a bandage but a hug.

Hugs were free.

A minute later, Cassidy was in her room changing into her school clothes and Maggie was in her kitchen trying not to stare as a tall cowboy, too tall for this tiny kitchen, cleaned up pancake batter.

Chapter Three

After eating a second breakfast, because Maggie offered and it seemed polite and, okay, Jared needed something to do with his hands, he ushered everyone down the stairs and out to his truck.

“Really,” Maggie insisted. “Cassidy and I can walk to the school. We always do.”

“We’re already late,” Matt protested.

“I want to walk,” Caleb volunteered.

“Matt’s right,” Jared said. “We’re already late. Plus, there’s something I’d like to ask you. I don’t know if I’ll have another chance to get away.”

Jared’s sons quickly piled in the backseat. Matt and Ryan sat by the coveted windows, while Caleb was more than annoyed to be in the middle. Cassidy, looking way too pleased, climbed in the front, quite content to be in the middle. She snapped on her seat belt and looked at Jared as if he were Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny all rolled into one. Jared knew the look well. It usually meant the kid using it was about to ask for something.

“Why don’t you have a girl?” Cassidy asked, once he’d put on his own seat belt and started the truck.

The snort from the backseat might have been Ryan or might have been Matt. For the first time, Jared got what Grandpa Billy meant when he said the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. It was all Jared could do not to snort, too. The only obvious non-snorter was Caleb because the five-year-old said, “Yeah, Dad, I want a sister. We can name her Molly.”

“We don’t need a—” Jared stopped, suddenly realizing that not just one but both females in the front seat were staring at him.

“We have a girl,” Jared revised. “Her name is Beth, and she’ll have to be in charge of giving you girl relatives.”

“But—” Caleb started to say.

Jared held up one hand. “End of conversation.”

“Dad has to be married in order for there to be a sister,” Ryan told Caleb.

“And Dad doesn’t like girls,” Matt added.

Jared almost drove off the road. Where did Matt get that idea? As for Maggie, she was looking away from him and out the window. He could tell by the way her cheeks were sucked in and her lips were puckered, that she was doing all she could not to laugh.

“Why don’t you like girls?” Cassidy asked.

“I do like girls,” Jared assured her, “especially ones who eat blueberry pancakes and ones who show me exactly where to park.”

Cassidy giggled and pointed to a visitor’s spot right by the front walkway of Roanoke Elementary. “Am I a visitor?” Jared asked.

“Yes,” Cassidy decided. “Because you’re not a kid and you don’t work here.”

“Good enough,” Jared agreed.

A moment later, both he and Maggie had signed their children in as tardy and watched as all of them, clutching late slips, scurried to their classrooms.

Well, Matt didn’t scurry. He looked at Jared accusingly. The only thing worse than being late, to Matt’s way of thinking, was being late alongside Cassidy Tate.

* * *

Jared had never stopped at Roanoke’s only coffeehouse just to have coffee. What he was paying for two cups could buy a whole pound, not that he would have. He didn’t like coffee. Plus, the concept of just sitting around, doing nothing, felt strange. He resisted the urge to fidget.

“You always come here after dropping Cassidy off at school?” He shifted in the brown hardback chair and stretched out his legs. They didn’t fit under the tiny table.

Maggie took a sip of something that was more chocolate than coffee and nodded. “As often as I can. It’s my one treat before I open the store for the day. Usually, though, I’m alone so I sit here and write in my journal. Or I read. Do you like to read?”

He hadn’t been asked that question in almost fifteen years, not since high school. “I read the Bible.”

“Oh.”

She visibly recoiled, her withdrawal so tangible it made him stop thinking about where to put his feet and how much he’d paid for the stupid cups of coffee.

“When I have time,” he added, hoping to get her to relax, “I read the newspaper.”

“Online or paper?”

“A little bit of both.”

Instead of looking at Maggie and trying to figure out why his reading the Bible could put such a look of vulnerability—or fear?—on her face, Jared took a drink of his coffee. Bitter stuff, downright nasty. Good thing the cup wasn’t that big.

He decided to get right to the point. “Beth has pretty much insisted that I come talk to you.”

“And here I thought you just stopped by because you knew I needed help with breakfast.”

When she smiled, it about made him want to forget the real reason he had stopped by. But, only for a moment. “She thinks you can give me some ideas on how to help my son Caleb. He’s having trouble at school.”

Maggie was already nodding. “I told Beth she could send anyone my way. When Cassidy started having trouble in school, I felt so alone. My husband wasn’t around and when he was, he didn’t really understand. For months my only friends were the specialists and the books and articles I was reading practically every night on how to deal with Attention Deficit.”

He looked at her empty ring finger and desperately tried to remember what Joel had said about why a Mr. Tate wasn’t around.

“I’m not sure that anything is wrong with Caleb,” Jared said finally. “I think I just need to be stricter and—”

He knew the moment he lost her. Her smile flattened. Her stare was suddenly focused on something other than his face. His late wife, Mandy, used to get the same look on her face, usually when he was saying something about why the living room wasn’t picked up or why they were having hamburger for the third night in the row. It was only when Mandy got sick and couldn’t do anything that he realized just how much she’d been doing.

And how clueless he’d been.

“Look,” he backtracked, “Caleb is just five. He lost his mother when he was not yet two, and he pretty much lost me for almost a year. That he can focus at all is a miracle. I want to be a good dad. Beth says you have more parenting tips than Dr. Spock.”

He was trying to be nonchalant, but he was out of his comfort zone. He was used to women who wore comfortable shirts tucked into jeans. She wore enough pink to be a flamingo. She didn’t look old enough to be a parent, let alone one who gave advice when the going got tough.

“The most important thing I can tell you is don’t be afraid to ask for help, take all the advice that is offered and also be willing to sacrifice to get it.”

“Sacrifice?”

She nodded. “Time mostly.”

Something Jared didn’t have in abundance.

“You asked me for advice,” Maggie reminded him. “Funny, but it all goes back to something we talked about the first time in Beth’s classroom. Here’s the truth. When dealing with Caleb, patience isn’t a virtue, it’s your only barrier between sanity and chaos.”

Great, Jared thought, because if he remembered correctly, she had told him, upon that first meeting, that patience was seldom found in a woman and never in a man.

“I was really hoping,” he said, “that you’d give me some concrete advice. You know, an earlier bedtime, maybe he needs to eat more fruit.” Jared was grasping at straws and trying to remember everything he’d looked for on the internet.

She shook her head. He had an idea that whatever concrete advice she gave would be hard, harder than he could do.

“An earlier bedtime is always good. What kind of advice do you really want? I mean, is Caleb having trouble finishing homework? Sleeping? Does he worry a lot?”

Unfortunately, the only thing that didn’t ring true was worry. Caleb didn’t have a care in the world, especially when it came to homework.

“He gets stomachaches more than my other two and spends more time in the bathroom. Other than that, he’s a normal kid.” Thankfully the cell phone he’d never wanted and now couldn’t live without saved him from having to say anything else. He wasn’t prepared for her questions, and he knew her advice would be near impossible to follow.

“This is Jared,” he answered. It only took a moment to hear about the latest catastrophe facing those in charge of the church party.

“Absolutely,” Jared promised. “I’ll head home now and get some more.” Never before had he been glad to hear that he hadn’t brought enough hay for a maze. By now, he should be an expert on mazes.

He couldn’t help it. After he disconnected the call, he checked his watch again.

This meeting was over.

And Maggie Tate was looking at him as if he’d disappointed her.

For some reason, it bothered him.

* * *

“Mom, Mom, Mom.” Cassidy rarely said Mom only once. She usually said it three or more times just because she could.

“I’m getting dressed.”

“But I’m ready. Did you know that this outfit would look much better with red boots?” Cassidy didn’t expect an answer. She just looked at the two presents under the tree: one really small, the other really big. Neither looked the size of cowboy boots.

Maggie was no dummy. She’d wrapped the cowboy boots in a box five times their size.

“For now, your regular shoes will have to do. And, Cassidy, if you keep interrupting me, we’ll be late.”

Cassidy had put on her good clothes the moment she had gotten home and had been chanting “I’m ready” for almost three hours.

Maggie applied a layer of red lipstick that matched the red of her Norma Jean wool-blend winter dress. The weatherman predicted snow, and although it hadn’t arrived yet, cold temperatures had. Maggie wanted to be prepared for the worst and a fully lined frock would do the trick.

At least on the outside.

The inside, her insides, had a completely different need—one that pretty clothes couldn’t mask. She’d not stepped foot in a church for a year, not since Dan died.

It’s not a church service, Beth had insisted. It’s just a party. No Bible study and we’ll be singing Christmas songs.

It wasn’t Beth’s invitation that was getting Maggie to church. It was Cassidy’s, “But, Mom, all my friends will be there.”

It’s not a church service, Maggie told herself. And even if it turns into one, I can just take a bathroom break.

Maggie’s biggest fear was letting God get close.

Because that would stir up a memory Maggie was trying desperately to bury, one that involved Dan and injustice.

“Cool,” Cassidy approved when Maggie finally made it to the living room. “I’m ready.”

“I feel cool,” Maggie agreed. Only, really, she didn’t. Ever since Jared had taken her out for coffee this morning, broached the subject of Caleb needing help—of Jared needing help—and then chauffeured her home, she’d felt a bit off.

As if she’d left something undone.

It was usually mothers who’d come to Maggie to ask quietly if meeting with a developmental specialist had made a difference. They’d often thrown out tidbits of how their own children were behaving as if hoping Maggie would say something like, “Oh, that’s just typical kid behavior. I doubt you need to do all I’m doing.”

But Maggie wasn’t a specialist and wouldn’t offer any advice as to what someone else’s child needed. Early on, she had discovered that sometimes the mothers hoped she’d give them ideas on ways to “fix” their children.

Their children weren’t broken. Cassidy wasn’t broken. There was no fix. All Maggie could do is share what had worked and what hadn’t worked for them.

Patience worked, but it took time. Losing her patience didn’t work and took even more time.

“Mom, Mom, Mom.”

“What?”

“Can I have some hot chocolate?”

“No, they’re serving a meal at the party. I’ve already paid the five dollars, and I want you to eat real food.”

“Hot chocolate is real.”

“Real sugary,” Maggie agreed.

“But—”

“Get your heavy coat, plus mittens. Then grab your backpack. I think there will be prizes and candy. Let’s go.”

She’d diverted Cassidy. Taken the child’s mind off the hot chocolate and on to something else, something Cassidy wanted. End of problem.

It worked, this time.

Something else that worked for Cassidy was walking—well, Maggie walked, Cassidy skipped—to the church, waving at people who passed by.

As they turned onto Calver Street, Maggie could see the Main Street Church ahead. The parking lot was already fairly full. A few stragglers were exiting their cars. In the back, she could see the hay bale maze Jared and his crew had been working on. A campfire was already burning. Plus, she could also see a horse pulling a wagon full of kids.

Good thing the storm was holding off and the weather was cold but not freezing.

Near the wagon ride was Jared’s big black truck, tailgate down, and even though the festival was starting, a group of men were still unloading bales of hay.

All day long she’d been thinking about the man, how his presence had filled her kitchen, how wonderful all the noise had been, and—

“Caleb told me about this maze. His uncle, Joel, designed it. They started it yesterday, but something happened and they had to fix it. I think Matt’s daddy didn’t bring enough hay the first time. He had to go back for more.”

Aah, that’s why coffee and conversation was cut short.

They reached the parking lot and hurried toward the entrance.

The horse neighed, a distant sound that echoed in the early-evening chill and beckoned Cassidy. “Mom, Mom, Mom. That’s what I want to do first!” She sped up, her hand automatically reaching back for her mother and dragging Maggie along.

That’s when Jared McCreedy exited the front door of the church, Caleb’s small hand in his. Caleb was dragging his feet, practically falling in an effort to halt his father’s progress. A constant stream of “No, No, No” came from his mouth. Heading to the side of the building, away from the crowd of people, Jared bent down and starting talking.

Maggie couldn’t hear the words, but she knew by Caleb’s bowed head that somehow the little boy had gotten in trouble. And Jared McCreedy was doing what good fathers across the world do. He was shepherding. He was offering wisdom. He was trying to teach right from wrong.

As Maggie entered the church, she could imagine Caleb arguing with his dad. It didn’t take any imagination at all to picture Jared. He wouldn’t be open to an argument, especially coming from his youngest son.

“Welcome, we’re glad you could join us!”

Maggie shelved her musings about Jared for a moment and smiled at the woman greeting them. Upswept hair, perfect makeup and wearing an outfit that could have come right out of Maggie’s store.

“Is that Lilli Ann?” Maggie asked.

The woman turned. “Where?”

“I mean the designer of your vintage suit.”

The woman checked her outfit. “Oh, this is just something I threw on. My sister sent it from Des Moines a few years ago. She said it just looked like something I’d wear.”

Too bad. So far in Roanoke there’d not been a true fashionista who could talk Crepe Fox Fur or gold-tone pearl buttons.

Safe topics for in a church foyer when you really didn’t want to be there.

“Let me take your coats,” the woman offered.

It’s not a church service, Beth had insisted. It’s just a party. No Bible study and we’ll be singing Christmas songs.

“No,” Maggie insisted. “We’re fine. I’ll hang them up.” If she hung up her cocoa leather and shearling coat, she’d know right where to get it if she needed a quick getaway.

Not that her coat could get lost amid the heavy leather jackets and box-store offerings hanging on the rack. None of tonight’s attendees seemed to be into double-breasted fronts and huge collars.

“Have you been here before?”

Maggie knew what was coming next: an invitation to services.

“Excuse me.” Maggie pulled Cassidy in front of her. “We need the restroom.”

“Right over there.”

After a thorough washing of her hands—not because they were dirty but because Maggie needed to get her bearings—and several deep breaths, all while Cassidy urged “Come on, Mom, Mom, Mom, pleeeeeease,” Maggie headed for the foyer again. The woman who’d greeted her was already at the door with some other victim.

“There’s a horse,” Cassidy reminded.

“Perfect.” The horse was outside. To Maggie’s way of thinking, being outside a church was much better than inside a church.

As they made their way to the line for the horse and wagon rides, first picking up plastic cups of hot chocolate, Maggie noticed that Jared and Caleb were still standing at the side of the church.

Cassidy, though, was all about Cassidy. In a nanosecond, Maggie was holding both their drinks while Cassidy charged full speed ahead. She would have made it, too, if a toddler hadn’t suddenly veered in her way.

Cassidy recalculated, turned left, stumbled, went down, seemed momentarily stunned, but then hopped up and without so much as a backward glance at the toddler who had deterred her, got in line.

It was that magical seven-year-old energy.

Nope, Maggie thought for the second time, she wouldn’t change a thing about Cassidy. Every nuance was part of the precious package that Maggie loved, unconditionally.

Looking behind her, she watched Jared with his son. At one time, Maggie had been a prayer warrior. If that were still true, she’d be praying that Jared McCreedy was the kind of father who would soon figure out the same thing about his youngest son.

But Maggie no longer prayed. She’d seen firsthand the power of answered prayers and it terrified her.

Chapter Four

The Main Street Church certainly drew a crowd. Maggie recognized customers, parents of Cassidy’s classmates and even Henry Throxmorton, the owner of the antiques store from across the street who never seemed to smile. He wasn’t smiling now, but he was sitting at a table across from two other men—both knew how to smile—and looking as comfortable as she’d ever seen him. His wife, looking frail but content, sat next to him.

Only six months in Roanoke and already she knew a few faces. For the first time since entering the church doors, Maggie relaxed. She could do this.

Maggie quickly purchased a few tickets and followed the path Cassidy had already taken—sans the toddler. How Cassidy knew her way around, Maggie didn’t know. In a matter of minutes, they were both in line for the horse and wagon. Never mind the cold! There were a handful of adults and a crush of kids under ten, most of whom Maggie did not know, but Cassidy did.

With mittens on and hats down over their ears, Cassidy and Maggie rode in the wagon bed, singing Christmas songs at the top of their lungs along with anyone else foolhardy enough to be outside in the freezing weather.

Joel McCreedy, Jared’s brother, added a deep bass from his position at the reins. He listened to the kids’ suggestions for songs, told jokes and even paid attention as little ones shouted their lists for Santa Claus.

Joel was easygoing, not like his older brother. With a devil-may-care glint in his eyes and I-can-do-anything attitude, the younger McCreedy brother had quickly won over both Maggie and Cassidy this past summer while he worked on remodeling the store that became Hand Me Ups.

Still, it was the older brother that Maggie couldn’t seem to forget.

After three go-rounds, the cold soon drove the Tate women inside to the crowded fellowship hall where the food smelled as inviting as the people were. It only took a moment before Cassidy claimed she was warm again and stood at one of the large windows staring longingly at the horse toting around yet another group of revelers.

Not a chance. Maggie was so cold her teeth hurt.

“Joel said that when the crowd dies down, I can sit up front with him. Then it would be fair.” Cassidy stood so close to the window that her breath frosted the glass.

Maggie was no dummy. “Which means we’ll be here until cleanup.”

“Yes,” Cassidy said brightly.

Just as Maggie was ready to open her mouth, squash that idea—

“We can always use help with cleanup.”

Trust Beth Armstrong to walk by at just the right moment. Her arms were full of paper plates, cups and napkins. Matt McCreedy followed her with a stack of plastic forks. He tripped over his untied shoelaces and the forks hit the ground. Maggie and Cassidy gathered them up and followed Beth and Matt to the kitchen.

“I’m not quite sure where Jared’s gotten off to.” Beth joined the workers in the kitchen. “He’s supposed to be helping with serving. He never shirks his duty.”

“Dad’s busy,” Matt volunteered.

“Doing what?”

Matt gave the typical kid reply. “I don’t know.”

Maggie bit her lower lip. She knew how busy Jared was. She also believed Beth’s words about Jared and responsibility. Her husband had been like that, putting duty first. Could be Jared had lost all track of time and didn’t realize how cold it was. If Jared and Caleb were outside, then maybe now was the perfect time to start interfering.

Helping.

She wasn’t interfering.

“Watch Cassidy for just a moment, will you?”

In response, Beth set Cassidy to putting plastic dining ware into separate containers.

Stepping outside the kitchen and once again into the fellowship hall, Maggie quickly looked around. No Jared. She headed for the foyer, still full of people in varying stages of taking off coats, putting them back on. Most laughing. No Jared.

She really hadn’t been expecting to find him in either place.

Then, exiting the church, she rounded the corner and found both Jared and Caleb leaning against the building, both of them looking half-frozen.

“We’ll go in when you calm down,” Jared was saying.

“Noooooooo.”

Maggie had to give Jared credit, he didn’t lose his temper at Caleb’s belligerent whine nor did he give in. His voice, however, was sharp when he said, “I’m sure getting cold.”

“Nooooooo.” If anything, the whine got louder. Jared winced and stood his ground.

“I’ll bet you’re getting hungry, too,” Maggie announced as she rounded the corner, hoping she was doing the right thing, slightly nervous at intervening.

Helping, she was helping.

She wished someone had been around when she was first going through this.

“Cassidy’s been looking for you, Caleb.” Maggie looked at Jared, trying to gauge whether he wanted her help or wanted her to back off. His expression was unfathomable. But, judging by the way he gritted his teeth, he did need help—whether he wanted it or not.

“Seems your Uncle Joel has promised a hayride with a couple of kids sitting up front,” Maggie continued. “She thought you’d like to go with her.”

Happiness for a moment, back to anger and then doubt all flickered across Caleb’s face.

“That would be fine with me,” Jared encouraged. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his tan coat. A black knit cap was pulled over his head, low enough so Maggie couldn’t see his eyes, but not so low that it did a good job of protecting his face.

Caleb pushed himself away from the church, a little clumsily since he had on a heavy coat—just like his father’s but definitely a size too big—and boots that were also a little too big for his feet. It looked like hand-me-downs were alive and well at the McCreedy house. Without a backward glance, Caleb trotted toward the horse and wagon.

Maggie turned. She needed to get Cassidy pronto.

“Wait!” Jared said.

“Just let me get Cassidy out there to meet him. It’s important that I keep my word.” She hurried inside, fetched Cassidy, and rushed toward the horse and wagon.

A moment later, she promised Joel that she’d have the children’s tickets after he made the round. Caleb, used to both the wagon and Joel, hopped right up on the front seat. Cassidy scrambled alongside him. Both children shouted Giddy up!

Maggie headed to the side of the church, albeit hesitantly. Thanks to his winter hat, she’d not been able to read his expression and wasn’t one hundred percent sure he’d appreciated her interference.

Her help.

But Jared—sensible man—had already gone inside and was taking his place carrying hot dog buns to the serving area. No way did Maggie want to talk to him amid all these people.

There was a short line at the table where two women sold tickets. A jar with money inside had a photo of a family and in black marker were the words: all proceeds to go to needy families.

Nostalgia, unwelcomed and unwanted, hit Maggie like a surprise kick to the back of the knees. Three years ago, she’d been the church woman sitting at the table collecting the money. Sixteen years ago, she’d been a member of the “needy family” club.

Maggie took a deep breath. Tonight she was close to being the needy family again and as far away from the church woman as she could possibly be.

It’s not a church service. It’s just a party. We’ll be singing Christmas songs.

But Maggie could never forget, no matter how she tried to place her memories of Christmas on a back burner for Cassidy’s sake.

Christmas was not the best time to venture inside a church, and not because they collected for needy families and not because Maggie no longer prayed.

It was because it had been a December day that she’d received word that her husband had been killed in the line of duty. It had also been a December day that Maggie’s mother had walked out on her daughter and husband.

I’m strong. I can do this. I will do this.

Maggie managed to buy the tickets with minimal words and—her legs still feeling weak—backed away from the table and just stood in the middle of the crowd looking at the walls.

I’m strong. I can do this. I will do this.

The walls behind the ticket sellers were awash with Christmas drawings made by the kids. Santas of varying sizes, some even skinny, tumbled across the walls. Snowmen chased them. Snowflakes, some resembling pumpkins, came in amazing colors.

Cassidy didn’t have an offering on the wall as Maggie didn’t let her attend church.

Maggie left the fellowship hall. She needed something to chase away the memories of the past. She needed away from all the “Merry Christmases.” It was somewhat calmer in the hallway. The Bible classroom doors were shut, but the area teemed with people and, yes, their minds were on Christmas.

Tables were set up, and a craft business seemed to be thriving. Joel could wait a little longer for the tickets. And, she knew if she wasn’t there when he finished the round, he’d just take the kids again.

Low on funds, Maggie bypassed the spiral-bound cookbooks that were for sale next to a display of beaded jewelry and went straight to some knitters and crocheters who might consider selling their goods on consignment in her shop. What she really wanted was crocheted soda can hats, but she’d make the request after seeing which of the crafters wanted to work with her.

While the ticket takers on the inside were collecting money for needy families, the crafters were all about collecting money for the church camp. They were thrilled at having another avenue to make money.

There was also a husband and wife team selling photo identification badges for kids. He was flanked by an artist and a clockmaker. If she’d had some spare cash, she’d buy a few presents.

Maybe next year they’d let her set up an area and sell vintage clothes. She could do a great business in the kids department.

That did it. Just a few thoughts about work and next year. Some of Maggie’s anxiety ebbed. Enough so that when Cassidy came barreling around the corner shouting, “I couldn’t find you!” Maggie was able to pick up her daughter and swing her saying, “I’ll never wander far. You’ll always be able to find me.”

Cassidy didn’t know how true those words were. She also wasn’t willing to slow down to look at such grown-up temptations as jewelry and identification tags.

“How did you get away from Joel?” Maggie asked.

“We went around three times and then Joel said for Caleb’s big brother to bring me to you,” Cassidy explained. “There were lots of kids in line. We weren’t being fair.”

The sound of laughter and the smell of food wafting from the fellowship hall were a magnet. Cassidy pulled Maggie through the door and into the room crowded with people both eating and playing games.

Maggie wasn’t a bit hungry.

Neither apparently was Cassidy, except for wanting a bag of popcorn which she didn’t get.

In the back of the fellowship hall there was a coloring table, a face-painting table manned by Beth, and a fishing game. Cassidy looked, paused, and passed by saying, “Maybe I’ll get my face painted, later.”

Outside, the cold slapped at Maggie’s face. Cassidy zoomed to the maze and latched on to the McCreedy boys, to both Ryan and Caleb’s joy and Matt’s consternation. After one turn making their way through the labyrinth, Maggie knew why. Ryan was overjoyed because he surrendered Matt and Caleb into Maggie’s supervision. He disappeared with his friends toward an impromptu football game played with bigger boys and a few fathers.

Caleb was overjoyed because he just plain liked girls, Cassidy especially.

“Nothing makes Matt happy,” Cassidy confided after their third time going through the maze.

“I want to go help Beth,” Matt said.

Maggie looked in through one of the windows. Beth had a line ten kids deep. “Beth’s busy at the face-painting booth,” Maggie said. “We’ll see if the line dies down soon, and then you can go help her.”

An hour later, Cassidy and the boys were out of tickets and Maggie was guiding them back to the fellowship hall and the food line. Matt and Caleb ran ahead, Cassidy on their heels. Maggie wasn’t quite as fast. But, the closer she got, the slower her feet became.

Once again, Jared had a towel in his hand and was cleaning up a mess. Only this time it wasn’t pancake batter. It was ketchup.

She didn’t have time to look away before he glanced up and caught her staring.

She could only hope he realized that she was fixated on the ketchup spill and not him.

* * *

Too bad hot dogs were a staple at Solitaire Farm because after tonight, Jared wasn’t sure he could stomach the smell ever again. This wasn’t his first time helping with the church’s Christmas party, but it was his first time without Mandy. The last few Christmases had been hard.

Jared’s helpers were ambitious and laughed a lot, but they really weren’t much help. They got sidetracked on conversations, mostly football scores or whose house had been broken into recently—seemed there’d been quite a few thefts. They took too long taking orders, because every customer was a friend. They forgot where stuff was stored, even though most had attended the Main Street Church for decades and this wasn’t their first time in the kitchen. And, most of all, they were clumsy.

Even worse, when they spilled things, they were more likely than not to leave the spill where it was than to clean it up.

Jared had just sent home Sophia Totwell. She had claimed a hurt ankle; he figured she was as tired of the hot dog smell as he was. Plus, she’d seen her husband and two kids wandering around, looking lost.

“I wish you’d talk to him,” Sophie said to Jared as she untied her apron. “You’ve been farming a long time. Give him some advice on how to make money as well as spend it.”

Kyle Totwell didn’t want to hear what Jared had to say. He’d moved onto a broken-down farm, purchased way too many cows for his ability and finances, and was now suffering.

“Dad, can I have a hot dog?” Caleb skidded under the table, managing to rearrange the tablecloth and knock a handful of napkins to the ground. Matt picked them up and stayed on the correct side of the food counter.

“One hot dog, no bun, coming up,” Jared said. He nudged Caleb around the table to stand next to Matt. He just knew his voice dripped with patience. Surely Maggie would notice how in control he was. “You want one, too?” he asked Matt.

“Yes.”

“And you?” he asked Cassidy.

“I don’t like buns, either.”

Maggie came to the edge of the table, guiding Cassidy away from the tablecloth and smiling at Jared as if this morning hadn’t happened.

“Thanks for what you did earlier, and thanks for taking my boys around,” he said.

“They were no problem. We had fun.”

He’d noticed. Maybe that’s why he’d been so attuned to the ambitious, laughing lot in his food court. He’d been wishing he was with Maggie and the kids.

“I’m sorry I left the coffee shop so abruptly this morn—” he started.

“Nothing to apologize for,” she finished. “Some topics are harder than others.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Matt wanted to know.

“Grown-up talk.” Jared quickly made four plates, two with just hot dogs and two with buns, potato chips and a homemade chocolate chip cookie.

“I want a choc—” Cassidy and Caleb chimed in unison.

“Only after you eat the hot dog,” Maggie said. “And then only half.”

“Dad, you always give me a chocolate chip cookie,” Caleb complained.

“Now might be a good time to change.”

Little adult that he was, Matt had already made his way to a table and was eating his hot dog, sans ketchup—before touching anything on his plate. He did not look overjoyed when Cassidy and Caleb joined him. He did, however, astutely move his plate so his cookie was out of his little brother’s reach.

“How many times did they go through the maze?” Jared asked.

“I stopped counting at seven.”

Jared’s next words came out before he had time to think. “You have more patience than I do.” Immediately, he wanted them back. Her smile slipped a little, just enough so he knew she was thinking about this morning.

She, indeed, did have patience because instead of pointing out the obvious, she simply said, “I’d better go see what the kids are doing and make sure they eat.”

He watched her walk away, her hips sashaying in such a way that Jared wondered how such an old-fashioned red dress could look so appealing.

Maybe because it wasn’t the dress.

Chapter Five

It was nine and the game lines still boasted one or two kids. Cassidy leaned back in the chair, and let Beth Armstrong’s paintbrush create an image on her cheek that would soon become red cowboy boots.

Beth had more paint on her than most of the kids, and she looked ready to drop.

“I take it the Christmas party’s a success?” Maggie stood slightly to the side, gently swaying with Caleb on her hip, and watched as Beth created her masterpiece.

“It always is. This year seemed really good. I heard one of the women say we raised almost five hundred dollars. There was never a moment the face-painting booth didn’t have a kid.”

“Me, either,” Maggie agreed. “There was never a time I didn’t have a kid.” She switched Caleb from her left arm to her right. Good thing he was a small fellow or her arms would be more on fire than they already were.

“He’s sure taken to you,” Beth observed.

“This morning we had a whole conversation in the car about his dad not having a girl. Caleb seemed to think they needed one.”

Cassidy giggled.

“Now, you’re going to have one boot bigger than the other. Don’t move,” Beth scolded Cassidy before turning to Maggie. “I heard all about you taking a ride in Jared’s truck. Caleb is a natural reporter. You’d think the ride went on for days. Then, too, there was something about pancake batter.”

“Yes,” Maggie admitted, “this morning was not my finest hour by any means. A good-looking guy stops by my place and winds up doing kitchen duty because Cassidy spilled a bowl full of pancake batter.”

“On accident,” Cassidy asserted.

“Then, Jared takes me out for coffee, so we can talk, and I find out he doesn’t drink coffee—serious flaw, by the way—and then he gets the call about some hay emergency at church so he doesn’t even get to finish the coffee that he didn’t like.”

“I’m glad he took my advice. Jared really needed to talk to you. He probably figures suffering through a cup of coffee a small price to pay.”

“We didn’t really get to talk.”

“Well, you must have connected somehow. Everyone in town’s going to be talking about how you chauffeured Matt and Caleb around.”

“My having them is more Ryan’s doing.” Maggie shifted, trying to get Caleb into a better grip. It had been a long time since she’d held a sleeping five-year-old. “We ran into them at the maze and he transferred the care and feeding of these small animals to me.”

“We’re not animals,” Cassidy protested. “I’m a cowboy—I mean cowgirl.”

“They’re animals,” Jared agreed, coming up from behind. “We’re closing down, and I get to take a break before cleanup. Anybody want a last-minute hot dog? We’re giving away the leftovers.” He didn’t look surprised when no one took him up on his offer.

Gently, he tried to take Caleb from Maggie’s arms.

But Caleb, even in sleep, was already comfortable and he wasn’t letting go. His hands curled into Maggie’s shirt and his head nestled tightly into her neck.

“I think he likes me,” Maggie said.

“He just likes girls,” Cassidy reminded her.

“Now you’re going to have part of a boot all the way to your nose,” Beth said. “Stop moving. I’m going to need to do some boot repairs here.” She nodded toward Caleb. “Why don’t you guys take him to the nursery? He’ll be more comfortable. I’ll finish with Cassidy while you’re gone.”

Jared nodded, already turning to head from the gym. Maggie followed, letting him open the doors for her. The hallway was almost empty. The crafters had packed up what was left. The stragglers were either helping with cleanup or children of the cleanup crew. Almost everyone said something personal to Jared. More than a few introduced themselves to Maggie even while raising an eyebrow.

Small towns were the same everywhere.

After a moment, they were at the nursery’s door. Jared hit a dimmer switch that allowed him to adjust the light. Just able to see, he headed past a few rocking chairs, a changing table and to a crib. “He won’t be happy waking up in one of these, especially if one of his brothers finds out.”

“Then we won’t tell them.”

Maggie gently rubbed Caleb’s back. He was heavy against her chest and smelled of sweat and hot dogs and little boy.

Maggie figured his father smelled of sweat and hot dogs and big boy.

“You know your way around this church,” Maggie remarked as she lay Caleb down. “This nursery reminds me of a church in Lubbock. I spent many a sermon sitting in it while taking care of Cassidy.”

“So you do go to church? I’ve never seen you here.”

It was too late to erase the words. Blame them on an overload of nostalgia. Maggie tucked the blanket over Caleb. “At one time I went to church. I don’t see the need now. Although, your church is lovely. I like how everyone interacts. I was never at a congregation long enough for the members to get to know me.”

“I’d hate that. Why did you move so often?”

“My husband was military.”

“Was?”

Maggie busied herself by brushing a strand of Caleb’s hair out of his eyes and tucking him in yet again. After a moment, Jared sat in one of the rocking chairs and said, “You don’t seem to have trouble fitting in. Beth thinks highly of you and so does my brother.”

“They have to think highly of me.” Maggie turned to face Jared. “I stock the kind of clothes Beth likes, and I paid your brother in cash for the work he did on my shop and plan for him to do more.”

Jared laughed. The sound was deep and showed Maggie a side of the man she doubted many saw. Most of the time, like when he was trying to meet with his son’s teacher, or clean up messy pancake batter, or drink coffee, or even push hot dogs at a church function, he came across as way too serious.

“I think I need to think highly of you, too,” he confessed.

“Why?”

“I watched you with Caleb tonight. He and Cassidy were like twins, running here, running there, running everywhere. You kept them in sight, you kept them in control and never once lost your patience.”

“I’ve had years of practice—first with my dad, who expected me to practically salute when he issued an order, and then with my late husband.”

“Your husband expected you to salute?”

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