He hadn’t realized that everyone in town would figure Cara Jane for his girlfriend.

Holt hated that she had been embarrassed by it. He could have prepared her for what she would encounter, but he’d been too intent on getting information out of her to think beyond that.

While walking Cara and her son Ace to his truck, Holt said, “I should’ve warned you about all that teasing and talk. Everyone knows everyone in Eden, so any newcomer is of interest.”

“I understand,” Cara replied. Then, looking up at him, she said, “I had a good time tonight. I know I’m a newcomer, but somehow I felt a part of the community.”

Eden was a friendly town, and the Watermelon Patch was like one big community dining room. That Cara had felt welcomed warmed Holt’s heart.

ARLENE JAMES

Arelene James says, “Camp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

The author of more than sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Fort Worth, Texas, with her beloved husband. Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade! She loves to hear from readers and can be reached via her Web site at www.arlenejames.com.

Her Small-Town Hero
Arlene James

Nay, in all these things we are more than

conquerors through him that loved us.

—Romans 8:37

For Dad.

Rancher, builder, oil man, businessman,

salesman, auctioneer…but first and perhaps

foremost, roughneck.

I love you.

DAR

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

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Chapter One

“Right here.”

A slender forefinger pecked a tiny spot on the map spread out across the table in the little diner. Outside, rain drizzled down in a gloomy, chilly curtain, holding dawn at bay. Weather reports predicted a continuation of the current pattern of rain for northern Oregon, but Cara’s concern centered more on what she would find south and west of here as they worked their way steadily toward Oklahoma and…She leaned forward, checking to be certain that her bleary eyes hadn’t played her false. Yes, there, right next to Highway 81. Eden.

Her tired gaze backtracked wistfully the equivalent distance of some thirty miles to Duncan, following the tiny line that represented the silver, two-lane ribbon of road. None of the interminable bus trips of her youth had ever taken her farther than Duncan. She’d originally planned to head straight for the town, thinking that she could find no better place to raise her son than that where she had known her happiest times, but then she’d realized that her brother Eddie would almost certainly think to look for her there.

So Eden it would be. Surely she could find sanctuary in a place with that name.

Next to her in a booster seat on the vinyl bench of the booth, her son, Ace, shoved away the remaining bits of buttered toast that remained from their shared breakfast and rubbed his eyes with two tiny, chubby fists before reaching toward her with a whine. Since his fussing the night before had prevented both of them from getting any real sleep, she knew exactly how he felt, but they dared not tarry another night in the Portland area. She hoped to make Boise, Idaho, before dinnertime and find a quiet motel off the beaten path where she and her little son could rest for the night before driving on.

After quickly folding up the map, Cara reached into the diaper bag that also served as her purse and removed several bills from her wallet. She placed the money on the table before sliding out of the booth, tugging on her short denim jacket and reaching for her son. Their clothing had proven no match for the chilly Oregon weather, but her limited funds prevented any but the most basic purchases. They’d just have to make do with layering. Ace, at least, seemed warm.

He laid his pale head on her shoulder as she reached for the diaper bag. She pulled up the hood of his tiny, gray fleece sweater before carrying him out into the fine rain. After belting him securely into his safety seat in the back of the small, greenish coupe for which she’d traded the minivan deemed suitable by her late husband and in-laws, Cara slid behind the wheel.

She would not regret the loss of the GPS guidance system offered by the minivan or bemoan the state of the eight-year-old foreign car with which she’d replaced it. Instead, she told herself sternly to be thankful for the money she’d made from the trade, cash that, if carefully spent, would help her start a new life for herself and her precious son. Ace would grow up in the safety of a small town, cared for by his mother.

Cara started the car and gripped the steering wheel, suddenly beset by fear and doubt. Gulping, she told herself that she could do this. She’d come this far. She could do whatever she must for the sake of her child and a chance to live a normal, healthy life. With a new year but days away, she vowed that a new life would be her true Christmas gift to her child. He deserved a mother who provided him with a warm, supportive, affectionate and loving home. That required a strong woman able to make her own way in the world.

If only she knew how to be that woman.

Panic began to swell. Cara knew that she must find a way to protect and provide for her little son or watch him become another possession of his cold, controlling grandparents. But how? The task suddenly seemed too daunting for a woman on her own. Homeless, all but broke and on the run, how could she possibly give her child the life that he deserved and needed? Somehow, for his sake, she must find a way.

Help me! she cried out silently, wondering if her plea could reach through the great void that she felt. God had never seemed quite real to her, but Cara desperately wanted to believe that He existed, that He cared. She wanted to think that her late, beloved great-aunt had been right, that God noticed her distress and would respond to her prayers.

That was not insane. Was it?

She would not think of insanity or the clinic. She would pray instead, though she didn’t really know how. Her aunt had always prayed silently with bowed head and folded hands, but the TV preachers sometimes stood with arms upraised, crying out. Surely something in between would work, as well.

Taking a deep breath, Cara whispered, “Dear God, please help me. For Ace. Please help me be what he needs, give him what he needs. Let Eden be just that for us. Amen.”

Feeling no calmer but somehow stronger, she sat up a little straighter, looked into the rearview mirror and shifted the transmission into gear. Guiding the little car out onto the rain-washed street, she fixed her gaze on the road ahead.

Toward Eden and home.

Holt clicked the mouse and watched a new page open on the computer screen before dropping his gaze back to the ledger on the desktop. His grandfather was right. With the occupancy rate continuing high, the motel seemed to be doing well financially. Should they be forced to sell, and provided Holt could bring himself to ask that of his grandfather, they ought to be able to get a good price for it.

The Heavenly Arms had been Hap Jefford’s livelihood, not to mention his home, for longer than the thirty-six years that Holt had been breathing. Hap had sunk his life savings into the place and often remarked that the hospitality industry offered the best of all worlds to a man with, as he put it, “the friendly gene.” It also offered a great deal of work, most of which Holt’s sister Charlotte had managed until Thanksgiving of this year.

Now, at the very end of December, Holt felt like pulling out his hair in frustration. When he and his brother Ryan had encouraged their sister to follow her heart, which meant relocating to Dallas with the man she loved, they had vastly overestimated their ability to handle the added responsibilities here, or even to hire help. Not a single person had replied to the employment ads they’d placed in area newspapers.

Holt pushed a hand through his sandy brown hair, aware that he needed a haircut, but when was he supposed to find time for that? His brother Ryan, a teacher, coach and assistant principal at the local high school, could not be as available as Holt, who was self-employed as an oil driller. Ryan’s many duties at the school meant that Holt had to shoulder the lion’s share of the work around here. Motel issues now consumed his days, and his own business interests languished as a result.

He’d intended to have a couple new mineral leases signed before the end of the year so he could keep his crews busy exploring for oil, but New Year’s Eve had arrived and he still hadn’t moved on either one. Heartily sick of changing beds, he told himself that something had to give, and soon. They—he— had to have help.

Sighing, he dropped his head into his hands and silently went to the one source that had never failed him.

Lord, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place here. I don’t even know where to look next. There’s got to be someone out there who wants this job. Even in this small town, there’s got to be someone. Whoever it is, Lord, could You please hurry them along?

A chime accompanied the sound of the front door opening. Holt quickly finished his prayer and moved from the inner office out into the lobby area.

“Hello,” said a breathy female voice as he walked through the door behind the counter.

A pretty little blonde in a closely fitted denim jacket worn over a figure-hugging double layer of yellow and white T-shirts stood before him with a baby on her hip, her golden hair curving in a saucy flip just above her shoulders. Deeply set eyes of a soft, cloudy gray regarded him solemnly from beneath gently arched, light brown brows. A pert nose, apple cheeks and a perfectly proportioned, peach-pink mouth in an oval face completed the picture.

Holt walked to the counter and looked down, far down. She stood more than a foot shorter than his six feet and three-and-one-half inches. Hitching the child, a blond, chubby-faced boy, higher on her hip, she shifted her weight slightly and offered a tentative smile.

“Hello,” she repeated, dipping her head.

Holt mentally slapped himself, jarring his brain into sluggish activity. “Uh, hello. Uh, looking for a room?”

They had plenty to spare at the moment because of the holiday. The oil field workers who occupied most of the kitchenettes had all gone home to their families, and the truckers who usually filled the smaller units were off the road for the same reason. As a result, only a half-dozen of the twelve units currently held occupants, four by month-to-month renters and two others by out-of-towners visiting friends or family in Eden.

“Umm.” The blonde nodded slightly and licked her lips.

“No parties,” Holt warned. This being New Year’s Eve, he wasn’t taking any chances, though something told him he need not be concerned. For one thing, she had a baby with her. For another, she seemed rather shy. He watched her gather her courage.

“Actually, I’m more interested in that Help Wanted sign out there,” she said.

Holt rocked back on his heels. He’d never experienced instantaneous answer to prayer before. It almost felt unreal.

So perhaps it was.

He narrowed his eyes while she hurried on in a soft voice.

“I—I’m looking for work, preferably something that would let me bring my boy along. Would this job, maybe, let me do that? I have a baby backpack, and he’s used to being carried that way. He’s quiet most of the time and…” She swallowed. “Look, I learn fast, and I’ll work hard.”

Holt didn’t know whether to smile or scowl. Two minutes ago he’d prayed for help, and now here stood this strange woman, with a child, no less, and obviously desperate. He felt torn between sending her on her way and hiring her on the spot, a sign of his own desperation. As a man of faith, he couldn’t discount the very real possibility that God might have sent her here, however. He stroked his chin, knowing that he had to interview her.

“Okay. First things first, I guess.” He reached a hand across the counter. “Name’s Holt Jefford.”

She ducked her head and slid her tiny hand in and out of his so quickly that it barely registered. Holt took a job application from a cubbyhole beneath the counter. Placing the paper on the counter, he reached for a pen, then realized that the woman couldn’t fill in the blanks while holding the boy. He turned the paper to face himself.

“Name?”

“Cara Jane Wynne.”

He quickly wrote it out. “Birth date?”

“September first, 1983.”

That made her just twenty-five.

“Address?”

She looked away. “The last would be in Oregon, b-but I used to live in Duncan.” She slid a sad smile over him. “After my husband died, Oklahoma just seemed a happier place to be.”

Widowed and homeless, Holt thought, jolted. Well, Lord, I knew someone had to need this job. “Let’s use those addresses then.”

She rattled them off, and he wrote them down.

“And how long did you live there?”

“Oh, uh, in Oregon, like seven years, I guess, and in Duncan until I was thirteen. Almost fourteen.”

He made the appropriate notes, then looked up, but the instant their eyes met, she looked away again. “Job experience?”

Those soft gray eyes came back to his, pleading silently. “I haven’t worked since I was in high school,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “My husband didn’t want me to.”

“You must have married young,” Holt said, without quite meaning to.

She nodded. “Eighteen.”

“Ever worked around a motel?”

“No, but I can guess what needs to be done, and I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Can you use a computer?”

“Sure. But it depends on the program.”

“Nothing too complicated,” he muttered. “But what we really need is housekeeping, someone to clean the rooms, do the laundry and upkeep. And it would really help if you could cook.”

A troubled expression crossed her face. “I’m no short-order cook, if that’s—”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. See, this is my grandfather’s place, and he needs somebody who can fix a decent meal for him at least once a day.”

She visibly relaxed. “That I can do.”

Nodding, he asked, “Any references?”

Once again, she avoided his gaze. “I don’t know…I mean, it’s just Ace and me now. M-my husband and I pretty much kept to ourselves.”

Holt battled with himself for a moment. His every instinct told him that she was lying to him. A stranger without references or an address, he knew absolutely nothing about her. But she needed the job, and he needed the help. Besides, hadn’t he just asked God to send someone? He looked at the baby on her hip and nodded, motioning toward the apartment door. He didn’t know how anyone could manage the workload around here with a kid in tow, but that issue could be addressed later.

“Let’s go talk it over with Hap.”

She walked toward the end of the counter, speaking softly to the boy, who crammed his fist into his mouth and chewed. She had a petite figure, as those slim jeans showed, and tiny hands and feet, but she moved like a woman.

Stepping past her, he reached for the knob on the door that led into the small apartment where his grandfather lived.

“This way.”

Holt Jefford pushed open the door to the apartment and stepped aside to let Cara and Ace pass. A tall, lean man with a ruggedly handsome face and intelligent, olive-green eyes, he made Cara nervous. Perhaps it had to do with the lies. Waves of suspicion had washed over her back in the lobby, but if he suspected that she’d lied, then why would he agree to let her speak to this Hap person?

Cara paused to look around, finding herself in a small private apartment. Unlike the warm, appealing lobby with its wood paneling and black leather furniture, this place appeared a bit dingy and cluttered, from the overstuffed bookcase against one wall to the old-fashioned maple dining set. Yet, it had a certain well-used hominess about it, too.

“Hap uses the front room as the main living area,” Holt said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the lobby. Three doors opened off the end of this room, which functioned primarily as an oversized dining area. “Bedrooms,” Holt supplied succinctly. “Bath in between.”

Cara nodded, uncertain why he’d mentioned this, before letting her gaze pick out details. A long narrow kitchen with incongruous stainless steel countertops opened off the wall opposite the door through which they had entered.

The acrid smell of burnt food permeated the air.

“Granddad,” Holt called. “Company.”

An old man limped into the open doorway, a spatula in hand. The faded denim of his overalls showed grease spatters, and his thinning yellow-white hair stuck up on one side. The two men shared a pronounced resemblance, although age had stooped the shoulders of the elder, whom Cara suspected had once been a redhead.

She found herself musing that this Hap must have been as handsome in his youth as his grandson was now. She met the welcome in those faded green eyes with smiling relief.

“And charming company it is,” the old fellow rasped. Cara dipped her chin in acknowledgment, readjusting Ace on her hip.

“Granddad, this is Cara Jane Wynne,” Holt said. “My grandfather, Hap Jefford.”

Hap Jefford nodded. “Ms. Wynne.”

“Cara Jane, please,” she said, determined to make that name wholly her own.

At the same time Holt spoke. “She’s applying for the job.”

Hap’s eyebrows climbed upward. “Well, now. That’s fine.” Hap limped forward, his left hip seeming to bother him some, and smiled down at the child chewing on his fist. “And who’s this here?”

Cara hitched her son a little closer. “This is my son, Ace.”

“Not a year yet, I’m guessing,” the old man said pleasantly.

“He’ll be ten months soon.”

“Fine-looking boy.”

Holt sniffed, and Cara felt a spurt of indignation—until she suddenly became aware of stinging eyes.

“Granddad, did you forget something in the kitchen?”

Jerking around, Hap hobbled through the doorway, Holt on his heels. “Land sakes! I done made a mess of our dinner. Again.”

Holt sighed. No wonder he’d asked if she could cook. Cara knew that she had an opportunity here, if she proved brave enough to take it. She lifted her chin and crowded into the narrow room next to Holt, feeling his size and strength keenly. She tamped down the awareness, concentrating on this chance to prove herself.

“Maybe I can help.”

Hap twisted around. “You can cook?”

“I can.” She looked pointedly to the skillet, adding, “But it’s been a while since I’ve even seen fried okra.”

“Charred okra, you mean,” Holt corrected.

Hap handed over the spatula with an expression of pure gratitude. “There’s more in the freezer.” He gestured at a large piece of sirloin hanging over the edges of a plate on the counter. “Do what you like with that. I set out some cans of sliced taters to heat in the microwave. Opener’s in this drawer here. Anything else you need, just nose around. Holt will set the table while me and Ace get acquainted.”

“Oh, no. Ace will stay with me,” Cara insisted, looking down at her son. Too late, she realized that might have sounded rude, as if she didn’t trust the old man. Then again, she didn’t trust anyone. How could she? “I—I’m used to working with Ace close by,” she said, hoping that would be explanation enough.

Hap traded a look with his grandson, and Cara held her breath until the old man nodded, smiled and said, “You and the boy will join us for dinner, of course.” He somehow managed to make it an order without it sounding like one. Cara breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

“No need for that when you’re cooking. We’ll talk about the job later.”

Nodding, Cara told herself not to blow this. It had been months since she’d cooked a meal, but surely she could manage this. Hap hitched himself past her and out into the other room, while Holt remained behind to lean a hip against the counter. Ignoring him, Cara sat Ace on the floor in a corner near what appeared to be the back door and removed his knit hoodie and the sweater beneath it. She took a small wooden toy truck from her jacket pocket and gave it to Ace before looking around her.

The apple-green walls and cabinets of pale, golden wood contrasted sharply with the industrial-grade metal countertop, but everything looked neat and clean if an odd mixture of the old and new, the professional and the homey. Noting the lack of a dishwasher in the small, cramped room, Cara glanced hopefully at the solid door next to the refrigerator.

“That goes out to the laundry room,” Holt told her.

So, no dishwasher. She checked the sink. And no garbage disposal. Well, she’d survived a lot of years without those things.

“There’s a big coffee can for scraps,” he said, pointing to the cabinet beneath the sink. “It goes into the Dumpster out back when it’s full. There’s extra cans on a shelf above the dryers.”

Nodding, Cara got down to work. She went to the freezer compartment of the refrigerator, moving past the tall man who watched her like a hawk. She found the okra in a half-empty plastic bag and a small box of frozen green beans.

“Okay if I use these?”

Holt glanced at the box of green beans, then at the boy now tapping the truck on the floor. “Sure. Use anything you want.” With that, he moved to an overhead cabinet and began removing the dinner dishes, taking his time about it.

While Ace banged happily, Cara scraped the blackened okra and grease into the can under the sink, replaced the lid, cleaned the skillet and began looking in cabinets. Finally she asked, “Oil?”

Holt nodded at the tall, narrow cabinet doors across from the refrigerator. “In the pantry. Oh, and, by the way, there’s a chance my brother Ryan will be joining us, too.”

That meant three Jefford men, not just two, which explained the huge slab of steak. Cara removed her jacket, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sleeveless tank tops that she wore in the dead of winter, and started heating the oil in the frying pan.

“Should I set a place for Ace?” Holt asked. “We don’t have a high chair.”

“No, that’s all right,” she answered without looking at him. “He’ll sit in my lap, eat off my plate.”

Holt went out, carrying dishes and flatware.

Cara’s hands shook as she reached for the skillet, but a glance at her son stiffened her resolve. She could do this. She had to do this. Everything depended on it.

Chapter Two

Hap sat at the end of the table in his usual chair, reading from his Bible, when Holt carried the dishes to the table. He looked up, waggling his eyebrows and jerking his head toward the kitchen, but Holt didn’t know what to make of Cara Jane Wynne yet. Shrugging, he began to deal out the plates onto the bare table. Charlotte had always kept the table covered with a fresh cloth and place mats, like their grandmother before her, but Holt and Hap had quickly found them a deal of work to maintain.

Hap crooked a finger, and Holt stopped what he was doing to lean close. “So? Tell me ’bout her.”

“Not much to tell,” Holt muttered. “She came in off the street, says she hasn’t worked since high school and grew up in Duncan but last lived in Oregon. My guess is she’s homeless and desperate.” Hap made a compassionate sound from deep in his chest, and Holt frowned. “That doesn’t mean she’s trustworthy,” he pointed out softly, then stiffened when she spoke from the doorway behind him.

“Excuse me. Are there serving dishes you’d rather I didn’t use?”

Hap smiled and shook his head. “Use what you like. She that cooks gets to make the decisions in the kitchen, I always say.”

“Okay.”

Frowning some more, Holt laid the flatware, then went back to the kitchen to fill three glasses with ice and water.

Holt toyed with the idea of calling his brother to come over and evaluate Cara Jane. The satellite cell phones that their new brother-in-law Ty had given them for Christmas made it much easier to keep in touch, but Ryan often could not be called away from whatever activity currently required his supervision. As an assistant principal, history teacher and all-around coach, Ryan wore many hats. If they saw Ryan tonight at all, it would be briefly.

Holt could have used Ryan’s input, but he understood only too well what it meant to be busy. His own drilling business and ranch and now the motel kept him tied up. Maybe, just maybe, Cara Jane was God’s answer to that dilemma. He wondered if hoping so made him selfish or if not quite trusting her made him unfair. He didn’t want to be either.

He took his time ferrying the glasses from the sink to table, making two trips of it. She never once glanced his way, but he found it difficult to take his eyes off her and the boy, who had pulled himself up and wrapped his chubby little arms around his mother’s knees. Was she the poor little widow woman she seemed or something much more dangerous?

Holt felt sure that Cara Jane and Ace Wynne were going to be around until God had accomplished whatever purpose had brought them here. If that meant Holt could soon get back to his own life, so much the better, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that all was not as it should be with her.

Cara placed the last platter on the table, Ace on her hip, and took a final survey of the meal: golden-fried okra, pan-grilled steak, buttered potatoes, green beans and carrots straight out of the can. Nothing fancy and nothing fresh.

You’re not in California anymore, Cara.

Suddenly that warm and sunny place called to her. She’d left with no regret. Nevertheless, she suddenly found herself missing certain aspects of her old life, such as the warmth and sunshine.

Cara pulled out the chair and took a seat at the table, shifting Ace onto her lap.

“Gracious Lord God.”

Hap’s gravelly voice jolted Cara. She looked around to find the Jefford men with bowed heads. To her shock, Holt and his grandfather had linked hands. More shocking still, each of their free hands rested atop the table as if they’d reached out to her. Embarrassed, she pretended not to notice, holding Ace tight against her midsection and bowing her own head as Hap prayed.

“We thank You for this food and the pretty little gal You sent to cook it up for us. And thank You for bringing our Charlotte and Ty back safe from their honeymoon. We look forward to them coming home. You know we want only their happiness and Your will. Amen.”

“Amen,” Holt said. “Let’s eat.”

The two men practically attacked the food.

“My stars!” Hap declared, sliding a piece of pan-grilled steak onto his plate. “Will you look at that.” He shot a grin at Cara, displaying a fine set of dentures. “Haven’t had a piece of cooked meat I could put a fork in since our Charlotte up and married.”

Over the course of the meal, Cara began to have doubts about her cooking, mostly because of this Charlotte of whom they spoke so glowingly. Charlotte, it seemed, was nothing less than a chef. They spoke of “good old country cooking” and such things as dumplings, chitlings and black-eyed peas.

“Speaking of black-eyed peas,” Hap said, “good thing we’re not superstitious.”

“Why is that?” Cara asked idly, pushing Ace’s hand away as he grabbed for steak and offering him a piece of carrot instead.

Holt braced both forearms against the tabletop and stared at her. “You grew up in Oklahoma and you haven’t heard of eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s for good luck?”

Cara dropped her gaze back to her son and tried not to tense, hoping the question would simply pass.

“Would that be New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day?” Hap interjected. “Never was sure myself.”

Relieved, she poked a green bean into Ace’s babbling mouth with her fingers.

Holt stabbed potatoes with his fork, saying, “Well, if you want them for tradition’s sake, I’m pretty sure there’s a bag in the freezer, and since we don’t believe in luck anyway, we might as well have them tomorrow as tonight, you ask me.”

“You don’t believe in luck?” Cara heard herself ask.

Holt looked up, eyeballing her as if she’d just beamed in from another galaxy. “As Christians, ma’am, we believe that God is in control of our lives, not random luck.”

“Oh. I—I see.” Except, of course, she didn’t. God could not have been in control of her life or it would not have turned out like this.

Hap winked at Cara. “For tradition’s sake, then. I like my black-eyed peas. Reckon if you stuck around you could rustle up a mess for us, young lady?”

Cara blinked. “Oh, I, um…”

“If you can cook beans, you can cook peas,” Holt put in impatiently. “Just throw in a ham bone and make some corn bread.”

“Now, Holt,” Hap scolded mildly, “if it was that easy, we’d be doing it our own selves, wouldn’t we? ’Sides, maybe she and the boy will be spending the holiday with family. Did you ever think of that?”

“Is that right?” Holt asked her. “You have folks around these parts?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Hap said, shaking his head. “But if you got no family around, what brung you here? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

Cara opened her mouth, but Holt supplied the information before she had a chance to speak.

“Cara’s a widow,” he announced. “Looking for more cheerful surroundings.”

Hap sat back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “Now, that’s a grief that I know too well.” He looked Cara in the eye. “Both my wife and my son have passed from this world. You must have some family somewhere, though. They no comfort to you?”

“My parents are both gone,” she said, which was technically the truth.

“No brothers or sisters?” Holt asked, sprawling back in his chair, which seemed too small to hold him.

She had the lie ready, but somehow it just wouldn’t slide off her tongue. Besides, what harm could there be in at least admitting to Eddie? No doubt he was trying to track her down as they spoke, but the Jeffords wouldn’t know that.

“A brother,” she said, “but we’re not close.” Cara smoothed Ace’s pale hair lovingly. “It’s just us two really.”

Hap shook his head. “It’s a powerful sorrow when a father leaves a young family behind.”

“Yes.” Cara laid her cheek against the top of her son’s head. “Ace was five weeks old when it happened.”

Holt reached out a long arm and laid his fork in his plate. “Mind if I ask how your husband died?”

While she felt the shock that always came with the truth, she carefully masked her emotions. “He fell.”

The two men traded looks, and Holt sat up straight again, looking uncomfortable now, his gaze going to Ace as he once more picked up his fork. “That’s how my father died, too. He fell off an oil derrick trying to fix a pulley.”

Cara took it that Holt’s father and Hap’s son were one in the same. “They say he didn’t suffer,” she offered softly, swallowing hard.

Both Holt and Hap nodded at that. Apparently they’d been told the same thing.

“What’d your man fall from?” Hap asked.

“A highway overpass. He stopped to help a stranded motorist and somehow fell over the railing. No one’s certain just how it happened,” she said, still puzzled, “and the funny thing is, it wasn’t like Addison to stop and help a stranger. Not like him at all.”

Hap laid a gnarled hand upon her arm. “There are mysteries to which none are privy, and greater mysteries revealed to all. We must trust God with the first and thank Him for the last.” Hap looked at Holt.

Cara sensed a certain reluctance in Holt, but she knew the moment had come to discuss business.

“The job requires long hours,” he said. “It pays a salary on the first and the fifteenth.” Holt glanced at his grandfather. “Plus room and board.”

The figure he named didn’t amount to much pay, but she wouldn’t have to worry about food and shelter. “What about Ace? I need to keep him with me. If it’s just housekeeping work, I know I could manage. He won’t be any trouble to anyone.”

“Well, there’s housekeeping and then there’s housekeeping,” Holt said, and for the next fifteen minutes he detailed all that she would be expected to do.

It seemed overwhelming: beds to be made, laundry to be done, floors, bathrooms, draperies, dusting, sanitizing, even kitchens in some of the rooms. Every room. Every day. That did not include meal preparation or registering guests from time to time. But it did include Ace.

“We could give it a try,” Hap said. “If the work and the boy together prove too much for you, we’ll figure something out. It’s not like you’d be on your own around here.”

“Except for Saturday nights,” Holt put in. “I take Granddad out for dinner on Saturday nights.”

“Every other,” Hap corrected, with another of those teasing winks at Cara. “Me and Charlotte, we always took turns with those Saturday nights. All you’d have to do is hang around here and watch the front desk.”

That sounded doable to her. “I take it Charlotte used to work for you?” Cara asked carefully.

Hap chuckled. “Not exactly. Charlotte’s my granddaughter, Holt’s baby sister. She up and married this rich fellow from Dallas.”

“Work she did, though,” Holt added. “More than I ever realized until I had to take over her job myself.”

“Then essentially I’d be replacing you?” Cara exclaimed, pointing. Ace burbled something unintelligible and copied her gesture. Cara quickly pushed both their hands under the table, cheeks heating.

“That’s the idea,” Holt said dryly. He seemed to doubt she could do it. Just the way he swept his hard gaze over her seemed to pronounce her lacking somehow.

Hap waved a hand. “Now, now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” He pointed his fork at Cara. “You and the boy stay the night, take a good look around, think on it, and we’ll all pray this thing to a conclusion. How does that sound?”

Cara smiled, feeling cautiously hopeful for the first time in months. “That sounds fine.”

“Does that mean we get black-eyed peas tomorrow?” Holt asked, digging into his food again.

“Mmm, maybe some greens, too,” Hap said longingly. “There ought to be a can in there. I hope there’s a can in there.”

“I think I’m not used to the same kind of cooking you’re used to eating,” Cara confessed.

“Oh, it’s simple fare,” Hap said, “nothing you can’t manage, I reckon.”

“It’s sure to beat his cooking,” Holt said, wagging his fork at Hap.

Hap pretended to take offense, frowning and grinning. “My cooking’s what’s kept these skin and bones together these past weeks, son, and don’t you forget it. How many meals have you cooked since your sister married? Answer me that.”

“None,” Holt admitted. He grinned at Cara, grooves bracketing his mouth. Suddenly he looked heart-stoppingly attractive, sitting there in his faded chambray shirt that emphasized his strong, wide shoulders. “I like breathing even more than eating,” he quipped and went back to doing just that.

“There you are!” Hap declared, slapping a hand lightly against the edge of the table. He looked cajolingly to Cara. “So do we get them black-eyed peas?”

“Black-eyed peas,” Cara promised, gulping. “For tradition’s sake.”

But, oh, she thought, watching Holt chew a big bite of steak, I could use just a little luck, too.

Cara looked around the tiny, crowded bedroom with dismay. It still contained much that belonged to its previous owner: books, photos, various other keepsakes, even a yellowed set of crocheted doilies. An old-fashioned four-poster bed, dresser, domed-top trunk and wicker laundry hamper left only a narrow corridor of walking space around the bed.

She felt Holt at her back, watching her judge the room, and fought the urge to curl into a tight little ball. She’d hoped never again to live in someone else’s space, meeting their standards rather than her own, always the outsider, never truly belonging or having control of her own life.

Hitching Ace a little higher on her hip, their outer garments clutched in one hand, she bucked up enough courage to say, “I think we’ll be more comfortable renting a room for the night.”

After a moment of silence, Holt replied, “I’ll get a room key for you.”

Relieved, Cara watched him stride for the lobby. After she’d taken a look at those frozen black-eyed peas—and thankfully found the preparation a simple matter of stewing in water for an hour or so—Hap had suggested Holt show her where she could stay the night. She’d never expected to be offered a room in the apartment.

A chime sounded as Holt crossed the room. Hap, who was stacking dishes in the kitchen, having insisted on helping her clean up after the meal, exclaimed, “Tell ’em I’ll be right out!”

Just then the door opened and two elderly men appeared, their happy voices calling, “We’re here!”

One of the newcomers wore dark pants and a white shirt beneath a sweater vest. More portly than the other, he boasted glasses with heavy black frames and a luxurious head of snow-white hair. The other, dressed in denim and flannel, possessed neither. Spying Cara and Ace, they stepped forward.

“Looks like y’all started the party without us,” the flannel-shirted man said.

The other elbowed him and, without taking his eyes off Cara, commented, “Justus, your idea of a party is a bag of potato chips and a root beer.”

“Yessiree-bob, ’specially if it comes with a purty gal.” He nodded at Cara, eyes sparkling.

Holt laughed, and the sound resonated from the top of Cara’s head to the very tips of her toes. He looked over one shoulder at her. “This is Teddy Booker and Justus Inman, two of the best domino players around. Otherwise, they’re harmless. Fellows, meet Cara Jane Wynne. And the little guy’s Ace.”

Cara nodded, and the men nodded back, speculation lighting their eyes.

The chime came again, and Holt looked past them into the outer room. “Land sakes, Marie,” he said, going forward, “is all that food? Come here and let me kiss your feet.”

General laughter followed, during which a woman remarked, “Well, I know you poor things are still missing Charlotte, and it’s no party without fixings.”

Holt went out into the other room, followed by Misters Booker and Inman. Holt seemed an altogether different fellow than the one she’d known thus far, Cara mused. Why, he could be downright charming when he wanted to be.

She carried Ace to the table and began dressing them both for the outside. She’d tossed on her own jacket and had just pulled the sweater over Ace’s head when Hap hitched his way into the dining area, grinning happily.

“We’re having a few friends in for dominoes,” he announced. “That’s our chief pastime around here. Figured we might as well usher out the old year that way. You two are welcome to join us.”

“Oh. No, thank you,” Cara refused quickly, stuffing a little arm into a sleeve. “He needs a bath and then bed.” The ripe smell of her son told her that he was more than ready for a fresh diaper, too.

“I have your room key right here,” Holt said, reappearing. He looked to Hap. “Cara Jane thinks she’d be more comfortable in a rental unit tonight.”

“Sure,” Hap agreed, heading off to join his guests. “No charge, on account of that dinner. We got plenty of space, and these jokers do tend to be a mite loud. You change your mind about the party, though,” he told her, “you come on over, you hear?”

Cara nodded and smiled, tugging Ace’s sweater down. Hap disappeared into the other room, where someone shouted, “Let the games begin!”

Holt closed the door behind him, saying, “I’m going to put you in Number Six. There’s just one bed and more room for the portable crib that way.”

“That’s fine,” Cara said, wrapping Ace’s jacket around him and gathering him against her chest. She’d found sharing a bed with her little son like sleeping with a whirling dervish. Pleased with the unexpected luxury of a crib, she reached for the key.

To her surprise, Holt slid it into his pocket before grabbing his coat from a peg on the wall. “I’ll just see you settled in.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t want to keep you from your guests.”

“Hap’s guests,” he said, shrugging on the leather-trimmed canvas coat. “They’ve got enough to make up a table. They won’t miss me.” He lifted a brown cowboy hat from another peg and fitted it onto his head, suddenly seeming ten feet tall. Nodding toward the kitchen, he said, “We can go out through the back.”

Cara put on a smile and moved ahead of him, holding Ace closer to her chest to keep him warm. He babbled in a singsong voice to himself as they stepped out onto the pavement, cold enveloping them.

Shivering, Cara hurried ahead of Holt to the car parked beneath the drive-though. At least, she told herself, they’d gotten a meal out of this and would sleep warm tonight. Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself.

Chapter Three

“I’ll, um, move the car later, if you don’t mind,” Cara Jane said.

Holt shrugged. It seemed odd to him to leave the car sitting there under the drive-through, but a great deal seemed odd about Cara Jane Wynne. He reached into the trunk of her car for the two bags there.

“You can park your car in that space just to the left of the door to your room,” Holt told her, hoisting their two bags. Neither of them, he noted, weighed enough to tax a child, let alone a grown man. A wise woman wouldn’t pack more than she could tote herself, but Holt figured that starting a new life would require a great deal more than Cara Jane seemed to be carrying.

All that remained in the trunk was a lightweight baby backpack, which told him just how Cara Jane intended to manage her son while she worked. Trying to do such work with a baby strapped to her back seemed foolish to him, but he supposed she’d figure that out soon enough.

While he carried their bags to the room, Cara Jane closed the trunk lid and went to rummage around in the car.

Opening the door, Holt entered and hit the light switch with his elbow. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he hoisted the bags onto the long, low dresser, then went to turn on the heat. The place could best be described as utilitarian, he supposed, but at least it was clean and neat.

She came in moments later carrying Ace, a stuffed diaper bag and a small plastic tub of groceries. Holt took the tub from her and closed the door so the place would warm up. Already the air that blew from the vent above the closet felt toasty enough to take the immediate chill off.

“Should be comfortable in here soon,” he told her. Nodding, she dropped the diaper bag on the bed and turned to face him. “Furniture’s bolted down,” he informed her.

She shrugged. “Safer that way. Ace likes to pull up on whatever he can find.”

“You’re traveling light,” Holt commented, waving a hand at the suitcases.

“I live light,” she replied.

He had no idea what that meant, but he intended to make sure that she had a clear picture of what she would be getting into if Hap hired her. “A job like this requires hard work,” he told her. “Take it from me.”

“I understand.”

“I’m not trying to discourage you, and God knows we can use the help. I just want you to be aware of what you’d be getting into.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’m not sure you can,” he said, rubbing his ear. “You and the boy want to come along, I’ll show you one of the kitchenettes so you can get a better idea of what you’d be up against.”

For a moment, he thought she might refuse. He had to admit that if he was standing here in nothing more than a jean jacket, he might have balked himself. Where, he wondered, was her coat? Didn’t they wear coats in Oregon?

Cara nodded, held the boy close and headed for the door. Holt followed her out, pulling the door shut behind him and trying not to watch the sway of her hips.

Holt used his passkey to let them in the room next door and snapped on the light. The kitchenettes basically contained two rooms, pass-through closet and bath in one, bed, sitting area and tiny kitchen in the other. Cara stood in the center of the room, the boy on her hip, and looked around. Holt couldn’t help noticing the way her eyes lit at the sight of that puny kitchen. Then she swept her fingertips along the arm of the tweedy sofa.

“It makes into a bed,” he told her, “but because of the lack of space, it’s usually folded up when we get here to clean, so you always have to check the sheets, even if only one person is supposed to be in the room.”

“I see.”

“Then there’s the kitchens,” he went on. “The regulars usually do their own dishes, but if they don’t, you have to. The kitchens have to be meticulously cleaned to keep the bugs out.”

“Good policy.”

“Half our units are kitchenettes,” he pointed out, wanting to ruffle her for some reason. “The rugs have to be cleaned periodically, as well as the draperies.”

“All right.”

“Look,” he said, “I’m an old roughneck, and I’m telling you, it’s hard work.”

She turned on him, her face stony. “Okay, I get it. You don’t think I can handle the job.”

“I didn’t say that. I just want you—”

“To know what I’m getting into,” she finished for him, brushing by on her way to the door. “Yeah, yeah.”

Irritated, he caught her by the crook of the elbow. “I just think you should have all the facts before you make your decision.”

She jerked her gaze up at him. “Are you saying that the job is mine if I want it?”

For an instant, he felt as if he might tumble headfirst into those soft gray eyes. Abruptly, he released her and stepped back, clearing his throat. “I’m saying you should be fully informed. The rest is between you and Hap.”

She flicked a doubtful glance over him and walked out into the cold night. He didn’t blame her for not buying that. She, however, didn’t know Hap. If Hap made up his mind to take her on, nothing his grandsons could say would make any difference, not that Holt wouldn’t dig in his heels if he thought he should. He just hadn’t really decided yet whether or not he would.

On one hand, Holt badly wanted the help she could provide. On the other, something wasn’t right about her. Too pretty, too alone, too quiet, she set his every sense on alert.

He wondered, as he fetched the portable crib and hauled it over to her room, just how he might go about running a background check on her. They’d never had to worry about things like background checks before, though Ty had suggested they consider it. Holt would speak with his brother-in-law about it. Meanwhile, he’d keep a close eye on Cara Jane Wynne.

Cara rolled onto her stomach and folded her arm beneath the pillow under her head, listening to the faint whir of the heater and Ace’s easy breathing. He’d objected when she’d belted him into his car seat and moved the car after Holt had gone back into the apartment, but she hadn’t wanted Holt to hear the awful knocking racket that her old car had started making earlier in the day. She couldn’t help feeling foolish for having traded her dependable, almost new minivan for an older, high-mileage car, but she’d desperately needed the cash, which hadn’t gone as far as she’d hoped. She certainly didn’t want to give Holt Jefford a reason to question her good sense, so she’d waited until he’d gone to move the car.

After his bath, Ace had sucked down a bottle of formula then dropped off to sleep in no time, but she had not been able to. A giant clock in the distance seemed to be counting off the minutes—ka-shunk, ka-shunk, ka-shunk—while her mind whirled with the possibility of working for the Jeffords and all it involved. She kept thinking, too, about the kitchenette next door and imagining herself sitting down to that little bar with her son. It would almost be like having their very own place.

Cara thought back to her bitter disappointment upon realizing, on the heels of her husband’s death, that the house in southern California had not belonged to her and Ace. Learning that it had been sold out from under her had sent her into a sharp decline.

Rolling onto her back, Cara cut off that line of thought. She and Ace were together and free of the past, and it was going to stay that way. No matter what she had to do, she would prove herself capable of making a good life for her son.

Provided she could make this job work for them.

Holt worried her. She couldn’t escape the fear that he knew she’d lied. Thankfully the old man seemed more trusting. She’d prefer to concentrate on him, but she sensed that she must convince Holt, too, if she had any chance of staying on here.

Recalling words that Hap had spoken during dinner, she sat up and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. She felt the lonely weight of the darkness, heard the relentless ka-shunk, ka-shunk of an invisible machine and let the curious words wash over her.

“There are mysteries to which none are privy, and greatermysteries revealed to all. We must trust God with the first and thank Him for the last.”

What had he meant by that? She would never understand Addison’s death, but what “greater mystery” had been or would be “revealed to all” and why should anyone give thanks for it? She had never heard her aunt speak of such things, but no doubt the Jeffords could tell her. They seemed to be devout Christians, which only made her dishonesty seem worse, but she had to protect herself and her son.

“We believe that God is in control of our lives, not random luck.”

Had God, she wondered, brought her here? She’d been praying a lot lately, and this certainly seemed the perfect place for her and Ace. For one thing, no one would think to look for them in the Heavenly Arms Motel in Eden, Oklahoma. Plus, this job offered not only a modest salary but shelter and food, as well, and the Jeffords seemed willing to let her keep Ace with her while she worked. If she could convince them to let her and Ace stay in one of the kitchenettes, it would be very nearly perfect, no matter how difficult the job might be.

Besides, she had the feeling that she might find answers here, answers to questions she didn’t even know to ask yet.

If only she had the chance. If Holt would give her the chance.

Laughter filtered in from outside.

Feeling terribly alone, Cara glanced at the clock and saw that the old year had passed. Ka-shunk, ka-shunk, ka-shunk. Closing her eyes, she did what Hap had suggested and said a prayer.

Please let this work out for us. Please let this be the start of a new life, a real life, for us.

Needing reassurance, she leaned far to the side and peered over the edge of the crib at her sleeping son. “Happy New Year, sweetheart,” she whispered.

Ace slept on undisturbed, so innocent, so precious, so deserving of love and protection and all the things that a good parent provided. She would be that good parent, Cara vowed. No matter what anyone else thought or said or believed, she would give her son everything she had never had, things that even his father had not enjoyed.

Somehow.

She settled down to wait for morning, one ka-shunk at a time.

Holt stretched, then sat up in the bed in his sister’s room, the one in which Cara Jane might have slept if she hadn’t been too proud or too wary or something. Thoughts of her had intruded far into the wee hours of the first morning of the new year, he realized as he swung his feet down onto the floor and stood. He had been too tired after the party to drive out to his ranch, and since Cara hadn’t wanted to use this room, he’d figured he might as well.

While pulling on his clothes, he smelled bacon cooking. Hap—or someone—was making breakfast. Holt wondered if they had enough eggs in the house. He felt like he could eat a good dozen himself, despite the dinner and all the goodies he’d consumed last night. Bless Marie Waller anyway.

The pastor’s wife had done her best to make up for Charlotte’s absence these past weeks, sending over one dish or another with her husband, Grover, whenever he came to play at Hap’s domino table, which was almost daily. Unfortunately, Grover suffered from diabetes, so those tidbits rarely included anything sweet, and Holt possessed a powerful sweet tooth. Maybe they’d get pancakes for breakfast if someone happened to be in the kitchen.

Hap happened to be in the kitchen, and by the time Holt got there, he’d burned the bacon.

“Does that look too done to you?” he asked, shoving the plate beneath Holt’s nose.

“We’ve gotta get your glasses checked,” Holt told him, taking the plate and sliding it onto the counter.

Hap grunted and handed over the spatula. “I reckon you better try your hand at the eggs this morning, then.”

“You don’t suppose the Garden’s open, do you?” Holt asked glumly, referring to the café downtown.

Hap shook his head. “We could always ask Cara Jane to help out.”

Sighing, Holt went to the refrigerator. “I don’t know about her. Something’s just not right there.”

“She lost her man. All alone in the world with a boy to raise. That’s what’s not right.”

“We don’t know that,” Holt grumbled, taking the egg carton from the refrigerator. “Why, for all we know, she isn’t even that kid’s mother.”

“Have you looked at that child?” Hap scoffed. “If she’s not his mama, then she’s real close kin.”

Holt had to admit that they favored each other. “Could be she’s hiding out.”

“From who? Not the law. That I won’t believe.”

Okay, she didn’t strike Holt as a hardened criminal, either, but something about her didn’t ring true. For one thing, he reasoned silently, a woman like her attracted men like honey attracted flies. If she’d hung tight back in Oregon, some fellow would have stepped up to take care of her and little Ace quick enough. Even if she’d loved her husband to distraction—and somehow he didn’t think that had been the case—it didn’t make a lick of sense for her to strike out on her own looking for someplace “happier.”

“How do we even know she’s widowed?” he asked, taking down a bowl to crack the eggs into. He preferred his eggs over easy but that didn’t mean he could cook them that way. Better to just scramble them and have it done with.

Hap considered, then shook his head. “I know that look too well. ’Sides, why lie about it? There’s no law against leaving a husband. Even if she’s scared of him, wouldn’t it make more sense for her just to tell us that?”

“You mean, if he was abusive or something.”

“Exactly.”

Holt pulled open a drawer and took out a fork. “For all we know, she was never even married.”

Hap humphed at that. “Don’t strike me as that sort.”

“Maybe not, but that would explain why she’s not living off her husband’s Social Security somewhere. It just doesn’t add up. She hasn’t been completely honest with us.”

“No reason she should be, I reckon,” Hap said, hobbling into the other room. “Maybe once she gets to trust us.”

It seemed to Holt that his grandfather had that backward. How were they supposed to trust her if she didn’t level with them about herself and her situation?

He cracked half a dozen more eggs and then took a certain pleasure in going after them with the fork.

Cara tapped on the window, her breath fogging the glass. Wearing the same clothes as he had the day before, Holt looked up from beating something in a bowl and reached out with one hand to flick open the door. His hair stuck up in disarray, and he needed a shave. Somehow that made him all the more attractive.

“’Morning,” she muttered, sliding into the narrow room sideways, Ace on her hip. The dark shadow of Holt’s beard glinted reddish-gold up close, she noticed.

“Happy New Year.”

“Oh. Yes. Happy New Year.”

“Sleep okay?”

“Just fine, thank you,” she lied. As if he knew that her conscience pinched her, Ace patted her chest before grabbing a fistful of the front of her aqua-blue T-shirt. “Except,” she amended, “I keep hearing a giant clock in the distance.”

Holt turned to lean a hip against the counter. “A giant clock?”

“Well, not tick-tock, exactly. More like ka-shunk, ka-shunk.”

Holt chuckled, folding his arms. “That’s not a clock, giant or otherwise. It’s a pump jack on an oil well out back.”

She goggled at him. “Oil well! But wouldn’t that make you rich?”

Holt flattened his mouth. “Hardly. And it doesn’t belong to us. A previous owner kept the mineral rights to the property.”

“Ah.” That hardly seemed fair, but what did she know about it? To cover her ignorance, she smiled and asked, “How was the party?”

He went back to beating what she now recognized as a bowl full of eggs. “’Bout like you’d expect for a room full of old folks and a domino table.”

Since she’d never had experience with either, she said nothing more about that. “Is your grandfather around?”

“He is. You and the boy wanting some breakfast?”

“No. No, thanks. We’ve eaten already.” Crackers, applesauce and warm cheese sticks, but Holt didn’t need to know that. “I can finish that up for you, though, if you want.”

“If you’re not eating, it wouldn’t be fair to let you cook,” he grumbled.

“I don’t mind.”

He jerked his head toward the doorway. “Hap’s in the other room.”

“Your choice,” she mumbled, stung. So much for winning his favor.

Slipping by him, she carried Ace into the dining room. Hap sat with his head bent over a big black Bible. He looked up, smiling, and nodded at a chair. She sat down with Ace on her lap. She heard the clump of Holt’s boots as he stepped into the doorway behind her.

Ignoring Holt, Cara said to his grandfather, “I’d like the job, Mr. Jefford.”

“Well, now, that’s fine.” Hap gave his head a satisfied nod.

“There’s just one thing,” she went on, heart thundering. “I’d like for Ace and me to have our own place. If we could stay in one of the kitchenettes, that would be great.”

While Hap scratched his neck, Holt spoke up. “What’s wrong with Charlotte’s room?”

“It’s too small,” she said bluntly, not looking at him. “Ace would have to sleep with me all the time.” She addressed Hap again. “I could pay something, maybe half, so you wouldn’t be out the whole rent.”

To her relief, Holt walked back into the kitchen.

“No need for that,” Hap said, reaching out to pat her hand. “’Course, if we’re full up and need the space, you and Ace might have to move in here temporarily. That room of Charlotte’s is a mite crowded, but I’m sure she’ll take all her stuff when she and Ty get their house built.”

He went on chatting for some time about the house that Charlotte and her husband, Tyler, were planning to build in Eden, while Cara floated on a wave of relief and delight. When Holt came in with two plates of scrambled eggs, burnt bacon and white bread, Cara smiled brightly. Employed and with a place of her own, she finally let herself believe that this might work out.

“I’ll see to those black-eyed peas now,” she said cheerfully, rising to her feet and sliding Ace onto her hip, “and clean up the kitchen once you’re done here.”

Hap chuckled. “It’s a holiday. The cleaning can wait till later.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jefford.”

“Call me Hap. We’re one big happy family here. Glad to count you in.”

Smiling, Cara nodded and started to turn away, only to be brought back down to earth with a thud when Holt said matter-of-factly, “I’ll be needing your ID and Social Security number.” He forked up a big bite of eggs before pinning her with his gaze. “For the employment papers.” She felt the color drain from her face, even though she’d expected this. He seemed not to notice, digging into his food. “You can give it to me after you get the peas on.”

She nodded before making her escape.

One more lie, she told herself. Just one more, and then everything would be fine.

Chapter Four

Holt lifted the employment forms from the printer tray and placed it on the desk in front of Cara Jane. “That’s the last one. At least I think so. These are all I use with my crew, and I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“Your crew?” she asked, busy filling in the blanks.

Ace played beneath the counter at her feet, crawling back and forth and screeching from time to time. As he answered her, Holt couldn’t help smiling at the sounds of a little one at play. “Roughnecks. I run a crew of roughnecks. Two crews, actually, and three rigs.”

“Oh.” She kept her gaze trained on the tax form in front of her. “I remember you saying something about being a roughneck last night.”

He suspected that she didn’t have the faintest idea what a roughneck was. “I don’t usually work as a motel maid,” he told her drily. “I’m a wildcatter.”

This time she did look up. “Wildcatter?”

He leaned forward slightly. “A driller. For oil.”

Comprehension finally dawned. “Oh!”

Holt frowned. Wouldn’t a girl who grew up in Oklahoma know something about the oil business?

Eyes narrowed, Holt pointed to the signature line. “Just sign here. Then I’ll need a copy of your Social Security card and driver’s license.”

She signed on the appropriate line and pulled her wallet from the diaper bag at her feet.

“So you don’t actually work for your grandfather at all,” she said, handing over the laminated cards.

Holt inclined his head. “Just helping out since my sister married. Well, before that, really. Since they got engaged at Thanksgiving. They didn’t marry until December seventh.”

“That’s not much of an engagement,” Cara Jane commented wryly, pushing back the desk chair and leaning forward to reach for Ace.

“Two whole weeks,” Holt supplied, carrying her license and Social Security cards to the scanner.

She straightened, pulling Ace up onto her lap. “Goodness. I was engaged for two years.”

Holt punched a button and looked at her as she stood, swinging the boy onto her hip. “Didn’t you say you married at eighteen?”

“That’s right.”

He gaped. “Your parents let you get engaged at sixteen?”

Her gaze met his briefly. “Let me? I doubt they even noticed.” She poked the boy in the chest with one fingertip, saying, “Don’t you go getting any ideas, dude. You’re going to college before you get married, just like your daddy.”

Holt latched onto that tidbit of information. “So your husband had a degree?”

She glanced at him, wary now, and Holt could see her trying to decide what to tell him. Finally, she said, “He was a lawyer.”

A lawyer? Holt thought of those two lightweight suitcases he’d carried into her room and the eight-year-old car from which he’d taken them. He put that together with her reaction and came up with…more questions.

“I thought lawyers usually made a pretty good living.”

“So did I,” she said.

Rubbing his prickly chin, Holt pondered this bit of information, remembering that she’d said her husband hadn’t wanted her to work, even though they’d been married at least six years, by Holt’s reckoning, before Ace’s birth. Holt filed that away, allowing her to change the subject as he retrieved her identity documents.

“So,” she said, a bit too brightly, as he handed them over, “you’re not employed here, but I take it you live here.”

“Here at the motel?” He shook his head. “Naw, I have a little place of my own, a ranch east of town.”

“I see.” Her expression changed not a whit, but relief literally radiated off her. “I guess that means you’re, like, married.”

Folding his arms, Holt asked, “Why would you think that?”

She lifted a shoulder, using both hands to anchor Ace on the opposite hip. “I don’t know. Seemed like a reasonable conclusion for a man your age.”

“What’s my age got to do with anything? If you’re thirty-six you must be married?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, I’m not married,” he told her, feeling rather indignant about her assumption, “which means I happen to be around here a lot. Every day, in fact.”

She nodded at that, inching away. “Oh. I guess I’ll be seeing you around then.”

“Count on it,” he told her, watching her snag the diaper bag then leave the room.

Even with the boy perched on her hip, she walked with a decidedly feminine stride. Holt shook his head, disgusted with himself.

A dead lawyer for a husband, engaged at sixteen, hadn’t worked since high school, assumptions and secrets, and enticing, and he couldn’t keep his gaze off her. Without a doubt, that woman was trouble walking. He just hadn’t figured out exactly how yet. But he would. Oh, yes, he would.

Cara straightened, her arms full of rumpled linens, which she stuffed into the bag on the end of the cleaning cart. She took one more swipe at the newly made bed and hurried out to check on her napping son.

The backpack allowed her to tote him much of the time, but the thing became problematic when it came to certain chores, so she’d taken to hauling the crib from room to room with the cleaning cart. The portable baby bed resembled a playpen more closely than a conventional crib, anyway, and despite the cumbersome process, having her son within sight comforted Cara.

Unfortunately, she had no choice but to take the crib into the apartment at nap time and let Hap watch over Ace while he slept. Since Hap could routinely be found at the domino table in the other room, that usually necessitated little more than an open door between the apartment and the lobby, but Cara hated not being able to watch over Ace herself.

After locking the room, she pushed the cart across the pavement to the laundry, then moved on through the kitchen to the dining area. Her heart jumped up into her throat when she saw the empty crib. Then she heard a familiar squeal, followed by men’s laughter, coming from the front room. She raced out into the lobby to find Ace sitting in the middle of the domino table, surrounded by chuckling old men, while he clutched handfuls of dominos.

“Look there, Hap,” Justus teased. “He takes after you, hogging them bones.”

“That’s my boy.” Hap patted Ace’s foot.

“You wish,” Teddy crowed.

“He’s getting in practice for when Charlotte and Ty start their family,” Grover Waller, the pastor, maintained. Round and cheerful, Grover reminded Cara of an aging, balding cherub in wire-rimmed glasses and clip-on tie, but at the moment all Cara could think was that these men had her son.

As she rushed toward them, Hap turned his head to grin at her, holding out an empty bottle. “He’s had him a little snack, Mama, and a dry diaper.”

“Took all three of us to change that boy’s britches,” Justus told her, sounding pleased.

“Strong as an ox,” Teddy confirmed with a nod.

Cara began plucking dominoes from her son’s grasp, her anxious heartbeat still speeding. “I apologize. This won’t happen again. I—I’ll pick up a baby monitor as soon as I’m paid, one I can carry around with me so I’ll know the instant he awakes.”

“No need, Cara Jane,” Hap protested. “We don’t mind watching out for him, do we, boys?”

“Not at all,” Teddy said.

“Cheery little character,” Grover put in.

“That’s kind of you, but he’s my responsibility,” Cara said, gathering Ace into her arms. The relief she felt at simply holding him against her made the preceding panic seem all the more terrible. How could she have let him out of her sight for even a moment? Yet, she’d have to do the same thing repeatedly, for what other choice did she have?

Hap again patted Ace’s foot, knocking his shoes together. “So long, little buddy.”

Cara quickly carried her son from the room. She knew that she’d overreacted badly. Those old men meant no harm. They had no designs on her son. But Ace was her child, her responsibility, and she would give no one reason to question her ability to care for him.

Apparently her overreaction had been noted, for as she pushed the door closed, she heard Hap say, “She’s mighty protective.”

“Protective?” Justus scoffed. “You’d think we was trying to steal him.”

“There’s a story there,” Grover murmured.

Carefully pushing the door closed, she laid her forehead against it. Ace tried to copy the motion, bumping her head with his. It didn’t hurt, and he didn’t fuss, but she soothed him with petting strokes anyway, sick at heart. Had she given them away? She shook her head. Impossible. These people had no idea who she really was. So they deemed her an overprotective mother. Let them think what they wished. Nothing mattered except keeping Ace safe and with her.

Except that they were bound to tell Holt how she’d reacted today, and that would be one more black mark against her in his book.

But she didn’t have time to worry about Holt now. She had work to do. Sighing, she carried Ace out to the laundry room, got him into the backpack and returned to the apartment to fold up and move the portable crib.

One more room, and then dinner. And Holt.

He had not failed to show up for dinner the past two nights. On both occasions, he’d looked so weary that she’d have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t watched her as though he expected her to pull a weapon and demand his wallet at any moment.

She held out the faint hope that he would have other plans for tonight, this being Friday. Didn’t single men go out on the weekends in Eden, Oklahoma? Apparently not, because when she laid food on the table that evening, his big, booted feet were beneath it. As on the previous occasions, he barely spoke to her, just stared when he thought she wouldn’t notice. She suffered through the meal in silence and hoped he would stay away the next time.

Not so. Even Hap expressed surprise when Holt arrived the next night. “It’s not our usual Saturday night out,” he exclaimed.

Holt brushed aside the old man’s comments. “What of it? Still got to eat.”

His brother Ryan arrived thirty seconds later. A big, bluff man with a good thirty pounds on Holt and dark, chestnut-brown hair and hazel eyes, Ryan greeted Cara with open delight.

“You are the answer to our prayers,” he told her, holding her hand between both of his after their introduction.

Holt scowled and asked if Ryan would mind parking himself so they could eat. Ryan, who seemed to accept his role as younger brother with equanimity, sat. Hap prayed. Ryan then made friends with Ace, who occupied her lap as usual, while Holt scoffed down three pieces of grilled chicken and a truck-load of macaroni and cheese before taking his leave again. At no point did he so much as speak to Cara, letting his nod suffice for both greeting and farewell.

Ryan, a very pleasant man, came into the kitchen later to sheepishly apologize for his brother. Cara pretended complete ignorance.

“I can’t imagine why you’d think I’d be offended. I just work here.”

“Work,” Ryan said, “is a lot of the problem. You see, right now Holt’s working too much. Well, he’s always worked too much. It’s just that now he’s trying to catch up. My fault,” he added with gentle self-deprecation. He then went on to explain that he had a hard time getting away from his responsibilities at the school, which had left Holt to take on the motel pretty much by himself. “Which is why I’m so delighted that you’re here.”

Cara didn’t bother to point out that Holt obviously did not share that delight. Instead, she thanked Ryan, finished the dishes, picked up Ace and slipped out quietly. She couldn’t help thinking, though, that it wouldn’t hurt Holt to be nicer to everyone, including his brother.

With Ryan turning out to be such a friendly man, much like Hap in that regard, Holt’s surliness seemed all the more pronounced. It smarted that he didn’t seem to like her, so much so that she intended to keep her distance on Sunday, her one full day off. On Sundays the Jeffords “closed the office.” Sunday, Hap had told her, belonged to God, though they’d rent to anyone in need of a room who wandered by.

Ace actually let her sleep in a bit that morning. After feeding him breakfast and watching a church service on TV, she thumbed through a magazine and finally stepped outside. The weather had turned surprisingly warm. On impulse, she packed a lunch of sorts from her meager provisions, loaded Ace into the backpack and headed for the park.

Separated from the motel grounds by a stream that wound through the gently rolling landscape, the park had to be entered via a bridge adjacent to the downtown area some three blocks to the east. Along the way, Cara explored the town.

There wasn’t much to Eden, as far as she could tell on foot: some houses built before the Second World War, some houses built after, and just a couple blocks of old brick storefronts on the main street, which happened to be named Garden Avenue. Absolutely everything stood closed, everything except, of course, for the inviting little white clapboard church on the corner of Mesquite Street, which ended right at the back of the motel. The church appeared to be doing box office business, judging by the number of cars that lined the street and surrounded the building.

The sign next to the sidewalk identified it as the First Church of Eden and named Grover Waller as the pastor. The place had such a warm, inviting air, much like Grover himself, that Cara took note of the service times. Perhaps she and Ace would visit there next Sunday. Since she assumed that the Jeffords attended there, given their close association with the pastor, it might even win her some points. But not with Holt.

She’d learned the hard way how impossible it could be to win the regard of someone who had made up his or her mind not to like her. Her in-laws had hated her on sight, but Cara had tried to win their regard, nonetheless, without success.

Putting the little church behind her, she took Ace to the park, where they ate their lunch in solitary peace and sharp winter sunshine.

Holt paced the floor in front of the reception desk that next Saturday night. Cara had never seen him dressed to go out. He “cleaned up good,” as Hap put it. Wearing shiny brown boots, dark jeans with stiff creases, a wide leather belt, open-collared white Western shirt and a similarly styled brown leather jacket with a tall-crowned brown felt hat, he looked like the epitome of the Western gentleman. All cowboy. All man. He’d gotten himself a haircut, too, which gave him a decidedly tailored air but did nothing whatsoever to blunt his impatience.

“You really don’t have to wait,” she said again, bouncing Ace on her knee. “It’s been almost two weeks. I can manage the desk until Ryan gets here.”

In truth, she didn’t expect to have to manage anything. The motel stayed full, or nearly so, during the week, but few guests strayed in during the weekends.

The last weekend had yielded only two rental opportunities, an older couple on their way up to visit relatives in Nebraska and a very young couple obviously looking for privacy. Hap had kindly but firmly turned away the last pair, saying only that he couldn’t help them. Cara had learned a valuable lesson on how to handle an awkward situation that day.

“He should have been here already,” Holt groused.

Cara opened her mouth to say that she was sure Ryan would be along soon, but just then, through the plate glass window, Cara spotted a now familiar late-model domestic sedan slow and turn off the highway into the lot. “There he is.”

Holt spun to the window, bringing his hands to his waist. “It’s about time.” Striding to the end of the counter, he called through the open apartment door, “Granddad! He’s here!”

“Comin’!” Hap called back, muttering, “Hold your horses. Always chomping at the bit.”

Cara ducked her head, biting back a grin. Hap Jefford had quickly endeared himself to her and her son. Witty, caring and cheerful, he seemed genuinely fond of Ace and had even taken over much of the laundry chores once he decided that Cara had “got the hang of things,” as he’d put it. If not for Holt coming around to glower at her, she thought she’d be fairly content. She’d tried to be nice to Holt, but that only made him more dour.

“Now, listen,” Holt lectured, splaying a hand against the countertop.

“Isssssn!” Ace mimicked, leaning forward to smack his hand onto the lower counter.

Holt looked at him, one corner of his mouth kicking up. He glanced at Cara, sobered and cleared his throat, drawing back his hand. “Just let Ryan handle things. If anyone comes in, he’ll take care of them. You’re still observing for now.”

“Hap’s already explained,” she began, only to have him cut her off.

“If you need anything, you have our numbers.” He made a face. “Well, mine, anyway. Granddad never carries his phone with him.”

“Why should I?” Hap asked, limping through the apartment door. “I never go anywhere on my own.”

“On your own what?” Ryan asked, stepping inside the lobby.

“On my own by myself,” Hap said. “How you doing, Ryan?”

“Excellent, as usual.”

Holt rounded on his brother. “You took your time getting here.”

Ryan paused in the act of shrugging off his corduroy coat and glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s ten minutes till six. What’s the rush?”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Hap counseled, limping over to ruffle Ace’s hair. “He’s got a burr in his bonnet. I say, a burr in his bonnet.” Ace giggled and fell back against Cara’s chest. She smiled up at Hap, who patted her shoulder affectionately. “There’s pizzas in the freezer, and if you eat them I won’t be tempted.”

“Done,” Ryan proclaimed, rubbing his hands together.

“Can we go?” Holt demanded. “I’m hungry.”

“When was the last time you weren’t hungry?” Hap asked, limping around the counter.

“I’m usually pretty good when I get up from the table,” Holt grumbled as the two of them left the building through the front door.

Ryan shook his head. “That’s our Holt, two hollow legs.”

“Not to mention a hollow head,” Cara muttered.

Ryan burst out laughing. “I’m beginning to wonder if that’s not his problem, though I’ve never thought so before.” He stood staring as if that ought to make some special sense to her, then he clapped his hands together. “I’m thinking we should dress up those pizzas. What have you got in the pantry?”

“Pineapple?” she suggested hopefully.

“Pineapple?” he parroted. “They eat pineapple on their pizza up in Oregon? Sounds like a California thing. You ever get down to California?”

Cara just smiled, but inwardly she cringed. When would she learn to watch her mouth? The jangle of the telephone saved her from any more uncomfortable questions and the lies she’d rather not have to tell in answer. Ryan reached across the counter and picked up the receiver.

“Heavenly Arms Motel.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Charlotte! How you doing, sugar? How’s Ty and the Aldriches?”

Cara rolled the desk chair back, giving brother and sister as much privacy as possible. She tried not to listen, even considered slipping out of the room, but Ryan stood there, leaning on the counter and looking right at her as if she were as much a part of the conversation as he and his sister. He smiled and chatted, enjoying himself.

Finally he said, “I love you, too, sugar. We all miss you like crazy, especially Holt, I think. Y’all coming for the big game, then? Excellent. Looking forward to it. My best to Ty.”

He hung up, beaming. “Get this,” he said. “My brother-in-law usually attends the Super Bowl live. This year, he’s passing it up and bringing Charlotte home to watch the game on TV with the family.” He shook his head. “Now that’s true love.”

“You really care for her, don’t you?” she said to Ryan.

He chuckled and spread his hands. “Of course. She’s my baby sister. I’m told you have a brother, and I’m sure he loves you, too. That’s just how it is.”

Like Ryan, she had once thought that Eddie must naturally care for her, but all she had ever been to him was a conduit to the Elmont money.

“You and your brother and sister seem to have a special bond.”

“Yeah.” Ryan nodded, smiling to himself. “I guess, after our parents died, we sort of banded together, you know?”

She wasn’t sure she did, really. Cara and her brother had, for all intents and purposes, raised themselves. Usually Eddie had gone his way and she had quietly gone hers. They’d had little in common, except for Addison, who’d been buddies with Eddie in high school.

Something Ryan had said suddenly struck her. “Did you say parents, as in plural? I was only told about your father’s death.”

Ryan passed a hand over his eyes and rubbed his cheekbone. Leaning both forearms on the counter, he drew a little closer and related the tale. “Yeah, Dad’s death was a big shocker. You probably heard that he fell?” At her nod, Ryan went on softly. “Well, when our mother found out, she committed suicide.”

Cara caught her breath. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Thinking of the moment she’d received news of Addison’s death, she recalled the shock and the numbness, the uncertainty and the very great sadness. Part of that sadness, though, had been because she’d known she wouldn’t really miss him, only the idea of raising their son together. “Your mother must have loved your father very much,” she mused absently.

Ryan drew back at that. “I guess she did,” he said, “but it marked Charlotte.” He shrugged, adding, “Holt and I were already out of the house, young men. Charlotte was just thirteen and still at home, and she’s never understood why Mom didn’t think of her before she swallowed those pills.”

Pills, Cara thought. She had more in common with Charlotte Jefford Aldrich than she’d realized. Neither of their mothers had cared enough about them to leave the pills alone. The knowledge saddened Cara and made her feel more kindly toward Charlotte.

Ace bucked and tried to slide off her lap, but she caught him up, hugging him tight. She loved him enough to put him first, and she always would. Thanks to the Jeffords, she now had a chance to establish herself as a fit guardian for him. If the Elmonts came calling, they would find no reason to again question her ability to care for her own son.

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