A Wife by Christmas

As Christmas approaches, Hank Chandler is determined to find a wife to mother his sister’s orphaned children. When schoolteacher Janell Whitman offers to help him with his niece and nephew, she seems to be the perfect match—but she won’t accept his proposal. Instead, she insists she’ll find him another bride before the holidays.

Janell moved to Turnabout, Texas, to put her past behind her and focus on her future—one that doesn’t include marriage. But while she plays matchmaker and cares for Hank’s children, she loses her heart to the two youngsters…and their adoptive father. If Janell reveals her secrets to Hank, will he still want her to be his Christmas bride?

“Have you made any progress with the names on my wife-candidate list?”

So they were back to that. Hank certainly didn’t seem to be harboring any lingering feelings for her. “A little. But trying to be both discreet and thorough takes a bit of time,” Janell responded.

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t worry so much about discretion and just focus on thoroughness. Keeping secrets is a lost cause in this town anyway.”

“If that’s your wish, then of course I’ll do what I can to speed up the process.” She knew he was right—the sooner he had a wife, the better, for both of them.

“I need to move on with establishing a ‘normal’ household for Alex and Chloe as soon as possible. They are already getting too used to having you around—it’ll be difficult for them when you move on and another woman takes your place.”

The words stabbed at her with a keenness that surprised her. She’d known that’s what would happen, that another would replace her. She had in fact encouraged it. So why did it hurt so much?

WINNIE GRIGGS is the multipublished, award-winning author of historical (and occasionally contemporary) romances that focus on Small Towns, Big Hearts, Amazing Grace. She is also a list maker and a lover of dragonflies and holds an advanced degree in the art of procrastination. Winnie loves to hear from readers—you can connect with her on Facebook at facebook.com/winniegriggs.author or email her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.

The Holiday Courtship

Winnie Griggs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.

—Deuteronomy 31:08

Dedicated to my wonderful editor Melissa Endlich whose insightful suggestions were invaluable in helping me get the story on the paper to match the story in my head.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Turnabout, Texas November 1897

Hank Chandler hefted the two carpetbags he carried as he tried to usher his niece and nephew down the aisle of the train toward the exit. He needed a shave. And a good night’s sleep. And a cup of coffee that didn’t taste like tar.

But most of all he needed for Enid, his sister, not to be dead.

Chloe paused a moment, as if confused. “Alex, keep a tight hold on your sister’s hand, please.” It seemed wrong to put an eight-year-old in charge of his ten-year-old sister, but for now that was how it had to be. His niece didn’t want anything to do with him at the moment.

Here he was, returning home to Turnabout, with two scared orphans. With a cat in tow. Why couldn’t they have a sensible pet, like a dog?

Even with Aunt Rowena’s help, how would he be able to care for all of them?

Especially Chloe.

He glanced down at his niece. With her straight brown hair, slightly pointed chin and expressive green eyes, she looked so much like Enid at that age that it hurt. He knew the girl’s angry, defiant demeanor was just a front she’d put on to deal with all she’d lost. But how was he ever going to get through to her if they couldn’t even communicate properly?

He still had difficulty coming to terms with the fact that his life had changed so drastically in such a short span of time. A month ago—it seemed a lifetime ago now—he’d been a bachelor with a very orderly, uncomplicated life. A life he’d been quite content with. Then he’d received that telegram that had sent him hightailing off to Colorado.

And his life had been irrevocably changed.

But he couldn’t waste time feeling sorry for himself. What had happened was over and done with, and there was nothing to do but move on. Besides, his niece and nephew were facing much bigger, more traumatic changes to their own lives. He had to do what he could to help them feel at home here.

The weight of that responsibility pressed down on him again. The one thing he could do for them in the short term was provide a sense of order and routine to their lives. To make them feel safe again.

They reached the exit and Hank maneuvered around to step out on the platform first. He set down the bags and turned up his collar. Turnabout’s weather had turned blustery and colder than it had been when he left. Of course, that had been late October and it was now late November.

Hank helped Alex down first, swinging his slightly built nephew out of the train and onto the platform easily. Then he turned to Chloe. The girl stared at him defiantly as she hugged her cat tighter, as if daring him to try to swing her down the way he had Alex.

His heart went out to her but he didn’t know how to make things better for her. With a smothered sigh, Hank offered her his hand. She took it and stiffly stepped down. As soon as her feet touched the platform, she released his hand and took Alex’s.

Would Chloe ever learn to accept him? Like it or not, both kids were in his care now. And they were not happy about it. Not that he blamed them. He’d torn them away from everything they found familiar—their town, their home, their friends—to bring them here, to a town they’d never set foot in before, to live among strangers. And at a time when they most needed the comfort of the familiar. But he hadn’t had much choice.

Thank goodness Aunt Rowena had agreed to help him out, at least for the next couple of weeks, until he could make a more permanent arrangement.

He’d think about just what that more permanent arrangement meant later.

Aunt Rowena should already be at his house, getting the rooms ready and preparing a nice hot meal to welcome them home. That ought to make this first day in Turnabout easier for all of them.

Hank raked a hand through his hair as he looked around. He’d asked his aunt to have a wagon waiting for them, but there was no sign of any such vehicle. Normally he’d just walk, regardless of the weather—after all, it was just a little over a mile away. But this homecoming was anything but normal.

He hoped that Aunt Rowena hadn’t encountered problems. Regardless, there was no point in keeping the kids out in this weather while they waited.

Hank touched Chloe’s shoulder. When she looked up, he very slowly and deliberately explained. “Let’s go inside the depot.” He used hand gestures to make his intentions clear.

“Yes, sir,” Alex responded. He gave his sister’s hand a little tug and started moving in that direction. Hank picked up the bags and followed.

With two kids, especially two tired, travel-weary kids, the sooner he got everyone home, the better. He hoped Aunt Rowena had had time to get the children’s rooms ready.

But the lack of waiting transport had him wondering what else might have gone wrong today.

When they reached the door, he stepped forward and pulled it open quickly, ushering the children inside and out of the wind. From the corner of his eye he noticed someone sitting on one of the benches that lined the far wall of the depot. The woman seemed to be reading a book, and a closer look revealed it was Janell Whitman, one of the town’s two schoolteachers.

Her presence reminded him, that was one more thing to add to his list of tasks—getting the kids enrolled in school.

The woman looked up just then and he tipped his hat in greeting. He wondered for a moment if she was going on a trip. Then he turned back to the counter and dismissed her from his thoughts.

The stationmaster gave him a smile of greeting. “Hi, Hank. Welcome back.”

Hank nodded as he ushered the kids up to the counter. “Thanks, Lionel.” He gave the man a mock grimace. “You sure could have ordered up some better weather to welcome us home.”

“This damp chill just rolled in yesterday. It was downright pleasant two days ago for the Thanksgiving festival, though. Too bad you missed it.”

They’d been on the train Thanksgiving Day. Not that he regretted missing the festival. Neither he nor the children had been in the mood for any sort of celebration.

Lionel smiled at the children. “I see you brought some friends back with you.”

“This is my niece and nephew, Chloe and Alex.”

“Welcome to Turnabout.” Then Lionel’s expression sobered. “I’m right sorry about your ma and pa.”

Alex shifted closer to Chloe’s side, but neither kid said anything.

Then Lionel held out a slip of paper. “By the way, a telegram came for you this morning.”

Hank reached for the telegram, unable to repress a sense of dread. The only telegrams he’d ever received had contained bad news. The last one had brought him word of his sister’s and brother-in-law’s deaths.

He slowly unfolded the paper and read the missive.

Tom Parson taken ill. No other driver available to transport me to Turnabout. Will likely be Monday before I arrive.

Rowena Collins

Today was Saturday, so that meant he was on his own for at least two days. And there would be no warm, clean house or hot meal to greet them. This wasn’t the homecoming he’d expected at all.

Hank resisted the urge to crumple the telegram and toss it away. Instead he focused on figuring out how to deal with this new setback.

One thing at a time. The immediate concern was that there was no wagon on its way to transport them.

He glanced back Lionel’s way. “I need to fetch a wagon to get the kids and their belongings back to my place. There are a couple of trunks in the baggage compartment that belong to us. If you could just leave them on the platform when they’re unloaded, I’ll take care of them when I return.” The livery was only two blocks away but hiring a horse and wagon was an expense he could ill afford right now. Could he ask Lionel to keep an eye on the kids while he took care of business at home?

“Excuse me, Mr. Chandler?”

Startled, Hank turned to find the schoolteacher standing behind him. “Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing what you said just now. These two children appear to be exhausted and the wind is picking up outside. I would be glad to keep them company while you see about the wagon.”

“You’re not here to catch the train?”

She shook her head with a smile, as if the thought was absurd. “No, I’m just waiting to see if any mail arrived for me.”

Hank sent up a silent prayer of thanks for this good news in an otherwise miserable day. He couldn’t have asked for a better caretaker for the kids. The schoolteacher would naturally be accustomed to dealing with uncooperative children. Of course, she probably hadn’t had to deal with anyone with Chloe’s particular problem before.

“I appreciate the offer, ma’am, and I’d certainly like to take you up on it.” He made sure he was turned so Chloe didn’t have a clear view of his face. “But there’s something you need to know before you take them on.”

“Oh?” Her green-flecked brown eyes studied him patiently.

“I’m sure you heard about their parents.” News of that sort normally spread fast in Turnabout.

Her expression softened. “I did. My condolences on the loss of your sister and brother-in-law.”

He nodded. “Well, the accident that killed the kids’ parents also damaged Chloe’s eardrums. She’s become totally deaf.”

Her reaction surprised him. There was a sudden flash of something in her expression that seemed more than sympathy or mere surprise.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be very personal.

* * *

Everything inside Janell stilled.

Deaf. Not again.

The terrible memories of that nightmarish time came tumbling back.

But this wasn’t about her. This little girl needed help—help she was uniquely qualified to give. How fortuitous that she’d wandered in this morning to check on the mail. But then, God’s timing was always perfect.

A moment later, Janell realized Mr. Chandler was studying her, concern digging furrows in his brow. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

She straightened and met his gaze, determination stiffening her spine. “As it happens, I actually have some experience dealing with the deaf.”

Surprise and relief flashed in his dark gray eyes before he resumed his businesslike expression. “Miss Whitman, if that’s true, then you are truly a godsend to us right now.”

He glanced at the children. “And I’ll take you up on your generous offer to watch them while I’m gone.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

He stared at the children for a moment, appearing to be at a loss for words. For just a moment she sensed a vulnerability in him that tugged at her.

Poor man. This was a difficult situation for anyone to be put in, much less a man who’d seemed happy with his bachelor status. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in ages—and she didn’t think it was just travel weariness. There was at least one day’s growth of beard on his chin, enhancing rather than detracting from its square ruggedness. And his dark brown hair was in need of a trim.

Not surprising—it just meant he cared. And she could empathize. When this had happened to her sister, her entire family had been impacted. How much worse must it be for someone who had to deal with the situation on his own? It did him credit that he’d stepped up to do what he could for the children. There was a lot to admire in a man who would do that.

Of more concern right now, however, were the children themselves. It was obvious they needed a mother’s touch. Like his uncle, the little boy’s straw-colored hair was also just a tad too long, and he kept tucking it back behind his ears as if it bothered him. And Chloe’s rebellious attitude, a natural reaction to what she’d been through, would only be healed through an abundance of patience and love.

Mr. Chandler straightened, rubbing his jaw. He tapped Chloe’s arm and waited until she met his gaze, then explained the situation to them. “Alex, Chloe, this is Miss Whitman. She’s one of the schoolteachers here in Turnabout. I’m going to go home to fetch a wagon, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Miss Whitman will be staying with you until then.”

She approved of the way he spoke slowly and enunciated each word. It showed he understood Chloe’s limitations and cared enough to try to get through to her. Not that the girl seemed able to read his lips just yet. But in time, she might be able to learn.

Janell gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry—we’ll be just fine.” Then she turned to the children. “Won’t we?”

Alex gave a tentative nod. Chloe merely ignored them.

But Janell refused to be put off by their lack of enthusiasm. She turned to Mr. Chandler, her smile still firmly in place. “There, we three are already friends. So you can go take care of this wagon business. I have nothing pressing to tend to today.” Then she looked around. “But perhaps we can find someplace more comfortable and interesting to wait.”

The sawmill owner gave her a questioning glance.

“I was thinking perhaps the children would be willing to take a short walk,” she explained. “Say, just as far as the Blue Bottle?”

His expression cleared as understanding dawned. “Now, that’s a very good idea.” He turned to the children. “Miss Whitman is offering to take you to the town’s sweet shop. What do you think—wait here or brave the wind for a couple of blocks to reach the Blue Bottle?”

Alex perked up. “You mean a candy store?”

Janell nodded. “And a very good one. You can find all sorts of tasty treats—chocolate drops, sugared pecans, pumpkin brittle, caramels and much more.”

“I like candy just fine.” Alex took his sister’s hand. “And Chloe does, too.”

Chloe looked up then, her eyes darting back and forth as if trying to make sense of their conversation.

Yes, this girl definitely needed her help. Janell straightened. “Well then, if you don’t mind taking a short walk—” she glanced toward Mr. Chandler “—and if your uncle doesn’t mind, why don’t we go see what the Blue Bottle sweet shop and tea parlor has to offer this morning?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Mr. Chandler assured her. Then he turned to the stationmaster. “Lionel, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave our bags here and get them when I come back for the trunks.”

While Mr. Chandler took care of business, Janell noticed Alex trying to help his sister understand what was going on, but Chloe merely looked confused and frustrated. The girl hefted the cat higher, resting her chin against his furry back.

Janell touched Chloe’s arm. When the girl met her gaze, she pointed to the cat. “What’s his name?” she asked.

Alex answered for her. “His name is Smudge.”

Janell thanked him. She knew he was trying to help his sister, but somehow she had to make the boy understand that he wasn’t truly helping her by always answering for her. Her own sister, Lizzie, had been that way as well, rarely speaking. And at first they’d compensated for her, answering for her so that she hadn’t had to figure out what had been said. But they’d eventually learned that was the wrong approach.

Chloe would need to learn to reengage with the people around her or she would turn into a sad, lonely hermit.

“Ready?”

Mr. Chandler’s question brought Janell back to the present. With a nod, she followed the children outside while Mr. Chandler politely held the door open.

As they stepped off the platform and onto the sidewalk, a gust of wind swooshed down on them. Janell quickly took off her shawl. “Here, you two, you can share this.” She draped it over both their shoulders, then smiled at the picture they made.

Mr. Chandler frowned. “Now you’ll be cold.” He shrugged out of his jacket and held it out. “Here, take this.”

She smiled but shook her head. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. It’s a short walk to the Blue Bottle.”

His brow drew down and she got the impression he was irritated. “Surely you don’t expect me to escort you through town wearing my jacket while you give your wrap to my niece and nephew. What kind of oaf do you think I am?”

She held her hand out to accept his jacket. As she shrugged into it, she realized it felt surprisingly nice. Some of his warmth lingered, and though it was larger and heavier than she was used to, those very masculine qualities somehow made her feel more feminine than she had in quite a while.

Pushing that fanciful—and dangerous—thought away, she turned her attention back to the children. “I’m so glad you’ve moved to Turnabout,” she said cheerily. “It will be nice having two new students in my class.”

There was no response except a half nod from Alex.

“They’re not very talkative.” Mr. Chandler’s tone held a hint of apology.

“I imagine they’re weary from so much travel. But I can do enough talking for all of us.”

“I’m sure you can.”

She ignored the hint of sarcasm in his tone—after all, it was a schoolteacher’s job to reach even the most recalcitrant or guarded of children and engage them in the learning process.

“It’s a good thing we ran into you,” Mr. Chandler said. “And I don’t mean just because you came to my rescue.”

“Oh?”

“I need to speak to you about getting the kids enrolled in school as soon as possible.”

Did he really think these two would be ready to return to school right away? “Of course. But there will be time enough for that after the children have settled in.”

He frowned, but she didn’t give him a chance to say anything. Instead she turned to the children. “So, is there a favorite treat you’re hoping to find at the sweet shop?”

Alex nodded decisively. “I like lemon drops and licorice whips.”

“I’m afraid you won’t find those at the Blue Bottle, but I believe the mercantile has an excellent selection. No, the kind of treats you’ll find at the sweet shop are more along the line of bonbons—chocolates, caramels, taffies and brittles. I’m certain we can find something you like.”

During the three-block walk, she kept up a running dialogue, describing the various buildings and points of interest in the town, aware that Chloe wasn’t benefiting from the commentary. But she also knew that Chloe would benefit, even if only in a small way, from any easing of tension in her brother.

And all the while she was very aware of Mr. Chandler strolling beside her and of the warmth of his jacket on her shoulders.

She’d forgotten how special this kind of consideration could make a woman feel.

Chapter Two

When they reached the Blue Bottle, Hank quickly stepped forward to open the door.

Miss Whitman hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she could do enough talking for all of them.

But he noticed Alex seemed more relaxed now, which meant Chloe’s tension should ease as well. He’d noticed she was taking many of her cues from her brother when she couldn’t tell what was going on around her.

His attention shifted back to the schoolteacher. His coat should have looked ridiculously large on her, but for some reason it didn’t.

In fact, she looked quite nice—in an impish kind of way.

Hank pulled himself up at that thought. The straitlaced schoolteacher, impish? What a strange notion—he must be more tired than he’d thought.

He stepped inside with them for a moment, just to make certain they would be okay here while he was gone.

Miss Whitman started to shrug out of his jacket and he moved forward to help her. When she smiled up at him, he found himself wondering why he’d never really noticed her before. Not that he’d been looking for a wife before current circumstances had made it a necessity.

Then she turned to Chloe with an apologetic purse of her lips, giving him the nudge he needed to step back.

“I just realized it’s probably not a good idea to bring a cat into a sweet shop.” She glanced back his way. “Perhaps you should take Smudge with you.”

He swallowed a retort. She was undoubtedly right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Chloe won’t let him out of her sight.”

“I’m sure Smudge provides her with a measure of comfort. But she must learn that she’ll be okay without him for short periods of time.”

The schoolteacher planted herself squarely in front of his niece and stood silently until Chloe met her gaze.

Miss Whitman touched Smudge lightly on the head, then held out her arms, her meaning obvious.

Chloe replied by hugging Smudge tighter against her chest and lifting her chin defiantly.

But Miss Whitman didn’t drop her hands or her gaze, and Chloe finally handed over her pet. The girl’s shoulders slumped, and she looked as if she’d just lost her best friend, but Miss Whitman patted her arm and gave her an approving smile.

Chloe turned away.

He thought he heard Miss Whitman sigh as she turned and held the cat out to him. “Here you go. Make sure he doesn’t get away from you since he’s not familiar with the town yet.”

Great—now he was responsible for the well-being of not just the children, but this creature as well.

His hesitation was duly noted. Her eyes turned hard without her smile ever leaving her face as she continued to wait for him to take the animal from her.

Hank reluctantly held out his hands and accepted the gray feline, who looked snootily down his nose at him and sneezed. Great—even the kids’ pet didn’t like him.

After telling Miss Whitman to let Eve know he’d settle the bill when he returned, he headed out the door.

Feeling ridiculous carrying a cat through town, Hank set a brisk pace. But his thoughts remained on the kids.

He had to get through the next few days without his aunt’s help, and that meant he probably wouldn’t be able to spend much time at the sawmill. He trusted Simon Tucker to do a good job in his absence, but the business was his, not Simon’s. And he’d already been away too long.

If only he’d been more successful convincing Willa Booth to return with him. Willa, a good friend of his sister, had cared for the children during the time it had taken him to get from Turnabout to Elgin Springs.

As soon as he’d realized his best recourse was to find a woman to marry, someone to serve as a mother to the children, he’d thought of Miss Booth. The children already knew and liked her. She was not only single, but also seemed to have a fondness for children. The fact that she was a few years older than him hadn’t particularly bothered him—in fact, it had the advantage of assuring him she was going into this with her eyes wide-open and not holding out any romantic aspirations.

He’d discussed the situation with her in a businesslike manner, explaining that he could offer a comfortable home that she could run as she pleased and a life where she would be respected and her needs cared for. And at first she’d agreed to his proposal. Having a wife to accompany them back to Turnabout would have made everything so much easier.

But at the last minute she’d backed out, and he’d had to leave her behind.

Hank spent most of the train ride back to Turnabout trying to compile a list of acceptable candidates. One by one, he’d considered every unmarried lady in Turnabout he could remember. And he’d mentally rejected most of them for one reason or another. They’d been too old or too young, too slow or too silly, too talkative or too timid. By the time the train had arrived in Turnabout, his list had grown pitiably short. He’d figured—hoped—there were other marriageable ladies out there, though.

Take the schoolteacher, for instance. He hadn’t really considered Miss Whitman, mainly because she wasn’t someone he’d had much contact with.

But he was definitely considering her now.

In fact, over the past few minutes she’d jumped to the very top of his list.

* * *

Once Mr. Chandler left, Janell turned back to the children and found them wide-eyed. The place was tailor-made to be a child’s delight. The warmth inside was a welcome counterpoint to the windy outdoors, and the smells were mouthwateringly tantalizing.

Not only did Eve Dawson make delectable sweets, but her husband, Chance, carved wooden toys and fanciful decorations that he displayed around the shop. His woodworking area was visible across the room, separated only by a low rail.

He was there now and looked up when they entered and welcomed them with a smile. Then he bent over his work again.

Eve, her rounded stomach betraying the fact that she was expecting a child, stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hello, Janell. Who are these two fine-looking young’uns you have with you?”

“This is Chloe and Alex, Mr. Chandler’s niece and nephew. They just arrived in town and I thought I’d treat them to some of your candies.”

She saw understanding and sympathy flash in Eve’s expression. Everyone in town knew why Mr. Chandler had headed for Colorado a few weeks ago.

“Well, as first-time customers, you’re allowed to sample anything in the shop for free. Just let me know what you want.”

Alex and Chloe were already eyeing the treats on display with hungry eagerness. Much better than the scared and woeful expressions they’d worn earlier.

Janell turned back to Eve. “While they’re trying to decide, would you mind whipping us up some hot cocoa?”

Eve smiled. “Not at all. Three hot cocoas, coming right up.”

Her husband, who’d sauntered over from his workbench, gave them another smile, then dropped a quick kiss on Eve’s cheek. “Why don’t you let me handle the cocoa while you take care of your customers?” Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the kitchen.

Eve turned back to her young customers. “Made up your minds yet?”

Alex’s eyes were wide with appreciation for the treats spread before him. “It just all looks so good.”

“And what about you, Chloe?”

When the little girl didn’t answer, Eve’s smile turned uncertain.

Janell caught her gaze and touched her ear with a shake of her head.

With an understanding nod, Eve turned back to the children. “I tell you what—why don’t I make up a platter with a little bit of everything and bring it to your table?”

Alex’s eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Janell lightly touched Chloe’s arm to get her attention before sweeping a hand toward the tables. “Let’s have a seat, shall we?” She led them to one of the round tables that were set out for customers.

As they took their seats, Janell turned to Alex. “How old are you?”

“Eight.”

Then she turned to his sister. Touching the girl’s arm to get her attention once more, she carefully enunciated her question. “And how old are you?”

Alex immediately jumped in to answer for her. “She’s—”

Janell immediately stopped the boy with a raised hand. “Thank you, Alex, but I asked Chloe.”

“But—”

“She can still talk, can’t she?”

He shifted uncomfortably, shooting a furtive look his sister’s way before answering. “Yes, ma’am.”

Janell turned back to Chloe with a firm smile. “So, Chloe, how old are you?”

Chloe shook her head, a clear indication that she hadn’t understood. Janell knew from experience that even if the girl had read her lips properly, she wouldn’t have the confidence to answer. So she took a pencil and a scrap of paper from her handbag and wrote down the question.

Chloe looked at the note, then pursed her lips, as if she would refuse to answer. But Janell determinedly held her gaze and eventually the girl mumbled a reply. “Ten.”

Satisfied that she’d got the girl to respond verbally, Janell included Alex in her next question. “Then both of you will be in my class when you’re ready to join us at the school.”

Eve approached just then with a tray containing a generous mix of treats. “Here you go.” She set the tray between the children, then straightened and placed a hand lightly over her stomach. “I hope you enjoy.”

Both children leaned forward to examine the goodies. “Yes, ma’am,” Alex responded enthusiastically. “And thank you.”

Janell waited for Chloe to add her thanks, but the girl remained silent. She knew Chloe was having trouble interacting with folks around her, but it was time she began learning to do so again.

She leaned over and touched Chloe’s arm. The ten-year-old glanced up, a guarded expression on her face.

“Isn’t there something you’d like to say?” Janell spoke very deliberately, and when she was done she waved a hand Eve’s way.

Chloe blushed and pursed her lips stubbornly. Then she turned to their hostess. “Thank you.”

Eve smiled at the girl as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “You’re quite welcome. Now, I’ll leave you to enjoy your treats while I check on how the cocoa are coming.”

As Eve walked away, Janell gave the children an encouraging nod. “Help yourselves.”

Without further prompting, they each grabbed something from the tray. Janell reached for a piece of pumpkin-seed brittle, her personal favorite.

As she nibbled on it, she wondered how Mr. Chandler planned to deal with his new circumstances. Had he already realized how much his life was going to change, that this was not a temporary situation that he could resolve and then go back to the life he’d had before? As far as she knew, he didn’t have any family here in Turnabout. Was there someone he could turn to, or even hire if need be, to help him care for the children?

Before any of them had time to reach for more, the cocoa arrived and Janell let the children drink without further attempts at conversation. The pair gradually relaxed. Alex, whose feet didn’t quite touch the floor, swung his legs absently. Chloe fidgeted with her cup.

Perhaps once they’d finished their cocoa she could try again to get them to open up to her. But she found her thoughts drifting to their uncle, wondering when he would return and feeling a small flicker of anticipation at seeing him again.

Mr. Dawson came over and handed Alex and Chloe each their own very small wooden top. Alex’s had a green stripe around the middle and Chloe’s had a red stripe.

He taught them how to spin the tiny toys and then, with a smile, left them to try it on their own.

Their first few attempts drew smiles and even a giggle or two as they tried to get them to spin correctly. Then they challenged each other to see whose could spin the longest.

While they were still playing, the door opened and Mr. Chandler finally walked in. Janell immediately felt her spirits jump, responding to what, she wasn’t quite sure. But the children’s reaction seemed the exact opposite.

Was it because his presence reminded them of their loss? Or was there some other reason?

Mr. Chandler had the look of someone ready to do his duty by his niece and nephew, come what may. Perhaps that was what they sensed—that they were a duty, not a welcome presence.

Janell saw hints of weariness etched into the lines of his face and a touch of worry and helplessness in his eyes, and her heart was touched once more. Not only had he suddenly been left with a pair of grieving orphans, but he’d also lost his sister as well. The desire she’d felt earlier to help ease his burdens grew stronger.

“Where’s Smudge?” Chloe’s question pulled Janell back from those inappropriate thoughts.

The child’s tone had been a mix of accusation and apprehension, as if she suspected her uncle of having done something unpleasant to her pet. But the fact that she’d spoken at all was a good sign. It meant Chloe would make the effort to speak up given sufficient motivation.

Mr. Chandler, however, didn’t seem to share her optimism. Instead he looked resigned. “Don’t worry, Chloe—your pet is fine,” he said. “He’s waiting for us back at the house.”

Wanting to reassure the girl, Janell quickly wrote down Mr. Chandler’s response so Chloe could read it. Some of the girl’s anxiety eased, but not her suspicion. She glared at her uncle and then focused back on her cup of cocoa, idly pushing the toy top around with one finger.

For a moment, as Mr. Chandler studied his niece’s bent head, there was a defeated slump to his shoulders, as if he didn’t think he’d ever get through to her. Janell had the most unexpected urge to give his arm a comforting touch, barely stopping herself in time. What had got into her?

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice anything peculiar in her behavior. Instead, he seemed to draw on something inside himself. He straightened, once more the picture of confidence, and turned to her with a nod. “Thank you for watching Alex and Chloe. It was a big help.”

“You’re quite welcome. They were no trouble at all.”

“I’ll settle the bill with Mrs. Dawson and then we’ll be on our way,” he said, already turning back to the children. “Please don’t let us keep you any longer—I can take it from here.”

He sounded almost as if he meant that. But she wasn’t ready to go just yet—she needed to have a word with Mr. Chandler before he took the lost-looking youngsters home with him, if for no other reason than to give him a better idea of what he’d be facing in the coming days.

She stood and glanced toward the counter. “Eve, would you mind if I took Mr. Chandler to the kitchen to show him your new oven?”

Eve picked up her cue immediately. “Not at all.” She nodded. “Take your time. I’ll keep an eye on the children for you.”

Other than a quick raise of an eyebrow, Mr. Chandler hid his surprise at her odd request quite well. Without a word, he swept an arm forward, indicating she should precede him.

Once the kitchen door swung closed he crossed his arms. “I assume you didn’t really intend to show me the oven. So why are we here?”

Janell smiled as she motioned to a chair at the worktable. “I’d like to speak to you about something.”

He scrubbed a hand wearily across his jaw and glanced at the door as if he could see through it to the children. He was silent so long she thought he would refuse. But after a moment he nodded. He didn’t so much sit as drop into the seat.

“If I understood what you said earlier, Chloe hasn’t always been deaf.”

He shook his head. “The explosion that killed their parents also stole her hearing.”

Janell’s hand flew to her throat. “Explosion!” She hadn’t heard that part of the story.

He leaned forward with his hands clasped on the table. “My apologies for blurting that out—I wasn’t thinking. Back in Elgin Springs everyone knows what happened.”

“No need for apologies. I can’t imagine what those children have been through.”

His smile was grim. “Fortunately, Chloe was in a separate room when it happened.” He looked down at his hands. “So she didn’t actually witness...” His jaw tightened and he raked a hand through his hair.

She impulsively placed her hand on his. “That much, at least, is a blessing.”

His hand stiffened under hers and she drew back, feeling her cheeks warm. Had she been too forward?

Blessing? Hank’s anger and grief threatened to erupt again. No, there wasn’t much about what had happened in this matter that he would consider a blessing. Not for him, and not for the kids.

A heartbeat later he realized Miss Whitman had read something of his feelings. But he could also tell by the flush rising in her cheeks that she’d misinterpreted the reason.

Because he hadn’t objected to her touch at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Now wasn’t the time to be thinking of that, though.

Even if she looked quite pretty with that warm color in her face.

Yes, Miss Whitman had definitely solidified her place on his list of candidates for wife.

Chapter Three

“And what of Alex?”

The schoolteacher’s question pulled his focus back to the matter at hand. He was relieved to see she had already regained her composure. “Fortunately, Alex wasn’t at home when the explosion happened, so he didn’t receive any injuries.”

“No physical injuries, at least,” she amended. “I’m sure emotionally he’s hurting a great deal.”

He nodded. It was something he needed to keep reminding himself of since he tended to focus more on what Chloe had lost.

“As I mentioned earlier,” she continued, “I have experience with Chloe’s condition. My sister went deaf at the age of seventeen.”

He sat up straighter. Perhaps she could help. “How did it happen in her case?”

“Measles.”

He saw the sadness in her luminous eyes and felt the urge to comfort her. Instead, he kept the conversation on the issue at hand. “How did your sister handle it?”

“Not very well at first.” Her lips twisted wryly. “In fact, much the same way Chloe is handling it right now.”

“But she did get better.” Please let there be hope.

“She never regained her hearing. But she did eventually come to terms with what had happened. It took a lot of time, though, and a lot of work, both on her part and by all of us who love her.”

“So she’s fine now?”

Miss Whitman’s expression closed off for a moment. Then she seemed to shake off her melancholy. “Absolutely. For the last five years she’s been happily married. She now has two children and leads a very active life.”

Could he dare hope Chloe would turn out the same way? Right now that seemed an improbable dream. “But there’s a difference between an eighteen-year-old and a ten-year-old.”

“True.” She leaned forward, propping her forearms on the table. “But that doesn’t mean the same approach won’t work with Chloe.”

“You honestly think you can help her adjust?”

“I’m willing to try.” She gave him a direct look. “But it means work for you and Alex as well as Chloe.”

He’d figured as much. “Hard work doesn’t scare me.”

“Good. But first things first. You need to get them home and settled in.” She paused a moment, as if something had just occurred to her. “I assume you do have room in your home for them?”

“I do.” She certainly wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Must be the schoolteacher in her.

“Is there a separate room for each of them or do you plan to have them share?”

“There are two spare rooms.” At one time he’d thought to raise a family in that house. But that plan had been discarded years ago.

Hank mentally grimaced. It seemed he’d be raising a family there after all.

“Are the rooms ready for guests?” she asked, pressing on.

This time, her question got his back up. Sure, both rooms could use a more thorough cleaning. And the smaller one had become more storage room than bedroom over the years. But in his defense, he’d left in a hurry. And he’d thought Aunt Rowena would be here getting things ready.

Still, that really wasn’t any of her business. “Close enough for now,” he said. “And when I went home I stoked the stove and started a fire in the fireplace, so it should be nice and warm by the time I get the kids there.”

She nodded approval. “That was a thoughtful thing to do.” Then she turned solemn. “As for the rest, I understand this is a difficult time for you. And I’m certain Alex and Chloe will appreciate having a room of their own and a comfortable bed, regardless of the condition.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Hank didn’t bother to hide his irritation. It didn’t matter that the conclusion she’d jumped to was correct; she shouldn’t have made any assumptions about him in the first place.

Then he tamped down his ire. None of this was her fault and she was trying to help. “Actually, my aunt Rowena was supposed to come over from Clampton today and stay with us a couple of weeks. The plan was for her to arrive ahead of us and get the house ready for the kids, but she’s been delayed.”

“I can see why that would make you cross, and more than a little apprehensive. But a grown man such as yourself should be able to take care of the basic housekeeping required.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t. Time to get this conversation back under control. “What exactly did you do to help your sister adjust? And can you do the same for Chloe?”

Miss Whitman glanced toward the next room again. “Alex and Chloe are tired and very likely apprehensive about their future here. As I said earlier, the best thing for them at the moment is to get them to your place so they can get comfortable with their new home.”

Why couldn’t she just give a straight answer to his questions? “Does that mean you can’t help Chloe?”

She gave him a don’t-be-silly look. “Not at all. I’m only saying now is not the time to talk about it.”

“And just when do you suggest we talk?” He was beginning to wonder if she really could help his niece after all.

“Since your aunt didn’t arrive as planned, are you in a position to provide them with a meal tonight?”

The way she hopped from subject to subject made him dizzy. “I’ll take them to Daisy’s,” he answered, making said plan on the spot.

But she gave a disapproving shake of her head. “Taking them to a restaurant is probably not the best idea. Much better to feed them at home, where they won’t feel on display.”

And just how did she expect him to do that, especially when she’d already guessed his cupboard was bare? “That’s all well and good, but—”

She raised a hand to stop him. Naturally she’d have a suggestion. “There’s a simple solution. I can come by your place later this afternoon and cook a simple meal for you.”

Her generous and unexpected offer, made with such no-nonsense confidence, set him back a moment. Putting aside the fact that her I-have-all-the-answers attitude set his teeth on edge, it was mighty tempting to accept her offer. After all, a home-cooked meal—and such interesting company—for the kids’ first day at his home was more than he could have hoped for just a few short minutes ago. But how far into her debt did he want to go? “I couldn’t impose on you—”

She interrupted his admittedly halfhearted protest. “Nonsense. I want to do this. And after the meal, the two of us can talk in more detail about how we might best help Chloe.”

Her use of we made it sound as if she planned to have some long-term involvement in Chloe’s life. For some reason that perked him up. “All right. If you’re sure it’s not imposing on your kindness too much, then I’d certainly welcome your help.”

“That’s settled, then.” She stood and gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Chandler—this is something the three of you will be able to work through.”

Hank stood as well. She certainly had an air of confidence about her—he hoped it was justified. Though he wondered how long eventually would take. “Can I give you a ride to the boardinghouse?”

“Thank you, but there’s no need. You just get those two children home and insist they lie down for a nap.” She looked at him. “And I suggest you do the same.”

Sleep did sound good, but there was too much to be done for him to waste time on a bit of shut-eye this afternoon.

“By the way,” she continued, “the children may decide they want to be together, at least at first. I wouldn’t make much to-do over it if they do. It’s natural for them to want to cling to something familiar in a situation like this, and right now the only familiar thing left in their world is each other. And Smudge.”

“If you’re going to shop for the makings of our meal, just have the shopkeepers put the cost on my account.”

She nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you at your place in about an hour.” And with that, she headed for the door.

Hank slowly followed her back into the sweet shop, watching her walk ahead of him. There was nothing tentative about this woman. She moved the same way she talked, with confidence and authority. The knowledge that she planned to help him, that he was no longer facing this alone, gave him renewed energy.

Miss Whitman, for all her I-know-best attitude, had provided him with the first flicker of hope for Chloe since he’d left Turnabout four weeks ago, and for that he was grateful. If the schoolteacher could truly do what she said she could, he’d certainly not begrudge her any amount of superior attitude.

She paused beside the children for a moment, saying something to them, touching Alex lightly on the shoulder, Chloe on the arm. And he could see the children respond to her, if not warmly, at least respectfully.

How did she do it, get them to relax around her like that? For a few moments, when he’d first walked into the Blue Bottle, he’d seen his niece and nephew as they were meant to be—sitting at the table, sipping cocoa and smiling.

Then they’d spied him and gloom settled over them once more.

He tried not to take it personally. It seemed, though, that he was a reminder to them of everything they’d lost.

Would that ever change?

Perhaps with the schoolteacher’s help, he could learn the secret to earning their trust.

But first he needed to earn her trust.

* * *

Janell stayed behind at the sweet shop after Mr. Chandler and his charges had departed. Over the past year and a half, she and Eve had become very good friends. It was the first time she’d let herself get close, really close, to anyone since she’d moved to Turnabout nearly seven years ago.

“Those poor children,” Eve said, putting her hand protectively over her abdomen. “Mr. Chandler is going to have his hands full caring for them, I’m afraid.” Then she smiled. “But I can see already that he’s going to have some very competent help.”

Janell and Eve had shared a great deal about their pasts with each other as their friendship grew, so her friend knew all about what had happened to her sister, Lizzie. “I certainly intend to do what I can to help them. I wasn’t able to stay and help Lizzie as much as I would have liked. I feel like perhaps God is giving me a second chance with Chloe.”

Eve also knew about her shameful secret, the one that had driven Janell from her family and home in Illinois and brought her to Turnabout. Eve was the only one here who knew.

Because if anyone else found out, it would likely mean the end of Janell’s stay in Turnabout, something she couldn’t bear.

Eve patted her hand. “What happened was no fault of your own. But we both have scars from our past to deal with, so I’ll say no more. Just let me know how I can help.”

“Would you mind letting Verity know I won’t make it to choir practice this evening and probably won’t sing with the choir at church tomorrow?” The choir director and several of the members had made a habit of stopping here for a cup of tea before choir practice on Saturday evenings.

“Of course. I’m sure she’ll understand, given the circumstances.”

Talk of the choir reminded Janell of something else.

She gave Eve a sympathetic smile. “Is Leo still smarting over what happened at the Thanksgiving festival?”

Leo, Eve’s adopted son, was part of the children’s choir and had been selected for a small solo part at the festival. However, when he’d stepped forward to sing, his voice had cracked. The boy had turned candy-apple red and rushed off the stage in embarrassment.

Eve nodded. “I’m afraid so. Telling him it’s a natural part of growing up for a boy hasn’t helped.” A touch of worry invaded her expression. “He’s already told Verity he won’t be taking part in the Christmas program.”

Verity had formed a children’s choir last spring and had worked wonders with the group ever since.

“As it happens,” Janell said, “I’ve been thinking about working with some of the children to put on a short nativity play in conjunction with the children’s choir Christmas Eve program. Do you think Leo might be interested in taking part?”

Eve smiled. “As long as it doesn’t require him to sing, he just might.”

“Then I’ll speak to him about it at school on Monday.”

Janell took her leave and headed for the boardinghouse, her thoughts once again focused on Mr. Chandler and his charges. Her pace was brisk, her mind racing. Already she was making mental lists of all the things she could do—in both the short and long term—to help the three of them. The first thing she’d do would be to write a letter to Dr. Carson, the doctor who’d been such a help with Lizzie. Since he worked at St. Matthew’s School for the Deaf, he would have access to some of the most current information and materials to help someone like Chloe.

She would also write to Lizzie and get her thoughts on what would help the girl the most from an emotional perspective.

One thing she could do immediately, though, would be to dig through her trunk and find the book she had on sign language. It would be a good place for Mr. Chandler and the children to start.

Twenty minutes later, Janell had the letters written, had retrieved the book and was headed back out of the boardinghouse. She had a number of errands to run before heading to Mr. Chandler’s home. Post the letters, stop by the butcher shop and the mercantile and also stop in at the schoolhouse to pick up a few things.

Janell offered up a little prayer of thanksgiving. God was giving her the opportunity to help this little girl, to share what she’d learned with Lizzie with someone else in need. And she was determined to see it all the way through—not turn tail and run as she had before.

Mr. Chandler had appeared to be a little reluctant to accept her help. Thank goodness he’d finally come around—once she explained things properly he’d see that there was merit to what she could offer.

The sawmill owner was someone she hadn’t really had the opportunity to interact with during her time here in Turnabout. As a teacher her main interactions were with the schoolchildren and their parents. Being a member of the church choir gave her another social outlet. And being a teacher, she was very circumspect in her dealings with single men.

Of course, that didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed him before. After all, he was the kind of man one couldn’t help but notice. Tall and lean, with a firm jaw and gray eyes, he didn’t say much, but there was an air of quiet command about him. She got the sense that he was a man of good character and was well liked in the community.

And now that she’d had a chance to interact with him on a personal basis, she found that he was also a very intriguing man. In fact, she was surprised none of the single ladies or matchmaking mamas here in town had set their sights on him. Being married would certainly make his current situation easier—for both him and the children.

Not that she had any aspirations on that score herself. Her world revolved around the schoolchildren and the choir—that was enough for her.

It had to be.

Because she was living a lie, had been ever since she’d moved to Turnabout. Marriage was not an option for her any longer, something she’d come to terms with a long time ago. It was why she discouraged any attempts by the local gentlemen to come calling. Why she told herself she could live a fulfilling life teaching other people’s children, even if she’d never have one of her own.

And most days she could make herself believe that. Being with Mr. Chandler today, however, had stirred up some emotions best left dormant.

Janell brought her wandering mind back to the matter at hand. Yes, the sawmill owner had the makings of a fine family man, and all things considered, the children could definitely have done worse in finding a guardian than Mr. Hank Chandler.

Chapter Four

Hank awoke abruptly, feeling disoriented. It took him a moment to remember he was back in his own home and not still in Colorado.

He hadn’t intended to sleep, just rest for a minute. But getting the children settled in had taken longer than planned. He’d shown them their rooms, but unfortunately, the rooms were not quite as ready as he’d hoped.

Alex and Chloe had set their things down and looked around like a pair of lost waifs. He brought in their trunks, which held all the tangible possessions left from their prior lives. The one with their parents’ things, at least those items he’d felt they would want someday, he’d carted up to the attic.

When he’d insisted they take naps, they’d complied with almost apathetic nods. A few minutes later, when Alex crept into Chloe’s room, Hank had heeded Miss Whitman’s suggestion and pretended not to notice. He had to admit, having someone like the schoolteacher in his corner was a blessing.

Hank swung his feet to the floor. Later, after the kids were up, he would set up the new bed he’d ordered for Chloe’s room. He’d need it once his aunt arrived anyway, since she’d be sharing his niece’s room during her stay. And that fact would probably earn him yet more resentment from Chloe, but there was no help for it.

For now, if Alex chose to make use of his aunt’s bed before she arrived, he supposed he could turn a blind eye.

Hank tried to clear the last of the fog from his brain as he stood. He’d come into the parlor intending to check on the fireplace. That done, though, he’d stretched out on the sofa, telling himself it would just be for a few minutes, just long enough to find a bit of peace from the headache that had plagued him since...well, since he’d got that telegram four weeks ago.

How long had he slept? What if the children had awakened before him? He headed down the hall and opened Chloe’s door just wide enough to look inside.

To his relief they were still sound asleep. He closed the door, then straightened. Miss Whitman would probably be here soon—he should get a few things in order before she arrived.

But as Hank neared the kitchen, he heard soft humming. A heartbeat later, he picked up the scent of something cooking. What in the world?

He paused on the threshold. Sure enough, Miss Whitman stood at the stove with her back to him. Not only had she made herself at home in his kitchen, but there were also signs she’d been busy cleaning up. And he spotted a large ball of dough rising on the counter. Just how long had she been here?

Normally he was a light sleeper. How had she managed to do all of this without waking him? But there was something satisfying about how at-home she looked here, how right it seemed to have her humming over a meal in his kitchen. It tugged at a long-buried yearning for a different kind of life... Then he shook his head, irritated with himself. He wasn’t looking for a wife; he was looking for a mother for the children. Besides, just what did she think she was doing, letting herself in here without permission?

Miss Whitman finally turned and spotted him. “Well, hello there. Did you have a nice nap?”

He stiffened at that. “Glad to see you made yourself at home,” he said, pointedly ignoring her question.

She smiled, waving her cook spoon haphazardly. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in, but no one answered my knock.”

“You must not have knocked very loud.”

By her raised brow he could tell his dry tone hadn’t been wasted on her this time.

“Perhaps not. But I figured the children would be sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb them. They needed to get some rest after your journey. As did you.”

“I apologize for not being available to show you around,” he said stiffly. “But you appear to have found everything you needed on your own.”

Either missing the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it, she nodded. “No apologies needed,” she said brightly. “As you can see, I’m quite capable of finding my way around a kitchen all on my own.”

There was definitely no denying that. He looked around. Apparently she’d found all the dishes, pots and utensils she needed.

“I checked on the children when I got here,” she said, turning back to the stove. “The little lambs were sleeping sound as could be.”

What had she thought of finding him snoozing on the sofa?

Pushing that decidedly uncomfortable thought away, he looked for something else to focus on. “What’s that you’re cooking?”

“Rabbit stew. I also plan to bake some bread and prepare a peach cobbler for dessert.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of picking up a few things for your larder since you’ll be cooking for three now.”

Cooking for three—something else he hadn’t thought through yet. Kids probably required more than the plain fare he normally cooked for himself. But that was his problem, not hers. “Thank you.”

She gave him a curious look. “I hope it’s not too forward of me, but I’d like to ask a question about your time in Colorado.”

He hadn’t noticed that being forward was something she worried overmuch about. “Ask away.”

“You were gone for several weeks. Were the children in your care during that time?”

“Not entirely. Miss Booth, a friend of my sister’s, took them in right after the accident. Chloe needed doctoring and I had to tend to the funerals and to the settling of their parents’ business affairs. Besides, I was staying in a hotel. It just seemed best that they stay where they could be more comfortable and have someone familiar to take care of them. I checked in on them every day, though.”

“I see.”

There was something about the way she said that that raised his suspicions. “And just what is it that you see?”

“That you really don’t have much experience caring for them on your own yet. Not that it’s your fault. It’s just something we’ll need to take into consideration.”

Then she smiled. “But enough of that. Did the menu sound to your liking?”

“Yes, of course. Let me thank you again for taking the time to—”

She waved his thanks aside. “Oh, you’re quite welcome. I’m happy to do it.”

Hank rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how she would react if he asked her for another favor, especially since he hadn’t been exactly gracious so far.

Before he could figure out the best way to ask, she turned around. “There’s no point in you standing around, watching me cook. I figure you’re eager to go down to the mill and check on how your business fared while you were away. Since Alex and Chloe are sleeping, now would be a good time. The stew won’t be ready to eat for a while yet and the children will probably sleep at least another hour.”

How did she always manage to anticipate him like that? “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I would like to drive out to the mill. I’ll try not to be gone too long.”

“There’s no need for you to rush on my account. The children and I will be fine while you are gone.”

He bowed. “Once more I’m in your debt.”

She grinned. “I’m not nearly as altruistic as you seem to believe. But I really think I can help the three of you, and it would give me immense satisfaction to do so.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he merely nodded and headed out to the small carriage house, where he kept his buckboard.

And as he went, he found himself wondering why the schoolteacher, who had such an obvious fondness for children, wasn’t married. Sure, she was a bit bossy, but he knew there were men who’d be willing to overlook that, especially given her other attributes.

Unless there was something wrong with her that he hadn’t seen yet. He supposed he should keep a close eye on her, just to see if he could figure out what that might be.

* * *

“Where’s Uncle Hank?”

Janell looked up to see Alex standing in the doorway, watching her with solemn eyes.

“He went down to the sawmill.” She tried to infuse her voice with reassurance. “He’ll be back in time for supper.”

The boy cocked his head to one side, as if trying to puzzle something out. “Do you live here, too?”

Was she imagining the hopeful tone in his voice? “No, sweetheart, I just came over to help your uncle make your first day here as comfortable as possible.”

Alex nodded but didn’t say anything. And didn’t seem inclined to come any closer. What was he afraid of?

She waved a hand toward the counter, where a couple of loaves of bread were cooling. “I just pulled those out of the oven. I love the aroma of fresh-baked bread, don’t you? Why don’t you have a seat at the table and I’ll cut you off a piece so we can see if it tastes as good as it smells?”

He finally moved forward, but didn’t say anything.

“Where’s Chloe?” she asked, trying to draw him out.

“She’s still in bed.” He slid onto his chair, watching as she sliced the bread.

“Is she still asleep?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. She’s reading.”

The way he eyed the bread, one would think he hadn’t eaten for days. She placed a thick slice on a saucer and set it in front of him. “Perhaps I should ask her if she wants a little something to eat, too.”

Alex popped up out of his chair. “I’ll go.”

She waved him back down. “Enjoy your bread. I’ll go.”

Alex slowly sat again, his expression troubled.

The little boy was touchingly protective of his sister. Admirable, but she had to help him focus on just being an eight-year-old.

Janell grabbed the large slate and some chalk she’d fetched from the schoolhouse earlier and headed for Chloe’s bedchamber. She paused in front of the door, her hand raised to knock. Such an action was meaningless in this situation. She’d need to find a way to perform that function visually in order to allow the girl her privacy. For Lizzie they’d rigged a system with rope and cloth flags.

Janell opened the door and paused on the threshold, waiting for Chloe to notice her. The girl, who was reclining on the bed with her book, looked up, and Janell saw the flicker of surprise, quickly replaced with a not-quite-genuine frown of indifference. The cat, who was curled at the child’s feet, watched Janell with an unblinking stare. Janell stepped into the room and walked right up to the bed. She placed a hand lightly on the book, forcing Chloe to look up again.

“Would you like to join us in the kitchen?” She carefully enunciated each word.

The girl shook her head.

Was she declining the offer? Or had she merely not understood? Janell quickly wrote the same question on the slate and turned it so Chloe could read it.

Chloe again shook her head.

Janell erased the slate and this time wrote I have fresh bread. She paused and then added Your uncle is at his sawmill right now.

Chloe seemed to think about that a moment, then nodded and set her book down. When she climbed off the bed, the cat uncurled, then gracefully jumped to the floor and followed.

Once in the kitchen, Chloe pulled up a chair next to Alex while Janell sliced off another piece of bread. Once she’d served the girl her snack, she put a bowl of water on the floor near the stove for Smudge.

How was Mr. Chandler going to manage the care of these children? They’d obviously need lots of attention for the foreseeable future, attention he’d never be able to provide on his own. At the very least he needed a housekeeper. A wife would be even better.

Did he realize this? If not, he was in for a rude awakening.

Of course, he might take offense at her bringing up such a topic—she’d noticed he didn’t always take kindly to her advice. But to do him credit, he did listen, and that was a good quality for a husband to have.

Besides, when it came to the welfare of the children, she was willing to risk his irritation. And if she were to be entirely honest with herself, she rather liked getting the occasional rise out of him.

For just a moment she found herself wondering what it might be like to be married to such a man, a man so different from—

She abruptly pulled her thoughts away from that precipice. Time to grab back on to that control she’d worked so hard to maintain over her emotions since leaving Illinois.

She’d never had this happen before, not in all the time she’d been in Texas. What was it about Mr. Chandler that had allowed him to slip past her control so easily?

* * *

Hank headed out of the mill, pausing to give Gus a scratch behind the ears. The sawmill’s resident dog was tame with people he knew, but the mostly-boxer was an excellent guard dog. Hank never had a problem with strangers or troublemakers hanging around the mill.

With a last rub of the dog’s fur, Hank straightened and headed for his wagon. From what he’d seen of the operation and the books just now, Simon Tucker had done a fine job of keeping the mill running while he was gone. And that set his mind at ease.

He climbed in the wagon and turned Hector, the horse, toward home. Simon had assured him that he could continue to pull double duty as long as Hank needed him to, but Hank didn’t want to take advantage of him. Simon had a family of his own to look after, one that included ten children and a wife. So he’d assured Simon he’d be back at the helm by Monday. Surely Aunt Rowena would be here by then.

But of course, that wasn’t the final solution. Aunt Rowena had her own home and friends in Clampton. She’d agreed to help him until he could make other, more permanent arrangements. He couldn’t see her staying for more than a few weeks—a month at most.

His original plan had been to find a housekeeper, one who would take on the care of the children as part of her duties. But when he’d learned about the sizable debt Enid and her husband had left behind, a debt he felt honor bound to make right, he realized he would no longer have the funds to do that.

The entire situation left him with the rather unappealing option of getting married. Just the idea of going through the motions of finding the right kind of woman and then convincing her to marry him was somehow distasteful.

He rubbed his chin in thought. But if he could convince the schoolteacher to take on that role, it would certainly save him a lot of trouble and time.

Not just that—she was uniquely equipped to deal with Chloe, and the kids already knew her. He admitted he wouldn’t mind having her around on a regular basis himself. Yep, marrying Miss Whitman would certainly solve a lot of his problems.

Would the starchy schoolteacher be willing to consider an offer from him?

Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt to ask.

As he let the horse have its head, Hank wondered why he hadn’t taken much notice of Miss Whitman before. He’d always had the somewhat vague impression that she was a typical schoolmarm—rather spinsterish and pragmatic.

Well, he’d seen now that there was much more to her—a certain spark that lit her up from the inside. Even her bossy tendencies weren’t altogether unappealing when it came down to it. And she certainly knew how to deal with children. He’d pick an opportune moment and come right out and ask her. Tonight, if at all possible.

Chapter Five

When Hank arrived back at the house, he tended to his horse and wagon first. When at last he was done, he headed to the pump by the water trough to wash up. He’d been gone longer than he’d planned—how was Miss Whitman faring with the kids?

Probably much better than he would have been.

When he stepped inside, he found her and the two young’uns at the table in the kitchen. Miss Whitman appeared to be teaching them how to do some complicated cat’s cradle designs with loops of string laced through their fingers. And the kids—both of them—were actually smiling.

They looked like, well, like a family. And for just a moment he had a keen desire to fit into that picture. The tug of that longing startled him in its intensity.

Then the kids saw him, and the immediate change in their demeanor made it clear that he didn’t fit, that he was still someone who had yet to earn their trust, much less their affection.

He’d excused that reaction before because of what they’d been through. But this time it was harder to dismiss because he’d seen their relaxed attitude around Miss Whitman, a woman they’d just met hours ago and who had no blood ties to them at all.

So that meant it was personal, at least in part.

When Miss Whitman looked up, she, at least, gave him a welcoming smile. “Mr. Chandler. I trust you found all was well at your sawmill?”

He moved forward with a nod, entering the kitchen fully. “Simon’s a good second-in-command.” He glanced at the kids. “It looks like you all are enjoying yourselves.” He spotted the chalk and slate on the table. Did Miss Whitman plan to leave that here with them? It would sure make communicating with Chloe easier.

But they could discuss that later. “That stew smells good.”

Miss Whitman straightened. “I imagine you’re hungry.” She turned to the kids. “And I’m sure you are, too. Why don’t we get the table ready? Your uncle can show you where the dishes and cutlery are stored.” She picked up the slate and wrote on it as she talked, and now she turned it around so Chloe could read it.

Hank realized the kids were waiting for him to do as Miss Whitman had asked, so he moved toward the cabinets. He retrieved the dishes and utensils and handed them to the children, who then transported them to the table.

As they arranged things properly, Hank approached Miss Whitman at the stove. “Is there anything I can help with?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, then nodded toward the counter beside her. “You can slice that loaf of bread and put it on the table, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” As Hank grabbed a knife he noticed there was already a portion missing from one loaf. “Looks like someone’s been doing some sampling,” he said as he began slicing. Then he inhaled the smell of the fresh-baked bread with appreciation. “My grandma used to say that you could always tell how good a cook a woman was by the bread she baked. I think you’d pass even her test with this loaf.”

She raised a brow at that. “But you haven’t tasted it yet.”

“The aroma and how nicely it slices are enough to tell the tale.”

He turned to transport the bread to the table and paused a moment. His kitchen table was of a modest size, square with four chairs situated around it. But this evening, the children had rearranged things so that there were two chairs on one side. Should he say something or let it go?

He glanced Miss Whitman’s way, wondering if he should let her handle this. But she had her back to them and hadn’t yet noticed. There was no way for him to bring it to her attention without the children, or at least Alex, noticing.

He decided to let it go and carried the bread platter to the table as if nothing was amiss.

Later, as they prepared to take their seats, Miss Whitman gave them an apologetic smile from her position at the stove. “I couldn’t find a large serving bowl. So for tonight I think we’ll just put the pot on the table to serve from.”

Hank quickly took the pot from her. He didn’t think he actually owned a large serving bowl. He rarely cooked more than he could eat in one sitting, so he had no needs in that area. He supposed that was yet another thing he’d have to take care of now that his household had expanded.

Miss Whitman placed a folded cloth on the table and he carefully set the pot on it.

She took her seat and he moved to the other side to take his. He’d barely settled when she gave him a meaningful look.

“Mr. Chandler, would you say the blessing for us, please?”

“Of course.” What else could he say? Before he bowed his head, he saw Alex touch his sister’s arm and then fold his hands to indicate they were going to pray. That sort of direction was no doubt why Chloe felt the need to keep her brother close.

Then Hank closed his eyes and reached deep for the words. It had been quite some time since he’d prayed aloud. “Lord, we thank You for granting us safe travel home to Turnabout. And thank You for this meal we are about to partake of. Thank You, too, for bringing someone as generous as Miss Whitman into our midst. We ask that You grant Aunt Rowena’s friend renewed health so that she may get to Turnabout in the coming days. And in all things keep us mindful of Your grace. Amen.”

As he looked up, Miss Whitman softly echoed his amen and gave him a warm smile of approval.

That smile touched a spot inside him he’d thought long dead.

Then she sat up straighter. “Rather than passing this heavy pot of stew around, if you’ll pass me your bowls, I’ll serve each of you.”

“Here, let me help.” Hank stood and reached for Alex’s and Chloe’s bowls. He held them up to the pot while Miss Whitman ladled the thick, rich-looking stew into each. Then he set the full bowls in front of the kids and reached for his own.

Alex and Chloe were mostly silent during the meal, but Miss Whitman seemed to take no notice. She kept the conversation going without apparent effort. She asked him some questions about his sawmill and about his home.

He did his part to keep the conversation going, mostly by asking her questions about her life before she’d moved to Turnabout. But she always answered superficially or changed the subject. Was she trying to act the woman of mystery? Or was she truly hiding something?

When the meal was done, Miss Whitman stood to fetch the cobbler while Hank carried the stew pot to the counter.

He saw what was coming a split second before it happened. Miss Whitman had approached the table with the cobbler and was frowning down at the dish, saying something about hoping she hadn’t let it bake too long.

At the same time Chloe, who had slipped a bit of bread to Smudge, straightened back up just as Miss Whitman was in the process of setting the dish on the table. Somehow her movement jostled Miss Whitman’s arm so that the dish slipped from her grip and landed on the floor with a plop, sending bits of filling and crust splattering in a wide radius.

Chloe slapped a hand over her mouth, a stricken expression on her face. Alex let out a loud oh, but for a moment there was no other sound, no other movement in the room. Then Smudge approached one of the splatters and began delicately lapping it up.

Miss Whitman reached a hand out toward Chloe, but before she could reassure or comfort the girl, Chloe erupted from her chair and, with tears flowing, went running to her room.

Hank felt he should follow her, but what was the point? Even if he knew what words to say, she wouldn’t be able to hear them.

He looked to Miss Whitman and she returned his gaze with a self-reproaching grimace.

“That was my fault,” she said. “I’d forgotten—one of the first rules of interacting with the deaf is to never approach from their blind side if you can avoid it.” She looked down at the mess on the floor, then faced in the direction Chloe had run off.

“Go,” he said, guiltily relieved she wanted to be the one to comfort his niece. “Alex and I will clean this up.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “There’s a bit left in the dish. If you set it aside before Smudge gets to it, you and Alex should still be able to have some dessert.”

“I don’t—”

She made a small movement with her chin that stopped him. Then she glanced toward Alex, who was wearing a helpless, suspiciously watery-eyed look.

Of course—she wanted him to keep the boy distracted.

He rescued the remaining cobbler, placing the pan on the table. “I suppose it would be a shame to let a perfectly good pan of cobbler go to waste,” he said thoughtfully. “What do you say, Alex? Let’s get this cleaned up for Miss Whitman. Then we can reward ourselves with dessert.”

Alex obediently slid from his chair. As Hank placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, he glanced Miss Whitman’s way. She gave him a barely perceptible nod of approval, then lifted the slate and chalk and started out of the room. Then she paused, turned back and, with a quick, graceful movement, reached down and scooped up the cat with one arm. “I’ll get Smudge out of your way,” she said by way of explanation. “And Chloe will probably be glad of his company right now.”

Now, more than ever, Hank was convinced the pretty, warmhearted schoolteacher would make the perfect mother for the children.

If only he could convince her of that.

* * *

Janell pushed Chloe’s door open and stepped inside to find the girl crying into her pillow. She sat down on the edge of the bed, setting Smudge beside her.

Chloe immediately sat up. When she saw who it was, she swiped the tears from her face and her expression tensed, taking on a prickly, resentful tightness, even as she cuddled the cat.

Janell placed a hand on the girl’s knee, giving her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Then she picked up the slate and wrote Not your fault.

Chloe read it, but rather than easing her distress, it seemed to increase it.

Janell quickly erased the slate and tried again. I should have paid closer attention.

Chloe rested her chin on her pet’s soft fur. “It wouldn’t have happened if I could still hear.”

Again Janell erased the slate and started writing. Mishaps happen to everyone. Didn’t you bump and spill things before your accident?

Chloe’s expression shifted as a touch of doubt and thoughtfulness crept in.

Feeling she’d done all she could for now, Janell gave Chloe’s leg another pat, then stood. It was going to take time, but she was determined to get through to the girl.

When she returned to the kitchen, Janell was surprised to see the worst of the mess had been cleaned up. She gave both of the menfolk a smile. “You’ve done a fine job, gentlemen. Why don’t you let me finish up while you see how that bit of cobbler we salvaged tastes?”

Alex looked up, his worry plain. “Is Chloe okay?”

“She’s embarrassed, but otherwise all right.”

Alex seemed to accept her words at face value and his mood lightened as he took his seat again. Janell met Mr. Chandler’s gaze over the boy’s head and saw the relief in his expression as well.

She spooned some of the remaining cobbler into Alex’s dish, then turned to do the same for his uncle.

But Mr. Chandler stopped her. “It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to eat while you finish cleaning the mess.” And he went back to work wiping down a table leg.

Well, well, the man wasn’t afraid of housework, nor did he seem to consider it strictly woman’s work. A nice surprise.

By the time the two of them had the mess cleaned up, Alex had finished his cobbler.

“May I be excused?” the boy asked. The question seemed to be directed at her, but Janell waved a hand Mr. Chandler’s way, letting Alex know she thought it his uncle’s place to answer.

Mr. Chandler nodded. “Yes, of course. But carry your dishes to the counter first.”

His attempt to instill some discipline surprised Janell yet again. The more she was around this man, the more persuaded she became that he actually had the makings of a good father.

Once the boy left the kitchen, no doubt headed to check in on Chloe, Janell waved a hand toward the table. “Ready for your cobbler?” There was just enough for one serving left.

“Only if you share it with me.”

“Oh, but—”

“I insist.”

“Perhaps I’ll have just a bite.” But before she could serve it up, he performed the task for her and made sure the remaining cobbler was divided equally.

Yet more proof that despite his sometimes gruff manner, Mr. Chandler was a gentleman at heart.

Why was this man still a bachelor? Didn’t the single women of Turnabout see what a catch he was?

* * *

As they dug into the dessert, Hank wondered how he would have handled all of this afternoon’s little upsets without Miss Whitman’s assistance.

As if reading his mind, the schoolteacher gave him an apologetic smile. “I hope you won’t let this worry you overmuch. Such things happen, even with hearing children, and a girl of Chloe’s age is easily embarrassed.”

Was this what he had to look forward to? “Surely there’s a way to minimize these incidents.”

“No need to look so horrified. I assure you you’ll get through this. Once the children settle in, and get used to having you as their guardian, things will settle down. But first we need to help Chloe realize her life isn’t over.”

She stood to clear the table, but he tried to wave her back down.

“Don’t worry about the dishes—I can take care of that later. You’ll want to head home before dark and I’d like for us to have that talk while we can.”

She nodded but didn’t pause. “Of course. But I can talk while I work.”

Stubborn woman. He grabbed their plates and marched to the sink.

She raised a brow. “Do you prefer to wash or dry?”

“Dry.” If he was the one to put the dishes away, it might keep her from rearranging any more of his cupboards.

She nodded and began filling the basin. “First of all, is there someone you have in mind who’ll keep an eye on the children while you’re at work?”

“Not yet, but I’m hoping Aunt Rowena will arrive by Monday or Tuesday at the latest. I figure, until she gets here or I can make other arrangements, I’ll only go to the sawmill while they’re at school.”

She turned to face him, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t possibly be contemplating sending these children to school on Monday.”

From the way she asked the question, it was obvious the correct answer was no. But her tone got his back up. “Why not? Attending school is something they’ll be familiar with. I would think the sooner I set routines for them, the sooner they’ll adjust to their new life.”

“School might be familiar to them, but not this school and not under these circumstances.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Have you forgotten that Chloe will have no idea how to communicate with either the other students or with her teacher?”

“Of course not. But you’re her teacher and you said you’ve dealt with this before. And that slate you brought seemed to work pretty well.”

She waved a hand dismissively, not seeming to notice the droplets of water she dispensed in the process. “The slate is just a stopgap measure to use here at home. It’s not something that will serve her in more public situations.”

He wanted to challenge that declaration, but decided to hold his peace. “What about Alex? Surely it would be good for him to go? It doesn’t seem right for him to be constantly looking out for his sister the way he does.”

“I agree—you absolutely do need to separate the two, for Alex’s good as well as Chloe’s. Alex can’t make worrying about his sister his whole world the way he’s trying to right now.”

He sensed there was a but coming.

“But he is worried about her and he does feel a sense of responsibility for her.”

He sighed.

“You can’t just tell him to let it go and expect it to happen,” she continued. “Alex needs some kind of assurance that Chloe will be okay without having him constantly by her side before he can focus on class work and on just being a little boy. If we do our job right, I’m hoping he’ll be ready by midweek.”

He supposed he should be happy that at least they agreed on the need to separate the children. “Just what does doing our job right entail?” She had yet to describe exactly how she planned to help Chloe.

“It means we prove to Alex that we have Chloe’s best interest at heart, that even though she won’t necessarily be happy with her situation, we are doing whatever we can to make it better for her.”

She continued to say we, as if she didn’t plan to just give him the necessary tools and leave but actually planned to help him wield them. It gave him hope that perhaps he could convince her to make her involvement with the children more permanent.

But now wasn’t the time to bring that up. “We keep talking around the main question. Again, how do we help Chloe?”

“We’ve already started. You’re doing what you can to give both of them the stability of a home. But you need to take the next step.” She looked at him diffidently, as if she wasn’t sure if she should say whatever was on her mind.

“And just what is that next step?” he asked.

“You must show them that you’re not only willing to make a home for them here, but that you are pleased to do so, that you don’t resent their presence in your life.”

He shrugged. “That’s no problem because I don’t resent them.” Not exactly, anyway.

“Don’t you?”

Who did she think she was to judge him? “No. But what I do resent, Miss Whitman, are the circumstances that put us all in this position. I resent that some careless yahoo, who was more worried about his schedule than the safety of innocent folk, drove a load of explosives through town instead of going the long way around to the mine like he was supposed to. I resent that my sister died much too young and I will never, ever see her again. And I resent that she will never get the chance to see her children grow up or hold her grandbabies in her arms.” He took a deep breath. “And I especially resent that those kids are stuck with me rather than the parents they should have had.”

There was a soft sympathy in her gaze now and it made him shift uncomfortably.

He’d said way too much.

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