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Chapter Four

“Can we decorate the tree?” Rose asked as she skipped into the kitchen on Wednesday morning.

Laurel had been in town not even a week but it hadn’t taken Rose long to adjust to the new person in the house.

Laurel pulled eggs out of the fridge. “Want to help me make muffins?” Baking was how she and her mom had bonded, also it had given them time to talk during Laurel’s difficult teen years. It made sense, in light of that, that Laurel had developed a love for baking. She’d found that it helped her relax. The kitchen was where she found peace.

“Sure, but I only have thirty minutes before the bus gets here. Or you could drive me to school.”

“I just might do that. Can you crack eggs and then measure out the milk and melted butter? The recipe is on that card in the stand.”

“You’re really going to let me help?” Rose tossed her books on the counter.

“That’s the general idea when someone says, ‘Do you want to help?’”

Rose cracked an egg into a large bowl. Laurel tried to hide her cringe as the girl reached into the bowl to pull out bits of eggshell.

“Here’s a spoon. If you get shells in the bowl you can use it.”

“No problem, I got them.” Rose wiped the shell on a paper towel. “So about the tree?”

“I don’t know where the tree is. I’m sure Gladys will put it up when she gets home.”

Laurel’s smile dissolved. She reached for the cup of melted butter and poured it in with the eggs she’d beaten. “Yeah, I guess. But that will be almost Christmas. And what if I’m gone?”

“You won’t be gone.” Laurel measured out the baking powder. “Pour in the milk and mix it all together so I can add the dry ingredients.”

Rose did as she was told. “What kind of muffins are we making?”

“Pumpkin.” Laurel handed her the can. “Scoop that out and add it to the bowl.”

“This looks like a lot of muffins.”

“I’m going to take some to the nursing home.”

Rose’s smile reappeared. “You do have a heart.”

The teenager hopped onto a stool at the counter and pulled the kitten out of her pocket. Laurel looked up from mixing the dry ingredients in with the wet.

“Kittens do not go on counters,” she said as she picked it up. “Have you fed it?”

“It’s a she, not an it.” Rose plucked the kitten from Laurel’s hand. “And yes, I fed her. And I fed the dog, too.”

“The stray?”

“It’s still a dog and deserves to be fed. But I think the kitten is too young to eat the dry cat food. She cried all night.” She grabbed the milk jug and poured milk in a saucer.

Laurel looked up from filling the muffin cups. She studied the kitten and then the girl. Rose’s eyes were puffy, her nose red. She thought maybe the kitten hadn’t been the only one crying all night. With limited kid and kitten experience, she didn’t know if she should say something, ask if she was okay or pretend she didn’t notice.

She thought about what her mother would have done in this situation. She should call her mom. They’d had a brief conversation her first night here, very brief. Laurel had asked about Curt Jackson and then she’d been too upset to finish talking to her mother, the person she’d always been able to talk to.

“What do you think is wrong with her?” Laurel asked.

“Misses her mom.” She shoved the kitten back in her pocket. “She wants her family.”

“She won’t fit in your pocket much longer.”

“I know, but for now she does and she likes it. I think because it’s warm. Anyway, she has to go back to her mother. I don’t think she can wait until I get home from school.”

“What’s your suggestion?”

“You could take her up to the barn.”

Laurel slid the muffin tin into the oven and set the timer. “Me? I’m not the one who took her from her mother.”

Rose glared.

“All right, I’ll take the kitten to her mother.” Laurel leaned against the counter. “But I’m sure she’s happy with you, too. She knows you love her.”

“Don’t,” Rose warned. “I already have a therapist. I don’t need to be analyzed by you.”

“Oh.” Laurel didn’t know what to say.

“Sometimes I miss my mom. She was a bad parent but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her or that she didn’t love me. I can miss her. I learned that from my therapist. I can especially miss her at Christmas, even though she never really did anything Christmassy. I really want to decorate a tree.”

Laurel gave Rose a minute to collect herself. She poured the girl a glass of milk, checked the muffins in the oven and returned to continue the conversation.

“I’ll see if I can find the tree. And I’ll take the kitten over to her mother in the barn. And I know it isn’t easy, missing someone.”

She’d never known her dad, but she’d always missed him.

“Yeah, okay.” Rose buried her nose in the kitten’s soft fur. “Those muffins almost ready? Maybe you could take Cam a couple and ask if he knows where the tree is?”

“Cam?”

“Cameron. You know, the guy that lives in the cottage.”

“Yes, I know who he is.”

“He might know where the tree is. Maybe if you take him food, you can ask.”

“If I see him, I’ll ask him.”

From the road she heard a car honk. She hurried to the front of the house in time to spot the school bus slowing. She started to yell for Rose but the girl already had her backpack thrown over her shoulder as she was running out the door, waving as she ran down the drive.

“The kitten is on the kitchen floor,” Rose yelled back to her. “I’ll have muffins for a snack after school.”

“I was going to drive you,” Laurel called out, but it was too late. She closed the door and then leaned against it. “This can’t be my life.”

From the kitchen she heard a small mew and then the timer on the stove beeped. She removed the muffins from the oven and picked up the kitten. The tiny gray feline purred and nuzzled against her.

“You do need your mommy, don’t you? Let’s go see if we can find her.” She would take the kitten back and ask about the tree.

As she approached the building, she heard music. She slowed, taking cautious steps forward. What she was hearing wasn’t coming from the radio. The strumming of the guitar was soft and the words of the song muffled. She leaned in closer, trying to catch the words of the song. For several minutes she stood listening. The music grew louder, then boot steps shuffled.

“Are you enjoying the concert?”

She jumped. Cameron Hunter stood in the doorway of the stable, a tall and imposing figure with his black cowboy hat pulled low and a flannel jacket over a dark T-shirt. A guitar hung from the strap around his neck. Her first instinct was to make an excuse or deny that she’d been listening. But, of course, he knew the truth. A person lurking outside a barn was obviously a person up to something.

She said the first thing to pop into her head. “I’m looking for a Christmas tree.”

“Out here?” he asked, a half grin tugging at his mouth. He looked around and shrugged. “I think I’d look somewhere else. Unless you’re planning to cut one down.”

“No, of course not. I promised Rose I would ask. I also had to bring the kitten back to her mother. Have you seen the mama cat?”

“She was lurking in corners. Sound familiar?”

Laurel rolled her eyes at the accusation. “I wasn’t lurking, I was listening to your music. You’re very good.”

“Thank you. And the mother cat is in the far stall with her kittens. I think she’ll be glad to see that one. She’s been looking for her.”

“Yes, Rose realized she took her away from her family too soon.”

He motioned her to the end of the barn. “I think Rose wants something of her own. Even if it’s just a kitten. Having a pet is a sign of permanence.”

Of course, that made perfect sense. She’d been so immersed in her own thoughts, feeling sorry for herself, she hadn’t thought about Rose. She might be Trouble with a capital T, but she was also a child whose mother was missing and her only real stability was an elderly woman in a nursing home.

“She seemed sad this morning,” Laurel noted as she walked through the door of the stall to find the mother cat with the rest of the litter.

He paused at that. “I can imagine. She’s lost everyone, and even though Gladys isn’t going anywhere, I could see that it would worry Rose.”

“Do you know where her mother is?” Laurel asked.

“No one knows. Family Services has tried to locate her but she hasn’t made contact in six months. She left Rose on a friend’s couch and took off, supposedly for California.”

“That’s tough. Poor Rose.”

“Yeah, it is. But Rose is also tough.” He leaned on the stall door to watch as the kitten reunited with her mother. The orange, black and white calico immediately curled up with her baby and began to give the gray kitten a good bath.

“Oh, I brought muffins.” Laurel handed him the bag she’d carried from the house. “Rose said I’m required to feed you.”

“You’re not, but thank you.” He took the bag and opened it.

She backed away and as she did, he gave her his right side. Did he do it consciously, to make people more at ease? Or was it habit? She started to ask but then didn’t. They weren’t friends. They were barely acquaintances. She didn’t have a right to know his stories. And yet she couldn’t walk away.

“I’m going to see my grandmother. I promised to bring her lunch.”

His fingers, long and slim, suntanned from time working outside, strummed the guitar. She watched, mesmerized.

“I considered visiting her this afternoon. She made me feel guilty the other day. I should visit more often.”

“I’m sure she understands.”

“I’ll give you a ride if you think you’ll be ready by eleven,” he continued. The offer took her by surprise.

“Oh, that would be good.”

“We can’t have you getting lost.” He winked and she thought he had no idea how lost he could make a girl feel. It had nothing to do with a malfunctioning GPS or a not-so-helpful teen.

Maybe it was just that he had that unavailable vibe and every girl liked a challenge. Every girl but her. She didn’t want to conquer the walls he’d obviously constructed to protect himself. She didn’t want to know all of his secrets and heal his brokenness. She would leave that for some romantic soul out there waiting to fix a broken man and call him her own.

Laurel wasn’t that person. She was here for a week or so, just long enough to make sure her grandmother was okay.

“I’ll be ready to go by eleven,” she told him as she walked away, totally unaffected.

At least that’s what she told herself.

Cameron had been surprised that Laurel took him up on his offer to give her a ride to Lakeside Manor to visit Gladys. He should have been more surprised with himself for offering. As he stepped out into the hall of the nursing home in order to give Laurel time alone with her grandmother, he realized he’d fallen into Gladys’s plans, the ones that ultimately dragged him into her granddaughter’s life. He had to give it to her, she was good at meddling.

As he left the room, he heard Laurel telling Gladys that she couldn’t stay in town more than two weeks. She had signed up to start classes in January. She was going to be a teacher. Reinventing herself, Gladys had said, almost approvingly.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t want to reinvent himself; he just wanted to find a way to live the life he already had. He’d spent the better part of two years figuring it out. He’d spent a lot of that time alone. As Gladys liked to say, “licking his wounds.” He couldn’t disagree.

A lot had changed in his life. Too much. And it went beyond his injuries. He’d lost his dad. The family ranch had been sold because Cameron and his siblings hadn’t wanted to return to the place where they’d spent their childhood years working long hours side by side with their father rather than doing what other kids their age had been doing—movies on Friday nights and swimming on weekends.

The sale of the ranch had given them all the freedom to make their own choices. His choice was to stay in Hope, raise horses and live his life exactly the way he wanted.

He bought a soda from a vending machine and headed back to Gladys’s room.

Gladys waved him in, a smile of greeting quick to replace the frown she’d worn when he stepped through the door. If he had to guess, they’d been discussing Curt Jackson. Laurel stood at the window, her back to him. The light cast her in silhouette but didn’t hide the fact that she surreptitiously swiped her hand over her cheek.

“Did Laurel ask about your Christmas tree?” he asked. “Rose wants to put up a tree.”

“Christmas tree?” Gladys shook her head. “I don’t have an artificial tree. I usually buy one in town. Laurel, you’ll have to get a tree for Rose to decorate. I think she hasn’t had much of a Christmas the past few years. Probably ever, if I had to guess. Get one of the trees that are in planters, so we can replant it after the holidays.”

“I’ll take Laurel by the feed store,” Cameron offered. “We can put the tree in the back of my truck.”

Gladys gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Well, now, isn’t that nice of you.”

“I usually am nice,” he reminded. “And it isn’t as if Laurel can put a tree in her car, can she?”

“It’s just... You usually avoid town like the plague. But since you’re being so nice, you can make sure Rose gets to church on Sunday, too.”

Cam frowned. “I think I’ve just been set up.”

“It’s important to Rose,” Gladys insisted. “She’s so excited about being in the Christmas program. There are also a couple of programs at school that she will attend. Now you have to make sure you ask because she’s so used to not being able to do those things that she’ll probably just assume that no one is interested in going or taking her.”

“I’ll make sure she gets to church and I’ll take her to the school programs,” Laurel assured her grandmother. “I won’t let you down.”

Gladys patted her hand. “I know you won’t. And now, the two of you should go. I need a nap.”

Once they were outside, Laurel turned to him. “You don’t have to take me to get a tree.”

Walking toward his truck, she was on his left side. He slowed, and with his hands on her arms, he guided her to his right side.

“I like to see the person I’m talking to and I don’t like walking with my head constantly turned to the left.”

Pink tinged her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

“There’s no reason you should have. I just thought I’d let you know.”

When they reached his truck, he opened the door for her. She looked surprised by the gesture. “Do men in Chicago not open doors for women?” he asked.

“I’m sure they do. I just haven’t met any of those men.”

“Well, now you’ve met one.” He closed the door, needing that solid piece of metal between them.

He counted to ten, then got in behind the wheel. “I don’t mind taking you to get the tree but do you think we should wait till after school and let Rose help pick it out?”

“That sounds great, except I’m starving.”

He started his truck. “We can have lunch at the café in Hope.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He glanced her way before pulling from his parking space. “I don’t mind.”

“I think you do.”

He sighed. “I think you like to argue. This back and forth is making me dizzy.”

She laughed. “I guess maybe I do like to argue. But I also don’t want you to feel like I’m making you do this.”

They drove in silence for several minutes before he responded. “It’s okay to be pushed from my comfort zone. When I moved into the cottage at Gladys’s, I knew she’d push. It’s her nature. She pushes herself and everyone around her.”

“Yes, she certainly is a force to be reckoned with. And now you have Rose.”

“Capital T,” he reminded her. “And she is a force. But so are you.”

Surprise flickered through her hazel eyes. “Me? I’m not a force.”

He laughed at her. “Oh, you’re a force, all right. Kittens, Christmas trees, trips to the nursing home.”

“I’m not making you do any of those things,” she reminded him.

How well he knew that. The problem was that she didn’t have to force him out of his den—he came willingly for her. He used his music to soothe his horses or to gentle an unexpectedly shy or difficult animal. She was his music.

That was probably the most dangerous thought he’d had in a long time.

Chapter Five

When they walked through the door of Holly’s Café, all eyes turned in their direction. It was unconscious but she sidled in close to Cameron’s side, where it felt safe from prying eyes and questioning gazes. Once she was next to him, she realized she liked how it felt there, at his side. It felt more than safe, it felt strangely right.

A woman with long dark hair and dark eyes hurried their way. “Cameron Hunt, it’s been months! What’s brought you out for lunch? And who’s your friend?”

“Holly, this is Laurel Adams, Gladys’s granddaughter.”

“Laurel Adams. Oh, my goodness. We went to school together.”

Laurel had to think back more than twenty years, to Mrs. Parker’s third grade class, then she remembered. Dark-haired, dark-eyed and with a home life less than perfect. The two had been the class misfits—and best friends.

“I do remember!” she said. “It’s been a long time, Holly.”

“It has. Come on in and I’ll give you two my best table.” Holly laughed. “As you can see, it’s past the lunch-hour rush. The crowd that’s here now are all just big gossips taking up space and drinking my coffee.”

Cameron had stopped to talk to a group of men at a big table for ten. One older gentleman, with graying hair, stubbled cheeks and a strong jaw, looked from Cameron to Laurel and back to Cameron. A sly look entered his eyes.

“For a man escorting a pretty woman, you sure look down in the mouth,” the man said, a faint tremor in his voice. “I’m guessing this is Gladys’s granddaughter, Laurel. I remember her from when she and her mother lived in Hope.”

Cameron sighed and pulled her to his right side again. “Laurel, this charming gentleman is Jack West.”

Laurel reached for his extended but trembling hand. “Mr. West, it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s good to have you back in the area. I hope you’ll stay awhile.” He released her hand. “The two of you should join us. It isn’t often we get Cameron to town and I’m curious as to what he has on his mind.”

They sat opposite Jack West and introductions were made. Laurel tried to catch the names of all the men at the table. Two were obviously Jack’s sons, the others lived and worked on Mercy Ranch.

Holly handed them menus and filled coffee cups. Jack tapped his cup. “And by the way, I heard you call us gossips, Holly,” he told the café owner.

She filled his cup, then stirred in a spoon of sugar for him. “You know I was only telling the truth.”

Jack West laughed. “I guess it might have been at that. Go ahead and put their order on my tab.”

“How’s Gladys doing?” Jack asked Laurel.

“Good,” she said. “She’s scheduled to be out the day after Christmas but I have a feeling she’ll try to get home sooner.”

During their visit that morning, her grandmother had filled her in on the situation with Rose, and relayed the caseworker’s threat to move her to a foster home with a younger couple. Or a group home. But the group home would be in Tulsa or Oklahoma City. Laurel could see how much that threat affected her grandmother and she knew that Rose would be devastated.

“I’m afraid if she isn’t out of there by Christmas, she’ll have the residents staging a revolt,” Cameron added.

Jack grinned at that statement, revealing a charm that he’d probably perfected over the years. “What’s going on at the Manor?”

“They won’t allow a tree or any other Christmas decorations or celebrations. I think it’s just a way to make the place look more profitable, but it definitely hurts the residents who have little enough cheer in their lives.”

Jack sat back in his chair and waited as Holly took their orders. She didn’t hurry away but instead remained at the side of the table to listen.

“Now that’s a real shame,” Jack said in a gravelly voice. “I can’t imagine we’d let them get away with that. They might not want to provide Christmas but we can figure something out. We all know folks that live there, and some of them don’t have any close family or friends in the area. I think we should add Lakeside Manor to the list of people and charities that can be helped by the Christmas at the Ranch event we’re planning. Obviously folks from the manor can’t attend, but we can make sure donations are taken to them.”

The door to the café opened. Jack West shot a quick look at the person entering, then he shifted his concerned gaze to Laurel. He cleared his throat.

Laurel moved in her chair so that she could see who had caught his attention. Her breath caught as Curt Jackson stopped in the middle of the café. So, not everyone in Hope was unaware of who her father was. Jack West obviously knew.

“I need to go,” she said, scooting her chair back from the table. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Cameron had just picked up his glass of sweet tea. “Didn’t we just order lunch?”

Jack jerked his head toward the door, a not-so-subtle gesture that made Laurel cringe. Cameron turned around to see who’d just entered.

“You stay and eat. I’ll go.” Laurel grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She wasn’t surprised when Curt Jackson reached for her. She evaded the gesture and hurried for the door.

“Just give me a minute,” he called out as he followed her out the door.

“I don’t think you deserve a minute,” she told him.

He followed her down the sidewalk. At the corner they both stopped. That’s when she turned to face him. He was close to fifty, or so she guessed. His red hair had more brown in it and his face was weathered and deeply lined.

“Laurel, I would have married your mother but I didn’t know about you until after I was married.”

She waited, needing more than that. She wanted him to say something that mattered but didn’t know what.

He tugged down on the brim of his cowboy hat and shifted his gaze to the lake.

“I was a coward,” he finally said. “It was easier to send your mother the money to start over in Chicago than to explain to my wife, Marla, that I had a daughter living in Hope. I eventually told her and she said she’d always known. Someone here told her. But again, we just didn’t communicate.”

“That’s it? Lack of communication is why I grew up not knowing my father’s name?”

He looked sad. He looked sorry. And she didn’t know what to feel, other than anger and loss. She didn’t feel much like forgiveness right now.

“At least now I know your name and I know who I look like.” Questions she’d had her entire life finally answered.

She’d actually prayed for this. She told herself she should be thankful but it was hard to do after so many years of feeling ignored.

Somewhere in the distance a church bell rang. She closed her eyes as the tones filled the quiet country afternoon.

“Have you talked to my mother?” she asked him.

“I have.” He glanced in the direction of the café. The door had opened and Jack West was exiting with the help of his sons. Curt nodded a greeting. “She thought we would meet eventually, but not this way. I planned on having Gladys set up a time.”

“Surprise.”

He grimaced. “I know we should have done this differently, but I am so glad to finally meet you, Laurel. I hope we can take some time to get to know one another.”

“Do I have siblings?” She ’d always wondered about that.

“No.” He shrugged. “Marla and I couldn’t have children.”

“I see.”

The bell on the café door jangled again. Cameron exited with a to-go bag in his hand.

“I have to go,” she told the man standing in front of her. Her father. A stranger. She let her gaze drop to his hands. Her hands.

“Can we set a time to talk?” he asked.

She nodded but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. “Soon.”

He touched her shoulder and, with a nod, walked down the sidewalk, leaving her alone. A moment later Cameron joined her, his already familiar cologne a steady presence. He stood next to her, his gaze on the lake less than half a mile away.

“Well, that went well.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you for bringing my food.”

“You said you were hungry.”

“Yes, thanks.” She took the bag from him.

Together they walked toward his truck. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. I mean, why wouldn’t I be? I just met my father.”

“Curt Jackson. He’s a decent man.”

“Is he?” She thought about that, about all of the things she might learn about the man who was her father.

“Let’s walk a bit. It’s warm today and taking a walk always helps me clear my head.” He made the offer and started to walk, not waiting for her reply.

“You have other things to do. I’ve dragged you to see Gladys, forced you to get lunch with me...”

“I can assure you, you haven’t forced me to do anything. I’m fully capable of saying no when I choose to.”

They walked side by side down the sidewalk to a park located across the street from the Hope Community Church, the church she’d attended as a child. It looked the same. The white siding, the tall bell tower, a side wing that had been added in the seventies. A nativity had been set up in the front of the church.

The entire town had been decorated for Christmas, it seemed. Lights hung from electric poles. The stores were layered in lights, garland and wreaths. Trees sparkled in storefronts. She loved that the little town had come back to life with the help of Jack West and people willing to start fresh with new stores.

Starting over. Something she would soon be doing. With the demise of her bakery, she knew it was time to go in a new direction. Or perhaps return to her previous plan. She’d always wanted to teach but she’d pushed aside that career goal when she’d started a catering business with a friend, and then had started her bakery.

She sat on a bench facing the church. Cameron sat next to her. A cool breeze blew but the sun was warm on them. It did feel good to be outside.

“I didn’t enjoy church when I was a kid,” she admitted. “I knew people judged my mother. I heard whispers. People would talk about my red hair. I never heard them mention Curt Jackson, but they all must have known. Or suspected.”

“It’s a small town. People talk. You can’t run from that.”

She gave him a sideways glance because she wondered if he hadn’t been doing his own share of running.

“No, you can’t outrun the past or the gossip,” she agreed. “What about you, Cameron? Are you running?”

Surprise registered on his expression. He hadn’t expected the question. She hadn’t expected to ask him something so personal. That wasn’t who she was, delving into the lives of people who were little more than strangers. She’d always had a live-and-let-live policy. But sitting here with him she realized it was more than average curiosity that caused her to ask the question.

She found herself truly wanting to know him.

Cameron was taken by surprise, by the question, by the woman sitting next to him. He watched as she buttoned her jacket, maybe to avoid looking at him. The wind suddenly picked up and clouds began to cover up the blue sky above them. In the distance he could hear Christmas carols playing over one of the speakers hooked up to light poles on the main street.

The woman sitting next to him looked beat up. Emotionally. She’d picked at the salad she’d ordered and was now staring at the church across the street from the park.

“We all have things we’re trying to run from,” he admitted. “A law degree was my way of escaping the family ranch, church on Sundays and my father, with all of his rules. Church had even more rules. I guess it made sense that I considered a degree in law. Law follows rules. But now I regret running. I regret the years I lost with my dad.”

“I think we all have regrets. I shouldn’t have avoided my grandmother. I think that’s the good thing that has come out of this trip. I can rebuild my relationship with her.”

“And meeting your dad?”

“I’m not sure about that yet.” Her voice took on a faraway tone and she slipped the takeout container back into the bag. “Thank you for sitting here with me.”

The side door of the church opened and the pastor’s wife walked out, carrying a box. She saw them and waved, then headed for the sign at the edge of the lawn.

“Sermons on a sign,” Laurel said.

“Yes, I guess they are. Sixty-second sermons for people driving by. Get their attention, make them think and maybe they’ll show up on Sunday morning.”

“Does it work that way?”

“Maybe.”

The words began to take shape on the sign. “‘Faith is more than a building or church attendance. It’s a way of life.’”

“That’s a good one.”

Cameron glanced at the woman sitting next to him. “Sermon on a sign.”

“Yes. I have some good memories in that little church. Willa Mae Wilkins taught our Sunday school. It wasn’t all bad. I think people just don’t stop to consider how their words can wound the heart of a child. Of anyone, really.”

“No, sometimes they don’t.”

She shivered and hugged her arms around herself. He wondered if it was the memories or the cool air blowing in from the north.