by Lois Richer
They hurried away, anxious to pray about the situation, as they always did.
Only as she turned to put on the kettle did Adele notice Francie and Franklyn standing hand in hand, wide eyes and scared faces telegraphing their fear.
“Are Mac an’ Jake gonna die like our daddy did?” Francie whispered.
“No, my darlings. We’re all going to be just fine.” Adele fell to her knees and drew the two into her arms, holding them tight. “We’re safe. God kept us all safe. Even the boy who was playing with matches earlier.”
Francie clung to her as if desperate for reassurance, but Franklyn pulled back.
“Why’d he do that?” he demanded. “Don’t he know you’re not s’posed to play with fire?”
“Daddy tole us that,” Francie murmured.
“Maybe he doesn’t have a daddy or a brother or a friend like Mac to tell him stuff like that. I’m going to need a lot of help now,” she said, carefully watching their faces.
“We c’n help.” Francie’s chin thrust out in a determined jut. “That’s what fam’lies do. They help each other. Mac said so.”
“Mac’s absolutely right.”
“We’re sorta like fam’ly, right?” The little girl was obviously struggling to make sense of her new situation. Adele’s heart ached for her confusion.
“We are absolutely family, sweetheart.” Adele hugged the children tightly and heaved a thank-you prayer. “There are all kinds of families and ours is a very special kind.” She rose and reached for her apron. “Thank you for offering, Francie. I’d like to have some help from my very special family.”
Adele assigned the twins simple tasks while she prepared tea for the aunts. Then she quickly put together enough to feed The Haven’s guests, staff, family, the fire department and probably a bunch of neighbors who would soon show up to help.
As she worked, she prayed.
Keep Mac safe. Don’t let him do anything foolhardy.
Because the truth was, Jake hadn’t actually said Mac was okay. He’d said the rancher was trying to stop the surrounding tinder-dry woods from catching fire. Fearless, impulsive Mac.
Adele couldn’t imagine life without him.
* * *
Mac wasn’t exactly sure what had swayed Francie, but he had a hunch it had to do with the fire. Maybe it reminded her of her loss, maybe she thought she’d lose him or Adele. Whatever had happened, in the excitement of decorating The Haven the following day, she seemed to have forgotten her determination not to be adopted. What she hadn’t lost was her affinity for questions.
“Do you like these red lights? I do. Hey, you never telled us how you got hurted, Mac,” she reminded as she unwound the ball of Christmas lights he was stringing over the entryway of the house. “Delly don’t know neither. How come you don’t tell us if we’re fam’ly?”
“I—um, don’t like to talk about that time, Francie.” Please, don’t ask me anymore. Mac fiddled with the arrangement even though the dangling lights followed the eaves perfectly.
“I telled you ’bout my mom and dad,” she said with a frown.
“I’m glad you did, Francie. I think you feel better after talking about it, right?” He climbed down the ladder and smiled at the little girl, hoping she’d take the bait and change the subject.
“I guess. Wouldn’t you feel good if you ’splained ’bout your accident?” Smart as a whip, Francie had turned the tables. “Did you do sumthin’ bad? Delly said fam’lies know all ’bout you and love you anyways, even the bad parts. I’ll still love you, Mac.”
“Thank you, Francie. I love you, too.”
The twins were such precious children. But Mac was fully aware of Franklyn and Adele arranging more lights along the hedge not ten feet away. Delly could probably hear every word they said, so he scrounged for a tactful response.
“My friend got hurt a lot worse than I did in the accident.” Which was true, but only partially. Man, he hated that cloud of guilt hanging over him. “It makes me sad, so I don’t like to talk about it.”
“But—”
“Let’s do the shrubs under the windows next, Francie. Aunt Tillie loves to see them all lit up in green.” Mac kept her busy, desperate to avoid releasing any more details about the day he’d lost his arm. Maybe she’d forget about it. “You’re very good at decorating, kiddo.”
“Not as good as me.” Franklyn grinned.
“We’re all good decorators,” Adele adjudicated as she stood back to admire what they’d done so far. “But we have a long way to go. My aunts have a ton of decorations.”
Mac noticed another car pull in to the already-crowded driveway. Six people exited, got directions from Jake, then began erecting a massive manger scene that had been built many years earlier. All around the big stone house, friends and neighbors were helping to turn The Haven into a Christmas wonderland.
“Most of Chokecherry Hollow is here,” Mac said, surprised to see them all.
“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Adele’s eyes shone.
“Not perfect,” he corrected. “But pretty close.”
“It’s kind of become a tradition.” She smiled at his surprise. “Several years ago my sisters and I couldn’t get home early, so the townsfolk came to help the aunts put up decorations, inside and out.”
“They must love seeing the house on the hill lit up at night,” he mused.
“I guess so, because they now show up every year on the first Saturday in December. The aunts, of course, have turned it into a party. When everything’s finished we’ll serve hot apple cider, cocoa and treats. It’s The Haven’s way of kicking off the season of Christmas cheer.” Her eyes sparkled as she grinned, her joy obvious. “Now, we need to make snowmen for the back patio. Remember doing that, Mac?”
He did remember. He remembered the laughter and the joy and the fun he’d shared with Delly, all things he’d thought he’d one day share with his own kids.
Not gonna happen now. Forget that dream, Mackenzie, his brain chided.
“I wonder how Victoria and her busload of kids from Edmonton are doing inside,” he mused.
“We’ll see their decor in a little while. Now, to work.” She tossed a snowball at him and chuckled at his outrage before dodging his snowball. Soon the twins joined in and it was as if time had regressed. Or maybe time had advanced because he and Adele began to sound more and more like parents.
Francie, don’t wash your brother’s face again.
Franklyn, let Francie make her own snowman, or woman.
Mac had no experience in parenting kids and yet the correction, the chiding, the cheering—it all seemed to come naturally. That made him a little sad. He’d never have the chance to be a father now.
What’s the plan for my life, God? What’s in my future?
A snowball missed his nose by a centimeter. Mac let go of the questions and got busy, laughing, teasing and soaking in the sight of Adele teaching the kids about Christmas at The Haven.
As the skies dimmed to twilight, he realized he’d enjoyed the afternoon so much he’d completely forgotten about his missing arm and who was watching him. All he knew was it felt right when he and Adele sat in their snow fort watching the twins wiggle flashlights over the walls. Was this afternoon so enjoyable because when he was with Adele his problems seemed to fade away?
A call drew them to the front of the house. They’d begun decorating after lunch and at five o’clock, the big house on the hill seemed transformed. They joined the others at the front of The Haven, waiting for Jake to throw the switch. Amid gasps and sighs, the entire area twinkled and glowed. But it was when the spotlights focused on the manger scene in the center of the circular driveway with the gloriously bright star over it that everyone fell silent. Mac saw Adele brush away a tear as the group burst into a spontaneous chorus of “Away in a Manger.” Then she slipped away, no doubt to
check out the kitchen preparations.
Leaving the twins in the care of Jake, Mac followed. Perhaps he could help.
Help do what? Mac wasn’t sure. He only knew that right now he wanted to be wherever Adele was.
“I should have been in here with you instead of playing. But you’ve done a wonderful job,” he overheard her encourage Stella. “I could never have managed to make this dining table look so festive.”
“You made it all. I just put it together,” Stella demurred. “And your sister and her helper elves did the decorating. This home is so inviting already, but these old-fashioned decorations make it even cozier.”
“I didn’t know you did ice sculpture, Delly.” As Mac stepped forward to get a closer look at the frozen multicolored Christmas tree, he accidentally brushed her shoulder. That simple contact made him catch his breath, which got stuck in his throat when she flashed her beautiful smile. “It’s amazing.”
“Thank you. It took hours that I should have spent on other things but—” With a grin and a shrug, Adele turned to confer with Stella about what remained to be done.
Since everything seemed well in hand, Mac intently examined Delly’s work. Cookies, cakes, pies, tarts and loads of sandwiches. Each item had been presented with such attention to detail that even the colors coordinated.
“She’s wasted here,” he mumbled to himself.
“No, she’s not, Mac.” Tillie looped her arm through his companionably. “Adele’s doing exactly what God created her to do, bringing joy to others by using her talents.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—” He shut up rather than cover his gaffe by lying.
“There aren’t the crowds of people here that she served in Edmonton. But I believe God is using Delly to broaden our outreach.” Tilly smiled. “He’s using you, too.”
“I’m not sure about that. The trail riders last evening really struggled. Two even fell off.” And he’d felt utterly inept to stop their tumbles.
“They’re fine. Struggles are part of growth. If life was a bed of roses, how would God teach us?” Tillie walked over to the huge urn on a side table and filled two cups with a rich fragrant brew that Mac identified as The Haven’s famed mulled cider. “Are you more certain of God’s leading now, Mac?”
“Not really,” he confessed. “I’m not like Adele. I don’t have one overarching goal like the twins’ adoption that’s driving me.”
“Don’t you?” Tillie sipped her cider, then tilted her head to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Isn’t your goal to do God’s will?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Could be that you’re already doing that on the ranch.” She patted his hand. “Take it one day at a time, one struggle at a time. Open your heart to His leading and keep trusting God to show you the way.”
One problem with that—his heart was closed because of the guilt.
Voices sounded in the hall.
“Ah, our guests. Will you man the punch bowl, dear? Thank you.”
Mac took his place behind the massive crystal bowl and began ladling out cups of punch while his brain swirled with confusion. He’d been thinking of God’s will for him in terms of one concrete idea that he could discover and carry out. But Tillie seemed to be saying that learning God’s will was a process, not a destination.
“Smile, Mac. ’Tis the season. And by the way, you’re standing under the mistletoe.” Adele’s lips brushed his in the faintest of kisses. Then she laughed as she lowered the tiny sprig of greenery she held.
Mac blinked and caught his breath. Adele was absolutely stunning in black velvet pants and a glittery black sweater that showed off her spectacular hair.
“You’re beautiful, Adele.” The words slipped out, a side effect from working so hard to repress his urge to turn her little peck into a real kiss.
“Thank you, Mac.” Her gaze met his and it was as if a current ran between them.
Mac couldn’t explain what had changed. He only knew something had, something basic, something vital. And it scared him to death.
“I’ll go check on the kids,” he said quickly.
“But Jake’s—”
He ignored Adele’s words and hurried away, trying to order his thoughts and unable to because friends and neighbors greeted him, wanting to chat, to ask questions, to include him. He saw the twins laughing with their preschool teacher. He wasn’t needed there. But there was a lineup at the beverage area.
Mac shoved aside everything and concentrated on serving drinks and helping make the party a success. Later, when he was alone, he’d sort through the miasma of reactions that filled him whenever he was around Adele. Maybe he could decipher what was happening and why.
Chapter Eight
“A man’s on the phone, Delly.” Francie’s shrill voice carried across the kitchen. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Sweetheart, you’re not allowed to answer the phone. Remember?” Adele took the receiver, slightly deflated when she realized Mac wasn’t the caller.
“Um, yes. I do remember you.” Why would Denis Kracken be calling her? “Yes, that was Francie—oh, Mac told you about the twins. At the men’s fellowship dinner last Sunday night? I see.” Adele tried to be patient as the conversation stretched out, but she was preoccupied about her coconut macaroons burning. Maybe that was why she couldn’t believe her ears. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that. Mac said what?”
“That your engagement is off, so I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner.”
“Uh—” Adele gulped and made the first excuse she could think of to refuse. Even so it took time for the conversation to finish. She had to move fast to rescue the macaroons, which only added to her irritation.
Mac walked through the door. And the phone rang again.
“It’s ’nother man, Delly.” Francie dropped the phone and raced over to Mac, regaling him with her day at preschool.
“Francie!” With trepidation, Adele lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
A minute later she was refusing a second date. And then a third.
“Mac said you really need to get out,” Reavis Cranch said.
“Did he? Well, that’s Mac.” Adele glared at the subject of her conversation. “Always exaggerating. Thanks anyway, but I’m afraid I’m just too tied up with mothering the twins and keeping the kitchen at The Haven going. Bye.”
She hung up, fighting to control her temper.
“Children, I would like you to go find Aunt Tillie and ask her to tell you a story. Now,” she added firmly when Francie looked ready to argue.
After one look at her face, Franklyn took his sister’s hand and without a word of protest led her out of the room. Mac poured himself a cup of coffee and imperturbably sat down at the table.
“What do you think you’re doing, Mac?” Adele demanded through gritted teeth. She answered the ringing phone again, said she couldn’t talk now and hung up, all without looking away from him.
“Is something wrong, Delly?” His turquoise eyes couldn’t look more innocent.
“Why are you trying to set me up with the male population of Chokecherry Hollow when you know very well that I have absolutely no interest in romance?” she demanded in an icy tone.
“I’m not trying to set you up,” he denied. He reached out to pick up one of the macaroons that were slightly too dark, then frowned when she lifted the platter away and set it on the far end of the table, out of his reach. “I mentioned you—”
“At your men’s group,” she snapped, utterly frustrated.
“Yeah. I mentioned at the men’s gathering that you’d broken off your engagement. Someone asked me,” he added, as if to justify his actions.
“And you told them that poor little brokenhearted Adele needed male companionship. How could you, Mac?” Frustrated and feeling betrayed, Adele whipped her cake batter so hard her
hand ached. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I am.” A second later his arm wrapped around her waist, hugging her. “You’re always working here or doing something with the twins, Delly,” he continued in a tender, gentler voice, his breath whisper soft against her ear. “You never take any time for yourself. I thought you might like to go out to dinner, have an adult conversation.”
“So why didn’t you ask me?” She twisted to stare into his eyes mere inches from hers and saw his face tighten at the question before he quickly moved away, taking the warmth of his arm with him.
“Because I want you to think about what you’re giving up by remaining so dead set against marriage. Not every romantic relationship is like your parents’,” he insisted just before he bit into a macaroon.
“My mother is engaged again, did I tell you? For the fifth time. Still hoping for Mr. Right.” Adele bit her lip as she poured the batter into individual muffin cups and set them to bake. Then she faced him, determined to make him understand. “You know that my decision is not a whim or something I’m going to get over, Mac. I am not interested in romance. Period.” She paused to see if her words were sinking in.
“But you’re alone—”
“Really? The Haven is always teeming with people—my sister and her family, the aunts. And we constantly have guests.” She met his stare head-on. “Aside from the trail riders, I doubt you get a lot of visitors at the Double M. Would you like me to suggest the single ladies in town give you a call?”
“No!” He looked aghast but recovered quickly. “It’s not the same.”
“Why isn’t it?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
“I’ve just started running the ranch. I don’t have time—”
“Ditto.” She arched one brow and waited.
“It is different,” he persisted. “I lost my arm. I’m hardly a prize catch. Anyway, it’s going to take a while for me to adjust—”
“Mac McDowell, do not finish that sentence.” Utterly exasperated, Adele smacked her wooden spoon on the counter and marched over to stand in front of him. “You manage perfectly well without your arm and we both know it. You have adjusted. The trail rides are going well. Our clients love them. Your herd is fine, according to Gabe.” She tilted one eyebrow. “From my perspective, a little female companionship could only enhance your world.”