by Lois Richer
“Uh-huh.” The boy pushed away his plate. “My mom’s are better.”
“Mine was dry, too.” Sam finished his coffee and tossed some bills on the table. “I’ve got one more errand. Ready to go?”
Cris squeezed out of the booth and zipped up his coat in response. Out on the street, Sam wasn’t sure if it was apropos to hold a four-year-old’s hand. But when Cris’s mittened fingers slid into his, he felt a flush of pleasure.
“I have to talk to a man and it might take a little while.” He directed Cris into the general store. “But this place has a great area with lots of toys for kids to play with. Promise not to wander away?”
“Okay.” Cris’s eyes grew into round orbs when he saw the children’s play area. He unzipped his coat, tossed it onto a pint-sized chair and immediately headed for the big yellow dump truck sitting on a shelf.
“I’ll be nearby if you need me, Cris. And I’ll check on you, so don’t think I’ve left you here.” Joy probably wouldn’t have left her child here to play, but Sam needed to talk to the owner privately. “Okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Cris gazed in awe at the truck.
Still Sam hesitated to leave the boy by himself, until a smiling woman he recognized hailed him.
“Hello, Sam. I’m so glad you’re safely home.”
“Thanks, Miss Partridge. How are you?” The town’s now retired librarian beamed as she shook his hand. Please don’t let her ask me a bunch of questions, God. You know I can’t talk about it, not until everyone’s safe. Anyway, I need to figure out what You want me to do now.
“Why, I’m fine as frog’s hair, dear.” She glanced at Cris. “I heard what you said, Sam. You go ahead and do your business. I’ll keep an eye on this young fellow for you,” she promised. “He’s Joy Grainger’s son, isn’t he? How do you two know each other?”
“We met last night.” He was surprised by the question. Miss Partridge usually knew everything that happened in Sunshine before anyone else did. He chided himself for feeling a smug sense of satisfaction that for once, he knew more than she did. “I was driving past when I noticed her kids standing in the yard. The storm damaged her house.”
“Oh, no. How awful. Is she all right?” Miss Partridge asked.
“Everyone’s fine. I took her and her kids to the ranch to stay at the log house until she can work something out,” Sam explained. “I want to talk to Marty, see if he can hazard a guess as to how long repairs will take. Joy needs to know.”
Sam and his father had long ago agreed to keep Sam’s ownership of the local properties he bought through his company private, so it was unlikely Miss Partridge knew he owned Joy’s house, and Sam wasn’t about to enlighten her.
“How sweet of you.” Miss P., as Sam and his brothers used to call her, smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Joy’s a lovely woman. I just wish we could do something to get her business into that bakery building. Such a shame for the owners to let it sit there empty when it’s exactly the right place for her.”
The librarian’s gaze met his, wide open and innocent looking, yet Sam had the oddest feeling the lady was trying to tell him something.
“Yes, Joy told me her plans for the old bakery.”
“A single mom who’s been treated badly. Such a shame.” Miss P. shook her head, a warning glint sparking in her blue eyes. “It was already difficult for Joy. Now, with her house unusable, I can’t fathom how she’ll provide for—” She inclined her head toward Cris.
“For the moment, Joy’s baking at the log house on the ranch.” Sam wasn’t going to provide any more details. “Hey, looks like Marty’s free. I’d better go talk to him. I won’t be long.”
“Oh, take your time, dear.” Miss P. patted his shoulder the same way she had when he’d been eight, though she had to stand on tiptoe to reach now. “It’s so nice to have you back home, dear. How’s your father?”
“Thanks. It’s good to be home.” Sam was surprised by just how wonderful it felt to be back in his hometown. Sunshine had always been the friendliest place he’d known. “Dad’s much improved, thanks. Mom texted that they’ll probably return on the weekend or maybe before.” He glanced at Cris again, but the kid seemed totally enraptured by a toy. “You need me, just yell.”
“I’ll be fine.” She waved him away.
Reassured Cris wouldn’t be alone, Sam headed for Marty’s office and told him about the rental house. Thankfully the owner of the hardware and building supply store wasn’t a man who asked a lot of questions. He listened, took notes and promised he’d do his best to fix it.
“I was hoping to give her an idea of when you could start work,” Sam said.
“Not till after the insurance people have cleared it. Besides, we’re focused on Christmas here in the store now, Sam.” Marty leaned back in his chair and grinned. “There is one good thing about this mishap though.”
“Oh?” Sam didn’t understand.
“Well, I intended to lay off most of my construction guys a few weeks ago. Not a lot of work around Sunshine in the winter, you know.” He chuckled. “Didn’t have to, though, because I got some work for them.”
“At this time of year?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Yup. A while back I got a letter from some lawyer—Braithwaite was his name. He included a big deposit and asked me to get the old bakery building squared away, ready for use. Rush job for premium pay. My guys are going all out. Place hasn’t been used in a while, so there was lotsa stuff to fix, mostly easy stuff.” Marty scratched his ear. “The bakery’s coming along and we’ll be finished soon, so I’ll have more work for them, thanks to you. I’ll do my best to help your lady, Sam. You want me to run out now and take a look at her house?”
“Not yet.” After startling at the words your lady, Sam began to wonder who’d authorized his lawyer to order work on his bakery building and why he didn’t know about it. “Insurance first, as you said. I guess they’ll let you know when you can start.”
“Good. Gives me time to finish the bakery.” Marty looked pleased. “Work like this keeps coming in, I should be able to employ my guys all winter. Times have been tough around town. Be nice not to have to lay anyone off.”
“Yes, that would be good. Thanks for the info.” Sam returned to the play area.
“I don’t think Cris will want to leave yet,” Miss Partridge told him, tilting her head toward the three kids who had arrived and were happily playing with Cris.
“Suits me. Can you watch him for a bit longer, Miss P.?” he asked.
“You need to do something else? Certainly I’ll watch Cris. My pleasure,” she cooed, but there was an inquisitive look in her eyes that Sam recalled from the past. “I’m struggling to decide on a new chain that will suit my favorite bird feeder,” she explained casually, but he wasn’t fooled by her attitude.
Miss Partridge would eventually find out that he owned Joy’s house. Since he didn’t want to start tongues wagging about him just yet, he’d better try to keep a low profile. Maybe doing so would put a stop to the ugliest emails he’d read, which Sam was pretty sure came from two local guys who’d always been troublemakers.
“Thanks, Miss P. Marty says he’s been refitting the bakery building. Thought I’d go and take a look at what he’s doing. I won’t be long.” Sam walked down the street and stopped in front of the bakery.
Some townsfolk had gathered and were watching workmen come and go as they speculated about who would move in. Several people greeted Sam by name. Two former school buddies shot him malevolent glares, barely nodding when he said hello.
Curiosity growing, Sam walked around the block, trying to see exactly what was being done. But despite his best efforts at sweet-talking, the foreman wouldn’t allow him inside. So he returned to the store to get Cris.
“Did you see what you need to?” Miss Partridge pulled on her purple beret and buttoned her matching coat. “It must
be important.”
“Just curious. Thank you for helping out.” Sam kept his tone blasé. “We have to go now, Cris,” he told the boy, who looked disappointed but didn’t argue. To distract him, Sam said, “Some of your toys got ruined when the tree fell in the storm. Would you mind helping me pick out new ones for Josh and Becca?”
“Sure.” Cris paused in zipping his coat. “An’ for me, too?” he asked hopefully.
“And you, for sure,” he agreed with a chuckle. “But we have to hurry. Your mom needs those groceries we bought.”
“’Kay.” Cris went to study the toys.
“So you’re buying groceries for Joy?” Miss P.’s eyes widened. “And watching her son. How, er, neighborly.” She studied Cris, smiling when he picked out a smaller version of the same truck he’d been playing with for himself and a stick-thin doll with fancy clothes and blond hair for Becca.
“Good choices, Cris. But what about for Josh?” Sam prompted him.
“I dunno,” the boy said with a sigh. “He’s hard.”
“Well, what does he like to do best of all?” Sam grimaced when he noticed the time. Joy would wonder what was taking so long.
“Josh likes to play with wood an’ read science stuff.” Cris made a face.
“Reading. Just my field. As the town’s former librarian, I do know books.” Miss Partridge led Cris and Sam toward the bookshelves and selected several titles appropriate for Josh’s age. “Any of these would interest him, I think.”
“Choose two, Cris,” Sam directed. “Thank you very much for your help, Miss Partridge.”
“No problem. It’s nice to see you buying Joy’s children gifts before Christmas,” she said in an insinuating tone that annoyed him because it implied something more familiar than mere friendliness.
“Theirs got ruined last night,” Sam now felt compelled to explain.
“So you said, dear.” She smiled, patted his shoulder again in that genial way that made him nervous, then waved and left.
With the purchases paid for, he and Cris were finally back on the road to the ranch. Sam felt he could breathe again, but he knew sooner or later the truth about him being a property owner in Sunshine would come out. Hopefully not for a while. People already thought poorly of him. If they knew he’d been buying buildings when businesses had gone broke, they’d probably be furious.
“Thank you for the truck,” Cris said, one hand resting on his toy as if fearing he’d be asked to return it.
“You’re welcome. So what do you want for Christmas?” Sam asked, trying to make conversation.
“Not s’posed to say,” Cris told him solemnly.
“Why not?” Was it too extravagant, Sam wondered? Too expensive?
“’Cause. Mom says I can’t have it anyway.”
“Sometimes moms have to say that.” Sam knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “You can tell me though, can’t you?”
“No. Because you can’t get it for me. Only God can.” Cris crossed his arms over his thin chest and stared out the window, leaving Sam to speculate all kinds of things.
Mostly he wondered what a four-year-old kid could possibly want that a loving mom like Joy would refuse to get for him.
Chapter Three
“I did it!” Joy could barely contain her excitement. “I’ve filled every order and I did it before the kids are home from school. Thank You, Lord. And Sam,” she added.
But how can I deliver them?
A familiar knuckle rap thudded against the door. Cris beat her to answer then yelled, “Sam’s here!”
As if she wouldn’t know Sam was in the room the moment he entered. Sam had something—a presence, she supposed it was called. Larger than life. Not like he showed off, but you just knew when he walked in that he was there. At least Joy did. Each time the handsome reporter appeared, her heart picked up its pace and her skin prickled with awareness. Why that should happen wasn’t exactly clear.
“Sure smells good in here.” Sam sniffed appreciatively. “Need some help loading those orders?”
“Loading?” She frowned, confused.
“Oh. I just assumed you’d have to deliver your baking,” he said with a shrug. “I guess folks are picking their orders up here?”
“No, I do have to deliver them. But I don’t have a vehicle, remember?” She bit her lip, finally voicing the only idea she’d had. “There’s this woman I know, Miss Partridge. She said if I ever needed anything to call her. I guess I need to—”
“No!”
Joy blinked at the vehemence in Sam’s voice. “But I have to—” He didn’t let her finish.
“You can use my car. There’s lots of room if I fold the seats down.” He picked up a stack of boxes filled with shortbread and carried them to the door.
“Wait, Sam.” He stopped and looked at her, his eyes wide, questioning. “I can’t use your car,” she said flatly.
“Because?” He looked so handsome standing there in his cowboy boots, jeans and battered leather jacket. Under his Stetson, one eyebrow rose. “Well? What’s the issue, Mrs. Baker?” He grinned at her dour expression.
“The issue is it’s your car. And it looks brand-new,” she sputtered.
“It is.” He shrugged. “So?”
“So what if I hit someone or mark it or—”
“It’s a car, Joy. It can be replaced or mended or whatever. You do know how to drive?” he added suddenly, brown eyes narrowing.
“Of course I know how to drive. But...” Exasperation at his casual reaction bubbled inside and rendered her speechless for the moment.
“So can I get on with loading up?” Sam tilted his head to one side, his blazing smile making her knees weak. “Isn’t freshness the best thing about baking? If I stand here much longer, you’ll have to sell it as day-old stuff.”
Joy couldn’t think of anything to rebut that, and anyway, Sam didn’t wait. He turned on his heel and scooted out the door.
“Mommy?” Cris frowned at her. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, honey. It’s just—”
“Don’t you want to drive Sam’s car? It’s a really nice car,” he assured her.
“Thank you, Cris.” Sam was back, gathering up more boxes. “What’s the holdup, Joy?”
“Becca and Josh aren’t home from school yet. I’ll wait for the bus then take them with me,” she told him, relieved to have thought up the excuse so quickly.
“Nonsense. If you get a move on, you can probably be finished your run before they get home.” Sam’s knee-knocking grin returned. “I’ll make sure the kids get an afternoon snack and start their homework, if they have any. Better get going.” He left again before she could naysay his suggestion.
“You have to go, Mommy.” Cris nodded sagely.
“You’re both very bossy,” Joy mumbled as she tugged on her coat and gloves.
“I heard that.” But Sam’s smile said he didn’t hold it against her. “If you bring those two boxes, that’s the last of it. You’re all ready to go.”
“Do you actually have any experience looking after children?” She studied his face, hoping to discern if he was telling the truth.
“I love kids! I looked after Cris okay this morning, didn’t I?” Sam had brushed off her earlier comment when Cris had told her about being left in the toy department. “He had Miss Partridge right there. Nobody would dare interfere with her. Now, you’d better be off.” He held out the keys. “You have your cell phone? Good. Call if you need anything. Oh, can Cris and I have those leftover cookies?”
“You have to share with Josh and Becca.” She smirked when he frowned. “Sharing is an important skill to master,” she said with a perfectly straight face.
“Bye, Joy.” Sam held the door, waiting.
She couldn’t think of another excuse. Besides, she’d promised
most of her clients delivery before four o’clock. She had to go. Now.
“You behave,” she said to Cris. He nodded. “Thank you,” she said to Sam. “I really appreciate this. I will find a way to repay you.”
“Cookies,” he said with a lazy smile. “Or cake. Or pie. Cinnamon rolls...”
Joy laughed and walked out the door, suddenly aware that she felt more carefree than she had in months, and that was in spite of having just lost her home and her vehicle! She drove slowly out of the yard and turned onto the road toward Sunshine.
“Thank you, God, for sending Sam. He’s a real blessing.” Then Joy forced her mind off the hunky reporter. Since Nick had died, she’d deliberately kept her brain from noticing any men.
Keep it that way, Mrs. Baker! That was not going to be an easy thing to do, especially now that her brain had adopted his nickname for her.
* * *
Two hours later Joy pulled up in front of Miss Partridge’s neat white bungalow. This was her last delivery. She sat a moment and just savored the scene before her—perfectly hung Christmas lights in a perfectly decorated yard with big, festive, perfect red bows attached to the lamp stands, a bright red doormat that said Welcome! and a perfect giant wreath on the front door that wished Merry Christmas.
A sudden longing filled Joy. What would it be like to own her own little home with a garden she could putter in and a porch swing to relax on? How would it feel to hang as many Christmas lights as she wanted and know that even if she left them on all night, she could still afford to pay the power bill at the end of the month?
Miss Partridge generously ordered some of Joy’s baking every week, though it seemed as if she gave a lot of it away. Visiting with this woman was a treat, mostly because the lady’s spiritual guidance had helped so much when Joy first became a Christian. Now Miss Partridge texted a new verse for her to learn every week.
Joy touched the doorbell, smiling automatically when the door immediately opened.