The Lawman's Holiday Wish

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “So all is good on that front.” Piper turned toward Rainey. “And now the dairy store.”

  Rainey stood. She hated to be a downer at the family meeting, but the numbers gave her little choice. “We’re losing money at the store and I believe it’s because of me.”

  Lucia’s lips thinned.

  Piper’s expression went from engaging to concerned in a flash. “Rainey, we always have a slowdown in September. Kids go back to school, ice cream sales drop. The days are getting shorter so people don’t come out at night like they do over the summer. Then things pick up again in October and go crazy until the holidays.”

  Rainey acknowledged that with a nod as she passed a printed sheet to each of them. “That’s all true, and it’s supported by last year’s figures, but here’s the problem.” She pointed out a group of highlighted numbers. “Our everyday stock items have dropped nearly twenty percent from last September’s figures. That’s huge. That eats up our profit margin and dumps us ten percent into the hole. And I think it’s because some customers don’t like who I was. That’s a tough thing for folks to move past.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Marty counseled. He shrugged lightly. “And people forget, Rainey. It just takes time.”

  “But can we survive for however long that takes?” Rainey wondered. “I know you want me to stay,” she told everyone. “You’re all being wonderful about this, but I have to do something to fix the situation or I’ll go crazy worrying about it.”

  “Worry is not of God,” Lucia reminded her. “He has taken care of us so far, mi Larraina. I trust He will take care of this, as well.”

  Rainey appreciated her mother’s gesture of acceptance, but knew she needed to act quickly. “Well, I’d like to help the good Lord all I can, so here’s what I’m proposing. We’ve got a farm booth signed up for the bicentennial festival. I’d like to have a dairy booth alongside. We’ve got portable coolers and the generator, we could use the space you’ve already reserved so we don’t have to ask for extra space from the committee, and it would be a great way to give out samples of the new items we’re going to carry for the holidays. I don’t want Noreen outside all day if the weather during the festival is dicey, but Marly said she has no classes that Friday so she’ll help me run the booth all day Friday and Saturday.”

  “You want to run the booth yourself?” Piper asked, glancing at her and Lucia with concern. “You’re comfortable with that?”

  What Piper meant was could she handle the knowing looks and possible nasty remarks people might make?

  Rainey shrugged. “I love working in the dairy store and overseeing the milk production in the back room. And I like people. Right now, a lot of local folks don’t trust me. Helping at the festival will give them a chance to see me in a new light. If we fix this now, it will have less impact on our holiday sales, and we all know that fourth-quarter sales could make or break the year for us.”

  “There could be repercussions,” Zach cautioned. “Are you ready for that, Rainey? People might act stupid, given the chance.”

  “Yes.” She answered with conviction, but fought the internal threat of foreboding. “Dad used to say ‘Peace begins with a smile.’”

  “Mother Teresa’s saying.” The reminder of their father’s gentle ways made Piper smile.

  “So.” Zach brought them back to the practical. “What do we need for your booth? We’ll make a list of supplies that Dad and I can get. You ladies have enough on your plates with the wedding. You tell me how you want the booth to look, and Dad and I will create it.”

  Rainey handed him a pencil sketch. “Done.”

  He laughed and pocketed the paper. “You don’t waste time.”

  “Well, I used to.” She sent the group a small grimace of remorse. “But not anymore. And the best steel comes from the toughest forging, right?”

  “Amen.”

  The group started to disband, but Piper paused near Rainey before following Zach outside. “You’ve come a long way.”

  Rainey nodded.

  “But I don’t want you to push yourself too far. I want you to feel comfortable. At peace.”

  Rainey hugged her. “I will,” she promised. “But I can’t sit back and let things happen if there’s a way to fix them. That’s a quality I learned from you, Piper. And my mother.”

  “We’ll do all we can,” her sister promised.

  “I don’t move into my own house until the first week of November, and I’m not on call the weekend of the festival,” Julia interjected. “Let me work the stand with you. It would give me a chance to meet people here. As long as Lucia would be willing to have the boys underfoot.”

  “Doing farm work won’t bother you?” Rainey asked.

  “Not at all. Why?”

  “Well, you’re a midwife now.” Rainey reminded her, as if that was reason enough to bow out of festival farm help. “A professional.”

  Julia laughed. “Once a farm girl, always a farm girl. And while I wasn’t big on the cows, I love the marketing stuff. Farm stands, fairs, the people. Sign me up, Rainey. I’m glad to help.”

  “Will do.”

  Rainey helped her mother straighten up the kitchen. Bags of freshly made croutons lined one counter, ready for sale. A list of chores sat alongside the bags. Lucia’s organization and planning had helped make the farm business a slowly growing success over the past decade and a half. Now, with Marty’s investment and partnership, McKinney Farms could become a flagship enterprise. This was the chance they’d all been waiting for.

  “Rainey.”

  “Hmm?” She turned and was engulfed by her mother’s warm embrace. She’d caused her mom so much grief over the years. She had no way to repay Lucia for her constant faith, which was so undeserved. Rainey hugged her mother back, but then Lucia created a little distance between them and met her gaze.

  “You are not to make yourself crazy over this.” Lucia waved to the store. “We will do our best and people will come around, but I do not want you to back-step.”

  “Backslide.” Rainey smiled at the misused word. “I won’t, Mama, I—”

  “I say this because I know my daughter best,” Lucia insisted. “I knew you were not guilty of that crime and I know you wear this too much on your heart. I don’t want for you to have more nightmares. More pain.”

  Nightmares had dogged Rainey after her prison stint, but she was better these days. Most of the time. “I’m stronger now. Don’t worry. Didn’t you just tell me worry is not what God wants for us?”

  Lucia sighed and frowned. “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. I’m taking the girls over to Luke Campbell’s house tomorrow afternoon once the store quiets down. If Marly and Noreen need help, can they call you?”

  “Of course. But Luke Campbell? How did you meet him?”

  “At the school,” Rainey explained. “It seems our children enjoy being naughty together.”

  Lucia’s broad face split into a smile. “That is quite true. Each one thinking of some new way to put gray in my hair, but so sweet. Sweeter, though, when they sleep.”

  Rainey laughed. “Well, we’re trying to work together to make them more comfortable in school. And maybe I can get the twins to help with the festival project.”

  “And being with the girls is good for his boy.” Lucia nodded, satisfied. “I think this is good. His family is big and nice and they care for each other always.”

  Her words reminded Rainey of the family she’d longed for as a child. She’d wanted the American dream. The Cosby Show come to life. Even after her mother married Tucker McKinney, money problems were pervasive. Getting the farm back on solid ground after Tucker’s wife had taken her share of the farm’s assets had been a struggle of work, work and more work.

  Rainey had rebelled, too immature to realize that God blessed the work of
human hands.

  She’d been a foolish child, then a disrespectful teenager, but she’d changed. Now if she could only convince the community of that.

  Chapter Three

  On Saturday afternoon Luke scrubbed damp palms against the sides of his jeans and frowned.

  Why did Rainey’s impending arrival with the twins make him nervous? Piper had brought the girls over plenty of times in the past.

  This isn’t Piper.

  This was Rainey, the bad-girl sister, the object of community-wide speculation, most of it negative.

  He firmed his jaw, determined to keep things easy, friendly, and then she pulled into the driveway. The girls tumbled out of the backseat, laughing and racing to join Aiden in the tree house, with barely a hello to Luke.

  He scarcely saw them. His attention was drawn to Rainey. His breath caught somewhere deep in his chest as she stepped out of the car. She’d clipped her long wave of hair into some kind of barrette behind her head. The hairstyle accented the perfect oval of her face, the high cheekbones, the delicate arch of her neck and throat. A tiny gold cross hung on a thin chain. She watched the girls race across the yard, then turned his way.

  She saw his expression. Read his look.

  She stood perfectly still, her eyes on his, and for the life of him, Luke didn’t want to break the connection. Finally, he moved forward, feeling like a gawky teen. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She flashed him a quiet smile and arched one brow in the direction of the tree. “They’re fine up there?”

  “Have been so far. Notice I put rails around the edge, so they can’t fall.”

  “Except from the ladder.”

  He nodded. “I was thinking of adding a cushioned landing for them, just in case.”

  “Or don’t, so they learn to hold on tight, because it really isn’t all that high.”

  Luke sucked in a breath. Her advice sounded like something his family would say. “Life comes with enough peril attached.”

  Rainey moved toward the tree house as she answered. “The more prepared we are, the better our chances of survival.”

  “You think I baby Aiden.”

  She turned, still smiling, and he saw no censure in her gaze. “I don’t know you well enough to make an assumption like that, and I’m stumbling through parenthood myself, so I’m not about to judge you on your methods.” Her tone didn’t condemn, it offered acceptance, and that felt good to Luke after the verbal scoldings he’d been getting lately. “I know life is a precious gift, and God expects us to take care of our children, heart and soul. That’s a balancing act right there.”

  “Mommy, see?” Dorrie peered over the railing and waved to them. “Isn’t this the best tree house ever?”

  “Amazing.” She drew the word out to underscore her approval, which shone in her face. Her eyes. The autumn sun silhouetted her profile, and Luke thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

  “Mommy! Come see!” Sonya joined Dorrie at the tiny “porch” of the tree house. “You’ll love it up here!”

  “Here I come.” She scrambled up the short ladder and faked a gasp. “Is that your kitchen?”

  Aiden laughed out loud, a sound Luke didn’t hear often enough. “Yes. Daddy made it.”

  She looked down at Luke, and he had to act fast to pretend he wasn’t appreciating the sight of her in her jeans. He wasn’t quite speedy enough, however, and the look she sent him—half scolding, half amused—said she didn’t really mind his admiration. She ignored the moment and indicated the interior of the tree house. “How’d you get that little kitchen set in there?”

  “Classified information, ma’am.”

  She studied him, then the tree house while the children giggled, buzzing like happy little bees at a hive. “You built it around the kitchen set?”

  “Nope.”

  She frowned, tapping her chin with one tawny-skinned finger, while the kids waited for her next guess. “The shoemaker’s elves put it together at night?”

  “I only wish that was true.”

  Sonya clapped a hand over her mouth, as if eager to spill the beans. Dorrie pretended to be calm. Aiden jumped up and down in tiny hops, excited to see what came next, and that made Luke’s smile widen. His son didn’t take to folks quickly, and that was partially Luke’s fault for sheltering him.

  “Aha.” She aimed a triumphant look at the little ones, then him. “You took it in there piece by piece and assembled it inside.”

  “Yes!” Aiden pumped his fist in the air. “How did you guess that?”

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Mommy?”

  “Don’t you just love it?”

  She laughed, handed out kisses to the excited children, then climbed back down. Luke offered his hand when she was on the last rung of the ladder, and she hopped off, her eyes shining up at him and the three kids. “I’d have picnics in there all the time if I had a tree house like this.”

  “Can we have one today, Luke?”

  “Please?”

  “Please, Daddy?”

  Luke made a show of eyeing his watch. “It’s past lunch and not nearly suppertime.”

  “Perfect for high tea, then,” Rainey announced.

  “High what?” Luke made a face at her, and the kids giggled above.

  “Also known as snack time. But for the royals among us—” Rainey did a deep bow, with a hand flourish in the direction of the children “—it’s referred to as high tea. Have you such makings in your house, old chap?”

  Luke rolled his eyes and the kids giggled harder. “Let us go hence into the house and see, m’lady.”

  “Young royals, we shall return with haste to grace your table with the finest of foods and drink.” She bowed again and headed toward the house with Luke. “Aren’t you worried they might fall while we’re gone?” she whispered.

  “I worry about everything,” he confessed, and the simple admission made him worry less. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “Not when it all lands on your shoulders,” she told him as he swung open the wooden screen door. “Oh, Luke. This house.” She paused on the steps and drank in the pretty porch. “This is utterly beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What a marvelous place to grow up.” She looked out to the barns, the sheds, the well-treed lot and the gravel drive. “It’s the picture of country living. And you must have a ball decorating this porch for Christmas with garlands and twinkle lights. Have you owned it a long time?”

  Garlands? Twinkle lights? Guilt found new lodging in his chest as he thought of the artificial tree he stuck in the living room corner every year, using two strings of lights and two dozen satin balls from Walmart. “Nearly three years.”

  “Well, it’s meant to inspire roots.”

  “Now if I could only figure out the whole ‘wings’ part of the equation that every child psychologist talks about,” he remarked as he led her into the kitchen. “Encouraging Aiden to take a chance is the tough part for me.”

  “He’s five, he’s cute and he’s getting spunkier. He just needs to spread those wings on his own a little. Take a few falls.” She nodded toward the tree house, visible through the wide picture window above the sink. “And I can see I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” she added, “so let me just say this kitchen is absolutely lovely. And clean. Which is kind of scary, for a single dad.”

  “He has help,” a woman’s voice interjected.

  Rainey turned, surprised. So did Luke.

  “Hillary. I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.” Luke offered his former sister-in-law a puzzled look.

  “Sorry, I came through the back door to grab my file bag from yesterday.” The woman lifted a black canvas tote in her left hand. “I wanted to copy some notes into my laptop and realized they were stil
l here. Oops.”

  * * *

  It didn’t take a college degree to read the other woman’s ruse, which meant maybe Rainey shouldn’t be here. But Luke seemed to think nothing of the explanation. Of course, he was a man and more than likely oblivious.

  “I’m Hillary Baxter, Luke’s sister-in-law. I help him with Aiden.” Cool and crisp, Hillary nodded toward the tree house outside the back door. “You’re the twins’ mother.”

  “Rainey McKinney. Nice to meet you.”

  Hillary offered a thin smile. “Yes, well. I have to go. Duty calls.”

  Luke set down a box of crackers he’d pulled from the cupboard and nodded. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Her tone hinted she belonged here, Rainey didn’t. Hillary exited through the back door and made a show of climbing the ladder, clutching Aiden in a huge hug, reminding him twice to stay away from the opening, and then hugging him again, whispering something.

  Rainey fought the urge to choke. The other woman was pretty and accomplished. Her style and grace shone like well-rinsed fresh pearls. Perfect hair, great shoes, tailored pants and a silk shirt.

  Who wore silk to visit a kid?

  Luke handed over a jar of peanut butter. “Can you spread this on those crackers? And I have some little fancy cupcakes from the store. I think they’d be high-tea stuff, right?”

  “Perfect.”

  “We don’t have to make tea, do we?”

  “Not this time,” she told him. “Juice boxes will do the trick. And please note that the children are playing nicely, they’ve scrambled up and down that ladder at least a dozen times to gather treasures from under the trees, and no one has fallen.”

  “Yet.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” she chided him. She gave him a tiny elbow thrust to drive home her words. “Our instincts for survival tell us to hang on. To watch our step.”