And just how was she going to manage that, when she didn’t have a job, a savings account or a real right to parent the twins?
Teddy kicked and fussed a little, seeming to sense her tension. So she pushed aside her anxiety and prayed for peace and for the twins to be okay and for Papa to receive comfort.
And for Kimmie’s soul.
When she got toward the bottom of the stairs, she paused. Jason was lying on the floor, pouring water into a green-and-red tree stand. Somehow, he’d gotten the tree they’d quickly chosen into the house by himself and set it upright, and it emitted a pungent, earthy scent that was worlds better than the pine room freshener her mother had sometimes sprayed around at Christmastime.
Jason had changed out of church clothes. He wore faded jeans and a sage-green T-shirt that clung to his impressive chest and arms.
Weight lifting was a part of being a cop, she supposed. And obviously, he’d excelled at it.
Her face heating at the direction of her own thoughts, she came the rest of the way down the stairs. “It smells so good! I never had a live tree before.”
“Never?” He looked at her as if she must have been raised in a third world country. “What were your Christmases like?” He eased back from the tree and started opening boxes of decorations.
“Nothing like a TV Christmas movie, but who has that, really? Sometimes Mom would get me a present, and sometimes a Secret Santa or church program would leave something on our doorstep.”
Jason looked at her with curiosity and something that might have been compassion, and she didn’t want that kind of attention. “What about you? Did you and Kimmie and your parents come here for the holidays?”
“My parents loved to travel.” He dug through a box and pulled out a set of green, heart-shaped ornaments. “See? From Ireland. They usually went on an overseas trip or a cruise at Christmas, and every year they brought back ornaments. We have ’em from every continent.”
“Wow. Pretty.” But it didn’t sound very warm and family oriented. “Didn’t they ever take you and Kimmie with them?”
“Nope. Dumped us here. But that was fine with us.” He waved an arm around the high-ceilinged, sunlit room. “Imagine it all decorated, with a whole heap of presents under the tree. Snowball fights and gingerbread cookies and sleigh rides. For a kid, it couldn’t get much better.”
“For a grown-up, too,” she murmured without thinking.
He nodded. “I’m glad to be here. For Papa and for me, too.”
“Where are your parents now?”
“Dad passed about five years ago, and Mom’s living on the French Riviera with her new husband. We exchange Christmas cards.” He sounded blasé about it. But Erica knew how much emotion and hurt a blasé tone could cover.
They spent a couple of hours decorating the tree, spreading garland along the mantel and stringing lights. By the time Erica heard a cry from upstairs, indicating that the twins were waking up, they’d created a practically perfect farm-style Christmas environment.
“Do you need help with the babies?” Jason asked.
She would love to have help, but she knew she shouldn’t start getting used to it. “It’s fine. I’ll get them.”
“I’m going to check on Papa, then.”
Erica’s back was aching by the time she’d changed the twins’ diapers and brought them downstairs, one on each hip. But the couple of hours they’d spent decorating were worth it. When Jason opened the door and Papa came in, his face lit up, even as his hands went to his hips. He shook his head. “You didn’t have to do this. I wasn’t...” He looked away and Erica realized he was choking up. “I wasn’t going to put anything up this year. But seeing as how we have children in the house again...” He broke off.
Erica carried the twins into the front room. “Let’s see how they like all the lights,” she said, and both men seemed glad to have another focus than the losses they were facing.
She sat on the couch and put Mikey on the floor, then Teddy. She waved her hand toward the tree. “Pretty!” she said, and then her own throat tightened, remembering the silver foil tree she’d put up in Kimmie’s apartment. They’d taken a lot of photographs in front of it, Kimmie in her wheelchair holding the twins. Erica had promised to show the twins when they were older, so they’d know how much their mother had loved them.
The boys’ brown eyes grew round as they surveyed the sparkling lights and ornaments.
“Priiiiiy,” Mikey said, cocking his head to one side.
Erica had no time to get excited about Mikey learning another new word because Teddy started to scoot toward the tree, then rocked forward into an awkward crawl.
“Whoa, little man,” Jason said, intercepting him before he could reach the shining ornaments.
“Better put the ornaments higher up and anchor the tree to the wall,” Papa said. “It’s what we used to do for you and your sister. You were a terrible one for pulling things off the tree. One year, you even managed to climb it!”
Jason picked up Teddy and plunked him back down on the floor beside Mikey, but not before Erica had seen the red spots on the baby’s knees. “I need to get them some long pants,” she fretted. “Sturdy ones, if he’s going to be mobile.”
“Can you afford it?” Jason asked.
Erica thought of the stash of money Kimmie had given her. She’d spent more than half of it on the cross-country drive; even being as frugal as possible in terms of motels and meals, diapers didn’t come cheap. “I can afford some.”
Questions lurked in his eyes, but he didn’t give them voice.
Teddy rocked back and forth and got himself on hands and knees again, then crawled—backward—toward Mistletoe, who lay by the gas fire. Quickly, Jason positioned himself to block the baby if needed.
Mistletoe nuzzled Teddy, then gave his face a couple of licks.
Teddy laughed and waved his arms.
“Not very sanitary,” Papa commented.
“Oh, well,” Erica and Jason said at the same time.
From the kitchen came a buzzing sound and Erica realized it was her phone. She went in and grabbed it. An Arizona number. She walked back into the front room’s doorway and clicked to accept the call.
“Hello,” came an unfamiliar voice. “Erica Lindholm?”
“That’s me.”
“This is Ryan Finnigan. An old friend of Kimmie Stephanidis. Do you have a moment to talk?”
She looked at the twins. “Can you watch the boys?” she asked the two men.
Jason looked a little daunted, but Papa nodded and waved a hand. “Go ahead. We’ll be fine.”
She headed through the kitchen to the dining room. “I’m here.”
“I’m not only an old friend, but I’m Miss Stephanidis’s attorney,” the man said.
“Kimmie had an attorney?” Kimmie had barely been organized enough to buy groceries.
“Not exactly. The medical personnel who brought her to the hospital, after her overdose, happened to find one of my business cards and gave me a call. I went to see her, and we made a will right there in the hospital. None too soon, I’m afraid.”
She was glad to know that Kimmie had had a friend near and that she’d been under medical care, and said so.
“I did what I could. I was...rather fond of her, at one time.” He cleared his throat. “She let me know her wishes, and I was able to carry those out. But as for her estate...she’s left you her half of the Holly Creek Farm.”
“What?” Erica’s voice rose up into a squeak and she felt for the nearest chair and sat down.
“She’s left you half the farm her family owns. It’s a small, working farm in Western Pennsylvania. The other half belongs to her brother.”
“Half of Holly Creek Farm? And it’s, like, legal?”
“It certain
ly is.”
She sat a moment, trying to digest this news.
“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” the lawyer said after a moment. “Do you have any questions for me, off the top of your head?”
“Did Kimmie...” She trailed off, peeked through the kitchen into the front room to make sure no one could hear. “Look, is this confidential?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did she leave any instructions about her children?”
“Her children?”
“I take it that’s a no.” Oh, Kimmie, why would you provide for them with the farm, but not grant me guardianship?
“If Kimmie did have children...the most important thing would be that they’re safe, in an acceptable home.”
“Right. That’s right.” She didn’t want to admit to anything, but if he’d been fond of Kimmie at one time, as he’d mentioned, he would obviously be concerned.
He cleared his throat. “Just speaking hypothetically, if Kimmie had children and died without leaving any written instructions, they would become wards of the state.”
Erica’s heart sank.
“Unless...is there a father in the picture?”
“No,” she said through an impossibly dry mouth. Kimmie had told her that after abandoning her and the twins, the babies’ father had gone to prison with a life sentence, some drug-related theft gone bad.
“If there’s no evidence that someone like you—hypothetically—had permission to take her children, no birth certificates, nothing, then any concerned party could make a phone call to Children and Youth Services.”
“And they’d take the children?” She could hear the breathy fear in her voice.
“They might.”
“But...this is hypothetical. You wouldn’t—”
“Purely hypothetical. I’m not calling anyone. Now, even if the state has legal custody, if you have physical custody—and the children in question are doing well in your care—then the courts might decide it’s in the best interest of the children for you to retain physical custody.”
“I see.” It’s not enough.
“None of this might come up for a while, not until medical attention is needed or the children start school.”
Or early intervention. Erica’s heart sank even as she berated herself for not thinking it all through. “If it did come up...would there be some kind of hearing?”
“Yes, and at that time, any relative who had questions or concerns could raise them.” He paused. “It seems Kimmie had very few personal effects, but whatever there is will be sent to her family as soon as possible.”
Her hands were so sweaty she could barely keep a grip on the cell phone. “Thank you. This has been very helpful.”
“Oh, one more thing,” the lawyer said. “You’ll be wanting to know the executor of Kimmie’s will.”
“It’s not you?”
“No. I’m happy to help, of course, but if there’s a capable family member, I usually recommend that individual.”
Erica had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going. “Who is it?”
“It’s her brother. Jason Stephanidis.”
Chapter Three
The next morning, Jason padded down the stairs toward the warmth of coffee and the kitchen. Noticing a movement in the front room, he stopped to look in.
There was his grandfather, in his everyday flannel shirt and jeans, staring out the window while holding a ceramic angel they’d set on the mantel yesterday. As Jason watched, Papa set it down and moved over to a framed Christmas photo of Jason and Kimmie as young kids, visiting Santa. Papa looked at it, ran a finger over it, shook his head.
Jason’s chest felt heavy, knowing there was precious little he could do to relieve his grandfather’s suffering.
But whatever he could do, he would. He’d been a negligent grandson, but no more.
Mistletoe leaned against his leg and panted up at him.
He gave the dog a quick head rub and then walked into the room just as Papa set down the photograph he’d been studying and turned. His face lit up. “Just the man I want to see. Come get some coffee. Got an idea to run by you.”
“Yeah?” Jason slung an arm around his grandfather’s shoulders as they walked into the kitchen. He poured them both a fresh cup of coffee, black. “What’ve you got in mind?”
Papa pulled a chair up to the old wooden table and sat down. “Got someone coming over to do a little investigating about our guests.”
“You, too?” Jason was relieved that he wasn’t the only one who felt suspicious. In a corner of his mind, he’d worried that it was as Renea had said: he couldn’t trust, couldn’t be a family person. “I can’t figure out why Kimmie left the farm to her. What were they to each other?” As executor of the estate, he needed to know.
The mere thought of there being an estate—of Kimmie being gone—racked his chest with a sudden ache so strong he had to sit down at the table to keep from falling apart.
“I’m thinking about those babies, for one thing,” Papa said unexpectedly.
“What about them?”
“Something’s not right about them, but I don’t know what it is. So I’ve got Ruthie Delacroix coming over this morning. There’s nobody knows as much about babies as Ruthie.”
Jason remembered the woman, vaguely, from visits home; she’d always had a child on her hip at church, and he seemed to recall she ran a child care operation on the edge of town.
“And that’s not all I’m wondering,” Papa said darkly, “but first things first.”
Jason grinned. Papa conniving and plotting was better than Papa grieving.
“I figure I have to take the lead on this, since you haven’t shown a whole lot of sense about women. When you brought home that skinny thing—what was her name? Renea?—and said you were going to marry her, your grandmother had a fit.”
Jason wasn’t going to rise to that bait. And he wasn’t going to think about Renea. He got up and started wiping down the already-clean counters.
No sooner had his grandfather headed upstairs to his bedroom than Jason heard the sound of babies babbling and laughing, matched by Erica’s melodic, soothing voice. A moment later, she appeared, a baby in each arm.
Even without a trace of makeup, her fair skin seemed to glow. Her hair wasn’t styled, but clipped back, with strands already escaping.
His heart rate picked up just looking at her.
As she nuzzled one of the baby’s heads—was that Mikey or Teddy?—he was drawn into her force field. “Want me to hold one of them?”
And where did that come from? He never, but never, offered to hold a baby.
“Um...sure!” She nodded toward the wigglier baby. “Take Teddy. But keep a grip on him. He’s a handful. I just need to get them some breakfast.” As she spoke, she strapped Mikey into the old wooden high chair.
Jason sat down and held the baby on his knee, studying him, wondering what Papa saw that made him worry. But the kid looked healthy and lively to him as he waved his arms and banged the table, trying to get Erica’s attention.
Which seemed perfectly sensible to Jason. Even in old jeans and a loose blue sweater, Erica was a knockout. Any male would want her attention.
Nostalgia pierced him. Erica moved around the room easily, already comfortable, starting to know where things were. It made him think of his grandfather sitting at this very table after a long day of farmwork, his grandmother bustling around fixing food, declining all offers of help in the kingdom that was her kitchen.
Papa was grieving the loss of his wife now, but his life had been immeasurably enriched by his family. In fact, it was impossible to think of Papa without thinking of all those who loved him. And when Jason and Kimmie had needed some extra parenting, Papa and Gran had opened their arms withou
t a second thought. They’d been the making of Jason’s childhood.
Unfortunately, Kimmie had seen more neglect before Papa and Gran had stepped in. She’d never quite recovered from their parents’ lack of real love.
“Would you like some oatmeal?” Erica asked a few minutes later, already dishing up four bowls, two big and two small. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked rather than assuming. The twins love oatmeal, and so do I, and it’s about the most economical breakfast you can find.”
“That would be great.” He shifted Teddy on his knee. “Put his down here and I’ll try to feed him. No guarantees, though.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem. You had the care of them all night. At least you ought to get a minute to eat a bowl of oatmeal yourself.”
“That would be a treat.” She placed a small bowl beside his larger one and handed him a bib and a spoon. “Go to it.”
Trying to get spoonfuls of oatmeal into a curious baby proved a challenge, and as Erica expertly scooped the cereal into Mikey’s mouth, she laughed at Jason’s attempts. How she managed two, as a single mom, he couldn’t fathom.
“Hey now,” he said when Teddy blew a raspberry that spattered oatmeal all over himself, the high chair and Jason. “Give me a break. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Teddy! Behave yourself!” A smile tugged at Erica’s face as she passed Jason a cloth. “When he spits like that, he’s probably done. Just wipe his face and we’ll let them crawl around a little.”
Mistletoe had been weaving between their legs, licking up the bits of oatmeal and banana that hit the floor. Jason reached down to pat the dog at the same moment Erica did.
Their hands brushed—and Jason felt it to his core. “Nothing like a canine vacuum cleaner,” he tried to joke. And kept his hand on the dog, hoping for another moment of contact with Erica.
“I know, right? We totally should have gotten them a dog back in Arizona.”
And then her hand went still. When he looked up at her face, it had gone still, too.
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