My Lucky Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  That hasn’t really worked out so well, Mom. He stared out past the open barn doors to the dark house where Persephone was probably hiding while Ham likely took advantage of free rein in the kitchen. At least I have the pigs. He’d started fostering orphaned potbellied pigs shortly after he’d moved here and found one by the highway. Now Piggy Pals was his second-favorite charity. If I can’t save a child, at least I’m helping out some animals.

  Ben stayed at the door another half hour greeting couples, families, teenagers on dates, and a few curious passersby who’d seen all the traffic and wondered what was going on. The band was going strong by then, playing a lively swing tune when he saw Tara leave the house and start toward the barn. A cloak billowed out behind her, and as she drew closer, the details of her previously secret costume—a girlish billowy dress, a cloth-covered basket, and a red cloak—came into view.

  “What’s in your basket, Red?” Ben asked when she came to the door.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Tara said coyly. She pushed the red hood back from her head and turned around in front of him, flipping her braids as she did. “What do you think, Mr. Brave Hunter?”

  Taking a cue from her flirting, Ben leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I think the wolf was crazy not to devour you on the spot the first time he saw you.”

  Tara laughed. Ben linked his arm through hers.

  “Come on. Let’s dance.”

  He guided her up the steps and onto the dance floor. Tara tugged him to the side momentarily, so she could set her basket down, then allowed him to pull her back to the center of the already-packed floor.

  “This is fantastic,” she said. “You must have a couple hundred people here, easily.”

  “Three hundred nineteen at last count,” Ben said. “We’re going to make our goal.” He beamed.

  She gave him a hug. “That’s great, Ben. You’re great to go to all this work to do this.”

  “Show me how great I am and dance with me.” He took her hands and started into a basic swing step.

  “Uh-oh.” She shook her head and took a step back. “I don’t know how to dance like that.”

  “You will soon.” Ben grabbed both her hands and showed her the footing slowly. “Slow, slow, quick, quick.” He exaggerated the steps so she could follow.

  “I don’t know,” Tara said skeptically. But Ben wouldn’t let her leave. He continued teaching her, going slow until she had it down. The band played another swing number then switched to a waltz.

  Tara groaned as she glanced at the couples around them who obviously knew what they were doing. “I just figured out the first dance.”

  “No worries.” Ben pulled her close, placing her hands on his shoulders and putting his arms around her waist. “There’s only half an hour until the DJ replaces the band and we get top forty. We can dance however we want then. In fact, we can dance however we want now. No fancy steps needed for this one.”

  “But you do know how to do that?” Tara inclined her head toward a couple waltzing around the outskirts of the floor.

  “I do,” Ben said. “Remember how I said my parents were big into Scouting?”

  Tara nodded.

  “Well, they were big into dancing, too. They’d been on a team together when they were young. So all of us kids had to learn, of course.”

  “Of course,” Tara repeated. “Do you realize how unusual you are? Men these days don’t dance and build their own furniture and take care of stray pigs and—”

  “I’m part of a true dying species,” Ben said sarcastically. “And the way you make me sound, I’m thinking that’s a good thing.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Tara said. “Not a lot of men out there are nice and genuine and helpful the way you are. You’re a good person, Ben, and I’m better for knowing you.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say to such a nice compliment, so he pulled her close, enjoying the way her head came to rest against his shoulder. It reminded him of the last time he’d held her this close, when snow had swirled all around them, and her lips had been blue.

  Don’t go there, he warned himself. But it was too late. He’d gone there at least a dozen times since he’d first seen her sitting in his kitchen last week. If he were truthful with himself, he’d never really stopped going there. He’d thought about Tara—and that kiss, their connection—off and on throughout the year. He’d thought of her most when McKenzie had been here. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but that was probably what had saved him from getting any closer to McKenzie, from getting hurt more than he’d already been.

  The song ended, and Tara pulled back, looking up at him with shining eyes. “You saved my life, Ben Whitmore.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad.” Ben wondered if it were possible that she could save his.

  Forty-Six

  It was after midnight when the last car pulled away and Ben locked the barn for the night. Along with Deb and Josh, Tara had been a trooper, staying with him and cleaning up till the very end. Now she yawned and pulled her cloak tight around her as he walked her toward the house. Josh had left five minutes before, and Deb had already gone inside.

  “Stars are pretty tonight,” Ben remarked, looking up at the sky.

  “I can’t believe it—I almost forgot.” Tara craned her neck back, staring upward. “Jane expects a full star report from Ohio. She’s really into that stuff.”

  “In that case, I’ve got an idea,” Ben said. “Wait here.” He dashed past Tara, up the steps, and into the house. He ran to the front closet and pulled out a quilt his mom had made from old jeans years ago. It was one of the things he’d wanted when she passed away. Ben ran back to the yard and Tara, standing exactly where he’d left her.

  “Come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward his pickup truck. “This won’t be quite as posh as your BMW, but the stars will look the same.” He put down the tailgate, tossed the quilt inside, and climbed up. When he’d spread it across the bed of the truck, he reached down to help Tara. She climbed up after him. Ben lay down on the blanket and patted the spot beside him. “Great view from here.”

  “If I can keep my eyes open long enough.” Tara yawned again then lay down beside him.

  “Oh, wow. You’re right. This is even better than the view from Jane’s house.”

  “There’s something to be said for living in the middle of nowhere,” Ben said.

  “I suppose you know the names for all those.” Tara pointed at different constellations.

  “Most,” Ben said. “Learned them in Boy Scouts.”

  “Every kid ought to be a Scout.” She put her hands behind her head and sighed.

  “What was that for?” Ben asked.

  “Just thinking,” Tara said. “Since I’ve known you—and Jane—I’ve learned so much, and I’m grateful.”

  “She taught you the constellations?” Ben asked.

  “No.” Tara sounded mildly exasperated. “Do you remember what you said to Cadie the night before we left Utah?”

  “Um—” Ben racked his brain but couldn’t remember much about that night, aside from fighting with Tara at the DI.

  “Cadie was whining about having to move, and you pointed out how lucky she was to have her family, and especially her Father in Heaven, to love her.”

  “I guess I sort of remember,” Ben said.

  “You told her she ought to ‘thank her lucky stars,’” Tara said. “I didn’t get that then, didn’t understand what you meant, but now I do. Right now, this very moment, I’m thanking my lucky stars—for you. For Jane. For all you’ve both taught me. For a Father in Heaven. For the knowledge that He created all these stars.”

  Ben reached up and took Tara’s hand. He twined his fingers through hers, squeezing gently. “The woman I met last year wasn’t grateful for much outside of a new tube of lipstick or a pair of shoes.”

  “I know.” Tara’s voice was forlorn. “She really didn’t have much else to be thankful for. She didn’t know
any better.”

  “I’m glad she does now.”

  “Me too. But it’s still hard. Sometimes, like now, I feel overwhelmed with gratitude. But other times, being around you or Jane makes me realize how much I’ve missed. So many experiences other kids have when they’re growing up that I never did. Like your Scouts.”

  “Don’t think it was all good,” Ben said. “And I doubt a lot of other kids shop at the DI and are forced to learn to waltz.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Tara said. “But it’s more than that.” She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “You had parents who cared about you, who did stuff with you. They loved you.”

  The hurt in her voice made his chest tighten. How often had he envied others because he felt they had that same thing—someone who cared about them—when he didn’t? But I’ve had far more caring in my life than Tara has. He sat up and reached for her. She turned her face to his, and he read the surprise in her expression.

  One kiss. Just one to show her I care. Ben leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. She didn’t pull away but seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, then she reached out to him and almost shyly put her arms around his neck. He took her face in his hands and deepened their kiss. She responded in kind.

  Do unto others. He thought of their conversation in the cornfield the other day. “Tara.” He breathed her name as they broke apart. Her eyes were swimming with tears, but she was smiling.

  “You’re not going to run off and ride with Ellen now, are you?” he teased.

  She shook her head, but the words she spoke were upsetting. “I am leaving tomorrow morning.”

  In all the chaos of the evening, somehow he’d forgotten that minor detail. Tara didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong to him.

  But she could. His mother’s voice again. This was one time he didn’t want to hear it.

  “What if I come with you, drive you home?” Ben asked the question before he’d fully thought it through. Hope flickered in Tara’s eyes.

  “Are you serious?” Her question immobilized both of them. Ben knew she’d been referring to the trip, but the deeper meaning bled through. The status of their relationship was on both their minds—and had been for days.

  “I’m serious,” he said, going against everything he’d told her when she’d first arrived, against everything he’d tried to tell himself since then. Ben leaned close once more, his lips seeking hers, in an affirmation of what he’d just committed to.

  She didn’t let him down. In less than a minute he was lost in the tide of emotion flowing between them.

  One kiss? Who was I kidding?

  Forty-Seven

  Tara parked her car in the nearest stall she could find at the airport then dashed inside, her three-inch heels clicking as she ran. Not the day to be late, she berated herself. What were the chances Ben would believe her if she told him she’d just barely arrived because she’d been babysitting?

  Well, not really babysitting. Why do they call it that, anyway? Kid sitting sounded better. At six, Maddie was much less frightening than her baby brother and sister, each of whom Tara had yet to hold. No way I’ll ever stay with them. No, thank you.

  She made it to the baggage carousels in under five minutes and without breaking her neck. The arrival board said Ben’s plane had already landed, so Tara looked around, wondering if he was still at the gate or had made his way here yet.

  “Hey, would you mind giving a stranger a ride?” a voice behind her said. “The woman who was supposed to meet me seems to have forgotten to pick me up.”

  “Ben!” Tara whirled around and saw him at last, sitting casually, one leg propped up on the other, his arms across the back of the bench.

  “Oh, you are here,” he said, acting surprised.

  “I’m so sorry.” She walked over and held her hand out, intending to pull him up. He pulled her off balance and onto his lap instead.

  “What are you doing?” Tara felt herself blush as she noticed several people looking their direction.

  “You’re not . . . embarrassed, are you?” He made no move to let her go. “Used to be—about a year ago—you had no problem making a scene in an airport.”

  Tara cringed. “I know. I was positively wretched that day. Is this my punishment for that or being late?”

  “Neither. This is.” Ben leaned forward and kissed her soundly, really throwing her off balance. She hadn’t been sure what the climate between them would be like on this trip. The last time she’d seen him, when they’d said good-bye at the end of their weeklong cross-country drive to Seattle, he hadn’t said much about the status of their relationship. Their road trip had been amazing—a true romantic adventure—but a month had passed since then, and Ben was a man of few words when it came to e-mail.

  At last he released her, and she stood, smoothing her knee-length skirt. It’s almost to my knees, anyway. “Should we get your luggage?” she asked when he’d stood and thrown a duffel over his shoulder.

  “This is all I brought,” Ben said. “Can’t trust the airlines not to lose your stuff. I knew this woman once whose luggage was lost. Made her kind of nuts.”

  “If I didn’t know you better,” Tara said, “I’d be suspicious that you’ve been drinking something other than soda or juice on the plane.” She started toward the exit.

  “Can’t a guy be happy?” Ben asked, walking beside her.

  She stopped, turning to him as she did. “I hope so.” The goofy grin on his face reminded her of the time they’d been in the moving van, right after he’d eaten a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. “They didn’t happen to have ice cream on your flight, did they?”

  Ben gave her a puzzled look. “No. Why?”

  “Just wondering.” She was the one smiling now, remembering what he’d said that day when she’d asked him why he was so happy when they were stranded on a cold mountaintop.

  It’s Christmas Eve, I’m in a beautiful canyon, with a pretty woman, and I just had some awesome ice cream.

  “It’s going to be a great weekend,” Tara said, her heart feeling lighter than it had all month. After all, it’s two days before Thanksgiving, we’re headed to beautiful Bainbridge, I’m with a good-looking man wearing a flannel shirt, and the day after tomorrow we’ll eat lots of pie.

  Ben took her hand in his.

  And the good-looking man, the man of my dreams, is going to baptize me tomorrow.

  Forty-Eight

  Tara paused at the top of the stairs leading down into the baptismal font. On the opposite side, Ben waited for her. The jumpsuit they’d given him to wear was too big, and the legs were already puffing up as pockets of air formed while he stood in the water.

  He’d never looked better, never appeared quite as handsome as he did in that very moment, as he stood there in white, waiting—

  For me. Their eyes lingered on one another for a few seconds, then he waded into the water and held a hand out to her. Tara descended the stairs carefully and made her way over to him. His hand was firm on hers, warm and reassuring.

  Ben helped her keep her balance, and she placed one hand on his arm, the other ready to plug her nose when he lowered her into the water. She glanced up at the full room and at her two witnesses—Peter and Brother Bartlett, the Sunday School teacher whose lessons had helped change her life.

  Ben began speaking. “Tara Ann Mollagen, having been commissioned . . .”

  She closed her eyes, hanging on to every beautiful word he said. The simple prayer was over all too fast, then she felt him lowering her gently into the water. She leaned back to help him and felt the water reach her hair then cover her face, body, legs. Every last particle of her.

  Washed clean.

  Ben lifted her, and she opened her eyes to look at him. He wore the most amazing smile, and he gave her hand a squeeze. She turned and hugged him, right there in the font.

  “Thank you.”

  Forty-Nine

  Thanksgiving at the home of Jane’s parents the next day was
total chaos. Tara had barely stepped through the door of the Warners’ home when she started having serious reservations about coming at all.

  She was clean now, perfect for a little while. Well, probably not anymore, because I was vain enough to think that. But, at the least, she didn’t want to seriously mess up by losing it with some kid just a day after her baptism.

  And there were kids everywhere.

  Tall ones, short ones, babies, teenagers, and the really weird ones in between. All together, this many people younger than eighteen years old was nothing short of terrifying.

  “Feels just like home,” Ben said, settling right in on the sofa. He propped one leg on the other, put his arm across the back of the couch, and beckoned for Tara to join him.

  “Go ahead,” Jane said. “Peter and I are going to put the babies down for a nap in one of the bedrooms. Be back in a few minutes.”

  As she sat, Tara eyed the group of medium-sized boys who had previously infiltrated and were hiding in various spots, each with some sort of play weapon in his possession. Every now and then, one of them popped out from behind a wingback chair or the overturned piano bench, and a foam arrow went flying.

  Two little girls—older than Maddie but not yet to that awkward middle stage—sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace, playing a board game. Tara’s eyes flitted from them to the boys to the various people filtering through the room. She leaned back into the cushions and tried to relax, as a teenager talking a mile a minute on a cell phone came in and perched on the arm of the sofa. A toddler with a bottle hanging from her mouth followed him. The tiny girl teetered on unsteady legs then fell headlong into Tara’s knees. Tara quickly set her upright and tried to hush her crying. The noise must have annoyed the teenager because he took off. To Tara’s relief, the toddler followed.

  Grateful for the respite, she leaned forward, head in her hands. “Isn’t having this many people in one house against fire code?”