by Judy Duarte
Donna placed her hand on Lainie’s arm. “Believe me, Jim and I want to see that happen, too, but since you’re no stranger to foster care, you probably have an idea how long these things can take. It’s not just the funding we need, it’s licensing and paperwork, too. I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient until Jim and I work through the system.”
Lainie’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. “Yes, of course. Sometimes I let my heart and enthusiasm run away with me.”
Drew realized she was eager to see Andre’s family reunited because, after losing touch with her twin sister, she knew how the poor kid felt. He could certainly understand that. He felt sorry for Andre, too, but for a different reason. He admired the wannabe cowboy’s loyalty to his younger brothers and his determination to look out for them.
Family came first. Drew understood that. His mom might have passed away, but he was committed to looking out for his sister—whether she was a preschooler or a grown woman—for the rest of their lives.
“Let’s continue the tour.” Jim led them toward the barn. “Like I said, we don’t have any horses yet, but I’ll show you what we do have. We’ve done a lot of research on animal therapy and have put it to work here. It’s a big part of our program.”
Donna chimed in, “Each child will have their own animal to look after, which will give them something to love. And it will also teach them responsibility.”
Twenty minutes later, after seeing two frisky Australian shepherds, four fluffy kittens, a chicken coop called the Peep-Peep Palace, a mama duck and her ducklings, as well as goats and sheep, the tour ended.
Lainie and Drew thanked the Hoffmans and promised to be in touch soon. Then they climbed into the pickup and headed back to the Rocking C.
They’d barely gone a mile down the road when Drew glanced across the seat and spotted Lainie sporting a grin.
“You sure look happy,” he said.
“You’re right. Helping the Hoffmans and those children has given me a real purpose.”
“You’ve got good instincts. I’ll give you that much.”
Her smile deepened. “Thank you.”
“However, don’t ever pull a stunt like that again.”
Her brow furrowed, and she cocked a sideways glance at him. “What are you talking about?”
“In the professional world, we don’t offer services until we’ve discussed them with the entire team. Lucky for you, I agreed wholeheartedly with your idea and plan to run it past my boss for his approval. But if I’d had any qualms, I would have had to do some fancy backpedaling, and then we’d both look like idiots.”
Her once happy expression sobered. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, and I’m glad supporting the Hoffmans and Kidville gives you a sense of purpose, but it’s not the same for me. Promoting them is my job.”
“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I shouldn’t have used the word we.”
A pang of guilt, as well as sympathy, lanced his chest. He hadn’t meant to scold her, especially since this was more than a job to her. But he couldn’t get carried away with soft, tender feelings—especially for Lainie. He had enough to worry about without taking another waif under his wing.
Yet just looking at her now, seated next to him in the truck, her eyes bright and focused on whatever she had on her mind, he wouldn’t consider her vulnerable. She looked strong, proud...and lovable.
Whoa. Don’t even go there. Drew returned his focus to the road. He’d better watch his step when he was around Lainie. Not to mention his heart.
* * *
In spite of being reprimanded by her “business associate” for being unprofessional, Lainie entered the house with her heart nearly bursting and her head abuzz with holiday plans. She’d thought she might be too excited to eat. That is, until she took her first step into the mudroom and the warm aroma of tomatoes, garlic and basil accosted her.
Molly stood at the stove, holding a wooden spoon in one hand and a potholder in the other.
“Something sure smells good,” Lainie said. “Thanks for covering for me.”
“You’re welcome. I love to cook.” Molly lowered the flame, then turned away from the pot simmering on the stove. “How’d the tour go?”
“Oh, my gosh.” Lainie wasn’t sure she could put her thoughts and feelings into words. “Kidville is amazing.”
Molly burst into a smile. “That’s exactly how I felt after my first visit. I’m so glad I get to work there.”
“I can see why.” Lainie scanned the kitchen. “Need any help?”
“No, I’ve got it all under control. But do you mind keeping an eye on the spaghetti sauce for a couple of minutes? I forgot to give Brad a letter that came in yesterday’s mail, and he’s waiting for it.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
Molly had no more than shut the back door, when the telephone rang. Lainie answered and was surprised to hear Mr. Carlton’s voice on the other end.
“I’ve gotta tell you,” the editor said. “If you continue to turn in quality columns like the one we just published, I might have to hire an answering service to handle all the calls we’re receiving from Dear Debbie fans. I told you they’re pretty vocal, and this time they weren’t complaining. They like the direction the column is going. Of course, we did change the font and the layout.”
Seriously? He was taking credit for the positive reader response?
Okay, so the advice she’d given had come from the mouth of a wise old man. But Lainie had written the column herself, using her own words, and she was going to stake a claim on some of that success, if not all of it.
“We also made it easier to find the column—right next to the obituaries.” He chuckled. “Kind of apropos, don’t you think? Life’s a bitch, and then you die.”
Lainie went silent. Did she really want to work for this guy?
“Just a little editorial humor, kid. But I’m glad Dear Debbie is finally back on track.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to know that you and the readers like what I’ve done. I also want to give you a heads-up about something else. I’m sending you a proposal for an article about a local children’s home called Kidville. I took a tour, and it was impressive.”
“I’ve heard about that place. What do you have in mind?”
She told him more—about the unique setting, the administrators and their animal therapy plan. But just enough to whet his appetite.
“Send me that proposal,” he said, giving her the green light she’d been hoping for.
When the call ended, she was tempted to hole up in her room and outline her proposal, but she couldn’t neglect the Dear Debbie column when she was on a roll. And that meant she’d have to come up with a clever answer to at least one of the latest letters.
Lainie had just checked the spaghetti sauce when Molly returned to the kitchen.
“What else can I do to help?” Lainie asked.
“Actually, not much. The tables are set, and I have everything else under control.”
It certainly looked like it. The salad was made and in a bowl on the counter. The garlic bread was wrapped in foil and ready to pop into the oven.
“Are you sure?” Lainie asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Then if you don’t mind, I’ll take off for a while, but I’ll be back to help you serve dinner.”
“Take your time.”
Lainie thanked her, then with her confidence bolstered by Mr. Carlton’s phone call, she slipped off to her room to look over the latest Dear Debbie letters.
Only trouble was, five minutes turned to ten, and as the tick-tocks of the windup clock on the bureau grew louder and louder, she feared she was going to be a one-column wonder.
There wa
s, however, one letter that struck an interesting chord. It had been written by a woman who’d dreamed of getting married, creating a home of her own and having babies.
I met a great guy at work and was immediately attracted to him. He’s sweet, funny and cute. I couldn’t believe someone hadn’t snatched him up already, and before long, I fell head over heels for him.
And that’s my problem. I just found out that he’s a widower with four small children.
If I marry him, I’d have to give up my dream of having a family of my own.
Lainie understood the woman’s dream as well as her dilemma, but she sympathized with those poor, motherless kids. Her first impulse was to tell the woman that the two adults involved would have to be fully committed to the children or everyone would be miserable.
I fell head over heels for him...
Did she love the man enough to be his life partner? To join his team and mother those children as her own? It was impossible to know.
Lainie blew out a sigh. Doling out the wrong advice would be devastating.
What would Sully tell the woman? She glanced at the clock on the bureau. There was no time to ask him now. It was almost five o’clock, so she shut down her laptop and left it in her room. Then she went to help Molly serve the meals.
When she entered the kitchen, the young ranch hands had already gathered, and Brad was introducing them to his mom.
But it wasn’t Molly or the cowboys who caught Lainie’s eye. It was Drew, who stood off to the side, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed in an alluring, masculine pose. When his gaze zeroed in on her, any plans she might have had scattered to the wayside.
“Got a minute?” he asked.
For him? She was tempted to say, “I’ve got all night.” Instead, she nodded and let him lead her out to the front porch.
* * *
Once Drew and Lainie stepped outside and out of earshot, she asked, “What’s up?”
“I’m not sure if you had a chance to speak to any of the nurses yet, but Chloe Martinez called a few minutes ago. She and her husband Joe own the Rocking C and plan to be home for Christmas. So I mentioned our plan to host a party for the kids.”
“What’d she say?”
“Chloe loved the idea. In fact, she’d like to help pull it all together, but she and Joe are just finishing up their graduate programs at the university in Houston, and they can’t leave school until the twenty-third.”
“So the party’s still on.” Lainie beamed, her enthusiasm impossible to ignore. “That’s awesome. There isn’t any reason we can’t get started with the planning and prep work.”
“I guess not, but there could be a few bumps in the road.”
Lainie’s smile paled, and her lips parted. “What do you mean?”
“There’s no telling what the old guys will think about it. Some of them, like Rex and Gilbert, can get a little crotchety. They might not appreciate having a bunch of children running around.”
“Seriously? You think they’d be upset?”
Drew hadn’t meant to steal her happiness, but he’d wanted to warn her of the possibility so she wouldn’t be disillusioned if things didn’t work out the way she wanted them to. He’d had his share of disappointing holidays.
“There’s no way to know how they’ll react until we tell them,” he said. “And the sooner the better.”
Lainie nodded, worry etched on her face.
He placed a hand on her shoulder to offer support and comfort. “Come on, let’s go.”
Then as he guided her into the house, his hand slipped around her in a show of solidarity. At least, that’s what he told himself he was doing as they continued to the dining room, where the retired cowboys sat around the table.
“While you’re all together,” Drew said, “we wanted to share something we have in the works.” He glanced at Lainie, who was biting down on her lower lip, which he found arousing. And distracting, so his words stalled for a beat.
Fortunately, Lainie shook off whatever apprehension she’d been having and spoke up for both of them. “Earlier this afternoon, Drew and I visited a home for abused and neglected children that’s located a few miles down the road.”
“You mean the one at the old Clancy place?” Sully asked.
“Yes, that’s it.” Lainie went on to sing the praises of the Hoffmans and their innovative home. “So we had this brilliant idea about hosting a Christmas party for those kids here on the Rocking C.”
Drew’s hand slipped from her shoulder, his fingers trailing along her back until he drew away and moved closer to the table. “What do you say, guys?”
“Christmas is a lot more fun when little tykes are around,” Gilbert said. “We’d better get a bigger tree than that scrawny stick we had last year.”
Rex agreed. “My Jennilyn used to make a big deal out of decorating the house, baking all kinds of sweets and wrapping gifts. And that reminds me, we ought to have something under that tree for those kids.”
“How many are living there?” Gilbert asked. “It might be nice if we took up a collection, then sent someone shopping for us.”
At that, Sully chimed in, “I’m pretty good at wrapping. A few years back, I helped the local Four H Club at their gift wrapping booth they had at the Wexler mall.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re onboard,” Lainie told Sully.
“Hey,” he said. “I like kids.”
“Good,” Lainie said, “because you’d make a perfect Santa.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Rex howled with laughter. “And Sully won’t need any stuffing around his middle, either.”
Sully puffed out his chest. “I’d be delighted to be Santa Claus.” Then he turned to Rex. “I’d rather have a little meat and muscle on me than look like a bony ol’ scarecrow.”
Gilbert slapped his hand on the table and let out a hoot. “Now there’s an idea. If we host a Halloween party for those kids, we can prop Rex up in the cornfield and let him play the part.”
Lainie’s excitement lit her pretty face. “You guys are the best, you know that?”
“Ah, shucks,” Sully said. “No, we aren’t.”
“Speak for yourself, Sully,” Gilbert said. “I’m thinking I’m pretty dang good.”
Drew couldn’t help but laugh at the men’s humor. When Lainie looked at him, he gave her a wink.
And not just because their Christmas party was a go. If he had his way, promoting Kidville and the Rocking Chair Ranch wasn’t the only joint venture they’d start up.
* * *
Four days later, Drew shook his head in disbelief. Somehow, he’d let Lainie rope him into making Christmas cookies.
“You do realize it’s still more than a week before the party.” He draped the red-and-white checkered apron she’d suggested he wear over the back of a chair. He didn’t mind assuming kitchen duties. Heck, he’d done most of the cooking and cleaning after his mom got sick. But he’d never dressed the part. “I don’t know why we have to bake cookies tonight.”
“Because there’s so much to do at the last minute.” She sprinkled flour on the open breadboard, then handed him a rolling pin. “And this is something we can do ahead of time.”
“But the cookies won’t taste very good if they aren’t fresh.”
She didn’t seem the least bit concerned. “I plan to freeze them and thaw them the night before the party. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” Then she reached out, touched his forearm and smiled. “You agreed to help me, remember? You said you’d do anything that needed to be done.”
“Yes, but when I made that offer, I was thinking more along the lines of getting the tree and decorating it.”
“You can do that, too.”
He’d had every intention of doing his part and more. He just hadn
’t expected to work in the kitchen. Or to be swayed into doing so by the singe of Lainie’s touch or the warmth of her smile.
She placed a lump of dough on the floured board. “I appreciate your help. Do you know how to do this?”
“I’ll manage.” He’d seen his mom make biscuits before. And once, while she’d been on chemo and sicker than a dog, he’d stepped in and taken over for her. They’d purchased the heat-and-serve variety at the grocery store after that.
Lainie unscrewed the lid of a mason jar to use for cutting out circles. “I wish I had some real cookie cutters. Then we could make trees and stars and other Christmas shapes. But this time, plain round ones will have to do.” She pointed to the lumpy side of the dough. “Roll it out evenly or the cookies will be lopsided.”
Okay, boss.” Drew rolled out the dough flat and even, but the edges were cracked. “Am I doing this right?”
Lainie took a moment to look over his work. “That’s perfect.” She handed him the jar lid. “Make the circles as close together as you can.”
He followed her instructions, then placed them on the pan.
“Let’s get the first batch in the oven,” she said, setting the timer.
He glanced at the large mixing bowl on the counter. They’d hardly made a dent in the dough. “How many of these are we going to make?”
“Dozens and dozens. I love frosted sugar cookies, don’t you?” She didn’t wait for his answer and went back to work, her holiday excitement impossible to ignore.
It was also easy to appreciate. She had a girlish look to her, not to mention a little flour on her nose. Yet at the same time—maybe it was the yellow gingham apron she wore—he saw a domestic goddess.
Lainie was going to make a good wife and mother. A pretty one. He imagined coming home each night after work and finding her in the kitchen, preparing his meals, and a zing shot through him.
He quickly shook off the thought. Was he nuts? Bumping elbows with her tonight was one thing. But words like permanent, long-term and forever weren’t in his vocabulary.
Before long, a sweet cookie aroma filled the room. After Lainie pulled the first pan from the oven and replaced it with the next, she removed powdered sugar and a bottle of vanilla from the pantry. Then she took milk from the fridge and placed it on the counter, next to a cube of butter that was already softening.
