An Accidental Mom

by Loree Lough

  “Because we don’t know how she got here, or where her owners are. She’s a mystery. So I started calling her Miss Terry, Missy for short.”

  As his mother had when Lily explained the reasons behind the name choice, Max groaned. “I get it. ‘Mys-tery.’” He shook his head. “That’s reachin’, Lil,’ he teased. “Really reachin’.”

  He pulled into the long, ribboning lane that connected the highway to the house. “Place looks just as I remember it,” Max said, parking in the circular drive.

  “Wow,” Nate said. “It’s as big as the castle at Disney World!” He popped out of the car, sneakered feet thudding across the bridge’s wide planks. “Look, Dad. A river!” he said, pointing.

  “And Lily’s dad put it there, with his own two hands,” Max said. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Nate’s voice was filled with amazement. “Yeah. I’ll say.”

  Lily led the way to the barn, with Nate skipping on ahead and Max walking on her left. “Dad has never done anything halfway.”

  Max nodded. “My pop was the same way. He never built a river, mind you,” he teased, “but he always said, ‘Do your best or don’t bother.’ Didn’t matter if I was cleaning my room or doing homework or mowing the lawn. ‘It’s a test of a man’s character,’ he’d tell me, ‘to see what kind of work he’ll put out when he thinks nobody’s watching.’” Using his chin as a pointer, he nodded at Nate. “I’m trying to do for him what my dad did for me.”

  “You’re doing a terrific job. Nate’s a great kid, and he didn’t get that way with smoke and mirrors.”

  “I’m trying,” he said again. “But they’re big shoes to fill,” he said. “Real big.”

  “Your dad was a wonderful man,” Lily agreed. She remembered Max’s father from Youth Group at church. He’d volunteered one evening a week to run the program that allowed parish teens to gather for basketball or board games, movies in town, or just sit around, talking. He’d organized fund-raisers, picnics, collections for the needy, and taught “his kids” the importance of sharing not only their time, but themselves.

  “My biggest regret,” he said, “is that Nate will never meet him.”

  “And I’ll bet he regrets not getting to know Nate. Hard not to love that kid.”

  Max stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She didn’t know what to make of the intense eye contact, didn’t know how to read the silent message he sent on the invisible cable connecting their gazes.

  “Dad! Lily!” Nate called. “I can hear ’em in there!”

  The boy stood, ear pressed to the barn door, waving them forward. It was enough to get Lily’s feet moving. “We’ll have to be very quiet,” she whispered, opening the door, “and move very slowly once we get inside, so we don’t startle anybody.”

  Nate nodded, dark eyes bright with anticipation. Max looked pretty excited himself, Lily thought, smiling. As the threesome walked among the cages and stalls, Lily introduced them to her “patients.”

  Missy loped up, long golden fur rippling with each happy stride. She stopped just feet away from Nate, rear end in the air and tail wagging as she lowered her shoulders, an invitation to play.

  His grin made it clear that he was more than happy to oblige. “Hi, girl,” he said, kneeling on the straw-covered floor.

  The dog nuzzled the crook of his neck. “Hey, that tickles!” he said, laughing so hard he lost his balance and rolled onto his side. “And your nose is cold!” he added. On his knees again, he hugged her. “I like you, Missy. You’re fun!”

  Max leaned his forearm on a stall door and shook his head. “Gonna be hard, makin’ a clean getaway from here after that introduction.”

  So he’d made the decision, had he, that Nate couldn’t have the dog? It was a shame…for Nate. But good for her, because she’d become very attached to the retriever.

  Lamont’s pup, Obnoxious, joined them, his quiet, breathy barks starting up a whole new fit of giggles in Nate. “Do all your dogs have cold noses?”

  “These are the only dogs we have,” Lily said. “And yes, most dogs have cold, wet snouts.”

  “Snouts,” Nate giggled. “That’s funny, Lily.” He jumped up, grabbed Max’s hand and asked, “Dad, Dad! Are we having ham for Thanksgiving dinner like we did last year?”

  “Where did that come from?” Max said.

  “Well, Lily said snouts, and pigs have snouts, and— I dunno. I just thought of it.” He went back to playing with the dogs.

  Lily frowned slightly. “Ham, instead of the traditional turkey dinner and all the trimmings?”

  Max blushed guiltily. “Never learned how to roast a turkey, but ham I can do.”

  “Dad calls it our Canned Holiday feast, ’cause everything comes out of a can. ’Cept the gravy. That comes in a jar.” He hid his grin behind both hands. “’Member how you forgot to thaw out the pun-kin pie last year?” A merry giggle punctuated the question. “And we had to slice it with the ’lectric knife? And how it crunched when we ate it? That was really funny, huh, Dad.”

  Max’s blush deepened. “Yeah. A real memory-maker, all right.” He lifted both shoulders and extended his hands, palm up. “I never claimed to be a French chef.”

  “Well, sounds to me like you did just fine, cooking for two.” Lily hoped, even as she said it, that Max would correct her, that he’d disagree and point out how many others had joined them at their holiday table. When he remained silent, she realized they’d spent the day alone.

  Had they eaten all their holiday dinners that way?

  The picture of the pair of them, huddled over a Formica table at Georgia’s Diner, eating TV dinners or canned ham, upset her more than she could bear. And Georgia wasn’t well enough yet to stand all day, basting the turkey, mixing up the stuffing, whipping potatoes….

  “We always have a huge feast on Thanksgiving,” Lily said, opening a can of dog food. “You and Nate are more than welcome. Georgia and Robert, too, of course.” She plopped the meat into a bowl near the one-eyed owl.

  Nate looked up at her as if he believed she’d hung the moon. “You mean a real turkey, with gravy and stuffing…and everything?”

  Lily laughed. “Yep. And a whole table full of desserts, too.” To Max she said, “Nadine always joins us, and she’s bringing one of her sons and his family this year. It’ll be great. A big old-fashioned fiesta!”

  The boy wiggled his pointer finger, summoning his dad closer. “Can we go, Dad?”

  Max looked hesitant. “You’re sure it’ll be all right with your dad?”

  “Absolutely. ‘The more, the merrier,’ he always says.” She spooned dog food into another container in the hawk’s cage. “Eat up, now,” she crooned to it. “You have a long way to go before your wing is healed well enough for you to fly home.”

  The bird cocked its head, watching Lily first with one gleaming eye, then the other. As she scrubbed her hands, Lily said, “Maybe after dinner on Thursday, all you fellas can have yourselves a rousing game of football.”

  Father and son followed her around the barn, looking over her shoulder as she changed bandages, fed and watered every creature, and gave each one a moment of affection and one-on-one attention. Nate stared, open-mouthed, as she petted the one-eyed owl. “Aren’t you scared he’ll bite you? He has a very sharp beak.”

  “No,” Lily said, stroking the feathered hunter’s head, “because I’ve gotten to know him very well.” To the owl, she said, “You would never bite me, would you?” In response, it merely blinked its golden eye.

  Lily washed up again, and as she dried her hands she said, “How ’bout some hot chocolate, Nate? I make mine from scratch.”

  “Scratch? What’s that?”

  “It means ‘not from a mix,’” Max offered.

  “Is it better than the stuff in the little envelopes?”

  “Way better.” He chuckled. “What a great way to top off a cold Sunday evening.”

  Missy pranced alongside her as she led them down the flagstone path connecting
the barn to the back porch, wondering as they went what they’d find to talk about while she prepared the cocoa, while they sipped it.

  “I like Lily, Dad….”

  Lily knew she wasn’t supposed to have heard that; the boy had done his four-year-old best to whisper.

  “…and not just ’cause she’s pretty, either.”

  It was all she could do to keep from turning around to see how Max had reacted to that.

  “Ditto,” he said.

  “Ditto? What’s ‘ditto,’ Dad?”

  “It means ‘I feel the same way.’”

  He hadn’t lowered his voice, hadn’t even attempted to keep her from hearing him, Lily noticed.

  For the moment, she forgot the promise she’d made to herself. Dismissed the possibility that Max was just being “nice.” Why not enjoy the possibility that he had feelings for her that went beyond the boundaries of friendship—just for the moment, of course.

  “Is Missy allowed in the house?”

  “Sure,” Lily said over her shoulder.

  “My friend in Chicago had a dog but it wasn’t allowed inside. Which was weird, ’cause he had a big ol’ green lizard with pointy things on his back, and his mom let him keep that in his bedroom!”

  What would they talk about?

  Something told her that with Nate around, topics of conversation wouldn’t be a problem.

  Max’s quiet, masculine laughter floated on the chilly November breeze as Lily bit her lower lip to keep from saying Thank you, Lord! out loud.

  Chapter Seven

  The kitchen was warm with the scents and sounds of festive Thanksgiving preparation. On the stove, lids danced atop steaming pots, while on the counter, loaves of home-baked bread, rolls and biscuits, blanketed with blue-striped towels, sat in orderly rows. The timer dinged, and Lily put down the potato peeler to grab an oven mitt.

  Max had intended to join her here, and offer to help if he could. But in the minute or so since he’d rounded the corner, he’d stood, mesmerized. It surprised him to see Lily alone in the room, handling each womanly chore with deft precision; he’d expected to find all three of the London girls in there with her, laughing and talking as they put the finishing touches on the Thanksgiving banquet. Surprised, but relieved, because this way, he could watch her unnoticed.

  She’d piled her long, thick hair atop her head with a green plastic band that matched her shirt. Wisps of hair that had escaped the upsweep curled in the hollow at the back of her neck; a few more formed bouncy ringlets beside her ears. He’d give anything to press a gentle kiss to those lovely lobes.

  After painting the turkey with a thick coat of melted butter, she covered it with a tent made of aluminum foil and closed the oven door. The bracelet he’d given her caught a beam of light, forcing his attention to her slender wrist. Max wouldn’t mind placing a soft kiss there, either.

  Suddenly, she began humming a tune he hadn’t heard since boyhood. Smiling, he pocketed his hands and leaned on the door frame. He’d forgotten what a beautiful voice she had. Crossing one booted ankle in front of the other, he listened, captivated by her voice, her movements. She was a vision, a dream come to life.

  “’Over the river and through the woods,’” she sang. Then, without looking up, she said, “You remember the words, Max, feel free to sing along.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “How long have you known I was here?”

  When she met his eyes, his heart thumped and his stomach lurched. She was ravishing, what with her heat-pinked cheeks and big green eyes. And that smile… She could charm the leaves from the trees with that smile, Max thought.

  “Not long,” she said.

  Something told him she’d seen him the instant he’d appeared in the doorway, and she’d only said “not long” to spare him any embarrassment. Even as a kid, Lily had gone out of her way to make others feel good, even if it meant taking it on the chin herself. And he’d always loved her for that.

  Loved? No, Max admitted. Nothing past tense about it.

  He took a few steps closer. “Anything I can do to help?”

  She cocked her head, gave it a moment’s thought. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said. He bowed, more to keep her from reading his emotions than to emulate a gentleman. Because there was no getting around it: Max didn’t think he could deny her anything, ever. Just part of the problem, he admitted. Years ago, love for Lily had made him feel guilty, because even at eighteen, he’d known how inappropriate his feelings for her were because of their age difference. He’d been too young, too immature back then to understand what motivated his reaction to her. But he understood it now. Her father had been right when he’d said her heart was as big as her head. Even as a callow youth, Max had sensed that she was good—that she’d be good for him.

  “You can go into the dining room, see how Cammi and Violet and Ivy are doing. They swore they could fit all twenty-six of us at the table, and I’m dying to find out how they did it…if they did it!”

  Much as he wanted to do what she’d asked, Max couldn’t leave the kitchen. It felt good in here, cozy and comfortable. “Why don’t we just wait ’til it’s time to put stuff on the table. Let it be a surprise.”

  “I’ve never been too keen on surprises.” She held up the paring knife, used it as a pointer and grinned. “You can peel potatoes, instead, if you’d rather.”

  Laughing, Max held up his hands and ducked out the door, saying, “I’ll be back in a second.”

  “Thank you!” he heard her say as he stepped into the dining room.

  Immediately, he could see that her sisters had been busy. The already-long dining room table where he’d shared many a Sunday dinner as a boy had been lengthened even more by the addition of two card tables at each end. Their thin brown-painted legs looked weak and flimsy by comparison to the sturdy light oak that supported the main table. China, crystal and silver glinted in the light of the ornate chandelier overhead. Mismatched chairs, mixed among those that matched the table, lent a casual warmth to the elegance.

  Lily was whipping potatoes when he returned to the kitchen. “Couldn’t find them,” he reported, stepping up beside her. “But the job’s done and it looks great. Only thing missing is food.”

  She spooned a dollop of sour cream into the mashed spuds. “Mmm, perfect,” she said over the whir of the electric mixer. “Would you do me one more favor—ask the girls to come help me put the food on the buffet?”

  “You bet.”

  “Thanks, Max.”

  He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, allowed his crooked finger to graze her lightly freckled cheek. Max leaned close and kissed it, lingering for an instant because she smelled like flowers and line-dried sheets and sweet butter.

  Lily stiffened slightly at first, and just when he thought she’d tell him to back off, she faced him and, closing her eyes, invited him to kiss her again—for real this time.

  It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  The moment pulsed and crackled, like the energy that surged through the cord, powering the mixer. She must have felt it, too, for she sighed and leaned closer, lifting the appliance from the deep pot as she did.

  Egg-size blobs of mashed potatoes spun loose from the beaters and landed splat, on Max’s shoulder, on her cheek, on his forehead, on the back of her hand. Lips still pressed to his, she began to giggle. “Maybe we should share some of this with the rest of them.”

  “No way,” he said, a forefinger to her full lower lip. “This is mine. All mine.”

  Her smile vanished like smoke as she blinked up at him. What was going on in that pretty head of hers? he wondered. One thing was certain, the magic of the moment had disappeared. “Well, guess I’ll round up the relatives and herd them into the dining room.”

  One delicate brow rose slightly as the hint of a grin lifted the corners of her lovely lips. “I’ll turn you loose, then,” she said, though one hand still held the mixer, the other the pot
handle.

  She had it all—a big heart, looks, brains, too many talents to list, and a sense of humor, too. “If I have the sense God gave a goose, I wouldn’t let you get away this time.”

  He saw her swallow, heard her quick intake of air as she looked left, right…anywhere but into his eyes. “Well,” she started, “I, um…”

  Difficult as it was to let her go, Max pocketed his hands and headed for the door. “How long ’til soup’s on?” he said from the hall.

  She cleared her throat. Touched fingertips to her lips. “Five minutes.” She looked away, then met his eyes to add, “Ten at most.”

  Nodding, he walked away smiling to himself. His kiss had rattled her. Because she hadn’t expected it? Because she had enjoyed it every bit as much as he had? A frown replaced the smile at his last thought: Because she’d finally figured out he wasn’t right for her?

  His heart had pounded during that kiss, but not half as hard as it hammered at that possibility. He walked into the family room, saw his son frolicking with Missy as the adults discussed the weather, politics, who’d win today’s football game.

  “London girls,” he said, standing at attention and saluting, “report for kitchen duty.”

  When the laughter ended, Cammi, Violet and Ivy hurried to the kitchen. “You’re such a nut!” Cammi said as she passed him.

  “Y’gotta love a guy with a sense of humor,” Ivy chimed in.

  His practiced smile hid the truth. He’d spent the past six years pretending to look happy. Obviously, since no one ever gave a hint they suspected his joviality was an act, he’d gotten pretty good at it.

  What would it take, he asked himself as the ladies filed by, to make him happy…truly happy?

  Lily stuck her head out the kitchen door and smiled, waving her sisters into the room. “I thought you’d abandoned ship!” she teased. “Everything’s ready—just needs to be put on the buffet.”

  “You’re terrific, Lil,” Ivy said.

  “But really, you should have let us help more,” Vi agreed. “I don’t know why you insisted on doing it all yourself.”

  “I know why,” Cammi singsonged. “To show a certain…”