Читать книгу I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas - Lenora Worth - Страница 12

The door leading from the garage burst open. Lydia bounced into the room, wearing a black crepe dressy pantsuit, her blond bob shining as brightly as her diamond earrings.

Myla recognized her from the many pictures of Nick and Lydia hanging around the house. But Carolyn…was she Nick’s girlfriend? Nick had been busy doing a good deed last night and now look what it had caused him. Even Lydia’s upbeat mood didn’t help the situation.

“Sorry I’m late,” she began, her earrings twinkling like twin stars, “but I had to stop by—” Her eyes registered shock for a split second before she burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Food fight? Nick, why didn’t you tell me? You know how I love to throw my food at you!”

“Not now, Lydia,” Nick said, his growl more pronounced than the drooling Pooky’s. “We’ve had a bit of an accident and I was just trying to get to the bottom of it.”

“Looks like Pooky here beat you to it,” Lydia countered, rushing forward to pet the massive Saint Bernard. “Hey, boy, what did you get into this time?”

“It’s not Pooky’s fault,” Carolyn said as she sidestepped a pile of shrimp dip to comfort the hyper dog. “I walked over for the party, so I brought Pooky with me. I had no idea that a cat and two strange children would attack us when we entered the back door.”

“Next time, try using the front door like the other guests,” Lydia replied sweetly, though her eyes indicated she felt anything but sweet.

“Ladies, please,” Nick said, raking a hand through his crisp dark curls. Turning to Myla, he watched as she knelt to comfort her sobbing daughter. Instantly, he regretted his anger from before. “Jesse, how’d we manage to acquire a cat?” he asked, his tone deceptively soft, his eyes centered on Myla as if to say this is your fault.

Jesse looked up to her mother for reassurance. Myla, stung by Nick’s anger and by Carolyn’s highhanded attitude toward her children, shot him a defiant look. Thinking she could kiss this new job goodbye, she patted Jesse on the shoulder. “Just tell the truth, honey.”

Jesse took a deep breath to clear away another round of sobs. “Mr. Nick, I’m sorry. But today when Momma was getting stuff ready for your party, me and Patrick went for a walk out in the backyard. We weren’t supposed to, ‘cause I’m sick and Patrick gets into stuff, but we snuck out…. Anyway, we heard a cat meowing behind that big building by the pool. Patrick came back in the house when Momma wasn’t looking and got some food for the cat. It was real hungry.” Sniffing, she looked up at Nick. “We wanted to help it so it wouldn’t freeze to death, like you helped us, Mr. Nick.” She wiped her nose again with her hand, her big blue-green eyes wide with the importance of her confession.

Nick looked uncomfortable, but Myla saw the touch of warmth Jesse’s innocent words had provoked in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the cat, sweetie?” she asked her daughter, her heart breaking. Jesse loved animals. She’d never let one starve or stay out in the cold, in spite of her allergies around certain animals. Hunger wasn’t pretty—in animals or humans.

“We were afraid you’d make us let it go,” Jesse said, dropping her eyes to the floor.

“Yeah, and we didn’t want Mr. Nick to kick us out,” Patrick piped up as he held out his dip-covered fingers. “I tried to catch it, Mamma, but it was too fast. And besides, I’m scared of that big dog.”

“Pooky wouldn’t hurt a flea,” Carolyn protested, looking from one child to the other accusingly. Then she turned to glare up at Nick. “You told me you helped some people out last night; you didn’t tell me they were staying in your home.”

Bristling, Myla shot Carolyn a proud look. “I’m working for Mr. Rudolph while his housekeeper is on vacation.”

“Working for Nick?” Carolyn whirled around. “Is that true—even after what you told me last night?”

Nick’s look warned her to drop it. “Things have changed since then. I’ll explain later.”

Myla’s eyes met his. He was embarrassed, but she saw the hint of an apology. He was too much of a gentleman to make a scene. Obviously though, he’d avoided telling Carolyn everything. Wondering if he was ashamed of her being here, Myla felt like a circus sideshow.

Deciding she’d really give them all something to talk about and try to save Nick’s reputation and her much needed job in the process, she pinned Carolyn with a level look. “Yes, it’s true. Mr. Rudolph was kind enough to help us out last night. You see, we’ve had a rough time lately. We’ve been living in our car.” That statement caused an audible rumbling through the room, but it didn’t stop Myla. “He found us stranded on the interstate during the ice storm, and he brought us here. Knowing I needed a job, he asked me to work for him while his regular housekeeper, Henrietta, is on vacation. And as long as he doesn’t have a problem with that, I don’t, either. I’m just very thankful that he was kind enough to care about my children and me.

“The Bible says, ‘Blessed are ye that hunger now: for ye shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep now: for ye shall laugh.’ Yesterday, I was hungry and weeping. Today, thanks to Mr. Rudolph’s kindness, I’m warm and full and laughing, in spite of all of this mess.” Dismissing Carolyn’s surprised, cynical look, she turned to Nick. “Isn’t this the true spirit of Christmas? You took us in, when there was no room at the inn. You did something entirely unselfish. It’s the best Christmas present I could ask for, and I thank you. And I take full responsibility for my children’s actions.”

Nick stood still, in shock. He should be angry that she’d turned his party into a sermon on the mount. Instead, he felt a great rush of warmth moving through his body. Ashamed, he blinked to hold back the blur of tears forming in his eyes. He’d never seen a woman as brave as Myla Howell. She had more courage among this crowd of cutthroats than he’d ever possessed, ruthless as he was supposed to be.

Of course, her courage was one thing. Being called a pushover was quite another. Glancing around, he waited for the looks and whispers that were sure to come. But to his surprise, his guests didn’t condemn him or laugh at him. They came, one by one, to pat him on the back.

The senator was the first in line. “Perfect, my friend. Helping the homeless is one of my campaign pledges. I’ll hold you up as an example.”

That comment was followed by Dottie’s tear-filled pledge. “How could I ever doubt your sincerity again, Nick? Jacob and I will be happy to serve on the board of Rudolph Oil, and I intend to call our broker first thing tomorrow and instruct her to buy a substantial amount of Rudolph Oil shares.” Then, glancing at Myla, she whispered, “And I’ll leave a check for your housekeeper, too. A little Christmas gift. Such a tragedy.”

“But…” Nick didn’t know what to say. Myla had single-handedly turned a disaster into a public relations dream. Now, after giving her eloquent speech, she went on to introduce herself to the group and assure them that they would have a decent meal, after all.

Sending Nick a daring look, she called, “Pizza, anyone?” Then, turning to him with a gracious smile, she whispered, “You can’t fire me now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered back, his eyes full of a grudging admiration, and his heart full of something warm and unfamiliar.

All the guests started talking and laughing, except Carolyn. Myla saw the blonde throw Nick a scrutinizing look.

Carolyn stood, then smiled sweetly at Nick. “Since when did you find religion, Nicky?”

Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Carolyn, why don’t you wait for me in the den?”

“I’ll order the pizza,” Lydia said, jumping over broken dishes to find the phone. “How about three vegetarians and three with pepperoni and sausage, all large with extra cheese?”

Everyone clapped their approval. Lydia herded the humans and Pooky toward the den. “Just make yourselves at home while I dial the emergency pizza number.”

Carolyn gave Myla a cold look, then pranced into the den with the rest of the crowd. As she walked past Nick, she said, “We really need to talk.”

Nick watched her go, then turned to stare at his wrecked kitchen, before settling his gaze on Myla and her daughter. Lifting Patrick down, he sent the little boy scooting toward his mother. A long sigh escaped from deep within Nick’s lungs as he watched Patrick hug Myla’s neck and smear her with shrimp dip. How could he be mad at them when they stood huddled together as if he were about to issue an order for their execution?

“I’ll clean it up immediately,” Myla said, her voice firm while her hands shook. “I’m so sorry, Nick.”

He held up a hand to ward off her apology. She’d put up a good front for his guests, but he could see she was visibly upset. She’d said she’d handled a few dinner parties, but never one such as this, he’d wager.

“It’s okay,” he said, pushing away his questions for now. Swallowing the lump of pride caught in his throat, he added, “Thanks. You sure handled that better than I did. You made me sound like a saint.”

“Saint Nick,” Patrick said, giggling as he wiped a glob of dip on his pajamas.

“Not a saint, Patrick,” his mother corrected, “just a very kind and understanding man.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Nick retorted, smiling in spite of himself. “You obviously have me confused with someone else.”

She wouldn’t let him get away so easily. “Oh, no. I know what I’m talking about. You’re uncomfortable in this role, being heroic, I mean. What happened to make you so afraid of reaching out to others, Nick?”

Lydia hung up the phone, interrupting before he could answer. “I can’t believe Carolyn. She knows that dog doesn’t belong at a dinner party. She should have left the big brute at home to run around on that two-acre lot she calls a backyard.”

“She brought him along for protection,” Nick said, glad to change the subject.

Lydia snorted. “I’ve never know Carolyn to need protection.”

“Careful, sis.”

Lydia turned to Myla and the children. “He’s right. I have to remember not to judge too harshly. It’s so nice to meet you. Nick’s told me all about you.”

Myla looked at Nick. Yes, she was sure he’d called Lydia first thing this morning, telling her how much he regretted being a Good Samaritan. “Well, he apparently didn’t tell Carolyn all about us.”

Getting back to the immediate problem, Nick said, “I’m not worried about Carolyn or her dog right now.” Motioning toward the fan, he said, “What about that?”

The cat still sat on guard, its bright yellow eyes narrowing suspiciously each time anyone made a move.

“We’ll get it down and clean it up, don’t worry,” Lydia said. “How about we call it Shredder, kids?”

“Yeah, Shredder,” Patrick agreed, clapping his sticky hands together.

“Who said we were going to keep it?” Nick asked, his hands on his hips.

“The worst is over.” Myla turned to Lydia. “Would you mind getting Shredder out of the way so I can clean this up?”

“Sure.” Lydia called softly to the frightened animal. “We’ll take him to Henny’s sitting room and teach him some manners while you two straighten things out.” The meaningful gaze she shot her brother told him she was referring to much more than the mess on the floor.

“Gee, thanks.” Nick pulled off his navy-and-burgundy patterned wool sweater, then rolled up his blue shirtsleeves so he could get down to work. “Lydia, you just want to see me get my hands dirty, right?”

Lydia bobbed her head and grinned.

Myla stepped forward as Lydia bribed the cat down with a piece of roast beef. “Nick, you don’t have to help.”

The animal refused to come into Lydia’s arms, but did jump down and run into the safety of Henny’s apartment. Lydia and the giggling children followed, discussing the now famous battle with animation.

Left alone, Nick and Myla could only stand and stare around them. Everything was ruined. Nick moaned softly when his eyes lit on the mashed remains of his prized coconut cake.

“You have guests,” Myla stated, picking up the cake plate to remove the source of Nick’s woes. “Go ahead. I’m sure Carolyn needs comforting after her horrid ordeal.”

Nick heard the sarcasm in her words and saw the twitch of a smile pulling at her lips. He relaxed and smiled back, his eyes meeting hers. “Carolyn Parker and I grew up together,” he explained. “She’s divorced and rich, and expects me to jump when she calls. We escort each other around town on various occasions. And about last night—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Myla sidestepped a pile of spinach salad. “Your social life is your business. But why didn’t you tell her everything…about me?”

“Because I didn’t think I owed her an explanation. I didn’t feel the need to go into detail about your situation.”

“That was considerate,” she said, thinking he was one of the most gentlemanly men she’d ever met. Then again, maybe he used his impeccable manners as a shield.

Nick tried to take the flattened cake from her. He wanted a little taste of that wonderful cake before she threw it out. “I’m glad you understand.”

“Oh, I understand.” She turned, looking for the trash can. “And I’m really sorry the children ruined your party.” He tried to pry the cake out of her hand, but she pulled it away. “Nick, I’ve got it. Why don’t you get a mop from the—”

Nick made one last-ditch effort to reach for the cake, leaning forward from the waist so he wouldn’t have to step in the pile of spinach salad. But just as he lunged forward, Myla turned to dump the cake in the trash.

Nick came crashing against her, knocking Myla completely off balance. The cake sailed up as she whirled around. He got a taste of his cake, all right, in the face, as he slipped in salad dressing, with cake and Myla sliding right into his arms. By the time the impact was complete, Myla had cake all over her face and shoulders, too. Unable to move or breath, she watched as Nick licked creamy almond-colored icing off his lips.

His arms holding her, and the remains of the mushed cake, against him, he asked, “Are you all right?” When she nodded, he licked his lips again, causing something like kindling wood to spark and curl in Myla’s jittery stomach. “Ah, that’s so good,” he said, lifting his hands to dump the ruined cake into the trash. “I could have handled anything but losing my coconut cake. I think I’m going to cry.”

Myla huffed a breath, then turned to find a towel. “Please, if you do, don’t mess up the floor.”

“Very funny.”

Nick raised a hand to take the towel from her, his fingers gripping her wrist. Lifting her head, she saw a set of bronze-colored eyes lazily assessing her. Gone was the cold indifference, the quiet reserve, and in its place, a heated brilliance that took her breath away.

“Let me go, Nick,” she said on a soft whisper.

“Wait, you have a big glob of cake on your right cheek.”

Reaching up, she touched her face. “I’ll get it off. Now, let me go so we can clean up this mess.”

“Let’s start right now.”

Before she could move or protest, he began wiping her face, his fingers gently lifting icing and cake filling off her cheek, his amused gaze causing sparks to ignite again in her stomach. She tried to pull away, but he held her steady.

“Right there.” He took the towel and wiped it across her jaw. “Yep, that’s it.” He held her away to inspect his handiwork. “All clean now.”

Myla could only stare at him. What on earth was the man trying to do to her? Here she was, covered with cake and shrimp dip, in the middle of his kitchen, with her children and his sister in one room and a pack of hungry guests as well as a jealous girlfriend in the other. Everything was ruined, and Nick should be angry with her. Instead, he was treating her with such intense concern that she thought she might cry from the sheer sweetness of his gesture. She could have handled his anger; his kindness was much harder to bear.

“Are you finished?” she managed to ask as she gritted her teeth to keep the lump in her throat from choking her.

Nick, seeing the torment in her eyes, stood back, then carefully wiped bacon-and-mustard salad dressing from his khaki trousers. Thinking he’d made her uncomfortable, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, Myla.”

To calm her own wayward feelings, Myla turned to the sink. “It’s all right. I…I’m just surprised that you didn’t…that you aren’t—”

“What?” Confused, Nick tugged her around again.

Myla sighed, then took the towel from his hands. “You should be mad—I promised you everything would work out fine tonight, and now I’ve ruined your party. Why didn’t you just get mad at me?”

A bit amused, Nick lifted a brow. “So, you’re upset because I’m not upset?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes. No! I mean, I could have handled you shouting and ranting. Why did you have to be so nice to me?”

Nick watched as she frantically tried to wipe the counter, not knowing how to comfort her. “I am so sorry,” he repeated, a mock glare coloring his face. “What was I thinking?”

“Exactly,” Myla agreed, unaware that he was smiling behind her back. “You don’t have to be nice!”

Nick understood that she wasn’t used to any tenderness and that realization bothered him. What had she suffered, to make her so wary of a kind gesture? He wanted to ask her, but decided she’d just clam up if he tried. So instead, he teased her. “I promise, if this happens again, I’ll try to be justifiably angry.”

She whirled around just in time to see the sparkle in his eyes. Hiding a smile, Myla relaxed a little. “Guess you miss Henny, huh?”

He laughed. “Yeah, but her dinner parties were never this exciting, I have to admit.” Pivoting, he said, “I’ll go get the mop.”

Her hand shot out to stop him. “Wash your face first.”

Lydia stuck her head around the corner from Henny’s apartment. “By the way, Nick, I thought you both should know—I stopped by Magnolia House on my way over here. They’re full, probably will be until well after the first of the year. But Myla, I did put your name on the waiting list.”

Myla looked up at the man who’d saved her, praying he’d let her stay until she could find somewhere else to go.

Nick didn’t say anything, but she could tell by his blank expression that he wasn’t too pleased with the news. Together, they silently cleaned the kitchen while Lydia got the children and Shredder off to sleep.

Finally, when they’d finished and the whole room had been restored to order, Nick turned to Myla. “Well, at least you can stay here until the first of the year.”

“Yes, and I’m thankful that the good Lord led me to you.”

He gave her a puzzled look, then said, “Maybe it’s the other way around, Myla.”

Myla’s heart soared. Maybe he was beginning to feel differently about Christmas and helping others. She followed him into the den where Pooky lay fast asleep in front of the roaring fire. The guests were playing a game that involved telling the truth regarding scruples.

Carolyn turned to Nick. “Your turn, darling. Are you willing to test your scruples?”

“Scruples?” Nick laughed, his shrug indifferent. “Why, you all know I don’t have any. None at all.”

Myla sat watching him. He had deliberately downplayed his good side, the side she’d seen firsthand. You’re wrong, Mr. Rudolph. You have scruples—you just haven’t used them in a while.

Again, she had to wonder what had caused Nick to turn into himself. As she watched him, his eyes touched on her and she saw the warmth shining there. She said a silent prayer. Dear Father, help Nick to find his way back to you. And thank you for leading me to him.

The next night when Nick came home from work, he found a freshly baked pound cake sitting on the counter, its buttery aroma filling the house. The kitchen sparkled and gleamed. Holly branches from the garden decorated the counters, giving the room a homey effect.

The back door opened and Myla, Patrick and Jesse all rushed into the room, giggling and chattering. All three held arms full of firewood. Myla looked up, a hesitant smile cresting her lips.

Patrick said, “Hey, Mr. Nick. We’re gonna start a fire.”

“So I see.”

He nodded toward the boy’s mother, noticing the way the December wind had brightened her cheeks and pinkened her lips, giving her fair skin a perfect contrast to her fiery wind-tossed copper-colored hair. As was his nature, Nick watched and waited as she ordered the children to place the wood in the den.

“And don’t try to light a fire. I wouldn’t want you two to burn down the Christmas tree.” Turning back to Nick, she said, “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“That’s fine.” He gazed at the fat cake sitting on the counter. “That smells wonderful.”

“Want a slice?” She headed toward the refrigerator to pull out the milk. “Milk or coffee?”

“Milk.” Nick slid out of his khaki trench coat. “This looks good.”

“Well, it’s not coconut cake, but I wanted to make up for last night. I hate seeing grown men cry.”

He chuckled, then took the glass of milk and a generous slice of the still-warm cake, his eyes following her as he bit into the flaky lemon-flavored mound. Myla waited as he chewed it with glee, a little moan of appreciation escaping as he swallowed.

“I think I’m in love,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. After another hefty bite, he said, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the phone calls I’ve been getting all day.”

Concerned, she asked, “About what?”

“About you. About the pizza party. We really impressed the stockholders. They’re throwing their support toward Rudolph Oil, and you.”

“Me?”

“They want to help you out.”

Myla had to turn away to keep him from seeing the tears welling in her eyes. Maybe there was hope, after all. Of course, these people didn’t know her background. She wondered how they’d feel about her if they knew the whole story. “I can’t take any charity, Nick,” she said to hide her fears.

“Of course you can,” he reasoned. “They admire your strength, Myla. Last night, you showed them something they’ve taken for granted.”

She shrugged, her back still turned away. “I only told the truth according to my beliefs. It’s what I live by.”

Thinking she was about to launch into another sermon, Nick cleared his throat. “I have some checks here. Will you take them? You can use the money after…after you leave here.”

“Charity,” she said, dreading the thought of not being self-reliant.

Nick came to stand beside her. “Yes, charity, but given with the best of intentions. And besides, they can write it off on their income tax, so take the money, Myla.”

She stopped stirring the steaming pot of vegetables. “The Lord loves a cheerful giver.”

“That’s the spirit. You can always pay them back.”

She smiled then. “Did they write checks?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’ll record their names and addresses and offer them my services. I want to start my own catering business.”

He stared over at her. “Catering…you’d be good at that.” Shaking his head, he added, “I admire your ingenuity. You’ll do just fine in life, Myla.” With that declaration, he finished the last bite of his cake.

Myla turned back to her cooking. She had to stop watching this man eat. She wanted to cook him hearty meals and take care of him. He needed more than a housekeeper; he needed a spiritual partner. And after ten years of marriage to Sonny Howell, she wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet.

Answering him finally, she said, “I have to do this, Nick. I have to provide for my children.”

Nick put his empty plate and glass in the sink. “I believe you will. Patrick was right. You are a good cook.”

“Thank you. Cooking’s about all I have to offer.” She faced him at last. “I need to tell you—the other job I came here to see about—it was a cook in a restaurant. I called today…and they’ve already hired someone.”

Nick put a hand on her shoulder. “You found this job, Myla. Maybe…maybe you’ll be better off here, for now.” Not sure how to comfort her, he added, “And hey, if you keep this up, I’ll be as fat as Santa by Christmas.”

She laughed then. “You can work it off by starting that fire Patrick and Jesse want.”

“Good idea. I rarely build a fire for just myself.” He headed toward the swinging doors, then whirled. “By the way, how’s Shredder doing?”

“He won’t come out of Henny’s apartment.”

She waited, but when he just stood staring over at her, she asked, “Is there anything else, Nick?”

“Yes,” he said, lowering his head a bit. “You’re wrong, you know.”

“About what?”

“Cooking isn’t the only thing you have to offer, Myla.”

He turned to go, leaving her to wonder what he’d meant by that statement. Careful, Myla, an inner voice warned. Nick was just being polite, trying to boost her ego. He didn’t know anything about her, and right now, she didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth.

An hour later, Nick looked at the place set for one in the formal dining room. In spite of the Christmas centerpiece sitting in the middle of the long, shining Queen Anne table, the room still seemed empty and vast. In spite of the plate of steaming vegetables and hot-buttered noodles, the baked chicken and delicate dinner rolls, he couldn’t seem to get excited about eating.

Too much cake, he reasoned, plopping down on an antique chair to try to enjoy Myla’s marvelous efforts. “At last, peace and quiet.”

With his first bite, he heard Myla’s soft voice lifted in prayer. She was blessing their food in the other room. Sheepishly, Nick closed his eyes and listened. Glad when she’d finished, he whispered his own animated “Amen,” then straightened his linen dinner napkin to get on with his meal.

Before he got a bite of succulent chicken between his teeth, he heard giggles from the kitchen, followed by voices all talking at once. They were a close trio, his little pack of strays. Myla seemed very protective of her children. Nick had to wonder what kind of man would leave her and her two children with nothing.

It’s not your problem, Nick, he reminded himself. Sit up straight and eat your dinner.

With his first bite of the flaky roll, he remembered holding Myla the night before. Somehow, he’d managed to lose all decorum right there in his own kitchen. Carolyn would just love to have the details of that.

Of course, he didn’t owe Carolyn or anyone else any explanations. He liked having no strings attached, and no obligations to anyone. Memories of his loving parents moved through the room like ghosts, haunting Nick with a poignancy he refused to acknowledge. He couldn’t deal with the responsibilities of that kind of devoted love. He had other obligations—to Lydia and Rudolph Oil. Wishing Lydia didn’t always work so late, he tried once again to eat his dinner.

By his third bite, Nick could stand it no longer. Used to his house being quiet, he hopped up on the pretense of telling them to keep it down so he could eat. Making a beeline for the swinging door, he opened it to find three sets of surprised eyes looking at him as if he were the abominable snowman.

“Are we bothering you?” Myla asked, jumping up to take the glass he had in his hand. “Can I get you anything?”

Nick threw up his hands. “Yeah, a chair. You all are having entirely too much fun in here. I decided I’d better eat in here with you, just so we could avoid anymore surprises like last night’s.”

“Sure!” Patrick patted the stool nearest him. “Come on in, Mr. Nick. We don’t mind him eating with us, do we, Mom?”

“Of course not,” Myla replied softly. “After all, this is his house. He can eat in any room he chooses.”

Nick’s smile spread across his face like cream over strawberries. “I’ll go get my food.”

In a few minutes, he was settled in, packing away Myla’s dinner like a man starved. Between bites, he regaled the children with tales of the adventures of Lydia and Nick as they were growing up.

“See this scar?” He showed Jesse a faint white dent right in the middle of his forehead. “Lydia gave me that with a roller skate. Had to have seven stitches. Mother made both of us go to bed early for a month.”

“Why’d she hit you with a roller skate?” Jesse asked, her hoarseness making her voice soft-pitched.

“I chased her with a granddaddy long-legs,” he explained, a grin encasing his face. “She hates spiders.”

“I’m not scared of bugs,” Jesse stated. “We lived in the country. I played with bugs all the time.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have that house no more, Jesse,” Patrick reminded his sister. “It was repo—repur—”

“Repossessed,” Myla finished, the flush on her cheeks indicating her discomfort. “Hush up now, and finish your dinner. We have to get up early tomorrow to get you both enrolled in school.”

Nick steered the conversation away from the house they’d lost. “School? You two are too smart for that, aren’t you?”

“Lydia’s helping me get them straightened out,” Myla said over the children’s giggles. “She’s been such a help—she’s even looking into low-cost housing in this district, in case I don’t get into Magnolia House.”

“Trust good ol’ Lydia,” Nick replied.

Wondering why he sounded so sarcastic, Myla said, “You don’t share the same strong faith as your sister, do you?”

Shocked by her directness, Nick became defensive. “I’ve learned to rely on myself. I don’t need to turn to a higher being to help me through life.”

Myla leaned forward on her stool, her voice quiet. “Being self-reliant is good. After all, the Lord gave us brains. But sometimes, Nick, we can’t do it all by ourselves. We need His help. And it’s all right to ask for it.”

She could see the anger sparking through his eyes.

“I don’t need His help.” Waving his arms, he spanned the room. “As you can see, I’m doing okay on my own.”

She nodded. “Oh, yes, you’re doing great material-wise. But what about spiritually? You don’t like Christmas. Why is that, Nick?”

“That’s none of your business,” he said, getting up to stomp to the sink. “Your job is to run this house efficiently, not delve into my personal life.”

She followed him. “Of course. You make perfect sense.” She started stacking the dishes he absently handed her. “But then, you’re in charge, right?”

“And what does that mean?” They stood shoulder to shoulder, heads up, eyes flashing.

“I know what’s expected of me here, Nick. I work for you and I intend to do a thorough job. But I can’t help but notice you don’t have a strong sense of faith. That bothers me.”

Wanting to turn the tables on her, he said, “Yeah, well, you need to be more concerned with your own problems. After all, you’re the one without a home!”

Hurt, she said, “I’ll find one. And I’ll find a good job, too.”

He groaned as she almost sliced his palm with a knife in her haste to load the dishwasher. “You’ll barely make ends meet, Myla. It’s going to be a struggle.”

“I’ll manage,” she retorted. “I have a higher help than you’ll ever know.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your faith. Well, faith won’t get you through a cold winter night, now will it?”

“It did,” she replied calmly. “I prayed for help and the Lord sent it.” She gave him a meaningful look.

“Fine,” he said, sighing in defeat. “So, why can’t you just do the job you were hired to do, instead of wasting your time trying to save me?”

“I just thought you could use a friend.”

“I don’t need a friend, and you need to concentrate on getting your own life back in order.”

“I will, but in the meantime, if you need to talk…”

“I don’t need anything, Myla.” Trying to change the focus back to her, he added, “I’m willing to help you in any way I can, though. And I’m worried about you moving into that homeless shelter too soon. Having faith is one thing, but surviving is quite another.”

“I would think you’d want me to move out,” she replied. “You spout all this encouragement, then hand me a few checks to cover your own embarrassment. I’m trying to start over—on my own, and while I appreciate everything you and Lydia and your friends are doing, I have to do this for myself. If that means giving myself over to blind faith, if that means putting my trust in the Lord, then I can do it. I won’t let anyone ever make me question my faith again.” She stopped loading dishes to stare across the room at her two suddenly quiet children.

“What do you mean?” Nick asked, his hand on her arm. “What happened between you and your husband, Myla?”

“I…we’ll talk later, maybe.” Pulling away, she called to the children. “Jesse, Patrick, time for bed.”

Patrick immediately followed Myla to Henny’s room, but Jesse held back. Running up to Nick, she tugged on his jeans. “Daddy wasn’t a bad man, Mr. Nick. Momma told us to always remember that. My Daddy wasn’t a bad man. He just had some problems, is all.”

“Jesse!” Myla’s voice echoed through the house.

The little girl ran away before Nick could question her further. What did all this mean? Up until now, he’d believed Myla to be a grieving widow, but there was obviously more to this.

“Who are you really protecting, Myla?” he whispered. “Yourself and your children? Or your dead husband?”