2

“Good grief.” Riley raced to spit into the sink. He tossed what was left of the treat into the trash can and, without bothering to get a cup, flipped on the cold water and dipped his mouth beneath the stream, gulping enough to wash what was left of the crumbs down his throat. “You might have mentioned that before I took a bite.”

“It won’t hurt you.” Kaylee’s laughter mingled with the kid’s giggles. “It’s made of ‘people’ ingredients—whole wheat flour and salt and eggs, honey and cinnamon—nothing too unpalatable.”

“Not much consolation.” Riley straightened and grabbed a wad of paper towels. “Thanks for the newsflash, though.”

He tried his best not to look at Kaylee as he lobbed the towels into the trash and headed toward the coffeemaker. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected her. Her hair was longer than he remembered, spilling over her shoulders in waves of sunlit honey. Her eyes, wide and warm, were two aquamarine jewels nestled above cheekbones that framed full, glossed lips.

He’d sampled those lips once…twice if truth be told. But that had been years—a virtual lifetime—ago.

Riley forced the thought away just as another swept in. She’d kept his flowers.

“I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.” Gran came up behind him, her sort of waddle-step a clear indication of progressing arthritis. He wondered how she’d managed to care for Gramps on her own for the past year. She’d mentioned someone was living in the guesthouse, but had neglected to say it was Kaylee. Had she omitted that fact because she thought he’d object? He had a right to, in any case, but he’d address that with her later. “That carafe’s a few hours old.”

“It’s fine.” Riley gathered a mug from the cabinet. “It’s still hot and loaded with caffeine, and that works for me.”

“In that case, creamer’s in the fridge; sugar’s on the counter there.” Gran motioned toward the condiment tray nestled beside the bread box. “Help yourself.”

“No need for that. I take it black, now.” All-nighters with his nose buried in legal journals, plotting angles for endless prosecution cases, had cured Riley of the need for anything more than hot, black, fully-loaded caffeine. He filled the cup, lifted it to his lips so steam wafted to warm his face as he eyed the kid over the rim. She studied him in return as if he was some exotic animal from a zoo exhibit, her head cocked to the side so blonde hair skimmed one shoulder. She shared a strong resemblance with Kaylee, called her Mom. Had he missed a memo? What was up with that?

“What’s your name?” he asked her as he leaned back against the counter, gripping the mug in both hands.

“Rosie.”

“How old are you?”

“Six.” She held up the fingers to prove it. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.” And the youngest prosecuting attorney along the Southeastern coast to win a high-profile case, he wanted to add, but refrained. The accolade had lost its luster; failed to fill him any longer. Long work hours and mountains of endless rhetoric had left him both emotionally and physically exhausted. “Did you color all those containers?”

“Yes, sir.” Wisps of bangs slipped across her bright blue eyes as her head bobbed and Kaylee reached over to smooth the fine strands back. Riley wasn’t sure why, but the simple gesture caused a longing, deep and strong, for the touch of his own mother, who was taken from him the summer he turned seventeen. He glanced at Kaylee once more, remembered exactly why his gut twisted at her involvement—her family’s involvement—in the loss. A slow burn simmered through his veins. Maybe coming back here was a terrible idea. Maybe he should have just stayed gone. The kid—Rosie—continued to chatter. “Mom helped me, though. Miss Ruth, too.”

“Nice work.” Riley became aware then of the melody of Christmas music drifting softly from the under-cabinet radio he’d helped Gramps install summers ago. Like a scene morphing into focus, he saw a collection of teapots Gran had acquired over the years sitting like a proud army across the cabinet tops. Cornflower blue curtains she’d crafted herself offset walls he and Gramps had painted together in a butter-yellow shade the fall he’d turned eighteen. The curtains framed sliding glass doors that led to a weatherworn deck. Riley made a mental note to pressure wash and reseal it, then wondered how he’d manage to accomplish the task while in the grip of winter. Moose sighed and stretched, then curled beneath the table, jowls nestled on huge front paws. Riley crossed to the table and slipped into the seat beside Rosie. He watched her gather treats for a moment before taking her cue and, setting down his mug, filled a container of his own. “What do you plan to do with these?”

“Miss Ruth needs them for the doggie Christmas party tomorrow.”

“A Christmas party—for dogs?”

“Yes, sir, and kittens, too.” She handed him a small square of copy paper covered in bold red and green lettering that, upon closer inspection, Riley found outlined the event. “Here’s an in’tation. Moose is coming. You can come, too.”

“I’ll…think about it.” He glanced out the window, where flurries had turned to a platoon of plump, heavy flakes. “But, if this snow continues, Moose might have to eat all these treats himself.”

“Oh, no.” Rosie wiggled from her chair and scrambled beneath the table to drape herself across Moose’s massive back. “He’d get a belly ache, and all the dogs would stay orphans if we don’t have the party. We can’t let them down. They need a Christmas party, too. We have to go tomorrow.” She craned her head to glance back at Riley with pleading orbs of blue. “Can you help Mom make skis?”

 

****

 

Later that night, with every carton filled and packed for the morning and her belly full with sandwiches Ruth had prepared and insisted she and Rosie stay to share, Kaylee curled on the couch, wrapped in a wedding ring-patterned quilt worn soft and faded with use. It had belonged to her parents and, though Kaylee usually kept it carefully stored in a zippered plastic case on the top shelf of her closet, tonight she longed to hold it close—to wrap herself in the warmth of bittersweet memories.

Seeing Riley again had sure stirred up a torrent of them. She had no idea he was coming—Ruth had mentioned he was unable to even so much as make Jacob’s funeral and, though she felt a pang of guilt for her selfishness, Kaylee was glad for the distance. But, she supposed she couldn’t expect Riley to stay away forever. She’d presumed she was over Riley—the feelings she’d once felt for him long-since extinguished.

Light shining over the meadow from an upstairs bedroom of the main house, coupled with the telling, double-time thrum of her pulse, was proof she’d presumed wrong.

Kaylee flipped open a dog-eared paperback, reached for her mug of Chamomile tea, and eased back against the couch cushions. The soft glow of an end-table lamp cast shadows across the crisp, white-washed walls of the cozy living room. Down a short hall to her left, the springs of Rosie’s twin bed squeaked in protest as she rolled over. Kaylee was thankful for the small yet homey space. Rosie loved it here, with room to run free outside and acres of woods to explore. Already, the child had shown an interest in learning the names of the plentiful flora and fauna, birds and insects as she and Kaylee hiked together.

And the loveable Moose, who had taken an immediate liking to sweet-natured and inquisitive Rosie, was certainly an added bonus, as well.

Kaylee considered how her time spent here had on the meadow had flown by. Nearly a full year had passed since she’d run into Ruth while the kind-hearted woman she thought of as a surrogate grandmother waited nervously in the emergency room at Maple Ridge Hospital. Jacob, who’d woken disoriented from a nap that long-ago afternoon, had wandered out the sliding glass doors off the kitchen while Ruth tended to a load of laundry. He’d crossed the meadow and disappeared into the woods. After nearly an hour of searching desperately for him, and with twilight fast approaching, Gran was horrified to find him in a heap of slick, decaying leaves, his forehead bruised and bloodied as hypothermia nipped. The paramedics who’d arrived on the scene determined that Jacob had tumbled hard enough to require stitches when he stumbled over a felled tree limb.

Kaylee happened to be filling in on the nightshift, which was a fluke—she’d switched to daytime hours since Rosie had come to live with her, so she could be home when the bus brought Rosie from school in the afternoons. One look at Ruth told Kaylee the elderly woman could no longer manage to care for her ailing husband on her own. The two got to talking, and Kaylee offered to stop by the stately main house in the afternoons to help. The plan was easy enough to execute, since she passed by the meadow each day on her way to and from work, and Rosie’s school bus followed that route, as well.

Ruth, ever mindful of others’ needs, inquired about Rosie, and before Kaylee knew it, she was spilling the story of how her niece had recently come to be in her care. Ruth had listened intently, nodding as her green eyes mellowed with understanding. When Kaylee added that she’d been in the process of looking for a new place to live, since the lease on her apartment would expire in a few weeks and she and Rosie needed more than a one-room studio anyway, Ruth had suggested she and Rosie move into the guest house.

“It’s been vacant since Riley left for grad school,” Ruth asserted, “and if he comes home to visit there’s plenty of space for him in the spare rooms of the main house.”

“I, um…” Kaylee listened distractedly as a voice came over the intercom to page a doctor to X-ray. “I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.”

“Nonsense. Look at my hands, Kaylee, and my spine twisted like a tree trunk gnarled with age. It’s obvious that I can use the help. I can’t bear the thought of sending Jacob away, to one of those…” She shook her head, buried her face in her veiny hands as fresh tears spilled over to race down her mottled cheeks. “No. I won’t do it.” She raised her head, her eyes glistening with tears as she grasped Kaylee’s hand with trembling fingers. “My Jacob has always thought the world of you, you know, since the first time Riley invited you to go fishing.”

“I remember that. Riley and I were twelve. I’d never so much as held a fishing pole so Riley helped me bait the hook. He laughed because I was so squeamish, but he was patient anyway as he showed me how to cast. I caught a bass and Jacob felt so bad when I cried because the poor fish was hurting. Then I capped off the festivities by flipping the boat and dumping us all into the water. We hiked back to the house, dripping and fishless.” She shook her head as laughter spilled. “Now, when I think about it…oh my goodness, I’m surprised Riley ever invited me back—or that you allowed him to. I really put the kibosh on dinner that night.”

“It’s a memory, all right…a good one. I hadn’t planned on grilled cheese and french fries, but they were good anyway.” Ruth had patted her knee. “The point is, Jacob doesn’t blame you for what happened to Janie and neither do I. We don’t fault you in the least for what happened to our daughter—to Riley’s mother.”

“I…” Suddenly Kaylee couldn’t speak. She’d put those memories from her mind, thought they were laid to rest for good. Now it all came rushing back. “But, Riley blames me. What if he comes home? He’ll be so angry to find me living in the guest house—what was once his house. I don’t want to come between you.”

“That would never happen, dear. We’ll deal with Riley when the time comes and leave the rest to God.” Ruth’s gaze was pleading. “Riley’s stubborn as a snagged zipper, and I’d be the first to assert that patience certainly isn’t his strong suit, but he’s not completely unreasonable. Lord knows he’s loved you the better part of his life. That doesn’t just…fade away.”

It was true. Riley had loved her once—or at least she thought he did. Yet, he’d recklessly abandoned their friendship in a fit of callous accusations and hurtful words. Kaylee would never, ever let her guard down around him again. She’d tucked that thought—that cautious reminder—away long ago, somewhere deep in her heart.

But now he’d come home, awakening all she’d once felt. Ruth’s words echoed in her mind. “We’ll leave the rest to God.”

So, with both Ruth and Kaylee in agreement that she and Rosie would move in the next week in exchange for Kaylee’s help with Jacob’s care, Kaylee felt as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. God had answered her prayers; she and Rosie had a place to call home while her financial burdens fell away.

In the days that followed Kaylee requested a reduction in her work hours at the hospital and, with budget cuts in full force, the ER manager had been more than happy to scale back Kaylee’s hours to thirty per week, less than full-time yet still enough to allow her keep adequate insurance for both her and Rosie. The compromise proved a good fit that would allow her more time with Rosie and plenty of time to help with Jacob, as well.

Kaylee loved being a nurse, loved helping people to feel better and find their way back home. She supposed she had that streak in her, part of her internal make-up, to tend to people. It made her happy and filled something inside of her that was missing—had been missing—ever since her dad went to prison—eventually died in prison—and her mother withdrew into a cocoon of grief, passing on into glory to join Dad merely a year later.

Those losses had followed closely on the heels of Riley’s rejection.

With the thought, darkness crept in like grasping fingers. Kaylee shook it off, refusing to succumb. The trio of losses had happened a long time ago—more than a decade ago—and she was done wallowing, done asking God why. He had His reasons, and she’d come to terms with them—whatever they were—through tears and heartache.

Now, if only Riley could accept God’s plan, as well, and let go of the resentment that plagued him.

“Mom?” The sweet pixie voice drew her back. She turned to find Rosie huddled in the doorway, her blonde hair disheveled and eyes lidded with sleep. Rosie lifted an index finger to point toward the window overlooking the meadow. “It’s still snowing.”

“I see that.” A blanket of white, unmarred by so much as a single footstep, glistened beneath veiled moonlight. Clouds to the west danced and churned as they closed in, preparing to dump more of their load. Kaylee thought of the cartons of dog treats they’d taken an entire afternoon to bake and prepare. Even Riley, after devouring a turkey sandwich and a generous fistful of potato chips, had joined in to help. Despite their efforts, Moose might just get the mother lode, after all. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I’m not tired.” Rosie padded across the polished wood floor in her stocking feet. She climbed up on the couch and scooted into Kaylee’s lap. “Why did you stick the flowers Mr. Riley gave you in your Bible?”

“You’re still thinking about that?”

“Uh huh, because you didn’t answer me.”

Of course Rosie wouldn’t let the question rest. She never did. Kaylee sighed and wracked her brain for a suitable answer. How could she pack a novel’s worth of explanation into a single sentence, especially one that a six-year-old might understand? Virtually impossible, so she settled for, “Because they were pretty.”

“But you squished them between the pages.”

“That’s true, but only after they had spent some time in a vase where I could admire them.”

“Why’d Mr. Riley give them to you?”

“I…um…” Kaylee’s belly churned as she swept the hair back from Rosie’s cool forehead. That was a question she couldn’t answer, even if she wanted to. She could merely presume, and presuming was one sure way to get herself into trouble. “Why so many questions?”

“I dunno.” Rosie shrugged her tiny shoulders and pressed her cheek to Kaylee’s chest as Kaylee wrapped the downy blanket snugly around them. “He seemed mad at you, all frowny-faced like Caleb Watkins when the teacher doesn’t call on him during show and tell, even though he’s shouting, ‘Pick me, pick me!’” She demonstrated for good measure. “Are you still friends?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Oh.” Rosie snuggled in, sighed as her eyes fluttered closed. The thick lashes lay dusky against sleep-paled cheeks. “Why are grown-ups always so comp’cated?”

“That’s a very good question, one that needs a very good answer, which I, at the moment, don’t seem to have.”

“Can we make a snowman after the party tomorrow?”

“Maybe. We’ll have to see how late it is when we get back home.”

“And can we find a Christmas tree, too? There’s only—” She tilted her head, opened her eyes once again to glance at the advent calendar propped on the coffee table. She began to count on her fingers, using Kaylee’s, as well, when she exhausted her own supply of digits. “—fifteen days ’til Christmas, and Santa needs a place to leave my presents.”

“It might not be tomorrow, but we’ll get a tree.”

“Soon?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Of course I promise.” Kaylee tweaked Rosie’s nose, then gathered her close and stood. “Now, back to bed for you. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Is Mr. Riley gonna come to the party, too?”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Don’t he like animals?”

“Doesn’t he like animals…and, yes—Riley loves all of Moose’s friends, both canine and feline.”

“That means dogs and cats, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So, Mr. Riley’s just gotta come, too. What if you need help making those skis?”

“That’s more than enough what if’s for tonight.” Kaylee rounded the corner to Rosie’s bedroom. The walls, covered in pictures fashioned from crayons and washable markers, construction paper and glues sticks, were bathed in a muted glow from the angel-wing night light plugged into an outlet next to the bed. “You’ve met your quota of questions for the day, young lady. We’ll start over again tomorrow.”

“But, Mom—”

“No buts.” Kaylee settled Rosie into the bed and drew the covers to her chin. “Sleep tight now, honey. I love you bunches.”

Rosie’s eyes slid closed, but the child’s soft murmur drifted as Kaylee reached the doorway. “Mommy, do you think Mr. Riley will bring you more pretty flowers?”