He should’ve awoken feeling half-dead. His body should ache from the fever and his head still throb. His mind should be a dark room, windowless and empty except for the memories that had propelled him there in the first place.
Instead, he was upright. Freshly showered and shaved. And his mind felt as crystal clear as the icicles hanging from a tree branch just outside his window.
“Say something, Beth.”
Marshall buttoned up his plaid shirt, stopping at the second one from the top, watching himself in the mirror. His cell phone lay on the dresser in front of him, set to speakerphone—pointless considering his sister’s extended silence.
Until finally, “I don’t get it. You had a migraine so bad you passed out. You had a fever on and off all night. Yet you’re ‘doing fine.’”
That’s what he’d said. That’s what he’d meant.
And if anyone should understand, shouldn’t it be Beth? She’d been on his case about the sleeping pills and painkillers for months. He’d made it through his first migraine since she’d declared war on his dependence on the meds. She should be proud.
He plucked his phone from the dresser and tapped out of the speakerphone before lifting it to his ear. “I didn’t take anything. I didn’t throw up. Twenty-four hours later I’m on my feet again.”
To be fair, it’d been a little longer than that. It was past noon now, the sun mounted high in the sky and the landscape completely transformed since he’d blacked out in the bathroom. Had it snowed all night? White blanketed the hills and entwined tree branches.
“This is good, Beth. This is progress. You were right about the pills. ”
“I’d feel a lot better if you were here.”
“Yeah, but if I hadn’t left Milwaukee when I did . . .” His reflection stared at him still. He looked for the storm in his eyes and couldn’t find it. “I was losing myself. A little more every day.”
“And now you’re finding yourself?” Beth asked. “In Iowa, of all places? At a B&B you’re helping fix up?”
“I’m finding . . . something.” He turned from the mirror and reached for the glass of water on his bedside table.
What would his sister say if he told her he’d sort of, well, prayed last night? She’d long ago given up trying to talk him into joining her family for church. Alex hadn’t asked him to come to the precinct Bible study in forever—the one Marshall used to lead.
Since the day Laney died, he’d done all he could to shun the faith he’d once depended upon. But last night on the bathroom floor, he’d called out to God. Maybe it was nothing more than impulse on his part. But what if God was still listening?
What else could account for the fact that today, for the first time in so long, when he’d woken up from dreams of Laney, it wasn’t anguish he’d felt but instead something warm and honey-sweet? In those first lucid moments, laying on his back, gaze on the whirring ceiling fan, he’d let himself remember his little girl. Let his memory wander to a day not so different from this, the two of them stretched out on Laney’s daybed, his arm behind her shoulder and a book propped against his bent knee.
Yesterday, all it had taken was a glimpse of a girl—Sam’s daughter, apparently—and he’d nearly fallen apart.
But it was different today. He didn’t know why but it was. And maybe, maybe he could allow himself to at least consider that God hadn’t entirely left him to his own mess. That He’d heard Marshall’s desperate prayer last night. That perhaps He’d even led Marshall to the Everwood in the first place.
“Beth, do you think . . . if something ever happened to one of your kids, do you think you’d still hold on to your faith?”
“Marsh—”
“I know it’s horrible to even think about it. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Yes, it’s awful to think about. I don’t think I can even let my mind go there. And I can’t pretend to know what it must feel like to try to keep believing, to keep having faith in God’s love when facing the kind of loss you have. But what I do know is that if you’re asking a question like that, then probably somewhere deep down there’s still a piece of you that wants to believe.”
He lowered his water glass to the bedside table. An untouched cup of cold tea sat next to it. He vaguely remembered downing one cup of the stuff. Had Mara brought another sometime in the night?
They’d talked at some point too, hadn’t they? She’d asked about Laney. Maybe the biggest miracle of the night was that he’d answered.
“Did I say too much?” Beth’s voice had softened.
“No.”
“God cares, Marshall. You can trust Him with your broken pieces.” When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”
“I’m feeling better. Promise.” He swallowed a long gulp of water and moved into the hallway. Huh, it was lunchtime but it smelled like breakfast. “Can I let you go? I missed out on most of a day’s work yesterday and it’s already noon.”
“I have to ask you something first. And please don’t bite my head off.”
It didn’t take a genius to know what was coming. “On second thought, maybe I’m not feeling better. Maybe it’s best to spare me from whatever it is you’re about to say about Penny.” He’d found his phone in a drawer—Mara’s doing? He’d seen the missed calls.
“She texted me. She still has friends on the force. She heard through the grapevine.”
About his administrative leave? “Glad to know the Milwaukee PD’s ongoing effort to keep criminals off the street isn’t impeding the spread of gossip.”
“She said she tried to call you. Is it that hard to believe she might still care about you? Can’t you at least—”
“Penny walked out of my life when I was at my lowest. She doesn’t get to play the concerned partner now.” End of subject. His steps pounded on the stairs until he hit the landing.
“Marsh—”
“Gotta go, Beth. Love ya.” Not nice, perhaps, to end the call so abruptly, but this day had started out so good. Why ruin it with talk of Penny? Besides, he smelled food and heard voices and . . .
He paused with his hand on the banister, the truth sailing through him: He was happy. Plain and simple and surprising as that. He’d forgotten what it felt like to wake up eager for the day.
Tantalizing scents—maple and cinnamon and coffee—filled his nostrils, and a contentment he couldn’t explain filled all the rest of him.
He reached the kitchen in time to see Mara plop a platter of pancakes onto the center of the table, where Lucas, Jenessa, and Sam all sat with plates and steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. Mara wore a frilly pink and white apron with streaks of batter on the front. Not the tidiest cook, it seemed.
Was it his growling stomach that alerted her to his presence? “Marshall, you’re up?”
Everyone else was looking up now too, and it struck him that he should probably feel embarrassed. Sam and Jenessa had been at the house yesterday when he’d blacked out. Lucas had surely heard about it. But he couldn’t seem to muster up the chagrin. Not with such foreign gratitude grabbing hold of him.
Nearly all of it directed at Mara. “I thought it was about time. I can’t remember the last time I slept so late.” Not without the aid of a couple capsules of Ambien, anyway.
Mara was staring at him. Trying to figure out if he was well enough to be up? Or maybe shocked that he’d actually shaved, combed his too-long hair over to the side.
“Do you want some pancakes?” she finally asked.
“Sure, I’m starving.”
“Breakfast,” Lucas said. “It’s what’s for lunch.” Might be the very first time Marshall had seen the guy smile.
“With a side of mystery,” Jenessa added. That’s when Marshall noticed the papers spread out in front of them. Yellowed newspapers, faxed sheets he recognized as background check returns, old photos of the Everwood.
Mara was already turning back to the cupboards, probably to grab Marshall a plate. He angled around the table to step up beside her. “I’ve got it.”
“Thanks. ‘Cause I need to flip more pancakes.”
He found a plate, retrieved a mug from the dishwasher full of clean dishes, plucked a fork from the silverware drawer. Mara flipped her pancakes, the sizzle and smell enticing his appetite all the more. “No cereal?” he asked.
“Don’t be crazy. I had a bowl hours ago.” She turned to him, scrutinizing him all over again. “Are you feeling okay? You look okay. You look great. I mean, better. You look . . .”
“Go on.” That pretty blush of hers could warm a man clear through. Seriously, he could probably go stand out in the fresh snow and be just fine and dandy. “You were saying?”
She reached for the nearest hot pad and chucked it at him. “Sit down, Marsh.”
“Um, first.” He lowered his voice. “Thank you. For last night. For everything.”
Simple words and probably not enough to convey the depth of what he felt right now. But they needed to be said and so he’d said them.
“You’re welcome.” Her soft whisper was nearly as entrancing as her radiant cerulean eyes. But then she lightened, her freckles bunching the way they did whenever she grinned. “But I don’t think you’re thankful for everything.”
“No?”
“You were a big baby about drinking that tea. Like a five-year-old refusing to swallow his cough syrup.” She pointed him to a chair across from Sam. He obeyed and a moment later, a stack of pancakes sat in front of him.
And instantly, the memories flooded in. Sunday mornings before church. Laney standing on a stool beside him. Pancakes in the shape of a smiley face, a Christmas stocking, a puppy. Her giggles, her sticky hands, syrup always somehow winding up in her hair or on her dress, and Penny’s good-natured griping about how they’d be late for Sunday school again . . .
“Marshall?” Mara stood at his side with a syrup bottle in her hand. It was a collision—his old happiness with his new. Still tentative. Perhaps still fragile. Because those might actually be tears he felt at the backs of his eyes.
He blinked, accepted the syrup from Mara, smothered his pancakes.
And thankfully, when that distraction ended, Sam provided another. “So, here’s what you missed, Hawkins. We’re still waiting on phone records and such, but we did a computer sweep yesterday. Turns out Lenora was in contact with an art history professor in Minneapolis late last year. We know she took a trip to Minnesota in December, so logic says maybe she went to talk to this dude.”
He swallowed a gulp then reached for the mug Mara had set in front of him. “I assume you’ve contacted him?”
“Voicemail. Waiting on a return call.” Sam gestured to the mess of papers in front of him. “In the meantime, we’re trying to dissect the mystery of Kenneth and Sherrie Rayleen. Jen had it right. No record of them before the mid-fifties. Nothing after 1962.”
“Everybody take note of this day,” Jenessa said, spreading butter over her pancakes. “Sam Ross just said I was right.”
“And here’s something extra interesting.” Sam slid a copy of a newspaper to Marshall. “Lenora Worthington’s wedding announcement from 1973. No picture, but look at her maiden name—Fry. And her parents’ names—Aric and Alice Fry. Same people, new names.”
“Wait, what makes you think they are the same people?”
Jen jumped in before Sam could. “Because there’s no record of an Aric and Alice Fry that matches up to these people before 1962.” Her eyes were alight with intrigue. “And because I looked up every single owner of the Everwood from way back when to now. Most of the others didn’t have kids and if they did, none of them matched Lenora’s age.”
Marshall looked at Sam. “So. Witness protection?”
“Yeah, my mind went there too, but federal authorities are more thorough than that. When they give you a new identity, they go all the way. We would’ve found medical and dental records, employment history from before they bought the Everwood, degrees, you name it for Kenneth and Sherrie.” Sam scraped his plate clean. “My best guess? We’re looking at a couple who had just enough money and resources to start over when they needed to, but it all happened under the table.”
Mara finally joined them, sitting in a chair beside Marshall. “What I don’t understand is why they would need to start over. Lenora used to talk about her childhood years at the Everwood as idyllic. And what does an art history prof have to do with it—or does he at all?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sam said.
It was an echo of Marshall’s internal reply. They’d stumbled upon multiple mysteries at once. Whether or not any of them were connected, it was too soon to tell.
But he’d solved plenty of puzzles before without all the pieces turned over. He’d thought he left his detective hat in Wisconsin, but no. He was a part of this now.
“I cannot believe I’m doing this.” Mara huddled into the warmth of her coat and the striped scarf around her neck. She should be back at the house pulling down curtains in the guestrooms or making sure Marshall didn’t work too hard after having a fever just last night.
Instead she was freezing her tail off at the town square with Jenessa. Holding a borrowed pet carrier. Waiting for her turn to waltz across the band shell stage as part of the Maple Valley Pet Fashion Show.
A hiss sounded from the carrier.
“Pretty sure my nameless cat doesn’t want to be here any more than I do.”
Jenessa tied the strings of her fur-lined hood underneath her chin. “You’re going to have to do something about that nameless thing in the next ten minutes, my friend. You’re supposed to give your pet’s name to Mayor Milt when you walk past so he can announce it.”
Music drifted over the square, and despite the wintry late afternoon cold, the place was abuzz with people and activity. The line from the bandshell stretched half a block long. “I can’t name this cat. I don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl.”
Jenessa laughed. “Pick a gender-neutral name. Whiskers.”
“Too generic.”
“Jamie. Taylor. Pat.”
“I’m weirded out by animals with human names.”
The line inched forward and Jenessa nudged Mara to move with it. “For it not being your cat, you’re sure picky about the name.”
“Why am I doing this again?”
“Because in a few weeks, you need to tell the city council you have a bunch of reservations for the B&B. So you should be out and about in the community, reminding people that you’re here and that the Everwood’s doors are still open. Word-of-mouth is the best advertising there is.” Jenessa moved her camera bag from one shoulder to the other then pulled out her Nikon. “There are probably people right here in town who would love a weekend getaway that’s close by.”
Right. Yes. She’d gone searching for the cat and lured him-or-her into the carrier with a trail of tuna, all for the sake of the Everwood. Of course, that had turned out to be the easy part. Coaxing the feline into the pirate costume had been another story. They’d lost the captain’s hat somewhere between their parking spot and the square.
A woman with a poodle wearing what looked like a trench coat and a newsboy cap strutted across the stage. Jenessa lifted her camera to snap a photo. Apparently this thing was worthy of a headline.
The line moved again, bringing them closer to one of the portable heaters set up on the lawn. Cold as it was out here, this quirky little town knew how to throw an event. Between the music, the refreshments, and the pastel bulbs hanging from trees, the square was festive and bustling. Shoveled paths crisscrossed the area.
Mara had to admit coming here might’ve been a good idea considering the number of people who’d stopped to say hello to her as she waited for her turn to take the stage.
“One thing I don’t get—why wasn’t this thing moved inside? It’s supposed to snow again this evening.” Next up, a dalmatian in a tuxedo.
“This is Maple Valley, Mara. We’ve held snowman-building contests when there was barely any snow. We’ve gone forward with a live nativity after one of the wise men burned the roof of our makeshift stable. We had a parade once just a couple of days after a tornado. Live around here long enough and eventually you stop asking why and just go with it.”
Jen’s twinkling laughter fit the mood of their surroundings—carefree delight. It reminded her, surprisingly, of Marshall. Of the way he’d appeared walking into the kitchen this morning, looking hale and hearty and not at all like a man who’d spent half the night battling a migraine and a fever. Without the beard, those grooves around his mouth looked more like dimples. Without the hair flopping over his forehead, she could see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
Without the heaviness weighing down his shoulders, he was almost lighthearted. Which, now knowing what she did about the tragedy he’d faced, was a wonder. Yet there hadn’t been a hint of grief in his expression when he’d thanked her in low, husky tones before sitting down to eat.
“Choose a name yet?” Jenessa asked. “Four more people and you’re up.”
Inspiration struck. “How about Lenny? That could work for a boy or girl, couldn’t it?” She handed her hot chocolate to Jenessa so she could kneel and open the carrier. Snow seeped through the knees of her jeans as she reached in for the cat. He-or-she came straight to her, not even a hiss or a scratch.
When Mara straightened again, Jenessa was smiling.
“Lenny. After Lenora. I like it.” She reached into her pocket. “One more thing.” She held up a black band.
“I am not wearing an eye patch, Jenessa Bellville.”
“Oh, come on, it completes the look.” She fit it on over Mara’s hair, leaving the patch on her forehead for now.
“Where’d you even get this thing?”
“My mother used to direct the community theater. My basement is full of costumes and—” She cut off. “Oh my gosh, is that Logan Walker?” She spilled half of Mara’s cocoa as she jumped and waved. “Logan! Charlie!”
A man with a young girl sitting on his shoulders, her legs bumping against his collarbone, tromped over in the snow.
“Jenessa Bellville, I was hoping we’d run into you,” the man said. He crouched to let the girl slide down his back then popped up to give Jen a big hug. “Amelia’s going to be bummed she missed you. She’s back at Dad’s house with Kate and my new nephew.”
“Don’t tell me you guys are in town just to see the pet show.”
Logan laughed. “Hardly. We’re back for Dad’s birthday. Plus”—he leaned in and lowered his voice—“don’t tell anyone, but we’re thinking of moving back.”
“What?” There went the rest of Mara’s cocoa. “Seriously? It feels like you just moved away.”
“It’s been almost two years,” Logan said. “Chicago’s great but we miss Maple Valley. We miss family even more.”
Mara was straightening Lenny’s baggy pirate pants when Jenessa tugged on her. “Oh, Logan, this is my new friend, Mara. Mara, this is Logan Walker and his daughter Charlie. One of Maple Valley’s famous Walkers. His cousin, Seth, owns The Red Door. His brother, Beckett, is married to Lucas’s sister. Logan inherited the newspaper a few years ago and ended up selling it to me.” She bent to kiss Charlie’s cheek. “You’re as adorable as ever, Miss Charlie.”
“I’m Charlotte,” the girl said.
Logan grinned. “It’s her new thing. Going by her full name.”
They chatted for another minute as a young boy led a goat wearing a bowtie across the stage. Logan promised to give his wife a hug for Jenessa before moving away.
Jenessa turned to Mara, a new sheen of gratefulness in her eyes. “Man, I did not expect to see him here today. I don’t think he has any idea how much he changed my life when he sold me the newspaper. If not for that, I could still be . . .”
Lenny purred against Mara’s chest. “Could still be?”
Jenessa shook her head as if freeing whatever serious thoughts had huddled there. “Eye patch in place. You’re up.”
Moments later, Mara was climbing the steps of the bandshell stage, the sound of her name reverberating over the square, eye patch covering one eye. “Come on, Lenny. All we have to do is strut our stuff and this will be over with.”
Somewhere in the line a dog barked and Lenny wriggled in Mara’s arms.
“It appears Captain Lenny is eager to get back his pirate ship,” the mayor quipped.
Laughter fanned through the crowd, and Mara found herself giggling along with them. Who would’ve thought that after eight months of solitude at the Everwood, she’d be up in front of these townspeople for a second time.
On a whim, she leaned over to the mayor’s microphone, held out Lenny, and gave a playful “arrrgh.”
The audience clapped and Mayor Milt beamed. “Way to get into the spirit of the day, Mara.” His white mustache twitched. “Although, it seems you may have misunderstood the purpose of this event. This is a fashion show. Not a costume show.”
Mara gaped, her focus flipping to Jenessa, who shrugged and laughed from the side of the stage.
“And for anyone who doesn’t recognize Miss Bristol with her eye patch on,” the mayor continued, “this is the intrepid young lady who’s currently intent on reviving our Everwood. You can read all about it on the front of this week’s Maple Valley News.”
Wait. What?
Lenny meowed, the crowd clapped once more, and Mara moved to the edge of the stage. She pushed up the eye patch as soon as she reached Jenessa.
Jenessa lowered her camera. “I’m soooo sorry. I didn’t realize this was about fashion, not costumes—”
“The front page?”
Jenessa’s grin turned sheepish. “So, I guess you didn’t see yesterday’s paper.”
“You’re mad.” Jenessa spoke over the rasping heater of Lucas’s truck, snow crunching under the tires and splaying past the window. Lucas had insisted they take his truck into town earlier rather than Jenessa’s little car since the roads had still been half-covered from last night’s snow.
Now it was snowing again and the wind had picked up.
“I’m not mad.” Mara’s fingertips were smudged with black from the newsprint, her toes were still numb from the cold, and she dearly wished Jenessa would drive a little slower considering the near white-out surrounding them. But she wasn’t mad.
“I thought you’d be excited about the article. We need to drum up interest however we can. Plus, it’s such a sweet underdog story.”
A stack of newspapers sat in Mara’s lap—courtesy copies, Jenessa had said. Because, yes, that was Mara’s photo splashed on the front page under the headline, “Everwood B&B Gets its Second Wind.” The photo was from her presentation at the town meeting. She hadn’t even noticed Jen’s camera with her that night.
But it wasn’t the photo or the headline or even the article itself that bothered Mara. It was her name in print—and probably online since surely the Maple Valley News had a digital edition. It was the possibility, however slim, of Garrett still looking for her.
“I’ve found you twice now, Mara. I can find you again.”
And all it’d take now was one little Google search. If he was still looking.
Which was just an irrational fear, right? He had to have given it up by now. Recognized his absurd attachment to her for what it was. He’d just been an infatuated college kid who’d gone too far.
“I really am sorry if the article bothers you, Mara. I should’ve run it by you. I thought it’d be a fun surprise. I’d hate to . . . to lose your friendship or—”
“You’re not going to lose my friendship.” Lenny meowed from the carrier at Mara’s feet.
“I wouldn’t blame you. I steamrolled into your life. I got you on that town meeting agenda without asking. I dragged you to this pet thing. I keep showing up at the B&B. I’m clingy, that’s what Sam says. And I know he’s joking, but sometimes I wonder . . .” Jenessa’s brow was pinched, her grip tight on the steering wheel, her usual perk as subdued as the lights of the Everwood up ahead. Barely visible through the snowstorm.
“You and me, we’re good, Jen. I promise.” Mara leaned toward the warmth of the truck’s heater. “Hey, can I ask you something? Back in town, you made a comment about where you’d be if Logan Walker hadn’t sold the newspaper to you. What did you mean?”
Jenessa was unusually silent for a moment. “I spent a lot of years . . .” She started, stopped, tried again. “Let’s just say, Lucas isn’t the only one with scars. His are just a little more visible.”
This was a whole new side of Jenessa—a new layer underneath her bubbly surface. Jen. Lucas. Marshall. Me. We all have our wounds.
“Jen—” Mara began, but the skidding of the truck stole her next words.
Jenessa’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “I thought the chains on Luke’s tires were supposed to—”
The vehicle lurched over a patch of ice and suddenly they were swerving, veering off the road. The newspapers flew from Mara’s lap, plopping to the floor and she was yelping, Jenessa squealing—
Until a snowdrift caught the front end of the truck. They stopped with a jerk, the clatter of Lucas’s orchard equipment colliding with their panted breaths. “Lucas is going to kill me.”
Mara’s seatbelt lanced into her chest. She unstrapped herself and reached down for Lenny’s carrier. “That could’ve been worse.”
“Way worse. But Lucas is still going to kill me.” Jenessa shifted in her seat, the engine still growling and, thankfully, the heater still chugging. She shifted the gear into reverse, but despite its spinning wheels, the truck didn’t move. “We’re stuck.”
Yes, and considering they were caught in a snow bank and the wind was picking up more every minute, they either needed to get out and try to free the truck or ditch the vehicle and make a run for the Everwood.
Or the guys were about to make the decision for them. Because that had to be them, appearing like dark silhouettes through the snowfall and hurrying toward the truck. The driver’s-side door flung open only seconds later and Lucas reached in to twist the keys free from the ignition and haul Jenessa from the truck.
And there was Marshall on Mara’s side of the truck, kicking snow out of the way and yanking her door open. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, glancing over to where Lucas had pulled Jen into a hug. “Huh. I don’t think he’s going to kill her.”
“What?” Marshall helped her out, taking hold of the carrier, steadying Mara when her boots sunk into the snow.
“Nothing.”
“You sure you’re okay? We saw the headlights coming down the lane. Lucas had been pacing for like half an hour, worrying about you guys driving in this. I thought he was going to have an aneurysm when you started swerving. Sam wasn’t much better.”
She looked over again—Lucas had finally released Jen, but he still had one arm slung over her shoulder as they tramped through the snow toward the house. Sam was on her other side, the wind carrying his disgruntled voice across the distance. A little family.
“We had no idea the roads were this bad in the country.” Marshall helped her up the ditch and onto the lane—or what she assumed was the lane. Hard to tell with fresh layers of snow and gusting wind. “Are we just leaving the truck?”
“Doesn’t look damaged, only stuck. We’ll deal with it later when the blizzard dies down. Let’s get inside.” With his free hand, Marshall reached for hers and tugged her forward. “How was the pet show?”
His long strides had her nearly jogging to keep up. “Zany. Hilarious. I wore an eye patch. I still can’t figure out if there was a point to the whole thing.”
“Bet Eunice is sad Frank missed out.”
“Huh?”
He whisked her up the porch steps without answering and into the welcoming light of the house. Marshall lowered Lenny’s carrier and the cat bounded free, disappearing up the steps. Snow clung to Mara’s hair and her coat and tracks where Jen and the others had barreled in before them covered the floor. And, oh, the warmth. She might even stop shivering eventually and—
Wait. Something was different.
Marshall stepped behind her to help her out of her coat. “You’ll have to forgive us if we went overboard.”
Her gaze swept through the lobby. Why were there twinkle lights hanging around the window and tracing the edge of the check-in desk? Was that garland twisting around the staircase banister?
She shot a glance to Marshall. He grinned. “Check out the den.”
She made quick work of yanking off her boots then trailed through the sitting room and dining room and . . .
She stopped at the opening to the den. What? Unlike the dining room, lit by the tawny glow of sconces Marshall must have replaced after the second coat of paint dried, none of the den’s lamps were on. Instead, more twinkle lights—tons of them. Around the fireplace, the picture window, the built-in shelves. A Christmas tree too? Complete with ornaments and candy canes hanging from its branches. Stockings over the fireplace. A red and green blanket draped over the couch.
Marshall joined her in the doorway. “Like it?”
“I’m so confused.”
“You said Lenora was gone at Christmas. You said you spent the holiday alone here. That you tried to pretend it wasn’t Christmas at all.”
They’d even set up a Nativity on the fireplace mantel. “But . . . this . . . I don’t understand.”
He looked adorably exasperated. “We’re giving you Christmas, Mara. I thought that was kind of clear. We found a bunch of stuff in the attic. I know it’s cheesy, but—”
“Are you kidding? Cheesy? No, Marshall, it’s wonderful. It’s . . .” She couldn’t decide whether to cry or laugh or throw her arms around him. “It’s by far the best Christmas I’ve had in years.”
“You haven’t even been to the kitchen yet. We’re making homemade pizzas. Not a very fancy Christmas feast but—”
“I love pizza.” The kitchen—that must be where Jen and the others were. And they’d turned on music. She could hear it drifting through the house.
“Do you love it as much as cereal?”
“Probably a tie.”
“By the way, don’t eat the candy canes. They were in a box in the attic, so who knows how old they are.”
Marshall started to turn away but she reached for his arm. He paused. The thought snuck up on her—a surprising one—that he must’ve been an amazing father. If he’d do something like this for a friend he’d barely known for a week, think of how much he must’ve poured out his love for his daughter.
And . . . Penny?
She cast the thought away, focusing instead on the way Marshall’s gray eyes danced in the dim light of the dining room sconces. A shadow of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. And oh, she might want to do a whole lot more than give him a grateful hug right at this moment.
And yes, yes she’d definitely warmed up.
“Merry Christmas,” she finally squeaked.
He reached down to slowly unwind her scarf from her neck until it dropped to the floor. “Merry Christmas, Mara.”
Everything—everything was perfect. The crackling fire. The pizza they’d almost finished. The laughter that filled the den.
Mara’s delight. It was everything he’d wanted when he’d found those boxes of ornaments in the attic this afternoon, when the idea had first taken hold.
She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, with the cat she supposedly didn’t like curled in her lap. She was intent on the black-and-white Christmas movie on the TV, their second in a row. This wasn’t one he recognized—something about a lady who was pretending to be married and a soldier and a baby and he didn’t even know what else.
Because he couldn’t pay attention. Because all he could keep thinking about was earlier, in the den doorway. About the very real possibility that if Mara had waited one more drawn-out second to eke out that “Merry Christmas,” he would’ve done something crazy. Or maybe stupid.
But possibly awesome.
He would’ve kissed her.
Definitely crazy.
He glanced around the room. Jen and Lucas were crowded onto the faded blue loveseat and a sprawling Sam took up half the couch next to Marshall. They realized they were good and snowed in for the night, right?
I wonder if Mara will make Jen and Sam pay for their rooms.
The thought made him laugh and Mara shot him a glance with her eyebrows slanted. Oops, guess it wasn’t a funny part of the movie. But he grinned all the same and she grinned back and . . .
And apparently thirty-five wasn’t so old a man couldn’t feel like a dopey teenager again. He turned his eyes back to the TV, but a moment later, a knock echoed. Someone was at the front door? In a blizzard?
Mara started to rise but he beat her to it. After all, he was the only one not paying a speck of attention to the movie. “I’ve got it.”
He trekked through the house toward the lobby with long strides, tarp crinkling underfoot in the dining room and sitting room. They could roll that up now that the first-floor painting was done. It’d probably take most of the day tomorrow to haul furniture out of the guestrooms so they could start painting upstairs.
A mess of boots and shoes littered the floor around a coat tree loaded with winter wear. He reached for the front door.
And the cold yanked the breath from his lungs as the woman waiting on the porch lifted her gaze. “I guess I found the right place.”
Penny.
Everything was not perfect.