Chapter 1

The white beast sprinted toward her, stopping only a few yards away before stamping its foot and hissing loudly.

The speed with which the bird moved and the raucous sounds it made brought a gasp from Monica Stevens. Where the heck had that come from? Keeping one eye on the attack guard, she cautiously angled her body to retrieve her suitcase from the back seat of the ridiculously tiny rental car. The attendant had assured her it was all they had available, but she was fairly certain he’d just wanted to get the ugly thing off the lot. With its shape and color, it looked more like a wedge of cheese on wheels than a functioning automobile.

A whoosh of air whipped around her as the beast suddenly reared up, seeming to triple in size. Abandoning the suitcase, she pressed back against the door of the vehicle. As the animal moved ever closer, its hissing was accompanied by a rhythmic thumping sound. The thing was pure white, except for bright orange patches on its face and feet. And its eyes were a startling brilliant blue—so very disconcerting.

Would staring into its eyes be taken as a sign of aggression? A dog you’d avoid staring at directly, but what about a goose?

Monica dropped her gaze, just in case, and realized she was standing in a puddle of water left by melting snow. “Perfect.”

Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been home in California, sitting on the balcony of her condo, sipping a nice Chardonnay, and watching the sun dip low over Monterey Bay. Three long flights, innumerable delays, and a horrendous sixty-five minute drive from Rochester, which should only have taken forty but for the slush-covered roads, and Monica was back in Havenport, New York. From the majestic Pacific Ocean to dreary Lake Ontario in only fifteen hours; ironic how fifteen hours can bridge a lifetime.

The goose took another menacing step closer. Okay, she needed to do something. If she could open the car door, maybe she could sound the horn and scare it away. Or at the very least sound out an S.O.S. to call for help.

She reached behind and felt for the door handle. Slowly, don’t antagonize the bird. Don’t look at it. Look somewhere else. Over there, by the tree swing…

“Holy heck!” Monica froze when she spotted two pairs of brown eyes peering out at her from behind the giant oak tree. Now what should she do? The kids couldn’t be more than three or four years old. She had to make sure the beast didn’t see them.

“Stay where you are.” She tried to sound calm, not wanting to frighten the kids or provoke the bird.

Two boys with straight jet-black hair, dressed in matching yellow rain slickers and black rubber boots, emerged from behind the tree. Then, to her horror, they began walking toward her. She had to do something. She’d read how vicious geese could be, and this bird was certainly living up to the reputation. Two little boys wouldn’t stand a chance. “No, stop! Don’t move.”

And of course, they didn’t listen, continuing their approach, giggles erupting from their throats. At any moment the goose would see them and…

“Woa-ah-ee-ee.” Monica hadn’t known that such an obnoxious sound was even inside of herself to make, but she screamed it and lunged at the bird, flapping her arms in the air.

“What on earth…Monica? What are you doing?”

The goose appeared mildly taken aback by Monica’s performance. Then, after seeming to give her a disdainful glare, it turned and, half flying and half hopping, returned to wherever it had come from.

The boys had stopped dead in their tracks, staring at her, mouths open wide. Monica turned toward her sister, who seemed equally astonished. “I had to stop it from going after the boys.” She took a deep breath to slow her pounding heart. “What the heck is Mom thinking, having a g-g-goose like that with l-l-l-little k-k-k-kids?” She started shivering. Her sweater wasn’t warm enough to keep away the bitter cold of the north and she’d lost the feeling of her toes in her wet and likely ruined leather sandals. “And since w-w-when does it s-snow in Oct-t-tober?”

Cathy Jenning’s eyes shone with humor as she engulfed Monica in a hug. “Welcome home, Monica.”

Monica stepped back and ruefully returned the smile. Cathy had a way of taking the sting out of life. But then, she’d always gotten everything she’d wanted. Three years Monica’s junior, her sister was married to a great guy, had two teenaged daughters, and loved her job as a teacher. Monica envied her, but didn’t begrudge Cathy her happiness. “It’s not my home, anymore.”

“It is for the next two months, at least,” Cathy said.

Monica eyed her suspiciously. “Don’t get any ideas that I’m going to stay. I’m just here to help out while Mom recovers from her surgery. How is she? Have you heard how it went?”

“Yes, they called a while ago. The hip replacement went fine. We can visit for a short time tonight, after supper.”

“Good.”

Their mother was strong and in incredibly good physical shape for a woman in her late sixties. Plus she’d always been blessed with excellent health. Monica was optimistic that the two months the doctors anticipated would be required for Terry to fully recover was a worst-case scenario. With any luck, she’d be back in California before Christmas.

“He’s a gander, by the way,” Cathy said over her shoulder after Monica had retrieved her suitcase and was following her up the stairs onto the veranda. “George. His mate and their goslings were killed by wild dogs last summer. He’s been over-protective of the twins ever since. I think he’s lonely.”

Monica pushed away a stirring of sympathy for George the gander. “I still don’t think geese are an appropriate choice to have around young children. How many does Mom have?”

“Five now. And they’re easier than goats.”

“Five? Why not a dog? Or why have anything at all? It’s not like she doesn’t already have enough to take care of with running a daycare full of kids,” Monica persisted, easily falling into the familiar pattern of friendly bickering.

“Mother Goose Daycare should have geese,” Cathy said, holding open the front door.

Before Monica could enter, two small bodies scurried past. “Boots off! Coats up!” Cathy and Monica called together, echoing their mother’s familiar refrain to them when they were younger.

“Yup, it’s good to have you back,” Cathy said, giving Monica another hug.

Monica was unprepared for the physical and emotional assault of stepping into her childhood home. It smelled just as she remembered—a combination of her mother’s favorite lemon cleanser, hardwood polish, and sugar cookies. No doubt Mom had baked a batch, or twelve, in preparation for her absence—or of Monica’s arrival. This particular recipe was Monica’s favorite treat and her mother had always had a fresh batch ready whenever she came home from an overnight sleepover or summer camp—even those first years of college.

It was as if nothing had changed in the big rambling farmhouse over the past seven years. The front hall was littered with boots and shoes of various sizes, an assortment of kid-sized fall and winter jackets hung from hooks on the wall. The big oak staircase stretched out to her left, leading to the five upstairs bedrooms.

The kitchen was at the end of the hallway. She heard the boys laughing as they pushed a chair from the table toward a counter.

“We’d better get in there or who knows what kind of mess we’ll find,” Cathy said.

Monica followed her sister along the hallway, glancing to her right as they passed the front sitting room and dining room? She paused on the threshold and slowly entered what she remembered had been the formal dining area. Her mother’s twelve-person mahogany table and chair set had been removed, replaced by a double bed and nightstand. A television sat on the buffet, surrounded by pictures of Monica and Cathy; their hazel eyes peering out from beneath a variety of dreadful hairstyles in a rainbow of colors. After moving to California, Monica had forsaken the blonde she’d adopted in her twenties and thirties to return to her natural brown.

“Mom moved down here a year ago,” Cathy said from behind. “The stairs were getting to be too much.”

“The dining set?” Monica said and then felt stupid.

“Phil and I have it, but if you want…” Cathy said and looked down, almost guiltily.

“No,” Monica said quickly and brushed past her sister to continue into the kitchen. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry.”

She didn’t know which she found more disconcerting—how things had remained the same or how much had changed.

What did you expect?

The only thing she was sure of was that she had never expected to return to Havenport again.

“How about some tea?” Cathy asked.

“Got anything stronger?”

“Devon, Derrick, say ‘hello’ to Monica,” Cathy said, ignoring Monica’s half-joke. “She’s going to be looking after you for a while. Monica is my sister and Nanny-Goose’s daughter.”

Nanny-Goose?

“Deal with it!” Cathy murmured, catching Monica’s sardonic glance.

The two boys climbed down off their chairs and solemnly shook Monica’s hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Devon and Derrick,” she said.

“What shall we call you?” one asked. Devon? Derrick? Presumably she’d eventually figure out which was which.

“Sissy-Goose?” the other suggested.

Monica scowled at Cathy’s snort of laughter. “How about Monica?” she said, turning back to the boys.

“That’s boring,” said Devon or Derrick, “but okay.”

“Well, now that that’s settled,” Cathy said, “why don’t you boys go meet the bus so you can introduce Monica to your brother and sisters while you all have a snack.”

The boys hollered in glee and raced back to the front hall. There was a clamor of noise as they jumped to reach their coats and stamped into their boots before the door slammed shut after them. Blessed silence.

“Twins?” Monica asked.

Cathy shrugged. “They’re about the same age.”

“So tell me about this family and why they were the only ones you couldn’t find alternate daycare for while Mom is recuperating?”

“Luke Donovan is a great guy. He has six kids—”

“Six! How old?”

“Four of them are in school. Michael’s nine, Kate is eight, Lucy is seven, and Ophelia is six. Devon and Derrick are the only ones you’ll have for the full day. The others will come for an hour or two after school.”

“Six children under the age of ten?”

“I couldn’t find a daycare that could take all six, and Luke didn’t want to separate them.”

“Where’s their mother?” Monica asked, still having difficulty envisioning a family with so many children so close in age.

“She died a couple of years ago from a brain aneurism. It was very sudden and very tragic. She was a lovely woman. They were a lovely family. They moved here about the time you left, I think. Beth’s death hit everyone pretty hard—especially the older kids.”

Monica stared down at her hands. Even after seven years, she could still see the pale shiny indentation in her flesh made by her wedding band. She had come to terms with the end of her marriage and all that had led up to it. At the time she’d thought her situation was tragic. But a young woman robbed of the chance to raise her children, to celebrate their birthdays, graduations, marriages, and to see her grandchildren? That was a real tragedy.

Monica raised her gaze to her sister’s. “Life is so unfair, isn’t it?”

Cathy reached out and squeezed Monica’s hand. “Are you going to be okay with this?”

“I don’t know, Cath. I hope so.”