Mackenzie finished making lunch —a perfectly created Western omelet—and took it to the kitchen table to eat. Ivan danced around him as he walked, pressing up against him as he cut off a bite of the still-hot omelet
Mackenzie tolerated the dog’s interference for as long as he could, then barked, “Ivan! Lie down!”
The dog gave him one mournful look, then padded to his crate and laid himself down. Mackenzie stood there, mouth agape. The animal had actually obeyed him! And without much hesitation. So little, in fact, that it didn’t really qualify as hesitation. It was more of an “Are you sure?” pause before doing as his master had ordered.
Mackenzie rose and went to stand in front of the dog, who now rested with his head on his paws. “Ivan, come.”
Within seconds Ivan was sitting in front of him, gazing up at him.
“Ivan, lie down.”
The husky did so.
“Good boy, Ivan.” Mackenzie gave the dog a satisfied rub. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so pleased. He scratched Ivan’s head. The husky panted happily and pressed his face into Mackenzie’s hand.
Two realizations came to Mackenzie: He liked having Ivan around, and he was going to miss the dog when his real owners showed up.
Pushing that thought away, Mackenzie gave Ivan one final pat, then rose and went to dump his omelet down the garbage disposal. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He grabbed his coat from the rack. Pulling a doggie treat from the tin, he tossed it into Ivan’s crate. The dog entered the crate and polished off the tidbit before lying down.
When Mackenzie went outside, he stood on the porch. Where should he go? He stepped off the porch and started out, but his step slowed when he came to Kylie’s gate. He paused, studying the tidy, white house. True, she had Christmas decorations up, but at least they didn’t cover every inch of her house and lawn. The display was attractive, he had to admit.
Luminaries lined the walkway, though they weren’t lit at the moment. An elegant wreath adorned the door holding a red banner sporting the simple message, “Immanuel: God With Us!” White lights were strung on the two trees in her front yard and along the eaves of the house. Inside he could see a crèche set up in front of the large plate-glass window. If he remembered correctly, it was lit in such a way that those passing by at night could see it.
“Oh, good! I need an extra hand.”
He looked over to see Kylie standing in her doorway, smiling at him. Her golden hair flowed about her face, looking almost like a halo. He glanced around, surprised to discover that he’d come through the gate and was standing on her front porch. Heat washed his cheeks.
“I . . . I was just passing by.”
She stepped forward and laid her hand on his sleeve. “You can’t leave. Like I said, I need some help. Won’t take but a minute . . .” and he let her lead him inside. He followed her into a bright kitchen decorated with sunflowers. It was the perfect setting for her, he decided, looking around.
“Here you go.” She pulled his hands out and stuck hot-pad gloves on them.
He stared down at his hands. “What—?”
“Hold still. I have to get this tied on.” She reached around him from behind.
He looked down to see she’d slipped an apron around his waist and was tying it in place.
She came around to cast a critical eye over him, then smiled. “Wonderful. You’re all set.”
“For what?”
An electronic beeping sounded, and she shooed him toward the oven. “For that! Pull the pan of cookies out and set them on the table. There’s a flipper there to take the cookies off the pan and set them on the cooling racks.”
Had he heard correctly? “Cookies? I don’t—”
“You’ll be fine. Here, hold the flipper like this. But you’d better hurry or they’ll burn!”
There was something warm and enchanting in her eyes. He fumbled with the oven door. How was he supposed to do anything with these ridiculous mittens on his hands? He wrestled the door open, pulled the pan of golden-brown cookies from the oven, spun around—and bumped right into Kylie. The sifter of flour she’d been carrying went flying, dousing him with a cloud of white.
He coughed and sputtered, then froze when he heard her laugh. Blinking the flour out of his eyes, he stared at her, fully intending to tell her how little he appreciated being laughed at, but the words stopped in his throat.
She stood there, flour smeared on her cheek, dusting her hair, her eyes sparkling.
He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.
She bit her lips to stop her laughter and grabbed a damp cloth from the sink. “Here, let me help.”
A smile tugged at his lips. Lindsay was right. The woman was contagious.
She wiped his shirt front, rinsed out the cloth, then went on tiptoe to wipe his face. At her touch on his cheek, their eyes met—and all at once the very air around them seemed charged.
Kylie lowered her hand and stepped back. He watched her lick her lips and understood. His own throat and lips had gone bone dry.
“I . . .” She cleared her throat. “Maybe you should do this yourself.”
She held out the cloth, and he took it from her, grateful for something to do. He moved to the sink and washed his face, pondering the uproar his emotions seemed to be in. If he were smart, he’d get out of there. Fast.
He turned to face her, and he realized he had absolutely no desire to do the smart thing. He shrugged. “Well, since I’ve been baptized by flour, I may as well help you finish this little venture.”
The smile Kylie gave him confirmed his belief that being smart wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.