a glass darkly, like the good book says. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy this life and the people around us.”
Lana smiled at the woman who was trying so hard to comfort her. “I do enjoy the people around me. I love the kids. And I’m blessed with friends like you.”
“And the Lord meets your basic needs, right? Better than any human. But still...” Marnie sighed and put a hand over her heart. “There’s nothing like the love of a good man.”
Lana wouldn’t know, but her friend’s comment reminded her to get out of her own concerns. Marnie was a widow and had had plenty of losses herself. “Tell me about Oscar,” she said. “That was your husband’s name, right?”
And looking at the pictures Marnie pulled up on her phone, listening to the stories of storms they’d weathered, vacations they’d shared, the home they’d built together, made Lana feel the tiniest spark of hopeless longing. Maybe there was a small chance that someday, somehow, she’d find love herself.
Maybe even with someone a little bit like Flint Rawlings.
But, no. No way. He was cranky, struggling to care for his son, emotionally repressed. A heartache waiting to happen.
The sound of organ music drifted from upstairs, along with some laughter; musicians practicing for Sunday’s service, no doubt. Lana breathed in the piney scent from evergreen branches brought in to decorate the church and drank down the rest of her tea, warm and comforting with its hint of lemon and mint.
She busied herself with pushing boxes of glue and scissors and sewing supplies across the room and carrying heavy containers of donated items out from the storage closet. She worked up a sweat and tried not to think.
An hour later, after they’d finished their work and were leaving the church, Marnie stopped still. “I just had the best idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you hear that Flint Rawlings’s nanny quit this week?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, you should become Flint Rawlings’s temporary nanny!” Marnie’s face broke into a broad smile. “Sometimes, I’m a genius.”
“Marnie! Would you stop with the matchmaking?”
“No, I’m serious. School’s almost out, right? And I’ve been worrying about how you’re going to spend the holidays, alone as you are. You could spend time at the ranch, help a little boy who needs it, and, well, just be a part of things. A ranch at Christmas is a wonderful place.”
Marnie’s words created a vision inside Lana. Having people around her at Christmas, gathering around the table or the fire, helping out Logan...seeing Flint on a daily basis... “No. That wouldn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Just...it wouldn’t, okay?” All of a sudden, Lana felt like the church was too warm and small. She needed air. “You know what, I think I’m going to walk home, all right?” Without waiting for Marnie to answer, she hurried out of the church, bag in hand, and strode rapidly in the direction of her lonely little apartment where fairy-tale dreams wouldn’t disturb the small, safe life she was trying to build for herself.
The next Monday, Flint was teaching three of the teenagers how to take apart and grease a balky hay baler when he saw the elementary school bus chugging toward the ranch.
“Stick with it,” he told them, “and help Ben get up to speed, okay?” He was glad that Ben Turner had joined the group. The boy wasn’t always so good with social interactions. But to his surprise, Robby Gonzalez and Ben were hitting it off, which was good; they both needed a friend.
Flint jogged up toward the ranch house, Cowboy trotting alongside, tongue hanging out. They arrived in time to meet Logan as he came off the bus.
He was starting to get the hang of this single dad stuff. After his conference with Lana Alvarez last week, he’d made a commitment to himself to spend more quality time with Logan.
Logan’s coat was half on, half off, and Flint knelt to adjust it as Logan talked a mile a minute. “How’d you put a note in my desk, huh, Dad? That was cool!”
Flint pulled out his phone and showed Logan the picture of himself sitting in Logan’s place at school. “I wanted to see your classroom, buddy. Pretty neat desk you keep.”
“Oh man, that’s cool!” Logan started pulling papers out of his backpack. “Look, Dad! I got a star and a sticker on my Write-and-Draw!”
Taking the paper, Flint examined the carefully formed letters that spelled out “Dad” and “Logan.” Logan had drawn a small figure and a larger one, hand in hand, at the top of the sheet.
Flint’s throat tightened. He’d made some mistakes in his life, but Logan had come out of one of them. Maybe God knew what He was doing after all.
“And Miss Alvarez wrote you a note, too! Only I can’t read it.” Logan pulled out a sheet of note paper with a border of colorful crayons and a couple of sentences of neat handwriting, and thrust it in Flint’s face. “What does it say, Dad?”
Flint read it aloud: Logan was very cooperative today about doing his reading and cleaning up his part of the classroom. He’s excited to have his dad help at the Christmas party.
“Yeah!” Logan yelled. “Miss Alvarez said I did good! And—” he cocked his head to one side “—she even said you’re going to come help with our party.”
Flint nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“Will you know how to do it, though?” Logan asked doubtfully. “Like, to make crafts and stuff?”
“I’ll figure it out,” Flint promised.
“Okay.” Logan accepted Flint’s word without question, making Flint doubly determined to shine as a school dad.
They walked beside the main ranch house together, heading for the barn. As Logan chattered on about his day at school, Flint’s mind wandered to Lana Alvarez. It had been nice of her to send home some positive reinforcement, both for his sake and for Logan’s. She was a good person. He’d thought about her a number of times since their conference and then dropping her off at the church.
In fact, it was hard to get her off his mind. But as for Marnie’s talk about their dating—which the inquisitive, good-natured cook had brought up again to him, twice—no way. No way. Lana Alvarez was the last woman he’d want to date. Even if she weren’t Logan’s teacher, she was way too young and way too pretty. In other words, way too much like Logan’s mom.
As they passed the parking lot behind the ranch house, a car door slammed, and Avery Culpepper sauntered forward, a plate of cookies in her hand.
Who had she come to see? He wasn’t aware of the newcomer having any friends at the ranch. She’d done a better job of making enemies. Yes, she was Cyrus Culpepper’s granddaughter and heir, but the fact that her grandfather had left her only a small cabin and a
