the old, poorly insulated house.
“Because those kids’ needs don’t just go away when school lets out for Christmas break,” Nana said. “Reese has an overload of boys whose parents work long hours and can’t supervise them, so the church board is sponsoring his Christmas Camp.” She picked up a piece of toast and bit off a tiny corner. “Thank you for fixing me dinner, honey. It’s real good.”
“You need to eat more.” Her grandmother was way skinnier than she should be, and Gabby’s heart constricted with guilt. Yes, she’d had to take a job on the other side of the state to pay her and Izzy’s bills, but she should have visited more often.
A moot point now. She’d lost the job because of missing too much work; a single mom didn’t have much choice when her baby was sick and she had no friends or relatives in town.
Nana’s casual revelation that she wasn’t feeling too well and “wouldn’t mind a visit” had come as a blessing. Now it looked like the blessing went both ways.
“Anyway,” Nana said, waving a hand toward the field that adjoined their edge-of-town house, “Reese’s main assistant had to leave for a family emergency. He’s in a spot.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of applicants.” Who wouldn’t want to work with the second-most-popular former football player in Bethlehem Springs?
First most popular, now.
“You forget what a small town Bethlehem Springs is,” Nana said.
Oh, no she didn’t. That was a good part of why she’d left.
Bethlehem Springs had been a wonderful place to grow up, and most people had been kind despite Gabby’s shaky family history and thrift-store clothes. She’d had a good life here with Nana. Firm friends, good grades, plenty of opportunities.
But that had all changed after the accident.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and held out her hands for Izzy. “Come on, let me hold you while Nana eats,” she said. Gabby repeated her mantra: Izzy’s what’s important.
I’ll take care of you. I’ll do right by you.
Izzy was her joy out of sorrow, and she gave Gabby’s life purpose and meaning. No, Gabby wouldn’t have the caring family she’d dreamed of growing up, or at least, she wouldn’t have a man to protect her; her dreams of a white knight had turned to dust. But she’d give Izzy a sense of security. That was paramount.
“It’s a real godsend, your being here.” Nana dutifully forked up a green bean. “I’ve been wanting to get to know my great-granddaughter.”
Gabby patted her grandmother’s thin arm. “I’m so glad we’ll get to spend Christmas together.”
And one of the first orders of business was to decorate. Normally, by December 1, Nana would have had the entire house decked out in red and green. The fact that there were no Christmas decorations out said it all about how sick her grandmother had been.
The doorbell chimed through the little house. Izzy yowled her indignation at the unfamiliar sound.
Nana set aside her plate and held out her arms for the baby. “Get the door,” she said to Gabby, then pulled Izzy to her chest and made soothing noises at her. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re okay.”
Izzy quieted instantly, and Gabby smiled her thanks before heading toward the front door. Nana truly was a baby whisperer, and it would be wonderful to have her help with Izzy.
Not if the price was working for Reese, however. That, she couldn’t tolerate. There was too much history between them, too much pain.
Nana’s cat, Pickles—so named because of his sour disposition—sneaked toward the door, barely visible in the front room’s dim light.
Gabby was wise to the feline’s tricks. “No, you don’t,” she said, sweeping the cat into her arms. “It’s too cold for you to go outside, and you’re too old to spend the night out, anyway.” As she spoke, she opened the door.
Reese Markowski stood on the porch in the winter twilight, a bag of groceries in one arm.
“Oh...” Gabby took a step back, sucking in a breath. She hadn’t seen Reese for well over a year. His hair was shorter—the military thing—and his shoulders seemed broader.
And he had no smile for her now.
The cat screeched in her arms and she realized she was squeezing him. “Come in,” she said to Reese, but the words came out in a croak, and she cleared her throat and repeated them, holding on to the struggling cat. She stepped back farther, the cat providing a convenient barrier.
Reese stepped inside and shut the door behind him, and she let the cat escape, watched it stalk off behind the couch. She’d rather look anywhere than at Reese’s eyes.
“I didn’t know you were here,” he said stiffly. “I was at the store. Brought your grandmother a few things.”
“I can take them. Thank you.” Although that would involve stepping closer to the man she’d once loved with all her now broken heart.
“I’ll put them in the kitchen. Heavy bag.” He walked past her without a second glance.
Clearly he felt at home in Nana’s house. How long had he been helping out her grandmother this way?
And then realization came crashing in: he’d find out about Izzy.
She couldn’t bear that, couldn’t bear his questions, whether spoken or unspoken. She needed time to figure out how to present the facts of the case, how to frame the reality that she’d had a baby less than nine months after he’d left for the service. She hurried after him. “Thanks. Nana’s sleeping. I’ll take care of these from here.”
“I usually put them away for her.” He’d set the bag down on the counter and was shifting cans into a cupboard.
“It’s not necessary.”
“I can do it.” His voice was sharp. “I still have one good hand.”
Only then did she notice he was using only one hand for unloading the groceries. She couldn’t see his other hand beneath his jacket.
“Did something...happen?” she asked.
“IED explosion. Amputated below the elbow.” He used his left hand to flap the other jacket sleeve back and forth briefly before going back to shelving groceries. The sleeve was empty.
She sucked in a breath and searched his face, taking in his tight jaw, the way his brows drew together. So that was why he hadn’t finished his tour of duty. “I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know.”
“But you were going to be a carpenter. Can you still...” She trailed off.
He shook his head. “Not the way I wanted to.”
Pain wrapped around her stomach and squeezed. All his dreams. All that talent.
