trucks parked in the back. The windows were reinforced with steel bars. Are you in law enforcement?”
“I work for the government,” Noah said quietly. A look passed between the three men, and he said nothing more to clarify the statement. Grace realized that he wasn’t going to tell her anything else.
“Hey, get back inside here.” Noah looked down and caught another kitten making a bid for freedom. “These guys are going to be real escape artists. We may need a perimeter gate and security lights.”
“Mom won’t like it if they pee on her furniture, that’s for sure.” Noah’s older brother crossed his arms, smiling a little. “But that’s one scene I might like to see.”
“Not in this lifetime. Your mother will know how to handle them,” Alex McLeod murmured. “She raised all kinds of animals when she was a girl.” His voice warmed. “Here we are, Ms. Lindstrom.”
“Call me Grace, please.”
“Grace, then, and a warm welcome to our house. Wait, please, so that Reed can help you over the snow.”
“Reed will not,” Noah said curtly. “Reed will be a good little boy and take the babies inside while I carry Grace over the snow.”
“Boys. They are always boys,” Alex muttered. He parked the Hummer as easily as if it had been a Prius. At the front door his wife emerged in a hooded coat that looked four sizes too big. Snow dusted her face as she moved onto the front porch. “She was worrying. She always worries.” Alex’s voice filled with love.
The sound made something tug at Grace’s chest. There were deep emotions here. She could almost feel them tug at the air around her.
She smiled when Alex leaped out and grabbed his wife, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. “See. I brought them back safely, just as I said.”
“And if you’ll show some sense, you’ll put me down so we can all get in before we freeze.” His wife’s eyes shone as Alex kissed her. “Enough of that, you big pirate. Was that a cat I heard?”
“Four of them,” Noah said, scooping Grace up off the front seat. “Grace, meet my mother, Tatiana McLeod. Mom, this is Grace Lindstrom, and there are three kittens, a mother cat and a puppy inside that bundle Reed is carrying.”
Grace tried to smooth her hair and tug down the hem of her black dress, which was difficult considering she was still cradled in Noah’s arms. “I’m sorry to intrude on you like this, Mrs. McLeod.”
“Intrude? I love guests, and unexpected ones are the best. I heard this storm could go on throughout the night so I’ve been cooking all afternoon. Now we are ready to eat. You can tuck your babies in before the fire. I have some old sweaters we can use for blankets.”
As soon as they were inside, Tatiana bustled away, giving orders over her shoulder to her two sons.
The small house was neat as a pin, the living room filled with framed pictures. Folded afghans covered two big wing chairs and a faded chintz couch. Books sat in neat stacks on two end tables, with bookmarks inserted, and a pair of old felted wool slippers sat in front of the fireplace. All these details came to Grace as she heard the happy ring of jokes and questions swirl around her. Energy crackled everywhere, marking the bustle and arguments, measuring the depth of love and sharing in the house.
It was nothing like Grace’s family. Grace had known unerring love and generosity, but her grandfather always behaved with reticence and careful restraint. Over the years silence had become natural and soothing. People didn’t shove back chairs and run to the door in the Lindstrom house. Adults didn’t jostle and joke, pounding each other on the back in fun. In fact, all the bustle and laughter of Noah’s family made Grace keenly aware that she was an outsider.
She stared at Noah as he carried her through the living room. “You can put me down now, Noah.”
“Not yet.”
“Why?” Grace frowned as he carried her down a hallway covered with more family photos.
“Because I’m taking you to the kitchen. It’s the warmest room of the house, and my mom has dinner waiting for us. We never keep food waiting.” Noah strode into a big room with wide bay windows overlooking a small backyard. Snow had drifted up, half covering a red wooden fence and most of the branches of the apple trees ranged along one side of the yard. More snow was falling, but inside all was warmth and laughter, and the air was rich with the fragrance of caramelized onions and roasting tomatoes. Little dumplings gleamed, fat and golden, on the stove.
Grace’s mouth began to water. Fried dumplings were one of her favorite things. And something told her that Tatiana McLeod was an amazing cook. With some luck, Grace might even leave with a few old family recipes.
Noah set her down, and she moved toward a faded wing chair near the window. “Not there,” he said quietly. “It’s better for you to sit over here, closer to the fire.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
For a moment he hesitated. The pain in his eyes confused Grace. Had she said the wrong thing? “Noah, I don’t want to bother your family. You probably have plans for tonight. Maybe I should go.”
“There is always room for one more chair at the table,” he said firmly. “A guest is never turned away.”
The firm tone of his voice made Grace realize this was unswerving ritual, not mere social lip service. This welcome came from old-world hospitality, faithfully preserved in this house. Even if she was an outsider, the knowledge left her feeling a little warmer, harbored against the wind that shook the windows and blanketed the yard with drifts.
This was a real family. The kind Grace used to dream about as an unhappy child. Here there would be laughter and arguments and cooking together around a big stove. Somewhere over the passing years Grace had forgotten about those childhood dreams.
“Are your feet cold?” Tatiana McLeod bustled over, drying her hands on a linen towel.
The woman’s gaze was keen, and Grace felt the force of that scrutiny. “They’re recovering a bit. I smell something wonderful, Mrs. McLeod.”
“Call me Tatiana, please. You are smelling my varenyky. Dumplings, that is. You maybe call them perogies.”
“I love fried dumplings. Do you use sauerkraut inside or turnips and onion? Or simply potatoes?”
“Ah, you know about making varenyky. I am most impressed.”
“I spent some time in Poland last year. I stayed at the University of Warsaw to study for a month.” Grace did not add that she had written a series of articles for a professional English cooking magazine and had won an award for her series.
“Really? You must tell me more.”
“After Poland I visited the Black Sea and was lucky enough to interview the senior chef at the Hotel Odessa. He was a very nice man. He taught me all about varieties of borscht.”
Noah’s mother looked at Grace with outright surprise. “Not many have the good sense to appreciate borscht or our dumplings.” Tatiana wiped her hands on her apron and smiled slowly. “It appears that you are one of the rare few.”
Without
