of succulent chicken between his teeth, he heard giggles from the kitchen, followed by voices all talking at once. They were a close trio, his little pack of strays. Myla seemed very protective of her children. Nick had to wonder what kind of man would leave her and her two children with nothing.
It’s not your problem, Nick, he reminded himself. Sit up straight and eat your dinner.
With his first bite of the flaky roll, he remembered holding Myla the night before. Somehow, he’d managed to lose all decorum right there in his own kitchen. Carolyn would just love to have the details of that.
Of course, he didn’t owe Carolyn or anyone else any explanations. He liked having no strings attached, and no obligations to anyone. Memories of his loving parents moved through the room like ghosts, haunting Nick with a poignancy he refused to acknowledge. He couldn’t deal with the responsibilities of that kind of devoted love. He had other obligations—to Lydia and Rudolph Oil. Wishing Lydia didn’t always work so late, he tried once again to eat his dinner.
By his third bite, Nick could stand it no longer. Used to his house being quiet, he hopped up on the pretense of telling them to keep it down so he could eat. Making a beeline for the swinging door, he opened it to find three sets of surprised eyes looking at him as if he were the abominable snowman.
“Are we bothering you?” Myla asked, jumping up to take the glass he had in his hand. “Can I get you anything?”
Nick threw up his hands. “Yeah, a chair. You all are having entirely too much fun in here. I decided I’d better eat in here with you, just so we could avoid anymore surprises like last night’s.”
“Sure!” Patrick patted the stool nearest him. “Come on in, Mr. Nick. We don’t mind him eating with us, do we, Mom?”
“Of course not,” Myla replied softly. “After all, this is his house. He can eat in any room he chooses.”
Nick’s smile spread across his face like cream over strawberries. “I’ll go get my food.”
In a few minutes, he was settled in, packing away Myla’s dinner like a man starved. Between bites, he regaled the children with tales of the adventures of Lydia and Nick as they were growing up.
“See this scar?” He showed Jesse a faint white dent right in the middle of his forehead. “Lydia gave me that with a roller skate. Had to have seven stitches. Mother made both of us go to bed early for a month.”
“Why’d she hit you with a roller skate?” Jesse asked, her hoarseness making her voice soft-pitched.
“I chased her with a granddaddy long-legs,” he explained, a grin encasing his face. “She hates spiders.”
“I’m not scared of bugs,” Jesse stated. “We lived in the country. I played with bugs all the time.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have that house no more, Jesse,” Patrick reminded his sister. “It was repo—repur—”
“Repossessed,” Myla finished, the flush on her cheeks indicating her discomfort. “Hush up now, and finish your dinner. We have to get up early tomorrow to get you both enrolled in school.”
Nick steered the conversation away from the house they’d lost. “School? You two are too smart for that, aren’t you?”
“Lydia’s helping me get them straightened out,” Myla said over the children’s giggles. “She’s been such a help—she’s even looking into low-cost housing in this district, in case I don’t get into Magnolia House.”
“Trust good ol’ Lydia,” Nick replied.
Wondering why he sounded so sarcastic, Myla said, “You don’t share the same strong faith as your sister, do you?”
Shocked by her directness, Nick became defensive. “I’ve learned to rely on myself. I don’t need to turn to a higher being to help me through life.”
Myla leaned forward on her stool, her voice quiet. “Being self-reliant is good. After all, the Lord gave us brains. But sometimes, Nick, we can’t do it all by ourselves. We need His help. And it’s all right to ask for it.”
She could see the anger sparking through his eyes.
“I don’t need His help.” Waving his arms, he spanned the room. “As you can see, I’m doing okay on my own.”
She nodded. “Oh, yes, you’re doing great material-wise. But what about spiritually? You don’t like Christmas. Why is that, Nick?”
“That’s none of your business,” he said, getting up to stomp to the sink. “Your job is to run this house efficiently, not delve into my personal life.”
She followed him. “Of course. You make perfect sense.” She started stacking the dishes he absently handed her. “But then, you’re in charge, right?”
“And what does that mean?” They stood shoulder to shoulder, heads up, eyes flashing.
“I know what’s expected of me here, Nick. I work for you and I intend to do a thorough job. But I can’t help but notice you don’t have a strong sense of faith. That bothers me.”
Wanting to turn the tables on her, he said, “Yeah, well, you need to be more concerned with your own problems. After all, you’re the one without a home!”
Hurt, she said, “I’ll find one. And I’ll find a good job, too.”
He groaned as she almost sliced his palm with a knife in her haste to load the dishwasher. “You’ll barely make ends meet, Myla. It’s going to be a struggle.”
“I’ll manage,” she retorted. “I have a higher help than you’ll ever know.”
“Oh, that’s right. Your faith. Well, faith won’t get you through a cold winter night, now will it?”
“It did,” she replied calmly. “I prayed for help and the Lord sent it.” She gave him a meaningful look.
“Fine,” he said, sighing in defeat. “So, why can’t you just do the job you were hired to do, instead of wasting your time trying to save me?”
“I just thought you could use a friend.”
“I don’t need a friend, and you need to concentrate on getting your own life back in order.”
“I will, but in the meantime, if you need to talk…”
“I don’t need anything, Myla.” Trying to change the focus back to her, he added, “I’m willing to help you in any way I can, though. And I’m worried about you moving into that homeless shelter too soon. Having faith is one thing, but surviving is quite another.”
“I would think you’d want me to move out,” she replied. “You spout all this encouragement, then hand me a few checks to cover your own embarrassment. I’m trying to start over—on my own, and while I appreciate everything you and Lydia and your friends are doing, I have to do this for myself. If that means giving myself over to blind faith, if that means putting my trust in the Lord, then I can do it. I won’t let anyone ever make me question my faith again.” She stopped loading dishes to stare across
