your name?” Ethan asked the woman.
He knew before she answered, he was going to hate her name. He knew she would have a name like Tiffany, or Jade, or Charity.
“Lacey,” she said evenly, “Lacey McCade.”
Bingo. Not a sensible name like Mary or Betty.
“Mrs. Bishop broke her hip,” he said to Gumpy. “She’s not coming.”
Gumpy beamed as if he’d just won the lottery. The kids screeched through, squeezing between the coffee table and the couch.
But she reached out an arm and stopped Doreen and then caught up Danny. “You can help me bake cookies tomorrow if you go quietly and put on your pajamas.”
Tomorrow?
“What kind?” Danny demanded.
“What kind do you like?”
Ethan glared at her. Tomorrow?
“Chocolate chip,” they said together.
“We don’t have chocolate chips,” he said. Not that she was going to be here long enough to bake cookies.
“I can do it before I go,” she told him levelly, as if she could read his mind. “It only takes half an hour or so.” And then as if that settled it, she smiled at the kids, a smile so radiant it almost melted the caution he felt. Almost. “Do you like oatmeal cookies?” she asked them.
They hooted their approval, just as if they fully intended to earn their cookies by quietly going and putting on their pajamas.
“Oatmeal?” she asked him.
He nodded curtly, folded his arms over his chest, tried to suppress his surprise—and annoyance—when Doreen and Danny regarded her solemnly for a moment, and then marched off silently to put on their PJ’s.
Gumpy looked smug.
“She’s not staying,” Ethan bit out.
“Well, she’s gotta stay tonight. Unless you got a spare set of keys made after we ran those ones through the baler.”
He hadn’t, and Gumpy knew it.
“I’m taking the toilet apart right now. The keys are probably caught in the trap.”
“Well, I ain’t waiting up for you to do it.”
Ethan saw he was being unreasonable. He’d already decided they would have to take her back tomorrow. It would be too late to do it after he’d rescued the keys. And he still had to get those kids to bed.
But the kids marched out in their pajamas, asked a couple of anxious questions about cookie baking and then asked her if she’d tuck them in.
Not him, the one who’d cooked for them and watched Toy Story with them twenty-seven times and washed their mountain of dishes, and let them play with his damned hat.
Nope. Her. The impostor.
“Well, now she’s gotta stay and make cookies,” Gumpy pronounced with satisfaction when she’d left the room, one hand firmly in the grasp of each child. “Promises are important.”
Actually, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, that would work out fine. He could get up early with Gumpy and feed the cattle, she could watch the kids and make cookies and then leave right after lunch. Not perfect, but workable.
Whatever had driven her here, he was pretty sure she was not the type who would be rummaging through the house looking for stuff to steal.
Not that he had anything worth taking. Unless you counted Chris Irwin’s video. The VCR was Gumpy’s.
“Been a long time since I had cookies that didn’t come out of a bag,” Gumpy said, getting up and stretching. “I’m goin’. Do you think she’ll cook us breakfast? I’m fair tired of instant porridge.”
Ethan was tired of instant porridge, too, especially the way Gumpy made it, with hot water straight out of the tap. But if he complained, he’d end up with breakfast duty. So he just said, “Get real. Does she look like the type who cooks breakfast?”
“She does to me,” Gumpy said stubbornly, and moved by him. “She’s going to make cookies, ain’t she?”
Ethan followed him and watched as the older man went down the stairs to the landing and bent over his boots, continuing to mutter the whole time.
“I bet the cookies won’t be any good, anyway,” Ethan said.
Gumpy mumbled something.
“I didn’t catch that,” he finally said, knowing he was taking the bait.
Gumpy straightened. “I think we should make a bet. If she cooks breakfast, she stays.”
“Gumpy, I don’t even know where you found her.”
“At the airport, just like you said.”
“We don’t know anything about her.”
“Just look in her eyes.”
“She lied to you. She’s no nanny.”
“Neither are you. I don’t hold it against you.”
“But I never said I was,” he said with elaborate patience.
“I bet she can do the job.”
“And I bet I’m going to be asked to be the guest conductor for the Calgary Philharmonic.”
“She’s supposed to be here.” He opened the door and cold air blasted in.
Gumpy considered himself to be something of a mystic. He was right about things often enough that Ethan had stopped laughing. He eyed the old man warily.
“If she cooks breakfast tomorrow, you should ask her to stay,” Gumpy said stubbornly.
“Only if it’s good,” Ethan said dryly. Not much danger on either count, but Gumpy looked pleased, like a fisherman who had a strong nibble. “Maybe you should stay in the house tonight.”
Gumpy shook his head obstinately and went out.
Ethan turned back into the house, which was unbelievably silent. If he strained, he could just hear the soft murmur of her voice. He turned on the radio to drown it out. Fighting weariness, he turned off the water main and began to scoop the water out of the toilet.
“The kids are asleep. I’m going to go to bed.”
By now he had out a wrench and was unbolting the bowl from the floor. He looked out at her from where he was twisted beneath the tank. She was standing in the door watching him as though he was performing heart surgery. “Yeah. Sure. First door on the right.”
“I figured it out. The lace doily on the dresser
