“Hannah, you don’t need me. Savannah’s a big heip and—”
“And she’s gonna have a youngin soon...who has ta come first, a course. Whatever time or energy she’s got left over will be spent changin’ beds and vacuumin’ for me. M‘back cain’t handle them jobs anymore. Besides, she loves doin’ Max’s paperwork in his clinic out back. That alone takes her hours nearly every day.” She picked up the bundled bird and headed for the extra refrigerator on the side porch.
Jenny grabbed the dressing and beat her to the door, opening it wide for Hannah to pass. When she did, she shot Jenny a what’s-holding-you-back kind of glance, laced heavily with a dose of guilt for even resisting the idea.
They found room for the food in the old refrigerator and rushed in from the unheated porch. Jenny hugged herself and tried avoiding Hannah’s glare, but soon the big woman stood squarely in front of her and folded her arms across her heavy chest.
“Well?”
Jenny took her time looking up, knowing full well the expression she would find on Hannah’s face. This was a woman used to getting her way. Finally Jenny met the old woman’s determined stare. “I’ll give it some serious thought, okay?” She hadn’t meant for annoyance to seep into her tone, but she knew it had.
“Well, maybe you’d think better by yerself.” Hannah untied her apron and hung it on the hook near the door. “Mind cleaning up? I’m all tuckered out.”
“No...not at all. Go on and rest.”
Hannah waved without turning back. “Thanks, girl. See ya in the mornin’.”
Except for wiping the counters and putting a few utensils in the dishwasher, there was little left to do. Jenny moved around quickly, eager to check on Savannah and Ryder’s progress with the outside decorations—anything to keep from mulling over Hannah’s proposition. It was way too soon for such a decision. A nagging inner voice said she was wrong, but she ignored it.
With the last counter wiped clean, Jenny hung up her apron and pushed through the swinging door to the dining room. The French doors at the far side leading to the living room were open wide, showcasing a roaring fire behind the large stone hearth, its warm glow illuminating the spacious yet cozy area. Jenny crossed to it and held her hands to the flames, her gaze fixed on the areas of blue dancing along the massive pile of logs. When her eyes began to sting, she stepped backward and glanced out the bay window to her left. An afghan lay atop a pile of seat cushions, inviting her closer. She walked over and settled in one corner, tucked her legs under her and pulled the cover over her lap to ward off the chill from the small frosty-cornered panes in front of her.
Beyond the window she watched the trio hanging lights on the most perfect evergreen she had ever seen. Ryder’s truck lights beamed on the lower half of the tree. Savannah sat on the front bumper and untangled long strands of multicolored lights, handing them gingerly to Ryder who stood on a tall ladder next to her. Jenny’s gaze drifted to the opposite side of the tree where Shane worked in the shadows. His hands were slow and deliberate as he tucked each light into snowy branches. Always his movements seemed evenly paced, unrushed and with a purpose. To look at him, it would seem he didn’t have a tense muscle in his body. There was a grace and calm about him she envied. Her life had always been a series of deadlines, forever rushed, no time for reflection.
The thought jarred her and she pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tight. Had she intentionally pushed herself from one task to the next, intentionally leaving no time to analyze her motives, her anxieties, her fears? Fears? Where did that word come from? Even the thought of it made her shudder. Had she ever acknowledged that she was afraid of anything? Not that she could recall.
She shook her head as if it would vanquish the idea, then refocused on Shane’s face, wishing he was closer, that she could see his eyes.
No! It was too soon to think of this man. She closed her eyes to block out his image and immediately her mother came to mind. Poor Mom. All that anger and hate. She opened her eyes and looked to the heavens, hoping that was where Mom was, that she had found some peace at last, that somehow—
“I think my mama lives on that one over there.” Jenny turned with a start. Billy stood behind her, his finger pointing to an area in the north. She expelled a long breath and smiled at him, then followed the direction of his arm, trying to spot his special star.
“Sometimes when I’m watching it, it looks like it’s winking at me.” He knelt on the cushion next to her and pressed his nose to the glass. After a moment he leaned back on his heels and looked at Jenny.
“I’m sorry about your mama, Jenny. Savannah told me.”
Jenny reached out for him and tugged him closer, sharing the afghan with him. He snuggled easily under her arm and she could feel the warmth of his young body spread through her.
“Mama told me to picture her playing with the angels and that sometimes she’d even put on some wings. Do you ever think of your mama like that?”
Jenny rested her chin on his silky blond hair and thought about his simple question. No, she hadn’t. She never thought of her mother playing or smiling or laughing. The world may have frowned on Maddy’s chosen profession, but at least Billy’s mother seemed happy. “Our mamas were very different people, Billy,” she said finally.
He turned his face up to Jenny, his eyes round with curiosity. “How?”
Jenny sighed and struggled to simplify her answer. “My mama was unhappy, Billy.”
“Why?”
She stared out the window, no longer seeing anyone. She wasn’t in the mood to answer that question, but then she never was. Billy was staring at her, waiting, his eyes filled with concern. She swallowed hard, then began. “M-my father left us before I was born.”
“So did mine,” he said, a frown creasing his forehead. “But mama always seemed happy. She said we were so lucky to have each other.”
Jenny kissed Billy’s forehead and could smell the sweet scent of his shampoo. “Your mama was very special, Billy.”
“I know,” he said, a smile curving his small mouth.
Jenny heaved a sigh of relief, thinking the topic had been exhausted, but then Billy spoke again.
“Did she tell you about your dad?”
“A little.”
He lifted his head and stared at her again. Details. He wanted details and Jenny wanted to pretend the man never existed. She could feel the tightness in her chest and decided to give him the shortest response possible. Certainly there were other things they could talk about. Safer things. Billy was still watching her face and she could feel herself getting angry. She wanted to tell him it was none of his business. But he was a child—an adorable one at that. And she had no reason to be angry with him.
“She told me he was a full-blood Crow Indian and that—” she hadn’t thought about this part in years and it suddenly struck her as eerie “—and that he was from Montana originally.” Suddenly she wondered where in Montana. Was it close by? “He told her he was leaving to visit his sick father and that he’d be back...but she never heard from him again.”
“Is that why you don’t like Buck?”
