swivel chair. “I came across a little girl and her dad in the cemetery last night. She fell off the curb in the storm and broke her wrist.”
“Poor little one.” Meg set a second cup on the counter. “So, tell me. Handsome dad?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“How could you not notice? Honestly.” Meg shook her head with disapproval. “Any chance he was a single dad? I keep praying for you to find a really great guy.”
“He was a widower. That was why he was at the cemetery.”
“Oh.” Meg circled around the kitchen island and took the neighboring chair. “How sad for them.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, sipping her tea, remembering Macie. And the father...Dr. Kramer. She ought to really dislike him, she hadn’t appreciated the way he’d manhandled her, suspecting the worst when she’d only been helping his daughter, the child he’d let wander away from him. But then, it only took a moment of inattention and if he’d been at his deceased wife’s grave...her heart twinged with sympathy. Sympathy was one thing, but remembering the way snow had settled on his broad shoulders was entirely another.
“You’re praying for me to find someone? Really?” She sipped her tea, which warmed her instantly. “Even though you know I have a five-year plan?”
“You and your plans.” Meg leaned back, legs crossed. “Don’t tell me. You made a pro-con list, too.”
“Don’t mock my pro-con lists. I wouldn’t be able to make a good, workable plan without them.”
“I wasn’t mocking, honest. Just curious. Where are you putting romance in your plans?”
“I’m not.” When the time came, she had a very definite idea about the kind of man she would fall for—dependable, honest, loyal and kind—and even then, he would have to fit into her plans. Wasn’t that what plans were for? “Am I smart, or what?”
“How exactly do you want me to answer that?”
“I’m not sure I do.” Chelsea rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Somewhere outside rang a dog’s distant bark.
The doorbell chimed, echoing through the sprawling house. Bayly lifted his head from his dog bed, gave a halfhearted bark and yawned wide. His watchdog abilities were sorely lacking.
“Ooh, could be the delivery dude.” Meg bounded from her chair, mug in hand. “Maybe my package finally came. No, stay where you are. You’d better rest up while you can because in about ten minutes, you have a ladder to climb.”
“Will I be climbing it alone?” She arched one brow, kind of wondering what else her sister had planned for her.
“It depends.” Meg’s voice trailed behind her as she wove through the house. “If it’s not a busy day at the clinic, then Johanna will be able to lend a hand.”
“Probably not busy in this weather.” Their dad ran a veterinary clinic, now joined by Meg and Johanna, who were vets, too.
“Hey, that’s not the delivery truck.” Meg’s surprise lilted through the house. The door whispered open, but Chelsea’s feet were already on the floor of their own accord. She pushed away from the breakfast bar, driven by the tingle at the back of her neck.
“I’m Michael Kramer.” A man’s rich baritone rumbled from the doorway. “Is Chelsea home?”
“Sure. Let me guess. You’re the cemetery guy.” Meg tugged the door wider. “Here she is right now. Howdy, sis. There’s someone here to see you.”
“So I heard.” She did her best not to gape at the tall, solemn and handsome man towering in the doorway. Make that remarkably handsome, now that she got a good look at him in the full light of day. He wore a black wool coat, jeans and hiking boots. She’d be hard-pressed to recall when she’d last been around such a good-looking guy.
Wow, Meg mouthed.
It was hard to argue. Wow, indeed. His chiseled face, lean lines and wide, dependable shoulders made her heart catch. Her knees went weak and her heart skipped two beats, but it had to be from the surprise of seeing him again. A perfectly understandable reaction.
“Chelsea.” A hint of a smile shaped the corners of his chiseled mouth. The intensity of his gaze zeroed in on her like a target. “Looks like I got the right house.”
“G-guess so,” she stuttered out. Great. Brilliant. She’d never been what you’d call confident around handsome men. “I’m surprised you’re out and about on these roads.”
“They’ve been plowed. I wanted to return these.” He held up the afghans her mom had made. “Thanks again.”
“Not a problem.” Somehow she was in front of him and multicolored granny squares tumbled into her arms. The yarn, soft and full of memories, smelled of fabric softener, clearly freshly laundered. That was thoughtful of him. Wasn’t it? “How is Macie?”
“Better. She’s talking with your sister.” He gestured down the walkway, pointing out of sight. At least, she thought they were out of sight. Maybe she couldn’t see Sara Beth or Macie because she couldn’t make her gaze move past the man.
He loomed above her at well over six feet, his sandy-brown hair tousled by the wind. Blink, Chelsea, she told herself. Stop staring.
“It was a simple fracture, no complications, no real swelling, so the doc casted her last night.” His voice dipped, tender with fatherly concern. “She’s much better this morning.”
“Glad to hear it.” Chelsea dumped the afghans unceremoniously on the nearby bench, wishing her gray matter would kick into gear. Why couldn’t she be amusing and charming and unaffected? Where was her confidence when she needed it?
Footsteps thumping up the porch steps saved her from fruitlessly searching for something clever to say.
“Hi, Chelsea!” Macie peered around her dad. Daisy, the McKaslins’ yellow lab, hopped up and down with excitement at her side. “Sara Beth said I can choose the lights.”
“She did, did she?” Now that her vision had cleared, Chelsea spotted her sister down the walkway, leaning against one of two ladders.
“Sorry.” Tall, sweet and beautiful, Sara Beth gave her lustrous brown hair a toss. “I couldn’t resist letting her pick.”
“I totally get it.” It was so easy to remember she’d been little and the four of them rallied around Dad shouting out their preferences for lights. Once, he’d put up two different strings, one over the top of the other, just to keep everyone happy. The house had been so brightly festive, you could see the Christmas lights a good half mile across the horse pasture. She blinked away the recollection of Mom’s laughter at the sight. “Which ones did you like best, Macie?”
“The white ones.” Her round face was relaxed and smiling, a welcome change from last night. “I like those the best because they’re like icicles.”
“Me, too. Good choice.” Chelsea grabbed her winter coat off the tree by the door and shrugged into it, crossing the porch. “Hey, I like your pink cast.”
“Me,
