Mistletoe Twins. Lois Richer
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smiled. “They won’t be back from town till after school. But please join us for tea. Or coffee, if you prefer.”
“Thank you.” Looking somewhat confused by all the information, Mac shrugged out of his sheepskin coat and hung it on a peg by the door. “I’d love some coffee.”
As she’d done a hundred times before, Adele automatically pulled the coffee canister from the fridge and started the brewer. She also made fresh tea for the aunties and, at their request, but a little hesitantly, selected two china teacups and saucers for the twins.
Adele deliberately waited until everyone was seated at the table and the aunts were busily engaged in explanations to the twins about the proper way to drink their tea-flavored milk from fancy china.
Under the cover of their conversation she murmured, “Want to tell me what happened with your arm, Mac?”
“Lost half of it after I crashed my plane. I didn’t think the ground was quite so close. Some test pilot, huh?” The indifferent shrug and quirky lopsided grin that had been Mackenzie McDowell’s trademark since the day he’d pulled Adele’s hair in fourth grade now lifted the corner of his mouth. “Since everything below my elbow was amputated I can’t fly anymore.” He shrugged in apparent nonchalance. “I need to figure out a new way to earn my living.”
That was typical Mac. Play down his pain and suffering. Except Adele could see fine white lines at the edges of his glacial-green eyes and etched deep around his mobile lips. She knew he still suffered. She also noted that he gave few details about his accident. Because he was still in pain or because he’d done something wrong? She wanted to hear the whole story, but she’d wait until he was ready to tell her.
“I’m very sorry,” she whispered as she squeezed his hand.
“Thanks.” Mac immediately withdrew his hand. “Oh, wait.” He rose and walked to the door. He leaned out to grab something and returned with a handful of bedraggled and grubby—what?
“Uh, thanks. I think.” Adele accepted his offering gingerly. “What are they?”
“No clue, but Mom said your aunts could use them.” Mac made a face but this time he wasn’t pretending. Adele knew all about his mother’s propensity for inventing recipes to use what most people considered weeds. “Herbs?” he suggested.
Not like any herbs I’ve ever seen.
“Maybe.” Adele studied the stalks dubiously. “I’ll set them on the window ledge until we’re ready to use them.” Which will be never.
Gingerly she laid the bundle down, recalling a long-ago potluck at Chokecherry Hollow’s First Avenue Church, a white-steepled building in the little Alberta town five miles away. The entire membership had become ill from eating Mrs. McDowell’s “open range” salad.
Not going to happen in my kitchen. When she lifted her head, Mac was studying her with a look that said he knew she hadn’t a clue what the stalks were for.
“Don’t tell your mom I didn’t recognize her herbs, okay?” Adele begged. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Or you’ll make up some crazy name for them like you did for that science experiment we did in Mr. Burnder’s sixth grade class. Esponsidonia, wasn’t that what you called that oozing pink gunk that spilled out of our volcano?” He tilted his handsome head to one side and asked, “How come you were the only one who didn’t get spattered by it?”
“Because I moved out of the way.” She blushed when he hooted with laughter.
“Oh, the times I tried to get some dirt on you.” Mac shook his head, his smile lingering. “Never seemed to work. Two seconds later you were back to polished perfection, even then.”
“I like clean and tidy,” she defended.
“I know, kiddo.” Mac’s empathetic smile said explanations weren’t needed. He’d never needed them; he always seemed to understand her. “So what are you making for dinner tonight, Chef Adele?”
“I—um, don’t know. I didn’t intend to—er, start cooking until tomorrow.” Why was she bumbling? She’d known Mac for eons. They’d been besties all through school and never once had she felt awkward, so why now? “How’s your coffee?”
“I haven’t tasted it yet.” Mac thrust his gleaming black cowboy boots in front of him then glanced from the cup to her before wrinkling his nose. “It’s not made with tree roots or something, is it?”
“Just coffee, mountain grown,” she assured him, chuckling as he took a timid sip. “See?”
“Excellent. As usual.” Mac grinned. “By the way, I believe all coffee’s mountain grown.”
“Except your mother’s.” Adele burst out laughing when he rolled his eyes, just as she’d expected.
Mac was always fun. She’d missed him, missed this. Sharing, laughing, friendship. The connection they’d had—Adele had never managed to find that bond with another man, though she’d certainly tried. She’d dated men from her church, even become engaged to Rafe, which turned out to be a colossal mistake when she finally realized they were miles apart when it came to goals and aspirations. Now she realized she’d never found the same bond with Rafe as she’d always known with Mac.
If only she’d fallen in love with someone like her best friend.
Adele pushed away the silly thought. As if there was anyone else out there like Mac. She smiled when the twins burst into laughter at Aunt Tillie’s comment. A deep sense of fulfillment settled inside her at this return to The Haven. The familiar kitchen, the orderly row of cooking tools she’d long ago coaxed the aunties to buy, memories of the savory smells she’d always loved to create—she’d done the right thing in quitting her job and bringing the twins to The Haven. They deserved a home and she was going to give these two orphans just that. Contrary to Rafe’s criticism, she could be a single mom, and she would do it without him. Wasn’t that what God wanted?
“Delly, can we go with these aunties?” Francie jerked her arm to get her attention. “They gots some ’puter games.”
“Aunt Margaret certainly does have lots of fun games. Go ahead and behave. I’ll be here if you need me.” She patted the little girl’s shoulder and smiled encouragement at her less boisterous brother. When they’d left, she faced Mac. “So?”
“You tell me,” he said, one sandy eyebrow quirked upward. “How is it to be home again? For good?”
* * *
Mac watched Adele’s face, confused by the—how to describe it?—lack of sparkle in those amber eyes.
“I’m home for a while and it feels very good. I’m fostering those two sweethearts.” Adele glanced at the retreating twins and then at him, but there was hesitation as she explained, “And I’m considering adoption.” He couldn’t quite decipher her expression.
“Your fiancé wants that?” Mac sipped his coffee while trying not to show his dismay. He’d always supported Delly. That wasn’t going to change.
“I don’t have one.” Adele grimaced. “I told you a long time ago that I was never going to marry and repeat my parents’ disasters.”
“Apparently you forgot that vow because you did get engaged, Delly. The aunts wrote me about it a while ago.” He saw pain in those expressive eyes. “What happened?”
“What always happens with romance, what I’ve been avoiding my entire life.” She squeezed her eyes closed and sighed. “Arguments.”
“About?” Don’t prejudge the guy. Mac waited for her to explain.
“Rafe and I argued about pretty much everything, but recently they centered around Francie and Franklyn. He said I was getting too involved.” She rolled her eyes.
Mac