Chapter Three

      “Anyone who just served that incredible Thanksgiving dinner to more than fifteen people should not look like you do.” Three days later, on Monday evening, Mac shook his head at Adele’s flawless beauty, then returned his attention to drying the roaster.

      “What’s wrong with how I look?” From the corner of his eye he saw her pat her chic upswept curls. Then she tugged on his arm and demanded, “Mac?”

      “Nothing’s wrong with how you look. That’s the problem.” He chuckled at her confusion, amused by the way she stretched to make herself taller than her actual five foot six. She’d always complained about his eight-inch height advantage.

      “Are you laughing at me?” she demanded, brow furrowed.

      “I’m amazed at you. After feeding half of Chokecherry Hollow, that dress you’re wearing is still immaculate, your eyes sparkle like a fresh batch of your aunt Tillie’s Christmas toffee and your cheeks glow like Margaret’s Nanjing cherry jelly. You look so good it’s scary, Adele.”

      “Well, I had to make a concession and take off my heels,” she explained. “And I did wear an apron for most of the day, but I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

      “That’s how I meant it.” He ogled the pumpkin pie, felt his stomach protest and shook his head. Today was Monday. Surely Thanksgiving leftovers would still be here tomorrow. He’d better wait. Adele noticed when he patted his midriff and chuckled.

      “Aw, don’t you feel well, Mac?” Her pseudo look of concern was spoiled by her smirk. “Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten all three kinds of pie?”

      “This body is a machine,” he said proudly, thrusting out his chin. “Burns off calories like a well-oiled engine.”

      “Uh-huh.” Adele had long ago mastered using mere facial expressions to get her point across, and so Mac couldn’t help laughing at her mocking mime. But he choked at her next question. “What were you whispering to Francie during dinner?”

      “She, uh, asked me if she could tell me about the car accident.” Mac focused on drying the last pot as another surge of sympathy for the orphaned children welled inside.

      “You’d have a problem with listening?” Adele stretched to place each pan just so on the hanging rack.

      “No, but—” Mac frowned. “The kid wants to talk to me about the day her parents died. She should talk to a psychologist.”

      “Both of them already did that. I’m guessing Francie needs to talk more, to you.” Adele studied him with a glint of curiosity. “You two seem to have a bond developing. I’m sure Francie would far rather speak to you than a stranger.”

      “Yes, but what do I know?” Panic filled him. “I might say the wrong thing and hurt her. That’s the last thing—”

      “Mac.” Adele laid her hand on his arm, her voice very gentle. “It’s not what you say. It’s listening to her. Let Francie vent. Comfort her if she needs it. You know how to do that.”

      “Because of my accident, you mean?”

      “Because you’re an expert when it comes to comforting people. I should know. You helped me through some really rough times when we were kids, especially when I first came here.” Her faith in him was appealing. “You can do that for Francie, too. She already trusts you. Otherwise why would she have asked you to listen?”

      Mac appreciated Adele’s assurances, but he had no confidence in himself. He felt broken down, used, a mess up with no prospects for the future. He especially didn’t feel good about trying to fill in for Carter, who’d dreamed of putting his own mark on the Double M. Stepping into his dead brother’s shoes could hardly be what the chaplain espoused as God’s plan for Mac’s life.

      “I wouldn’t know how to help Francie,” he demurred, feeling helpless.

      “What matters is that you listen,” Adele repeated. “If you need a starting point, talk about your miniature horses. The aunts said they’re still at the ranch.”

      “They are but—How long are Francie and Franklyn staying here?” Was it right to get involved if they would be taken away? Was it right not to?

      “I wasn’t given a timetable. Until I can adopt them, I hope. They have no relatives. They’ve struggled in several homes because they’re normal, active children, which apparently some people don’t appreciate.” Adele’s rolling eyes expressed her thoughts on that. “I’m told most couples want babies or much younger children. Also, sometimes—” She hesitated, glanced over one shoulder.

      “Yes?” he prodded.

      “Sometimes the twins make up stories,” she murmured very quietly. “It’s caused problems for them so we’re working on that.”

      “You believe total and utter truth is always the answer, don’t you, Delly?” Mac watched her eyes widen, wondering how she’d react if he told her the truth about his “accident.”

      “How can relationships grow and how can you trust someone if they’re hiding behind lies?” She shrugged. “I think The Haven will be good for the twins even though I’m going to be rushed off my feet.”

      “Because?” He lifted an eyebrow.

      “Victoria and the aunts have this place nearly booked solid for the next few months, not only for visiting foster kids but for parties and local events, including a bunch of Christmas festivities. I’m going to need a kitchen helper.”

      “Don’t look at me. Tasting is what I do best. Good thing you have a dishwasher.” He grimaced at the dirty dishes still littering the counter. “How will you work with the twins underfoot?” The old protective instinct he’d always felt toward Adele bubbled inside. “You’re taking on a lot.”

      “I’m not sure how anything will work,” she admitted as she drained the sink and swished water to clear the suds. “Least of all how it will work with Francie and Franklyn. But I refuse to see those children shuttled from place to place, like I was, like my foster sisters were until the aunts brought us here.”

      “But—”

      “The twins are sweet and loving, Mac.” Adele unfolded her spotless apron and set it aside. “They deserve to be able to relax and be kids without worrying about where they’ll be sent next.”

      “Softhearted Delly.” He smiled at her feisty attitude. “You always did champion the less fortunate.” But there had to be more to her plan. He refilled their coffee then sat down at the table, determined to figure out exactly why his friend was doing this. Thankfully she was in a chatty mood. “Talk to me about this adoption.”

      She sat and stared into her coffee for several moments.

      “You know I had a miserable, abusive childhood. The aunties rescued me from that and brought me here, where there wasn’t constant fighting or parents making promises they never kept.”

      “God used them,” he said, loving the way she appreciated all her foster aunts had done.

      “For sure.” She huffed out a sigh. “Before I left Edmonton this time, I went to see both my parents. I thought maybe there was something I could do to heal the rifts between us, repair the bonds, start new relationships. We are family after all.”

      “And?” Mac was sorry he’d asked when her face