Mistletoe Twins. Lois Richer
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She shook her head. “I don’t want anything like that to touch Francie and Franklyn. They’ve had enough to deal with, losing their parents.”
“Mama Adele, shielding her cubs.” Mac savored this fiercely protective side of her.
“The long-held illusion that my parents and I could ever be a family, even a distant one, has finally been irrevocably shattered.” Her shoulders went back, her jaw thrust forward. “Now I’m determined to raise Francie and Franklyn with love and support and a solid trust in God’s love. On my own, until I can find Gina.”
“And if you don’t get permanent custody?” Mac felt a responsibility to prepare her.
“I’ll hate it,” she admitted honestly. “But I’ll still do everything I can to make sure they get in to the right home.” She studied him intently. “I can’t walk away from the twins, Mac. That’s not how my aunties raised me.”
“I know. That’s what I like most about you.” He smiled, brushed a tendril off her cheek. “I’ll help you however I can.” Why did she look so surprised? Hadn’t he always been there for Delly? Okay, maybe not lately but—“I care about the twins, too.”
“Thank you, Mac.” Adele’s smile warmed the cold, guilty place inside him.
Would she smile like that, even want him around, if she knew what a jerk he was? She leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment and slid her arm around his waist, hugging him as she’d done so many times before.
“It’s so nice to have you back. My dear, dear honest best friend. Home at last.”
Mac froze, breathing in the scent of her flowery shampoo, marveling at the soft brush of her silky cheek against his, savoring the gentle intimacy that until this moment he hadn’t known he’d missed.
Friend?
Somehow that one expression didn’t seem to encapsulate all that he and Adele had shared. It didn’t say enough. But since he couldn’t come up with an alternative, he slipped his good arm around her and enjoyed the moment, content to remain right where he was. With Adele.
He deliberately ignored that word honest. He’d figure the future out later, after he talked with the aunts about God’s plan for his life.
* * *
Two days after Thanksgiving Adele still blushed at the memory of her sister finding them hugging in the kitchen. Though she and Mac both knew there’d been nothing romantic in that embrace, Victoria wouldn’t let it go.
“You care a lot about Mac, don’t you?” she asked now as she sipped her tea at the big kitchen table.
“Mac’s my best friend, Vic. Always has been. You know that.” Adele checked on the Swiss steak cooking in the oven, added potatoes to bake and a huge dish of rhubarb crisp. “There. Everything should be done in time for supper,” she said as she closed the door.
“Where are the twins?” Victoria glanced around.
“With Mac in the aunties’ herb garden, checking to see if there’s anything left out there that we can still use.”
“He sure comes over here a lot—”
“The Haven’s gardens had a good yield this year,” Adele interrupted, hoping to forestall more of Victoria’s questions about Mac. “It was nice to share the excess during the harvest day you organized for those needy families yesterday. Though I doubt the deer are grateful,” she added. Maybe her sister’s intense dislike of deer wreaking havoc in the garden could change the subject.
Fat chance.
“Is Mac staying to run the Double M?” Victoria ignored Adele’s hiss of irritation. “What? I’m just wondering, like everyone else in Chokecherry Hollow.”
“And you think I have the answer? I don’t know Mac’s future plans. I’m not sure he does, either.” Adele checked on the French bread she’d set to rise earlier and decided it was ready to form. “If he has decided, he has not told me,” she added firmly as she greased the bread pans.
“Since when doesn’t Mac McDowell talk everything over with you?” Victoria held up both hands at Adele’s glare. “Okay, ’nuff said. Except—I’m guessing Mac’s the reason you didn’t offer me that last piece of pumpkin pie sitting in the fridge. And here I thought our sister bond was strong.” Laughing, she strolled out of the room to answer a call from her husband, Ben.
With a grimace directed at her back, Adele shaped the bread into two pans, then began mixing dressing for the coleslaw she’d make when Jake, The Haven’s hired man, returned from the cold cellar with one of her aunt’s prized cabbages. Finished with her immediate task, she took a moment to savor the aroma-filled kitchen where she’d first learned to cook.
How blessed she’d been to live here with her foster aunts. They’d striven so hard to help her shed her bitterness against parents who’d lied to her about everything, including the visitor to their home that long-ago day, never explaining that she and Gina would be taken into foster care—permanently.
The aunties’ love and security had soothed those wounds. That healing love was what she wanted for the twins.
Adele roused from her gloomy thoughts as Mac opened the back door and ushered Franklyn and Francie inside. She loved the sound of the children’s laughter, and naturally Mac did everything he could to provoke more of it. It was refreshing to see him so engaged with kids again. In the old days he’d spoken often of his desire for a big family. But he’d mentioned nothing about a girlfriend. Was there now someone special in Mac’s world?
She peeked into the pail Mac held out. “Thanks.”
“Jake said you can use them. I’d spare you and take these weeds home to my mother but then she’d make something with them and I’d have to eat it.” He looked dubious.
“Not weeds. Basil, dill and parsley are always useful in my kitchen.” Since Mac’s grin did funny things to Adele’s stomach, she turned away to rinse the herbs before storing them in a drying dish. “Did you two have fun?”
It was obvious from the children’s excited chatter that they had.
“We found punkins,” Franklyn exclaimed.
“How many?” Adele asked.
“Tons and tons.” Francie waved her hands wildly.
“How many did you find, Francie?” Adele prodded, arching an eyebrow.
“Three,” the little girl admitted with a sigh.
“’Nuff so you c’n make punkin pie again?” Franklyn hinted hopefully, then high-fived Mac.
“Because everyone needs more pie right after our Thanksgiving feast?” Adele shot Mac a look, certain he’d come up with that plan.
“Uh-huh. Mac says everybody needs more pie all the time.” Franklyn nodded, unabashed.
“Does he?” She angled him a look. “Well, good work finding those pumpkins. Now you two go and wash up. Aunt Tillie and Aunt Margaret are waiting to tell you the next installment of their story about Africa.” She watched them leave, a happy glow inside. So far, Adele was loving motherhood.
“They’re cute, those two. But they sure keep a guy on his toes.” Mac sat down with a sigh and flexed his leg.
“Are you in pain?” Adele studied his face, wondering how she could help.
“No. Just a little stiff. I tried riding this morning.” Mac’s face gave nothing away.
“Great!” Riding was a sign he was staying, wasn’t it? “And?”
“No big deal. Cowboys ride and I am just a cowboy after all.” His wink reminded her of a long-ago argument when she’d given vent to her frustration at his show-off tendencies.
“And