Chapter Four

      “Can we decorate the tree?” Rose asked as she skipped into the kitchen on Wednesday morning.

      Laurel had been in town not even a week but it hadn’t taken Rose long to adjust to the new person in the house.

      Laurel pulled eggs out of the fridge. “Want to help me make muffins?” Baking was how she and her mom had bonded, also it had given them time to talk during Laurel’s difficult teen years. It made sense, in light of that, that Laurel had developed a love for baking. She’d found that it helped her relax. The kitchen was where she found peace.

      “Sure, but I only have thirty minutes before the bus gets here. Or you could drive me to school.”

      “I just might do that. Can you crack eggs and then measure out the milk and melted butter? The recipe is on that card in the stand.”

      “You’re really going to let me help?” Rose tossed her books on the counter.

      “That’s the general idea when someone says, ‘Do you want to help?’”

      Rose cracked an egg into a large bowl. Laurel tried to hide her cringe as the girl reached into the bowl to pull out bits of eggshell.

      “Here’s a spoon. If you get shells in the bowl you can use it.”

      “No problem, I got them.” Rose wiped the shell on a paper towel. “So about the tree?”

      “I don’t know where the tree is. I’m sure Gladys will put it up when she gets home.”

      Laurel’s smile dissolved. She reached for the cup of melted butter and poured it in with the eggs she’d beaten. “Yeah, I guess. But that will be almost Christmas. And what if I’m gone?”

      “You won’t be gone.” Laurel measured out the baking powder. “Pour in the milk and mix it all together so I can add the dry ingredients.”

      Rose did as she was told. “What kind of muffins are we making?”

      “Pumpkin.” Laurel handed her the can. “Scoop that out and add it to the bowl.”

      “This looks like a lot of muffins.”

      “I’m going to take some to the nursing home.”

      Rose’s smile reappeared. “You do have a heart.”

      The teenager hopped onto a stool at the counter and pulled the kitten out of her pocket. Laurel looked up from mixing the dry ingredients in with the wet.

      “Kittens do not go on counters,” she said as she picked it up. “Have you fed it?”

      “It’s a she, not an it.” Rose plucked the kitten from Laurel’s hand. “And yes, I fed her. And I fed the dog, too.”

      “The stray?”

      “It’s still a dog and deserves to be fed. But I think the kitten is too young to eat the dry cat food. She cried all night.” She grabbed the milk jug and poured milk in a saucer.

      Laurel looked up from filling the muffin cups. She studied the kitten and then the girl. Rose’s eyes were puffy, her nose red. She thought maybe the kitten hadn’t been the only one crying all night. With limited kid and kitten experience, she didn’t know if she should say something, ask if she was okay or pretend she didn’t notice.

      She thought about what her mother would have done in this situation. She should call her mom. They’d had a brief conversation her first night here, very brief. Laurel had asked about Curt Jackson and then she’d been too upset to finish talking to her mother, the person she’d always been able to talk to.

      “What do you think is wrong with her?” Laurel asked.

      “Misses her mom.” She shoved the kitten back in her pocket. “She wants her family.”

      “She won’t fit in your pocket much longer.”

      “I know, but for now she does and she likes it. I think because it’s warm. Anyway, she has to go back to her mother. I don’t think she can wait until I get home from school.”

      “What’s your suggestion?”

      “You could take her up to the barn.”

      Laurel slid the muffin tin into the oven and set the timer. “Me? I’m not the one who took her from her mother.”

      Rose glared.

      “All right, I’ll take the kitten to her mother.” Laurel leaned against the counter. “But I’m sure she’s happy with you, too. She knows you love her.”

      “Don’t,” Rose warned. “I already have a therapist. I don’t need to be analyzed by you.”

      “Oh.” Laurel didn’t know what to say.

      “Sometimes I miss my mom. She was a bad parent but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her or that she didn’t love me. I can miss her. I learned that from my therapist. I can especially miss her at Christmas, even though she never really did anything Christmassy. I really want to decorate a tree.”

      Laurel gave Rose a minute to collect herself. She poured the girl a glass of milk, checked the muffins in the oven and returned to continue the conversation.

      “I’ll see if I can find the tree. And I’ll take the kitten over to her mother in the barn. And I know it isn’t easy, missing someone.”

      She’d never known her dad, but she’d always missed him.

      “Yeah, okay.” Rose buried her nose in the kitten’s soft fur. “Those muffins almost ready? Maybe you could take Cam a couple and ask if he knows where the tree is?”

      “Cam?”

      “Cameron. You know, the guy that lives in the cottage.”

      “Yes, I know who he is.”

      “He might know where the tree is. Maybe if you take him food, you can ask.”

      “If I see him, I’ll ask him.”

      From the