Lois Richer - Mistletoe Twins

Wondering if he looked like he needed Adele to care for him and oddly attracted by the thought, Mac chose his words carefully.

“Call me Mac, okay? No Mister .” He smiled at them. “It was very nice to meet you, Francie, and you, Franklyn,” he added when the boy appeared beside his sister. “I’ll see you soon. You, too, Delly. Bye.”

He returned Adele’s wave but remained still, listening as she reassured the two orphaned kids.

“Mac has his own family, honey.” Adele’s sweet voice made even Mac feel better.

“Oh.” Francie sounded deflated.

“So, he’s not gonna be the daddy in our fam’ly?” Franklyn sounded disappointed. “When will we be one?”

“We’re already a family, darling, because we’re together,” Adele assured him. “It’s going to take some time before the judge officially tells us that we can stay together, and things might not go exactly the way we want, so you’ll have to be patient.” That was Delly, always telling the truth, painful or not.

Mac watched the kids’ faces fall in disappointment and half wished Adele had shelved her insistence on honesty for a while, at least until the children had settled in to The Haven. He also half wished he’d told her the whole truth about his accident. Because it wasn’t going to get any easier.

“But we don’t have to worry about when we’ll officially be a family because God will work that out.” With a last wave at him Adele shepherded the two now-quiet children and their teddy bears inside.

The back door closed, but for a moment Mac couldn’t move.

God would work it out?

He’d stopped praying a while ago, right after the crash. Maybe it was coming back to The Haven, maybe it was hearing the love in Delly’s voice as she comforted those two orphans, or maybe it was their rapt attention to whatever she said. Whatever the reason, a prayer slipped out of him.

“Please, God, help those kids and Adele get their dream of family.”

What about your dream, Mac? What do you want?

Right now, Mac’s only dream was to see his good friend Adele happy. He didn’t have a plan for his future. Hopefully Tillie and Margaret would have some advice about that because Dad couldn’t keep running the Double M. If Mac was going to take over, it had to be soon. And if he wasn’t, he owed it to his parents to help sell the place so they could retire.

But if he didn’t ranch, what would he do?

Mac drove home with the same question rolling through his brain that had been there from the moment he’d awakened after the accident.

What’s next, God?

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.”