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His Mistletoe Family
Ruth Logan Herne
A Family For The Holidays When two orphaned boys and their aunt arrive for Thanksgiving supper at church, retired army colonel Brett Stanton feels his heart tugged. Despite having her hands full, young businesswoman Haley Jennings handles her nephews with a smile. Still, Brett can’t get too close to the needy trio.He lost his son and brother to the uniform, and isn’t about to set himself up for loss again. Soon sweet Haley and the boys remind him of old dreams—and teach him that new dreams provide the greatest hope for a perfect family Christmas.Men of Allegany County: In small-town New York, three bachelors find their soul mates
A Family For The Holidays
When two orphaned boys and their aunt arrive for Thanksgiving supper at church, retired army colonel Brett Stanton feels his heart tugged. Despite having her hands full, young businesswoman Haley Jennings handles her nephews with a smile. Still, Brett can’t get too close to the needy trio. He lost his son and brother to the uniform, and isn’t about to set himself up for loss again. Soon sweet Haley and the boys remind him of old dreams—and teach him that new dreams provide the greatest hope for a perfect family Christmas.
This man had a take-charge attitude that calmed Haley without a word being spoken.
Colonel Brett Stanton squatted to the boys’ level, but didn’t invade their space. His sensitivity loosened their grip on Haley’s hands, as if they were willing to meet the big guy halfway. A neat trick, all told.
“You hungry, boys?”
“Yes.” Todd nodded, emphatic.
“Starving.” Tyler sent a bullish look Haley’s way. “She drove all day.”
The man appeared to weigh Tyler’s words. “Traveling on a holiday can be tough.” Deep hazel eyes held her attention for short seconds but long enough to make her heart trip faster. Beat harder. “Does she have a name?”
“Aunt Haley.” Tyler said the words with more than a little distrust.
“She’s pwetty.” Todd leaned a little closer to the man now, too, following his brother’s lead. “And I like her yellow hair.”
“It’s drop-dead gorgeous,” the man agreed easily. He tossed that crooked smile up to Haley, winked at her and reached for the boys’ hands. “You guys ready to have Thanksgiving dinner with us?”
RUTH LOGAN HERNE
Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, freshly baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and for the dirt...
Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at www.ruthloganherne.com (http://www.ruthloganherne.com).
His Mistletoe Family
Ruth Logan Herne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
These things I have spoken unto you,
that in me ye might have peace.
In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of
good cheer; I have overcome the world.
—John 16:33
This book is dedicated to LuAnn and Charlie Koch, dear friends who shared so much with so many.
God certainly blessed me when he put you guys
in my life over thirty years ago. Your love for God and Allegany County fed mine.
And to Melissa Endlich,
whose ongoing advice, humor and guidance
blesses each and every book I write, even though the image of a non-coffee-drinking NYC editor
just seems wrong. So wrong!
Acknowledgments
First to LuAnn and Charlie for the stories they shared. To Dana Guinnip of Angelica, New York,
for his advice on firefighting, chicken and biscuits and where to stage an accident scene.
To The Seekers (www.seekerville.blogspot.com) for their constant support and encouragement. You guys keep me laughing and grounded. To Tina and Mary for road-tripping with me when so few dare! To Deb Giusti for always answering my military questions and never acting tired. To Homer Marple for establishing the Craft and Antique Co-op. His vision inspired “Bennington Station.” To Vince, who is never afraid to challenge me, and I love a good challenge. To Beth and Mandy for their continued hands-on help with little things that make me look way smoother than I am. And my family, who continue to believe that following your dream is the best way to go. I couldn’t agree more. Thank you for the daily encouragement, the hugs, the grins and the book sales. You guys mean the world to me.
Contents
Chapter One (#u7f9fe478-c8e8-524f-877c-69f49d5b827e)
Chapter Two (#u73d7bfa4-65f6-5cf3-b72c-4b2b5a67e1a9)
Chapter Three (#u29e068ad-baf0-5b06-8d4e-02144e71f16f)
Chapter Four (#u8f1f8fa2-50ef-5b27-b876-b42ef57a8786)
Chapter Five (#u35bbb953-e6e9-5e2e-922d-6b5d2067856b)
Chapter Six (#u805a1950-b28f-5cd9-ad4b-34136c1188d3)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Despair should never be allowed to rule Thanksgiving Day.
Haley Jennings eyed the two camouflage-clad little boys in her backseat, mentally searching for anything she might have ever learned about children in her twenty-eight years on the planet.
She came up empty. That didn’t sound promising for the orphaned nephews now in her care.
Tear tracks snaked a path down three-year-old Todd’s round cheeks, a worn, black stuffed kitty named Panther clutched tight against his chest. Five-year-old Tyler slumped against the corner of the car, burrowing, as if hoping to disappear into the upholstery. He shed no tears, but the quiet look of abandonment seemed worse for lack of emotion.
Scared. Uncertain. Handed off as though they were parcel post packages from one place to another. And no doubt hungry, but few restaurants were open this late on Thanksgiving Day, a should-be-glorious holiday of roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy and stuffing.
The thought of homemade stuffing made her mouth water. How much more must two little fellows be longing for a good old-fashioned holiday?
Part of her was glad their maternal great-aunt had found Anthony’s will that named her the boys’ guardian. Another part longed to run screaming.
She took the turn toward Jamison, knowing she had no food in her recently acquired no-frills apartment and the grocery store had closed mid-afternoon. And with the boys’ meager belongings piled and shoved into every corner of her convertible, she had no room for a shopping trip and precious few funds to bankroll extra groceries this week.
Whoever said God’s timing was perfect should be chastised, because this situation was about as far from perfect as life could get.
A flashing sign caught her attention as she approached the Park Round, the picturesque town circle surrounded by five country churches and a couple of pastors’ homes.
Free Thanksgiving Dinner!
Join us from 2:00 till 5:00 on Thanksgiving Day
for a friend-filled holiday feast! All are welcome!
An arrow pointed toward the back of Good Shepherd Church. An upgraded older building stood there, caught in the trees, an aged steeple rising white against the late-November drab of damp bark. A chill wind bowed the sticklike trees, but the white-washed hall was surrounded by cars and bathed in light from garden stake lamps below.
Dinner.
Free.
One glance at her dashboard clock said they were nearing the late side of the offer. She faltered, not wanting to subject the boys to any more disappointments on a day that should be filled with family. Fun. Food. Rejoicing.
The word feast turned her hands on the wheel. Or maybe it was the Holy Spirit. In any case, she angled the car up the drive and into a parking spot. She climbed out and tilted the driver’s seat forward, banging her head and knee in the process.
Red ragtops weren’t designed as family vehicles.
“Where are we going?” Tyler eyed her from his booster seat, glancing around to discern an easy way out of the car. There wasn’t one.
“Climb out this way.” Haley jerked her head toward her side as she struggled with the puzzlelike latches on Todd’s car seat. Who knew you needed a math degree to figure out a five-point latch system? “Once I’ve got your brother out, that is.”
As she pulled Todd from the backseat, she managed to bump his head, too. Not too badly, but enough to start the waterworks flowing, full steam ahead. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry.” She crooned the words and rubbed the spot, wishing she’d thought to cushion his head with her hand while extracting him.
Next time, for sure.
“I hate this car.” Tyler made the pronouncement as he finagled his way across small bags and totes shoved into the backseat.
“I’m not all that fond of it myself at this moment,” Haley assured him. “But it’s paid for and it runs and at one time it was a status symbol. Cute blonde chick in blazing hot red convertible with mag wheels.”
“It’s dumb.” Tyler brushed off his five-year-old knees with an air of impatience. “And we don’t fit.”
There lay the crux of the problem. Todd and Tyler hadn’t “fit” in a long time. These two little boys had lost their mother and father in the past two years and they’d been shuffled around to various homes for months—way too much change for a level-headed grown-up.
Two boys, aged three and five?
Ridiculous.
But possibly made more outlandish by her half brother’s will naming her their legal guardian. Anthony scarcely knew her. She barely knew him. They shared a father and a legal relationship recognized by courts. Other than that? They’d met half a dozen times over the years, mostly at weddings and funerals.
What was he thinking?
The door to the hall swung open and a couple of old-timers stepped out. “Ma’am, may I hold the door for you?” An old man dipped his head in courtly fashion, a shock of white hair dancing in the wind. “That wind’s a breath-stealer, sure enough.”
She hesitated, not wanting to ask if there was still food, not daring to get the boys’ hopes up only to dash them again. “I, um...”
“Plenty of good eats in there, miss, and I think those two boys are just the thing for them folks inside. Nothin’ like bein’ ’round a couple o’ young-uns to remind us why we keep on keepin’ on.”
His words eased her path. Did he see the hunger? Or the fear? Or both?
In any case, Haley grasped a boy’s hand in each of hers and walked the last twenty paces. “Thank you, sir.”
“Jed, have a mind, will you, and close that door,” bossed a woman’s voice from within. “My tablecloths are being tugged every which way!”
The old guy exchanged a grin with Haley, winked at the boys and hollered back, “Customers, mother! We’ve got two young soldiers in need of a bite.”
