Christmas Gifts: Small Town Christmas / Her Christmas Cowboy. Brenda Minton

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      Amy studied the twins’ eager faces, and thought of Mike being dragged home from work again. The girls often went to her grandmother’s anyway or a sitter came in until Mike arrived home. She evaded the twins’ pleading looks and focused on Sue’s telephone conversation. Watching the secretary’s head nod gave Amy her answer. Mike had agreed.

      When the girls learned he’d agreed she drive them home, their faces brightened. Amy’s didn’t. Her plan to work on tomorrow’s lessons at her school desk ended with the new development.

      She strode back to her room, slipped on her coat, gathered the homework papers and her planning book and then herded the twins outside. Once in the car, she faced them in the backseat. “You can’t do this everyday, girls. Some days I need to stay here and work. I’m sure you’d rather be home with a sitter or with Gramma Ellie.”

      Restrained by the seat belts, Holly leaned as close as she could. “We could help you.”

      Ivy nodded in agreement.

      Amy started the car. “Not when I’m planning lessons and correcting papers,” Amy said. “But we could—”

      “That won’t work.” Amy used her teacher’s voice. “Next time I’ll have Mrs. Murphy call your dad to pick you up.”

      Ivy’s face sank. “He’ll be mad.”

      “Right.” She backed her car out of the spot.

      The fifteen-minute ride home remained restrained except for a few comments the girls made to each other. Amy wished she could hear because she suspected they were plotting. When she pulled into the driveway, the two tumbled out and darted to Grams’s side door. She sat a moment, determined to come up with a way to discourage their ploy from happening again.

      When she stepped inside the house, voices came from the kitchen, and as she passed the door, she gave her grandmother a wave and went directly to her room. She tossed her coat on a chair and slipped off her shoes, settling her feet into her fuzzy slippers. The weather had turned cold since they’d raked on Saturday. That evening, she’d watched Mike burning leaves, and she’d longed to wander over but forced herself to stay away. And although she considered her decision wise, especially after the girls’ shenanigans today, part of her hoped that Mike would invite her over to sit with him as he monitored the fire.

      She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to jeopardize her teaching position or allow her heart to tangle around a widowed man and his daughters. That could easily lead to heartbreak. Plus she was certain she wouldn’t live forever in a small town. Chicago’s excitement lured her back.

      Amy pulled on a sweatshirt before settling on the bed. She leaned forward and grasped the stack of papers she’d brought home. She read the first child’s paragraph relating how the family watched football on TV and he listed the Thanksgiving dinner menu. While she made a note of spelling errors, her curiosity led her to search for the twins’ papers in the pile.

      Skimming Holly’s paper, her heart sank.

      “Daddy takes us to Mama’s Country Kitchin for diner on Thanksgiving. Daddy says a prayer, and we say what we give thanks for. Then we have turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy. Then we have punkin pie.”

      A restaurant for Thanksgiving? Her throat tightened as her eyes flashed across Ivy’s paper. Better spelling didn’t brighten the message.

      “On Thanksgiving, Daddy takes us out to eat, but what I wish is that we could eat at home. We did when our mom was alive. Now Thanksgiving is different. But I am happy that I have a dad who loves me. We say thank you for all good things before we eat.”

      Amy brushed tears from her eyes, trying to hold back a flood of them. Her own childhood memories of Thanksgivings and Christmases came to mind, when she, too, ached for a mother in her life. As she grew older, she’d tried to concentrate on the positives in her life, but the old haunting ache remained just as it had surfaced today.

      Determination pried its way into her mind. Even though she’d been set on keeping her distance with the twins, how could she when Mike and the girls ate Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant?

      Before Amy had moved to Harrisville, her grandmother often spent holiday meals with church friends, but Grams had announced this year they would celebrate at home. The glint in her grandmother’s eye made Amy realize Grams had been lonely for family. So had she for all the years living in Illinois, first with only her father and later alone in an apartment.

      The papers slipped from her fingers, and Amy leaned back against the pillow, fighting heavy eyes and a heavy heart. She lowered her lids for a moment, thinking a couple minutes’ rest might refresh her after the first day of her new job.

      The scent of cookies drifted into her room, and Amy bolted upward, eyeing the clock. She’d slept for over an hour. Voices penetrated her bedroom door, including a man’s voice.

      Mike.

      She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and sat up. As she did, some of the papers fluttered to the floor. She rose, gathered them and tossed them on the bed. Then eyeing herself in the vanity mirror, she grabbed a comb and ran her hands through the tangles, then headed for the door.

      As her hand hit the knob, a surge of apprehension swept over her as she considered talking with Grams about Mike and the girls. No one should eat Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant. Yet she pushed the idea out of her mind for the moment and opened the door. She needed distance, or she’d face the ramifications at school.

      “There you are.” Grams gave her a welcoming smile.

      “I smelled the cookies.” She looked at Mike. “I didn’t realize so much time had passed.”

      A crooked smile lit his face. “I like your footwear.”

      She looked down at her fuzzy slippers, and her cheeks heated.

      Grams gave a chuckle as she ran a spatula beneath a freshly baked cookie and set it on a plate. “What were you doing in there so long? I figured you’d be out here after the first batch of cookies.”

      The question slid down her spine. “I brought home work from school. You know, papers I need to correct.”

      Mike grinned. “First day on the job and you’re already correcting papers?”

      “It’s a teacher’s life.” She realized the twins flanked him, their eyes wide and questioning. She’d already decided not to make an issue out of their little ploy.

      “Thanks for driving the girls home.” His words rang with discouragement.

      A lump formed in her throat. “You’re welcome.”

      He placed a hand on the top of each girl’s head. “I told them no more missing the bus. I don’t expect you to chauffeur them home from school because they were dallying.”

      “But Daddy, I told you—”

      Mike held up a finger, and the girls’ opened mouths closed.

      “I’ve already explained I can’t give them a ride all the time.” She pressed her lips together to stop speaking. She knew in her heart, if he needed her to, she would.

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