“I might sometime if I could find the right person to run the place for a couple of days.”
He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed and took a drink of tea before saying, “I would have done it this year if you’d said something.”
Lindsey’s insides filled, not with the sumptuous Thanksgiving meal, but with the pleasure of knowing Jesse meant exactly what he’d said. She mulled over the statement as she watched him eat with hearty male abandon.
“I never would have considered asking you.”
Fork in hand, he stiffened. His silver eyes frosted over. “You don’t trust me to do a good job?”
“Of course, I trust you.” Almost too much, given how little she knew about him. “I only meant that leaving you to do all the work while I vacationed would be a huge imposition.”
His tense jaw relaxed. “Oh.”
He studied the rapidly disappearing food on his plate, some thought process that Lindsey couldn’t read running amok inside his head.
A vague unease put a damper on Lindsey’s celebratory mood. Why had Jesse reacted so oddly?
She bit into the tart cranberry-and-sage-flavored dressing, pondering. Had she offended him? Or was the problem deeper than that?
Jade, who’d been busily doing damage to the ear of corn, stopped long enough to take a huge helping of turkey.
“You won’t eat that,” Jesse said, reaching for the meat.
Jade slid the plate out of his reach. “It’s for Sushi. She’s hungry and lonely. She might be crying.”
Lindsey couldn’t believe her ears. Jade worried about the dog without any encouragement from the adults? Was this the break she’d been praying for?
Jesse seemed to recognize the moment, too, for he tossed down his napkin and said, “Can’t have Sushi crying.” Chunk of dark meat in hand, he pushed back from his chair. “Let’s take her this.”
Lindsey thrilled when Jade slipped down from her chair to follow her dad. She took his outstretched hand, her own tiny one swallowed up in the protective size of her father’s.
Unable to avoid the parallel, Lindsey thought of her heavenly Father, of how His huge, all-powerful hand is always outstretched in protection and care. The comparison brought a lump to her throat. She’d messed up a lot in her life, but the Father had never let her down. Even when she’d sequestered herself here on Winding Stair to hide from the hurts of this world, He’d come along with her, loving her back to joy, giving her this farm in place of the things she’d lost.
Jesse and his daughter took three steps across the sun-drenched kitchen before Jade stopped and turned. She stretched out a hand.
“Come on,” she said simply as though Lindsey was an expected presence, a part of her life.
The lump in Lindsey’s throat threatened to choke her. How long had she hungered for a child? A family? And now, on this Thanksgiving Day she felt as if she had one—if only for today.
Dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, she rose and joined the pair, asking tentatively, “Would you like Sushi to come out and play?”
“I don’t want to play.”
Before Lindsey had time to express her disappointment, Jade went on. “But she can come out and sit by you.”
At the bedroom door, Lindsey went down in front of the child. “You are such a big girl. I’m so proud of you for being nice to Sushi. She is lonely in there all by herself and she doesn’t understand why she’s locked up.”
Dark hair bouncing, Jade nodded. “I know.”
“We’ll give her this turkey.” She indicated the meat in Jesse’s hand. “And then I’ll pet her a little before letting her out. She might be excited and jump because she’s happy to see us.”
Jade reached both arms toward her father. “Hold me up, Daddy.”
With a sigh that said he didn’t consider this progress, he hoisted his daughter. Lindsey opened the door and commanded, “Sushi, stay.”
The German shepherd, already spring-loaded, wilted in disappointment, but she followed her owner’s command. Tail swishing madly, ears flicking, she waited while Lindsey stroked and murmured encouragements. Once convinced that Sushi’s self-control was intact, she gazed up at Jade.
“She’s all ready for that turkey. Hold it by your fingertips and give it to her.”
Heart thudding with hope, Lindsey told the dog to sit and be gentle.
Worried green eyes shifting from the dog to Lindsey, Jade gathered her courage. When she looked to Jesse, he winked and gave her an encouraging nudge. “Go ahead.”
Taking the poultry, Jade strained forward. Jesse held on tight, face as tense and hopeful as Lindsey’s heart.
As if she understood the child’s dilemma, Sushi waited patiently, and then daintily took the meat between her front teeth.
Jade’s nervous laugh broke the anxious moment. Lindsey hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. As casually as she could while rejoicing over this huge step, she turned back to the kitchen. Sushi’s toenails tapped the floor as she followed. She pointed to a spot far away from Jade, and the dog collapsed in ecstasy.
To her delight, Jade slithered out of Jesse’s arms, unafraid to be on even ground with the animal.
“How about some pecan pie?” Lindsey asked, tilting the pie in their direction.
Jade shook her head. “Can I play with your playhouse?”
She indicated the extra room where Lindsey kept toys and games for her Sunday-school girls.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
As Jade skipped off into the other room, Lindsey lifted an eyebrow toward Jesse. “Pie?”
Jesse patted his flat, muscled stomach. “Too full right now. Later maybe?”
“Later sounds better to me, too. I’m sure there are plenty of football games on if you’d like to watch television while I clean the kitchen.”
“No deal. You cook. I wash.”
Lindsey was shocked at the idea. “You’re my guest. You can’t wash dishes.”
Already rolling up his shirtsleeves, Jesse argued. “Watch me.”
“Then I’m helping, too.” She tossed him an apron, the least frilly one she owned.
He tied it around his slender middle, and in minutes they had the table cleared and water steaming in the old-fashioned porcelain sink.
As Lindsey stacked the dishes on the counter, Jesse washed them. The sight of his strong dark arms plunged into a sink full of white soapsuds did funny things to her insides.
They were down to the turkey roaster when the crunch of tires on gravel turned their attention to visitors.
“Who could that be?” Lindsey asked, placing a dried plate into the cabinet before pushing back the yellow window curtain. “I don’t recognize the vehicle.”
Jesse came up beside her. A hum of awareness prickled the skin on Lindsey’s arms.
“I’ll go out and check.” Her breath made tiny clouds on the cool window. “Could be an early customer.”
Her prediction proved true, and though she normally didn’t open until the day after Thanksgiving, she was too kindhearted to turn them away.
Upon hearing their story, she was glad they’d come.
“Thank you for letting us interrupt your holiday,” the woman said as she watched her children traipse happily through the thick