A Home For Christmas. Linda Ford

      “Yes. I’m glad we found you.”

      Missy’s heart stalled. Her gaze slid toward Wade. He watched her unblinkingly, his blue eyes giving away nothing. She swallowed hard. Did he object to the child’s request? Perhaps he was concerned Missy would have a bad influence on the children, that she’d suggest they should bombard him with demands for him to keep them. No, she silently informed him. She’d be the one doing the bombarding.

      Joey bent over his paper. “I want to write her name, too.”

      Wade jerked his attention to the boy and Missy turned back to Annie. She wrote her name on Annie’s paper.

      Wade spelled out her name for Joey to print on his paper and then, to Missy’s consternation, he wrote it on his own. She stared at the letters forming her name. Black. Thick. Solid. She tried to make sense of seeing them on his page, in what was supposed to be a list of good things. If she’d given it a bit of thought she might have predicted the children would count her as a good thing. But Wade? She fought to keep from looking at him.

      “Is that bad?” Joey asked, misconstruing her silence.

      She turned her attention back to the children. “Not at all. I’m so touched I can’t think of what to say.”

      Annie patted Missy’s hand. “You’ll think of something.”

      Missy chuckled. “I suppose I will.”

      Satisfied that things were back to normal, Annie studied Missy’s page. “What else are you going to put on yours?”

      “You two for sure.” She wrote their names.

      “But what about Uncle Wade?” At the uncertainty in Joey’s voice, Missy held the pencil poised above the paper, wanting to satisfy the boy, but not wanting to give Wade cause to think her too forward.