Her grandmother raised a knowing brow. “Your apple pie is better than usual, and that’s saying a lot because you are the best baker I know. Hard to believe you had any room for improvement.”
“It’s better than your pies?”
“Oh, my, yes! There was never a doubt that Daisy Anderson is the best baker in the family.”
Accolades from her grandmother meant everything. Daisy broke off a tiny bit of golden crust and warm apple and popped it into her mouth, savoring the light buttery pastry. Yes, it was good. Good enough to open her own shop? Maybe. She released a small sigh.
That dream was on hold for now. The kids needed her steady paycheck, health benefits and the five-bedroom house that Rebel’s lower cost of living afforded them. Someday, she’d chase her dreams again.
Someday.
The squeak of sneakers on the kitchen’s ancient, cracked linoleum floor heralded eight-year-old Grace’s entrance into the room. As usual, her dark hair was a tangle, the barrettes that Daisy put in this morning, long since discarded. “Aunt D, we’re bored. May we watch television?” Her twin brother Seth stood behind her, eyes expectant.
“Television is for kids who don’t have all of this,” Daisy said, with a nod toward the endless yard outside the window. “There’s a bucket in the back of the van and a couple of pairs of gardening gloves. You two can go behind the shed and check out the blackberry bush I found.”
“Aunt D? Really?” Seth interjected. “We’re missing our favorite show.”
“Television shows are not going anywhere.” She smiled at the duo, so much like their father. Tall and slim with hair straight as a stick.
Grace, always the drama queen, groaned as if in pain.
“Tell you what. If you fill the bucket, we can go into town for pizza tonight, and then we’ll all watch a movie and make kettle corn.”
“Pizza?” The twins echoed the revered word at the same time.
Daisy nodded.
The two headed outside, jabbering away and finishing each other’s sentences. Daisy and her sister had been like that. Even more so as identical twins.
“Do you think it helps that I’m the mirror image of their mother?” Daisy asked her grandmother. “Or maybe I’m causing them to rip off the Band-Aid again every single day?”
“I have no idea. Sometimes life just plain stinks, and yet kids are much more adaptable than we give them credit for. They need the love, security and consistency that you are providing. So stop overanalyzing.”
“Sam woke up last night with another nightmare,” Daisy said. She glanced into the living room where the four-year-old and his six-year-old brother, Christian, stacked blocks on the oak floor.
“Daisy, give them time. It’s only been six months. Sam is four. He’s in that stage between being a little boy and still being a baby. For him, I think it may be a blessing that you look so much like his mother.”
“Was it the right thing to move them from Denver? Away from everything they know.”
“Away from the pain.” Alice sighed. “You needed to move as much as they did. It does no good to keep rehashing this every five minutes. Stop thinking about the past.”
Daisy traced her finger along the battered farmhouse table she’d picked up at a thrift shop. “What should I think about? How much work this house needs?” Daisy waved a hand around, taking in everything from the peeling wallpaper to the lopsided light fixture, and the olive green dishwasher that didn’t work.
“That’s all fun stuff,” Alice said.
“Fun.” Daisy stretched. “Tell that to my back. We’ve spent the last few days unloading that truck, unpacking boxes and getting this old house in shape. Yet, there’s still so much to do.”
“That’s part and parcel of being a homeowner, Daisy. Besides, there’s no rush. This is your home now. The good Lord got us here. He’s not going to abandon us.”
“Yes. You’re right. I’m letting my tired muscles get the better of me.”
“I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Wait. Did you hear that?” Daisy straightened, ears perking at the sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive.
“Aunt D, that policeman is here again,” Seth called.
Mitch Rainbolt was back?
“Uh-oh. This can’t be good,” Daisy murmured. She handed PJ off to her grandmother and hurried to her feet and out the door. When the screen door slammed against the house behind her, Daisy cringed.
Relax, she told herself and slowed her gait to a casual stroll as she moved across the yard, while pushing her wild mane away from her face.
Again, she was struck by how he seemed to command the surrounding space. And from what she recalled about the embarrassing moments in his arms, the man was 100 percent muscle. Hair the color of warm chocolate peeked out from beneath his gray Stetson. As he approached, she could see that he held an animal carrier.
“Chief, did you forget something?”
“No, I brought you something.”
“Is that a...cat?” she asked.
He held up two fingers. “Two.”
Daisy stared at him for a moment, touched speechless by the kind gesture.
“Turns out Rebel Vet and Rescue has an overflow of kittens this time of year,” he continued. “These are from the same litter. Eight months old. They’ve been spayed, neutered and vaccinated courtesy of my third brother, the vet.”
“Just how many Rainbolt brothers are there?”
“Several. Plus a sister.” He nodded toward the departmental SUV. “I’ve got supplies in the vehicle.”
“Supplies too? That’s awfully generous.”
“Is it?” He raised a brow. “Or maybe it’s the vet’s way of ensuring that you become a loyal customer.”
Daisy chuckled. “In that case, I’d say he’s a savvy businessman.”
Mitch set the carrier on the grass and opened the top. With the first sounds of mewing, Daisy’s nieces and nephews and her grandmother appeared, eager to see what was going on.
“Kittens,” Seth said, peering into the carrier. Both had white and black patches with white boots and predominantly black faces. “Are they twins, like me and Grace?” He smiled, his face more animated than she’d seen since they had arrived in their new home.
“You’re right. These two are brother and sister,” Mitch said. “One has a white nose and the other a black nose.”
Once Daisy sat on the ground, it didn’t take the animals long to climb right out of the carrier and into the grass. The one with the star-shaped patch on its nose head-bumped Daisy’s hand, seeking attention, while the other waddled toward Mitch.
“Oh, my, they’re so friendly,” she said.
Mitch gently picked up the kitten who’d valiantly attempted to crawl up his leg and placed it back on the grass.
“Whose are they?” Grace asked.
“It looks like they’re ours. Chief Rainbolt brought them,” Daisy said.
“A housewarming gift,” he said gruffly. “They’ll keep mice out of the house.”
“Well, Mitch, that was sweet of you,” Alice said.
“I