Mistletoe Twins

“See how easy that was?” Adele chided the children. “Come on now. Time to get busy.”

Jackets on, they hurried out the door, but Mac hung back.

“Dear boy, I do hope you’ll be dropping by frequently now that both you and Adele are home,” Tillie enthused.

Immediately enveloped in a cloud of scent Delly had once informed him was the aunts’ favorite lemon verbena, Mac felt like he had come home.

“Thank you. Have you been skiing, Tillie? I’m envious of your tan.” Other than the tan, the identical twin sisters were almost impossible to tell apart.

“Everyone’s envious, dear. Especially Margaret, though she won’t try a bottled tan. I love it.” Tillie’s face saddened. “I’m so sorry about you and your copilot’s injuries. We’ve been praying for you both.”

“Er—thank you.” He gulped. He hadn’t responded to their letters. So how did the aunts know about Dave? And what else did they know? Did they know Mac had caused his buddy’s wounds? Did they know he’d never told the truth about the crash?

“If there’s any way we can help, dear, you have only to ask,” Margaret said, patting his shoulder.

“Well—” He exhaled. “I would like to speak to the two of you privately at your convenience. I need some advice.”

“We’d be pleased to help.” Margaret smiled. “Shall we text you with a suitable time?”

“Thank you.” Mac blinked. The two of them texted. Why was he surprised? No one could call the Spenser sisters old-fashioned. “That would be great.”

“Fine. Now, sister, we’d better help our family move in.” Tillie chuckled. “Oh, I love the sound of that word. Family. Want to help?” she asked Mac brightly.

“Of course.” Mac held their coats, then ushered them outside, ensuring they carried only the lightest of items. He’d made his third trip in when the grandfather clock in the hall chimed. He froze.

“Something wrong?” Adele, arms loaded with boxes, stopped short.

“The time. I told Mom I’d only be gone ten minutes and it’s been over an hour.” Mac set down his load. “Sorry, but I have to get home. See you later everyone.”

“Come for a meal anytime,” Adele offered as she walked him to his truck.

“Like I’d miss an opportunity to eat your cooking,” he scoffed. “Not a chance, Delly.” He lowered his voice. “I’m just wondering, is Francie and Franklyn’s stay here unlimited? There’s no chance they’ll be removed?”

Mac could have kicked himself when a little voice piped up, “Me an’ Franklyn are stayin’ with Delly forever.”

Francie stood behind him, blond pigtails reminding Mac of a very determined Adele when she’d first arrived at The Haven with her three foster sisters.

“Good,” he said, with a smile, wishing he’d made sure his questions couldn’t be overheard.

“Delly said we might get ’dopted. That means get a fam’ly,” she explained. She tilted her head to one side, studying him. “Maybe Delly will ’dopt you, too, Mr. Mac.”

Wondering if he looked like he needed Adele to care for him and oddly attracted by the thought, Mac chose his words carefully.

“Call me Mac, okay? No Mister.” He smiled at them. “It was very nice to meet you, Francie, and you, Franklyn,” he added when the boy appeared beside his sister. “I’ll see you soon. You, too, Delly. Bye.”

He returned Adele’s wave but remained still, listening as she reassured the two orphaned kids.

“Mac has his own family, honey.” Adele’s sweet voice made even Mac feel better.

“Oh.” Francie sounded deflated.

“So, he’s not gonna be the daddy in our fam’ly?” Franklyn sounded disappointed. “When will we be one?”

“We’re already a family, darling, because we’re together,” Adele assured him. “It’s going to take some time before the judge officially tells us that we can stay together, and things might not go exactly the way we want, so you’ll have to be patient.” That was Delly, always telling the truth, painful or not.

Mac watched the kids’ faces fall in disappointment and half wished Adele had shelved her insistence on honesty for a while, at least until the children had settled in to The Haven. He also half wished he’d told her the whole truth about his accident. Because it wasn’t going to get any easier.

“But we don’t have to worry about when we’ll officially be a family because God will work that out.” With a last wave at him Adele shepherded the two now-quiet children and their teddy bears inside.

The back door closed, but for a moment Mac couldn’t move.

God would work it out?

He’d stopped praying a while ago, right after the crash. Maybe it was coming back to The Haven, maybe it was hearing the love in Delly’s voice as she comforted those two orphans, or maybe it was their rapt attention to whatever she said. Whatever the reason, a prayer slipped out of him.

“Please, God, help those kids and Adele get their dream of family.”

What about your dream, Mac? What do you want?

Right now, Mac’s only dream was to see his good friend Adele happy. He didn’t have a plan for his future. Hopefully Tillie and Margaret would have some advice about that because Dad couldn’t keep running the Double M. If Mac was going to take over, it had to be soon. And if he wasn’t, he owed it to his parents to help sell the place so they could retire.

But if he didn’t ranch, what would he do?

Mac drove home with the same question rolling through his brain that had been there from the moment he’d awakened after the accident.

What’s next, God?

Chapter Three (#u2344d822-a1cd-5153-b484-e66cd214ec78)

“Anyone who just served that incredible Thanksgiving dinner to more than fifteen people should not look like you do.” Three days later, on Monday evening, Mac shook his head at Adele’s flawless beauty, then returned his attention to drying the roaster.

“What’s wrong with how I look?” From the corner of his eye he saw her pat her chic upswept curls. Then she tugged on his arm and demanded, “Mac?”

“Nothing’s wrong with how you look. That’s the problem.” He chuckled at her confusion, amused by the way she stretched to make herself taller than her actual five foot six. She’d always complained about his eight-inch height advantage.

“Are you laughing at me?” she demanded, brow furrowed.

“I’m amazed at you. After feeding half of Chokecherry Hollow, that dress you’re wearing is still immaculate, your eyes sparkle like a fresh batch of your aunt Tillie’s Christmas toffee and your cheeks glow like Margaret’s Nanjing cherry jelly. You look so good it’s scary, Adele.”

“Well, I had to make a concession and take off my heels,” she explained. “And I did wear an apron for most of the day, but I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

“That’s how I meant it.” He ogled the pumpkin pie, felt his stomach protest and shook his head. Today was Monday. Surely Thanksgiving leftovers would still be here tomorrow. He’d better wait. Adele noticed when he patted his midriff and chuckled.

“Aw, don’t you feel well, Mac?” Her pseudo look of concern was spoiled by her smirk. “Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten all three kinds of pie?”

“This body is a machine,” he said proudly, thrusting out his chin. “Burns off calories like a well-oiled engine.”

“Uh-huh.” Adele had long ago mastered using mere facial expressions to get her point across, and so Mac couldn’t help laughing at her mocking mime. But he choked at her next question. “What were you whispering to Francie during dinner?”