Her Small-Town Hero. Arlene James

be in the kitchen, and by the time Holt got there, he’d burned the bacon.

      “Does that look too done to you?” he asked, shoving the plate beneath Holt’s nose.

      “We’ve gotta get your glasses checked,” Holt told him, taking the plate and sliding it onto the counter.

      Hap grunted and handed over the spatula. “I reckon you better try your hand at the eggs this morning, then.”

      “You don’t suppose the Garden’s open, do you?” Holt asked glumly, referring to the café downtown.

      Hap shook his head. “We could always ask Cara Jane to help out.”

      Sighing, Holt went to the refrigerator. “I don’t know about her. Something’s just not right there.”

      “She lost her man. All alone in the world with a boy to raise. That’s what’s not right.”

      “We don’t know that,” Holt grumbled, taking the egg carton from the refrigerator. “Why, for all we know, she isn’t even that kid’s mother.”

      “Have you looked at that child?” Hap scoffed. “If she’s not his mama, then she’s real close kin.”

      Holt had to admit that they favored each other. “Could be she’s hiding out.”

      “From who? Not the law. That I won’t believe.”

      Okay, she didn’t strike Holt as a hardened criminal, either, but something about her didn’t ring true. For one thing, he reasoned silently, a woman like her attracted men like honey attracted flies. If she’d hung tight back in Oregon, some fellow would have stepped up to take care of her and little Ace quick enough. Even if she’d loved her husband to distraction—and somehow he didn’t think that had been the case—it didn’t make a lick of sense for her to strike out on her own looking for someplace “happier.”

      “How do we even know she’s widowed?” he asked, taking down a bowl to crack the eggs into. He preferred his eggs over easy but that didn’t mean he could cook them that way. Better to just scramble them and have it done with.

      Hap considered, then shook his head. “I know that look too well. ’Sides, why lie about it? There’s no law against leaving a husband. Even if she’s scared of him, wouldn’t it make more sense for her just to tell us that?”

      “You mean, if he was abusive or something.”

      “Exactly.”

      Holt pulled open a drawer and took out a fork. “For all we know, she was never even married.”

      Hap humphed at that. “Don’t strike me as that sort.”

      “Maybe not, but that would explain why she’s not living off her husband’s Social Security somewhere. It just doesn’t add up. She hasn’t been completely honest with us.”

      “No reason she should be, I reckon,” Hap said, hobbling into the other room. “Maybe once she gets to trust us.”

      It seemed to Holt that his grandfather had that backward. How were they supposed to trust her if she didn’t level with them about herself and her situation?

      He cracked half a dozen more eggs and then took a certain pleasure in going after them with the fork.

      Cara tapped on the window, her breath fogging the glass. Wearing the same clothes as he had the day before, Holt looked up from beating something in a bowl and reached out with one hand to flick open the door. His hair stuck up in disarray, and he needed a shave. Somehow that made him all the more attractive.

      “’Morning,” she muttered, sliding into the narrow room sideways, Ace on her hip. The dark shadow of Holt’s beard glinted reddish-gold up close, she noticed.

      “Happy New Year.”

      “Oh. Yes. Happy New Year.”

      “Sleep okay?”

      “Just fine, thank you,” she lied. As if he knew that her conscience pinched her, Ace patted her chest before grabbing a fistful of the front of her aqua-blue T-shirt. “Except,” she amended, “I keep hearing a giant clock in the distance.”

      Holt turned to lean a hip against the counter. “A giant clock?”

      “Well, not tick-tock, exactly. More like ka-shunk, ka-shunk.”

      Holt chuckled, folding his arms. “That’s not a clock, giant or otherwise. It’s a pump jack on an oil well out back.”

      She goggled at him. “Oil well! But wouldn’t that make you rich?”

      Holt flattened his mouth. “Hardly. And it doesn’t belong to us. A previous owner kept the mineral rights to the property.”

      “Ah.” That hardly seemed fair, but what did she know about it? To cover her ignorance, she smiled and asked, “How was the party?”

      He went back to beating what she now recognized as a bowl full of eggs. “’Bout like you’d expect for a room full of old folks and a domino table.”

      Since she’d never had experience with either, she said nothing more about that. “Is your grandfather around?”

      “He is. You and the boy wanting some breakfast?”

      “No. No, thanks. We’ve eaten already.” Crackers, applesauce and warm cheese sticks, but Holt didn’t need to know that. “I can finish that up for you, though, if you want.”

      “If you’re not eating, it wouldn’t be fair to let you cook,” he grumbled.

      “I don’t mind.”

      He jerked his head toward the doorway. “Hap’s in the other room.”

      “Your choice,” she mumbled, stung. So much for winning his favor.

      Slipping by him, she carried Ace into the dining room. Hap sat with his head bent over a big black Bible. He looked up, smiling, and nodded at a chair. She sat down with Ace on her lap. She heard the clump of Holt’s boots as he stepped into the doorway behind her.

      Ignoring Holt, Cara said to his grandfather, “I’d like the job, Mr. Jefford.”

      “Well, now, that’s fine.” Hap gave his head a satisfied nod.

      “There’s just one thing,” she went on, heart thundering. “I’d like for Ace and me to have our own place. If we could stay in one of the kitchenettes, that would be great.”

      While Hap scratched his neck, Holt spoke up. “What’s wrong with Charlotte’s room?”

      “It’s too small,” she said bluntly, not looking at him. “Ace would have to sleep with me all the time.” She addressed Hap again. “I could pay something, maybe half, so you wouldn’t be out the whole rent.”

      To her relief, Holt walked back into the kitchen.

      “No need for that,” Hap said, reaching out to pat her hand. “’Course, if we’re full up and need the space, you and Ace might have to move in here temporarily. That room of Charlotte’s is a mite crowded, but I’m sure she’ll take all her stuff when she and Ty get their house built.”

      He went on chatting for some time about the house that Charlotte and her husband, Tyler, were planning to build in Eden, while Cara floated on a wave of relief and delight. When Holt came in with two plates of scrambled eggs, burnt bacon and white bread, Cara smiled brightly. Employed and with a place of her own, she finally let herself believe that this might work out.

      “I’ll see to those black-eyed peas now,” she said cheerfully, rising to her feet and sliding Ace onto her hip, “and clean up the kitchen once you’re done here.”

      Hap chuckled. “It’s a holiday. The cleaning can wait till later.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Jefford.”

      “Call me Hap.