Finding A Family. Judy Christenberry

and slid her arm under his. “Will you show me where your room is?”

      They walked down the long hallway. Carl pointed out a room. “That’s Hank’s old room. It’s still decorated for a little boy. I bet Timmy would like it.” He pushed open the door.

      Maggie knew Timmy would love it. But she didn’t want him that far away from her. “It’s very nice.”

      Carl gave her an unsure look. “This is my room and that’s Hank’s now,” he said, pointing to the door opposite his. He pushed open the door to his room and Maggie saw she had a lot more work to do.

      “This is a nice room. I’ll get it cleaned up tomorrow.”

      Carl hesitated before he said, “That would be nice. I—I get tired.”

      “Because you haven’t been eating properly, but we’ll get you stronger.”

      Carl turned and put both his hands on her cheeks. “Maggie, I think you may be an angel.”

      “No, Carl,” she said firmly. “I’m a friend. There’s nothing angelic about me.”

      “Well, I’m glad you came.”

      “Me, too. Good night now.” She slipped out of the room and down the hallway to her new bedroom.

      Hank was dirty and exhausted. He’d worked from dawn to dusk and stayed up half the night guarding the herd. He wanted a hot shower and his bed, in that order. He’d worry about food in the morning.

      He’d have to worry about his dad in the morning, too. He hoped the new housekeeper had arrived and was taking care of everything. Maybe his dad was already keeping her company. He snorted in derision. Sure, life was that easy.

      He pulled in the driveway and was soon parked by the barn. He’d asked Larry to stay close until he got back, in case he’d hired an ax-murderer.

      “Larry?” he called. His friend stepped out and greeted him.

      “Welcome home, boss. Glad to see you.”

      “Thanks. Did she come?”

      “Oh, yeah. And she’s terrific. Best food I’ve had since—well, since your mom died.”

      Hank frowned. “And Dad? How’s he dealing with her?”

      “Like Mary’s little lamb. He and Timmy just follow her everywhere.”

      “What? He’s moving around? And who’s Timmy?”

      Larry took a step back. “Uh, she said you knew.”

      Hank knew it was all too good to be true. Harshly, he demanded, “Who’s Timmy?”

      “Maggie’s little boy. I think he’s three, almost four. Your dad plays with him.”

      “No!” Hank roared and turned on his heel, immediately striding toward his life-long home.

      Larry was frozen for several seconds. Then he hurried after his friend.

      Carl Brownlee was sitting in the rocking chair on the back porch. A little boy, Hank assumed the one in the picture, was standing at his father’s knee, showing him a small car.

      Carl looked up and smiled at Hank. That act alone almost knocked him off his feet. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his father smile.

      “Dad?”

      “Welcome home, son. Have you met Timmy?”

      The little boy drew closer to Carl before he shyly said, “Hi.”

      “Hello,” Hank said, frowning. Then he looked at his father again. “Where is she?”

      “You mean Maggie? I believe she’s putting in a load of laundry.” Carl put his arm around Timmy. “She’s a terrific housekeeper. And, man, can she cook!”

      Hank felt as though his father had betrayed him. He’d been pleading with his father to eat, to talk, to smile. Now, a woman he hadn’t hired—an imposter—had come and his father had gleefully done all three for her.

      He ripped open the back door and entered the house. Larry waited on the porch with the elder Brownlee and the little boy.

      In the laundry room, he discovered the young woman in the photograph. “I didn’t hire you!” he exclaimed.

      She straightened, her figure trim in snug-fitting jeans and a T-shirt. “I beg your pardon?”

      “I didn’t hire you. I hired Maggie!”

      “Are you Hank?” she asked calmly.

      “Yes! And you’re not Maggie!”

      “Yes, I am.”

      “No, you’re not! Maggie was the older lady.”

      “That’s my aunt Kate. The one in the picture with us?”

      “I had no intention of hiring someone with a child. I won’t have it. You have to leave!”

      Maggie continued to load the dryer. She closed the lid and cleaned out the lint trap before starting the machine. Then she turned and walked past him without saying a word.

      Chapter Two

      Hank spun around and followed her to the small bedroom he’d planned for the housekeeper. He noted at once that it was spotless. He certainly hadn’t left it that way. But that didn’t matter.

      “Did you hear me?”

      She didn’t answer, but she took a suitcase out of the closet and began packing. She looked over the lid at him. “It will take about an hour to get my things packed. Then we’ll leave. I assume you will explain my leaving to your father?”

      “Sure! I’ll—I’ll tell him you didn’t like it here.” He was quite surprised by her compliance.

      “But that would be a lie. Never mind. I’ll explain everything to him when I say goodbye.”

      “What will you tell him?”

      “The truth. That you fired me.”

      “You can’t tell him that!”

      She straightened and stared at him. “Why not?”

      “It might upset him.”

      “Mr. Brownlee, whatever you tell your father, he’ll be upset. For the first time in a year, he’s eating good meals and gaining weight. He’s sitting outside and enjoying the warm weather. He’s taking an interest in the people around him. And he’s very kind to Timmy. Sometimes he forgets and even calls Timmy Hank, but Timmy doesn’t mind.

      “If you want to fire me, that’s your right. But I won’t let that sweet man think I’m leaving on my own accord.”

      Hank glared at her. “Damn you!” he muttered and turned and left the room.

      He stormed out onto the porch where three pairs of male eyes stared at him.

      “What’s wrong, son?” Carl asked. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I didn’t hire a twenty-something with a child to be the housekeeper. I hired a nice fifty-year-old to cook and clean for us.”

      His father looked at him calmly and asked, “What difference does it make? Maggie is terrific at both and Timmy is keeping me company, aren’t you, Timmy boy?”

      Hank had no answer. When he’d left home a week ago, his father had been acting like a zombie. He was still too thin, but he was talking with the people around him. Carl was really interacting with the little boy, Larry, and obviously, Maggie.

      Now what could he do?

      He heard footsteps on the porch behind him. In a cool voice Maggie said quietly, “Timmy, I need you to come in, sweetie.”

      Timmy