A Family for Christmas. Winnie Griggs

out a book and smiled as she silently read a passage. Suddenly, that familiar kick of jealousy tinged with shame twisted his gut and he turned away.

      “Why is she so excited about a bunch of books?” Leo asked, wrinkling his nose.

      Chance pushed his ugly emotions aside and smiled down at the boy. “You’d be surprised how many people enjoy reading,” he answered. “There are a lot of adventures to be found between the pages of a good book.” Some of his favorite memories were of his mother reading to him as a boy.

      “Adventures?” That had obviously grabbed his attention.

      Did the boy know how to read? If his story was true, he likely hadn’t seen the inside of a schoolroom since he was eight years old, if at all. Maybe he should have a talk with Mitch about how to get Leo prepared for returning to the classroom eventually.

      Then Chance pulled himself up short. He wasn’t the kid’s father and he certainly wasn’t planning to make this little diversion a long-term commitment. He had too many problems of his own right now. Once the boy’s guilt or innocence was determined, there would be decisions to be made about him, decisions that, one way or the other, would relieve Chance of any future responsibility.

      With the unexpected visit from his father looming, he’d have plenty of other issues to deal with during the next few weeks.

      Chance glanced toward Eve, who was still studying the bookshelves with single-minded focus. Did she realize she’d have to hand over Leo to someone else soon? Unless she intended to adopt the boy, which didn’t seem likely given what little she’d revealed about her circumstances. Just how deep did her attachment go? Would she walk away gracefully and let the authorities do what must be done?

      She finally plucked a book from the shelves and turned to rejoin them. Pausing at the desk, she dutifully wrote in the ledger, apparently following the directions the trusting Abigail had posted.

      “What did you select?” he asked when she returned.

      She held up a small book bound in leather with dark red lettering on the front. To his relief, she also described her selection. “It’s a book of poetry.”

      Well now, wasn’t that an unexpected and interesting choice?

      So she did have a less straight-laced, more romantic side to her, even if it was buried a bit deep.

      Yep, the next few days could prove interesting indeed.