High Country Christmas. Cynthia Thomason

and Sawyer walked together and Noah followed. Ava kept up a steady stream of conversation with his daughter, pointing, waiting for a reaction from Sawyer that was probably never going to satisfy her. Maybe Ava loved this place, but Noah knew his daughter. She was probably already planning her next escape.

      “Let’s take the golf cart,” Ava said, approaching the vehicle left by the front entrance. “It’s probably warmed up enough that we’ll be comfortable. Besides, the campus is rather large, and we need to cover quite a bit of ground.” Logical Ava, back to analyzing, deciding, but without the sensitivity of the person he’d met when he first arrived. The woman who claimed a personal and heartfelt relationship with all the children under her care. Where had this Ava gone? Had she ever really existed?

      Sawyer quickly climbed in the front seat next to Ava, probably to avoid sitting with her father. Noah took the rear seat and angled his body so he wouldn’t miss any of Ava and Sawyer’s conversation. He was still the father, and he wasn’t about to give up any of his parental rights without knowing what Sawyer was getting into.

      “So what’s the story of all you Cahills?” Noah said as a way of breaking the ice and asserting his presence. “How many are you? Do you more or less run this town?”

      Ava drove the cart around the side of the building. She still hadn’t looked at him. Her attention was on her driving as if the windshield had asked the question. Good grief, it was just a golf cart. What’s the worst that could happen if she made a driving error? They’d have to circle a sand trap?

      “I don’t see what my family has to do with your leaving Sawyer in my care, but okay,” she said. “I can satisfy your curiosity.”

      “I appreciate that,” he said.

      “You met my brother Carter, who is chief of police. His wife is Miranda. As Carter told you, she’s a social worker. My other brother, Jace, runs the family Christmas tree farm. His soon-to-be wife is Kayla. Then there’s Emily, Miranda’s daughter, Nathan, Jace’s son, and my mother, who lives just outside of town. Of course, we need to add in numerous uncles, aunts and cousins.” She headed toward a field where people had gathered. “Satisfied?”

      “What do you think of that, Sawyer?” he asked his daughter. “In our family it’s just you and me. Do you wish there were more of us?”

      Noah waited for the answer. After an uncomfortable few seconds, Sawyer just said, “No. One dictator is enough.”

      Ava stopped at a grassy area. Tables were set up and folks were helping themselves to food and drinks. Many of the younger ones wore Sawtooth Home sweatshirts on which was proudly displayed a large, sturdy oak tree, obviously the origin of the name.

      “What’s going on here?” Noah asked.

      “This is our typical Sunday gathering,” Ava said. “The kids and the cottage parents get out of cooking and doing dishes as long as the weather is nice, and we have a picnic on the grounds.” She parked the golf cart out of the way of the festivities. “Have a walk around if you like. Grab a hot dog. I’ll just be a minute.”

      With no further explanation, Ava walked toward a dark-haired young boy. The child, probably no more than five years old, trotted over to her. Noah wasn’t an expert on kids, and he couldn’t get a good look at the kid’s face, but he decided the boy looked well dressed and well cared for if not especially happy to be eating hot dogs on a crisp Sunday afternoon.

      Ava knelt down in front of him, held his hand and talked to him awhile. After a short time, she stood and spoke in a loud voice. “Run off and have a good time, Charlie. It’s a beautiful day for doing anything you want.” The child didn’t run. He ambled away, and he didn’t look like he was going to have any sort of a good time.

      Ava dusted off her black pants and readjusted the red sweater set she was wearing. She watched the boy for some time until Noah came up beside her. “So he’s one of the residents I guess,” Noah said.

      Startled, almost as if she’d forgotten her purpose with these newcomers, Ava whirled to face him. “I thought you were getting a hot dog.”

      “Actually you told us to get hot dogs, but I don’t live here and decided I didn’t have to follow your order. I don’t know what Sawyer is doing.”

      A wave of her hair escaped her bun and caught on some lipstick. She quickly tucked the errant strand behind her ear. For some reason Noah was fixated on the gesture. Ava Cahill had nice lips, he thought, though he couldn’t understand why he would spend so long looking at them or imagining what a lucky man might do with those lips.

      She cleared her throat, pulled the lapels of her sweater more closely over her breasts and crossed her arms, which brought her back to administrator mode. “Yes. He’s a relatively new arrival. His parents died in a plane accident.”

      “Wow. Tough,” Noah said.

      “Yes, it is. I try to give him special attention when I can.” She started walking toward the tables where Sawyer had obviously decided that an overcooked hot dog was better than no lunch at all. Noah walked beside her.

      “So this kid is actually an orphan?” Noah said.

      Ava swallowed, looked straight ahead. “I told you we have children here from all walks of life and many different situations. Little Charlie is just one example of a resident who has no home to go back to.”

      “I can see why you get wrapped up in their lives,” Noah said. “Every story is its own personal tragedy.”

      She stared up at him with striking blue eyes that he somehow knew would be just as beautiful in the near darkness. In daylight they matched the sky on this beautiful fall afternoon. “You have no idea, but today we need to concentrate on Sawyer’s story.”

      Slightly miffed, Noah said, “My daughter’s story is hardly a tragedy. We’re just having some temporary problems.”

      “Perhaps,” she said vaguely. “Suit yourself about the hot dog, but I think I’ll have one before we continue the tour.”

      She walked away from him, stopping often to speak to various people. Nearly every day Noah looked down upon the earth from two to five hundred feet in the air, perched on a narrow tower of steel and cables. He knew what it was like to feel dizzy, but never before had he experienced the kind of dizzy that Ava Cahill displayed.

      She seemed to be everywhere, talking to kids, adults, staff members. She responded to folks calling her Miss Cahill, Ava, and from the younger ones, Miss Ava. She gave everyone time, a smile, a word. Her energy was impressive. He found himself wishing that some of it were directed at him. She didn’t seem nearly as concerned with convincing him of the benefits of living at Sawtooth as she was convincing Sawyer. Despite what Ava might believe, Noah knew his daughter, and they would both be a hard sell. After lunch, Noah, Sawyer and Ava climbed back into the golf cart and continued the tour. They saw a school building, an auditorium, a gymnasium and a science lab. Sawyer seemed observant enough, even interested, though she asked no questions. Noah, on the other hand, asked plenty. No way was he going to leave his daughter in a strange place until he knew everything that made this home tick. And even then, he wasn’t sure what decision he would make.

      Ava answered each question in a crisp, concise, knowledgeable manner. Her voice was steady. She didn’t waste words.

      They ended the tour at one of the cottages. This one was painted a soft gray with white trim. Walking inside, they found a lounge area with two television sets, comfortable seating, a game table and toddler toys tucked away in colorful crates. A few of the seats were occupied since hot dog time had ended.

      “Let me show you what will be your room if you decide to stay, Sawyer,” Ava said, directing them to a stairway off the lounge.

      Noah noticed that the doors leading to bedrooms were open. This fact alone should make Sawyer rethink her decision. At the house in Chapel Hill, one would have thought his daughter’s room was a field office for the CIA, as she not only kept her door closed, but locked