Christmas Trio B. Debbie Macomber

shook her head. “A widow.”

      Jack shrugged. “Then it’s okay if he wants to see her.”

      “I agree. It’s just that I don’t know if I can trust my brother. It pains me to admit that, but still …” She left the rest unsaid. Jack knew her brother and his flaws as well as she did. “I want him to be successful here,” she said earnestly. “He’s starting over, and at this stage of his life that can’t be easy.”

      “I don’t imagine it will be,” Jack agreed. “By the way, who was that on the phone?”

      “Grace. She called to update me on Mary Jo.”

      “Problems?”

      “Not really, but she said we need to keep an eye out for three irate brothers who might show up looking for her.”

      “A vigilante posse?”

      “Not exactly.” But now that Olivia thought about it, it might not be so bad if Mary Jo’s brothers stumbled onto David Rhodes instead. “If her brothers find anyone, it should be David.”

      “There’d certainly be justice in that, but David’s not going to let himself be found. And I think we should be focusing on the young woman, don’t you?”

      His tone was gentle, but Olivia felt chastened. “Yes—and her baby.”

       Chapter nine

      Mary Jo woke feeling confused. She sat up in bed and gazed around at the sparsely decorated room before she remembered where she was. Grace Harding had brought her home and was letting her spend the night in this apartment above the barn. It was such a kind thing to do. She was a stranger, after all, a stranger with problems who’d appeared out of nowhere on Christmas Eve.

      Stretching her arms high above her head, Mary Jo yawned loudly. She was still tired, despite her nap. Her watch told her she’d been asleep for almost two hours. Two hours!

      Other than in her first trimester, she hadn’t required a lot of extra rest during her pregnancy, but that had changed in the past few weeks. Of course some of it could be attributed to David and his lies. Wondering what she should believe and whether he’d meant any of what he’d said had kept her awake many a night. Consequently she was tired during the day; while she was still working she’d nap during her lunch break.

      Forcing her eyes shut, Mary Jo made an effort to cast David from her mind. She quickly gave up. Tossing aside the covers, she climbed out of bed, put on her shoes and left the apartment. The stairway led to the interior of the barn.

      As soon as she stepped into the barn, several animals stuck their heads out of the stalls to study her curiously. The first she saw was a lovely horse. Grace had introduced her as Funny Face.

      “Hello there, girl.” Mary Jo walked slowly toward the stall door. “Remember me?” The mare nodded in what seemed to be an encouraging manner, and Mary Jo ran her hand down the horse’s unusually marked face. The mare had a white ring around one eye and it was easy to see why the Hardings had named her Funny Face. Her dark, intelligent eyes made Mary Jo think of an old story she recalled from childhood—that animals can talk for a few hours after midnight on Christmas Eve—and she wondered what Funny Face would say. Probably something very wise.

      The camel seemed curious, too, and thrust her long curved neck out of the stall, peering at Mary Jo through wide eyes, fringed with lush, curling lashes. Mary Jo had been warned to keep her distance. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, waving her index finger. “You’re not going to lure me over there with those big brown eyes. Don’t give me that innocent look, either. I’ve heard all about you.”

      After visiting a few placid sheep, another couple of horses and a donkey with a sweet disposition, Mary Jo walked out of the barn. She hurried toward the house through a light snowfall, wishing she’d remembered her coat. Even before she arrived, the front door opened and an attractive older gentleman held the screen.

      “You must be Mary Jo,” he said and thrust out his hand in greeting. “Cliff Harding.”

      “Hello, Mr. Harding,” she said with a smile. She was about to thank him for his hospitality when he interrupted.

      “Call me Cliff, okay? And come in, come in.”

      “All right, Cliff. Thank you.”

      Mary Jo entered the house and was greeted by the smell of roasting turkey and sage and apple pie.

      “You’re awake!” Grace declared as she came out of the kitchen. She wore an apron and had smudges of flour on her cheeks.

      “I’m shocked I slept for so long.”

      “You obviously needed it,” Grace commented, leading her into the kitchen. “I see you’ve met my husband.”

      “Yes.” Mary Jo smiled again. Rubbing her palms nervously together, she looked from one to the other. “I really can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

      “Oh, nonsense. It’s the least we could do.”

      “I’m a stranger and you took me in without question and, well … I didn’t think that kind of thing happened in this day and age.”

      That observation made Grace frown. “Really? It does here in Cedar Cove. I guess it’s just how people act in small towns. We tend to be more trusting.”

      “I had a similar experience when I first moved here,” Cliff said. “I wasn’t accustomed to people going out of their way for someone they didn’t know. I didn’t believe it could be genuine. Charlotte Jefferson—now Charlotte Rhodes—disabused me of that notion.”

      Despite everything, Mary Jo looked forward to meeting David’s stepmother. The conversation would be difficult, but knowing that Charlotte was as kind as everyone else she’d met so far made all the difference.

      “Really, Mary Jo,” Grace continued. “All you needed was a friend and a helping hand. Anyone here would’ve done the same. Olivia wanted you to stay with her, too.”

      “Everyone’s been so wonderful.” Thinking about the willingness of these people to take her in brought a lump to her throat. She bent, with some effort, to stroke the smooth head of a golden retriever who lay on a rug near the stove.

      “That’s Buttercup,” Grace said fondly as the dog thumped her tail but didn’t stand up. “She’s getting old, like the rest of us.”

      “Coffee?” Cliff walked over to the coffeemaker. “I’ll make some decaf. Are you interested?” he asked, motioning in Mary Jo’s direction with the pot.

      “I’d love some. If it isn’t any trouble.”

      “None whatsoever. I’m having a cup, too.” Grace set out three mugs, then suddenly asked, “You didn’t eat any lunch, did you?”

      “No, but I’m not hungry.”

      “You might not be, but that baby of yours is,” Grace said as if she had a direct line of communication to the unborn child. Without asking further, she walked to the refrigerator and poked her head inside. Adjusting various containers and bottles and packages, she took out a plastic-covered bowl.

      “I don’t want to cause you any extra work,” Mary Jo protested.

      “The work’s already done. Cliff made the most delicious clam chowder,” Grace said. “I’ll heat you up some.”

      Now that Grace mentioned it, Mary Jo realized she really could use something to eat; she was feeling light-headed again. “Cliff cooks?” Her brothers were practically helpless around the kitchen and it always surprised her to find a man who enjoyed cooking.

      “I am a man of many talents,” Grace’s husband answered with a smile. “I was a bachelor for years before I met Grace.”

      “If