Silver Bells

Book by Judy Duarte

Mulberry Park

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

FERN MICHAELS

Silver Bells

JoAnn Ross

Mary Burton

Judy Duarte

KENSINGTON BOOKS

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

Contents

A Mulberry Park Christmas
Judy Duarte

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

A Mulberry Park Christmas

Judy Duarte

Chapter One

When the doorbell rang the first time, “Mac” Maguire was stretched out on the floor with his head and shoulders under the kitchen sink, trying to fix a leaky P-trap. He wasn’t in the mood for visitors, so he ignored the interruption.

But then it chimed again.

And again.

In his haste to get to his feet, he banged his head on the cupboard overhang and cursed under his breath. By the time he reached the entryway, his forehead was throbbing and aching like a son of a gun. So when he swung open the door, he found it difficult to smile, even when he found seventy-nine-year-old Charlie Iverson standing on the stoop wearing a blinking, battery-operated Santa hat, a white shirt stained with tobacco juice, and a red and green argyle vest.

“I need to report a theft,” the elderly widower said.

“Did you call the police?”

“You are the police.”

Yes, but Mac was also off duty and on vacation. “What was stolen?”

“An angel that’s been in my family for years. It was standing in the front yard, right by the nativity scene. Just like it’s been every Christmas since Grace and I moved to Sugar Plum Lane.”

“Is that the only thing missing?”

Charlie slapped his hands on his hips. “That’s plenty, as far as I’m concerned. And it shouldn’t be too hard to find the culprit. I know who he is. It’s that little hellion who lives next door.”

Mac wasn’t up for this right now. Not while his forehead hurt and the kitchen sink was torn apart.

“I’m not one to fight with my neighbors,” Charlie added, “but that brat has gone too far this time. So I thought you could go next door, demand that he return my angel, then tell him and his mother what happens to naughty little boys whose parents don’t control them.”

Mac had pretty much raised himself, so he had firsthand knowledge of what happened when parents didn’t play an active role in their children’s lives. But he wasn’t about to get involved in a neighborhood dispute, especially when he planned to list the house he’d recently inherited with a Realtor right after New Year’s Day.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t had a run-in with that kid yet,” Charlie said.

“No, not yet.” The majority of the homeowners on the street were senior citizens, but Mac had seen several children playing outdoors. “Which kid are you talking about?”

“The one who moved in a week ago.” Charlie pointed to the pale green Victorian house on the opposite side of the cul de sac, the one Jillian Grant had lived in when she was growing up.

“What makes you think that boy stole your angel?”

“Who else would do it? He’s as ornery as all get out, and this isn’t the only thing he’s done to spite me. Last week, while I was pruning the roses, he sprayed me with the water hose. And yesterday, he pelted me with pine cones. He also thinks it’s funny to ring my doorbell and then run away before I can get to it.”

Right now, Mac wished Charlie had rung the bell and then run off.

“How old is the kid?” he asked his temporary neighbor.

“Eight or nine, I suppose. Just the right age for a good spanking. But he doesn’t have a father, and his mother coddles him.”

Mac raised a hand to his forehead, finally giving in to the compulsion to probe the wound and determine how badly he’d hurt himself.

Great, he thought, estimating the lump to be about the size of a walnut. As he lowered his hand, he checked his fingertips for blood, but didn’t find any.

Mr. Iverson cocked his head to the side and studied Mac’s injury, squinting to get a better look. “What happened to your noggin?”

“I bumped it.” Mac again fingered the tender lump. “It’s no big deal.”

And neither was Charlie Iverson’s problem. The boy was probably just mischievous. Not that Mac was making excuses for his behavior.

The elderly widower scanned the house and yard. “I see you still haven’t gotten your Christmas lights up yet.”

No, and Mac didn’t intend to. He only had a week to get the house in shape, then he’d be back on the job and living in his loft apartment in downtown San Diego again. “I’ve been too busy.”

“I can imagine. Too bad Ray had to go and die before he could fix up the place. Still, he always found time to decorate for Christmas, which is a tradition on Sugar Plum Lane. I’m not sure if you know this, but folks come from miles around to see the light displays on our street.”

Yeah. Mac had already been approached by several well-meaning neighbors. And he’d told them all the same thing. He really wasn’t into Christmas. Never had been. Not even as a kid.

“By the way,” Charlie said, “Ray stored his decorations and lights in the attic, so if you need anyone to help you put them up, just let me know. I’ll give you a hand.”

“Thanks, Charlie. But I really don’t have time to drag it all out, then put it away a week later.”

“But yours and that boy’s house will be the only ones on the street without lights.”

“Yeah, well, that can’t be helped.”

Charlie clucked his tongue. “That’s a shame. Christmas won’t be the same this year.”

Before Mac had time to consider a response, Charlie added, “’Course, it won’t be the same without my Grace either. Everyone in Fairbrook used to call her The Cookie Lady. She’d start baking just after Thanksgiving and freeze what she could. Then she’d fix a platter of goodies for all our friends and neighbors. She’d even remember the mailman, the folks at the bank, and her hairdresser.”

From what Mac had heard, Charlie didn’t have any family left. And since he’d lost Grace just months before Ray passed away, he had a lot to grieve this year.

As the old man’s eyes glistened, Mac decided to change the subject to one they’d both be more comfortable discussing, but Charlie blinked back his grief and beat him to it.

“Anyway, back to that kid.” Charlie crossed his arms. “I suppose I’ll have to go next door and give his mother a piece of my mind. But I’ve done that already. And when she got all weepy eyed, I backed down. I never have been able to handle a woman’s tears. That’s why I think an official visit from a police officer might work better.”

“It would have to be an unofficial visit. I’m off duty, and Fairbrook isn’t even in my jurisdiction.”

“So you’re suggesting it would be better if I called FPD and made a formal complaint?”

Mac sucked in a deep breath, then slowly blew out, hoping to expel his frustration as well. As much as he’d rather let his temporary neighbors squabble, he didn’t like the idea of a kid being dubbed a troublemaker at such an early age. He knew firsthand how easy it was for a boy to start believing the adults who’d called him a bad seed and predicted he’d never amount to anything. But he didn’t like the idea of a budding sociopath living in the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood either.

“No, Charlie. There’s no need to call FPD yet. I’ll talk to the boy and his mother.” And if Mac thought the kid was going to graduate to setting fires and hurting small animals, he’d encourage Charlie to file an official complaint.

“Thanks, Mac. It’s nice having a cop in the neighborhood again.” Charlie adjusted the Santa hat he wore, then turned and started down the steps. “I sure miss Ray Burke.”

Mac missed him, too. Ray had been Mac’s first partner, and in spite of a thirty-year age difference, the two had become best friends. Of course, thanks to all the overtime Mac pulled, they hadn’t gotten to see each other as often as they would have liked after Ray retired. So when Mac received word that Ray had died of a massive coronary in his sleep, he’d been slammed by regret as well as grief.

By all outward appearances, Ray had been in excellent health, so his death had been totally unexpected.

And so had the news that Ray had created a trust and had named Mac as the sole trustee.

Still, Mac didn’t plan on staying in Fairbrook more than a week or ten days. Just long enough to fix up the house and put it on the market. He sure couldn’t take care of two places, and his apartment in San Diego suited him best.

Besides, Mac wasn’t into the Christmas hullabaloo or life in the suburbs. And if by some fluke he decided to go the white-picket-fence route, it wouldn’t be on Sugar Plum Lane, the one neighborhood in which he’d been the least welcome as a teenager.

Mac stepped onto the porch, then closed the front door and made his way to the sidewalk, where Charlie waited for him.

“See there?” Charlie pointed to the nativity scene at the far corner of his yard. “The angel used to be looking over the manger, but now it’s gone.”

Mac hadn’t noticed the angel before, but he’d keep an eye out for any stray ones in the neighborhood that matched Charlie’s figurines.

His focus shifted to the pale green Victorian where the so-called hellion lived. The house and yard were as devoid of holiday adornment as his was.

As Charlie shuffled up his driveway and headed home, Mac continued to walk toward the house that had once belonged to the Grants. Shortly after Jillian had left for college, her father had packed up and moved. At least, that’s what Mac had heard. He wondered who lived in the house now. Someone who’d just moved in, Charlie had said. A single mom who coddled her ornery kid.

Mac strode toward the front door. Each time he’d come to visit Ray, which hadn’t been often enough, he’d noticed that particular house and how it had been going steadily downhill. When the Grants had lived here, Jillian’s father had spent a lot of time outdoors, creating a garden showcase, but time had certainly changed things. The lawn, once neatly trimmed, was overgrown. And the colorful array of flowers, plants, and bushes that had lined the driveway and porch now grew wild.

But the yard wasn’t the only thing that had been neglected. The white gingerbread trim had yellowed with age, and the faded green paint on the exterior walls had chipped and cracked. He hoped the new resident was planning to refurbish the place, which would increase the value of all the homes on the street.

He rang the bell. At least, he thought he had. Dead silence suggested it might not be working, so he lifted the squeaky brass knocker and rapped. As footsteps sounded within, he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and waited for someone to answer.

His breath caught when an attractive, thirty-something brunette opened the door, and as recognition dawned, his heart slammed against his chest.

There stood Jillian Grant.

Chapter Two

As Jillian welcomed her old boyfriend into the house, her pulse rate soared through the roof, and her heart tripped all over itself trying to regain control.

Yesterday she’d spotted a man in the neighborhood who’d resembled Mac, but she’d shrugged off the similarities, thinking her eyes had been playing tricks on her. But, apparently, they hadn’t been.

Now here he was.

“You look great,” Mac told her.

She wanted to believe him, but she’d gained weight during her marriage—ten pounds with each child she’d borne and then some. But she thanked him anyway and added, “You look great, too.”

And he did. He still wore his sandy-blond hair stylishly mussed, and his blue eyes were just as bright and intense as they’d ever been. His face had matured nicely, and in keeping with the memory she held of him, a light stubble of day-old beard added to the bad-boy aura she’d found so attractive when she was a teenager.

A nasty lump, which appeared fresh, marred his forehead, though. She wondered how it had happened—a fight maybe?—but the question stalled on the tip of her tongue. After the way she’d ended things between them, she didn’t have the right to be so curious.

Nor did she have the right to gawk at him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He still resembled the lanky teenager she’d once known, and she found him just as intriguing now that he’d grown up. Maybe more so.

As they strode through the entry and into the living area, he scanned the room from top to bottom. She imagined he was noting the yellowed water spot on the popcorn ceiling, the curled up edges of the blue floral wallpaper, and each gouge and scratch on the original hardwood floor.

She was taking in a few things, too, like the way he’d bulked up over the years and filled out the white T-shirt he wore.

He was either working out regularly or his job required physical labor. Construction maybe? She could imagine him driving a bulldozer or wielding a jackhammer.

Her gaze returned to his shirt, but this time she actually noticed the red and black lettering that read: JIFFY BAIL BONDS—We’ll have you out in a jiffy.

Did Mac work at the place?

Or maybe he’d used their services. Her heart sank a bit as she entertained the possibility.

“I always wondered what the inside of this house looked like,” he said, reminding her that this was the first time she’d ever invited him in.

She’d had her reasons for not doing so at the time, but wouldn’t stew about that now. “I’m afraid the house was in much better shape when my dad and I lived here.”

“I thought your father sold this place when he left town.”

“No, he didn’t. While I was in my first semester of college, he moved up to the Sacramento area to be closer to me. But instead of selling the house, he rented it out. Now I’m trying to get it back into shape, and it’s a lot more work than I expected.”

“Tell me about it,” Mac said. “I’m refurbishing one of the Victorians, too. The beige and white one that’s on the other side of the cul de sac.”

So they were practically next-door neighbors; only Mr. Iverson’s house separated them.

“In fact…” Mac laughed and pointed to the knot on his head. “This is a result of my latest fix-it project.”

He seemed to be doing a good job in the chitchat department, but she was almost speechless. All she could seem to do was marvel at how good the years had been to him.

“Are the neighbors giving you a hard time about decorating the house and yard for Christmas, too?” he asked.

“A couple of them have made comments, but I’m pedaling as fast as I can to turn this place into a home, so stringing lights along the eaves and around doors and windows is the last thing on my list.”

She didn’t mention that when she and the kids moved out of the house they’d once shared with Jared in Roseville, she hadn’t thought to bring any decorations or ornaments with her. And even if she had the money to buy new ones and the time to put them up, she just couldn’t get into the holiday spirit this year.

Of course, she blamed Jared for that. If she were still living with him, she’d be wrapping the last of the gifts, polishing the silver, and planning elaborate menus for Christmas Day.

“Charlie told me the woman living here was a single mom,” Mac said, “but I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Are you talking about Mr. Iverson, the old man who lives next door?”

Mac nodded.

She wondered what else her crotchety neighbor had said. He’d been on Tommy’s case about one thing or another ever since they moved into the house next to his.

In fact, he’d come to the door and voiced another complaint yesterday, but he’d caught her at a bad moment. Jared had just called to say his child support check would be late, which meant, after paying a repairman to get the furnace working again and then purchasing a new hot water heater, she was going to be strapped for cash. So she would be buying groceries instead of the tree she’d promised the kids they would get this weekend.

She’d been on the verge of tears when Mr. Iverson had knocked on her door, and when he started in about Tommy, calling him a hellion and saying that he needed a firm hand, the floodgates had opened.

Fortunately, Mr. Iverson had been so taken aback when she fell apart that he couldn’t back off the porch and skedaddle fast enough.

“It’s good to see you,” Mac said.

“Thanks.” She offered him a smile, wishing she hadn’t postponed her diet until after the holidays. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

She glanced down at the pink cotton blouse she wore, noticing a grape jelly stain on the front. She definitely would have changed her clothes if she’d known she was going to see Mac, and she would have combed her hair and applied a bit of lipstick, too.

Uh-oh. Her thoughts shifted and her movements stilled. If Mac was living in her neighborhood now, she hoped Tommy hadn’t had a run-in with him.

“So why did you come by?” she asked.

“Charlie wanted me to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“He mentioned calling the police, and I thought he was overreacting. So I figured it might be best if I took care of it.”

The police? Jillian crossed her arms. “What is it this time?”

“Apparently, he had an angel decoration in his front yard, and now it’s missing.”

“And he thinks Tommy took it?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Jillian let out the breath she’d been holding. “Tommy is angry with his father, and I’ll admit that he’s been acting out and is difficult at times, but he wouldn’t have taken anything that didn’t belong to him.”

“I’m sure you know the boy better than anyone.”

“Just for the record,” she added, “Mr. Iverson has been picking on Tommy. And I’m not saying that because, as he told me a couple of days ago, ‘every old crow thinks her baby’s white as snow.’”

Mac smiled. “Would you mind if I talked to your son?”

“No. Not at all.” Maybe it would be good for Tommy to talk to another adult—and a male for a change. She nodded toward the doorway that led to the rest of the house. “Come on. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

As Jillian led Mac through the entryway and into the living room, she spotted a pile of Barbie clothes Megan had left in the center of the area rug. She stooped to pick them up, hoping Mac didn’t think she was a lousy housekeeper as well as a negligent mother.

To be honest, though, she had to accept at least a bit of responsibility for the divorce. After all, she’d gotten so caught up with her dad’s failing health, with baking cookies for the P.T.A., and driving on field trips that she’d slowly stopped thinking of herself as a wife and lover. But she’d always been a good mother, and when Mr. Iverson had implied otherwise, she’d bristled.

She held the doll clothes close to her chest, like a shield to protect herself from anything Mac might hurl at her. “The divorce has been a big adjustment for all of us.” Well, at least it had been for her and the kids. Jared hadn’t seemed to lose a wink of sleep over it.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mac said.

She’d been sorry, too. “The breakup was completely unexpected, although, in retrospect, it shouldn’t have been. It was more than a little unsettling at first, but I think, with time, we’ll all be better off.”

Her ego had taken a beating when Jared had left, and while she knew his affair had been more of a reflection on his lack of morals than on her personally—or the twenty-some pounds she’d gained since they got married—that didn’t keep seeds of doubt from sprouting every now and then.

“I imagine your father is happy that you moved back into his house,” Mac said.

“Actually, my dad passed away a little more than a year ago, so it’s just the two kids and me living here now.”

Mac raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about your dad. And divorces are tough. It sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

The way he’d said divorce made her suspect that he’d experienced one, too. So she yielded to temptation and asked, “Have you…?”

“No, I’ve never been married. But with my job, it’s just as well.”

Now there was another topic they could discuss and stay on neutral ground. She shuffled the tiny clothes in her arms. “What line of work are you in?”

“Law enforcement. I’m a homicide detective with the San Diego Police Department.”

“Oh, really? That’s a…”

“Surprise?”

“Yes, I guess it is. Dad would have been…” She paused, realizing she’d veered right back to a touchy subject. “Well, to be honest, he always figured you’d be riding in the backseat of a patrol car, not in the front.”

Mac tossed her a wry smile. “I guess there weren’t too many people in Fairbrook who expected me to make something out of my life.”

“I knew you would.”

“Did you?” His gaze locked on hers, demanding complete honesty.

She had believed in him. But she had to admit that even though she’d tried to sing his praises to her father, there had been a niggling fear that Mac would always have an edge about him, that he’d never kick his rebellious streak. That if she’d married him, she’d end up…

…in the same boat she was in now.

She chuffed inwardly at the irony.

Still, she suspected it had been Mac’s bad-boy reputation and the slim prospects for a law-abiding future that had been part of his appeal back then.

Before she could conjure a response, Megan skipped into the living room, her blond ponytail swinging from side to side. “Mommy, have you seen my…” The six-year-old froze in mid-step when she spotted Mac. “Oops.”

“Megan,” Jillian said, “this is Mac. He’s an old friend of mine. We went to high school together.”

Mac reached out his hand to her daughter. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The child seemed a bit perplexed by the adult greeting, but she nibbled on her bottom lip and smiled at the same time, then took the big hand he offered.

“You look a lot like your mommy,” Mac said, straightening. “She used to wear her hair long like yours, too.”

Megan shot a glance at Jillian and smiled, her shyness abating some.

Jillian took the opportunity to hand over the doll clothes. “Now that you’re here, young lady, I have a job for you to do. You forgot to put these away when you were finished playing with them.”

“Sorry.” Megan reached for the clothing, but an evening gown, a tiny wedding veil, and a bathing suit dropped to the floor.

“It might be easier to make two trips,” Jillian told her. “And by the way, lunch is almost ready. Where’s your brother?”

“He’s in the backyard making a fort. As soon as I put this away, I’ll tell him to come in.”

After Megan left the room, Jillian turned to face the man whose visit had momentarily shaken her world. “Have you eaten yet? I’m afraid the pickings are slim since I need to go grocery shopping. But I can offer you all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you can eat.”

He chuckled, the rich timbre of his voice tilting her world further yet. “I might take you up on that. I worked through breakfast and my cupboards rival Mother Hubbard’s.”

She led him into the kitchen. While he sat at the table, she sliced several apples and poured two glasses of milk. Then she took a pitcher of tea from the fridge and a tub of ice from the freezer. Before preparing a drink for herself and for Mac, she turned and leaned her denim-clad hip against the counter. “Let’s get back to Mr. Iverson and his angel. I really can’t believe Tommy took it.”

“It might have been a childish prank. When I was a kid, I was involved in more than my share of those.”

“I suppose it’s possible. Tommy seems to have been hit harder by the divorce than Megan. That’s probably because the woman his father got involved with has a son who used to sit across from him in school. And right now, that boy, his mother, and my ex are…” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Well, they’re probably sunning themselves on the deck of their cruise ship as we speak.”

“Does Tommy know that?”

“I wish he didn’t. Before we moved back to Fairbrook, the boy was telling everyone in class how his mother’s new boyfriend was taking them on a Disney cruise out of Orlando.” Jillian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And, just for the record, Jared was the classic workaholic who never had time for school programs, dance recitals, or family vacations.”

“No wonder your son is hurt.”

“Before the divorce, Tommy was a happy, loving child.” She straightened and stepped away from the cabinet. “So, needless to say, I’m in uncharted water when it comes to dealing with hurt and angry little boys.”

She couldn’t read Mac’s expression, although she searched carefully, looking for skepticism or disbelief and finding neither. She suspected that holding his thoughts and reactions close to the vest had been part of the skills he’d garnered at the police academy and later on the job.

Still, she couldn’t help but add, “In spite of what Mr. Iverson may have told you, I’m a good mother.”

Mac got to his feet and closed the gap between them. He placed a hand on her shoulder, sending her reckless pulse rate soaring again. “No one could convince me otherwise, Jilly.”

“Thanks.”

His touch lingered long after he removed his hand, and his musky, mountain-fresh scent taunted her even as he returned to his seat. She struggled not to take in another heady whiff, but before she could regroup, the back door swung open.

“What’s for lunch?” Tommy asked.

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” she answered, before introducing Mac to her son.

Again, Mac addressed the child respectfully, taking the small, dirt-stained hand in his.

Since Megan had yet to come into the kitchen, Jillian decided to lay the latest problem on the table. “Mr. Iverson had an angel in the nativity scene in his front yard, but now it’s missing. Do you know where it might be?”

“I saw it when we moved in,” Tommy admitted. “And it was there a couple of days ago, I think.”

“Mr. Iverson seems to believe that you might have taken it,” Jillian said. “I hope you aren’t playing a trick on him to annoy him.”

“I didn’t take it. Why would I want a dumb ol’ angel?” Tommy crossed his arms and frowned. “And I don’t try to annoy him. It just happens. But he tries to mess with me all the time. And he does it on purpose.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mac asked. “How does he mess with you?”

Tommy furrowed his brow, scrunched his face, then shrugged. “Like the other day. I was playing with my little parachute guy and throwing him up in the air, but he accidentally flew over the fence and landed in Mr. Iverson’s yard. Any nice, regular person would have thrown it right back over the fence. But not Mr. Iverson. He kept it instead. And he still has it.”

Jillian eased closer to her son. “Did you tell him the parachute guy was yours and ask him to give it back?”

“I tried. I knocked a bunch of times, but he didn’t answer. Then I rang the bell. But he never came to the door. I knew he was home, though. I could hear the TV on some news show. So I looked in the window and accidentally bumped into one of the big plants on his porch. It fell over, and the pot broke. I knew he would be super mad, so I ran away. But then he came over and yelled at my mom instead.”

“He didn’t yell at me,” Jillian said in the old man’s defense. But he certainly hadn’t been happy about it.

Again, Tommy shrugged. Then he used a dirty index finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his freckled nose.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your little parachute man?” Jillian asked. “I would have gone next door and asked Mr. Iverson to please return it. And rather than run away when you broke the pot, you should have told me about it.”

“But what if it cost a whole lot of money? I heard you talking to Dad on the phone, and you said that you didn’t even have enough money to buy a tree and presents this year. So how could I tell you about the pot?”

Jillian took in a sharp breath. She hadn’t meant for Tommy to overhear the financial discussion she’d had with his father. Nor had she wanted Mac to be privy to that same piece of news now, but it was too late.

“My dad is a jerk,” Tommy told Mac.

For once, Jillian didn’t correct him.

Megan entered the kitchen, and Jillian sent the children to the bathroom to wash their hands.

She probably ought to have said something to Mac, like, “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Or maybe even, “See what I’ve been up against?” But she bit her tongue instead, hoping the frustration wouldn’t well in her eyes.

But, hey, if it did? Maybe Mac would disappear as quickly as Mr. Iverson had.

“You know,” Mac said, “I’ve got an idea.”

He did?

Jillian had run through every idea she’d had when it came to dealing with Jared’s selfishness and Tommy’s anger. And she hadn’t had much luck. So she was game for almost anything.

“After lunch, why don’t I take you guys for an ice cream cone at The Creamery?”

Jillian hadn’t stepped foot in that place since the day before she and Mac broke up.

Why would he suggest they go there?

And why did she later go to get her purse and grab jackets for the kids?

Chapter Three

It was mid-December, but the air was still a bit crisp and chilly for a southern California beach community.

Mac probably should have suggested taking the kids to Happy Donuts, which was only a few shops down from The Creamery. But the ice cream cone invitation had just rolled off his tongue, and the kids and their mother had been okay with it.

So here they were, parked in his black Ford Expedition on the shady, tree-lined street, where The Creamery was flanked by Specks Appeal, an eyeglass store, and Café Del Sol, a trendy eatery that offered both indoor and sidewalk dining.

While Mac slid out of the driver’s seat, Jillian and the kids climbed from the SUV.

Most children had a natural sweet tooth, so he figured he’d get on Tommy’s good side by buying him a treat. And maybe, if he was able to connect with the boy on some level, he could help Jillian put an end to the cold war that seemed to be brewing between her son and Charlie.

As they entered the shop, a bell—probably the same one that had announced new customers years ago—tinkled, alerting an older man who was reading behind the counter.

The sixty-something man, who wore a red-and-white-striped shirt, stood and made his way to the freezer display case. A black plastic badge said his name was Ralph. “Can I help you folks?”

“We’d like some cones,” Mac said.

The gray-haired man grinned. “You betcha.”

Megan and Tommy approached the freezer display case and peered at twenty or more flavor options, while Ralph awaited their decision.

“This place certainly hasn’t changed much,” Jillian said, perusing the interior.

Mac had to agree, noting the black and white checkerboard flooring, the chrome-trimmed, white Formica tables, and the red vinyl chairs. Several matching booths still lined the back wall, including the one in the far corner, where he and Jillian used to sit whenever they’d found it empty.

“Oh, cool,” Tommy said. “Look, Meggie. Bubble gum ice cream. It has chunks of gumballs in it, and when you’re all done eating it, you end up with a mouth full of chewing gum.”

“Ooh, yuck,” Megan said, scrunching her face. “I want strawberry.”

Mac nudged Jillian’s arm as though not a day had passed since they’d met here regularly. “How about you?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“You didn’t eat anything except apples at lunch,” he said. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“A little. But I just started a diet.” She offered him a smile, then glanced at the small bulletin board behind the cash register, where a snowflake-trimmed flyer had been posted.

He’d noticed that she’d put on a bit of weight over the years, which was probably why she was dieting, but it didn’t matter to him. There’d always been something special about her that had caught his eye and gripped his heart.

Her dark brown hair, which had once hung to her waist, curled at the shoulders now. The style suited her, he supposed.

“Mac?” The way she said his name, her voice as soft and lyrical as he’d remembered, stirred up all the good memories he’d ever had. She pointed to the announcement. “Did you see that? They’re having another Christmas Under the Stars. It’s this weekend. Apparently, it’s become a community tradition.”

As the children gave their ice cream orders, and Ralph prepared their cones, Mac’s thoughts drifted back fifteen years to the day Fairbrook readied for the very first outdoor holiday event.

That particular December afternoon, the sun had been sinking low in the western sky, and Mac had been hanging out in Mulberry Park with a couple of friends. They’d been discussing what they were going to do that night for fun, while several men on ladders ran extension cords and connected a sound system. A few women had set up tables and were covering them with red and green plastic cloths.

Mac had been looking forward to joining his friends for another aimless night on the city streets, when he noticed Jillian’s car pull up. And suddenly, his interest shifted.

He’d never been shy around girls before, but Jillian had been different. She’d been a college-bound senior, and he was a year younger and a grade behind, wondering if a high school diploma was all it was cracked up to be. So their paths had rarely crossed, but on those few occasions when they’d spotted each other in the cafeteria or down the hall, Mac had sensed that the attraction had been mutual.

Jillian had parked along the curb that afternoon, and as she was trying to get a platter of brownies out of her car, Mac had gotten a burst of testosterone-laced courage.

So, after telling his friends he’d catch up with them later, he’d made his way toward the girl who was clearly out of his league, figuring he’d bite the bullet and introduce himself.

Jillian, who was still studying the flyer behind the register in The Creamery, interrupted his thoughts. “Do you remember the first Christmas Under the Stars?”

“Yeah.” Being with her again had brought it all rushing back to him.

“I’ll never forget that night,” she said, her tone soft and wistful.

Neither would Mac, but he didn’t want her to know he’d been waxing nostalgic, so he made light of it. “I believe that was the first and only time I’d ever heard you say a bad word.”

She batted his arm the way she’d done when they were teens on the verge of adulthood and he’d teased her about something. “The word I said wasn’t so bad. And it just slipped out. I’d baked four dozen brownies earlier that day, and I was supposed to drop them off with the refreshment coordinator. And then you called my name.”

And when she looked up, she’d dropped both plates, frosting side down, in the dirt.

He grinned, remembering it all clearly. “Hey, I helped you pick them up.”

In the process, their hands had touched, their gazes had locked, and Mac had fallen in love for the first and only time in his life.

Three months later, she’d dumped him.

But hey, he should have known better than to imagine anything could have really developed between them. Jillian had grown up as an only child in a loving home on Sugar Plum Lane. And Mac had spent his early years in a rundown apartment on the east side of town with an alcoholic mother and a father who’d been an on-again, off-again druggie. So the cards had been stacked against them since day one.

Suddenly, a little tiptoe down Memory Lane had turned into a full-on run. Mac tried to backpedal, but something in Jillian’s pretty green eyes zeroed in on him, just the way it always had, and he felt like an awestruck adolescent all over again.

“That’ll be four dollars and twenty-eight cents,” Ralph said. “That is, unless you two want a cone or something.”

Mac turned to Jillian and smiled. “It’s your last chance to cheat on that diet. For what it’s worth, you look just fine to me. And this has got to be the worst time of the year to be watching what you eat.”

“Thanks, but I’m going to pass. You go ahead. How about one of those triple-scoop Rocky Road cones you used to like?”

“Not today.” He wouldn’t feel right eating in front of her. “I think I’ll just have a cup of coffee.”

Jillian ordered hot tea, and as the clerk prepared their drinks, Megan and Tommy tasted their ice cream cones, then wandered to the back of the shop and slid into a booth. Mac had almost suggested they move to the one in the back corner, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a twenty from his wallet and waited for Ralph to tally the tab.

“I heard you talking about Christmas Under the Stars,” Ralph said, handing an insulated cup of hot water to Jillian, as well as a teabag. “It’s an annual event, and the kids will love it. I hope you’ll consider taking them. We sing carols by candlelight and drink hot cocoa. There’s also a live nativity display.”

“You know, I think I will take them.” Jillian dropped the teabag into her cup. “It’ll provide them with a bit of the holiday spirit since we won’t be celebrating in the usual way at home this year.”

Ralph handed Mac a large coffee and nodded to a table to the left of the counter. “You’ll find sugar and cream over there.”

“Thanks.” Mac would drink his black, but he wasn’t sure about Jillian’s preferences.

He watched her stop by the table and pick up a packet of sugar-free sweetener. Then she looked at him, her eyes just as bright and expressive as ever. “How about you? Will you be going?”

“No, I’ve never made a big deal out of holidays.” There’d never been a reason to. The last time he’d tried was when he’d dated Stacy Pernicano, a hairstylist by trade and his longest lasting relationship. A few years back, she’d taken him home to meet her family and to spend Christmas evening with them.

Her parents had gone all out with the outdoor lights and a Nutcracker scene that moved around the lawn. And inside, a ten-foot tree, its branches fully lit and loaded with ornaments, took center stage in the living room, surrounded by a mound of colorfully wrapped gifts. Stacy’s mom had gone all out on a gourmet feast, too.

But Mac had been uneasy all evening.

It was more than just the over-the-top holiday scene that had made him skittish. It was because Stacy had gotten a little clingy, and he preferred not to let women get too close. He was more of a loner than most, and he liked it that way. So he’d broken things off after New Year’s.

“I can’t imagine not celebrating Christmas at all,” she said. “It makes me sad to think of you being alone.”

“Don’t worry about me. I keep busy.” He usually volunteered to work extra shifts so the other officers could spend the holidays with their families.

As he and Jillian approached the table where Tommy and Megan were sitting, she slid in first and made room for him.

He tried to focus on the kids and their ice cream cones, rather than on Jillian, whose arm touched his. Whose light, floral scent reminded him just how little had changed.

Fifteen years ago, she’d always insisted that they meet somewhere, which was probably because Mac had been a budding delinquent her father hadn’t approved of.

Of course, that was the old Mac, a guy who no longer existed. Still, as he sat at a table with Jillian and her kids, those same adolescent insecurities began to surface again, reminding him of how star-crossed his crush on Jillian had been. And being together again at The Creamery, where the walls seemed to be closing in on him and forcing his memories to the surface, was making it worse.

He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Look, Mom.” Tommy pointed at the window that looked out at the park. “There’s a playground over there. And it’s got a teeter-totter, a slide, and all the stuff Meggie likes.”

“Where?” His sister scrambled to get to her knees, ditching all signs of her shyness. “I want to see it.”

Mac glanced across the street, noting that the playground hadn’t been anywhere near as grand fifteen years ago and wondering when it had been remodeled.

“It looks fun,” Jillian said. “Before school starts in January, I’ll have to take you there.”

Sensing an escape route, Mac slid out of the booth and got to his feet. “What’s wrong with going there now?”

Chapter Four

Jillian and Mac, each with an insulated cup in hand, steam rising and twisting in the cool, wintry air, walked the children across the street to Mulberry Park.

Today had been surreal, Jillian thought, first with Mac showing up at the door and then with him suggesting they take the kids to The Creamery. And now they were headed to the playground.

She’d always wanted Jared to take part in outings like this, and while they did occasionally go to dinner or to school programs together, he usually had a reason for not joining her and the kids.

“Sorry, babe,” he would say, sometimes placing a kiss on her cheek and sometimes not giving her so much as a glance. “I’ve got another meeting I have to attend. And you know that business comes first.”

She just hadn’t realized he’d meant monkey business.

Of course, now Jared was probably strolling the deck of a cruise ship with his new family in tow, which wasn’t fair to the two children he’d left behind.

But she shook off the thought. The divorce was behind her, and it was best if she focused on the future. Whatever that might bring.

She stole a peek at Mac, who was looking ahead and scanning the park. He’d always been keenly aware of his surroundings, a tendency that, whether innate or learned as a child, probably came in handy with his job as a detective.

“Come on,” Tommy said as he and Megan reached the end of the crosswalk and stepped onto the curb. “Let’s go ride the teeter-totter first.”

“Okay, I’ll race you.” Megan took off across the grass, running toward the playground, her blond ponytail swishing across her back. Yet even though her brother reached the sand several strides ahead of her, she didn’t seem the least bit disappointed to come in second place.

“I’m glad I made the kids put on a jacket before we left,” Jillian said, noting that Mac only had on a white T-shirt. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really.” He took a sip of coffee.

She again noticed the red and black lettering on his shirt, and curiosity got the better of her. “What’s with Jiffy Bail Bonds? That seems like an odd shirt for a police officer to wear. I thought it was your job to lock up the bad guys and make sure they stayed there.”

He glanced at the block lettering across his chest, then tossed her a crooked grin, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and chuckled. “One of my buddies had these made up for a department softball game. It was our way of razzing our opponents. The captain of the other team was a public defender.”

“Cute. I’ll bet your opponents loved that.”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. The shirts they wore were blue and said The Donut Stop, the Safest Place in Town.”

“That must have been some softball game.”

“It was a lot of fun. Especially the heckling.” He nodded toward a green fiberglass picnic table. “Why don’t we sit over there and watch the kids play? Unless, of course, you’d rather join them on the playground?”

Like they’d done on the night they’d met?

Her thoughts drifted to the first Christmas Under the Stars event, when she and Mac had wandered away from the couples and families holding candles and singing carols, away from the twinkling lights that adorned the trees.

They’d teeter-tottered for a while, their only light coming from the ornamental electric lampposts located near the cinder block building that housed the restrooms. Then they’d moved on to the swing set.

For two teenagers with very little in common, except a mutual attraction that had caught them both off guard, they’d hit it off that night. And when no one was looking, they’d slipped behind the restrooms and shared a kiss that began sweet and hesitant, then grew hungry and urgent.

Had Mac been remembering it all, too?

As they each took a seat on the bench, their backs to the table, they faced the playground where Tommy and Megan had joined several other children. She stole another look at her teenage crush, but couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His gaze was on her son, who, fortunately, seemed to have left his troubles at home today.

“Tommy’s always been a happy child,” she said. “It’s just since the divorce that he’s been a little…down and snappy.”

“Have you taken him to see a counselor?”

“Not yet.” She would have done it by now, but the new insurance plan Jared had recently acquired didn’t cover anything other than basic medical and only some dental. And with the expense of the move and a delay in the child support check…“I’ve enrolled the kids at the new school, and their first day is on the fifth of January. So I thought I’d see if the district psychologist might talk to him at that time. And then we’ll see what he or she recommends.”

“I’m sure that’ll help.”

“I hope something will. I’ve been at a loss. It’s tough to see your kids hurting and not know what to do about it.” She’d always been a mother-knows-best sort of woman, but in this case, she was treading water and hoping for the best. “I’ve prayed about it,” she added, not sure at all how Mac would feel about that. Her father had taken her to church regularly as a child, while Mac, according to what he’d once told her, had never stepped foot inside one.

Had that changed?

She slid another glance his way, but couldn’t read his expression. For some reason, she felt compelled to explain. “A couple of days ago, Tommy blew up over a lost toy. Not the parachute guy, but another one. And he started crying, saying that everything he loves gets stolen or lost or broken. I knew he was talking about more than just the toy.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I brought up his father, planning to explain—again—that the divorce had nothing to do with him at all, but he just stomped out of the room and slammed the front door. I probably should have gone after him, but I was feeling so helpless when it came to knowing what to say and how to deal with his pain and anger, that I fell apart and started crying. All I could do was pray. I heard the front door open again, and some footsteps in the hall. They paused for a moment or two, then continued on to his bedroom. I suspect he might have heard the desperation in my sobs, but if so, he never mentioned it.”

“If he’s like most males I know, he probably didn’t know what to say to a woman in tears so he chose to keep quiet.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Does his father see him and his sister very often?”

“No.” And now, since she’d moved to Fairbrook, Jared would see them even less. But she’d needed the distance, even if the kids didn’t. She’d gotten tired of running into friends they’d had as a couple, people who were uncomfortable with the situation and didn’t know what to say to her anymore.

Sometimes, she’d spot one of them at the market, and they’d either hem and haw, opt to study something on the shelves to keep from addressing her, or make a quick U-turn and take their cart down another aisle.

Bottom line, though? She’d also come home to lick her wounds. But Mac didn’t need to know any of that.

Silence stretched between them like a frayed rubber band, ready to snap in two.

Then he turned ever so slightly, his knee grazing her leg, his gaze locking in on hers. “Your husband was a fool to ever let you go.”

The sincerity in his eyes and the kindness of his words were a balm to her bruised ego, and she clung to them as long as she dared.

If more time had passed, if she were even ten pounds lighter…If they were teenagers again and could start all over…

But there were way too many ifs, too many memories and emotions balling together in her chest that made her want to get this conversation headed in another direction.

Yet it wasn’t memories of Jared that caused her uneasiness. It was the memories of Mac, of what they’d once had. Of what she’d given up.

She needed to change the subject, to break eye contact, but his penetrating gaze wasn’t letting up.

Fortunately, her daughter came to the rescue, her little arm extended with a pink, gooey, strawberry mess. “Mommy, can you please hold my ice cream for me?”

As Jillian’s fingers stuck to the soggy paper cover, which already bore traces of sand, she scrunched her face, then opened her mouth to object. But Megan was already heading back to the playground.

“That doesn’t look too appetizing,” Mac said.

“You’re right. I’ll hold this for a little while, then I’ll encourage her to throw it away.”

“Look on the bright side.” The laughter in his voice was calming, soothing. “At least you won’t be tempted to eat it.”

“That’s for sure. I’ve been known to finish off a few treats, but this won’t be one of them.”

He leaned his back against the edge of the table and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “I’d never be able to steer myself away from sweets for more than a day or two, so I admire your willpower.”

She wondered what he would think if he learned that her self-improvement program had only begun the minute she’d laid eyes on him again.

At the beginning of the year, though, when she’d first learned that Jared was having an affair, she’d started a diet and exercise plan, hoping she could entice her husband to end things and come back home. But then she’d connected the dots and realized the man she’d thought was a workaholic had actually been a womanizer. And she’d decided not to stress about carbs or calories until after the divorce was final and she’d gotten the kids resettled in Fairbrook.

But settling in was more difficult than she’d imagined it would be, and her last plan had been to start watching her weight as a New Year’s resolution.

She glanced at Mac, saw him studying her, and forced herself to look away. Shrugging off the possibility of mutual interest, she stood and called Megan. When the child acknowledged her, she began walking to the trash can that was located near the drinking fountain. “I’m going to throw this away, Meggie. It’s melting.”

“Oh, okay.”

After dumping the cone, she used the fountain, its water brisk and cold, to rinse her hands. She wiped them dry on her denim jeans, then shoved them into her pockets for warmth.

Upon her return to the picnic table, she decided to take control of the conversation, shifting it from her and her children to him.

“I’m curious, Mac. How did you decide to pursue a career in law enforcement?”

He looked beyond the playground, then seemed to study his feet. About the time she thought he wasn’t going to answer at all, he said, “Your dad was right about me. I’d had a lousy home and very little parental direction. I’d already started down the wrong path, but when you and I were seeing each other, I was determined to change. To be the kind of guy you thought I could be.”

She felt the need to argue, to defend the boy he used to be, but she kept quiet.

“And to be honest?” Mac’s gaze reached deep inside of her, where there was no need for arguments, excuses, and false sentiment. “I wasn’t sure I could be that man. But, for what it’s worth, your grades might have slipped, but mine had begun to climb.”

Her father had believed that Mac would drag her down, and he’d done his best to discourage her from seeing him.

“After we broke up and you went to college, I figured to heck with it and fell in with a bad crowd, a group of bad-ass delinquents who were in trouble more times than not.” He lifted his hand and pinched his index finger and thumb. “I was this close to crossing the line and facing some jail time.”

“What happened to change that?” she asked.

Again he looked into the distance, and when his gaze returned to her, a crooked grin formed, crinkling the edges of his eyes with wry humor. “I’m probably the only guy you know whose life was turned around by a homeless man.”

“You mean you saw a guy living on the streets and realized you might end up like that?”

“Nope.”

She turned in her seat, her knee brushing against the warmth of his leg. She considered pulling away, but she missed what little connection they still had. “Then how did he…?”

“One day I was cutting through this very park to meet up with some of my friends, and I ran into this homeless guy. At least, I assumed he was homeless. He wore a dark jacket with a torn sleeve, a faded black shirt, and brown frayed pants. His long, stringy hair hung to his shoulders, and he had a bushy, silver-streaked beard.”

“Who was he?”

“He said his name was Jesse—just Jesse. And he had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. He seemed to know a lot about me, and he talked the way I always imagined a father might speak to his son.” Mac shrugged a single shoulder. “You know, in a Ward Cleaver or Pa Ingalls sort of way.”

“What did he say?”

“Among other things, he told me that I couldn’t change the past. But I could change the way I perceived it. And that I could choose a better future for myself. One that would put me on the right side of the law and lead me to the family I deserved.”

“And you took his advice to heart?” she asked.

“Yeah. I guess I did.” Mac looked off into the horizon, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t share any more about the epiphany the homeless man had provided him. But he turned, caught her gaze, and reconnected. “Jesse gave me an interesting lecture about doing the right thing, even though it took a lot more effort than doing the wrong thing. ‘Sometimes it’s easier to concoct a lie than to brave the truth,’ he said. ‘And a weak person will find it easier to take what someone else has earned rather than risk working hard and achieving something on his own.’”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said.

“Neither had I. He went on to say that doing the right thing, even when it seems like the hardest thing in the world to do, is a reward in and of itself. And that the biggest reward was reaping the kind of life I deserved.” Mac uncrossed his ankles and stretched his legs out in front of him. “So, on a whim, I decided to give it a try. Instead of going out with my friends that night, I just went home. I learned later that it was a good thing I did. My friends had been arrested for vandalism, breaking and entering, and burglary.”

“You lucked out.”

“Yep. But it felt like the kind of reward he’d been telling me about.”

“Whatever happened to him?”

“I don’t know. I never saw him again, but I always figured he had some kind of psychic ability. Then again, maybe I’d just decided to make sure his prophecy came true. Either way, I hit the books and ended up with a college degree in criminal justice. And six months after that, I became a police officer. The guys in my department are my family now.”

“Mommy!” Megan’s voice shattered the conversation Jillian had been having with Mac. She turned to the child, who was stooped over a filthy, shaggy mutt. When she looked up, she grinned from ear to ear. “Look, Mommy! It’s a dog.”

“Don’t touch him, Meggie. You don’t know where he’s been.”

“That’s because he’s lost and doesn’t have an owner,” the girl said.

“You don’t know that.” Jillian glanced up at the sky, which had grown darker while they’d been at the park. The air had become colder, too.

Megan ran her hands along the dog’s ribcage. “I can feel his bones. He’s starving. We have to give him something to eat.”

Tommy joined his sister. “Hey, boy. What’s your name, huh?”

Jillian again looked overhead, noting a storm moving in from the northwest. Then she turned to Mac. “We really ought to be going home. I think it’s going to rain.”

Mac stood and made his way toward her.

“But we can’t leave the dog here,” Tommy said, looking up and pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “He’ll get sick.”

He was probably already sick. And flea-bitten. The closer Jillian got to the animal, the more neglected it appeared. Its fur was matted and filthy. Brown, soulful eyes peered at her through shaggy bangs, as if pleading for sympathy and help.

“Can we keep him?” Tommy asked. “Please?”

Jillian certainly didn’t need to take in a stray dog, and she opened her mouth to tell the boy no. But the word wouldn’t form.

Maybe the kids needed a new focus. Maybe they needed that poor little stray more than it needed a home. And maybe a new pet would make up for the Christmas presents she wanted to buy them and couldn’t afford.

She approached Mac. “Do you mind if that dog rides in your car? If so, I can come back for it in mine.”

Mac studied the mangy critter, then crossed his arms. “Sure. Why not? I owe a lot to a homeless man. Maybe finding this mutt a new home is a way to pay it forward.”

Chapter Five

The rain began as a light sprinkle, dotting the pavement and plumping the dust in the air with moisture.

As Mac, Jillian, and the kids entered the crosswalk on their way back to where the Ford Expedition was parked, the kids used words of encouragement, kissing sounds, and pats on their thighs to coax the stray dog to follow. Apparently, the shaggy little mutt realized it was in his best interest to keep up with the children, because even though it favored its left hind foot, it managed to hobble across the street at a pretty good lick.

“What are we going to name him?” Megan asked her brother.

Mac’s first thought was “Lucky,” but he didn’t offer any suggestions. He’d already gotten more involved with the little family than he ought to.

“He looks like a Wookiee,” Tommy said. “So how about Chewbacca? We can call him Chewie.”

“I don’t want to call him that. Besides, he’s not going to look like a Wookiee forever. After he gets a bath, I’m going to use one of my barrettes to keep the hair out of his eyes. I don’t think he can see very good.”

“He’s not going to wear girl stuff. We’ll just give him a haircut.” Tommy opened the passenger door, then bent to pick up the dog.

“I’ll do it,” Mac said, reaching for the animal and getting more involved by the minute. “You get in first and buckle your seat belt. Then I’ll pick him up and give him to you.”

If Mac had any qualms about getting sucked in deeper, they disappeared the moment Jillian placed her hand on his forearm, her fingertips pressing gently into his flesh and throwing his pulse out of whack.

Her pretty green gaze reached deep inside of him. “Mac, I really appreciate you being a good sport about this.”

Yeah, it definitely wasn’t his usual MO, but he decided not to think about why that might be. He picked up the filthy mutt and grimaced. “Oh, man. This dog smells like it’s been Dumpster diving.”

The boy opened his arms, ready to take the four-legged Wookiee on his lap.

“Be careful, Mac. He has a sore foot.” Jillian stood at Mac’s side, watching the transfer of the dog to the boy. “I hope it’s nothing serious. If it is, we’ll have to take him to the pound. I can’t afford a vet bill right now.”

“I’m sure it’s no big deal,” Tommy said. “He’ll be fine. Besides, we don’t mind if he’s crippled. Everyone needs love and a family.”

Maybe so, but they didn’t always have one.

Mac certainly hadn’t.

He’d always wanted a dog, too, but his old man had never let him have one. There’d been a Labrador mix that had hung out at the apartment complex for a while, and Mac used to feed him and talk to him every chance he got. He’d even pretended the dog was his—until it was hit by a car. When Mac had spotted that big black dog lying on the side of the road, he’d cried for a week.

Weird how that dumb mutt had become so important in a matter of days.

After closing Tommy’s door, Mac told Jillian, “I’ll pay for any treatment the dog might need.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. And you don’t have to.” He shrugged, then reached for the handle of the passenger door. “Having a dog will probably help the kids through the holiday.”

“You read my mind.” She offered him a wry grin. “And that’s the only reason I agreed to let that stray come home with us.”

Mac opened the door for her, and as she climbed into the vehicle, he glanced first at his grungy hands, then at a dirty smudge on the front of his rain-splattered shirt. The dog wasn’t the only one in need of a bath. Great. He closed Jillian’s door, circled the vehicle, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“It reeks in here,” Jillian said. “We’d better roll down the windows.”

“Good idea.” Mac started the ignition, then turned on the windshield wipers, letting them make a few swipes to clear his vision.

Jillian glanced over her shoulder and into the backseat. “The first thing we’re going to do when we get home is to give that dog a bath.”

“But Mommy,” Megan objected, “can’t we feed him before that? He’s awful hungry.”

“Okay. But just a snack. We’ve got to get him in the tub before we can turn him loose in the house.”

“He sure is cold and shaky,” Tommy said. “We’d better get him home in a hurry.”

“Yeah,” his sister chimed in. “We don’t want him to get sick.”

She was probably thinking about the dog catching a cold, but Mac sure hoped it didn’t get carsick. Then he’d have to call a mobile auto detailing company, which he might have to do anyway to get the doggy stench out of the upholstery.

“I’m going to owe you for this,” Jillian told him. “But the best I can offer is dinner. We’re having tacos tonight, and you’re more than welcome to join us.”

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich had worn off an hour ago, and Mac would have to fill up on something soon. He usually just drove through a burger place or called out for pizza, so there were plenty of options. But in spite of having several reasons why he ought to thank Jillian and decline, none of them seemed to matter. “Tacos sound good.”

Mac backed out of the parking space, then pulled into the street. Other than the slow swishing of the windshield wipers and a few groans and complaints about Chewie’s smell, they returned to Sugar Plum Lane in silence.

As Mac parked in front of Jillian’s house and climbed out of the vehicle, the rain was still a light drizzle. But he suspected it would start coming down harder before too long.

He began to circle the car while Jillian slid out of the passenger seat.

“I’ll carry the dog in the house,” he told her. “There’s no need for all of us to be stinky and dirty.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s give him a chance to go potty first. I have a feeling he isn’t housebroken.”

“You’re probably right.” Mac opened Tommy’s door and took the dog from him. Then he carried it to the grass in front of Jillian’s house.

He expected the little dog to sniff around and gain its bearings or maybe lift its leg to mark its territory, but instead, it trotted over to Charlie’s yard, its left hind leg bobbing behind it.

Uh-oh. Don’t pee over there, Mac thought. Before he could chase after the mutt, Charlie’s front door swung open, and the old man stepped out on the porch, that silly Santa hat still on his head, a cane in his hand, and a frown on his craggy face.

Great. Talk about radar. Charlie must have been sitting by the window when they drove up.

“Hey!” the elderly man hollered from his stoop. “Where did that mutt come from?”

Tommy stood tall and lifted his chin. “He’s our new dog. And his name is Chewie.”

“Well, get him off my property. I don’t want you or your pets here.”

“See what I mean?” Jillian whispered to Mac. “For a man who went all out with his Christmas decorations this year, he sure is an old Scrooge. He doesn’t make it easy for the kids and me to get along with him.”

Who knew what Charlie was thinking? Either way, Mac supposed he’d have to mediate. Maybe, if the aging widower knew what the kids had been through this past year, what they’d lost, he’d be a little more understanding.

As Megan and Tommy tried their best to shepherd the collarless dog back to their own yard, Mac called out, “Hey, Charlie. Did you get a chance to see that San Diego/Denver game on TV? I’m afraid I missed it.”

“Yep. Sure did.” Charlie leaned against his cane. “The Chargers lost in overtime. That new rookie, Grady Chathers, got a chance to show his stuff today. But they should have left him on injured reserve.”

“If you don’t mind a visitor,” Mac said, “I’ll come over to your house in a minute or two and have you give me a rundown on what happened.”

“Be glad to. They’re still showing some highlights on ESPN.”

The dog, which seemed intent upon staying in Charlie’s yard and adding to the drama in an otherwise quiet neighborhood, finally pulled away from the kids and dashed back to no kid’s land. It barked several times, then hobbled up the steps and jumped up on Charlie, apparently forgetting about the sore leg it had been favoring.

Charlie brushed the mutt aside. “Get off me.”

The dog didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the scolding, and jumped up on the old man again.

Charlie grimaced. “That fool critter stinks to high heaven.” He glanced down at his dirt-stained slacks and clucked his tongue. “Its feet are all muddy. Just look what it did to my good trousers!” He shot Tommy a frown and shook his head. “Now I gotta take them to the dry cleaners, and that isn’t cheap.”

Mac strode to Charlie’s stoop. “I’ve got a few things that have to go to the cleaners, Charlie. So I’ll take your pants for you. And it’ll be my treat.”

“I’ve got some spot remover I can try first,” the old man said.

“All right. Just let me know if that doesn’t work.” Mac picked up the dog and carried it back where it belonged. With a possible vet bill and the charge for cleaning Charlie’s pants, Mac suspected being Jillian’s neighbor might get expensive.

But hey. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Jillian met him halfway and, reaching out her arms, took her new pet from him. “Thanks, Mac.” A breezy smile didn’t last long, and she scrunched her nose at the mangy little mutt. “I’m going to take him inside and bathe him.”

“Good idea.”

She glanced down at the squirmy critter, who seemed determined to wiggle out of her arms and dash back to Charlie’s yard. “I sure hope I didn’t make a big mistake in bringing this dog home with us.”

Mac feared he’d made a few mistakes today, too. In San Diego, he usually kept to himself and didn’t get involved with the people who lived in his building. But for some reason, he was letting himself get in deeper and deeper with his Sugar Plum Lane neighbors.

“Dinner will be ready at six,” she told him.

He nodded, hoping dinner with Jillian and the kids wasn’t the biggest mistake of all.

Chapter Six

After his visit with Charlie, Mac took a shower, then finished working on the drain under the kitchen sink. As he’d planned to do earlier, he also replaced the garbage disposal and changed out the hot water valve.

Now, at a few minutes before six, he stood at Jillian’s door, wearing faded Levis, a black jacket, and a white button-down shirt. The wind had really kicked up during the past half hour, and the light rain that had continued to drizzle had dampened his hair and clothes. He probably should have looked for an umbrella so he didn’t get drenched on his return home, but it was too late now.

He knocked at the door, and moments later, Jillian answered wearing a crisply pressed lime-green blouse, a pair of black slacks, and a smile. She’d also curled her hair and applied some lipstick, which suggested that she might have wanted to look nice for him. But he wouldn’t take that assumption to heart. The dinner invitation had been a neighborly response, and so had his acceptance.

Still, he couldn’t downplay his interest in the way her outfit complemented each womanly curve, the way her glossy hair curled at the shoulder, the way her eyes lit up when their gazes met.

“Hi, Mac.” She stepped aside so he could enter. “Come on in.”

Megan and Tommy, who sat on an area rug in the living room playing with the dog, glanced up at him and smiled.

“Look at Princess Leia,” Tommy said.

The stray, while still thin and scraggly, had completely morphed into a poodle/terrier mix. Its fur, which had appeared dark when they’d found her, had lightened considerably with soap and water.

“Can you believe how cute she turned out to be?” the boy asked. “She’s practically a brand new dog.”

“So now that she no longer looks like a Wookiee,” Mac said, “I guess the name Chewie is out.”

Jillian laughed. “Actually, we made a critical discovery at bath time. And as long as we stuck with a Star Wars character, Tommy agreed to a more appropriate name.”

Mac shook his head and chuckled. “She certainly doesn’t look like that same pitiful creature we found in the park.”

Jillian crossed her arms and blessed everyone in the room with a dimpled grin. “Isn’t it amazing what a haircut, three shampoos, and some conditioner will do?”

“Yeah.” Tommy laughed. “For a while, Mom smelled like a dog. Now our dog smells like our mom.”

“Very funny,” Jillian said.

“Princess Leia isn’t limping anymore,” Megan added. “At least, not very much. We found a thorn in her foot, and Mommy pulled it out with tweezers.”

“We put medicine on it,” Tommy explained. “But not the kind that stings.”

“That’s great.” Mac crossed his arms and studied the former stray that had gotten a new lease on life. He hoped having a pet helped the kids adjust to all the changes they’d gone through.

Jillian pointed to the beige, overstuffed sofa. “Why don’t you have a seat? Dinner will be ready as soon as I fry the tortillas.”

“Want some help?” he asked.

“I’ve got everything under control, but I’d love to have some company.”

“All right. You lead the way.”

Mac followed Jillian into the kitchen, where a pan simmering on the stove provided the warm aroma of beef, tomatoes, and spices. He scanned the bright, cheery room, noticing lemon-yellow walls and white café-style curtains that trimmed the window over the sink.

The appliances appeared to be fairly new.

A couple of rooster pictures adorned the walls, and a few ceramic hens dotted the white tile countertops.

“I see you like chickens,” he said, taking a seat at the polished oak table and watching as she reached for a black, cast-iron skillet from the cupboard nearest the stove.

“Well, I used to. I brought them from the old house, but I’ll be replacing them when I can.”

“Trying to reinvent yourself?” he asked.

She reached inside the pantry and pulled out a bottle of vegetable oil that was almost full. “Yes, I suppose you could say that, but I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before I’m able to do everything I’d like to do to this house.”

He opted not to comment about that, realizing her ex-husband’s cruise had taken precedence over the child support check he was supposed to send her. Mac knew he wouldn’t have liked the guy anyway, but his selfishness was hard to stomach.

Instead, he steered his thoughts and the conversation back to the only thing he and Jillian had in common—the renovations they were both tackling. “This house must hold a lot of memories for you.”

She leaned her hip against the counter. “It does. Both good and bad.”

So much for intending to talk about fix-it projects. After that comment, he couldn’t help wondering about the bad memories she’d admitted to having. It was hard to imagine that hers could compete with some of his. “I always thought that you had the perfect childhood.”

“The early years were wonderful, but I lost my mother when I was twelve, and things were never the same again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” She cast him a wistful smile, then shrugged.

They’d never really gotten into the past before. Instead, as teenagers were prone to do, they’d clung to the here and now. He’d known she’d lost her mother, though, but he hadn’t been aware of the details. “How did your mom die?”

“In a car accident. She was driving home from the grocery store one night and the roads were wet.” Jillian glanced at the rain-splattered kitchen window. “It was a December night like this one: rainy, cold, and miserable.”

Mac really hadn’t meant to stir up any uncomfortable memories and, with the weather being what it was, he was sorry he’d asked.

“I think that’s why this time of the year is so…sad.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and scanned the interior of the kitchen with eyes that glimmered with nostalgic yearning. “It wasn’t always, though. My mom loved antiques and old Victorian houses. In fact, when we first moved to Fairbrook, Dad wanted to buy a place in one of the new developments off Applewood, but Mom insisted they find something on Sugar Plum Lane. He gave in to her, as he always did. And she went to great lengths to make this house a home for us. She was always picking up old knickknacks and furniture to add to the charm.”

Mac wondered why Jillian had really moved back home. Was it for financial reasons? To escape the memories of a marriage gone bad? Or had she come to the one place she’d been able to call home?

Either way, he suspected the move had been bittersweet.

“My mom would begin decorating for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, and it would take weeks for her to finish. She’d start from the inside out. It was really something. You should have seen it.” Jillian let out a wistful sigh. “But after the accident, it was hard to get excited about anything anymore. Dad felt that way, too, which was another reason he didn’t want to remain in Fairbrook without me.”

Mac knew Jillian and her dad had been close, but he hadn’t realized they’d had to cling to each other following their loss.

“Christmas was her favorite holiday,” Jillian added, “but after she was gone, it no longer held the same appeal. In fact, even after I got married and tried to re-create my own traditions, I just never could seem to get into the Christmas spirit. Without my mom, it…” She paused for a moment or two, then shrugged. “Well, enough of that.”

Mac didn’t want to drop the subject. He wanted to find out everything he could about Jillian, about her hurts and disappointments, about her life after she’d moved up north. But he didn’t suppose he could press her about it. Not if thinking about it hurt.

That’s the way it had always been with them, though. There was a side of her she’d refused to share with him. A side he’d known better than to ask about.

The rain began a steady tap-tap-tap at the window, and they both looked out to see that the raindrops had turned to ice.

“Hail,” Jillian said.

Before Mac could comment, Tommy ran into the kitchen. “Mom, look outside. It’s snowing! I hoped and prayed that it would.”

“I’m afraid it never snows around here,” Jillian said. “That’s hail, honey.”

“But it’s turning the ground white,” the boy argued. “So Megan and I are going to make a snowman.”

“I’m afraid you can’t make anything out of ice,” Mac said. “And you’d better not put too much hope into having a white Christmas. The last snowfall recorded in Fairbrook was back in 1976.” At least, that’s what Ray had told him. It was easy to remember the date because it was Mac’s birth year.

“Well, this is practically the same thing,” Tommy added before dashing back into the living room.

“He’s a lot like his father,” Jillian said.

Mac wanted to know in which ways the boy and his dad were alike—in looks? In temperament?

He wouldn’t ask, though, even if he couldn’t help being just a little bit envious of the man who’d married Jillian, then let her get away. A guy Jillian hadn’t been ashamed to bring home. A man her father had undoubtedly approved of.

When Mac and Jillian had been teenagers, it hadn’t taken him long to realize she was making up excuses to meet him away from her house—at the library, at the park, at the beach, at The Creamery. And when he’d finally realized she was ashamed to have him meet her father, his pride had taken a direct hit.

The rebel in him had refused to accept the slight, and he’d actually planned to end things. But a part of him had needed Jillian. A lonely, hurting part that had needed her innocence and her healing touch.

As Jillian placed the skillet on the stove, then poured a bit of oil into the pan and turned the flame on high, Mac watched her work.

A few years after she’d moved away, he’d quit thinking about her on a daily basis and had figured he was over her for good. But right this minute he wasn’t so sure.

“That little dog sure seems to have settled right into the family,” he said, changing his focus to something they’d both feel more comfortable talking about.

“It certainly looks that way.” Jillian reached for a pair of tongs from the cupboard drawer. “We’ll have to keep her in the house, though. I have a feeling she’s going to run over to Mr. Iverson’s yard every chance she gets. With my luck, she’ll probably dig up his petunias or something. And all I need is one more thing for him to complain about.”

“Charlie’s getting older,” Mac said by way of an explanation. “And he’s facing his first Christmas without his wife of fifty-some years. They never had any kids, so I suspect this one will be especially hard.”

“I’m sure it probably will be.”

Mac watched her expression drift. He knew this particular Christmas was going to be especially tough on her and the kids, too.

“Did you mention Tommy when you went over to Mr. Iverson’s house this afternoon?” she asked. “Or did you just talk about the Charger game?”

“A little of both.” Mac leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking in complaint. “I told Charlie that the more I got to know you and the kids, the more I think you’ll make great neighbors. I suggested he give you a chance.”

“What did he say to that?”

Truthfully? He’d grumbled about it, and Mac had gotten the idea it might be easier to get through to Tommy. But he wasn’t sure that was going to help build a neighborly relationship where none existed. “I’m sure, with time, things will work out.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jillian placed the first fried tortilla shell on a paper towel, then dropped another into the skillet. She jerked her hand back as the hot oil hissed and spattered.

“Charlie and I watched the game highlights,” Mac added. “Then we chatted for a while. I’ve noticed that he’s been especially talkative lately, and I suspect that’s because he’s lonely.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jillian removed another fried tortilla shell from the pan and replaced it with a new one. “It’s too bad he couldn’t have been a little more understanding of Tommy. If he had been, I would have been a lot friendlier to him.”

She had a point, but Mac still couldn’t help feeling sorry for the old man. “I met Charlie about ten years ago, and he wasn’t nearly as crotchety back then. Before he retired, he was an insurance agent for the most part. But during football season he was an NFL referee. You can’t believe the stories he had to tell. I really used to enjoy talking to him.”

Actually, Mac still did, but he hadn’t had much time for the elderly man since he’d been staying in the neighborhood. With only ten days of vacation time available to him, he’d had a lot to do in order to get Ray’s house back into shape, and only a short time in which to do it.

“I didn’t realize you’d known Mr. Iverson that long,” Jillian said.

“Ray Burke, my first partner, invited me to a barbecue about ten years ago. He’d also included a couple of his neighbors, and that’s when I first met the Iversons.”

“So you knew Charlie’s wife, too?”

“Her name was Grace, and she was a great lady.” Mac smiled, as he was prone to do whenever he thought about the short, matronly woman who’d mothered the entire neighborhood. “Grace used to make killer brownies that were loaded with nuts and covered with a fudge frosting. Ray was allergic to chocolate, but when she found out how much I liked them, she’d make him bring a plate to me each time she made a batch.”

“What happened to Ray?” Jillian asked.

“He died of a heart attack about six months ago.” It was a loss Mac was still grieving.

Years ago, the homeless man Mac had met in the park had predicted that Mac would find his place in the world and that he’d get the family he’d always wanted. Ray had been his first real human connection, his first real sense of belonging.

But Jesse had neglected to mention how much it hurt to lose someone who’d come to mean so much.

“Ray owned the house you’re fixing up?” Jillian asked.

“Yes. It’s mine now.”

It had been a shock when Sam Dawson, Ray’s attorney, had called Mac the day before the funeral and told him Ray had created a trust, making Mac the sole trustee. Sure, Mac had known that Ray had really liked him, but he hadn’t realized that Ray had considered Mac the only family he had.

So that’s how Mac had ended up with the old Victorian and everything else that Ray had owned.

Of course, he’d give it all up in a heartbeat to have his old buddy back.

A child’s scream tore through the house, and a shot of adrenaline rushed through Mac’s veins.

“Nooooo!” Megan yelled.

Jillian ran to the living room, with Mac on her heels.

The front door was open, and both children stood on the porch, frozen droplets of hail bouncing on the steps and the sidewalk.

“Tommy opened the door, and Princess Leia ran outside,” the girl explained. “We gotta get her back.”

“I think she went over to Mr. Iverson’s house,” Tommy said.

Jillian slid a glance at Mac. “Hopefully, she’ll realize that she’s better off inside and come back home.”

“I’ll go and get her.” Tommy started for the steps, and Mac stopped him.

“Hold off a minute or two,” he told the boy. “Maybe she went outside to relieve herself.”

“What does that mean?” Megan asked.

Mac shot a glance at Jillian, who explained, “Princess Leia probably had to go potty and didn’t want to make a mess on our floor.”

“That’s a good thing,” Tommy said. “Right? And so she’ll come right back.”

Before either Jillian or Mac could respond, the fire detector screeched out an ear-piercing alarm.

“Oh, my gosh.” Jillian dashed back toward the kitchen, taking time to look over her shoulder. “I forgot to take the skillet off the flame!”

Chapter Seven

Mac jogged after Jillian, hoping she hadn’t caught the house on fire and kicking himself for not being more alert when they’d dashed into the living room to see what all the fuss was about.

When he reached the smoke-filled kitchen, Jillian had already removed the burning pan from the flame. He opened the window, and she grabbed a dishtowel and began fanning the smoke out of the house. Still, the alarm continued to screech like a banshee.

“Where’s the smoke detector?” he asked. “I’ll remove the batteries.”

She nodded toward the doorway, her towel flapping in the air. “It’s at the top of the stairway.”

He turned to leave the kitchen, and she reached for his arm, stopping him. Again, her touch reached something deep inside of him.

“I’m really sorry about this.” A blush on her cheeks revealed sincerity, as well as embarrassment.

He lifted his free hand and skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. “Don’t be sorry.”

Her lips parted, and her breath caught. Yet she didn’t step back, didn’t turn away.

If he had any doubt about the strength of the attraction he still felt for her, he didn’t anymore. But he figured a relationship with her now would be just as doomed as it had been fifteen years ago. So he decided it was best to laugh it off. “I could be eating take-out all by myself, and this beats watching television.”

A slow grin stretched across her lips, and she released his arm. “It’s not always this hectic around here.”

He wasn’t sure he believed that, but he returned her smile before heading toward the stairway to turn off the annoying alarm. Thirty minutes later, the house was quiet, the batteries had been put back into the smoke detector, and the smell of burned oil and corn tortilla was just a whisper in the air.

To appease the kids, Mac had braved the hail-turned-rain with an umbrella Jillian provided and had gone out to look for Princess Leia. He’d found her on Charlie’s front porch. Fortunately, the old man’s television had been blaring too loudly for him to hear her yappy barks. So Mac had scooped her up and carried her home.

“This is your house now,” he’d muttered to the little dog. “And if you want to stay on everyone’s good side, you’ll figure that out before you head outside again.”

Now, while Princess Leia lay snoozing near the fire in the hearth, the adults and children sat in the dining room, where an oval, dark-wood table was laden with bowls of taco fixings: spicy beef, golden-brown tortilla shells, shredded lettuce and cheese, chopped tomatoes, salsa and sour cream. Two casserole dishes, one filled with Spanish rice and the other with refried beans, rounded out the meal.

This, Mac decided, had to be an example of family style eating at its best.

As he reached for the rice and scooped out a second helping, he glanced at the table, the varnish darkened by age. It matched the hutch against the wall.

“I like this antique furniture,” he said. “It really suits the house.”

“Thank you.” Jillian placed her hand on the dark, polished oak, her agreement and appreciation apparent. “It used to be my mother’s. My dad sold a lot of her favorite pieces, but I kept this set in storage while we lived in Roseville. Jared liked a more modern style, and this didn’t fit.”

Mac wondered if having her mother’s things and being in this house made Jillian feel closer to her mom, or whether it made her feel worse. A little of both, he suspected. Just as being in Ray’s house, surrounded by Ray’s things, made him feel good, yet sad.

Jillian, who’d skipped the tortilla shells and had made a taco salad for herself—light on the meat and cheese—asked, “How long will you be staying in the neighborhood?”

“About a week. I need to go back to work before Christmas.”

“Where’s home?” she asked.

“Downtown San Diego.” He took a sip of the iced tea she’d poured for him. “I’m afraid a loft apartment in the Gaslamp District suits me and my lifestyle a lot better than an old Victorian in the suburbs.”

“It’s too bad that you’ll be leaving.” Jillian lifted her napkin and blotted her lips. “I liked the idea of knowing a police officer lived close by.”

Tommy, who’d been drinking milk, set the glass back on the table with a thunk and a wobble. He used both hands to prevent a mishap, then brightened. “You’re a cop?”

“Yes. Actually, I’m a detective now.”

“Cool,” Tommy said. “Do you arrest guys and put them in jail?”

“If they’re guilty, I do.”

“And do you shoot guys, too?”

Mac glanced at Jillian. He wasn’t sure how honest she wanted him to be. “I don’t like drawing my gun, but if I have to protect myself, my partner, a victim, or an innocent bystander, I do what I have to do.”

“Wow.” The boy’s eyes lit up. “Did you ever catch any bank robbers?”

“I’m in homicide, so I don’t usually get called out on those kinds of cases. But yes, I’ve caught my share of thieves and burglars, too.”

“How many bad guys have you locked up?” Tommy asked, clearly enjoying the grittier aspects of Mac’s job.

As much as he hated to admit it, Mac kind of liked being the subject of hero worship, especially in the eyes of Jillian’s son. “I’ve arrested plenty of them.”

Tommy turned to his sister and gave her a nudge. “Did you hear that? We have a real live policeman living on our street.”

Megan didn’t appear anywhere near as impressed as her brother was.

The phone, which sat on a small table in the hall, rang, and Jillian excused herself to pick it up. “Hello?”

Mac didn’t pay much attention, but when he glanced through the open doorway and saw her stiffen, his curiosity was piqued and he found himself listening to one side of a conversation.

“They’re fine.” Jillian looked at the kids. Tommy was chomping on a taco, and Megan was studying her plate with an intensity that had erased the smile she’d been wearing earlier.

When Jillian and Mac made eye contact, she shrugged and tried to hide a grimace.

“Just a minute,” she said, covering the mouthpiece with her fingers. “Tommy, your father’s on the phone.”

The boy scooted his chair away from the table, then entered the hall and took the receiver from his mom. “Hey, Dad. Are you home yet?”

His expression fell. “Oh.”

Apparently, the man was calling from the cruise ship.

“Yeah. Me and Meggie are doing okay. We’re eating dinner.”

Mac lifted his glass and took a swig of tea, but it didn’t taste nearly as cool and refreshing as the last sip had.

“We’re having tacos tonight. And guess what? Mac’s here. He’s Mom’s really good friend. He’s a policeman, and he’s been telling me all about the bad guys he caught.”

Mac slid another glance at Jillian, noted her rosy cheeks. Did she care if her ex-husband knew she was entertaining a man? Not that this was remotely datelike. But the boy’s explanation made it sound that way, and if Mac had been her ex-husband, he would have at least been uneasy about it.

“Meggie,” Tommy said, “Dad wants to talk to you.”

The little girl slid out of her chair and hurried to the phone. When she grabbed the receiver, her voice cracked and her tone turned weepy and whiny. “I miss you, Daddy. Come and get us and take us home.”

Mac stole a glance at Jillian, saw her standing ramrod straight, saw a slight roll of her eyes. He didn’t think the kids had noticed, but he had.

Was she sorry that Mac was privy to all of this?

“Why not?” Megan pleaded. “Why can’t you?”

Mac suddenly wished he was anywhere but here. The poor kid. Tommy, who’d apparently been the one harboring anger and resentment, seemed to take it in stride right now. Talk about kids being resilient. But Megan, who’d seemed fine earlier, was certainly showing her grief.

“A week is way too long,” Megan countered. “I don’t want to wait to see you. Please, Daddy!”

The man must have started sweet-talking the kid because her small shoulders hunched. “Okay, but hurry. I don’t like it here.”

Jillian stepped closer to her daughter. “Megan, don’t hang up. I need to talk to your father, but I’m going to pick up the phone in the other room.”

When Jillian had walked away and Megan returned to the table, Tommy continued quizzing Mac about the bad guys he’d caught, and Mac did his best to answer the onslaught of questions. Yet the little girl seemed to completely shy away from the conversation.

She hadn’t seemed all that bashful or sad in the car or at the park. But what did Mac know about little girls?

Not much. Yet that didn’t make him feel any more comfortable about being here, about observing the child’s disappointment and Jillian’s discomfort. Maybe he ought to call it a night and head home.

Jillian didn’t return right away, so he focused his attention on Tommy. And on completing the task he’d originally set out to do this morning.

“Do you like sports?” he asked the boy.

“Yeah, especially baseball and football.”

“Football, huh?” Mac sat back in his seat. “After dinner, maybe your mom will let me take you to my friend’s house. He was an NFL ref, and he has all kinds of photographs and autographed balls. I think you’d really enjoy it.”

“Cool.” The boy sat up straight. “Does your friend live very far away?”

“Actually, he lives right next door.”

Tommy furrowed his brow. “Which house?”

Mac nodded in the direction of Charlie’s.

“You mean Mr. Iverson?”

“Yep.”

“No way. He hates me.”

“Mr. Iverson—Charlie—isn’t so bad when you get to know him. When he finds out you like football, I’ll bet he warms right up to you. He loves talking sports with guys like us.”

Tommy nibbled on his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know…”

“What could happen?”

“He could turn the sprinkler on me or something. He did that once before. Or he could shoot me full of buckshot, like he said property owners used to do to trespassers when he was a kid.”

Mac blew out a sigh. What was he going to do with Charlie? Apparently Tommy had been right. Charlie had been “messing” with him.

“I think you need to know something about Mr. Iverson so you can understand him better. His wife died earlier this year, and his good friend and neighbor died shortly after that. He’s crippled up with arthritis, and the cold, wet weather has been making it worse, so he hurts all over. I think what he really needs, even if it doesn’t seem like he deserves it, is kindness and friendship. What do you say?”

Tommy thought about it for a moment. “Do you have your gun?”

Not with him. “Why?”

“In case he flips out or something.”

“If he does, just leave it to me.”

“Okay.”

When Jillian returned, Mac told her what he wanted to do. “I came over here this morning to try and help the problem you’ve been having with Charlie. And I think taking Tommy to visit him this evening might do the trick.”

“Are you sure?”

No, he wasn’t. But he had a hunch it would help. “It can’t hurt.”

“All right. I’m willing to give it a try.”

Minutes later, Mac and Tommy stood on Charlie’s porch, the wet umbrella collapsed at their side. The television still blared inside, so Mac opted to ring the bell rather than knock.

As they waited for Charlie to answer, Tommy scanned the lighted yard. His gaze seemed to skip the animated snowmen and zero in on the lit nativity scene. Was he checking out the missing angel?

Charlie swung open the door, wearing a green plaid robe and a pair of brown slippers. He’d finally removed the Santa hat, but he still held his cane. He offered Mac a ready grin, but when his gaze drifted down to Tommy, he stiffened. “What’s this all about?”

“I’m not sure if anyone formally introduced you to our new neighbor, but this is Tommy, and he’s a big sports fan.” Mac put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, felt the small muscles tense. “I told him about your collection of football memorabilia and wondered if you’d let him look at the photographs and the autographed balls you have displayed on your living room wall.”

Charlie seemed to give it some thought, shot Mac an are-you-sure-about-this? grimace, then stepped aside and let them into his house.

Mac wiped his feet on the mat, glad to see that Tommy was following his lead.

Charlie turned off the television, then led them to the built-in, cherrywood bookshelf near the fireplace that displayed the finest and most impressive pieces in Charlie’s collection. As the old man proudly pointed out pictures of himself standing next to such football greats as Johnny Unitas, Bart Starr, and Joe Namath, the boy stood transfixed.

Before long, it appeared that a temporary truce had been reached, just as Mac had hoped.

“Wow,” Tommy said for the umpteenth time in just a matter of minutes. “It’s super cool that you know those guys, Mr. Iverson. And I’m lucky to live next door to you.”

Charlie, who’d finally begun to let down his guard around the kid, puffed up like a peacock.

As they turned away from the shelves, Mac said, “While we’re here, Charlie, we want to ask you about that missing angel. Tommy and I’d like to help you find it. So can you describe it for us?”

The old man stretched his hand about three feet from the floor. “It was about this high, and it had long gold hair, a white flowing robe, and wings. It was hand painted, although a few places on the face had cracked. After Christmas, I planned to take all the figurines to an antique shop and see if they could refurbish them for me.”

“I’m sorry about your angel,” Tommy said. “But at least you still have that cool snowman that moves his head. No one else on the street has one of those.”

Charlie snorted. “Those snowmen are a dime a dozen, but that angel is priceless. My wife’s parents gave us that set the first Christmas after we were married, and every year we’d put it up. The angel was her favorite piece.”

Charlie shuffled toward the mantel over the fireplace, where several photographs were on display. He picked up a gold frame and gazed at the picture fondly, his eyes welling with tears as he passed it to Tommy. “This is Grace. If she would have been alive, she would have baked her famous, seven-layer coconut cake and taken it to your house the first day you and your mother moved in.”

Tommy, who was studying the photograph, brightened. “Hey, that’s a cool dog she’s holding.”

Mac took a peek over the boy’s shoulder, noting a longhaired, cream-colored poodle/terrier mix that sat on Grace’s lap. It wore a pink collar adorned with faux jewels.

“That’s Bobbie Sue,” Charlie said.

Tommy handed the photograph back. “She looks a lot like our new dog.”

“Just in size.” Charlie was obviously thinking about the mangy creature that had leaped up and put its dirty, rain-soaked paws on his pants.

A dog that seemed compelled to run to Charlie’s house every chance it got.

Mac’s gut knotted. “I didn’t know you and Grace had a pet.”

“Yep. I bought that dog and gave it to her the Christmas before last. It was her pride and joy.” Charlie’s thoughts seemed to drift. “We had a lot of people in and out that last week before Grace passed on, and little Bobbie Sue was acting skittish. I don’t know if she sensed what was happening or not, but she spent a lot of time either on Grace’s bed or underneath it.”

“What happened to the dog?” Mac asked.

“Someone left the front door open, and from what I can piece together, she must have dashed outside. While the fellow from the mortuary was loading Grace into the hearse, Bobbie Sue jumped in back. Either way, when he got back to Crandall’s Funeral Home, he opened the door and found her. When he tried to pick her up, she got away and ran off. I checked the pound each day for a month, but no one turned her in. And since she was an indoor dog, she didn’t have any street smarts. I suspect she may have been hit by a car. Who knows?”

The knot in Mac’s gut swelled, then twisted with a vengeance. He couldn’t be sure, but it was certainly possible that Princess Leia was Bobbie Sue. And if so?

It was only right to return her to Charlie, yet how could he ask those kids to give up the dog they’d just adopted?

Mac didn’t have a clue how to handle the latest development.

Not if he wanted to keep the neighborhood peace.

Chapter Eight

Jillian sat in an overstuffed easy chair in the living room, listening to the rain splatter the window and waiting for Mac and Tommy to return from Mr. Iverson’s house. She sure hoped Mac knew what he was doing, but she’d never had any trouble with her neighbors before and didn’t want any now.

With Tommy gone and Megan in her bedroom playing with Princess Leia, the house was quiet—other than the steady tick-tock of the antique clock on the mantel and the occasional crackle from the fire in the hearth.

Dinner had been pleasant this evening—until Jared had called. Yet it wasn’t just the call that had surprised her. She’d also sensed something in his tone. Something…off.

He seemed a bit down, but she wouldn’t try to analyze why. She was just glad that he’d thought about the kids and had wanted to talk to them before bedtime.

Megan’s desperate outburst had clearly caught him off guard, though, and Jillian understood why it had. Early on, the six-year-old had been brokenhearted about the split, but up until this evening, she seemed to have been taking it much better than Tommy.

Jillian combed her fingers through her hair. Would her life ever get back to normal? Not that she hadn’t accepted the divorce and adjusted to being a single mother, even if it wasn’t what she’d signed on for. She’d come to grips with that reality months ago. It’s just that she was sorry about what the kids had been forced to endure—all because of the choices their father had made.

Of course, Jared had always had a selfish side, even though she hadn’t realized it at first. When they’d met during her last year of college, she’d been charmed by his good looks and his outgoing manner. But what she’d considered self-assurance had been egotism in the classic sense of the word.

In retrospect, she wasn’t totally convinced that she’d been in love with Jared back then, but at the time, her father had been fighting a losing battle with cancer, and she’d known that he was worried about dying and leaving her on her own. So marrying Jared had seemed like the right thing to do.

Tommy had been born ten months after her wedding, and Megan had come along three years later. Jillian adored her children and had been happy with her life. Her only complaints had been that her husband traveled a lot on business, and that she spent too many nights alone.

Last Thanksgiving, after her dad died, she’d found herself lonelier than ever. She began to realize that she’d been so tied up caring for her children and her ailing father that she and Jared had drifted apart. Yet she’d soon learned that Jared’s job hadn’t been the only thing drawing him away from home.

Jillian stood and made her way to the window, where she peered out into the rainy night, her breath fogging the glass. There was no sign of Tommy and Mac yet. Hopefully, that meant Mac’s plan was working.

It had been a godsend when he’d shown up on her front porch earlier today, and she couldn’t help thinking that her prayers for some kind of relief had been answered.

She suspected that Tommy thought so, too. His excitement had been obvious when he’d talked to his father on the telephone earlier—so much so that Jared had quizzed Jillian about Mac when they’d talked privately afterward.

“Who is that guy?” Jared had asked.

“Just someone I went to high school with,” she’d replied.

When her ex had pushed for more information, she’d downplayed the relationship she’d once had with Mac. After all, their time together today and their dinner tonight hadn’t been anything more than old friends reminiscing—even if she found herself increasingly attracted to the man he’d become.

There’d always been something about Mac that had drawn her to him, something dark, edgy, and sexual. Something wounded and gentle, too.

Thinking back, they really hadn’t had anything in common when they’d been younger, although she suspected that might not be the case any longer.

Of course, if her father were still alive, he’d probably argue that point. He never had liked Mac, even though he’d refused to even give him a chance.

One day, suspecting Jillian hadn’t been honest about where she was going and who she was meeting, her father had followed her to The Creamery, where he’d found her and Mac cuddling in the corner booth. Mac had stood up and extended a hand, but her father had refused to take it. He hadn’t made a scene, but he’d insisted that Jillian leave with him. She’d decided it was in everyone’s best interest if she quietly got into his car.

Once they were alone, he’d blown up.

Jillian had never rebelled a day in her life, but she’d been determined to stand up to her dad, to tell him that he couldn’t choose her friends. But then he’d dropped the bomb and told her he’d been diagnosed with cancer.

Her whole world had fallen apart at the seams. Afraid to put any more stress on her dad than necessary, Jillian had told Mac she couldn’t see him anymore.

As footsteps sounded on the porch, drawing her from her musing, she turned toward the door, eager to know what had happened at Mr. Iverson’s house. And, if truth be told, she was eager to lay eyes on Mac again, too.

When he’d gazed at her and skimmed his hand along her cheek earlier this evening, he’d sent her senses reeling. Still, she was afraid to read too much into that. She doubted a good-looking bachelor would find an overweight single mom attractive. Yet every now and then, she’d caught him looking at her, and her fantasies would take flight.

As the door swung open, Mac reminded Tommy to wipe his feet. Then he closed the wet umbrella and left it on the porch. A hank of sandy-blond hair fell over his forehead, and Jillian had the strangest urge to brush it aside.

She stood to greet him, yet she forced her arms to remain at her sides as she waited for Mac and her son to give her a report.

“You ought to see all the cool stuff Mr. Iverson has,” Tommy said, his eyes bright, a blush on his cheeks. “He’s not as mean as I thought he was.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” Jillian glanced at Mac. His grin set her heart on end. Then she returned her focus to her son. “Why don’t you take your shoes off and leave them on the rug by the door? Then tell your sister it’s time to get ready for bed.”

“Okay.” The boy did as he was instructed before dashing off.

“Tommy and Charlie seemed to have gained a new respect for each other,” Mac said.

“Good. That’s a step in the right direction.”

Mac scanned the living room, then lowered his voice to a near whisper. “How’s Megan doing?”

“She’s been pretty quiet.” Jillian nodded toward the stairway. “She took Princess Leia to her room.”

An awkward silence filled the air, and Jillian wasn’t sure what to do about it. She supposed she could thank Mac and walk him to the door, indicating their time together was over. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that. There was still so much she wanted to know, so much she wanted to say.

The girl she’d once been pressed her to ask if he was seeing anyone special right now. She suspected that he wasn’t, but the woman she’d become wouldn’t allow her questions to get that personal.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” she asked, letting him make the decision to stay or to go.

Something told Mac he ought to decline and head home. He’d hoped to solve a neighborly dispute earlier today, and it appeared that he’d succeeded. Sure, now he had the Bobbie Sue/Princess Leia dilemma to contend with, but he wasn’t ready to tackle that one yet and had already decided to sleep on it.

Yet, while he passed on the coffee, he wasn’t ready to say good night. “I know it’s none of my business, but what did her father have to say about her sadness?” It would have turned Mac inside out if he’d had a daughter and heard her cry like that, begging him to come home.

“He didn’t say much. How could he?” Jillian began to close the gap between them. “But I think it really bothered him.”

“Good.” If Mac would have had a wife like Jillian and kids…Well, the guy ought to feel like crap for leaving them.

He kept his thoughts to himself as he watched Jillian draw near. Seeing her again had awakened the attraction that had lain dormant for years, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. Could he trust his feelings after only spending a few hours with her?

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and he fought the growing need to touch her. To slide his arms around her and draw her to him, just as he used to do when they’d been young.

“I think it also bothered him to know that you were here for dinner,” she said. “I told him that we were old friends, but he seemed to think there was more to it than that.”

Was there?

“Jared doesn’t realize that I’m not in a hurry to jump into a relationship,” she added. “I made one big mistake already, and I don’t plan to make another.”

He wanted to ask just what that mistake was. Her marriage? The divorce? Did she blame herself for not seeing it coming?

When she and Mac had dated, their split had left him heartbroken, but he’d been too proud to admit it. After all, back then, he hadn’t had a thing to offer a girl like her.

In fact, he still didn’t.

“Hey, Mom!” Tommy yelled from upstairs. “Come quick! The toilet is all stopped up!”

Mac couldn’t decide if he was glad to have the conversation interrupted or not.

“I’m coming!” Jillian, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink, managed a wistful smile. “Every time I turn around, something goes on the blink around here.”

“Let me take a look at it. I’ve developed a real knack for unclogging sinks and pipes in the past week.”

She scrunched her face in that cute way of hers. “Gosh, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Why not?”

Her lips parted as though she had a good reason, then she stepped aside. “I’m probably going to be sorry for this, but to tell you the truth, I haven’t honed too many fix-it skills yet.”

“Why would you be sorry about me taking a look at your toilet?”

“Because you’ve seen me—and the kids—at our worst today. And something tells me that you’re not used to all the domestic drama.”

He wasn’t. Yet he lifted his hand and trailed his fingers along her cheek, relishing the silky softness of her skin, as well as the arousing effects of touching her. It was a ballsy thing to do, he supposed. But he couldn’t help it. And the fact she didn’t pull away or flinch suggested that she hadn’t found his move out of line.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “That’s what friends are for.”

But as he turned to head for the stairway, he found himself wondering if this was just the kind of drama he’d been missing all of his life.

Chapter Nine

Talk about domestic drama.

Jillian stood in the bathroom doorway and watched Mac kneel beside the toilet, roll up his sleeve, reach deep within the now-empty ceramic bowl, and pull out a small toy motorcycle. Then he got to his feet and dropped it into the sink.

As he washed his hands with hot, soapy water, he glanced over his shoulder and flashed Jillian a boyish grin. “I’ve had plenty of experience with plumbing these past few days, but I’ve yet to run into this same problem at my place.”

She was sure he hadn’t. Finding toys that had been flushed down the toilet was the kind of thing only parents and grandparents had to deal with. She turned to her son, who sat on the edge of the fiberglass tub, the pale green bathmat bunched up at his bare feet.

“How did your motorcycle get in there?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t do it.”

Jillian knew better than to believe everything her children told her, but since Megan had disappeared the moment Mac had entered the bathroom, Tommy wasn’t the only suspect. Jillian would have to question Megan about it, but she didn’t have the heart to scold her right now. Not after the child’s tearful chat with her father tonight. So she would wait until bedtime to bring it up.

Mac held the three-inch-long motorcycle under the running faucet. “What do you suggest we do with this? It definitely needs to be sanitized.”

“Don’t bother doing that,” Tommy said. “It’s gross now. Just throw it away. I don’t even want it anymore.”

When Jillian nodded her agreement, Mac dropped the toy into the trash can beside the sink.

After he’d filled the toilet to the proper water level and made sure it was in working order, Jillian began to back out of the bathroom, clearing a path to the hallway.

“Okay,” she said to her son, “now that the crisis is over, it’s time for you and Megan to go to bed. I’ll be in shortly to tuck you in and listen to your prayers.”

As the boy headed to his bedroom down the hall, Jillian led Mac downstairs. “Thanks so much for solving another dilemma for me. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They continued to the living room, their weight creating an occasional creak on the wooden steps. Once at the bottom landing, she wasn’t quite sure which way to turn or what to say.

Mac had already declined coffee, and she feared, with her luck, something else would go on the blink before the night was over. So she walked him to the door, still not quite ready to let him go, but unable to conjure an excuse for him to stay when it was probably in his best interest to leave.

“Well,” he said, “I guess I’d better head home.”

“Thanks again for all you’ve done today.”

“No problem. Thanks for the best tacos I’ve had in a long time.”

“You’re welcome.”

In the lingering silence, their gazes met and locked. Something powerful swirled between them, something heart-spinning and warm.

Memories began to rush Jillian’s mind: their first kiss; the taste of the peppermint-scented toothpaste he used; that musky, mountain-fresh scent that had belonged only to him.

Her heart rate kicked up a notch, and anticipation swept through her. She may have gotten rusty at this sort of thing over the years, but she sensed he was going to kiss her. And if he did, she feared she’d let him.

There were a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t, but each one slipped her mind as quickly as it popped up.

Standing only a heartbeat away from Mac, the past and present blurring together, Jillian was afraid to speak, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell.

Was he just as caught up in it as she was?

Mac had dated his share of women since his breakup with Jillian, and he’d had plenty of hot, lusty kisses to ease his heartbreak. But none of those kisses had ever compared to the sweet innocence of the first one he’d shared with Jillian. Or with the hungry, youthful intensity of those that had followed. And now an opportunity to kiss her again was presenting itself.

The kid he used to be would have been reluctant to step out on a limb like that, but Mac was no longer that same gangly teenager on hormone overdrive who’d had a hopeless crush on the high school valedictorian, the good girl who’d turned the bad boy’s life on end. So he took a chance, lowered his head, and brushed his lips across hers, relishing the breathy intimacy.

He knew he was probably out of line, so he expected her to tense, to balk, to pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissed him back as though she’d been missing him for as long as he’d been missing her.

When her lips parted, his tongue swept into her mouth. The feel of her in his arms, her taste and scent, were better than he’d remembered, and his head swam in a sea of possibility.

But Mac was a realist, not a dreamer. He’d witnessed Megan’s response to her father’s phone call tonight. And he’d been aware of Jillian’s need to speak to her ex in private. Things weren’t the same as they’d once been; he and Jillian were no longer teenagers with their futures lying before them. There were complications now, as well as old baggage.

Mac had always made it a point to avoid dating single mothers for that very reason. There were too many extra hurdles, too many variables to make a man’s life more difficult than it had to be.

Besides, when it came to dealing with kids, Mac was way out of his league. There was no way he was daddy material, so he slowly drew back, breaking their kiss and loosening his hold.

As he did, Jillian reached for his shoulder to steady herself. The kiss, he realized, had knocked her off balance, which shouldn’t be the least bit surprising. It had unbalanced him, too.

Her cheeks, which had flushed several times throughout their day together, were a rosier shade than ever now. And a red splotch along her neck and throat suggested that she’d been just as swept away by their chemistry as he’d been.

His ego wanted to rise up and pound its chest, yet common sense tamped it down. He and Jillian still couldn’t be any more star-crossed.

So now what?

Mac raked a hand through his hair. “I…uh…don’t know what to say. I hadn’t planned to do that.”

“Neither had I.” Her voice was soft, yet husky.

A rash of excuses lay on his tongue, yet he couldn’t think of one that was entirely accurate, so he let them all remain unsaid. “I’d better call it a night.”

She managed a smile tinged with shyness. Or maybe it was embarrassment; he couldn’t be sure how she was feeling.

“Do you want to borrow the umbrella?” she asked.

Then he’d have to return it, and he wasn’t sure if it was wise to make even that much of a commitment. “Thanks, but I won’t need it.” He glanced at the windowpane, saw no evidence of the heavy rain they’d had earlier. “It’s only drizzling now.”

He turned away and opened the door, letting himself out.

As he walked down the front steps, he knew she stood in the doorway, watching him go. It took all he had not to turn around, but he pressed on. He was nearly to the driveway when he finally heard the click of the door shutting behind him. It was only then that he seemed to falter, but just for a moment.

The winter air was cold and damp, yet he relished the chill and the subsequent shiver that chased his dreams away with a dose of reality.

Now what? he asked himself.

The answer never came.

As he continued along the wet sidewalk in front of Charlie’s house, the colorful outdoor lighting in the old man’s yard seemed to proclaim hope and goodwill, as did that of nearly every house on Sugar Plum Lane tonight—every house but his and Jillian’s.

At least hers had lights on inside. His, which he was now approaching, looked like a big black hole ready to suck the life out of the neighborhood.

His feet sloshed along the wet concrete, and as he neared the streetlight, he glanced at his wristwatch. For the most part, the day was over. He’d had a lot of things he’d wanted to get done and not much to show for his time, thanks to the decision to get involved in a neighborly dispute. Everything else just got more complicated by the minute.

What was he going to do about his attraction to Jillian?

As he continued in a fog of indecision, he sensed that he wasn’t alone, and a feeling of being watched shivered through him. He glanced behind him, then looked to his right and left.

Down the street, near the fire hydrant, he spotted a shadowed figure with long hair and wearing what appeared to be a dark trench coat.

Jesse?

His steps slowed, but the shadow, as well as the feeling, disappeared as quickly as he’d imagined them.

Weird, he thought, shaking it off.

Still, he wondered what the homeless man would have had to say about all of this. About the kiss he and his old high school sweetheart had shared tonight.

Do the right thing, Jesse had once told him, and you’ll get the family you’ve always wanted.

Before Jillian moved back to Fairbrook, Mac had considered the department his family. But had Jesse’s comments been a prophecy? Was there a real family in Mac’s future?

Or was Mac’s hope of finally hooking up with Jillian merely an attempt to spit into the wind, like he’d done fifteen years ago?

Chapter Ten

The rain stopped around five o’clock that morning, and by the time Mac finally rolled out of bed and peered out the window, there were only a few clouds left in the sky. The day promised to be clear and bright, yet Mac’s thoughts were anything but.

Ever since that kiss last night, he’d been unable to focus on anything other than Jillian and what he felt for her.

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. He also thought about her kids and the lousy Christmas they were going to have. Not that he was any expert on what they were missing out on. He’d learned not to put much stock in any holiday—especially that one—but he knew most kids were counting down the days by now.

Around nine-thirty, as he poured his second cup of coffee, he had what could only be considered a lightbulb moment.

What would it hurt for him to purchase Jillian’s kids a Christmas tree?

There was a lot at the north end of Applewood Drive, so it wouldn’t take long to pick one up. He wasn’t sure what she had in the way of decorations, so before heading out to his Expedition, he climbed the stairs to the attic, where he turned on a dusty forty-watt bulb that dangled from the ceiling of the small room.

He scanned a hodgepodge of junk Ray had been storing—a wrought iron birdcage that was big enough for a parrot or two, an old oak rocker with a slat missing in the back, a guitar with a macramé strap, and a beat-up canvas golf bag with several wood-shaft clubs.

Those golf clubs had to be really old—antiques, maybe. He wondered where Ray had gotten them, why he’d been saving them, and if they were worth anything.

Against the east wall, near the only window, several boxes had been stacked from floor to ceiling. Ray had marked the outside with black capital letters indicating the contents: 2005 TAX AUDIT, DAD’ S ARMY PAPERS, and XMAS STUFF. Mac pulled the Christmas boxes away from the rest and found colored lights and ornaments in them.

Behind the boxes, life-size, painted plywood cutouts of a red-nosed reindeer and a drummer boy leaned against the wall. A couple of Victorian-style carolers had been placed next to them.

Two wicker laundry baskets held strands of outdoor lights that had been rolled up neatly around shortened pieces of PVC pipe.

Maybe Mac ought to take some of this stuff to Jillian’s and use it to decorate her house and yard. The kids would probably be happy about that. So he stacked a couple of boxes on top of each other, picked them up, and carried them downstairs. It took several trips, but soon he had it all placed by the front door.

All he had to do was share his intentions with Jillian and hope she agreed with his plans.

But why wouldn’t she? This way she and the kids could have a Christmas they would remember, even if it wasn’t at all like the holidays they’d had in the past.

He stepped outside and, after locking his door, strode toward Jillian’s house. The sun was out, and a temperate coastal breeze had chased away the crisp wintry chill that had settled over Fairbrook yesterday.

Across the way, a middle-age man who lived a few doors down from Jillian was tinkering under the hood of a red ’56 Thunderbird. Charlie had mentioned that one of the neighbors had refurbished the car and rebuilt the engine himself. If the guy would have glanced up from his work, Mac would have given him a nod or maybe even strode closer to take a look at the classic car. As it was, he continued on his way.

In front of Charlie’s house, his steps slowed and he studied the display of Christmas decorations that, in the daylight, merely littered the yard.

Mac had told the old man that he would try to solve the missing angel caper. So, on impulse, he crossed the wet, soggy lawn and approached the nativity scene, where the Madonna gazed lovingly on the infant in the manger and Joseph looked at the two in awe. A shepherd was flanked by two lambs, a cow, and a donkey. Mac wasn’t sure where the missing angel had stood, but as he surveyed the grass surrounding the other figures, he didn’t see anything amiss. As he turned to go, he noticed a small piece of gold ceramic floating on a puddle of muddy water. He stooped and picked it up, turned it over, and studied the broken edges.

A second, closer scan of the surrounding area revealed another small piece just steps away from the first. And then another.

It didn’t take a forensic expert to come to the conclusion that the angel had been broken or to follow the trail from Charlie’s lawn to Jillian’s. The pieces didn’t lead to her front door, but there were at least two smaller chunks on the side of her yard.

Had Tommy been lying when he’d insisted he hadn’t taken the angel?

As a homicide detective, Mac had honed a skill at reading facial expressions and discerning when a suspect was lying.

Most liars tended to skate around the question, to blink, and to fidget in one way or another. But the boy had looked Mac right in the eye when asked about it. Of course, his answer might have been different if Mac had asked if he’d broken the angel and hidden the evidence that led to his house.

Mac blew out a heavy sigh and raked his hand through his hair. He wasn’t exactly sure how to handle this, but he didn’t want to accuse Jillian’s kids until he had something solid. He supposed he ought to play it by ear. So he made his way to Jillian’s front porch and rang the bell, then, remembering that it was on the blink, grabbed the brass knocker and banged it several times.

When Jillian answered wearing a pair of cream-colored slacks and a pink cotton blouse, her breezy smile nearly knocked him to his knees. The kiss they’d shared last night hovered over him, and he’d be darned if he knew what to do about it. Ignore it, he supposed.

“Can you come outside for a minute?” he asked. “I want to talk to you in private.”

Her smile fell, and she stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I’d like to pick up a Christmas tree for you and the kids.”

“That’s nice of you, but…”

“The kids need a tree, Jillian. It’ll be my treat.”

Her expression seemed to lighten, so he reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet, peeled out two hundred-dollar bills, and handed them to her. “I want you to take this and pick up a few gifts for them—from you. And then buy anything else you need for Christmas dinner—ham, turkey, whatever.”

“I can’t accept this, Mac.” She tried to hand the money back, but he wouldn’t take it.

“It’s my Christmas gift to you. And if you have a major problem with that, then consider it a loan until your ex-husband comes through with the child support.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“A simple thank-you works for me.”

She folded the bills together, clutching them in her hand, and her gaze sought his. He was usually pretty good at reading between the lines, but in this case, he was afraid to. She looked too appreciative, too touched, too…

He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you what. If you want to go shopping now, I can keep an eye on the kids while you’re gone. Or you can go later. It’s your call.”

She didn’t respond right away, and about the time he wondered if she would, she relented. “You’re right. The kids deserve to have a nice Christmas. And I’ll consider this money a loan.”

He’d kind of hoped she’d take it as a gift, but he supposed it didn’t matter. “While I was in Ray’s attic, I found a box of decorations I won’t need, so I’ll bring them over for you to use—if you want them.”

She started to lift her arms, and for a moment, he thought she was going to hug him. But she brushed her hands along the fabric of her slacks and crossed her arms instead. “I don’t know how to thank you, Mac.”

“There isn’t any need to.” He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, then nodded at the door. “Come on. Let’s go tell the kids you have a few errands to run and that I’m going to watch them while you do it.”

Ten minutes later, Jillian had done just as he’d suggested and had driven off. Mac hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in volunteering to babysit. He didn’t know much about kids, although he figured the most important thing was keeping them safe while she was gone.

Tommy appeared to be pleased about the setup, but Megan, with her blond hair pulled back in pigtails, pursed her lips together, then took the dog out into the backyard. Mac couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling she somehow blamed him for her parents’ breakup.

“Hey!” Tommy, who’d dragged a soccer ball from his bedroom, tossed Mac a grin. “Do you want to come outside and play?”

Now that Mac was an adult, playing soccer with a kid was definitely a first, but he returned the boy’s smile and said, “Sure. Why not?”

Tommy led the way through the kitchen and out to the yard, where Megan stood in the shade of an elm tree with Princess Leia.

Or was the little dog actually Bobbie Sue?

Mac wasn’t sure, but it was certainly possible. He again realized that telling Charlie about the similarities was the right thing to do, but he wasn’t in any big hurry to do that. Nor was he ready to have a chat with the kids about something that was sure to upset them.

He supposed, if the dog turned out to be Bobbie Sue, he could always beg Charlie to let the kids keep her, but who knew what the old man would say to that?

As Tommy dribbled the ball with his feet, Mac said, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t think anyone stole Mr. Iverson’s angel.”

Tommy stopped the ball with his foot. “You don’t?”

“Nope. I think what really happened is that someone broke it and hid the pieces.”

“No kidding?” Tommy kicked the ball to Mac. “How come you think that?”

“I found some small chunks of gold ceramic in Charlie’s yard.”

“Who do you think broke it?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t know for sure.” Using the side of his foot, Mac kicked the ball back to the boy. “Did you break it?”

“Me?” The boy slapped his hands on his hips, letting the ball slip right past him. “Heck, no. I didn’t even touch it.”

“Are you sure? Not even accidentally?”

“No. Don’t you believe me?”

Mac studied the boy’s expression, his eyes blazing with indignation and his chin lifted in defiance.

Truthfully? He didn’t appear to be lying.

“Do you know anyone who might want it to look like you broke that angel?” Mac asked.

“No, I don’t think so. There’s a kid who lives down the street, and his name is Danny. He said hi to me once, but he doesn’t know me good enough to like me or hate me. Oh, and there was a homeless guy who was hanging out by the fire hydrant once, but he was pretty cool.”

A homeless guy? Mac’s thoughts drifted to Jesse, to the image he’d imagined seeing last night. But he shook it off as coincidence, even though Sugar Plum Lane was a long way from where any of the homeless tended to gather.

They kicked the ball around in silence for a while, and Mac decided to drop the subject. He really wanted to connect with Jillian’s son, but he had a feeling any further questioning was going to backfire if he wasn’t careful.

His gaze drifted to Megan, who was still playing with the dog, her back to Mac and Tommy. Did she know anything about the broken angel?

He supposed she might, but he wasn’t sure if he should quiz her. She’d withdrawn since yesterday afternoon, and he was afraid she thought he was trying to take the place of her father. For that reason, he figured it was best to let Jillian talk to her.

As Megan wandered to the very back of the yard, near the rose garden that had been pruned for the winter, the dog trotted behind her. Mac focused on the soccer ball and on making friends with Tommy.

Several minutes later, he heard a thump, a shriek, and a howl.

He looked up to see Megan sprawled over a rose bush.

Oh, no. Mac dashed toward her, hoping she hadn’t been hurt too badly. So much for thinking he would make a competent babysitter. Jillian would probably never leave the kids with him again, which was wise on her part. And maybe he ought to be grateful for that.

He lifted the screaming child from the sharply cut, thorny branches, trying to avoid hurting her any more than she already was, and placed her feet on the ground. “Are you okay, honey?”

“Nooo!” She screamed, leaning into him.

He checked her carefully, noting a nasty scratch across her cheek and down one arm. She raised her blouse and showed him a red, raw scrape on her tummy.

“Come on, Megan.” He picked her up and held her close. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

“I want my mommy,” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I know you do. She’ll be back soon.” At least, he hoped so. He might have had first aid training, but he was way out of his league when it came to dishing out TLC.

As they crossed the lawn, he asked, “What happened?”

“I was running and tripped on a rock and fell in the thorns and pokers. And it hurts really, really bad!”

Mac carried her into the house and to the bathroom, where he sat her on the counter. Next he turned on the water and searched the drawers for a washcloth.

“I’ll get the medicine and the Band-Aids,” Tommy said from the doorway. “They’re in my mom’s bathroom.”

“Thanks.” Mac’s heart was pounding a mile a minute as he tried his best to doctor the little girl.

She really wasn’t hurt too badly. The fall, he suspected, had frightened her more than anything. Still, the scratch on her face announced that she’d been wounded on Mac’s watch.

Great.

After cleaning the wounds with an antibacterial soap and water, Mac dabbed them dry and applied a salve. “Is that a little better?”

She nodded.

“I guess I’m not a very good babysitter,” he said.

“Sure you are,” Tommy argued. “Who could be a better babysitter than a policeman? Besides, you knew just what to do when Meggie got hurt.”

Oh, yeah? Mac was a novice at this sort of thing, but he didn’t see any point in setting the boy straight.

Of course, he’d done a better job of it than his old man had done. Whenever Mac had been injured as a child, he’d known better than to complain. “Just rub a little dirt on it,” Jim Maguire used to say. “That’ll toughen you up.”

Mac was lucky he never followed those instructions. He might have gotten blood poisoning or something.

He let out a sigh, glad the girl had finally stopped crying.

“Why don’t we go watch some TV?” he suggested. An indoor activity would ensure that no one else got hurt before Jillian returned.

When the kids seemed to accept the new game plan, Mac scooped Megan into his arms and carried her downstairs.

Hey, if she wanted to milk it, he was okay with that.

“Thank you for fixing me,” she said.

“No problem.” He tossed her a grin. “That’s what friends are for.”

She seemed to think about that for a bit, then smiled. “Are we really friends?”

“Sure we are.”

As he set her on the sofa, she looked up at him with eyes that were every bit as expressive as her mother’s. “Can I ask you a question, Mac?”

“Of course.”

“Do you always put people in jail?” she asked. “Even kids?”

Was she afraid of him? “I only arrest adults who’ve broken the law. There are special courts that deal with children who get into serious trouble. Why do you ask?”

“You don’t put kids in jail?”

“Nope.” He couldn’t see any need to explain the intricacies of juvenile incarceration.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, then glanced up at him, those eyes so much like her mom’s threatening to make a tough guy soft. “What happens when kids do bad things?”

“Usually their parents take care of the situation. The police don’t get called in unless the kids do something really bad.”

“Like breaking something on accident?” she asked.

Uh-oh. Was Mac about to hear a confession?

“When kids break things, their moms and dads handle that.” He pulled lightly on her pigtail and offered her a gentle smile. “But I think, when it’s an accident, most parents would understand and go easy on the child.”

Her green eyes, expressive like her mommy’s, glistened with emotion. “Even when it’s something that belongs to someone else? Something they weren’t supposed to touch?”

“Accidents happen, Megan. Did you break something?”

The tears that had been welling in her eyes overflowed onto her cheeks. “It was an accident, Mac. Don’t put me in jail. Please!”

“No one is going to put you in jail, honey. I won’t let them.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, nearly squeezing the heart right out of him. “I didn’t mean to do it, Mac. I touched Mr. Iverson’s angel, and it fell over all by itself. And the arm broke off. And the halo, too. I was so scared he was going to get mad at me and hit me with his cane, like he said he was going to do to Tommy. So I picked up all the pieces and hid them so no one could find them.”

“Where’d you hide the angel?” he asked. “I’d like to see it. I might be able to fix it and put it back where it belongs.”

“Really?” She loosened her hold to search his face for sincerity.

He tapped his finger on the tip of her lightly freckled nose. “I haven’t seen it yet, but even if it’s as badly broken as Humpty Dumpty, I’ll figure out a way to fix this whole mess for you. Okay?”

Her smile lit up her face, and she wrapped her arms around his neck again. “When I heard you were a policeman and you were Mr. Iverson’s friend, I thought you would take me to jail.”

“Nothing doing, sweetheart.” Mac held her close.

“You’re the best police in the whole, wide world.”

Mac didn’t know about that. But he sure liked having this little girl think so.

Chapter Eleven

The next day, Jillian stood beside the kitchen table and studied the broken ceramic figurine she and Mac had painstakingly repaired. Rather than return the angel broken, they’d decided to take it back to Mr. Iverson in one piece, although at one point, she hadn’t been sure that would be possible.

Yesterday, they’d had trouble getting the pieces to attach properly, but the new glue Mac had purchased earlier today had worked much better than they’d expected. A little putty had filled in the gaps and holes, so if their luck held, they would be able to return the angel to Mr. Iverson before heading to Mulberry Park for Christmas Under the Stars.

“I think it looks pretty good,” Mac said as he surveyed their handiwork.

The paint was chipped and cracked in numerous places, but they’d left those spots alone. Instead, they’d only tried to match the white, gold, and flesh color to cover the putty and the places where they’d glued the arm and halo back together.

Tommy tiptoed and craned his neck to assess the angel. “You can’t even see the broken lines anymore. That glue and paint you bought worked really good.”

Jillian had no idea what Mr. Iverson would say when they returned his angel, but they’d done their best to repair the damage. She’d also made a batch of sugar cookies this morning—stars, bells, and Christmas trees—that she and the kids had frosted and decorated with candy sprinkles. She hoped their elderly neighbor would accept the platter of cookies as a peace offering, along with their apologies.

Megan, who was kneeling on the seat of her chair and resting her elbows on the kitchen table, had closely watched their attempts to glue the angel back together. “Do I have to go with you when you take it back to Mr. Iverson? I’m scared. I don’t want him to get mad at me.”

Mac placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Sometimes it’s hard to do the right thing, Megan. But if it makes you feel better, your mom, your brother, and I will be right there with you.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, “and Mac won’t let Mr. Iverson yell at you or anything.”

“That’s right.” Mac glanced at Jillian and winked.

What had she done to deserve a man like him? Not that she had him by any means. It’s just that they’d somehow become a team in the past couple of days.

Of course, they hadn’t even broached the subject of how or even if he was going to fit into their lives. He’d just seemed to slide right in, as though he’d always belonged. And for the first time in ages, she was actually looking forward to Christmas.

Thanks to Mac’s efforts, a fully decorated noble fir sat in the living room, surrounded by ten or twelve wrapped gifts. Lights adorned their front yard now, even though their decorations weren’t anywhere near as elaborate as those of most of the other neighbors.

In spite of the comments he’d made about his inexperience with kids, Mac had proven to be wonderful with hers. He might not have had a paternal role model growing up, but he was a natural. In fact, he was everything she’d ever wanted in a father for her children.

He was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband, too.

The kiss they’d shared the night before last had turned her knees to Jell-O, just as all of his kisses had once done to her. But interestingly enough, they seemed to be pretending it hadn’t happened, and neither of them had dared to mention it again.

Too bad, she thought, as she stole an appreciative glance at Mac. She’d love to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him again, although she wasn’t sure how to orchestrate something like that without being obvious.

“There’s something else we probably ought to discuss,” Mac said, sobering and stepping away from the table.

Tommy perked up, as he was prone to do each time Mac spoke. “What’s that?”

“Do you remember that picture Mr. Iverson showed you of his wife?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah, she was holding a dog that looked a lot like Princess Leia.”

“Do you remember what he said happened to his dog?” Mac asked.

“It ran away after Mrs. Iverson died.”

Mac appeared to study the statue, and Jillian studied Mac.

“Remember the day we brought the dog home from the park?” he asked both kids.

“She was all dirty,” Megan said. “And we had to give her a bath.”

“Yep. And that very first day, when we set her down in your front yard, she dashed off to Mr. Iverson’s house. She did the same thing when she got out later that day.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “So what?”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” Mac asked.

Jillian tensed. Uh-oh. Did Mac suspect the kids’ dog had once belonged to Mr. Iverson?

If that was true, their peacemaking efforts could blow sky high.

“You mean like the two dogs and the kitty in Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey?” Megan asked.

Mac glanced at Jillian, a question in his eyes.

“That’s the story of three lost pets that make their way home.”

“Yes,” Mac said. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

“But Princess Leia is our dog.” Megan sat up straight, although she still knelt in the seat of the chair. “Mommy said we could keep her.”

Jillian couldn’t voice the words. Mac was right, of course. If the dog belonged to Mr. Iverson, they’d have to return it to him.

Mac shifted his weight to one foot. “The only reason your mom told you that it was okay to keep that dog was because she thought it was a stray. She didn’t realize it might have an owner.”

“But Mr. Iverson was mean to her,” Tommy said. “Remember? He pushed her away and called her a mangy mutt.”

“You’ll find that things always work out for the best when you do the right thing,” Mac said, “even when doing the right thing hurts.”

“Maybe our dog only looks like his dog,” Megan said.

“You might be right.” But when Mac glanced at Jillian, she suspected that he had his doubts.

“We can talk to Mr. Iverson about the dog later,” Mac said, as he picked up the figurine. “Let’s return the angel first.”

Moments later, as they stood on Mr. Iverson’s porch, Mac held the angel in one arm and rang their neighbor’s bell with the other.

Charlie Iverson answered the door wearing a green flannel shirt, red suspenders, and a pair of black trousers. His gray hair stuck up in back, as Tommy’s sometimes did.

“What’s all this?” He glanced at the plate of cookies Jillian held. When he spotted the angel, he brightened. “Where’d you find that?”

Megan slid behind Mac and wrapped an arm around his leg.

A heartfelt confession might be the right thing to do, but Meggie was only six and afraid, so Jillian made the plea. “My daughter was admiring your angel the other day, and it accidentally fell over and broke. She was so afraid that she’d get in trouble, she hid the pieces. And when Mac and I found out what had happened, we glued it back together.”

Charlie peered at Megan and frowned.

The child tightened her grip on Mac’s leg, but managed to say in a soft voice, “I’m sorry, Mr. Iverson. I didn’t mean to break it. I just wanted to see how the wings fit on her back. My grandpa is in Heaven, and before he died, he told me not to be sad ’cause he was going to have fun flying around the clouds.”

Charlie merely chuffed, then took the angel from Mac and looked it over carefully.

“It’s as good as new,” Mac told him. “No harm done.”

The old man didn’t answer, and Mac nudged his arm. “Come on, Charlie. Tell Megan that you accept her apology. She’s afraid of you and thinks you’re a mean old man. Let her know that’s not true.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed, and one side of his lip quirked up in an attempt to grin.

“I suspect Grace has a pair of wings right now, too,” Mac added. “And knowing how much she loved children, she’s probably fluttering up a storm overhead, frustrated with you for not welcoming the new neighbors like she would have done.”

Little Megan glanced up, as though wondering if there really was an angel looking down on them, and Jillian held her breath, hoping for the best.

Charlie ran a hand over his head, just now figuring out that his hair was mussed. Then he inhaled deeply, slowly blew it out, and looked at Megan. “I’m not such a bad sort. It’s just that I’ve lost a lot this year, and I’m trying to hang on to whatever I can.”

“We’ve lost a loved one, too,” Jillian said. “My dad passed away last year, so, like you, we’re facing a lonely Christmas.”

“It’s tough,” Charlie admitted. “I’ll sure be glad when it’s all over.”

Jillian offered the old man a warm smile. “I know just what you mean. Maybe it would help if we had Christmas dinner together this year. I’m fixing turkey and all the trimmings, and we’d love to have you join us.”

Charlie’s eyes glistened, and he offered Jillian a weak smile. “Thanks, but I hate to put you out. I’ll just stay home and eat a TV dinner.”

“Oh, you won’t be putting me out,” Jillian said. “It’s a huge turkey. Besides, I’m inviting Mac, too, and it would be nice if he had another man to talk to.”

Charlie shot a glance at Mac, then shrugged. “Okay. I guess I can always save that TV dinner for another day.”

“Good.” Jillian lifted the platter of cookies. “By the way, the kids and I made these for you.”

As Charlie looked at the yellow stars and green trees, a tear slid down his craggy cheek. “I didn’t expect to have any homemade goodies this year.”

“You know,” Jillian said, “that’s the nice thing about Christmas. We can usually expect a surprise or two.”

As another tear slid down Charlie’s face, he swiped at it with a gnarled hand, then glanced at Mac. “Looks like there’s a new cookie lady on our street.”

Jillian wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but Mac slid an arm around the old man’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

After leaving the angel and the platter with Mr. Iverson, they all headed back to Jillian’s house. As soon as they got home, she was going to tell the kids to grab their jackets and to help her pack some lawn chairs and blankets in the car. It might be nice to arrive at Mulberry Park early. That way, the kids could play before the event started.

As they stepped onto the sidewalk, Jillian noticed a familiar figure standing on her front porch, and her heart turned inside out. She slid a glance at Mac, as though he could somehow fix this awkward situation, too.

“Daddy!” Megan clapped her hands, then dashed off to meet the guy who was supposed to be on a cruise with his new family.

Chapter Twelve

Mac hadn’t needed a crystal ball to figure out who’d shown up at Jillian’s house, and Megan’s enthusiastic response to seeing her daddy had only validated his assumption.

“Jared?” Jillian asked, her voice indicating she was every bit as surprised to see her ex-husband as Mac was. “What are you doing here?”

The tall, dark-haired man in his late thirties stooped to pick up his daughter. “I came to see you and the kids.”

“I realize that,” she said, “but you’re supposed to be on a cruise.”

“I flew back early.” Jared’s gaze drifted from Jillian to Mac. “Who are you?”

Tommy, whose steps had slowed, didn’t appear to be as happy to see his father as his sister was. “This is Mac, our friend, the cop.”

Mac knew he ought to reach out and shake the man’s hand, but he’d rather send him packing instead. Yet while he didn’t feel like making the first move, he did so anyway. “Mac Maguire.”

“Jared Ridgeway.”

An uncomfortable moment stretched between them, as they assessed each other like two adversaries with their hearts set on the same prize.

Jared broke eye contact first and returned his attention to Jillian. “I…uh…got to thinking that I should come and see what was going on here. Megan was pretty upset when I talked to her on the phone the other night.”

Can you blame her? Mac wanted to ask, but he clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms instead.

“We need to talk,” Jared told Jillian.

Mac could understand that. Like it or not, they had children together. And over the next few years, they’d have a lot of reasons to talk. Of course, even when the kids grew up and went on to college, Jared and Jillian would still have to see each other at social events, such as graduations, weddings, christenings. So if Mac was going to be a part of her and the kids’ lives, he’d have to get used to times like this.

“Can we talk later?” she asked. “The kids and I were planning a trip to the park.”

“You can come, too,” Megan told her daddy. “It’s got a really fun playground, and we get to stay there even when it gets dark. We’re going to sit on blankets and drink hot cocoa and eat cookies and other good stuff.”

Now things had really taken an awkward shift, and Mac realized he’d better give the man the privacy he undoubtedly wanted.

“Listen, Jillian.” Mac uncrossed his arms and nodded toward his house across the cul de sac. “I’ve got some things I need to do, so I’ll see you later.”

Her lips parted as though she wanted to object, but she didn’t. How could she?

On the other hand, Jared seemed relieved that Mac was leaving, yet Mac didn’t feel so good about it. Still, it wasn’t his place to stick around.

And he had to face the fact that it might never be.

He watched as Jared placed a hand on Jillian’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. The effect was so distressing that he had to look away. In fact, he couldn’t stay here any longer.

As he turned to go, Mac overheard the other man say, “I started thinking about a lot of things after my call the other night. And I began to realize I’d made a mistake.”

He’d made a mistake, all right. A big one. And while remorse was usually a good thing, the guy shouldn’t have left his wife and kids in the first place. Not when that wife was Jillian.

Still, as she seemed to ponder the words her ex had said, and as Mac read between the lines of silence, he continued on his way, waiting for fate to slam into him once again. To take every last bit of hope he’d ever harbored and to dash it against a wall of reality.

And reality sucked.

No matter what he’d told himself over the past fifteen years, he’d never really gotten over Jillian. And he probably never would.

He wanted to slam his fist into something rock hard and solid. Maybe the pain of tearing flesh and cracking bones could take his mind off a breaking heart.

Yet he trudged on.

“Let’s go in the house,” Ridgeway told his family.

Mac supposed they did deserve some privacy, but he wasn’t about to stick around and listen to their discussion, even if he’d had the heart to.

He was losing Jillian all over again, and he couldn’t help but kick himself for allowing it to happen.

Why hadn’t he told Charlie he didn’t want to get involved in a neighborly dispute? Or why hadn’t he just broached the subject with Jillian, then gone about his own business?

Instead, like a fool, he’d followed his heart. And now he was heading back to his house, determined to hold his chin up. But he wasn’t going to stay on Sugar Plum Lane another day. It might only be a fifteen minute drive to downtown San Diego, but it was a world away from Fairbrook.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the neighbor who’d been working on the ’56 T-bird was outside again. This time he was buffing a layer of Turtle Wax on the hood.

When the older man glanced up from his work and noticed Mac, he shot him a friendly smile. “Hello, there. How’s it going?”

Under different circumstances, Mac might have used the excuse to check out the man’s handiwork, to shoot the breeze about rebuilt engines and classic cars. But other than a brief nod and uttering, “Great,” Mac didn’t want to be bothered.

Right now, he couldn’t care less about cars or neighbors or even being polite. All he could think of doing was to get out of Dodge with his pride still intact.

It was time to pack up his stuff and head back to the loft apartment in the Gaslamp District. Maybe he’d just go ahead and list Ray’s house with the Realtor as a fixer-upper and sell it as is. That way, he wouldn’t have to stick around any longer.

Yet even the thought of escape didn’t seem like an easy way out. Walking away from Jillian was going to be tough for a man who’d fought for everything else he’d needed in life. But why make it any harder on himself than it had to be?

“You’ll find that things always work out for the best when you do the right thing,” Mac had told the kids earlier today, “even when doing the right thing hurts.”

And that’s just what he was going to do. He just hadn’t realized how much truth there was to that statement.

Letting go of Jillian and the kids hurt like hell.

Chapter Thirteen

When the doorbell rang, Mac was shoving his shaving gear into the top of the black carry-on bag that sat on the bed. He’d packed up his stuff and was ready to take it to the car.

The Realtor he’d called earlier had wanted to come by and see the house later this evening, but Mac told her he’d meet with her tomorrow. He wasn’t in the mood for visitors right now, which was why he ignored the bell—until it chimed again.

And again.

After zipping the canvas bag shut, he made his way to the door. He’d just have to tell whoever was there that he was leaving and didn’t have time to chat or to get involved in another neighborhood dispute.

But he hadn’t expected that someone at the door to be Jillian.

“Are you still up for Christmas Under the Stars?” she asked.

Since he figured her ex-husband’s arrival had altered everyone’s plans, the question caught him off guard. Yet even if it hadn’t, Mac was planning to make an excuse and bow out.

Surely, she didn’t expect him to go with all of them to the park. No way would he be a part of that circus.

“What about Jared?” he asked.

“He’s looking for a hotel. I told him he could spend time with the kids tomorrow and maybe take them somewhere, but he can’t be with them tonight. I already have plans with them.”

Mac didn’t know what to say. He might have made a commitment to Tommy and Megan to take them to the park, but he wasn’t about to tiptoe around Jillian anymore, pretending that he was just an old friend, when he wanted to be so much more. Maybe he would tell her that there’d been a new lead on a case that had gone cold and that he’d been called in to work this evening.

Hey, what would one little lie hurt if it shielded his pride?

But there were still a few questions tumbling around in his mind, and he decided to ask the biggest one. “What’s Jared planning to do in Fairbrook?”

“I guess that Disney cruise was more family oriented than he’d anticipated, and he started feeling guilty about being with someone else’s kids, when the children he’d fathered were spending Christmas without him.”

As far as Mac was concerned, the guy should have realized that before he even considered booking a trip during the holidays. But apparently, Jared Ridgeway was self-centered and jumped into all kinds of situations without giving his wife and kids much thought or consideration.

“So when the guilt finally kicked in,” Mac said, “he decided to fly to San Diego to play the part of a loving daddy?”

“That’s about the size of it. And he gave me that child support check he’d forgotten to mail, too.”

“Great.” But that still hadn’t provided the answer Mac most needed to hear. “How do you feel about all of this, Jilly? You left Roseville to put some distance between the two of you and to start a new life. Now here he is, standing on your front doorstep and wanting to right a multitude of wrongs.”

She combed her fingers through her hair and shifted her weight to one hip. If she thought anything about why he was keeping her on the porch, rather than inviting her inside, she didn’t let on. “I’ll admit that I got a certain amount of satisfaction out of his apology. My pride took a low blow when he left me for someone else, so it was nice to hear him say he was sorry, that he’d made a mistake in leaving.”

And…?

Did Mac need to pry it out of her? Was she going to give her ex-husband the second chance he was asking for or not?

He hated to come right out and ask, though. His own pride was at stake, and he didn’t want her to suspect how vulnerable he felt right now. So he skated around what he was really feeling. “If you two are going to give your marriage a chance, there’s no point in me complicating matters by going with you and the kids to the park tonight.”

“Jared was hoping I’d welcome him back home,” she said, “but I can’t do that. I told him that I would fully support his efforts to have a better relationship with the kids, but that whatever we had as a couple is over.”

A sense of relief swept through Mac, yet that wasn’t enough. He wanted the chance to re-create a relationship with Jillian, and he wasn’t talking about them being “old high school friends.” Did he dare admit that to her? No matter what her response would be?

He hadn’t been able to do that fifteen years ago.

“The woman Jared hooked up with this time wasn’t the first one he’d gotten involved with while we were married,” Jillian added. “And I want a man I can trust. A man who knows how to make a lifetime commitment and who won’t bail out on me on a whim or when the going gets tough.”

Mac knew without a doubt that, given the chance, he could be that man for her. And, more than anything else in the world, he wanted to be. But wishes hadn’t gotten him anywhere before. He was going to have to admit how he felt—no matter what the risk.

He lifted his hand and skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. “Life is full of uncertainties, Jillian, and this is one of those times. Fifteen years ago, I fell in love with you. I know I never said it, but I was afraid to put my heart on the line. And when you broke up with me, I told myself it was a good thing I hadn’t leveled with you.”

“So that’s why, when I told you I couldn’t see you anymore, you just shrugged it off as though I was one of your teachers, and I’d just announced a pop quiz.”

He let his hand drop, missing the warmth of their contact immediately. “In truth? I wanted to beg you to give me one more chance, but my pride wouldn’t let me. So I acted as though it was no big deal. Then I watched you walk away, taking the only good thing that had ever happened to me with you.”

“I loved you, too,” she said, her voice coming out whisper soft.

“I wish you would have told me.” It would have made it easier for Mac to admit his feelings back then if she’d gone first.

Her eyes welled with unshed emotion, but he’d be darned if he knew what it was—regret? Disappointment?

Holding back their feelings in the past hadn’t gotten them anywhere. Now it appeared as though Mac had been given the second chance he’d wanted. But this time he was going to have to do something about it.

He cleared his throat and stepped out on what felt like a shaky limb that might crack under his weight. “Seeing you again has not only made me realize just how much I once loved you, but how much I still do.”

Tears slid down Jillian’s cheeks, and her bottom lip quivered. “I know just what you mean, Mac. I love you, too. And in the past couple of days, I’ve come to the conclusion that I always have.”

A warmth swelled in his chest, and he slid his arms around her waist, drawing her close. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, you’d better get used to hearing it.”

As she lifted her lips, he kissed her with all the love in his heart, love he’d been bottling up for as long as he could remember.

Her fingers slid into his hair, and she leaned into him, opening her mouth and allowing the kiss to deepen. She tasted of sugar and spice, of magic and dreams, and he lost himself in her embrace, relishing every heated touch, every ragged breath.

When they finally came up for air, Mac cupped Jilly’s face in his hands. “Now that I’ve said the words, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to hold them back. I love you, honey. And I promise to do everything I can to make the rest of your life happy.”

Her eyes glistened with joy and an intensity he’d never seen in them before. “There’s bound to be some rough spots along the way, but overcoming them together is what life and love are all about.”

“Hey!” Tommy’s voice sounded behind them, and they both turned to greet him.

Mac had no idea how the kids were going to react to him being a permanent part of their lives, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help them see that they were all better off this way, even if domestic drama was an everyday occurrence.

“What’s taking you guys so long?” the boy asked. “Meggie and I are ready to go to the park.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Mac asked. “I’ll grab my jacket and the keys.”

An hour later, Mac and Jillian strolled hand in hand through the grounds of Mulberry Park, appreciating the work volunteers from Parkside Community Church had put into decorating for Christmas Under the Stars. Tiny blinking lights twinkled in the trees, and a mouthwatering spread of homemade goodies filled tables covered with red cloths. Off to the side, industrial size thermoses filled with coffee, decaf, hot cocoa, and hot water provided drinks to warm the crowd.

Christmas music, as well as the sound of laughter and happy voices, filled the air. Talk about Christmas cheer. Mac had never understood it all before, but he did now.

Jillian’s fingers threaded through his as though she’d never let him go. With her free hand, she motioned for Tommy and Megan, who’d been playing with several other children on the swings and slides.

Mac watched as the kids approached, and he marveled at their smiling faces and at how right it was for them to be together, here and now and always. They’d be his kids, too, he realized, and the thought pleased him.

There was still a lot up in the air, but for the time being, he would let his apartment go and stay in Ray’s house, getting it ready to sell. The commute to work would be a breeze, and even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be coming home to Jillian, one way or another.

“Is it time for everything to start?” Tommy asked.

“I hope so.” Megan’s excitement lit her face. “I want to hear them read the Christmas story.”

“Look.” Jillian pointed to a man handing out candles for people to hold. “I’m sure they’ll be starting soon, so let’s sit on the blanket we brought.”

Mac gave Jillian’s hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s probably a good idea.”

As they gathered together on an old patchwork quilt, Mac couldn’t help noting the intricate design. Someone had carefully taken scraps of cloth and stitched them all together into something useful, something beautiful. And he couldn’t help thinking that’s how families were supposed to work. Individuals bound together by love and a creator.

His first family might not have been what every kid deserved, but look at him now.

What a gift he’d been given.

His thoughts drifted to the day he’d met Jesse, the day Mac had listened to some fatherly advice and opted to make a change in his life.

If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the homeless man’s prophetic words.

Doing the right thing, Jesse had said, is a reward in and of itself.

Maybe you’re right, Mac had responded. But it’s not that easy.

I know. Sometimes it’s the hardest route to take. But I’ll tell you this, Mac. If you choose to do right over wrong, every chance you get, you’ll get that family you always wanted and reap the kind of life you deserve.

Jesse had been right. Mac had finally found everything he’d ever wanted in Jillian. And his future had never looked brighter.

They would, however, still have to deal with the Bobbie Sue/Princess Leia dilemma when they got home, but he suspected that was just one of those rough spots Jillian had talked about.

One way or another, he knew they’d work it out.

After all, Mac had promised Megan that he would “fix things” with Charlie and the broken angel, and with Jillian’s help, he’d managed to do just that. So if Princess Leia proved to be the dog Charlie had lost, then Mac would fix that, too—somehow. Perhaps he’d talk Charlie into giving up the dog. Or into entering some kind of shared canine custody agreement.

The microphone roared an annoying squawk, and the senior pastor of Parkside Community Church welcomed those who’d gathered on the lawn to the fifteenth annual Christmas Under the Stars. Then he introduced a teenage girl who would read a passage from the second chapter of Luke.

Mac had never considered himself a religious man and didn’t even own a Bible, but he listened intently to the story of a child born in a manger and wrapped in swaddling cloth.

As the young girl continued to read, he surveyed the others who sat in the park, strangers now, but people in a community that would soon be his. He couldn’t imagine where his life might have led if a stranger hadn’t taken him under his wing when he’d been an unhappy, aimless teenager with a broken heart and shattered dreams.

“An angel of the Lord appeared to them,” the girl read, “and the glory of the Lord shone around them…”

A light caught the corner of Mac’s eye, and he turned to see a figure in the distance, a man with a silver-threaded beard and a glowing face.

Jesse?

“Excuse me a minute,” Mac whispered to Jillian.

She questioned him with her eyes, and he nodded toward the man dressed in a trench coat who stood at the fringe of the park. Then he got to his feet and made his way toward the guy.

As Mac drew nearer, the man turned to walk away.

“Hey, wait!” Mac called.

The man stopped long enough to smile and raise his hand in a little wave. Then he continued on his way, disappearing into the night.

Mac decided not to chase after him, but he still fought a wave of disappointment as he made his way back to the blanket where he’d left Jillian and the kids. He hadn’t gone far when he heard a pathetic little whimper.

Several feet to the right, a small, dark-haired puppy, its hair matted, looked up at him with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Where’d you come from, little guy?” Mac scanned the immediate area, but didn’t see anyone with the scrawny little thing.

So he stooped and picked it up. “Come on, little guy. You look like you need a family. And I’ve got just the one for you.”

Then he carried his find back to Jillian and the kids.

Together, they were going to make this world a better place—doing the right thing, one day at a time.

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

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Copyright © 2008 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
“A Mulberry Park Christmas” copyright © 2008 by Judy Duarte

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ISBN: 1-4201-0757-7