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Authors: Lois Richer
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for it so she works night shifts. I’m guessing that’s because she wants to be here when you get home from school. That’s the kind of thing a mom who really loves her kid thinks about.”
“Mom’s okay. She tries to make us a family, but sometimes I just want my dad.”
“Why don’t you tell him that next time he calls?”
“I don’t want to bother him,” the almost-whispered admittance came.
“Why not? Most fathers love to hear they’re wanted.”
There was a long pause before Kyle admitted, “My dad’s got a new friend now. She takes up a lot of his time.”
“Ah.” Brendan sighed. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I know it’s hard. Sometimes the only thing a guy can do is pray about it and let God work it out.”
“You believe in all that stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“God. Heaven. All the stuff they talk about at church.”
Brendan nodded. “Oh, yes, I believe. If I didn’t, I don’t know how I’d manage. Because I trust in God to do what’s right for me, I know that I can ask His help and He’ll give it. He’ll show me the right way and help me get through the hard stuff. I’m never alone.”
“Huh.” Kyle said nothing more.
Feeling guilty, Chloe started the mixer. Maddy appeared seconds later and began adding ingredients. A moment later Brendan and Kyle burst through the door to find out what all the laughing was about. When they saw Chloe covered in flour they cracked up.
“Okay, smart guys,” she said, embarrassed. “You three can finish the operation. I’m going to take a shower.”
“You do that,” Brendan said, his attention riveted on the mess that flaked her hair. “I’ll hold the fort down here. Kyle, we’re making cookies.”
“Do you know how?” Kyle asked, one eyebrow crooked.
“Not yet. But Maddy can show us. It looks like she knows what she’s doing and I could learn a good cookie recipe.” He peered at the cookbook, then at Chloe. “Anything special I should know?”
“Maddy’s made this recipe a hundred times. If you mess up, she’ll let you know.” Without another word she left the kitchen, climbed the stairs to her room and popped into the shower. Just this once, in spite of Brendan’s talk about independence, Chloe wished she had a fairy godmother to wave a magic wand and make her pretty.
“Oh, grow up!” she ordered herself, shoving her head under the water. “He’s not your type anyway.” That got her thinking.
So what was her type? Steve?
Chloe almost laughed at that. Instead she stepped out of the shower, wrapped her long hair in a towel and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a blue cotton shirt she’d always loved. In the mirror Chloe inspected her face.
“You don’t have a type, silly,” she scoffed as she added some gloss to her lips and a few strokes of mascara to her lashes. “You’re a single mom with two kids who need you to focus on them. If God wanted you to have a man in your life, He’d have cleared space on your calendar for a few dates.”
She blew her hair dry until its shiny mass cascaded down her back and all the while a little voice at the back of her head reminded her that Brendan Montgomery was downstairs.
So what? They’d shared two meals. Those were hardly dates.
But her cheeks were pink when she returned to the kitchen. And it had nothing to do with the heat from the oven.
“I really don’t mind, Chloe,” Brendan reassured for the fifth time. “If you can hang on till I grab my notes from the truck,I’d be happy to stay with the kids till Mrs. Mills can get here.” He stepped outside, retrieved what he needed and returned to the front hall where she stood waiting.
“I really hate imposing, but they’re so shorthanded lately. And I need the overtime—” Her voice halted, her cheeks turned a deep pink.
“You know, you could use a break from beating yourself up,” he told her as he spread his papers across her kitchen table and called himself an idiot for saying it. It was none of his
“Mom’s okay. She tries to make us a family, but sometimes I just want my dad.”
“Why don’t you tell him that next time he calls?”
“I don’t want to bother him,” the almost-whispered admittance came.
“Why not? Most fathers love to hear they’re wanted.”
There was a long pause before Kyle admitted, “My dad’s got a new friend now. She takes up a lot of his time.”
“Ah.” Brendan sighed. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I know it’s hard. Sometimes the only thing a guy can do is pray about it and let God work it out.”
“You believe in all that stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“God. Heaven. All the stuff they talk about at church.”
Brendan nodded. “Oh, yes, I believe. If I didn’t, I don’t know how I’d manage. Because I trust in God to do what’s right for me, I know that I can ask His help and He’ll give it. He’ll show me the right way and help me get through the hard stuff. I’m never alone.”
“Huh.” Kyle said nothing more.
Feeling guilty, Chloe started the mixer. Maddy appeared seconds later and began adding ingredients. A moment later Brendan and Kyle burst through the door to find out what all the laughing was about. When they saw Chloe covered in flour they cracked up.
“Okay, smart guys,” she said, embarrassed. “You three can finish the operation. I’m going to take a shower.”
“You do that,” Brendan said, his attention riveted on the mess that flaked her hair. “I’ll hold the fort down here. Kyle, we’re making cookies.”
“Do you know how?” Kyle asked, one eyebrow crooked.
“Not yet. But Maddy can show us. It looks like she knows what she’s doing and I could learn a good cookie recipe.” He peered at the cookbook, then at Chloe. “Anything special I should know?”
“Maddy’s made this recipe a hundred times. If you mess up, she’ll let you know.” Without another word she left the kitchen, climbed the stairs to her room and popped into the shower. Just this once, in spite of Brendan’s talk about independence, Chloe wished she had a fairy godmother to wave a magic wand and make her pretty.
“Oh, grow up!” she ordered herself, shoving her head under the water. “He’s not your type anyway.” That got her thinking.
So what was her type? Steve?
Chloe almost laughed at that. Instead she stepped out of the shower, wrapped her long hair in a towel and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a blue cotton shirt she’d always loved. In the mirror Chloe inspected her face.
“You don’t have a type, silly,” she scoffed as she added some gloss to her lips and a few strokes of mascara to her lashes. “You’re a single mom with two kids who need you to focus on them. If God wanted you to have a man in your life, He’d have cleared space on your calendar for a few dates.”
She blew her hair dry until its shiny mass cascaded down her back and all the while a little voice at the back of her head reminded her that Brendan Montgomery was downstairs.
So what? They’d shared two meals. Those were hardly dates.
But her cheeks were pink when she returned to the kitchen. And it had nothing to do with the heat from the oven.
“I really don’t mind, Chloe,” Brendan reassured for the fifth time. “If you can hang on till I grab my notes from the truck,I’d be happy to stay with the kids till Mrs. Mills can get here.” He stepped outside, retrieved what he needed and returned to the front hall where she stood waiting.
“I really hate imposing, but they’re so shorthanded lately. And I need the overtime—” Her voice halted, her cheeks turned a deep pink.
“You know, you could use a break from beating yourself up,” he told her as he spread his papers across her kitchen table and called himself an idiot for saying it. It was none of his
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