The Deputy's Holiday Family

Lacie’s heart grew hopeful. Perhaps Mom hadn’t lost all sentiment.

She crossed to the small table where Kenzie was carefully moving the tiny furniture pieces, her smile widening with each step. The kid must have been having fun because she hadn’t even noticed that Lacie was there.

Kneeling beside her niece, she said, “What are you doing?”

“Playing house.” Tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth, Kenzie placed the miniature baby into the tiny crib.

“Are you having fun?”

Kenzie nodded, her expression somewhere between determined and delighted.

“I know just how you feel, Kenzikins.” Lacie’s father had built the dollhouse when she and Marissa were little. Like Kenzie, Lacie would spend hours rearranging furniture and contemplating different wall colors. No wonder she’d gone into interior design.

“Would you mind helping me assemble these, dear?” At the counter beside the cash register, Mom shoved glitter-covered branches into one of five tall galvanized buckets.

“Sure.” She shrugged out of her coat, setting it beside the dollhouse before joining her mother.

Reaching for a trio of sparkling white branches, she mustered the courage to broach the topic of the holidays. “I noticed there wasn’t a turkey in the fridge or freezer. Would you like me to pick one up?” One at a time, she plunged the stems into the Epsom salt snow.

“That won’t be necessary.” After admiring her handiwork, Mom picked up a spool of wide purple ribbon and stretched a length around the first bucket. “I thought we’d just go to Bon Ton or The Outlaw. No point in spending our day off in the kitchen when for all intents and purposes, Thanksgiving is just another day.”

Had Mom’s heart really grown that hard?

“No, it’s not.” She stared at the woman in disbelief. “Thanksgiving is when family and friends come together to give thanks for their blessings.” Like we used to do when Daddy was alive.

Her mother smiled, seemingly unaffected by Lacie’s comments. “Okay, you pick where we should eat then.”

Passing the first bucket off to Mom for ribbon, Lacie reached for another cluster of branches. “Actually, I was kind of looking forward to some of your homemade dressing.”

No response. Barbara Collier had always been good at avoiding conflict.

But Lacie wasn’t willing to let it drop. “What if I cooked Thanksgiving dinner? Nothing fancy. Just some turkey, dressing—I’ll need your recipe—and maybe a pumpkin pie. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

“I don’t know.” Mom tied another swath of ribbon. “I hate for you to go to so much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I like to cook.” Especially when she had people to cook for. “Throw in those traditional recipes and I’m a goner.”

Mom was silent for a long moment. Finally, “Oh, all right. If you insist.”

She wasn’t aware she was insisting, but as long as they were on a roll... “And then, after dinner, maybe we could put up the Christmas tree.” Biting her lip, she held her breath and stabbed another twig in the bucket.

But her mother remained focused on the task at hand. Without so much as flinching, she said, “Lacie, you know I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore. If you want to take Kenzie to some of the festivities around town, that’s fine. But there is no Christmas at the house.”

She glared at her mother. “There used to be.”

How she used to love coming down the hallway Christmas morning to the glow of twinkling lights and the soft sound of Christmas carols playing in the background. So many memories. Memories she desperately wanted to recreate for Kenzie. God, please soften Mom’s heart.

“That was a long time ago.” Her mother moved her reading glasses to the top of her head and looked at Lacie. “People change.”

“And you won’t change for your granddaughter?”

Scooping up the two completed buckets, she whisked past Lacie to disperse them throughout the store. “We all have our beliefs and convictions. I have chosen not to celebrate Christmas.”

The bell over the door jangled then, ushering in a customer and effectively ending their conversation. Even though Lacie had so much more to say.

She glimpsed the little girl across the room. No, that wasn’t a discussion to be had while Kenzie was within earshot.

So she finished the other three buckets while Mom assisted her customer, then went to check on Kenzie. “Are you about ready to go pick out your birthday cake?”

The child beamed. “I want chocolate.”

Turning her gaze to the window, Lacie couldn’t help smiling. “Chocolate it is then.”

Maybe she’d even get the kid to take a nap this afternoon, allowing Lacie to work on that list for Matt.

Thoughts of the deputy had her wondering what he was doing for Thanksgiving. Perhaps they should invite him to join them. As a thank-you for helping her today.

She rubbed her arms, quickly dismissing the ridiculous notion. He had his own family. A rather large one, at that.

Besides, she had better things to do than worry about Matt Stephens’s Thanksgiving plans. Like figuring out how on earth she was going to have a Christmas for Kenzie when her mom was dead set against it.

* * *

An hour after Lacie pulled away, Matt sat at the counter at Granny’s Kitchen, a local diner, staring at his untouched burger. Seemed no matter how hard he tried to erase the memory, his mind kept rewinding to one February night nearly six years ago. Marissa’s last in Hawaii. A night that never should have happened.

His insides churned. The math added up. But still...

Marissa may have done him wrong, but she would have told him he had a child, wouldn’t she? Then again, she hadn’t told him she was dating someone else, either.

So why isn’t Kenzie’s dad raising her?

He picked up a fry and forced himself to take a bite. He didn’t want to believe it. But he couldn’t ignore it, either. Could Kenzie be his daughter?

“What’s up with the sad face?” A hand clamped on to Matt’s shoulder.

He looked up as his brother Andrew helped himself to one of his fries. “What are you doing here?”

Andrew plopped down in the seat beside him. “Carly’s putting up the Christmas decorations at Granger House, so I’m on my own for lunch.” For the past nineteen years, Andrew had lived in Denver, where he ran a multimillion-dollar commercial construction company. Until last spring when he sold it, came back to Ouray and married his high school sweetheart. Now they were stuck with him.

“Christmas decorations? It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

Andrew snagged another fry. “True, but we’ve got guests booked for this weekend, so the bed-and-breakfast portion of the house needs to be ready before then.” His gaze drifted to Matt’s plate. “Something wrong with your burger? You haven’t touched it.”

“Guess I’m not very hungry.”

His cell buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Gladys Bricker’s name on the screen. His favorite teacher must be baking again, because that was the only reason she ever called. A fiercely independent gal, Gladys had never married, but considered many of her former students her children. Himself included.

“Hello, Gladys.”

“Oh, Matt, I hate to bother you.”

Something in the eighty-one-year-old woman’s voice wasn’t quite right. “Gladys, you are never a bother. What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid I need some wood brought in. It’s already cut, but I just can’t seem to make it outside to get it.” His unease rose. That was definitely not like Gladys.

He stood. “Not to worry. I’m on my way.” He ended the call. “Looks like your timing is perfect, bro.” He slid his plate toward Andrew. “Duty calls.”

His older brother reached for the burger. “I’ll get the tab.”

“You do that,” said Matt as he made his way out the door into the brisk midday air. Honestly, he was grateful for Gladys’s call. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for a lengthy conversation with Andrew today. However, he was worried about the older woman.

He slid behind the wheel of his Tahoe and headed north, continuing outside of town. Gladys had always been faithful in keeping in touch with him over the years. He still had all the letters she’d sent him while he was in the navy.

A few minutes later, he pulled into her drive, gravel crunching beneath his tires. Exiting the vehicle, he spotted the large pile of wood near the barn at the back of the property. He made his way there first and filled his arms before heading to the small, white, single-story house with green trim.

He tugged open the screen door and knocked. “Gladys? It’s Matt.”

His anxiety heightened as the seconds dragged on. Reaching for the knob, he gave it a twist and inched the door open. “Gladys?”

“In—” coughing echoed from the living room that sat at the opposite end of the kitchen “—in here.”

He continued into the house, moving through the compact yet tidy kitchen and into the chilly living room. There, on the other side of the room, in front of the big picture window, the elderly woman lay in her recliner, buried under a stack of blankets, her short gray hair sticking up every which way. She looked frailer than he’d ever imagined.

Crossing to the wood-burning stove in the corner of the room, he dropped the wood before touching a hand to the side of the stove. “This thing is stone-cold.” He opened the door to see only ashes in the bottom.

He twisted around. “What’s going on, Gladys? Why don’t you have a fire going?”

Her face was pale, but she sent him weak smile. “I ran out of wood.”

This wasn’t good. “You’re sick, aren’t you?”

“Just a little cold.” One wrinkled hand clasped the blankets to her chest while the other held tightly to a handkerchief she used to cover her mouth when she coughed.

A few quick strides put him at her side. He touched her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Am I?” Clouded blue eyes met his. “Feels pretty chilly to me.”

He knelt beside her. “Have you been to see the doctor?”

“No.”

He knew what he had to do, but Gladys wasn’t going to like it. The best thing he could do was to make her a little more comfortable before bringing up the ambulance. A few more minutes wouldn’t make that much difference.

“Okay, let me get this fire started.” Back at the stove, he removed the ashes before adding a starter stick from the box he spotted on the shelf and a couple of thin logs.

After closing the doors, he went into the kitchen and set the four-cup coffeepot to brew. Probably not the best thing, but she needed something warm. A few minutes later, he filled an old green coffee cup halfway and took it to her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Thank you, Matt. You’re a good boy.”

No, a good boy would have checked on her more often.

After adding another log to the firebox, he pulled up a chair and sat beside her. “I wish you had called me earlier.”

“I know. But I—”

“Hate to bother me, I know.” Resting his forearms on his thighs, he leaned closer. “Gladys, I need to call an ambulance.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she passed him her cup.

“I’m afraid you have more than just a cold and I want the EMTs to come and check you out.”

“Can’t I just go to the doctor?” She coughed.

“And how are you going to get there? You’re in no condition to drive yourself.” Any other time he’d take her himself, but since he was the only deputy on duty... Besides, she’d likely be going to the hospital in Montrose anyway.

Her thin lips pursed as she turned her gaze to the conifer-dotted landscape outside the window. “If you think that would be best.”

He laid a hand atop hers. “I do. I want you to get better.”

He made the call, then monitored the fire and paced the beige carpet as he waited for the EMTs to arrive.

“When did you do this?” He pointed to two photos, one color, the other black-and-white, encased in a single frame on the wall near the opening to the kitchen.

“About a month ago. That’s my first graduating class—” more coughing “—and my last graduating class.” Forty years of teaching. Definitely impressive.

“Hey, there’s me.” He pointed to the newer photo.

“Bring it over here, please.”

He lifted the frame and took it to her.

She smiled as she touched the glass. “You and your brothers all had your father’s dark eyes.”

“Except Daniel,” he said. The baby of the family was the polar opposite with his blond hair and blue eyes.

“Oh, yes. He took after your mother. But the rest of you... Anyone could tell you were a Stephens.”

His gut clenched, images of Kenzie flashing through his mind. Her dark eyes. That sense of familiarity washed over him again. Could it be true?

Thirty minutes after the EMTs arrived, he watched as they loaded Gladys into the back of the ambulance. While bronchitis was a good bet, given her age, the doctors wanted to observe her to be certain there was nothing else going on.

He returned to the house to make sure everything was in order and the fire in the wood stove was put out. He’d have to touch base with the church and others in town so Gladys would have plenty of folks to check on her and bring her food once she returned home.

Before leaving, he picked up the framed photo and hung it back on the wall. Anyone could tell you were a Stephens.

His eyes closed. God, forgive me. I know I made a mistake all those years ago. How do I know if Kenzie is my child?

By the time his shift ended, he could hardly wait to get home. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but if what played across his brain was truly from God, he might have the answer he’d prayed for.

He pulled his Tahoe into the drive, ditched his gear at the back door and headed straight for the bookshelves surrounding the fireplace in the living room. Quickly locating the scrapbook his mother had compiled for him and his sister-in-law Carly had assembled, he flipped past the baby pictures and those of him as a toddler, his heart pounding when he came to a photo of him at age four and a half. Except the face staring back at him was Kenzie’s. The nose, the eyes—He touched a finger to his forehead—even that little widow’s peak had Stephens written all over it.

He dropped onto the couch, feeling as though the air had been sucked from his lungs.

Kenzie was his daughter.

Chapter Four

Standing at the island in her mother’s kitchen, Lacie transferred the remnants of Kenzie’s birthday cake to a large plastic container then licked a smudge of the super sweet frosting from her finger. Thanks to no nap earlier in the day, save for fifteen short minutes in the car on the way back from Montrose, the little girl had crashed early. Still, it had been a good birthday. Mom had gone above and beyond on the gifts. Clothes, toys, books... Yet she refused to do Christmas. Unless the abundance was to make up for not celebrating Christmas.

Whatever the case, they’d all had a pleasant evening.

She stowed the cake in the fridge, rinsed and dried her hands, then grabbed her laptop and settled on the couch in the living room. Since she’d sent off Matt’s list this afternoon, she was now free to see if any new job listings had been posted. Because if she could find something that started before Christmas, her problems would be solved.

“I see you got a turkey.” Sitting in an adjacent chair near the window, Mom looked up from her book and moved her reading glasses to the top of her head.

Lacie lifted a brow. Was that merely an observation or were they about to enter round two of holiday discussions? If so, she’d better prepare to stand her ground.

“Just a small one.” She snagged the deep purple plush throw from the back of the sofa and tossed it over her legs while she waited for the website to load. “Oh, and don’t forget to give me your dressing recipe.”

“It’s in the recipe file in the cupboard.” Mom reached for her herbal tea on the side table. “It’s fairly basic, no special ingredients, so you shouldn’t have any trouble finding what you need at Duckett’s.”

Contemplating an inevitable trip to Ouray’s one and only grocer, Lacie was pleased to see that her mother had embraced the idea of having Thanksgiving here at the house. Now if she would just come around to Lacie’s way of thinking regarding Christmas...

A knock sounded at the door.

She and her mother exchanged quizzical looks.

“I wonder who that could be.” Mom set her cup down, stood and started for the door. Fingering the sheer curtain aside, she peered through the sidelight window and smiled. “I have a feeling it’s for you.”

“Me?” Lacie set her computer on the coffee table, tossed the throw aside and stood in her socked feet. Who would be here to see her? The only person she’d had contact with since she’d been back was—

Her gut tightened. Oh, please don’t let it be—

“Matt, this makes twice in one day.” Mom held the door, allowing him and a blast of cold air to enter. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Pleasure? Lacie tugged at the sleeves of her bulky sweater. That was debatable.

“Hey, Barbara.” He wore a heavy coat, a pair of well-worn jeans, gloves and a black beanie. And if the hefty dose of pink coloring in his cheeks and nose was any indication, he’d walked. “I’m sorry to stop by so late.”

“Nonsense.” Mom closed the door behind him. “It’s only eight thirty.”

Yeah, never mind the fact that they were settling in for a cozy evening.

When Matt’s dark gaze moved to Lacie, she noticed something different, though. His shoulders seemed to slump, as though he were carrying a heavy burden, and there was something sad in his expression. Something that made her heart go out to him, though she quickly snatched it back.

Had something happened with the play? Mrs. Nichols?

“Is Kenzie in bed?” He watched her intently.

Uncertain how she felt about this side of Matt, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. Why?”

“Could we take a walk?”

A walk? Now? But it was late. Moreover, it was cold.

“We won’t be long,” he added.

She looked to her mother.

“I’ll keep an ear out for Kenzie.” Obviously the woman had read her mind.

Lacie glanced down at her computer. So much for job hunting. “Give me a sec to get ready.”

She donned her coat, scarf, hat and boots, all the while trying to figure out why Matt would suddenly feel like taking a walk. With her of all people. Unless something had happened. Or he simply wanted to discuss his duties as director? But couldn’t they do that here or someplace else that was warm?

Tugging on her gloves, she let go a sigh. She’d find out soon enough.

Outside, the air was still as they started up the darkened street. The clouds that had plagued them all day had finally dissipated, leaving a plethora of stars in their wake. It also meant they were likely in for a very cold night. Perhaps a hot bath would be in order when she got back.

“How’d the party go?” Matt’s breath hung in the freezing night air.

“Not too bad, considering there were only three of us.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Kenzie made out like a bandit.”

“I’m guessing she’d consider it a success then.” Though she didn’t look at him, she could hear a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Probably.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, seemingly heading nowhere in particular, which had her wondering what this walk was all about.

Approaching a dim streetlight at the corner, she said, “Did you want to discuss the email I sent you?”

He glanced her way, his expression somber. “You sent me an email?”

“I told you I would.”

Again looking straight ahead, he said, “I haven’t checked. Had other stuff on my mind.”

Okay, then what—

Hands in his pockets, he kept walking. “I’m curious—why isn’t Kenzie’s father raising her?”

“What?” How dare he ask something so personal?

“I mean, typically when one parent passes, the other assumes custody.”

“Unless there’s a will that stipulates otherwise. Kenzie’s father wanted nothing to do with her. My sister wanted me to raise Kenzie. Not that it’s any business of yours.”

“Were you planning to keep it a secret like Marissa did?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What secret?”

“That I’m Kenzie’s father.”

Dumbfounded, she stopped and simply stared at him. “If you’re trying to be funny, you missed the mark by a long shot.”

He stared back at her. “No, I’m quite serious.”

Not to mention crazy. She shook her head. “Did you not pay attention in ninth grade biology? It only takes nine months to have a baby. It’s been sixteen years since you and Marissa were a couple, so even if you had—”

“Marissa came to Hawaii.” The intensity of his gaze heightened and bore straight into her. “The February before Kenzie was born. But then you probably knew that.”

Her mind raced to keep up. Of course, she remembered her sister’s trip. Marissa and Grant had just broken up for the umpteenth time.

“I was there with the navy,” Matt continued. “I spent the week showing her around Oahu. And then...” He turned away as though embarrassed.

She burrowed her hands deeper into her coat. Her sister never said anything about seeing Matt. And as she recalled, Marissa and Grant got back together shortly after she returned from her trip.

February? She ticked off the months on her frozen fingers. March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, Novem...

A sickening flurry of emotions began to churn in her belly, spaghetti and chocolate cake morphing into a lead weight. She swallowed hard as the potential reality of Matt’s confession sank in.

It couldn’t be true, though. Grant was Kenzie’s father. He and Marissa had dated off and on for years. Until shortly before Kenzie was born, when he walked away for good.

She dared a glance at Matt, squaring her shoulders. Marissa would have told her if he was Kenzie’s father. “Matt, I don’t know how you came up with such a crazy notion, but I can assure you that you are not Kenzie’s father.”

He twisted toward her. “Really? Then how do you explain this?” He held out a five-by-seven photo. A little boy with dark eyes alight with amusement and dark brown hair that had been combed back to reveal a slight widow’s peak... Just like Kenzie. “That’s me at four years old. When your mother introduced me to Kenzie earlier today, I felt as though I’d met her before. I didn’t get it at first. Until you told me how old she was.” His voice cracked. “I’m not imagining this, Lace. I truly believe that Kenzie is my daughter.”

She stared at the photo, feeling as though she might be sick. Grant was as fair-haired as Marissa had been, with eyes just as blue. Why hadn’t her sister told her she saw Matt? That there was a possibility he could be Kenzie’s father?

She looked away. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. Jutting her chin into the frigid air, she glared right at Matt. “It’s not true.” Then, before he could say another word, she turned and ran back home.

* * *

Thanks to Lacie’s abrupt departure last night, sleep had evaded Matt. Now as midafternoon approached, he was starting to feel the effects. Unfortunately, his shift wasn’t over for another three hours.

Under what he would normally consider a beautiful blue sky, he maneuvered his Tahoe through the neighboring town of Ridgway, eyeing the jagged, snow-covered peaks of the Cimarrons to the east. He wanted to kick himself for accusing Lacie of hiding Kenzie’s paternity, when it was obvious she was as shocked by the revelation as he was. What he couldn’t figure out, though, was why she refused to believe him.

Because maybe you’re not Kenzie’s father.

Yet he’d gone off half-cocked with no concrete proof to back up his supposition.

Anyone could tell you were a Stephens.

The image of Kenzie’s face haunted him. Wouldn’t a father know his own child? After all, it wasn’t like he was looking to be a dad. And while the evidence he had was circumstantial, it all added up and was impossible to ignore. At least until he had proof to the contrary.