Page 28 of Cowboy’s Christmas Baker

“Hey, how’s it going back here?” Harrison’s deep voice boomed. “Oh.”

Somehow, his expression of dismay at the two of them bent over cackling in the middle of a giant puddle of water and lemon slices only made them laugh harder.

“I’m s-sorry,” Mal gasped. “I s-spilled s-some l-lemon water. C-careful.”

“She spilled it on purpose,” Katie yelled, clearly delighted. “She spilled it on purpose.”

“I’m sure she didn’t,” Harrison said, frowning.

“No, she’s right,” Mal said, shaking her head.

“Why?” Harrison asked, looking truly perplexed.

“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Mal repeated, then lost herself to more laughter.

“She was being polite, Dad,” Katie said firmly, stepping over toward Mal, as if to defend her. But she slipped on a lemon slice before she made it and lost her balance.

Mal snatched her out of the air before she could fall, and the two of them clung to each other, trying to stop giggling.

“Well, I guess you guys are doing okay back here,” Harrison said, his frown finally disappearing.

The song on the radio ended and The Beach Boys’ “Little Saint Nick” began.

Harrison got a funny smile on his face and the next thing Mal knew, he was singing along.

She watched, completely gobsmacked, as the big man crooned and then started dancing. His voice wasn’t half bad, and his movements were surprisingly graceful.

Katie turned to Mal and started laughing again as soon as their eyes met.

Mal felt warmth spread in her chest. What did this remind her of?

But she knew already. It felt like family, back in the days when she and Dean had laughed their heads off while Dad did silly things trying to make Mom laugh too, and almost always succeeded.

For just a second, Mal felt like she was a part of this little family.

And she was surprised at just how good that felt.

7

MALLORY

Mal walked down Columbia Avenue later that evening, carrying the gingerbread pound cake in a white bakery bag.

The town was quiet and peaceful. By now most folks were home eating dinner, so there weren’t many people out and about, but warm lights glowed in the houses as she passed.

Growing up in Trinity Falls, Mal sometimes thought she had a memory to go along with every landmark.

She passed the Vargas place, where a life-sized wooden cut-out of carolers was displayed on the lawn with little solar spotlights shining up on it. Al Vargas was pretty handy, and had made the whole display himself. His favorite place to be was the rocking chair on the front porch, but of course he was inside at this hour, so the porch was empty.

A little further on, she passed the local doctor’s office, which was part of his home. Frank Wilkinson had lived and practiced there for ages, taking care of generations of Trinity Falls residents for so long that even though he had retired three years ago and handed down his practice to Kellan Webb, Mal figured that she, like most folks in town, would always think of the place as Dr. Wilkinson’s office.

Columbia curved slightly and she headed down Oberlin, passing the big Victorians with their turrets and slate roofs. She continued all the way down to the corner of Lafayette, where her parents’ small colonial sat on a slightly wider lot than most of the larger homes.

Her dad was on the porch—the only person in sight. While the other houses were lit up with practically every window blazing, the only light he had on was the porch light. In its glow, she could see her dad was hanging a pine wreath on the front door.

Good, she thought to herself. Decorating is good.

“Hi, Dad,” she called up to him.