Page 29 of Cowboy’s Christmas Baker

“Sugarplum,” he said fondly, turning to her. “This is a nice surprise.”

“I brought gingerbread pound cake,” she said, holding up the bag with a smile.

“With citrus glaze?” he asked hopefully.

“With extra citrus glaze,” she said, heading up the porch steps. The fresh pine wreath smelled amazing, but it was the only decoration up so far.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Come on in.”

“Hey, if you want, I can help you drag the decorations out of the garage first,” she said, placing the bag on the porch table.

“Nah,” he replied, waving her off.

“If you’re sure,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, nodding. “I want to catch up with my girl. Let’s have some cake.”

He opened the front door and she headed inside, stopping to take off her boots and coat.

The house was a little colder than usual. Mom had always liked it extra warm, even though that meant a higher oil bill. And she had always been the one who kept the house neat and tidy. She kept a little chart on the fridge that Mal and Dean used to keep track of their chores too.

Every time Mal stopped by now, she expected to find the place a mess. The loss of her mom had wrecked them all, but her dad had been hit the hardest.

But once again, the house was neat as a pin—the pine floors gleamed, the sofa pillows were all fluffed up, and the books and figurines proudly displayed on the built-ins that flanked the fireplace were free of even a speck of dust. Her dad was still using Mom’s chart, keeping the home she was so proud of just the way she would have wanted it.

Mal found it reassuring and heartbreaking all at once.

They had made it all the way back to the kitchen before she realized that there were no decorations up in the house either. They often waited on a fresh Christmas tree. The house was small, and putting up the tree meant one of the overstuffed chairs had to go out on the back porch to make room for it. But by now, Mom and Dad always had the manger scene out on the mantel and the decorations Dean and Mal had made over the years hung from the curtain rods. They even had a special ribbon for hanging last year’s Christmas cards from the door of the coat closet, and that was missing too.

“I’ll start the kettle,” her dad said, heading over to the sink.

Mal grabbed a cutting board and a knife from the block, and sliced them each a generous piece of pound cake.

When she opened the cupboard, she couldn’t help noticing that the regular plates were still there, not the special Christmas ones they always used in December.

Biting her lip, she grabbed the plates and a pair of forks, and headed over to the table.

The kitchen was small and fairly dim, but it had a lovely window overlooking the backyard that you could see from the kitchen table. It was dark outside, but Mal could still see the moonlight glowing on the unbroken snow that covered the lawn from the porch to the back fence.

“Here we go,” her dad said, setting down two mugs of peppermint tea. “Oh, doesn’t that look good?”

Mal had to smile at the way his face lit up as he gazed down at his slab of cake.

“I made it today,” she told him. “So it’s nice and fresh.”

“To daughters who stay local,” he said, lifting a bite of cake in a little toast.

“To dads who say the door is always open,” she replied, lifting up her own fork.

They both took their first bites, her dad humming contentedly around his.

“This hits the spot, Sugarplum,” he said. “Pipes under Mrs. Stinson’s laundry room froze again. I had the devil of a time getting under there to change them out. I wish she’d let me insulate that mudroom properly so it wouldn’t keep happening.”

“Why doesn’t she?” Mal asked. “She can afford to do it, right?”

“She’s got that mansion,” Dad said, shrugging. “And she certainly doesn’t spend her money on anything around town. But she still has the guys at the firehouse pumping out her basement whenever there’s a big storm instead of just fixing the problem.”

“That’s a shame,” Mal said, shaking her head.