Page 30 of Cowboy’s Christmas Baker

“If she weren’t so sour, I’d have put in a sump pump for her a long time ago,” her dad said. “But I don’t dare hurt her pride or tell her that house needs a thing she didn’t call me for, even if I’m not charging for it.”

That sounded like Mal’s dad. He still worked as a handyman in town on houses big and small, and in a pinch, he’d help out with other things too, whether folks could pay in cash, or in farm produce, or not pay at all. Dean had once taken two free piano lessons from old Mrs. Winlop, whose gutters their dad had rehung after a bad ice storm. Dean didn’t really want the lessons, but Dad insisted that he wasn’t going to hurt the lady’s feelings by refusing.

Charles Fisher’s big heart was the reason their own family had such a small house, and back when she was in high school, Mal often wished bitterly that he would start charging more so they could afford the pretty clothes her classmates had, or even a second car for her and Dean to use.

But now that Mal was older, she had come to truly appreciate the way her dad took care of his community. If she did any good in Trinity Falls herself, it was only due to his example.

And that same community had rallied around them after they lost her mom, dropping off casseroles, boxes of groceries, and fresh flowers, along with offers to do cleaning and shopping, and stuffing the mailbox with handwritten tributes scrawled in cards and letters.

Starting a month or two after the funeral, Dad had gotten much busier than usual too. Mal had a sneaking suspicion that a whole lot of folks were finally getting around to changing out their storm windows and putting in frost-proof hose bibs just to keep Charles Fisher from having too much time on his own these days.

But he was still quieter than usual. She missed the version of her dad with the big booming voice and the zany sense of humor, who filled the house with lighthearted laughter.

But she didn’t really blame him. Her own heart didn’t exactly feel light lately either.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Dad said, rousing her from her thoughts. “But Reggie may have mentioned that you were seeing someone?”

“Oh wow,” Mal said. “Do you have him on payroll or something?”

“No way,” her dad said, chuckling. “He just likes hanging out on your block, says he can see the world go by from Park Avenue.”

“He sure can,” Mal said. “And he’s right. There’s a new guy in town he’s probably seen me with. But we’re not dating or anything.”

“That right?” her dad asked, taking a big bite of cake like he didn’t want her to see his face.

“Really,” she told him. “I’m not. Though… I do kind of like him.”

“Tell me about him,” Dad said, looking up.

“We actually met online,” Mal said, then wished she hadn’t.

“Like online dating?” her father asked, a furrow appearing in his brow.

“No,” she said. “More like… well, a chat room for people who have lost a loved one.”

She braced herself. Dad hadn’t wanted to do anything like that, not in person at the church and certainly not online. She hoped he wouldn’t judge her too harshly.

“That’s good,” he said gruffly after a moment. “I’m glad you found something that helps you.”

“It does,” she said, nodding. “And it was really easy to join⁠—”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want all that. I’m doing just fine.”

The signs were all around her that he was doing fine. But Mal still didn’t believe him. Her parents had been wildly in love, even after so many years. Mal had lost her mother, but her dad had lost his whole world.

“Anyway, we met on there and he always seemed to know what to say,” she said, still feeling a little self-conscious. “And I shared some recipes with him, for some of the things his wife used to make.”

She left out that sharing the recipes had led to more messages, which had evolved into a daily exchange of encouragement, jokes, funny memes, and catching up throughout the day.

Her dad nodded slowly.

“Once we were friends, he told me he was moving out this way,” she went on. “Turns out his mom was a Cassidy. He used to spend school breaks out here when he was a kid.”

“Is he Josie Hamilton’s boy?” her dad asked.

“No,” she said. “At least I don’t think so. His name is Harrison Law.”

“Right,” her dad said. “Nice kid, as far as I remember. But quiet. He’s young to lose a wife.”