Hannah Dorchester studied her travel-weary, disheveled niece and nephew sitting across from her in the McDonald’s booth.
Neither had spoken since she’d picked them up at the Minneapolis–St. Paul airport a half hour ago, except to refuse every restaurant she could think of that might be open on Thanksgiving evening—hence, the fast food.
Though even in this child-friendly atmosphere they hadn’t touched a bite of their meals. And no wonder. Today they’d faced yet another huge change in their young lives.
After they were orphaned seven months ago in Texas when their parents died in a head-on collision with a semi, their elderly great-aunt Cynthia in Dallas had been adamant about gaining custody.
But two weeks ago she’d tripped over a toy truck and broke her hip badly. She’d then informed Hannah she simply couldn’t handle the children any longer—not while facing a long and painful recuperation.
Hannah had immediately begun the process of gaining out-of-state custody of the children. With a family law attorney at her side, she’d then gone to court to gain temporary guardianship.
Given that there were no other options besides Hannah or long-term foster care, social services and the court—bless them all—had expedited the process.
Scowling, Molly poked at the paper wrapping of her cheeseburger, then shoved it aside. “I don’t even know why we had to come way up here. I don’t like Wisconsin.”
“You’ve never been here, honey.” Hannah chose her words carefully. “It takes a long time to recover from a broken hip, and now Aunt Cynthia realizes she can’t keep you and your brother any longer, because she...um...just isn’t young enough to raise two children. But I know you’re going to make some great friends here. And if you start missing her, maybe we can all go down for a visit—”
“She didn’t even like us,” Molly scoffed. “She was mean.”
Hannah blinked. Cynthia was an elegant, austere woman who had never been particularly friendly during the few times Hannah had seen her. But mean? “Maybe she just isn’t used to being around kids.”
“She kept saying our uncle Ethan would be coming to take us, and he’d make us behave or else. ’Cause he’s some kind of soldier.”
Ethan?
Hannah swallowed hard, willing away the painful memories of the man she hadn’t seen for thirteen years. A man she never, ever, wanted to see again. “I’m sure she didn’t really mean—”
“Why would he want us? We never even met him.” Molly angled an accusing glare at Hannah, then dropped her gaze to her lap. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And even you didn’t want us till now.”
“I did, honey. Believe me. But Texas prefers to keep children in their home state, if possible, so they’ll face less disruption. The judge decided Cynthia could provide a good home and keep you in your same schools.”
Left unsaid was the fact that Cynthia, a wealthy widow who owned a major western wear company, kept a team of lawyers on retainer who had made very sure that her wishes were met. Hannah hadn’t stood a chance in family court back then.
But now Cynthia’s determination made more sense. Ethan was Cynthia’s nephew. She’d apparently wanted to keep the children in Dallas, so the transition to his guardianship would be easier.
He’d probably even insisted on it.
Yet, seven months after the car wreck, he’d never showed up—no surprise there—and Cynthia was no longer capable, so now Hannah finally had a chance to give these kids the stable, loving home they deserved.
“We’ve got an hour drive ahead of us. Would you like to bring your food along?” she asked gently, wishing she could reach through the wall of grief surrounding them both.
Cole, only six years old, lifted his teary gaze briefly, shook his head and then slumped lower in his seat. “My m-mommy always h-had turkey an’ everything on Thanksgiving.”
His voice was so soft, so broken, that Hannah’s heart clenched. “I know, sweetheart. But since you traveled today, I thought maybe we could have our big dinner tomorrow. Is that all right?”
The bleak expression in his eyes reaffirmed what she already knew.
This wasn’t about the pumpkin pie or the holiday feast. It was about memories of happier times...and about loss. He just wanted his parents back.
And that could never be.
* * *
The next morning Hannah awoke early and made herself a cup of coffee, eager for the kids to wake up.
How life had changed in the blink of an eye—and how grateful she was for this wonderful blessing—a chance to finally surround her sister’s children with love and healing.
Until two weeks ago she’d devoted herself to her career as a physician’s assistant at the Aspen Creek Clinic and the ongoing renovation of this pretty little cottage on a hill north of Aspen Creek. Her only roomies had been the assorted rescue animals she took in, rehabbed and re-homed.
She’d had so much to arrange in a hurry after Cynthia’s injury—both here and down in Texas—that there’d been no time to create a welcoming home for Molly and Cole. So they’d stayed a couple extra nights with one of Cynthia’s friends while Hannah flew home to get the house ready.
Exhausted after their day of air travel and the sixty-mile drive from the airport, both children had been dazed and silent when she’d driven into her driveway at ten o’clock last night. They’d barely looked at their rooms before tumbling into bed without a whimper.
She’d checked on them several times during the night, but sometime during the early morning hours Cole had quietly dragged his quilt into Molly’s room and went back to sleep wrapped up like a mummy on the floor at the side of her bed.
Hannah’s stomach tightened. The poor little guy. Had he been scared? How had she failed to hear him?
Please, Lord, let this be an easy transition for them. They’ve been through so, so much.
A white-faced golden retriever limped to her side and bumped her hand, eliciting an ear rub. “So