mother’s over her head. It didn’t help to know that Jesse probably had been really hungry, when to Nick the words were just a figure of speech. Myla only gave him a blank stare, though, so to hide his confusion he munched on a chocolate chip cookie while he watched the children, and their mother when she wasn’t looking.
The baggy teal sweater brought out the green in her expressive eyes. Worn jeans tugged over scuffed red Roper boots encased her slim hips and long legs. Couldn’t be more than thirty, just a few years younger than him, yet she carried a lot of responsibility on her slim shoulders.
“You’ve got a pretty name,” he said to stop the flow of his own erratic thoughts.
“I was named after my grandmother,” she said. “She hated her name because people would always call her Mi-lee. My mother named me after her to make her feel better about it.”
“Where’s your family?” he asked, hoping to learn more about her situation.
She shot him that luminous stare before answering. “My parents passed away several years ago—a year and a half apart. First my mother, from a stroke. Then Daddy. The doctors said his heart gave out, and I think that’s true. He died of loneliness. They’d been married forty years.”
Nick felt a coldness in the center of his heart, a coldness that reminded him of his firm commitment to keep that part of himself closed away. “Same with my parents. My mother died of cancer, and my father was never really the same after her death.” He looked down at his half-eaten sandwich. “He…he depended on his Ruthie, and her death destroyed him. It was as if he changed right before my eyes.” Not wanting to reveal more, he asked her, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
She nodded. “A brother in Texas—he’s got five kids. And a sister in Georgia. She just got married a few months ago.” She sat silent for a minute, then finished. “They don’t need me and my problems right now.”
“Do they know…about what’s happened to you?”
Her flushed face gave him his answer. She jumped up to clean away their dishes. “No, they don’t. Not yet.” Turning toward the sink, she added, “I really appreciate your help, but I don’t intend to live on handouts. If my job hunt pays off—”
“What sort of work are you looking for?”
“A waitress, maybe, for now. I love to cook. One day, I’d like to run my own restaurant.”
Nick wanted to touch her face for some strange reason. She had that dreamy look about her again, and it endeared her to him. He felt an overwhelming need to buy a building and turn it into a restaurant.
But he didn’t touch her, and he didn’t offer to fund her venture. Instead, he looked down, as embarrassed by being wealthy as she obviously was by being destitute.
Myla’s touch on his arm brought his head up. “I want to thank you, Mr. Rudolph, for helping us. All day, I prayed for help, and then you came along. You offered us shelter, and that’s something I’ll never forget. So thank you, for your kindness and your understanding.”
Nick looked in her eyes and felt himself falling, falling, as if in slow motion. Moving away abruptly, he said, “Call me Nick, please. And you don’t have to thank me.”
The confused look she gave him only added to his woes. He couldn’t tell her that he rarely let people get close enough to touch him, either physically or emotionally. He couldn’t erase the hurt look in her eyes.
When a special news bulletin interrupted the noisy cartoon on the nearby television, Nick was thankful for the distraction until he heard the report.
The familiar face of the local weatherman filled the screen, and after going over the progress of the ice storm covering the city, the newscaster suggested everyone stay put for the night. “The roads are becoming treacherous and travel may be hazardous until this storm passes. We should be able to resume normal activities by midmorning when higher temperatures and sunshine clear this system out.”
Nick eyed the television, willing the man to say it wasn’t so. When that didn’t happen, he looked toward the silent phone, all hopes of Lydia’s much-needed help freezing up like his winding driveway outside. With three pairs of questioning eyes centered on him, he could only give a gracious but shaky smile.
Thoroughly at odds, he wanted to ask Myla Howell why him? Why’d she have to pick him? And what was he supposed to do with her now? Instead, he took her hand. “Well, that settles it. You heard the man. You can stay here tonight.”
“What?” Myla gave him a stunned look. “But what about your sister? What about Magnolia House?”
“It can wait,” Nick stated firmly, silently wishing Lydia would call and rescue him before he drowned in those questioning green eyes. Or was he silently hoping she wouldn’t call? To counter his treacherous thoughts, he added, “It’s late and Magnolia House is downtown. It’s too dangerous a trip in these icy roads. You’ll have to stay here tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” His tone was firmer than his confidence. Right now, he wasn’t very sure of anything—except that he couldn’t send this family back out into that cold, dark night.
Chapter Two
“Henrietta, please don’t cry.”
Nick ran a hand through his tousled hair, then gratefully accepted the cup of coffee the whimpering housekeeper handed him before she burst into tears again.
“Ah, Henny, don’t do that. It’s too early in the morning for theatrics. I didn’t know my Christmas present would move you to tears.”
“But, Nicky,” the older woman began, her shimmering gray curls not moving a centimeter even though she bobbed her head with each word, “it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. God bless you. You’re a good man…a good one…” Her words trailed off as her watery eyes centered on something beyond Nick’s head.
Nick turned to find Myla Howell standing in the doorway, wearing the same clothes she’d had on the night before.
“I’m sorry,” Myla said, sensing she’d interrupted something important. “I heard voices….”
“Nicky?”
Myla looked from the old woman who stood with her hands on her hips to the man sitting like a king at the head of the long Queen Anne dining table. He was trying to read the newspaper, and judging from the frown marring his handsome face, he was losing patience with the woman standing before him.
“Who’s this?” the woman asked, smiling kindly over at Myla.
Nick looked up. Myla didn’t miss the surprise or the grimace on his face. “Oh, hello. Henny, this is Myla Howell. Due to the bad weather, Myla and her children were forced to spend the night in one of the guest rooms.” He extended a hand toward the woman. “Myla, this is Henrietta Clark, my housekeeper and best friend.”
Myla was thankful when the woman didn’t ask any questions. “Nice to meet you.”
Henny smiled and waved a hand. “Did I wake you up with my wailing, honey? I’m sorry, but I’m so excited. Nicky gave me the best Christmas present before he left for Dallas the other day—a trip to see my daughter and her children in Arkansas.”
“And she’s wailing because she’s so touched,” Nick added on a droll note. “She’s leaving today.”
“That’s wonderful,” Myla said. “I know you’ll have a great time.”
“I plan to,” Henrietta said, “if I don’t spend the whole time worrying about Nicky and Lydia.”
“We’ll be fine,” Nick said, his attention already back on his paper. Then he asked Myla, “Would you like some breakfast, a cup of coffee, maybe?”
Myla took the cup of