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  Maddie fumbled with the page, and at last got it turned. Laurie smoothed it and read on. “ ‘On Thanksgiving day each mouse carried the best of his grains to the feasting table at the top of the hill. Sam carried the poor small grain, which was all he had gathered. His head hung sadly when he saw the wonderful things the others had brought.’ ”

  This time Luke beat Maddie to the page and turned it with deft fingers. Maddie pouted, but Laurie tapped her nose with a smile. “Look, Maddie, how sad poor Sam looks.”

  Maddie searched the page, her face filled with childish compassion.

  “ ‘The mice were angry. “Is that all you have? Will you eat the good things we have brought? No, you will not. Go away, Sam. We have no use for you.” ’ ” It hit too close to home. Sam didn’t measure up, so he was not to be accepted. Just as she … just as Cal.

  “ ‘Sam turned to go, taking his one small grain to have for his Thanksgiving day feast. Suddenly a gang of rats with long sharp teeth and angry eyes came to the top of the hill. “Go away mice. We want your food.” ’ ”

  Maddie’s eyes grew large. Luke flipped the page.

  “ ‘The mice were so afraid! They ran to hide. Poor Sam was left all alone. He was afraid, but his feet were not fast. His feet were not strong. He could not run away.’ ” Laurie turned to Luke. “What will he do, Luke?”

  In answer, Luke turned the page.

  “ ‘Sam turned circles and hopped on one foot. The rats stopped. The rats looked. The rats laughed. They laughed and laughed. They fell down and laughed. They held their tummies and rolled. Soon they were rolling down the hill. Faster and faster they rolled until they landed, splash, in the creek at the bottom of the hill.’ ”

  “They liked Sam’s tricks.” Luke laughed.

  “He’s funny.” Maddie patted the book.

  Laurie smiled. “ ‘The mice came out. They looked at Sam. They smiled. They laughed. “Your tricks have saved us,” they said. They carried him to the table and put his little grain on the top of the stack. “Hooray for Sam, our Thanksgiving mouse.” ’ ”

  Laurie stared at the cavorting mouse. More than ever it looked like Cal. She hadn’t seen him as the fire-safety clown, but she could imagine the children’s beaming faces as he taught them safety through skits or jokes or whatever he did.

  “Now this one.” Maddie landed another book in Laurie’s lap.

  With a happy sigh, Laurie settled into the couch. Nothing she’d acquired as Brian’s wife compared to this—not the elegant home complete with pool and tennis court and gym, not the dazzling friends she met at the club for lunch, not the shops on Rodeo Drive, none of it. So help her, she was happier sitting in this old house between her children, reading stories.

  Her father had failed, her mother had failed, and she had failed to make herself something grand, something elite, something wonderful. She was, after all, clay. She thought of the wrapped bundles of clay in the studio. It had been years since she’d thrown. But the first thing she had done when she came back was to retrieve her old wheel from Mother’s garage.

  Maybe today she’d use it again. She pictured Cal standing in the doorway. Maybe she’d make something for him. Maybe somewhere in the making she’d discover just what it was she wanted from him, and what she was willing to give in return.

  The front door opened, and Mother stood there. If Laurie could have gracefully groaned she would have. “Mother? What’s wrong?”

  “I tried to call.”

  “I took my phone off the hook.” So Maple couldn’t call her in if someone else quit. She needed this day for herself and the children.

  “My kitchen is flooding. I think a pipe’s burst somewhere under the floor.”

  “Did you call a plumber?”

  Her mother’s lips tightened primly. “I never allow a strange man into the house when I’m alone.”

  Laurie nodded. So much for a full day with the children. She straightened Maddie, who seemed to have sensed the demise of their time together and was pressing into her side. “Would you like me to come over while the plumber works?”

  “Bring the children, of course.”

  Luke groaned, but only loud enough for Laurie to hear. She turned to him. “Why don’t we bag up the books and bring them along.” She could always hope that her presence in the house would be enough, that she could still devote this scarce day off to Maddie and Luke. But she wouldn’t stake her life on it. She gathered the children and the books and started for the door.

  “Have you talked to Brian?”

  Laurie stiffened and sent her mother a warning look. Her mother glanced at the children, then sighed, catching the unspoken message. She wouldn’t say anything yet, but at the first opportunity Laurie would have an earful. So much for a restful day. Laurie extinguished the candle and her hopes, then went out the door.

  Cal awoke with a cramp in his leg from holding it bent. Looking down, he saw that Annie had worked her way to the center of the bed and lay in a square of sunlight that was too bright for early morning. They’d both slept late and awkwardly, hence the cramp. He nudged her with his foot. “Hey. This is my bed, and you’re here by permission.” She lifted her head, wagged her tail, dragged herself closer until her face met his, and licked his chin.

  “All right, have it your way.” So he was a pushover. He rolled out of bed, gratified to see her jump down and try her leg. She limped but didn’t drag it as she had yesterday. He opened the door, hesitated, then carried her down the long stairs to the yard, hoping Mildred wouldn’t see.

  The dog didn’t want to go far. She was quick about her business, then eager to return to the safety and warmth of his room. She tried the stairs herself, and Cal let her make it to the top, then patted his congratulations.

  In the kitchen he started the coffee maker and brushed his teeth at the sink, a habit he’d acquired at the station on twenty-four-hour shifts, when he could only stagger one direction in the morning. That accomplished both necessities at one location. Annie stuck her nose into his palm, and he stroked her. What was he going to do with her while he was gone all day? After starting the coffee, he hit the bathroom.

  It was there that he thought of Ray. He could hire him to dogsit until Annie was recovered and knew the place well enough to be left on her own. When he finished his coffee, he dressed and headed for the garage.

  If Ray hadn’t been so groggy, he might have driven a harder bargain, but as it was, Cal got off easy: a six-pack of Bud and twenty bucks for the week. Not bad for the peace of mind. Annie was in good hands, he had no doubt. Ray was a softie for any animal, and her injury just about made a puddle of him.

  He drove to the station, ready to be reprimanded for his tardiness. Instead, Frank O’Connor had a grin that divided his face when Cal entered. The gap between his front teeth yawned like a miniature mine shaft.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Cal hung his coat on the hook.

  “Nothing at all.” O’Conner grinned broader.

  “I don’t like that look.”

  “Oh, you’re going to love it.”

  Cal hooked his thumbs into the top of his jeans. “Let me guess. I’m the keynote speaker for the women’s auxiliary fund-raiser.”

  “Close, but even better. You get to be Santa Claus.”

  “I what?”

  “You know, the gala. All that folderol?”

  “What does Santa Claus have to do with anything?”

  “It’s traditional for him to show up at the end of dinner. Kind of usher in the shopping season right after Thanksgiving.”

  “It’s not going to be me.” Cal shook his head as Frank nodded.

  “The women voted you in. Said you’re such a natural with the kiddos. You got such a ‘rapport.’ ”

  Where had he heard that? Oh no. The pink lady in Walgreen’s. Was she on the women’s auxiliary? She was the women’s auxiliary. “I don’t do Santa. I’m not fat, I don’t have a beard, and I don’t ho, ho, ho.”

  “Aw, what’s the
difference? You do Spanner.”

  Cal’s ears bur ned with indignation. “What’s the difference, Frank? What’s the difference?” His hands clenched. “The difference is Spanner saves lives, the same as you or anyone else in this department. I thought you understood that.”

  “Okay, okay.” O’Conner came close and slapped him on the shoulder. “Look, Cal, don’t get steamed. It’s community service.” He handed him the inspection schedule for the day. “I gave you a light load so you’d have time to swing by Lacey Matthews’ place and get your costume. Ho, ho, ho.” O’Conner broke into a belly laugh.

  Cal eyed his boss right down to the still-rolling belly that hung over his belt. He and Frank had faced a lot together. It was Frank who had pulled him free of the debris at the foot of the stairs. Frank who held him back from tearing his way inside again when the flames devoured the guts of the old bed-and-breakfast.

  Cal closed his eyes and forced his thoughts to the present battle. “I’ll make you a deal. You do Santa, and I’ll take the station Thanksgiving Day.”

  O’Conner stepped back. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Active duty?”

  “The whole deal.” As long as he’d been with the department, they’d never fought the red devil on Thanksgiving.

  O’Conner nodded. “Heck, if that’s what it takes to get you back, you’re on.”

  Cal held up a finger. “I’m only talking that one day.”

  “Whatever you say, Cal.” O’Conner beamed.

  Cal walked out feeling somehow swindled and definitely underappreciated. Spanner the same as Santa Claus? Maybe if he were Santa Claus he could have—

  Cal expelled his breath in a hard rush. Don’t go there. Not even in your thoughts. It should be no surprise that Frank held a low opinion of his work.

  So the clown suit was demeaning. Did that change the message? If putting on a nose and wig and funny shoes would make the kids listen—he’d go in his underwear if it made the kids listen. He tossed the inspection clipboard into the jeep and got in. Inspecting was another area he took seriously, more seriously than he had before. Now he knew firsthand what happened when safety measures were ignored. If people cringed when they saw him coming, so be it. They’d shake his hand someday.

  As Laurie had? He expelled his breath. So maybe the good old handshake was a little overdramatic. But wasn’t that what she wanted? Four weeks, and he could measure the time by how often he thought of her. He was addicted to her.

  The thought was grim. But that was his personality. Nothing lukewarm in his blood. No, sir. He just jumped in with two feet no matter what. When she was gone, mar r ied, lost, he had dated, worked, walked the woods like a maniac.

  No, he hadn’t spent the years pining. He’d hurt, and then he’d gone on, though if he were truthful, he’d made sure nothing too personal developed. But now … now he had another chance. Or was he fooling himself? Friends? Was it possible? He battled addiction every day. If he could kick the bottle, could he kick the Laurie habit?

  He went through his day with more efficiency than usual, not even stopping for lunch. Frank had given him a light load, so he ran home for a quick change into jeans and sweater, then checked Annie. She was curled up with Ray while he watched TV, and Cal ordered her to stay.

  He made a quick call, got a busy signal, and hung up. He didn’t try again. The signal had told him what he needed to know. Grabbing his toolbox, he headed back to the place that had called his name all day: Laurie’s house. He knocked. No answer. He rubbed his jaw and checked his watch.

  The busy signal should have meant she was home. But maybe she’d gone in to Maple’s for a dinner shift. His disappointment was palpable. As he turned from the door, Laurie’s Lexus angled into the driveway. He leaned against the door and waited, catching surprise in her glance, but not irritation. That was good.

  Luke was first out, running to him and stopping short with a skid. “I beat the first level.”

  Cal had to think, then grinned. “Tarzan?”

  Luke held the game up. “I beat it at Grandma’s.”

  Maddie ran up in white tights and wool jumper, Fluffy clutched to her breast. “Ruff, ruff.” She held the dog up for his pat.

  Cal felt a singular pleasure seeing them with the things he’d given. The joy of giving gifts was something else he’d learned from his dad. Jim Morrison had shown up at all times with little surprises for both Cal’s mother and the kids. That same joy filled Cal now as he whiffed the cologne on Laurie as she joined them on the porch.

  Just friends. He ordered his mind and body into obedience. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing here?” Laurie looked tense and weary.

  “Got a busy signal on your phone. I thought you were home.”

  She inserted her key. “I forgot to hang it back up. We’ve been at Mother’s.”

  “Can you play with us?” Maddie pushed the stuffed dog into his legs.

  Cal looked down at her dreamy face. Something surged inside him, an ache, a longing. “I came to fix your banister.” He sent his gaze to Laurie. “That corner post gave badly when Ray and I moved your couch. It’s a hazard.”

  She turned the knob and opened the door. The children ran inside, but she lingered. “I’ve told them not to lean on it.”

  “They’re kids.” Kids didn’t think safety. Kids expected grown-ups to protect them, to make their world safe.

  “Cal … “ She sighed. “I’ve had a difficult day. Mother’s pipes leaked, and I had to give up my time with the children to make sure she wasn’t assaulted by the sixty-year-old plumber who came to fix them.”

  Cal’s mouth quirked. “Well, you and the kids can do whatever you like while I fix your banister. I’ll scoot out when I’m done, and you won’t even know I was here.”

  She combed her hair back with her fingers.

  “Unless you’d rather hire Ray.” He leaned nonchalantly on the doorframe.

  “I was doing SpaghettiO’s for dinner.”

  “Enjoy.” He tucked one hand into his pocket. “I’m not looking for a free meal, Laurie. I’d just like to shore up that banister before someone gets hurt.”

  She looked inside at the staircase. “I guess it’s a good idea, but I’m honestly all out of polite conversation. I’ve even plumbed the stores of impolite.”

  Cal brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I can imagine. Go feed the kids.”

  “You sure you don’t …”

  “While SpaghettiO’s ranks right up there, I think I’ll pass. Got work to do.” He picked up the oversized tool chest and motioned her in ahead of him. “I’ll try not to make too much noise.”

  “I feel bad.”

  “Don’t go there, Laurie. I know you’ve spent the day with the guilt patrol, but you can give it a break now.” He watched her battling that concept, then started up the stairs just as Luke darted back out of his room.

  “Wanna see me fight the bad guy?” Luke scurried down to the landing with the video game still clutched in his hands.

  Cal met him there. “Sure.” He set down the tool chest and peered into the screen gripped in Luke’s grubby fingers. He must have gotten some time outside at Laurie’s mother’s to accumulate that shade of gray.

  “Luke,” Laurie called. “Wash up for dinner. It’ll only be a minute.”

  “I have to fight the guy first!” He resumed the game as he hollered.

  Cal was torn between Laurie’s orders and Luke’s enthusiasm. “Beat him quick, son.” He said the word son without thinking, but after it was out he felt another surge. He should not grow attached to Laurie’s kids. No easy thing, though. They were great kids. And they were Laurie’s.

  “No!” Luke flounced against the railing, which visibly shifted. “I died.”

  Cal tensed, fighting both the connotation of Luke’s words, and the peril the boy was in. He meant his game character died, but Cal felt the adrenaline start flowing. Not wanting a repeat overreaction, he caught Luke’
s arm and pulled him forward. “Stay off the rail, Luke.”

  “It’s stronger than it looks.” Luke hung the game by one hand and shook the rail with the other.

  “Go wash up. Your mom wants you.”

  “I don’t want SpaghettiO’s.” He dropped the game and shook the rail with both hands. “I want to help you.”

  Great. Luke was going to pit him against Laurie for sure. “You go eat, and if it’s all right, you can help me later.”

  “Luke!” Laurie called with annoyance. “Wash up right now.” Cal winced when Luke argued, “I’m helping Cal.”

  “Run along, Luke.” Cal nudged him.

  But the child knelt down and unlatched his tool chest. Cal gripped him by the elbows and stood him up. “Mind your mom.”

  Luke shot him a glare. “Leave me alone, you … scaredy-cat.” He jerked his elbows free and stomped down the stairs.

  “Luke.” Laurie caught his shoulder. “That was rude. Apologize.”

  “I’m not sorry.” He pulled free and marched to the kitchen.

  Laurie looked up and spread her hands. “Luke’s usually not the one to act out. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “That doesn’t excuse it.” She put her hands on her hips.

  “Go have your dinner, Laurie.” Cal squatted at the tool chest and took out the upper tray. He wasn’t going to lose sleep over names called by a five-year-old. But it was an interesting choice. Had Luke equated the PTSD episode to being afraid? Incapacitated, overamped, superadrenalized, sure. But afraid? It wasn’t for himself he’d feared, nor hurt. But he stopped that thought before it bloomed into just the scene Luke remembered.

  Laurie’s and the children’s voices came up to him in snippets while he worked. He didn’t hear clear words unless one of the kids raised their voices, and even then Laurie’s replies were barely audible. She hadn’t been kidding about her drained state.

  Cal had scarcely removed the newel post, shimmed the hole with wood fragments, and replaced the post when Luke made his way back down the hall below, dragging his fingers along the wall. He stopped at the bottom post and clung to it, swinging a slow arc right, then left by one elbow, before letting go and climbing. He toed each stair with a soft thump before mounting the next. Cal glanced at his progress but kept working.