“Thanks again, Rory.
For everything,” Goldie said.

He stared at her for a moment, then waved goodbye and left.

Goldie closed her eyes and remembered the hominess of Rory’s rambling farmhouse, the cute grins of his two boys—wait, the cute grin of the youngest boy, since the older one had seemed a bit sad—and the way Rory’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. And she imagined the kind of woman who could be part of that lovely picture. The kind of woman who baked cookies and kept the house neat and played kick ball with the boys in the backyard. That kind of loving, caring, motherly type of woman.

And then she reminded herself that she’d come to Viola, Louisiana, to help her grandmother, not get involved with yet another man who probably didn’t know the meaning of the words trust and commitment.

No matter how kind Rory Branagan had been, and no matter how much her heart was telling her that this man might just be different from all the rest.

MILLS & BOON

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LENORA WORTH

has written more than thirty books, most of those for Steeple Hill. She also works freelance for a local magazine, where she had written monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for the local paper for five years. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-three years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks and sit in her garden.

The Perfect Gift
Lenora Worth

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

—James 1:17

To the Unity Sunday School class—

for all their good and perfect gifts.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

The man and the two little boys stared down at the disheveled woman asleep on the big Ultrasuede couch in their living room.

“Is she a princess, Daddy?” six-year-old Tyler asked, his dark eyes going wide. “My friend Emily is always talking about princesses. She’s a girl, though.” He shrugged. “I don’t know much about that kind of stuff.”

“She’s not a princess, silly,” his older brother, Sam, answered with ten-year-old authority. “And she shouldn’t be here. Isn’t it illegal to enter someone’s house when they’re not at home, Dad? Besides, she’s ruining our couch with her wet clothes.”

Rory, still in shock from finding the woman there in the first place, stopped staring and went into action. “It’s okay, Sam. She looks hurt.” He gently nudged at the woman’s arm. “Ma’am, excuse me? Wake up, okay?” When the woman didn’t move, he panicked. “Lady, can you hear me?”

“She’s asleep,” Tyler pointed out. “Maybe she needs a blanket.”

Rory pushed away the blanket his son offered. “Let’s make sure she’s all right first.” He bent and carefully rolled the woman over from her stomach to her back, then felt for a pulse along her neck. She had a pulse. That much he knew. He could feel it through the softness of her skin. And she was wearing an intricate gold-chained square locket that fell across her V-necked sweater with each movement of her breath.

“Is she dead?” Sam asked, his curiosity with all things crime-related making Rory wince. The kid had been that way since his mother had been killed three years earlier in a convenience-store robbery.

“No, son. She’s breathing. But something is definitely wrong.”

Rory carefully examined the woman for broken bones or any other signs of injury, then turned her face around so he could inspect it. And that’s when he saw the blood matted in her dark blond hair just above her left temple.

“She don’t look so great,” Tyler remarked.

“No, she doesn’t,” Rory replied, grabbing his cell out of his pocket. He immediately called 911 and explained the situation. “We found a woman in our house, unconscious and bleeding from a head wound. She needs medical attention.”

After giving his address to the dispatcher, Rory hung up and turned to his two quiet, curious sons.

“Now you can hand me the blanket, Tyler.”

His son shoved the plaid comforter toward him, the boy’s big eyes wide with wonder—and a keen interest. “Daddy, if she lives, can we keep her?”

Chapter One

Two hours earlier

Icy rain pounded the windshield then fell away like tiny diamonds from a broken necklace.

“It never sleets in South Louisiana!”

Goldie Rios hit her hand on the steering wheel of her compact vehicle, wondering how a perfectly good Saturday in early December had gone from a day of Christmas shopping and a late dinner to driving down this dark, deserted road all by herself.

Nervous and tired, she grabbed the locket she always wore, clutching it briefly with one hand before taking the wheel of the car back with a tight grip. Oh, yes. She remembered with belated bitterness how her day had gone from bad to worse. She’d just dumped another loser of a boyfriend, and right in the middle of a swanky uptown restaurant at the mall near Baton Rouge. The whole place had gone silent, the only sound Goldie’s seething response to Loser Number Five’s whining excuses for being seen with another woman one hour before he’d met Goldie for dinner.

The woman was not his sister, his mother, his aunt or his niece. And Goldie was pretty sure she wasn’t his grandmother, either, since the cute blonde clung to him in a way that bespoke intimacy rather than family bonds.

She should have listened to her friend Carla—before Carla called her from the other end of the mall and told her to casually walk by the pet store. She’d warned Goldie that this one was too smooth, too confident and too good-looking, but Goldie wasn’t good at listening to other people’s advice. Carla was right. He was in the pet store, buying a cuddly Chihuahua while he cuddled the cute blonde.

Busted.

Goldie watched, horrified and hurt, from behind the Gingerbread House at Santa Claus Lane, while the man she’d been dating for six months kissed another woman. And bought her a dog. He’d never once offered to buy Goldie a dog. In fact, he’d told her he was highly allergic to animals. So after waiting for him to meet her for dinner, Goldie smiled, chatted with him, ordered spaghetti and meatballs and then “accidentally” dumped half her meal onto his lap before telling him that they were finished. It was a standard metaphoric mode of dumping a boyfriend, but now she understood why a lot of women took this route. It made a statement to the world and it made her feel good.

Or at least it had until she’d left the mall in tears.

After driving for an hour in rain that turned to sleet, she’d realized she’d somehow missed the main exit to Viola, Louisiana. Now she was trying to get home through the back way. Bad idea on a night like this and considering she wasn’t all that familiar with the roads around here. If she hadn’t been so depressed and distracted, she might have thought long and hard about the sanity of taking this remote shortcut. Too late now.

Easing the little car along, Goldie sent up a prayer for safe travels while the radio personality announced yet another road closing due to icy conditions.

“If you’re inside, stay there,” the perky broadcaster advised. “If you’re traveling, stay on the main roads.”

Goldie sputtered a reply. “You don’t say.”

She was not on a main road. And the sleet was getting heavier while the temperature was dipping below freezing. Soon these roads would be slick with ice. Her cell phone rang but since she had both hands glued to the steering wheel and the service out here was questionable at best, Goldie ignored it. Probably Carla calling for details about the breakup. Or maybe Grammy wondering why she wasn’t home yet. But she didn’t dare talk on the phone and drive in this mess at the same time.

Goldie listened as the “Jingle Bells” ring tone died down, her eyes misting as a wave of loneliness hit her square in her soul. “I guess I’ll be alone again this Christmas,” she said out loud just to hear herself talking.

No puppy dog for her. And no more snuggling or cuddling with Number Five, either. Five losers in five years. Could her life get any worse? She’d been making the same old mistakes with men since she’d graduated from college and worked in Baton Rouge. Now she’d just have to focus on doing her weekly column on being organized long-distance from Viola while she stayed with her recuperating grandmother through the holidays. In spite of coming here to help Grammy and in hopes of finding some true meaning in her life, Goldie was as confused as ever. Some advice columnist she was. How could she tell other people how to stay focused and organized when she couldn’t even keep a man? When would she find what she was looking for—that perfect fit in a relationship?

And why did that matter so much, anyway? She’d never been one to chase after the dream of marriage and family the way some of her single friends did. By Goldie’s way of thinking, relationships were highly overrated. So why did she keep dating the wrong men? Maybe so she could break up with them and prove her theory? And keep her heart safe in the process?

She held to the steering wheel as she came to a curve, the trees crouching across the road causing her to lose sight of the asphalt. And that’s when she hit the patch of slick black ice. The car lurched then shimmied before suddenly changing direction. Screaming, Goldie tried to remember how to steer into the skid, but it was too late. Her car kept slipping and sliding until it went into a careening, screeching turnaround. She looked up, her scream now locked inside her throat, as the car headed right toward the wide trunk of an ancient cypress tree.

The alligator was cooperating. The humans all around the eight-foot reptile, however, were not.

“I want him gone, Rory.”

“Me, too. I can’t sleep at night, knowing that creature is hibernating right here at my dock. Rory, can you just take him outta here?”

Rory Branagan shivered in his waterproof work boots and his insulated raincoat. His gaze moved from the sedate alligator buried in a self-made bunker of water and mud near the bank to the couple standing in the icy wind. In the yellow glow from the security light, he could see the fear in the couple’s eyes. “I understand, Mr. Johnson. But this gator is just doing what alligators do in winter. He’s hunkering down for a good long rest.”

Alfred Johnson kicked his cowboy boots into the sleet-covered grass near the shallow pond behind his house. “His snout is sticking up out of the water. ’Bout scared my poor wife to death. He coulda grabbed little DeeDee and ate her whole.”

“He’s not that hungry right now, sir,” Rory observed, shaking his head. “And your poodle shouldn’t be out here near the water anyway.” At least not on a night like this one. And surely these nice people knew that if they lived on a bayou, they were bound to see alligators.

“Good thing I was holding tight to DeeDee,” Mrs. Johnson stated, completely ignoring Rory’s advice. “Now, it’s too cold and wet out here to be arguing. Are you gonna rustle this thing outta here and get him away from my family?”

Rory looked down at the big leathery snout sticking out of the water, thinking Marge Johnson might be petite but she was fiercely protective of the things she loved. That included her family and that barking pile of white fur she called DeeDee. Well, he couldn’t blame the woman.

“I think this one here was ‘icing’ his snout because of the sleet and this frigid water, Mrs. Johnson. He probably wouldn’t hurt you as cold as it is out here, since he’s not interested in food right now. But if this weather clears and we get some warmer days after Christmas, he could pose a problem.”

“So get him,” Mr. Johnson instructed, his tone as sharp as the crystals of sleet hitting Rory’s broad-brimmed rain hat. “I don’t want that gator showing up for Christmas dinner later this month.”

“And I don’t want him around my grandbabies,” Marge insisted, shaking her head, her hair so stiff with hair spray Rory could see tiny ice particles shimmering like a crown on her head. “We’ve got kids coming home for the holidays and I’ve got too much to do. I can’t be worried about my grandchildren out here by the water.”

Rory nodded, steeled himself against a messy job and thought it was nights such as this that made him wish he was in another line of work. But his job as a nuisance hunter for the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries paid the bills. And he loved his work on most days. This wasn’t a typical day in Louisiana, though. It rarely got this nasty around these parts during the winter. But the sleet was getting heavier by the minute. The forecast for the next couple of days didn’t look promising. A rare but sure ice storm was coming, whether Rory liked it or not.

And that old gator was getting real cozy in his nice little cave here on the shore of Mr. Johnson’s shallow, marshy pond. If Rory didn’t help the poor creature, Mr. Johnson might take matters into his own hands and just shoot the reptile. Rory’s conscience couldn’t allow that to happen. Nor could his job with the state.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Rory told Mr. Johnson. “Let me just go to my truck and get my equipment.”

“Fair enough,” Mr. Johnson replied, satisfied for now at least. “Go on inside, Marge. You’re shivering in your wader boots out here, honey.”

Rory stomped up the slope toward the driveway, listening to Marge’s concerned questions as her husband guided her back to the house. His vibrating cell phone made him stop at the back of the truck.

“What’s wrong?” Rory asked into the phone. The call was from his house and that meant trouble. Having two boys ages six and ten with no mother always meant trouble.

“It’s all right.”

As always, his mother’s voice was calm and firm. “Mom, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I just wanted you to know that we’re headed over to my house. The boys were getting bored waiting on you and I need to get home anyway to bake cookies for the youth Christmas party at church this Tuesday. Now I have two eager helpers. We’re going to make some with cinnamon and sprinkles and lots of icing. That’s where we’ll be. I offered to let them spend the night but they wanted to be home with you in case this sleet turns to snow. Something about making a gigantic snowman first thing in the morning. You can pick them up when you’re done.”

Rory smiled at his sons’ high hopes. “Are you sure you can make it back in this weather?”

“Rory, I’ve lived on Branagan Road for over thirty-five years. I think I can drive the mile from your house to mine, son.”

“Of course you can.” His mother didn’t take any bunk and she sure didn’t listen to anyone’s advice. And that was one of the main reasons Rory loved her.

“Don’t worry so much,” Frances Branagan declared. “Now let me get on home before it does get worse.”

“Thanks,” Rory said, appreciation coursing through his chilled bones. “You’re my favorite mom, you know that?”

“I love you, too. Be safe.”

He hung up, spoke a prayer of gratitude for his dear patient mother and then set about figuring how to wrestle the unfortunate alligator snoozing down in the pond.

Goldie’s feet were cold. She sputtered awake, then groaned as she glanced around. She was in her car, in the dark, on an unfamiliar road. And her head hurt with all the viciousness of two fencers slicing each other to the death, the clanging and banging of her pulse tearing through her temple with each beat of her heart.

She’d wrecked her car. In the ice storm!

Moaning, she pushed at the air bag surrounding her, glad that it had at least saved her from going through the windshield. Then she touched a hand to her head. It was wet and sticky with blood. Weak and disoriented, she groped for the seat belt then after slipping it loose, moaned again when the restraint lifted from her bruised midsection. Automatically reaching for her locket, she clutched it tight. She had to find her phone and call for help.

Her phone, which earlier had been in the seat with her purse, was nowhere to be found now. And she was too dizzy to go digging under the seat.

What should she do? She had to call someone. With great effort, she tried to open the door. After what seemed like hours, the door cringed ajar and a blast of arctic air flowed over Goldie’s hot skin. Taking in the crunched front end of her car, she held on to the door as light-headedness washed over her again. She managed to stand, to find her purse. But the phone was lost in the recesses of her shopping bags, notebooks and laptop case. And even if she could find it, she probably wouldn’t have very good service.

Goldie gave up on the search and, still woozy and confused, stood and glanced around the woods. She saw a light flickering through the trees.

“A house,” she whispered, her prayers raw in her throat. “Maybe someone can help me.”

Without giving it much thought other than to find warmth and aid, she slowly made her way along the icy road, her purse clutched to her chest, her head screaming a protest of swirling pain. It was the longest trek of her life and none of the walk made any sense to Goldie. Her brain was fuzzy and her pulse was on fire with a radiating pain. All she could think about was getting out of this freezing sleet.

“Must have a concussion,” she voiced to the wind.

When she finally made it to the front door of the house, she was cold, wet and numb with shock. But she knocked and fell against the cool wood, her prayers too hard to voice.

No one came to the door.

So, desperate and beyond caring, she pushed away from the door and continued along the wraparound porch, holding the fat wooden railing until she reached the back of the big farmhouse. Then she fell against the glass-paneled door of the inviting home. Her eyes tried to focus on the Christmas tree sitting in front of the large bay windows and the embers of what looked like a recent fire sparking in the big fireplace.

Goldie wanted that warmth. So she knocked and tried to call out. But no one answered. With one last hope, she jiggled the handle, thinking to herself that she was about to do some serious breaking and entering if she couldn’t get any assistance.

And then, the door flew open and Goldie fell through, landing on the cold wide-planked wood of the floor. With a grunt of pain, she crawled to a sitting position then kicked the door shut. Her gaze scanned the big, cozy room and landed for a quick, painful moment on the massive couch across from the still-warm fireplace.

That big brown sofa looked like paradise right now. She’s just rest for a minute, then figure out what to do.

Seeing stars that weren’t on the tree, Goldie crawled over, pulled herself onto the cushioned pillows and grabbing her beloved locket to hold it close in her hand, and promptly passed out, facedown.

Chapter Two

She had to be dreaming. Goldie sighed in her sleep, glowing warmth moving through her tired bones. She squinted toward the face hovering over her.

The man had dark brown hair and pretty golden eyes but the frown on his face made him look fierce and almost savage. What was he doing in her dream?

Goldie’s eyes flew open, pain shooting through her temple like an electrical charge when she tried to sit up. “Where am I?”

“It’s okay,” the fierce-looking man assured her, pushing her down on the soft pillows. “The ambulance is on its way. You’re going to the hospital.”

“Hospital?” Goldie tried to sit again but the room started spinning and she felt sick to her stomach. Falling back on the pillows, she asked, “What’s wrong with me?”

“You gotta boo-boo.”

She closed one eye then slanted the other one toward that tiny voice. A miniature version of Fierce Man stared at her with big, solemn eyes.

“What kind of boo-boo?” Goldie asked, not so sure she wanted an ambulance or an audience. “What happened?”

“You’ve been in an accident,” the man recapped, shooing the little tyke out of the way. “You hit your head.”

For a minute, Goldie just lay there staring at her surroundings. This was a nice enough place, but she had no idea how she’d wound up here. “Where am I?”

“This is my house,” the man explained. “But don’t worry about that right now. Do you remember anything?”

“No.” Goldie closed her eyes, hoping that would help the dizziness spiraling through her brain. “I don’t know.”

“Did you walk here or drive maybe?”

And then she remembered she’d been in a car. Images of that car swirling out of control rushed through her mind. “Yes. Yes. I was in a wreck on the road.” She took a deep breath to stop the nausea rising in her stomach. “I lost control and then my head hurt so much. I couldn’t find my phone so I got out of the car and I saw the light.”

“You broke into our house,” came yet another male voice. A different one. This one was more pronounced and angry.

“No, the door was open,” Goldie replied, deciding to look at Fierce Man instead of that accusing little person, whoever he was.

The man glanced from Goldie to the boys huddled around her feet. “Did MeeMaw forget to lock the back door?”

The bigger of the two boys shook his head then looked down at the floor. “No, sir. She told me to do it. I was the last one out. I thought I heard it click.”

Goldie watched, triumphant because she’d told the truth and now so had the real culprit, as the man’s brooding frown changed to a look of complete understanding and forgiveness. “It’s okay, son. That old door sticks all the time. I need to see about making it more secure. That happens to me a lot, too.”

Goldie thought that was the sweetest thing, the way this man was shouldering the blame for the malfunctioning back door. “I’m glad it wasn’t closed,” she remarked on a raw spasm of pain, hoping to ease the boy’s embarrassment. “I was so cold. And my head hurt a lot.”

“So she didn’t break in,” the tiny one mouthed to the older one, obviously his brother since they looked almost identical. “You need to tell her you’re sorry.”

“I thought she did,” the older one revealed, his hands fisting at his sides. “It looked that way.” He didn’t say he was sorry.

“Okay, you two. Enough,” the man interceded in an authoritative voice. “Step aside and give the nice lady some space.”

The boys backed away, their eyes curious and cute.

“I’m so sorry,” Goldie apologized to the man. “I didn’t mean to pass out on your couch.”

“You’re hurt,” he replied, cutting her the same slack he’d just allowed the boy who’d accidentally left the house unlocked. “Just lie still until we can get you some help.”

“How long have I been out?”

“I’m not sure,” the man answered. “We got home about fifteen minutes ago. Do you remember anything else?”

She moved her head in an attempt to nod, but the pain stopped her. “My car hit a patch of ice and went sliding right into a tree. A big tree.”

“Could have been worse,” the man theorized, surveying her. “I think you’re okay except for the bang on your head. Must have hit the steering wheel pretty hard.”

“It’s all fuzzy,” she admitted. Then, in spite of her pain and her odd circumstances landing on his couch, she remembered her manners and said, “I’m Goldie Rios.”

He smiled at that, sending out a radiant warmth that brought Goldie a sense of comfort and security. “I’m Rory Branagan and these are my sons, Tyler and Sam.”

“I’m Tyler,” the little one added, grinning.

Sam didn’t say anything. He seemed downright sad as he stared at her. Sad and a bit distrustful. How could she blame him? He’d come home to find a strange woman bleeding on his furniture.

“It’s good to meet all of you,” Goldie responded. “And thanks for being so kind to me.”

Rory’s soft smile shined again, making Goldie wonder if she might yet be dreaming. This man was a sensitive father. And probably a considerate husband. And for some reason that her hurting brain couldn’t quite figure out, that bothered Goldie. Trying to think, she realized she couldn’t remember much but the accident. Where had she been? And where was she headed?

The sound of a siren broke Rory’s smile and brought Goldie out of her pounding thoughts. He jumped up and went into action while she blinked and closed her eyes. “I think your ride is here.” Then he glanced at his sons. “And so is a patrol car. You’ll need to give the police a report, nothing to worry about.”

Goldie could tell he’d added that last bit for the benefit of his sons, since their eyes grew even wider. The little one showed excitement, but the older boy’s eyes held a dark, brooding anger.

If her head hadn’t hurt so much, Goldie might have been able to figure that one out. And get to know Not-so-fierce Man a little better. She was certainly content to stay right here in the light of that great smile. But she was in pain, no doubt. And although she wasn’t sure if she needed to go to the hospital, she didn’t have much choice. Her car was probably totaled and she was too dizzy to stand up. Then, in a clear and concise image in her mind, she remembered her grandmother.

“I need to let Grammy know,” she noted. “My grandmother.”

“Sure. What’s her number?” Rory replied. “I’ll call her right now.”

Goldie rattled off the numbers, glad her brain was beginning to cooperate. “Her name is Ruth Rios.”

Rory let out a chuckle. “You don’t say? I should have made the connection when you told me your name. I know Miss Ruth. She goes to my church. So you’re her granddaughter?”

Goldie nodded. “I just came here a few weeks ago to help her out. She’s been recovering from hip surgery.”

“Yeah, we heard that and since she hasn’t been to church in a while…I’m sure sorry.” He gave her an apologetic look. “I should have gone by to see her.”

“She’s doing better,” Goldie informed him. “But I know she’s worried since I’m not home yet. I was supposed to be there hours ago.”

“I’ll call her, I promise,” Rory reiterated as the paramedics knocked on the door, followed by one of the three police officers serving Viola.

Goldie nodded, her mind whirling with pain and confusion. “Don’t let her get out in this weather. She doesn’t need to come to the hospital.” After that, she didn’t get much of a chance to say anything else to Rory. She was too busy being examined and questioned, both of which left her tired and even more confused.

The paramedics checked her vitals, asked her all the pertinent questions and concluded yes, she might have a mild concussion. And the officer seemed satisfied that she’d been in a one-car accident and that she hadn’t been drinking. He and Rory both assured her they’d have the car towed. So she was off to the hospital.

“I appreciate your help,” Goldie mumbled to Rory as she was lifted up and hustled onto the waiting gurney.

“Don’t worry about that,” Rory commented, following her stretcher out into the chilly night. “Take care, Goldie.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled again as the ambulance doors shut. She could just make out his image as he talked to the police officer.

But as she lay there with two efficient paramedics fussing over her, Goldie wondered if she’d ever see Rory Branagan again.

Doubtful, since she wouldn’t be staying here in Viola much longer now that Grammy was better. And double doubtful since she didn’t attend church with Grammy.

Or at least, she hadn’t yet.

The next morning, Goldie hung up the phone by her hospital bed to find Rory standing in the door of her room, holding a huge poinsettia in a green pot.

“Uh, hi,” he said, the big red and green plant blocking his face. “The nurse said I could come in.”

Goldie grinned then motioned to him. “Hi, yourself. I just talked to Grammy. She said you were so nice last night, calling her and keeping her informed. And that you wouldn’t let her get out in the weather even to come visit me.”

He lifted his chin in a quick nod. “She was pretty stubborn about doing just that, but I called her neighbor and asked her to sit with your grandmother. Then I contacted the hospital to check on you. Only, they didn’t want to give me any information. So I phoned your grandmother again and explained it to her, since she was your next of kin.” He laughed, took a breath then asked, “So how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Goldie reported, her heart doing an odd little dance as he set down the plant and came closer. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

“No trouble. Me and Miss Ruth go back a long way. I once rescued an armadillo out of her backyard.”

“Excuse me?” Goldie reclined against her pillows, taking in his crisp plaid flannel shirt and sturdy jeans. She didn’t think it was possible that he still looked so handsome, even in the glaring morning light, but he did.

“I work for the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries as a nuisance hunter. I get calls to trap wild animals, anything from armadillos and snakes to alligators and even the occasional black bear.”

“You’re kidding?”

He looked downright sheepish. “No, that’s my job.”

“Isn’t that sorta dangerous?”

He grinned again. “Not as dangerous as forcing myself to come to the hospital in an ice storm to check on you. And mind you, it wasn’t the storm that scared me.”

He did seem a bit uncomfortable. He fidgeted with the water jar and rearranged her drinking cup. And Goldie’s impish nature clicked on. “What, you don’t like hospitals?”

“That and…I’m a bit rusty on talking to women.”

She filed that comment away to study more closely later. He had two little boys so he was obviously a happily married man. Disappointing but comforting in a strange way. He looked like the kind of man who belonged in a family.

Nobody liked hospitals but the expression in his eyes told her maybe he’d had some firsthand experience with this kind of thing. Maybe she’d ask him about that, too, but right now, she only wanted to put him at ease. “I’m easy to talk to on most days and I really like the flower.”

“It was the only thing I could find at the superstore on the highway.”

“It’s pretty, but again, you didn’t have to come see me.”

“I promised Miss Ruth.” He shrugged. “And I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Goldie stared at the plant. “I have a slight concussion, but they’re releasing me this afternoon. I just have to rest for the weekend and take over-the-counter pain reliever. No ibuprofen though, since it can cause some sort of bleeding—doctor’s orders.” She motioned to a paper on the bedside table. “I have a whole list of instructions on all the things to watch for after a concussion.” And she wondered if one of those things was a rapid pulse, and if Rory or her head injury was the cause of that symptom.

“So, what about your confusion and memory loss?”

She slanted her throbbing head. “I still can’t quite remember much more about the accident or what I was doing most of yesterday, but I’m okay. The doctor said I might not ever remember all of it. He just warned me of dizziness and confusion at times. But hey, I’m that way on a good day.”

He fingered one of the vivid red poinsettia leaves. “Your car was full of shopping bags.”

“You’ve seen my car?”

“I had it towed, remember?” He seemed embarrassed. “I guess you don’t. It’s at a nearby garage. But I got all the stuff out of it. It’s in my car right now. I can take it by your grandmother’s if you want me to.”

Goldie shook her head. “You’re amazing. What’s the catch?”

“Excuse me?” he asked, echoing her earlier words to him. “What catch?”

She shrugged, wincing at her sore muscles. “You just seem too good to be true.”

He lowered his head. When he looked back up, his eyes were dark with some unspoken emotion. “Oh, I’m not, trust me. I just walked across the woods last night with the policeman to check on your car and then I notified a friend who owns a body shop to tow it. After you file your insurance report and get the go-ahead, he’ll give you a good estimate—that is if you want him to fix the car.”

Goldie decided not to question why he deflected the compliment. “Can it be fixed?”

“Maybe.” He stood quietly and then said, “I hope I didn’t overstep—having him pick up the car.”

Goldie shook her head. “No, not at all. I just didn’t need this to happen right now. I’m here to help Grammy and I depend on my car to get me around. Just one more thing to deal with.”

He inclined his head in understanding. “Maybe you can rent a car or drive your grandmother’s.”

Goldie laughed. “Her car is ancient but it does move, barely. Grammy says it has one speed—slow.”

His smile was back. “I see you have her sense of humor.”

“Keeps me sane.”

He seemed amused then said, “Well, I guess I’d better get back to the house. I left my sons with my mother—again. That poor woman never gets a break.” His smile was indulgent. “We made two snowmen—one in our yard and one in hers.”

She looked out the window. “Did it snow last night?”

“Yeah, a pretty good dusting. The ground is covered white and we were able to get two passable snowmen.”

“Are the roads okay, then?”

“The roads are fine now. I had to be careful driving into town, but the sun melted most of the ice. However, we could have another round tomorrow.” He turned toward the door then whirled. “Hey, do you need a ride home?”

Goldie didn’t know how to respond. This man seemed to know what she needed even before she voiced it. That was very disconcerting to a woman who was used to being independent and confident and…alone. “I hadn’t thought about that. I sure don’t want Grammy trying to find someone to drive me, even if the roads are clear.”

“I can take you right now.”

He really was a sweet man. “I haven’t been released yet. The doctor said later today.”

“I’ll come back and take you home, then,” he confirmed, holding up a hand when she tried to protest. “I just have to help the boys do some things around our place. We have a small herd of cows and they need checking on and we all have chores to do, but they can stay with my mom while I take you to your grandmother’s house.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“I insist. Your grandmother’s worried about you and I don’t mind. I’ll call her.”

“I can call Grammy,” Goldie asserted. “I’ll tell her you’re bringing me home. They said midafternoon, after I see the doctor one more time and he signs my release.”

“So, I’ll be back around three.”

Goldie had to ask. “You said your mother watches the boys a lot? Does your wife work?” And where had his wife been last night?

“I don’t have a wife,” he corrected, the light going out of his eyes. “She…died a few years ago.”

Wishing she’d learn to keep her curiosity to herself, Goldie looked down at her hands. That probably explained his aversion to hospitals. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t comment. He just nodded his head again in a silent acknowledgment. “I’ll see you at three.”

“Okay. Thanks again, Rory. For everything.”

He waved goodbye then shut the door.

“Nice going, Goldie,” she whispered to herself. If her head hadn’t been so sore, she would have hit her forehead in disgust. Why was she accident-prone with herself and her mouth?

Instead, Goldie closed her eyes and remembered the homeyness of Rory’s rambling farmhouse, the cute grins of his two little boys—wait, the cute grin of the youngest of his two boys, at least—and the way Rory’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. And she imagined the kind of woman who’d once been a part of that lovely picture. The kind of woman who baked cookies, kept the house neat and played kick ball with the boys in the backyard. A loving, caring, motherly type woman.

And she reminded herself she was not that kind of woman even if she did have a compulsion toward being organized. Besides, she’d come here to help her grandmother, not get involved with yet another male even if this one seemed to actually understand the meaning of the words trust and commitment. In spite of her accident and her fuzzy memories, she somehow knew she had a very good reason for not wanting a man in her life—no matter how kind Rory Branagan had been to her and how much her heart was telling her that this man just might be different from all the rest.

Chapter Three

Her locket was missing.

Frantic, Goldie searched all around her bed and the bedside table, then buzzed for a nurse. She glanced at the clock. It was almost time for Rory to come and take her home, but she couldn’t leave without her locket. When the bubbly RN rushed into her room, Goldie was just about out of the bed.

“Don’t try to get up by yourself,” the nurse objected, holding Goldie’s arm. “Do you need a bathroom break?”

“No, I…I can’t find my locket,” Goldie replied, willing herself not to cry. “It’s on a gold chain—it’s a filigree-etched square with a porcelain picture of a Louisiana iris and a tiny yellow butterfly. Somebody must have taken it off me when they brought me in.”

The nurse opened drawers and went through the nearby closet. “Here’s the bag that came with your personal belongings. Want me to check inside? It might be in your purse.”

Goldie nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

She watched closely as the nurse searched her leather purse then rummaged through Goldie’s clothes from last night. “I don’t see anything like that, honey. Maybe you gave the locket to someone for safekeeping before you came here?”

“No,” Goldie replied, trying to think. Had Rory removed the locket last night? Or had she lost it? She couldn’t remember. What if someone had taken it? She’d never forgive herself if something had happened to it.

“Just relax and I’ll ask at the desk,” the nurse advised, trying to reassure her as she handed Goldie her belongings.

Goldie bobbed her head. “Ask everyone. I have to find it. It’s very old and has a lot of sentimental value.”

“Okay.” The nurse walked toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do, but you know the hospital isn’t—”

“I know—not responsible for the loss of valuables,” Goldie repeated. “I understand.”

But she wanted her necklace back. She had to find it. So she waited for the nurse to leave, then she carefully got up to search on her own. She made it to the end of the bed but she stood up too quickly. Her pulse quickened as blood rushed from her head and made her dizzy.

And that’s when Rory walked in and grabbed her just as she reached for the bed for support.

“Hey, hey,” Rory urged, guiding Goldie back to the bed. “Where you going, sunshine?”

“My locket,” Goldie explained, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the stars flashing through her brain. “I…I think I lost it.”

He gazed down at her. She looked so young and innocent, lying there devoid of makeup. Her hair wasn’t exactly blond, more burnished and gold than a true blond. It shimmered like silky threads against her cheeks while the square patch of gauze just over her hairline shined starkly white. The frown on her face only made her look more like a lost little girl than a determined woman.

“I remember your locket. You were wearing it last night. At least, I saw it when I turned you over on the couch.”

“I was?” She sat up again. “Maybe I lost it at your house.”

“I’ll look when I get home,” he said. Because this woman had disrupted his life to the point that he was worried about her and what she meant to him as a man, he asked, “So what’s the deal with that pretty locket, anyway?”

She looked away, toward the window. “My daddy gave it to me before he went to war during Desert Storm. It has a picture of me and him inside it. He never made it home.”

“Oh, wow.” Rory felt bad for being so nosy. “I’m sure sorry to hear that. No wonder it means so much to you.”

“It does and it’s very old. It belonged to his great-great-grandmother. And my grandmother gave it to him to give to me on my twelfth birthday. It’s kind of a tradition in our family. Grammy says good things happen to the women who wear that locket. So far, that hasn’t exactly been the case with me.”

Rory hadn’t pegged her for being traditional nor for feeling sorry for herself, but under the circumstances, he could certainly understand why she looked so down. And he could sympathize with her need to find the piece of jewelry. “I’ll look over the house and in the yard, too. I’ll get the boys to help.”

“I’d appreciate that.” She stared at the ceiling. “I’ve made such a mess of things. Wrecking my car, losing my necklace. I need to get my life together somehow.”

Rory could tell she was fighting back tears. “Listen, your car might be fixable and…well, we’ll probably find your locket. Just be glad you’re okay. That wreck could have been much worse.”

She looked over at him, her smile bittersweet. “I guess I am acting a little over-the-top. And you’re right. I’m still here and Grammy needs me. It’s just that was one of the few things my daddy ever gave me. My parents were divorced so I didn’t get to see him much.”

“That’s a shame,” Rory replied. “I’m blessed that my parents had a great marriage. My mom’s a widow now, but I had a pretty good childhood. Nothing major—just lots of good memories.”

She smiled again. “Yes, you are blessed. I’ve never had that. We transferred all over while my dad was alive and in the army, then my mother moved us around a lot after the divorce. Grammy was the one who kept me grounded and safe, even if she and my mother don’t always see eye to eye.”

“And where’s your mother now? Should I call her?”

She shook her head. “No. That’s okay. I’ll give her an update when she checks on us. She’s traveling overseas, one of those long tours with a bunch of her friends—a big Christmas extravaganza. Angela likes to travel and she rarely calls home.”

Rory thought her daughter did not like that arrangement. In spite of her pretty curls and her soft smile, he sensed loneliness in Goldie. And he wondered how long she’d been searching for a safe place to lay her head. “Hey, let’s get you home to your grandmother. She’s told me she’s got a big pot of homemade chicken soup simmering on the stove just for you. And fresh-baked corn bread to go with it.”

“Grammy’s answer to anything is chicken soup,” Goldie said. “And she makes the best. She puts homemade dumplings in there.”

“I take it you like her cooking,” Rory replied, grinning.

“I like food, period.” She laughed then grimaced. “And if I stay with her much longer, I won’t be able to fit into any of my clothes.”

Rory thought Goldie looked just perfect, but he refrained from making such a flirtatious comment since they didn’t really know each other. Yet.

Then he told himself not to even think along those lines. He had enough to keep him busy, what with the boys, his mother and his work and, well, a man got lonely just like a woman did, he reasoned.

But he didn’t need to think about that right now.

“Has the doctor been by?” he asked, suddenly ready to get out of here.

Goldie waved toward the hallway. “Yes. I’m sorry, I guess you’re ready. I was waiting on the nurse. She’s checking around for my locket.”

“Oh, okay.” He tapped his knuckles on the food tray. “Got everything else together?”

“Yes. One of Grammy’s friends brought me this change of clothes. I sent your poinsettia home with her.”

He noticed she was wearing a sweater and some wide-legged sweatpants. “I could have brought that. I didn’t even think about clothes.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Goldie said. “Besides, I think Grammy sent Phyllis to check on me and bring back a thorough report. And if I know my grandmother and Phyllis, they probably tag-teamed my doctor to get the whole story on my injuries.”

“Are you sure you’re up to going home?”

“Oh, yes, I’m ready to get into my own bed.” She lifted up. “Let’s go to the desk and see where that nurse is.”

Rory helped her. “Are you still dizzy?”

“No. I think I just got up too quickly before. And we’re not telling the nurse about that little episode. It wasn’t the awful dizziness I had after the wreck. I have work to do and I need to get back to it.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about work. It’s the weekend.”

“I have a deadline,” she explained. “I write a syndicated advice column. It’s mostly about organizing your house and keeping your life straight—something I haven’t been doing lately. And I’m already pushing things with my boss by working long distance.”

Rory gained a new insight. “A column? That’s interesting.”

“Not as interesting as being a nuisance hunter,” she retorted, standing on wobbly legs.

Rory laughed at that. “We’ll have to compare notes on that some time. I could use tips on organization and keeping things straight and orderly in my life, that’s for sure.”

“And I’ve always wanted to track down an alligator and wrestle it until I can tie its mouth shut,” she teased.

Rory got a picture of this petite woman holding down a ten-foot reptile. It made him smile.

“Don’t think I can do it?” she asked as they made it out of her room.

“I have no doubt,” he replied, not willing to argue the point with an injured woman.

“And I think you’d be pretty good at doling out advice,” she replied. “At least, I think women would listen to you no matter what you say. They’d follow your advice based on your smile alone.”

That made him take notice. Giving her the best smile he could muster, he prompted, “So, you like my smile, huh?”

She laughed, a soft pink flush coloring her cheeks. “I do when I’m not seeing two of you.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just wish I hadn’t lost my locket. Let’s get out of here, though, so you don’t have to wait.”

“Not so fast, young lady.”

They turned to find her doctor and the nurse who’d been in her room trailing them down the hallway. “You need to be in this. Standard hospital policy.”

Goldie glared at the wheelchair. “Oh, all right.” Settling herself into the chair, she turned to the nurse. “Did you find my locket?”

“I’m afraid not, honey,” the nurse replied. “I’m sorry. Everything that came in with you should be in that bag the paramedics put your personal things in.”

Goldie clutched her purse and the plastic bag labeled with her name. “Maybe somebody dropped it in here and we just didn’t see it. It could be in the pocket of the jeans I was wearing yesterday.”

“We’ll look when we get you home,” Rory suggested, hoping to distract her from tossing out the contents of her purse and the bag right here. Or refusing to get home to some rest. She looked so upset, he wondered if she shouldn’t stay in the hospital another night.

She didn’t answer. She was too busy digging around in the deep recesses of her big leather purse, pulling out various labeled little sacks of all sorts. She had a bag for everything inside that larger bag. “I sure hope I can find it.”

“We’ll keep looking,” the nurse said, waving to them.

When they got outside, Goldie had that lost expression on her face again.

“They won’t find it,” she said. “Somebody probably stole it. It’s pretty valuable, considering how old it is. But I don’t care about how much money it can bring. I just want it back.”

Rory could understand her frustrations. And her disappointment. He hoped he could find that locket for Goldie, but he had his doubts, too. Even though it hadn’t snowed more than a couple of inches last night, a piece of jewelry could easily become lost in all the mush. He’d have to go over the yard and house with an eagle eye.

After getting Goldie into his car, Rory started out of the parking lot and onto the main highway. “So where did you live when you’re not in Viola?”

“Baton Rouge,” she answered, her gaze on the road. “Wow, I see patches of snow in the trees. And the ground is still covered. It’s so beautiful even if it does hurt my eyes.”

“It was pretty cold last night. Some of that could freeze up again later.” Trying to get to know her better, he continued, “And what did you do in Baton Rouge? I mean, how long have you been writing the column?”

“Since college,” she replied. Then she turned to look at him. “I went to school at LSU and got a degree in communication. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I had written a column for a school newspaper and that experience gave me a chance to write a column for a paper in Baton Rouge. Because my most popular columns were on organization and how to get your life on track, I got promoted to the lifestyles section and after three years, the column became regionally syndicated. But I do feature articles, advertorials and fillers, too. I don’t make a lot of money, but I enjoy my work. I’ve always been highly organized so it’s nice to use those skills in my job.”

“Kind of like that woman on television my mother likes so much. I can’t remember her name but she does a cooking show.”

Goldie knew of the woman in question. “No, more like a Southern version of the modern woman—you know, busy, stressed, working all the time both in the home and out of the home and needing to fold the laundry and cook a decent meal then finish studying a business report. I interview a lot of women to get the best tips.”

“My wife was like that,” he said, then wished he hadn’t mentioned Rachel. He didn’t like to talk about her.

Goldie gave him a nod. “Your home reflects that. I’m impressed that it was so neat.”

He shrugged. “My mom was over last night, cleaning for me. You should have seen it when I left yesterday morning.”

“Oh, your mother. Well, I’m sure she loves helping out.”

“She’s been a blessing…since…since Rachel died. She’s a big help with the house and the boys. I guess that works two ways since we lost my dad a year ago. She likes the company.”

“I’m sorry about your wife and your dad.” Goldie didn’t say anything else. She just stared out at the road ahead.

Thinking his past tragedies were sure a downer and not the best approach to impressing a woman, Rory was glad when they pulled up to her grandmother’s tiny brick house. He didn’t need to worry about impressing a woman, anyway. “I’ll help you get in and say hi to your grandmother.”

Goldie waited for him to come around the car then slowly lifted herself out to face him. “I might as well warn you, Rory. She’s gonna want you to stay and eat. But you don’t have to. That is, unless you want to, I mean.”

Rory smiled down at her, thinking soup and corn bread was mighty tempting right now. Especially if he’d get to sit across the table from Goldie.

Then he remembered his boys waiting at his mother’s house and he thought about Rachel, how much he still missed her, and he wondered why he was even thinking about another woman.

“I’d better get on home,” he told Goldie as he helped her up the two stone steps to the porch.

“Nonsense, Rory Branagan,” came the sweet but firm voice from inside the open door. Ruth stood there holding on to a walker. “After all you’ve done for Goldie, the least we can do is give you a good meal. Now come on in here and have some dinner. I insist.”

Rory looked from Goldie’s “I told you so” grin to Ruth Rios’s twinkling eyes and realized he was trapped between longing and duty. And that was not a good place for a man.

Or at least he didn’t think it was.

But he went into the house and shut the door anyway.

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