“Go ahead,” Kirk said magnanimously. “Lots of women in there, too.”
Paul chuckled as he went through the door. Kirk’s statement proved to be true: the kitchen was full of women stirring and dipping, talking and tasting.
He stood inside the door, feeling a little out of place, but then someone gestured him over to a counter where giant bowls of salad stood ready to be distributed into individual serving bowls. Paul donned the gloves handed to him and then started scooping.
He’d just finished the job when there was a prickling in the back of his neck and at the same time, a baby let out a squawk. He turned, and just as he’d sensed, there was Amber. She was holding a baby, cooing at it, and Paul’s breathing hitched. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She looked up and saw him gawking. “Well, hey, happy Thanksgiving,” she said, coming over to him. She gave him a casual hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Once again, his breath seemed to be sucked out of his chest. “Whose baby?” he managed.
“My sister Erica’s. This is baby Hunter. He’s four months old.”
Paul remembered when Davey had been this age. He’d worn a similar pair of tiny overalls, too. Paul took off his glove and held out a finger to the baby, who squeezed it.
A teen girl who looked to be about eighteen marched over and held out her arms. “My turn,” she said, and lifted Hunter out of Amber’s arms. She walked away, bouncing the baby and whispering to him.
“That’s Hunter’s biological mother,” Amber explained. “She lives in town and is friends with all of us. She gets to see the baby pretty often.”
“You looked good holding a baby,” Paul blurted out, and then heat spread up his face. What a thing to say.
Amber didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment. She sighed. “I loved having a baby,” she said. “But I was even younger than Sophia is.” She nodded at the young woman who’d taken Hunter. “So it wasn’t exactly the right time of life to savor those moments. Everything was a scramble.”
The smell of roasting meat filled the air now, as people started pulling turkeys out of the big industrial ovens. The sound of voices from the hall got louder.
Paul and Amber leaned against the counter together, and despite the hustle and bustle going on around them, they seemed to be in their own little bubble.
“You can’t have more? You’re still young.”
“No.” She waved a hand at her abdominal area. “The cancer.” She looked away from Paul, and then her face softened. “Hi, honey.”
A teen about the same age as the one who’d taken the baby put an arm around Amber, and Paul immediately saw the resemblance.
“You’re all hot.” Amber touched the teen’s sweaty curls. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, helping with the kids, huh?”
“They’re wild. I had to take a break.”
“Paul,” Amber said, turning toward him, “this is my daughter, Hannah. She’s a college student, home for the Thanksgiving break.” Her voice was full of pride. “And I didn’t make her come and help today. She volunteered.”
“I’m glad to meet you.” He held out a hand, stepping out of the way of someone who’d started putting salad bowls on a big tray.
Hannah shook hands, but her eyes were narrowed.
“Our neighbor for the moment,” Amber explained. “He’s in the Healing Heroes cottage, along with his son, Davey.”
“You might have met Davey in among the wild kids,” Paul said. “Ravens shirt and freckles. Last I saw, he was playing cops.”
“I saw him. Cute kid.” Hannah tilted her head to one side as if she was sizing Paul up. Her gaze flickered to her mother, then back to him.
“Not as cute as you are.” Amber gave Hannah a quick hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Me, too,” Hannah said. “We’ll do some fun things together this weekend, right? Just us girls.”
To Paul, it sounded like a marking of territory, and that was fine with him. Amber should spend time with her daughter. Not with him. Because Amber as a mother was just as compelling as adventurer Amber was, though in a completely different way.
HE’S ACTING WEIRD. Amber didn’t know what to make of the way Paul kept looking at her and then looking away. So after Hannah had gone back to hang with the young people, Amber nudged him and led him over to the turkeys. “I think we need a man to start carving,” she said, looking up at him. “Are you up for it?” Even as she said it, she was aware that she was both flirting and being sexist. A woman could just as well carve turkeys as a man could.
His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, so quickly she wasn’t sure if she’d seen it. “Sure, I can do that.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
Yeah, she’d imagined it. “I can help, but I’m no good with knives,” she said. “You carve and I’ll make it look pretty.”
They worked, with Paul cutting thin slices and Amber piling them into the metal trays to go back in the oven and stay warm.
For whatever reason, she was curious about this man. With her hands busy, she felt freer to ask him questions. “Did you and Wendy hope to have more kids, before she got sick?”
She glanced up in time to see the corners of his mouth turn down. “I did,” he said slowly, “and I think she did, too. But we were having some problems.”
The reality of what she’d thoughtlessly asked hit Amber like a giant rock, almost taking her breath away. She pretended to drop something on the floor and bent down to pick it up, trying to compose herself.
Paul didn’t actually have any biological children because Davey wasn’t his biological child, if Wendy’s confession was to be believed.
Wendy had confided in Amber because she’d been near the end of her life, thinking about dying. Amber hadn’t
