Page 8 of Reindeer and Restraints
I wipe my palms on a kitchen towel and force myself to breathe. Whatever she says, I end this charade today. No more hints. Just truth.
I make a mental note of the time so I can remove the cookies from the pan in three minutes. But if our conversation goes long like I hope, imperfect cookies won't be a problem.
The door flies open, and Jolene bursts in, cheeks flushed, eyes wild.
Shock washes through me. I reposition my feet and fling the oven mitt onto the counter. She was supposed to be happy.
The gift box under the tree taunts me. Would it fix the problem or make it worse?
I rush forward and pull her into my arms. She stiffens for a split second, then sags against me. I kick the door shut.
We stand there, my chin resting on her head. Her citrusy shampoo mixes with the sugar wafting from the oven, such a sweet combination at odds with the chaos on her shoulders. But she wants to talk, she's trusting me to help.
That's what I'll do—put my agenda aside and tend to hers. I ease back, set my hands on her shoulders. Her green eyes shimmer, red-rimmed, searching mine like she's already defeated.
"Let's go to the couch," I say. "I'll grab cookies and milk."
She sniffles. "You always know how to make me happy, but this is bigger than cookies and milk."
The flatness of her tone fills me with worry. Whoever hurt her is going to pay.
She slips from my grip, paces to the living room, and sinks into the couch cushions.
"What's going on, Jolene? I'll fix it."
"You can't." She twists her fingers in her lap and stares at the floor. "I'll get a job. I'll figure this out."
"What are you going to fix with a job?" My pulse thuds heavily in my veins.
"My cousin…" She lifts her gaze and her voice cracks. "Jennifer died in a car wreck and named me as guardian of Jane. I don't know what to do with a two-year-old!"
My mouth goes slack as I struggle to know what to say. Jennifer was just getting her life under control—for Jane—and now she’s gone. Why would she name Jolene as guardian? They weren't that close. And not to make light of the tragedy, but Jolene has made it clear many times that she's not mom material. Her despair makes sense.
"Hey." I reach for her. "You don't have to tackle this solo. I'll help."
She shakes her head. "I won't dump a kid on you. That's not right."
"Taking care of a child who just lost their mom is right. She'll fit into our little world." The words tumble, rawness almost revealing my bigger plans. "I want to raise her with you."
Her eyes widen. "You're not kicking me out?"
"Why would I kick you out? I want to—"
She cuts me off, voice firm. "Don't make any promises you'll regret."
"I won't regret helping. How about we take it a month at a time. Promise you won't make any big decisions without talking to me?"
She exhales shakily. "You’re my shelter in the storm."
"Where is Jane now? When do we pick her up?"
"Social Services is gathering her things, then they'll be on their way."
Her breathing evens against my side. I squeeze my arm over her shoulders and pull her close. I can feel how fragile she is right now. The proposal will have to wait.
But the milk and cookies won’t. "I'll get a snack, then clear a bedroom for her."
Chapter 5
