A Cedar Cove Christmas by Debbie Macomber

hours after midnight on Christmas Eve—and she wondered what Funny Face would say. Probably something very wise.
    The camel seemed curious, too, and thrust her long curved neck out of the stall, peering at Mary Jo through wide eyes, fringed with lush, curling lashes. Mary Jo had been warned to keep her distance. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she muttered, waving her index finger. “You’re not going to lure me over there with those big brown eyes. Don’t give me that innocent look, either. I’ve heard all about you.”
    After visiting a few placid sheep, another couple of horses and a donkey with a sweet disposition, Mary Jo walked out of the barn. She hurried toward the house through a light snowfall, wishing she’d remembered her coat. Even before she arrived, the front door opened and an attractive older gentleman held open the screen.
    “You must be Mary Jo,” he said and thrust out his hand in greeting. “Cliff Harding.”
    “Hello, Mr. Harding,” she said with a smile. She was about to thank him for his hospitality when he interrupted.
    “Call me Cliff, okay? And come in, come in.”
    “All right, Cliff.”
    Mary Jo entered the house and was greeted by the smell of roasting turkey and sage and apple pie.
    “You’re awake!” Grace declared as she stepped out of the kitchen. She wore an apron and had smudges of flour on her cheeks.
    “I’m shocked I slept for so long.”
    “You obviously needed the rest,” Grace commented, leading her into the kitchen. “I see you’ve met my husband.”
    “Yes.” Mary Jo smiled again. Rubbing her palms nervously together, she looked from one to the other. “I really can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”
    “Oh, nonsense. It’s the least we could do.”
    “I’m a stranger and you took me in without question and, well…I didn’t think that kind of thing happened in this day and age.”
    That observation made Grace frown. “Really? It does here in Cedar Cove. I guess it’s just how people act in small towns. We tend to be more trusting.”
    “I had a similar experience when I first moved here,” Cliff said. “I wasn’t accustomed to people going out of their way for someone they didn’t know. Charlotte Jefferson—now Charlotte Rhodes—quickly disabused me of that notion.”
    Despite everything, Mary Jo looked forward to meeting David’s stepmother. The conversation would be difficult, but knowing that Charlotte was as kind as everyone else she’d met so far made all the difference.
    “Really, Mary Jo,” Grace continued. “All you needed was a friend and a helping hand. Anyone here would’ve done the same. Olivia wanted you to stay with her, too.”
    “Everyone’s been so wonderful.” Thinking about the willingness of this family to take her in brought a lump to her throat. She bent, with some effort, to stroke the smooth head of a golden retriever who lay on a rug near the stove.
    “That’s Buttercup,” Grace said fondly as the dog thumped her tail but didn’t get up. “She’s getting old, like the rest of us.”
    “Coffee?” Cliff walked over to the coffeemaker. “It’s decaf. Are you interested?” he asked, motioning in Mary Jo’s direction with the pot. “Or would you prefer tea? Maybe some chamomile or peppermint tea.”
    “Tea, please. If it isn’t any trouble.”
    “None whatsoever. I’m having a cup myself.” Grace began the preparations, then suddenly asked, “You didn’t eat any lunch, did you?”
    “No, but I’m not hungry.”
    “You might not be, but that baby of yours is,” Grace announced as if she had a direct line of communication to the unborn child. Without asking further, she walked to the refrigerator and stuck her head inside. Adjusting various containers and bottles and packages, she took out a plastic-covered bowl.
    “I don’t want to cause you any extra work,” Mary Jo protested.
    “The work’s already done. Cliff made the most delicious clam chowder,” Grace said.