Page 8 of Enduring Christmas

Luke glanced at the ingredients for this year's cake gathered on the counter, eggs, butter, cinnamon, golden raisins, sugar, and walnuts. The recipe and the tradition of baking on Christmas Eve had been in his family for generations. Would Xenobia be interested in a farm boy's simple pleasures? His wife certainly thought it hokey and unsophisticated.

"We'll see, Pumpkin."

Luke heard the door open to his bedroom and wasn't surprised to see their houseguest standing there looking adorable inches oversized robe and bare feet.

He pointed to a chair at the kitchen table. "Have a seat," he said. "We were just talking about you."

Xenobia gave him a knowing smirk. "I heard. Shiloh, some boys get weird when a girl says something they don't want to hear."

He quirked a brow. So she'd been eavesdropping. Another sign that she had more than a casual interest.

Luke chuffed. "That's because they are faking," he shot back. "You liked it." Hey, a guy should believe in the magic of Christmas too.

"Pumpkin, why don't you keep Miss Xenobia company while I rustle us up something to eat."

"I want cornflakes. I want cornflakes."

Xenobia frowned. "For dinner?"

Luke reached into an oak-hue cabinet and pulled out a cookbook, two manual kitchen timers, a measuring cup, flour, a sugar cup, and a mixing bowl. "How about pancakes?"

Elated. The only word to describe the jumping and yelling performance of gratitude exhibited by one happy little girl.

"Wow," Xenobia grinned. "These must be magic flapjacks."

Luke nodded, liking the smile. He'd gotten used to seeing her brows knitted together in his presence. It was nice to see her gleaming white smile aimed at him.

"It's about the only thing I can cook to near perfect every time," he whispered.

"Do you have meat?"

Okay. So she wasn't judging him for feeding his daughter breakfast for dinner. Shortly after Cheyenne had abandoned him to raise a fifteen-month-old alone, he'd almost packed up the house and moved closer to his remaining family. His mother's sister had five grown sons. Aunt Hannah had welcomed him to bring baby Shiloh for a visit. In the end, the Endurance townsfolk had banded together to help with prepared meals, some light housekeeping here and there, and a few house calls, when runny noses, and upset stomachs greeted him after a long day of grimy work.

"I got enough bacon in the freezer to get us through the whole winter."

"Count me in."

"Yay," Shiloh cheered. "Miss X-n-o-bia, are you and daddy are friends, again?"

"Yeah," she said, a hitch in her voice. "Your daddy and I are friends."

Luke heard the apprehension, as if she needed to convince herself. Luke could relate. Having your wife start a relationship with an old flame had screwed with head. Trusting women took more effort these days than for a cocky thirty-year-old.

He gave Shiloh a wink. "Told you. Your dad is hot stuff."

Xenobia threw up her hands. "Boy, nobody said all that."

He laughed.

You were thinking it."

Luke paid special attention not to scorch the pancakes or overcook the bacon. He had to admit having Xenobia in his home wearing his clothes, made him feel good as a man. Since Cheyenne's departure, he had not bought another woman home. None of the others seemed right for building a family. Cheyenne had not been the best wife, and he could be persuaded to partake of a temporary physical relationship. But his daughter deserved the best mother. Luke wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Xenobia wandered around the living room spying the family photos on the mantel. She didn't linger, not even on the smiling images with Cheyenne at his side.

Several plastic green storage containers packed were against the rear wall beside the backdoor sporting labels listing the X-mas contents inside.

"What's with all the super warehouse Christmas decorations?"