One Snowy Night (Sweet Home, Alaska #1) - Patience Griffin Page 0,24

quilt that her mom had made for her when she was ten. Surprisingly, though, she lay awake. The awkward moments she’d shared with Donovan earlier flooded back to her. He had made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years—or at least she’d been able to keep those feelings at bay while he was gone from Sweet Home. Was he also behind the burst of creativity she’d had afterward, ending her day on a higher note than expected?

“Hey.” Suddenly eleven-year-old Izzie was sitting beside Hope, propped up against the headboard with her feet stretched out.

“I’m sleeping,” Hope said.

“You’re never too asleep to talk to me, though.”

Hope rolled over to face her. “Okay. You’re right.”

Izzie slid down in the bed. “Tell me how it went with Donovan. Is he as cute as he was when I died?”

“Yeah. But he’s definitely not a kid anymore. He’s a man, Izzie.”

Izzie rested her head on her hand and stared off into space. “He was awfully fine then.” She dropped her hand and looked over at Hope. “Did you reconsider telling Ella the truth about her dad?”

It wouldn’t hurt to be honest with Izzie, especially since Hope wasn’t really having this conversation. “Yes. I did think about telling Ella when she came home tonight. But I’m not going to do it. Donovan said he wasn’t going to be here long, so wouldn’t it just hurt her?” And him. “Besides, if I told her now about who her real father was, Ella would never trust me again. I’ve lied to my daughter all these years and there’s no way back from that.”

Izzie sighed. “You might be right.”

“I didn’t expect you to agree with me.”

Izzie shrugged.

They lay in silence for a long moment, before Izzie spoke again. “I’m glad you’re doing something with my clothes. They were only taking up space in your closet. You have to admit space is a precious commodity in your tiny house.”

“Yeah,” Hope said. “I know.”

“What took you so long?” Izzie asked, her voice taking on the tenor of that otherworldly wisdom of hers.

“Your clothes were incubating,” Hope said. Elsie Stone used to say that about quilting projects that were set aside.

Izzie slid down farther until she and Hope were face-to-face. “You’re not making any sense.”

“It’s finally the right time, is all,” Hope said. “What did you think of the design?”

“Absolutely brilliant. I also think it’s a good idea to have Ella help you with it.” She paused, looking serious. “You know Ella is in trouble, right? She’s too young to understand that Dad is happy in heaven and he doesn’t want Ella to be sad over him.”

“I tried to tell her,” Hope said.

“But she doesn’t hear,” Izzie finished for her.

Hope got a crazy idea. “What if Dad visited Ella like you visit me?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Izzie said. “Ella is going to have to walk through her pain. No shortcuts.”

“I’m afraid there’s going to be more stumbling than walking.” Because of Ella’s drinking.

“Everyone stumbles, Hope,” Izzie said in her wise-woman voice. “What’s important is whether you can catch yourself from falling. Or even better, if someone else is beside you, to steady you and help you to your feet again.”

Hope knew the answer, but she asked the question anyway. “Like what you do for me?”

“Exactly,” Izzie said. “And what you’re now going to do for your daughter.”

Chapter 5

WRAPPED IN HIS winter coat and reveling in the morning sun, Donovan stood on the porch with his cup of coffee as Rick walked to his car.

“I’ll see you in a while,” Donovan said.

Rick waved, started his car, and eased out of the circular driveway as Courtney Wolf—real estate agent and an ex from sophomore year in high school—pulled in. She glanced in her mirror and adjusted her blond poufy hair before sliding out gracefully.

“Hey, Donovan,” she said in that breathy voice she used to get guys in high school, “how’s it going? It’s great to see you.” She scanned him from head to toe, her smile widening as she scoured every inch of him.

He scooped up Boomer, using him for cover. “Hi, Courtney. Long time no see.”

“Who was that leaving just now?” She motioned to the end of the drive. “He was a looker.”

“My business manager, Rick Miller.”

“Did he really have to run off like that?”

“We’re heading to Anchorage right after you assess the property, well, both properties. Rick is driving into town to have some sandwiches made at the Hungry Bear.”

“You know I always speak my mind,” she said. “So tell