Denny heard a sound and turned to look back. He saw Dr. Michaels and Mel hustling out to the Hummer, carrying small children. He moved back toward the house and Frank.

“What are they doing here?” Frank asked.

The doctor lifted his bundle into the back of the Hummer before he addressed Frank. “I think they’re going to be just fine, Frank, but they have to go to the hospital. They both need X-rays and antibiotic therapy. We have to be sure it’s not pneumonia. If this has settled into their chests, and it sounds like it has, they’ll just get worse out here without the right medicine—and there’s another storm on the way.”

“I can’t afford no hospital!”

“If you can’t afford it, they’ll still be treated. Mel can help you with some paperwork for assistance—that can be done later,” Cameron said.

“They’ll just heap the bills on me—they’ll get their pound of flesh eventually. I’ll never get on my feet this way!”

“Well, Frank, I believe the price of not taking these little ones to Valley Hospital could be a lot higher than that. I aim to get ’em taken care of so they can get well.”

Then, ignoring any further argument, Cameron got behind the wheel of the Hummer.

Lorraine Thickson hurried out the door and across the porch, carrying two doctors’ bags. “Frank, please watch over Megan and Jeremy. I imagine I’ll stay the night with the boys. I’ll call you later to tell you how they are.”

She climbed in the back with Mel and the little ones, the hatch closed and the Hummer backed away. Frank tromped up the porch step and into the house.

Knowing Becca was in there with Megan, Denny abandoned the idea of another load of wood and jogged through the deep snow to the house. He kicked the snow off his boots before opening the door, just in time to hear Frank angrily bellow, “I don’t need no goddamn charity!” With a swipe of his arm, he knocked the care box off the table and sent the food scattering across the floor. The frozen turkey bounced twice; canned goods rolled around.

Becca was supported by her crutches at the stove, a pan steaming and a spoon in her hand. Her eyes were round with fear. Megan sat straight up on the sofa and screamed, “Daddy!” Then she covered her mouth and began to cry.

Denny took two giant steps into the house and grabbed Frank by the front of his jacket and with a snarl, pulled him right out the front door. He closed the door and pushed Frank right up against it. Denny’s face felt purple with rage and Frank had the intelligence to look a little intimidated, if not scared.

“Listen to me, Frank. Listen! You ever shout at my girl again, I swear to God you’ll be sorry! She is nothing but kindness! I doubt she gives a crap about your sorry ass, but she insisted on coming out here because she loves your little girl.” Frank’s jacket still in his fist, he gave him a little shake and pushed him against the door again. “How can you do something like that in front of that little girl? She loves you! You’d turn your anger on a child of your own, who loves you? Who’s counting on you? What’s she going to think? That it would be wrong for her to eat that food because it makes you so angry? She’s sick!”

Frank’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Mind your own business.”

“It is my business! When you turn on my woman and a young innocent child I make it my business! Now, we’re going in there. We’re picking up the groceries and I want you to tell your child you’re sorry you shouted. If you don’t want to eat, I don’t care. But you tell that sick child that you want her to eat. And if you don’t, we’re going to come back out here and rehearse it again!” They stared at each other a moment and Denny said, “You hearing me, Frank? Because I am not fooling around with you.”

“I hear.”

In a quieter voice, Denny said, “You’re wrong to make the whole world around you suffer because you’re angry. Especially the world your kids live in.”

Frank just looked down.

Denny let go of his jacket. “Let’s go inside and make peace. You were wrong. When you’re wrong, you make amends. It’s not complicated.” He opened the door for Frank to enter.

They went quietly about the business of picking up the scattered food. Denny stored the frozen turkey in the refrigerator, where it would slowly thaw, while Frank picked up canned goods one at a time and tossed them, catching them in between the stump of his missing forearm and his body so he could carry more. This caused Denny to stop and watch; the man had definitely learned some compensating moves! If he’d just get an attitude adjustment, he’d probably make it just fine.

When the kitchen was straightened again, Frank went the few steps to the couch where Becca huddled next to Megan.

“Miss, I apologize for my temper. It’s been a hard winter so far. Megan, honey, let’s eat us some of that soup.”

“It’s okay, Daddy. I don’t need it.” Then she covered her mouth and coughed.

“Come on, baby, I need some. Will you sit with me?”

“Okay,” she said meekly. “The little boys went to the hospital, Daddy.”

“I know, honey. That was smart of the doctor. Mama will be there. She’ll call us tonight.” He looked at Becca. “Will you stay and have some soup with us?”

“I would,” she said, getting up and positioning her crutches. “But I’m going to do a little cooking at the bar because Paige and Preacher are running all over the mountain trying to be sure everyone has what they need before another big storm hits. I’m not much of a cook, but I’m doing what I can. I brought enough soup so even if you don’t feel like messing around in the kitchen too much tonight, you and the kids will have that.”

“I’d gladly pay for the soup,” he said.

She smiled warmly. “No need, Mr. Thickson. It’s all good.” She bent and kissed Megan’s head, against medical advice. “I want you to get better, little girl!”

Denny and Becca sat in Jack’s truck in front of the Thickson house, waiting for Preacher and Jack to finish up. “I think it’s best to get out of their hair,” Becca said. “And just hope Mr. Thickson can mend some fences with little Megan, the poor darling.”

“I was hard on him, Becca, probably too hard. No one understands better than me how overpowering self-pity can be.”

She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “We’ve both come a long way.”

“We have to make a decision now. When do you want to leave?”

“I want to leave right now, but I’m not going to. I’m going to go back to Jack’s and make sure everyone who’s shoveling, plowing, delivering and helping get fed tonight. They’re all throwing themselves into the care of this town and they’ve been awful good to me. The least I can do is return the favor.”

“We might not get down the mountain tomorrow, you know.”

“Then we’ll get down the next day. Or the next. It doesn’t matter—we’ll get there. The important thing to me right now is that we’re both moving in the same direction.”

When Jack and Preacher delivered the last of their wood to the Thicksons’ front porch, Jack transferred two care boxes to Denny and Becca and gave them the names and directions for delivery. Because Becca was on crutches, these boxes were not going to the country, but rather the edge of town, where most of the streets were passable.

They pulled up to a small house, the street numbers hanging kind of drunkenly from the nails that held them next to a warped front door that didn’t look strong enough to keep the wind out. Even though Becca had to contend with her crutches, she was determined to see who lived in this ramshackle little place. She turned herself around and lowered herself carefully to the ground on one foot, holding her lame foot above the snow. The walk was covered with a little more than a foot of snow, less than on the street because of the huge trees that formed a protective canopy. She made her way carefully to the front door while Denny came behind her with a big box.

The woman who opened the door was young, maybe early twenties. She was thin and a little pale. She held a baby in her arms with a coarse Army blanket covering her shoulders and the baby. Hiding behind her and hanging on her leg was a little one, perhaps two years old.

“Mrs. Crane?” Becca asked.

The woman pushed her hair back over one ear. “I’m Nora Crane. Who are you?”

“My name is Becca Timm. We brought you a Christmas box. This is Denny—he can carry it into the kitchen for you if you want.”

A huff of embarrassed laughter escaped her and she stood aside, pulling the two-year-old with her. The toddler peeked out from behind her mother, a thumb in her mouth. Becca stood back so Denny could enter, but then Becca stepped inside the doorway and saw the reason for the woman’s laughter. It was just one room; there was a broken-down couch, a table with two mismatched chairs and while there was a stove, there was no refrigerator.

“Would you like us to put some of this stuff away somewhere for you?” Becca asked.

“You can just leave it.” Then she brushed impatiently at a tear.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how do you keep food without a refrigerator?”

“There’s just milk to worry about—I keep it right outside the back door.” She gave a limp shrug. “I don’t guess we’ll be here too long.”

“Oh. How old is the baby?”

“About six weeks now. Who sent this food?”

“Well, there’s a group of folks from the church and Jack’s Bar. Will someone clear the walk for you?”

“Don’t matter much,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll be going outside.”

“Nora, do you need a few things? Clothes for the kids? Blankets?” She looked around. “How are you keeping warm?”

“I run the oven now and then. Tell them thanks, whoever sent this over. I didn’t think anyone knew I was here.”

“Someone knew. I’m going to tell the pastor you could use some sweaters and blankets. Maybe he knows where we can find some things to help get you through the winter.”

Her lip quivered slightly and she nodded once, but said nothing.

“Do you have any family?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “I had a…” She straightened, trying to find some pride. “There’s no one anymore.”

“I think you could use a hand,” Becca said. “I’ll talk to Pastor Kincaid or Jack—maybe someone can help.”

“For the kids,” she said.

“There’s a can opener in the box, along with some plastic bowls, spoons, a couple of knives.”

She nodded again.

“Bye, then,” Becca said. She moved out the door right behind Denny and heard it close behind her.

Denny positioned himself in front of Becca, took her crutches and bent slightly at the waist. “Come on, gimpy,” he said gently.

She looped her arms around his neck, bent her knees to lift her feet out of the snow and he piggybacked her to the truck. Once there, he helped lift her inside. He went around to the driver’s side and jumped in.

She faced him, pale and stricken. “Denny,” she said, her voice just a squeak of emotion.

“We’ll get her some help,” he said, starting the truck. “Looks like the next house is just a few doors down. You going in this one with me?”

“Yes. Yes, I have to. I had no idea this town was so poor!”

“This town is like all towns, Becca—there’s a little of everything. And there are some folks real hard on their luck, but the people who can help, do. That’s worth a lot.” He pulled down the block, past three houses. “Here we are. There’s a porch—let me get you on the porch and come back for the box.”