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“Accident?” She lifted her gaze from the child and focused on the father.

“Yes. Our car spun off the road.” He had a British accent. “The visibility is close to zero. I realise this is an imposition. We’re relieved to see a house.” The man was shivering and his breath formed white clouds in the freezing air. There was a streak of blood on his forehead.

My house, Mabel thought. Of course they’d picked her house. There were no others between here and the small community of Sugarbrook.

She studied him. Even with the streak of blood and the snow rapidly coating his hair and shoulders, she could see he was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way. There was an air of confidence about him. He seemed like the sort of man who would be able to chop down a tree or fix a leaking tap. The sort of man who wouldn’t hesitate to knock on a stranger’s door to seek shelter if that was what it took to protect his children.

He was also intuitive and seemed to sense her hesitation.

“I realise that we’re strangers and it’s a lot to ask, but would it be possible for us to come in for a short time so we can call for help?”

She hadn’t tried to call anyone, but she doubted they’d be able to get through. The house was in a dip, and the signal was always unreliable. And anyway, who was there to call? Eli Thorne had a tow truck, but he wouldn’t be prepared to leave the safety of his house for people stupid enough to be on the roads when they shouldn’t be.

“We had a car accident,” the little girl said. “Mummy and Daddy were fighting.”

“Elsie!” Mortified, the woman sent Mabel a desperate look. “I realise you know nothing about us, but I assure you we’re very normal. We’re an ordinary, decent, hardworking family on our way to spend Christmas with my parents.”

Ordinary, decent, hardworking folks who had been fighting over something in the car.

That, more than anything, reassured her. If they’d pretended to be a perfect family, she would have been suspicious because she knew families were never perfect. And she’d always found imperfection to be far more interesting.

“Come in.” She opened the door wider and the woman stepped inside along with a big flurry of snow.

She lowered the child so speedily she almost dropped her and flexed her shoulders to ease the ache.

“We can’t thank you enough.” She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears and Mabel took a step backwards.

These days she tried to keep emotion out of her life. Emotion and strangers.

The father followed, closing the door firmly behind him.

The older child was staring at Mabel.

“Don’t stare, Elsie,” the man muttered. “It’s rude.”

But Elsie’s gaze was fixed on Mabel. “Daddy—”

“Not now, honey. We need to get out of these wet things before we freeze. Stand still and don’t touch anything.”

It seemed a pointless instruction given that Elsie hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d laid eyes on Mabel.

The mother—I’m Brooke, pleased to meet you—removed the younger child’s snowy scarf, and Elsie stood passively as her father peeled off her snow-covered coat. A book fell to the floor and Elsie immediately retrieved it and hugged it against her, still staring at Mabel.

Mabel was about to point out that it was considered rude to stare when Crumpet stalked into the hallway to investigate the noise.

Elsie gasped. “Mummy!”

“Just a minute, Elsie. I need to get Poppy out of this coat. The zip is jammed, Matt. We need to take it off. She’s wet through and freezing.”

While they were busy fussing over the coat, Elsie dropped to her knees, put the book carefully on the floor and held out her arms to Crumpet.

Mabel waited for Crumpet to bolt into the next room (something she was tempted to do herself ), but instead, Crumpet took a few cautious steps forward and then sprang lightly onto the child’s lap, purring loudly.

It was hard to tell who was most surprised. The child or Mabel.

“Mummy, it’s Not-A-Cat.” Elsie kissed Crumpet on the top of his head.

Brooke was still doing battle with the coat. “I know, honey. Daddy rescued him from the car.”