Read Online Angel Lane by Sheila Roberts - Free Book Online

kindness.
    Sam scowled back at her. “What is with you? I haven’t seen you this grumpy since Kizzy beat you out in the Fourth of July pie-baking contest.”
    â€œI am not grumpy,” she snapped, and then burst into tears. “Yes I am. I’m sorry.”
    Sam pulled her into a big bear hug. “I know you miss the girls, babe, but it’ll be Christmas before you know it and they’ll be back.”
    â€œOnly for a visit.” Sarah sniffled. “I’m grandchildless.”
    â€œNo you’re not. They’re just in a different location.”
    â€œThe house is so empty,” she continued.
    â€œSo, let’s go to the pound and get a dog,” Sam suggested.
    â€œOh, leave it to a man who is gone half the week to suggest getting something to housebreak,” Sarah said in disgust ending their embrace. “And how can you compare a dog to a grandchild?”
    â€œThey both make messes?” he guessed.
    â€œThat is not funny, and it’s not funny that the girls are growing up without their nana.”
    â€œThe girls have been gone a week, and you’ve talked to them on the phone every day.”
    â€œIt’s not the same as having them here.” Sarah threw up her hands in frustration. “What is the point of surviving parenthood if you don’t get to enjoy being a grandparent? And what’s the point of having all this baking knowledge if I don’t have someone to share it with?” She turned back to the sink and scowled out the kitchen window at the gray sky hanging over the lake.
    â€œYou share it with me,” Sam said, hugging her from behind. “In fact, it’s kind of nice to have the house all to ourselves, dontcha think? Like being newlyweds again,” he added, a hand sneaking up toward her breast. “I might get to see more of mywife now that she’s not always running off to babysit and bake cookies.”
    Sarah squirmed away. “You are not listening to a word I’m saying.”
    â€œYeah, I am,” he insisted. “But maybe we’re headed into a new phase. Let’s just relax and see where it leads.”
    She crossed her arms. “I already don’t like where it’s leading.” She was going to be a stranger to her grandchildren at this rate.
    Sam frowned. “So, go find some kid to bake with. Aren’t you looking for ways to pay it forward? You shouldn’t have trouble finding a kid somewhere in this town who likes oatmeal cookies,” he added, pulling the half-read copy of the
Heart Lake Herald
from the kitchen table and making for the living room.
    â€œWhere are you going? What happened to doing the dishes?” she called after him.
    â€œI’m saving you the trouble and firing myself,” he called back.
    â€œYou are not funny. Not even remotely.” She abandoned the dishes and left the kitchen. If he thought she was even going near a dish on her day off he was delirious.
    But what was she going to do? She decided to work on her quilts. She went to her craft room and pulled out the fabric she’d bought at Emma’s shop.
    Fabric wasn’t the only thing she’d gotten. Quilting was a hungry hobby that ate lots of money. She’d also purchased batting, a cutting mat, fabric-marking pencils, a quilting hoop, a quilting thimble, safety pins, and a rotary cutter. But it had been worth the cost. The girls would have special quilts to curl up under and remember their nana. She sighed and set to workmeasuring and making her squares. Emma had suggested starting with something simple, so Sarah was putting together two twin-sized quilts made with the traditional four-patch blocks. She should have them done by Christmas.
    But Christmas of what year? Two hours later, she straightened up, cracking half a dozen vertebrae in the process, and looked at the pile of squares in front of her. “You’re making progress,” she told herself. Slow