Montana Mistletoe. Roxanne Rustand
have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you.
—Philippians 4:6–9
With love and deep appreciation to my husband, Larry, for his never-ending support, and to our children and their spouses, Andy (Jenni), Brian (Julie) and Emily (Matthew), who are such a joy. I love you all beyond measure!
And also to Cheryl Kissling, RN. We were so very blessed by her comfort, support and gentle professionalism in the NICU years ago, when we lost our infant daughter, Christiana Leigh. Larry and I both felt we were held in the arms of an angel during those dark times, and I know that Cheryl’s deep faith strengthened my own at a time when I felt devastated and lost. I now owe her additional thanks for providing medical information for this book.
Many thanks to Emily M. Vasquez, freelance content editor, for her suggestions and advice on developing this manuscript. Any errors are mine alone!
I would like to thank Bobbi Jo Crouse for her wonderful assistance with research questions on this book—and several previous books, as well.
Also, I would like to thank my Facebook friends for the times I’ve asked questions about conflicting research sources, and so many of them came forward with the right professional backgrounds or experiences to help me out.
Contents
Jess Langford stopped outside his grandmother’s room at the rehab center and dropped to one knee. “Okay, girls. Do you remember what we talked about in the truck?”
The five-year-old twins bobbed their heads vigorously, their long, curly blond hair bouncing, though even now Sophie was edging toward the door, her bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement.
“We gotta be real quiet, so Gramma gets better and comes home.” Bella wrapped a long strand of her silky hair around a forefinger. She was edging toward the door, too. “And we can’t make her bed jiggly or she might cry. ’Cause she hurts.”
Jess sighed as he stood. Betty wasn’t hooked up to tubes and wires any longer, so those hazards were over, and she was made of much tougher stuff than anyone he knew. But the rambunctious twins had enough energy to wear anyone out—especially a seventy-seven-year-old woman who had been through surgery two weeks ago for a broken hip.
“Remember the rules? No running, no climbing on her bed. Promise? And indoor voices only, or we’ll have to leave.”
The girls raced into the dimly lit room and flung themselves against the side of the bed, chattering excitedly about their day in kindergarten. The pretty new layer of snow outside that looked like the sparkly real diamonds on their favorite Barbie dresses. Their latest adventures