"You know you can't take your sister's things without asking," Josh said to Mandy.

"She hit me," Mandy said back.

"You know you're not supposed to hit your sister."

"She took my necklace. Without asking."

Josh was getting dizzy. "We'll go to the mall and get you a new necklace, okay?"

Lissa sniffed and nodded. "Okay."

"I want a necklace," cried Mandy.

"You, too," said Josh, and then both girls were jumping up and down and squealing. He looked at his dad. "We need more estrogen in the house, dontcha think?"

Still, he was nice to Sarah when she came over later, and the girls were on their best behavior. "You didn't need to go to all that trouble," he told her as she set the food on the kitchen counter.

"It wasn't any trouble. I like to cook," she said. "And bake, of course," she added. "Do you girls like cookies?"

Lissa and Mandy nodded vigorously.

"My mommy used to make cookies," said Mandy. "She's in heaven now."

For a second Josh could see that their visitor was taken by surprise, but she recovered quickly. "I'll bet she's baking cookies for all the angels. What do you think?"

Mandy smiled and nodded.

"You come by the bakery sometime soon and I'll make sure you girls get a peanut b.u.t.ter cookie. How does that sound? Maybe we can even find a cookie for your daddy and grandpa."

"It won't be hard," said George. "We never met a cookie we didn't like."

"That's what we bakers like to hear," Sarah said.

Her mission accomplished, she left. The minute the door closed Dad leaned over the potpie and inhaled deeply. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about, home cookin'."

Josh had to admit the pie was good. So were the cookies.

Simply looking at them took him back in time to the days when life was perfect and he'd come home to the smell of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.

Chocolate. Chocolate shop. Chocolate babe. She sure looked tempting, but the vibes she put out said, Keep away, sucker.

Too bad Sarah Goodwin didn't have a daughter who was just as friendly as she was. And who looked like Jamie Moore.

The bakery was busy Monday morning, with throngs of people. They were going to run out of Sarah's herbed bread before closing. Her scones were about to be history, too, she thought as she slid a fresh batch of orange oatmeal cookies onto the tray behind the gla.s.s counter.

"Hi, there," said a friendly male voice from the other side of the counter.

She looked up to see Leo Steele.

"What's good today? Besides the baker."

"Just about anything," said Sarah. She managed to find a smile for him. After all, he was a paying customer. And a neighbor. And he was just trying to be friendly and fit in.

"How about a couple of those oatmeal cookies? Those look good."

Sarah nodded and slipped two in a little bakery bag. "Chrissy, you want to ring these up?"

"Sure," said Chrissy, taking over the transaction.

"How are the good deeds going?" Leo asked Sarah, obviously not ready to get pa.s.sed on to someone else.

"Going good. How about you, Leo? Have you been paying it forward?"

"You betcha," he said. He caught sight of Sarah's new little friends skipping up to the counter, their grandpa right behind them. "Hey, girls. Do you like cookies?"

George had a hand on each girl's shoulder in a heartbeat. "Yeah, they do, and we're here to get them some."

Leo stuck out a hand. "Leo Steele. I'm new here. Looking for my good deed for the day. These look pretty good. I thought I'd share."

"We don't let the girls take treats from strangers," George said, but he shook the man's hand.

"Oh, yeah. A different world from when our kids were little, huh? How about I give them to you and you can pa.s.s them on?" Leo handed him the bag.

George nodded. "Thanks."

Leo turned back to Sarah. "Guess I'd better buy some more."

"I guess you'd better go to the end of the line," snapped the middle-aged woman in back of him.

"No problem," said Leo easily. "But I've got a better idea. How about you let me buy you something?" he asked, giving Sarah a wink.

The woman gawked at him.

"We're trying to put the heart back in Heart Lake," he told her, "like it said in the paper."

"I read about that," she said. She looked speculatively at Leo. Sarah noticed she didn't have a ring on her left hand. "Well, okay. That's really nice of you."

The woman made it worth her while, ordering a dozen ginger cookies, a loaf of the vanishing herb bread, and a piece of lavender cake.

"Make that two pieces," said Leo. "Want to join me?" he asked the woman. "I'm new here."

So many women, so little time, Sarah couldn't help thinking.

"Well, I do have to run some errands. But I can do them later," the woman added quickly.

Leo paid for the goodies as well as a couple of mochas and they moved off down the line.

"That was smooth," said George. "I'll have to tell my son about this place. It looks like the best pickup joint in town."

"Do we still get a peanut b.u.t.ter cookie?" Lissa asked him.

"Of course," Sarah answered, and pa.s.sed two cookies over the counter.

Lissa took a big bite.

"Good?" asked Sarah, and she nodded.

"I guess we'll have to learn to make cookies, girls," said George.

The chicken nugget king making cookies, Sarah couldn't quite picture it. But after they left a new picture began to form in her mind. By the end of the day it was crystal clear.

ELEVEN.

What's this?" asked Dawn Schoemaker, one of Sarah's best customers, pointing to the flyer advertising Sarah's new brain baby. "A baking cla.s.s for girls? You must be going through granddaughter withdrawals."

"I am," Sarah admitted.

Steph and the girls checked in on a regular basis, but the regularity had gone from daily to a couple of times during the week and once on weekends. Hardly surprising, considering their schedule. Steph was already working part-time, and the girls were busy with their new school. Then there was church, ballet lessons, and Katie had joined Camp Fire.

That news had given Sarah's heartstrings a wistful tug. She had enjoyed a brief stint as a Camp Fire girl, and acquired a nice collection of colorful beads for her vest by the time her dad got transferred and they had to move. She remembered the fun of earning those home craft beads, especially baking in the kitchen with her mother. She had been antic.i.p.ating holiday baking with her granddaughters this year. Helping some other little girls had seemed like the perfect solution to her lonely grandma blues.

"That's some way to put the heart back in Heart Lake," Dawn said. "Are you going to hold the cla.s.s here at the bakery?"

Allowing a group of little girls to run around the bakery kitchen wouldn't go over well with the health department. "No, I'll have it at my house."

"Boy, are you brave," Dawn said in a tone of voice suggesting that Sarah's bravery teetered on the edge of insanity.

"It will be fun," Sarah insisted. Of course it would be fun. How could it not? "Do you know anyone who might be interested?"

Dawn thought a moment. "Actually, I do. The mom's a nurse, and she works nights a lot."

"Is she a single mom?"

"No, but she might as well be. Her husband works construction on and off. When he's in charge, the kids pretty much run wild."

"How many kids are in this family?" Sarah suddenly had a vision of children running wild all over her house.

"Two boys, teenagers, and a girl about nine."

Nine was the right age. "What's she like?"

"A bit of a handful," said Dawn. "Last year she helped herself to my peonies to make a bouquet for a mock wedding she and some of her friends were having."

"Creative little thing," Sarah said diplomatically.

"She is a character," Dawn admitted. "Her mom doesn't seem to have the energy to keep up with her."

Sarah was pretty sure that meant she wouldn't, either. She'd never done anything like this before. Maybe she should start out slowly, with well-behaved, quiet children. Then, if all went well, she could branch out.

"Anyway, I'll have her mom give you a call," said Dawn. Before Sarah could voice her decision to ease into the baking cla.s.s business, Dawn had taken her box of teacakes and sailed out the door.

Oh, well. By the time the woman called the cla.s.s would be full, Sarah would make sure of it.

That very afternoon she recruited her first students. "Does it sound like something they'd enjoy?" she asked George Armstrong after she'd explained her idea to him.

"Would they! Sign 'em up. What do I owe you?"

Sarah smiled. "Nothing. This is something I want to do."

"Well, it works for me," said George. "I'm sure my son will think it's a great idea, too."

Okay, she thought as she hung up the phone, there were two. She'd start with six, a nice manageable number. She should have no trouble finding four more little girls like the Armstrongs. The cla.s.s would be full before you could say "Cookie Monster."

"You got another taker," Sam said when she came home from the bakery the next afternoon.

All right. She knew it.

"Betty Bateman just signed up her grandkid."

Sarah's excitement melted faster than b.u.t.ter on a hot burner. "Betty? Oh, no," she moaned. "Just feed me rhubarb leaves right now and be done with it."

"You said you were taking the next four who called," Sam reminded her as he poured himself a mug of coffee. "Anyway, what's wrong with Beano?"

"Beanie," Sarah corrected. She took the mug from his hand and downed a big gulp. "And nothing. It's just that every time Betty brings her over I'm going to get Bettyized. I'll be lucky if we can get anything done with Betty at the door wanting to talk all afternoon."

"There is that," Sam said. "You should have warned me."

"It's not your fault. And if it had even occurred to me that Betty would jump on this I would have, believe me."

"Doesn't her son live in Seattle? That's a long way to come for a baking cla.s.s."

Sarah shook her head. "They moved to Lyndale this summer. That's close enough for Betty to pick up Beanie after school and run her here."

Sam gave Sarah a sympathetic shoulder rub. "Sorry, babe." And then he ruined his good deed by adding, "But you asked for it."

She turned and frowned at him. "Now, what is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "You were the girl who wanted to change the world."

"Just Heart Lake," she corrected.