Blessings of the Season (13 page)

“What do we do now?” Chad whispered in her ear as they walked through the big garage door, back into the fire station. The building was concrete floors and metal siding. Fluorescent lights hung from chains, and wood smoke scented the air.

“We go inside for door prizes.”

“That isn't what I meant. What do we do now, after ‘Operation Mistletoe'?”

Isabelle shrugged, hoping to pretend they didn't have to do anything. As if that kiss wouldn't be the talk of the diner tomorrow. She wanted to tell him it was Christmas and they were both lonely. That kiss hadn't been about them. It had been about the moment, the music, the lights and a sprig of green mistletoe.

“Why do we have to do anything?” She didn't look at him. They were threading their way through the crowds of people. “It's Christmas, and we're not the first ones to get caught under the mistletoe.”

“I see.”

She glanced up this time, because his voice was quiet.

“It's Christmas,” she repeated and then searched for Lizzie, who had run off after they entered the building. “I hope she wins something. She deserves to win something.”

“She's a great kid.”

Isabelle laughed a little. “I'm glad you can see that, after what she did.”

“She had good intentions.”

“Yes, she meant well. But she shouldn't have.”

“Isabelle, it's okay. She brought me here. I've found a place in the country that I can call home. The only thing I regret is that the friend I thought I'd find isn't really the friend I thought I'd been writing to for the last year. But that's okay. Maybe we can work on that part.”

“I think we can be friends.”

“Nothing more?” He had led her to the one quiet place in the building, and his eyes, dark and warm, studied her face with an intentness that made her look away.

Isabelle shivered and pulled his coat, a coat that had his scent, his warmth, closer around her. “Chad, I don't know about that. I mean, my life is complicated. I have to concentrate on raising Lizzie, on working two jobs. Dating has been at the bottom of my list of priorities for a long time. I'm not even sure if I remember how.”

“Maybe I can help you remember.” He winked and still held on to her hand. “We could find that mistletoe again.”

She smiled a little and moved her hand from his. “I think for now we should avoid the mistletoe.”

Lizzie's shout that she'd won ended the conversation. Isabelle turned as her daughter ran toward them, holding leather work gloves and a can of coffee.

“I won!”

“You certainly did win.” Isabelle hugged her daughter. “That's just what you've always wanted, right?”

Lizzie's eyes sparkled with laughter and youth. “You can have the gloves.” She handed them to Chad and then held the coffee out to Isabelle. “And you get this.

“Merry Christmas.” Lizzie stood on tiptoes, twelve-
years-old and full of life. She gave Chad a loose hug. Isabelle liked that his face turned a little red and he wasn't quite sure what to do.

“We should go now.” Isabelle shrugged out of his jacket and handed it back to him. “Thank you.”

He took the coat. “You're welcome. And I'll see you tomorrow, right, Lizzie?”

“Yes, my first day of work. I'll be at the Pine Tree Inn after school.”

Isabelle had forgotten, and now the reminder settled like a cold lump. Her daughter was determined to earn money for the dance camp that Isabelle couldn't afford. At twelve, she was determined and unwilling to give up on her dreams.

Isabelle prayed she wouldn't be let down.

C
had parked his truck just as Lizzie Grant skipped up the sidewalk of Jolynn's inn. It was thanks to her that he was here. He finally had a hometown. He had signed the paperwork on the farm today, and in two months it would be his.

Lizzie, in jeans and with her plaid coat buttoned to the neck, stopped on the porch and waved, waiting for him. He got out of the truck, slipping his keys into his pocket as he walked. Lizzie, full of youthful exuberance, came down off the porch, her smile wide. She looked like her mother, tall and slim, with her dark hair long and pulled back in a ponytail. Her mom wore hers loose.

The main difference between mother and daughter was the expression in their eyes. Lizzie's eyes were full of hope, full of laughter. Isabelle had lived a lot of life, and it hadn't always been easy.

“Hey, are you ready for your first day of work?”

Lizzie nodded and stepped next to him as he went up the stairs. “All ready.”

“Your mom says you're saving for dance camp? It must be pretty expensive.”

“It is, really expensive.” She bit down on her lip and kept her gaze down. Like her mother. And he knew she wasn't telling the whole truth.

“Something tells me this is about more than camp.” He opened the door and motioned her through, into the large Victorian with the polished oak woodwork and heavy antique furniture. The back sitting room, next to the dining room, was his favorite. The furniture in that room was leather and comfortable. Larry said that room was the one place in this house where he could really relax. The rest was Jolynn's doing. She liked frilly.

Lizzie obviously liked frilly, too. She went into the first room, the drawing room with furniture that was as comfortable as a wooden bench. The floors were covered with floral area rugs, and sheer white drapes covered the windows.

“What's up, Lizzie?”

She walked around the room, her back to him, touching the books on the shelves and then pausing at the porcelain figurines that lined the mantel. She finally sat on the edge of the floral sofa, her legs crossed at the ankles and her hands clasped in her lap.

“I want to buy my mom a Christmas present.” She looked up, her brown eyes liquid and her smile a little tremulous. And he didn't know what to do. He'd dealt with tears before, with young soldiers who were homesick and wanted to go home, with new parents that
hadn't seen their babies. But this, a twelve-year-old girl wanting to buy her mom a Christmas present, this was a new experience.

He cleared his throat and stood in front of her, trying hard to think of the right thing to say for this moment. She watched him, waiting, as if he was supposed to have the answers.

“What about camp? Your mom thinks you're saving money to go. And won't you be disappointed if you don't get to go?”

“I can always go to camp next year.” She glanced away, but not before he saw that look, the one that said she probably wouldn't get to go. “But my mom, she's given me everything. She's given up a lot that she wanted, so I could have what I want. She works two jobs so that I can take dance lessons. She's done all of that to give me my dreams, and I want to do this for her.”

He sat down in the chair next to the sofa. “What is it she wants, Lizzie?”

“She's always talked about playing the guitar. She grew up in foster homes and never got to take lessons. It's the one thing she's always wanted. And working here, I can get her a guitar. There's one at the Main Street Flea Market that she's talked about. But when I tell her to get it, she shrugs it off and says it isn't important.”

“How about if I help?” He leaned forward a little, and she did a sharp double take, meeting his gaze.

“I don't know.” She held her bottom lip in her teeth, and he could see that she was considering it.

“It must be a pretty expensive guitar. I could match whatever you earn.”

“And then maybe we could buy the guitar and the case.” Brown eyes lit up, and she was smiling again. “I think she'd really like that. She shouldn't have to give up all of her dreams.”

“No, she shouldn't.” He couldn't explain the way his chest tightened because he wanted Isabelle to have everything, too. He wanted her to have dreams come true and happy endings that made her cry.

But how would she feel if she knew that Lizzie was giving up camp so she could have something she wanted? Proud of Lizzie. That's how he would feel, how he already felt.

“Hey, are you going to come to my Christmas recital for ballet?” Lizzie had switched subjects, and he had to let go of his thoughts to catch up with her changing moods.

Had they made the deal on the guitar? He couldn't decide, but she was standing up, still watching, waiting. And footsteps in the hall meant they were about to be interrupted, probably by Jolynn coming to find her little helper.

“Tell me when, and I'll be there.”

“Friday. And afterward Jolynn is having a little party for me. Here, so you can be at that, too.”

“Lizzie, I don't think your…”

Jolynn walked through the door, her coral lipstick bright and her smile welcoming. “There's my girl. Are you ready to do laundry, Lizzie Lou?”

“I'm ready. I was just telling Chad why I'm really working for you.”

Jolynn hugged the girl tight, and tears slid down her cheeks. “Lizzie, you're trouble with a big old T, but
you've got the biggest heart of any kid I know. Doesn't she, Chad?”

He was a little choked up himself. “Yeah, she sure does.”

Lizzie whispered in Jolynn's ear, and Jolynn tossed him another smile. “Well, now, that's real nice.”

Lizzie whispered again.

“Of course he can come to the party. He's a part of the family now, isn't he?”

A part of the family. Jolynn's, not Isabelle's.

 

A truck pulled into the parking lot of the garage. Isabelle told herself she was being paranoid, thinking it was Chad's. She couldn't tell one engine from another. She wasn't a dog. She definitely wasn't going to go running to greet him.

She finished pouring the quart of oil that would complete the oil change on the car she was taking care of and pretended she didn't think it was him walking through the double doors. But he was whistling “Silent Night,” and he was the only person she knew with boots that new when she peeked through the crack between the hood and the car frame.

“Hey.” She grabbed a rag and wiped her hands as she stepped out into clear view of the man standing next to the car. He'd definitely caught her in a moment when she didn't feel beautiful. Her gray coveralls were grease-stained, and she knew without looking that she probably had a smudge on her cheek, or forehead. Maybe both.

“Hello. I came to give you a message.” He stepped a few feet closer, and he wasn't dirty or stained. He was
wearing new jeans with his new boots, and a new white button-up shirt. He didn't smell like grease; he smelled like soap and cologne, the kind that made a woman want to hug him, to get close and enjoy the way his arms would feel holding her tight.

She needed to go home and burn her romance novels.

He smiled, and she nearly melted. Why this guy? Why now? Those were questions she needed answers for.

“What's the message?” She got the words out, and she kept wiping her hands to give herself something to think about other than Chad Daniels.

“Your daughter is working late. Jolynn had a lot of dusting to do. They asked me to come down here and let you know that. And also, I thought we might have that real dinner out. You know, the kind with two people sitting at a table together.”

Isabelle tossed the rag in the bucket with the others that she'd have to wash later. “You know they're setting us up, right?”

“I kind of thought they might be, but it was getting pretty dusty around the house, and Larry is at an auto auction in Springfield. I thought it might be a good idea to get out.”

“I don't know.”

“I have to eat. You have to eat. We might as well go out and get something. Jolynn said the special tonight is some kind of chicken pasta.”

“I'm not really dressed for going out.” She looked down at the coveralls. “I mean, I have clothes to change into, but…”

He grinned, and then he winked. “If we stand here
long enough, I think you'll come up with plenty of excuses for why you can't do this. I think the old excuses, the ones about your daughter needing you at home with her, are starting to lose their validity. She's not at home. She's growing up. Maybe it's your turn to do something for yourself.”

If only he hadn't said that. “Chad, it isn't my turn. I still have a twelve-year-old daughter to raise. It's her turn to live, to find her future, to be happy and taken care of. It's her turn to have the life I always dreamed of having.”

He sighed and nodded. “Okay, you're right. I've never been a parent. I'm kind of rusty at the whole dating scene myself and what not to say to a woman, especially a woman who is also a mom. I can tell you this—you have a great kid. You're a great mom. You have to eat, and she's already eating with Jolynn.”

Isabelle's heart caved. “You make valid points. But it isn't easy, this letting-go thing.”

“You have to start, because her growing up isn't going to stop.”

“Okay, let me change.”

She wouldn't say it was a date. She couldn't do that, not yet. It would take her a while to come to terms with the fact that she'd said yes.

“Shall we walk?” he asked through the door as she changed into clean clothes and washed her face and arms. She didn't have makeup with her, or even perfume. At least she had some lotion that made her feel a little feminine.

“It's only two blocks. I think walking is a good idea. And it isn't freezing cold today.”

“The lights will be pretty in the park.”

And romantic. Christmas lights, a gorgeous man, and she was wearing wool socks and work boots. So much for romance.

This wasn't the way it happened in movies. But then again, this wasn't romance, either. This was a nice guy taking her to dinner. Her stomach clenched and tied itself in knots. She leaned against the wall, taking a few deep breaths.

“Isabelle?”

“I'll be right out.” She rubbed lotion on her arms. And then she looked in the mirror, at a reflection that showed a woman who wasn't getting any younger. Fine lines were starting to appear at the corners of her eyes. Without makeup, she looked pale.

She opened the door and smiled, and he smiled back. He didn't look shocked, or even sorry that he'd asked her to dinner.

Of course he didn't. It was just dinner, nothing more.

 

Chad reached for Isabelle's hand as they walked out of the garage, but he changed his mind. She had her heart locked up tighter than Fort Knox, and those walls told him she wasn't ready for holding his hand as they walked down the sidewalk of Main Street in Gibson, Missouri.

“You're buying the Berman farm?” she asked as they passed the park. It was lit up with the Nativity, and around the park were the lighted wire frames of the three wise men, camels, angels and shepherds. A speaker, probably hooked up to the fire station, played Christmas music.

The Berman farm—a house with a wraparound porch strung with lights and a tree twinkling in the window of the living room. Today Lizzie had shared Isabelle's dreams with him, dreams of learning to play the guitar. Dreams she'd given up on because she'd had a daughter to raise and her daughter's dreams to take care of.

He hadn't ever been the guy that thought too much about his own dreams, not until he'd started getting letters from Gibson. Until then he'd been pretty content with his military career and single life.

“Yes, I'm buying it.” He'd already signed an offer for the farm. But he'd also been contacted by the army, asking him to reenlist.

“You don't seem too thrilled.” She glanced up at him, a sweet face devoid of makeup and beautiful because she knew who she was.

“I am.” He gave in to the urge and reached for her hand. She looked down at their hands, but she didn't pull away. “I'm buying a used stock trailer from Jay Blackhorse, and a friend of his, Cody, is selling me some cattle and a horse.”

Did she look wistful, like maybe she had more than one dream, the dream of playing the guitar? Maybe the guitar had been an easy dream to talk about, and to let go of?

“Sounds wonderful.” Yes, that was wistfulness in her tone.

They were walking up the sidewalk to the Hash-it-Out, and he could smell the special fried chicken; Isabelle's hand was no longer in his, and he understood why—because Gibson was a small town, and people talked.

He opened the door for her, and she walked through,
a little antsy. She waited for him inside. Of course people would stare. He was new in town, and she was the widowed mother of Lizzie, and she didn't date.