A Daughter for Christmas (4 page)

“You think these boxes of books will all go on those shelves.”

“No. I'll have to get more and put them in my office. I'm turning one of the bedrooms into an office.”

Rachel put her hand on her hip and slowly rotated in a full circle to take in the work before them. “I'm glad Taylor is going to come over and help when she gets home from the youth group outing.”

“Taylor's coming over?”

When she faced him, his expression went blank, but she had caught the surprise in his eyes. “She wanted to. I think she's trying to make up for being rude yesterday. If it's not okay, I can tell her no.”

“No. No, I could use all the hands I can get.” Turning away from her, he swept his arm across his body. “As you can see.”

“Okay, then let's get started. Is there any type of order you want them in?”

He stroked his chin. “Mmm. I guess medical books need to go into my office. The rest in here.”

“By genres? Authors? How?”

A teasing glint entered his gaze. “Were you a librarian?”

“We won't go that far and use the Dewey Decimal System. But we could start by separating the fiction from nonfiction, then you can decide.”

“Sounds good to me.” The smile that started in his eyes spread to encompass his whole face.

And Rachel responded to it, a warmth enveloping her—almost as if he'd wrapped his arms around her. There should be a warning put on that expression. Maybe
she could open a window and get some fresh air in here. She slid her gaze to a box nearby. “I'll start with this one. Fiction on that side of the room—” she pointed toward the far wall “—and nonfiction over here.”

As he delved into one carton next to him, Max said, “I may have to rethink keeping every book I get.”

“There'll come a time you'll run out of space.” She lifted up a thick volume on the history of ancient Greece. The book below that one was an equally long text on the history of Rome. Then another on medieval Europe. “I know if Taylor ever needs some research books, you're the person to come to.”

“What can I say? I love history.”

“You sound like my nephew. I wish Taylor loved to learn like Nicholas.”

“What does she like to do?” Max carried a stack of books to the fiction side.

“Oh, let's see. Boys. Fashion. Video games. And occasionally writing. She is constantly writing in a journal. I gave her one after her father died, and she's gone through five.”

“A lot of kids hate to write.”

“That's about the only thing she likes. Maybe one day she'll be an author of one of the books you collect.”

“If she gets a book published, I'll find a special place to put it on my shelf.”

Listening to the sincerity in his tone, Rachel caught his gaze. The room separated them, but suddenly she felt as though they stood inches apart. Her pulse rate picked up speed. “That's sweet, especially after how she behaved the past few days.”

He raised a shoulder. “She's a teenager.”

Tearing her look from him, she dug into the bottom of her first box. “That's no excuse, and she knows it.”

Five minutes later when the doorbell rang, Rachel set her armful of books on the floor. “I'll get it. It's Taylor, and I want to make sure she's on her best behavior.”

“Sure.”

She hurried toward the door, afraid in Taylor's impatience she would press the bell again. Nothing happened fast enough for her daughter.

When Rachel pulled the door open, her daughter marched inside. “Are we gonna be here long?”

“All afternoon.”

“That long!”

“What's going on? Why did you offer to help then? Moving isn't a job that's done in half an hour.”

Taylor scanned the foyer then stepped a few feet closer to Rachel. “Someone's got to chaperone you two.”

R
achel's eyes widened. “Taylor! Surely I didn't hear you right.”

She shrugged. “Well, for an old man he's not bad-looking. And I noticed you like him.”

“As a friend, hon.” Touching her wedding ring, Rachel twirled it around her finger. “Men and women can be friends. He's new to town and doesn't know anyone.”

Taylor snorted. “If you say so.” She started for the den. “What do ya need me to do?”

Snagging her daughter's arm, Rachel stopped Taylor's forward motion. “I don't want you to stay if you aren't going to behave. There's a lot to do, and I don't have time to put up with your drama.”

Taylor crunched her mouth into a pucker and thought for a good minute. “Sure.” Then she yanked her arm from Rachel's grasp and plodded toward the room.

Reinforcing herself with a deep breath, Rachel entered quickly behind her daughter, praying that a war hadn't already been launched.

Taylor stood in the middle of the mountain of boxes. “These are all books?”

“Yep. I like to read.” Max stuffed his hands in his front jeans pocket, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Wow, you sure do. I only read what I'm forced to at school.”

Before her daughter declared how much she hated to read, Rachel moved toward her and tapped the top of a box. “We're separating the books into fiction and nonfiction.” She pointed to the respective areas of the room to place them.

“What if I don't know?” Taylor's eyebrows slashed down.

“I'll tell you.” Max took the carton across from Taylor. “I just appreciate any help I can get.”

“Mom, you should have asked Sam and Will. They love to tear into boxes.”

Rachel laughed. “And double our workload? No, Nana is doing her part watching those two little munchkins. I think she's taking them for some ice cream.”

“Ice cream? I love ice cream.” Taylor pouted, looking out the window at the front yard.

“It just so happens I do, too. And since I do, that's one of the things I have on hand. When we take a break, I can fix you all a fudge sundae, double dip,” Max said.

Taylor's eyes grew round. “You will? That's my favorite.”

From that moment on what tension had been in the room dissipated. Her daughter even giggled at some of the titles of Max's books, especially the medical ones. Rachel relaxed, bent over and dug into the bottom of the carton for the last volume.

When she straightened, Max's gaze ensnared hers for a long, few seconds before she dragged it away, staring at the book in her hand and not really seeing its title. Instead, she latched on to the ring on her left hand, the
light gleaming off its platinum surface as though reminding her she'd had the one love of her life. Lawrence had been a good husband and provider. It was so hard to raise three children by herself. It took her full attention. She certainly didn't have time for anything else in her life.

And why was she even thinking about that? She spun toward the stack of nonfiction books and laid her text on the nearest one.

“Mom, I even know that
To Kill a Mockingbird
is fiction.”

Rachel glanced down at the hardback. “Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something else.” A wave of heat tinged her cheeks, and she crossed the room to the correct pile.

What was wrong with her?

 

“Look at this stash!” With huge eyes Taylor scanned the sauces, nuts, cherries, whipped cream and several choices of ice cream as she stepped up next to Max at the kitchen counter.

He chuckled. “I did say I loved ice cream. Do you know what your mom wants?”

“Nothing.”

“You're kidding. What person doesn't like ice cream?”

“Not any I know. What do you want me to do?”

He slanted a look at his daughter, not a foot from him. “Just enjoy building your sundae.”

“Is a triple scoop okay?”

“If you can eat it, go for it. I've certainly indulged before. Actually, I have some every night before going to bed.”

“You do? You aren't fat.” Taylor's eyes grew even rounder. “I mean, I didn't…” She fixed her stare on the
carton of double-fudge ice cream and began scooping some out.

“I have to exercise to work off that gratification, but it's worth every hour I do. As I'm sweating off the pounds, I'm imagining what flavor I'll choose that evening.”

Taylor giggled. “I don't have to exercise. I've always been able to eat just about anything.”

“Yeah, well, I used to be able to do that then midlife hit.”

“So I have that to look forward to when I get old.”

“Ouch!”

Another giggled peppered the air. “You aren't that old.”

“Double ouch. I'm suddenly feeling my years. Before long I'll need a cane to walk.”

“I'll get Granny to lend hers to you. She refuses to use hers or her walker.” Taylor finished filling her large bowl with different varieties of chocolate ice cream.

Max took the scooper from her and delved into the chocolate chip. “She's getting around all right.”

“That's Granny. She doesn't let anything get her down.”

“That attitude will serve her well.”

“I wish I had it more,” Taylor muttered while dousing her treat with the rich chocolate sauce.

For a second, Max wasn't sure he heard her correctly but a glimpse of her pensive expression told him otherwise. “There are times I feel the same way.”

“You do? You're a doctor. You're smart.”

“Does this have something to do with school? What's going on?”
Please tell me. I want to help.
The words
I am your father
were on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to say them so badly, but the time wasn't right. And he
couldn't without talking with Rachel first. He owed her that much.

“I just don't like school.” She squirted whipped cream on the top of her sundae. “It's boring.” Grabbing her bowl, she turned from the counter.

“Do you want a cherry?”

“Nope. That's a fruit. Nothing good for me in this sundae.”

“Ah, then you haven't heard chocolate can be good for you.”

“It can?” Taylor paused at the door.

He nodded.

“Then why does everyone act like it isn't?”

“Good question. Probably because too much of a good thing is bad.”

She cocked her head, looked at him for a moment then laughed. “You sound like my dad.”

Her declaration stopped Max in his tracks. His grip on his bowl tightened. He really needed to figure out what he was going to do and soon. He felt as though he were picking his way through a field littered with bombs. “It's the truth.”

“Yeah, I know.” She swung around and hurried from the room.

If only Alicia had let him know about Taylor all those years ago. He wouldn't be here indecisive, feeling as if any control he had in his life was slipping away. The sound of Rachel's soft voice wafted to him, niggling him with regrets. Any way this worked out, Rachel would be affected perhaps deeper than he because she'd loved and cared for Taylor for thirteen years. What was he doing here?

“Max, I'm going to hold you personally responsible
if Taylor starts climbing the walls because of a sugar overload.”

Rachel had materialized in front of him, and he hadn't even heard her approach. Suddenly, she was there—her gentle features arranged in a teasing look that lessened any intended reprimand.

“Oh, Mom, it's just a little ice cream. You could enjoy some if you weren't always on a ridiculous diet.”

Red flooded Rachel's face. “I don't diet. I just watch what I eat.”

Involuntarily, his gaze roamed down her body. She certainly didn't need to watch her weight. She looked mighty fine the way she was.

Standing at the end of the hallway, with one hand on her hip and the other clutching her bowl, Taylor sighed—loudly. “Whatever.” She swept around and flounced back into the den, spooning some of her sundae into her mouth as she went.

Rachel tilted up her chin. “I've changed my mind. I think I'll make myself one.” Skirting around him, she crossed the kitchen to the counter and waited for him.

He removed the cartons from the freezer. “Don't let her get to you.”

“She isn't. She's right. I usually pass on desserts and stuff like that because I'm worried I'll gain weight. As a teenager I was overweight, and after I lost sixty pounds I promised myself I would never have to do that again.” Rachel spooned out two small scoops of vanilla, then squirted caramel on them. “I've never been much of a chocolate person, but I love caramel. Forget the chocolate-dipped bananas or even the cotton candy at the fair. Give me a caramel apple and I'm happy.”

He took several bites of his melting sundae, her gaze tethered to his. “I'll have to remember that.” The cold
dessert slid down his suddenly dry throat. A connection with this woman, all tied up with the girl in the other room, swamped him. He didn't want to feel. He needed to keep a certain amount of emotional distance between them.

While Rachel put the cartons in the freezer again, he ate some more of his sundae and headed for the den, needing the physical separation to pull himself together. He'd worked over the years to keep his feelings under control. It had helped him deal with his difficult job.

When he entered the room, he found Taylor studying a medal with a bronze star dangling from a red ribbon with a blue stripe. “Is this yours?”

“Yes.” He watched her face carefully, seeing a play of emotions flash in and out of her features.

“My dad had a Bronze Star, too. He kept it on the wall in his office. He was very proud of it.”

Whereas he didn't display his. It brought back too many memories of the war he didn't want to remember or discuss. He hadn't put it away yet, and it had still been on the top of his cluttered desk.

“So you were a soldier?”

“Yeah, in the army.”

“My dad was in the air force. Once a year he would get together with some of his buddies. He was supposed to leave to meet them right before he had a heart attack. I'd asked my dad if I could go this time, but…”

Each time she said “dad” a stab of pain pierced his heart. He took a step toward her, not sure what to say.

Tears shone in her eyes. Averting her head, she laid the medal back on the walnut desk. She covered the few feet between them and held out her hand. “I'll take your bowl back to the kitchen.”

Numbly, he placed it in her grasp and watched her rush from the room, flying past her mother in the doorway.

Rachel gave him a puzzled look. “What happened?”

Glimpsing the medal, Max fingered it for a second then snatched it up and walked around the desk to put it in the top drawer. Memories of mangled bodies in a building after a bomb explosion took over his thoughts. He shook them away and lifted his gaze to Rachel. “She told me about her father being in the air force.”

“Was that the Bronze Star?” Rachel gestured toward the desk.

“Yes. She mentioned her father had one, too.”

“Now I understand why she was upset when she left. She used to have her dad tell her about how he got the medal. I imagine he told her at least a hundred times over the years.”

“Should I say something to her?”

She shook her head. “I will. I need to put my dish in the kitchen, anyway.”

As Rachel left, Max sank back against the still-empty bookshelf behind him. This wasn't going to be easy. Would Taylor even accept him in the end? What would he do if she didn't? The very thought swelled the tightness in his chest until he could hardly breathe.

 

“I'll handle the food at Granny's reception. You and Mom can do everything else.” A few days later, Jordan sat at the table in Rachel's kitchen jotting down the plans for their grandmother's reception in two and a half weeks.

“In other words, I'll do everything else.” Rachel eased into the chair across from her sister. “You know Mom is
going to be worthless. Throwing parties has never been her forte and she isn't exactly into Granny's marriage.”

“Granny doesn't want a fuss.”

“Too bad. I want to fuss over her. She's always been there for us. I'm glad she's only moving across the street.”

“Speaking of across the street. How did Sunday afternoon go with your new neighbor?”

An image of Max popped into her mind. After Taylor asked about the medal, he'd been quiet. Even her daughter had commented on it when they left his house later. “What do you think about Sarah Johnson?”

“Concerning what?”

“Introducing Max to her.”

“Why?” Jordan narrowed her eyes. “Never mind. I know why. You're afraid.”

“Of what?” Rachel dropped her gaze from her sister's and stared at the wedding list she'd written.

“Oh, let's see. One, meeting a nice man who interests you. Two, starting to have feelings for him beyond friendship. Three, do I have to say anymore?”

Rachel wanted to deny it. She couldn't. It was true. “He is a nice man. Even Taylor warmed to him some on Sunday.”

“And that probably scared you even more.”

“No—okay, maybe a little. I think it was the ice cream sundae that got to her.”

“The way to a female's heart is through ice cream?”

Rachel chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.”

“How's she doing at school this week?”

“I'm not sure. Monday and Tuesday she came home and didn't say a word. I mentioned again about homeschooling, but all she did was stomp off to her room.”

“Zachary's sister told me Taylor called Ashley last night to ask about homeschooling.”

“She did? She didn't say anything to me.” Frowning, Rachel pushed to her feet. “But then why should I be so surprised? We don't talk like we used to. I'm usually the last one to know what's going on with her. Did Ashley say if Taylor was interested in homeschooling?”