A Knights Bridge Christmas (11 page)

“The food is excellent,” Daisy said.

Audrey grinned. “I gained three pounds my first month there. My doctor had a fit.”

Clare filled a teapot and got out cups and saucers. She filled a small white-china pitcher with milk. Daisy pointed out where Clare could find Christmas napkins she’d saved in a drawer in the dining room. Logan opted out of tea, content to watch Clare with her son and the two elderly women enjoy themselves. Clare was comfortable around people, more so than she might realize.

After their cookies and tea, Audrey yawned, visibly tired, and got stiffly to her feet. “I sat up late watching a Bruins game. I never understood ice hockey that well, but Dylan gave me a few pointers.”

“You go on,” Daisy said. “Logan can run me back to my place when I’m ready. Can’t you, Logan?”

“Of course, Gran.”

He wrapped up cookies for Audrey to take back with her. He’d give Clare and Owen some, too. No way was he eating four dozen molasses cookies on his own. After Audrey left, Clare turned the faucet on in the sink. “I’ll clean up the dishes and then head back—unless you want me to clear out now.”

“I want you to stay,” Daisy said, an authority coming into her voice that reminded Logan this was her house. “Please,” she added.

“I’d be happy to.”

Daisy put a thin arm over Owen’s shoulders. “There’s a chest of drawers in the dining room. The bottom drawer has kids’ stuff in it. I can’t remember what all is in there. Help yourself.”

Owen’s eyes lit up. He didn’t need to be told twice and ran into the dining room.

Daisy reached for her walker. “I’d like to see the candle you found.” She took in a breath, getting her second wind. “There’s a story that goes with it.”

A Recipe for Molasses Cookies

¾ cup butter (preferably unsalted)

1 cup sugar

¼ cup molasses

1 egg

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

½ teaspoon cloves

½ teaspoon ginger

½ teaspoon cinnamon

½ teaspoon salt (optional)

Preheat oven to 375°F. Melt butter. Combine sugar, molasses and egg. Add melted butter and mix well. Combine remaining ingredients. Add to butter mixture and blend together. Chill the dough. Once chilled, form into small balls (about walnut size) and roll in sugar. Place on cookie sheet and bake for 8 to 10 minutes.

Ten

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached...It was shrouded in a deep black garment...nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand.

—Charles Dickens,
A Christmas Carol

WHATEVER THE STORY
that went with the candle, Daisy Farrell was keeping it to herself. Whether she wasn’t ready to tell it or never would, Clare couldn’t say. She only knew that seeing Daisy hold the old, half-melted candle in her hands, her eyes filling with tears, had been enough to set her back on her heels.

Clare stood on the front walk to her apartment and watched the water flow over the dam. She needed the sounds, the cold—the fresh air.

“Mom, are you crying?” Owen asked, holding her hand.

“A little.”

“It’s okay to cry. Did you hurt yourself?”

She shook her head. “Logan’s grandmother found something from a long time ago and it brought tears to my eyes.” She forced a smile. “It wasn’t sad. It was touching. Sort of sad and happy at the same time.”

“I know,” Owen said, solemn.

She laughed, then crouched next to him. She pointed across the stream to the opposite bank. “Do you see the tracks in the snow?”

He dropped her hand and jumped up. “I do!”

“What kind of animal do you think the tracks belong to?”

“White-tail deer, probably.”

“Let’s go upstairs and see if we can spot them from our window. We can use the binoculars and get a closer look.”

“I think there should be a bridge over the brook, don’t you, Mom?”

“That would be great,” she said. “Our very own footbridge.”

“Yeah,” he said. “No cars allowed.”

Clare laughed. “Right, no cars allowed.”

They continued their conversation about a potential bridge and the animal tracks as they headed upstairs. By the time they reached their warm apartment, any tears had vanished. Daisy’s expression when she’d held the candle had affected Clare more than she’d have ever expected.

Logan had sent them off with molasses cookies. Once Owen settled himself at the window with the binoculars, Clare put the cookies into a basket in the kitchen. The past day crushed in on her, this new life of hers in small-town Knights Bridge not as slow-paced and easygoing as she’d expected. It was challenging her on every level—except professionally, she thought. She had no trouble handling her duties as library director, and was filled with excitement and ideas.

“But there it is, isn’t it?”

She spoke aloud in her tiny, empty kitchen. Her personal life was suddenly filling her with excitement and ideas, too, but she wasn’t as comfortable with them as the ones in her professional life, where she was more confident. Decorating for Christmas with Logan, cutting down a balsam fir, seeing him interact with his grandmother—spending the night in the same house with him—were new and unfamiliar experiences, stirring up emotions and urges she’d long left behind.

“Mom!”

She ran into the living room. “What is it, Owen?”

He was pointing outside. She thought he must have spotted an animal—a deer or a wild turkey, even a rabbit. “Look,” he said. “It’s Logan.”

“Logan Farrell?”

Owen nodded, excited. “And he has a
Christmas tree
.”

Clare didn’t know what to think. The man was tireless, relentless. Having all that energy focused on her, even for a day, was unbelievable—and more dangerous and intoxicating than a few glasses of wine, for sure.

She went downstairs and opened the door for him. “Owen spotted you,” she said. “We saw tracks in the snow—he was looking for wild animals.”

He grinned, his face all angles in the evening shadows. “Do I fit the bill or was he expecting a wolf or a fox?”

“Wild turkeys and deer, maybe.”

“Well, I hope he didn’t mistake me for a turkey.”

Clare laughed, then stood back. “Won’t you come in?”

“I’ll take this upstairs.” He held up a small but healthy-looking balsam fir. “It’s the runt of the litter—the top part of a crooked tree. I found it on the edge of the field where we cut the one for Gran’s house.”

“It’s perfect.”

“It can be your Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Do you have any decorations?”

“A few,” she said.

“You can grab extras from Gran’s boxes. We won’t need half of them for the tree at her house. Decorations are secondary. I want to string lights so they can be seen from outside.”

“She’s going to help you decorate?”

“By ‘we’ I mean you and I.”

He didn’t give Clare a chance to answer, instead heading past her up the stairs with the tree. It was too big for a tabletop but it was small enough that she wasn’t worried about finding a place for it in the living room.

Still a little taken aback, she followed him up the stairs.

Owen squealed in excitement both at having Logan there and at the sight of the Christmas tree. “Our own Christmas tree,” he said in amazement, as if he’d never had one before.

“I have a stand in the car, if you need one,” Logan said, turning to Clare as he leaned the tree against the wall.

“I do need one,” she said. “Thank you.”

He went back out for the stand. She sank onto the couch, smelling the evergreen, regaining her composure.

Owen fingered a branch. “Where should we put it?”

“I thought maybe in front of the window.”

“No one will see it,” he said.

“That’s because we live in the country. But we’ll see it, and Mr. and Mrs. Frost will see it—and the animals in the forest will see it.”

That perked him up. “Animals like Christmas, too, don’t they, Mom?”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate a Christmas tree twinkling in the window.”

Logan returned with the stand. “I dried off the tree as much as possible, but you’ll want to give it a day or two before you decorate.”

He enlisted Owen’s help and got the little tree set up in front of the window. Clare watched them, Logan patiently instructing Owen, Owen listening carefully.
Don’t let yourself get attached
, she told herself. More important, she couldn’t let Owen get attached. Logan was spending time in Knights Bridge because helping his grandmother move had fallen to him, and he’d agreed to decorate her house. After that, he had no reason to stay. Given the emotions of his grandmother’s situation, it was no wonder he had latched onto a widow and her young son.

But as they finished setting up the tree, Clare found herself inviting Logan to stay for dinner. “It won’t be fancy—whatever I have in the freezer.”

“What if I told you Maggie Sloan brought over a pot of her homemade chili as I was leaving to take Gran back to her apartment?”

“Maggie’s chili is legendary.”

“So I hear. I just happened to put the pot in my backseat and strap it in as I headed out.” He slung an arm over her shoulders. “Chili for dinner, and then tomorrow you and Owen can help get the tree we cut this morning into a stand. I think it’ll take all three of us, don’t you, Owen?”

“Yeah,” he said, already heading for the door. “I can help carry the chili.”

As if Logan needed help, but he smiled. “There’s salad and corn bread, too.” He winked at Clare. “We owe Maggie. She loves to cook and help out, but maybe between now and Christmas we could have her boys for an overnight at my grandmother’s house. Give her and Brandon a chance for a date night.”

“I’m sure they’d like that,” Clare said, keeping her tone neutral.

“How would you like it?” he asked, his gaze settling on her.

“I’d love to do something for Brandon and Maggie. The boys would be able to spread out at Daisy’s house. It gets cramped fast here, but I’m sure they’d manage to find something to do. And you’d be there?”

“I’d be there.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Let’s see how good Maggie’s chili is.”

* * *

Clare didn’t know which she liked best—the chili, the salad or the corn bread. After her intense day, she appreciated the substantial, simple meal and not having to cook. As she cleaned up in the kitchen and Owen showed Logan his latest Lego project, she texted Maggie to convey her thanks.

Maggie replied immediately.
Is our ER doc still there?

Yes.

Say the word, and I’ll spirit Owen away.

Clare felt blood rush to her face, but she smiled as she typed.
Maggie!

Consider me your new best friend.

The chili is amazing.

Clare returned to the living room. Owen had gone to his room to play and Logan was sitting on the rug in front of the couch. “I can hear the water running over the dam,” he said. “Must be soothing in warm weather when you can open the windows.”

“I think it will be. I keep a close eye on Owen with the brook and dam right there.” Clare sat on the couch, her left knee inches from Logan’s shoulder. “There are cookies if you want one, but I couldn’t eat another bite. The corn bread was like a dessert.”

“Maggie’s good at what she does.” He leaned back against the seat cushion next to her. “If I hadn’t already had a couple of the cookies, I’d be into your stash now. Tramping through snow, sawing, dragging Christmas trees, loading them onto the car—that’ll earn you a few extra goodies.”

“You’re used to a frenetic pace, aren’t you?”

“Not every day is hectic. A lot of them are, though.” He looked up at her. “What about you? Are you getting your feet under you at the library?”

“It took a while just not to get lost. I can see why people think the building is haunted.”

“More ghosts. Just what I need.”

“Are you going back to Boston tonight, or are you spending the night at your grandmother’s house?”

“Spending the night. We have trees to decorate.”

“Here?” Owen asked as he shot into the living room.

“Not here,” Logan said. “At my grandmother’s house.”

“I like it there.”

“Good. I hope your mom will let you help decorate the big tree we cut.”

Owen tugged on her hand. “Can I, Mom?”

“Of course,” she said.

He dragged Logan back into his room to show him another toy. Clare collapsed against the back of the couch and blew out a breath at the ceiling, getting herself under control. She needed to tread carefully. She couldn’t let Owen get too close to Logan and then have Logan disappear. She needed to protect her son from disappointment.

Logan came back out to the living room while Owen went into the bathroom to wash up. It was getting close to his bedtime. “What’s on your mind?” Logan asked as he sat next to Clare on the couch.

“What makes you think something’s on my mind?”

“Years of training and experience in the ER. I’ve developed a sixth sense for when people are keeping something from me that I need to know versus something I don’t need to know but they still want to withhold. I’m guessing yours is the former.”

“I don’t need stitches or a cast.”

“I see that.”

“Owen is becoming attached to you,” she said, blurting it out before she could stop herself.

Logan was silent for a moment. “From my point of view, that’s a positive,” he said finally.

“From my point of view, it’s an unknown. I’m the only parent Owen has. I’ve been careful about...” She considered her next words before she continued. “I’ve been careful about men in my life.”

“I have roots in Knights Bridge. I’m not going anywhere. Owen’s getting attached to Brandon Sloan, too.”

“If you’re implying he’s missed out because he never knew his father—that I haven’t done enough—” Clare stopped herself, horrified at how blunt she was being with him. No filters. He seemed capable of hearing anything she had to say. She bit down on her lip, forcing herself to think. “I haven’t done this in a long time,” she added, her voice just above a whisper.

“You’ve experienced how unfair and unpredictable life can be, and you want to protect your son from that as much as possible. And yourself.”

“Maybe.”

“No
maybe
. You turned pale when you mentioned the brook. How many times have you had Owen falling into it in your mind?”

“Not as many as you might think but more than I’d like. I used to jump into things without looking, without thinking—like you do.”

“Like I do, huh?”

“I saw it today. You grabbed that bow saw without hesitating. It never occurred to you that you might not be able to handle cutting down a Christmas tree.”

He settled back against the couch. “As it turned out, I was right.”

Clare couldn’t help but smile. “You could have been wrong, but that’s not my point. It’s easy to dive in without looking when it’s just you. I remember what that was like. There are things that come up all the time for me now and I think...I could do that.”

“But you stop yourself,” he said.