Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (44 page)

That was just plain stupid.

Minutes later, they walked into his childhood home, smelling of roasting turkey and pumpkin pie, and nostalgia collided with longing as the twins torpedoed to the kitchen to scavenge. Before he could catch up, he heard Jules shriek at her brothers to keep their mitts off whatever it was they had in their sights. His five months' pregnant sister-in-law Kelly, however, was laughing and telling the boys they could take whatever they wanted, not to worry.

And no wonder, Ethan saw when he got there. Because save for two tiny spaces on the granite island where Jules and Kelly were working, trays and platters and serving dishes of food took up every square inch of the surface. With goody-laden paper plates, the boys took off again, trailed by a chocolate Newfoundland and a boxer mix, Ethan's brothers' dogs.

“Jeez, Kell...” Ethan plucked a couple black olives from the already decimated relish tray, popping them into his mouth before he registered the classical music playing from her iPod. He tensed—since Merri's death, he'd deliberately not listened to the music she'd loved so much. But he pulled himself together and asked, “How many people you expecting?”

The redhead grinned. “With this family? You never know. Extras happen.” She frowned at the appetizers tray. “Um...Jules? You mind getting another couple cans of olives from the pantry?” After the girl left, Kelly turned to Ethan, her voice lowered. “Speaking of extras... Jules tells me her teacher is coming?”

“Yep,” he said, punching his hands into his Hoover jacket. Playing it cool. “She was at the game on Friday, went out with us to Murphy's after. Pop invited her. You know how those things go.”

“Oh, I do,” Kelly said, deftly cutting little crescents in the crust of some sort of fruit pie before sliding it into the upper oven. “So what's she like?”

Ethan almost laughed. Honestly, what
was
it with women? “And you're asking this, why? Especially since you'll find out for yourself soon enough.”

Kelly climbed onto a bar stool across from him, snitching one of the olives herself. “I'm asking because your daughter seems inordinately excited about this turn of events.” She shrugged. “So I'm curious.”

“She's her favorite teacher, that's all,” Ethan said with a shrug of his own. “Seems to get the kids. Nice lady.”

Another olive disappeared. “I see,” Kelly said, as Jules plunked the cans on the counter.

“Um...if you don't need me for a while...?”

“Nope, not until one-thirty,” Kelly said with a smile. “So begone with you, child.” And, as a giggling Jules hightailed it out of the kitchen, Ethan felt at least some of the tension he'd been carrying around for what seemed like forever slough off his shoulders. In the past year, both his brothers had brought new aunts into the family, at least partially filling the gap in his children's lives. Sure, they'd had his sisters, who loved the kids to bits. But Sabrina had her life in Manhattan and was therefore rarely around, and Abigail was too young at twenty-three to be much of a mother figure. Kelly, however, as well as Tyler's fiancée, Laurel, provided excellent role models for his girls.

Meaning Jules would eventually realize she already had what she needed without trying to fit someone else into the family routine.

“So Jules tells me she finally caved and got a math tutor?”

“Yeah,” Ethan breathed out. “Some geeky senior, I gather.”

“How's that going?”

“She passed her last test, so I'm guessing okay.” Ethan suddenly noticed the army of pies lined up on the counter, including no less than a half dozen pumpkin. Following his gaze, Kelly snorted.

“Yeah, I might've gotten a little carried away.”

“Ya think? I mean, we all like pie, sure, but...” He frowned. “You think I could set one of the pumpkins aside for...for later?”

“Since half of 'em are gonna go home with you guys, anyway... Wait. I thought Jules said you weren't a big pumpkin pie fan?”

“It's...not for me.”

Kelly gave him a curious look, then shrugged. “There's pie boxes in the pantry. Go for it.”

Ethan carted off one of the fragrant, glistening pies to tuck it away, then returned to the kitchen in time to see his younger brother, Matt—with Kelly's curly-haired four-year-old daughter, Aislin, perched on his hip like a little monkey—give his still-new wife a quick kiss.

“You doing okay?” he asked, palming her growing belly, his darker Hispanic coloring a riveting contrast to Kelly's ivory complexion, and a pang of envy pierced Ethan's genuine happiness for his brother.

Kelly laughed, breaking the spell. “I'm fine. Although I think...” She yawned, then smiled. “I might go take a quick nap before the final push.” She got up, then leaned over to give her little girl a noisy kiss on her cheek. “You be good for Daddy, 'kay?”

“'Kay.”

After she left, Ethan sensed his brother watching him. He looked over, frowning at Matt's all-too-knowing expression. His cop look, they called it. The music changed, to some piano piece he'd always associate with Merri. Rachmaninoff, he thought. “What?” he pushed through a tight throat.

But Matt only gave Ethan's shoulder a quick squeeze before carrying his daughter out of the room, and Ethan scrubbed a hand down his face, ignoring the knot in the center of his chest, his stinging eyes.

It'll get easier,
everyone had said.
Just give it time....

Which was the biggest lie since Santa, he thought on a bitter, bitter sigh.

Chapter Six

T
he Colonel's house was even closer than Claire had first realized, a short walk through the very pretty neighborhood of restored Queen Annes, handsome redbrick Colonials, the occasional Craftsman duplex. It'd be dark by the time the party broke up, but after late-night treks and subway rides through at least three of New York's five boroughs, Maple River's sleepy streets held no terror.

Although the prospect awaiting her sure did. Honestly, it was like being sixteen all over again, when she had the crush
that would not die
on Brandon Hicks, who sat two rows ahead of her in U.S. History. Every time she saw him, her mouth would go dry and her heart rate would ramp to warp speed. And the one time he smiled at her—although he might've been smiling for someone behind her, she was too freaked to find out for sure—she'd nearly wet her pants. So sad.

The good news was, Claire mused as she turned onto the Colonel's block, she was much more in control of her bladder these days. Not to mention other things. Okay, so her attraction to Ethan Noble wasn't waning the
more
she got to know him, which wasn't good. At all. But since that attraction was completely illogical—if not downright stupid, especially given his obvious attempt at giving her an out if she'd decided not to show—
and
since she wasn't sixteen anymore, thank God, she could handle it. And anyway, she was here for Ethan's father. And the food.

Her heart ramming against her rib cage, she paused at the end of the brick walk leading to the lovely Victorian, glowing in the midafternoon sunshine. It was easily twice the size of Ethan's house, as was the lot it sat on. Impressive. But not, she decided, channeling Julie Andrews in
The Sound of Music
as she marched up the walk, intimidating.

That's right. Confidence, she had it.

Dogs barked when she rang the doorbell; a second later, the white paneled door swung open and Juliette let out a squeal, not even trying to keep the dogs—Claire momentarily thought one of them was a bear, good God—from joyously accosting her.

“You're really here!” The orange streaks in her hair matching her lacy cropped sweater and the patterned tights covering the vast amount of leg her short denim skirt didn't, Juliette tugged Claire through the wriggling beasts and into a shabbily graceful foyer with worn wooden floors and faded Oriental rugs, a staircase wall choked with framed photos.

“I really am.” Claire shrugged off her coat, breathing in the turkey-scented steam heat as she chafed the sleeves of her favorite sweater, a handkerchief-hemmed cardi that discreetly hid the result of her penchant for cheesecake. “Did you think I wouldn't come?”

“Were you sure you would?” the girl asked bluntly, and Claire laughed, waggling her hand. The teen grinned, then nodded toward a multipeg rack on the wall. “You can hang your coat there with the rest. Then come back to the kitchen and I'll introduce you to Kelly. My new aunt,” she added with a very pleased grin. Claire thought of all the fifteen-year-olds she knew who reeked of bored cynicism despite privileged, even charmed, lives. This kid
knew
from heartbreak, and yet she seemed to genuinely appreciate what she had rather than grieving what she'd lost.

“Where's everyone else?”

“Out back. Football,” Juliette said with such a face Claire had to laugh. “I'm guessing you don't want to play?”

“Um, no,” she said, and the girl giggled, then sobered as she—and the dogs—led Claire back to the kitchen.

“When we were little,” Juliette said, “Grandma would put the turkey in the oven, then we'd all go to the game, and then we'd come back here to finish up the cooking. And then we'd eat. Like, for days. Then Grandma died, so Mom took over the turkey.”

At the girl's silence, Claire looked over, her heart turning over at her expression. She laid a hand on the slender shoulder, and the teen sucked in a breath.

“It's so weird, how it just...hits. Like totally out of nowhere.”

“I know, honey. Believe me.”

Juliette nodded, then said on a sigh, “Anyway...for the past couple of years, PopPop's been getting the turkey already cooked from ShopRite, and Dad and I would make a few sides, but...it wasn't the same. Now, though, with Kelly and everything—she has her own catering business, she's, like, the most amazing cook ever—it already feels
so
much better. Different, sure. But at least not like everyone's faking it.... Hey, Kelly!” she said when they reached the kitchen, where a very pretty redhead was taking rolls out of the oven. “This is Miss Jacobs!”

Anyone else in the midst of the last-minute holiday-meal insanity would have been at her wit's end. At least Claire certainly would have been. But although her curls—nearly as wild as Claire's—were clearly nya-nya-nya-ing the black satin headband ostensibly keeping them in place, the woman's smile was warm.

“Welcome to the land of the loonies,” Kelly said with a laugh. In the center of the island proudly gleamed a golden brown turkey the size of a small planet. “I assume I don't have to call you Miss Jacobs?”

“Oh, God, no. Claire is fine.”

“Ooh, pretty name. Jules, sweetie? Check the broccoli, make sure it's
just
tender before you drain it. And the sweet-potato casserole should be about ready to come out of the other oven.”

“On it!”

“Need any help?”

“Nope,” Kelly said, her emerald-green Shaker sweater molded to a pooched-out tummy. “The kid and I, we've got this planned out to the second. But if you want to pitch in for cleanup...?”

“That I can do.”

“Great. Then why don't you go watch the game? Since it's at least a half hour before dinner...”

Because Claire hadn't already seen more football in the past week than she'd seen in the ten years prior. But since she'd clearly only get in the way in the kitchen, she followed the shouting and laughter to the back porch overlooking a large, generously planted yard, bordered with forty-foot pines glittering in the sun. In one corner stood a weathered play set—three swings, a slide, a small fort—currently commandeered by Bella and a smaller girl, her light brown curls barely visible beneath a bright pink pom-pommed knit hat. Between the set and the deck, in still-green grass dotted with the occasional red leaf, the game was in full swing, Ethan “coaching” one team while an equally tall, darker-haired man headed up another.

Wrapping up in a throw left to languish on the porch railing, Claire settled into a sunlight-drenched rocker to watch the game. Or rather, to watch Ethan from a safe distance, where she could relish the attraction for its own sake without worrying about What It All Meant. She thought of poor Juliette, in the throes of unrequited puppy love for Scott Jenkins—yes, she'd noticed the girl's longing glances at rehearsals—and sent up a short prayer of thanks that her own teenage years were long gone, when all too often she'd felt downright
possessed
by things she didn't even fully understand. She wouldn't want to feel that out of control again for anything.

“So you're here,” she heard a few feet away, yanking her out of her thoughts. Claire looked up to see the Colonel standing by the steps, his hands in his corduroy pants' pockets. The dogs followed him, collapsing by his feet with matching doggy groans.

“Wouldn't've missed it,” Claire said, and the older man smiled, his blue eyes sparkling underneath close-cropped hair she now realized was more white than silver.

“How come you're not out there with everyone else?”

“Heh. I might be at the place where I'll actually watch football. But play it? No way.”

The Colonel chuckled. Even so, in the daylight—and his own house—his bearing was far more daunting than it had been the other night. She thought of her own dad, who'd been smaller, thinner, bookish rather than athletic. But behind his wire-rimmed glasses, there'd always been so much love in those warm brown eyes. Same as there'd been in her mother's. And at that moment, she missed them so much she could barely breathe.

“I hope that doesn't mean I forfeit my place at the dinner table,” she said, to tease herself out of her maudlin mood as much as anything.

“Oh, I suppose not,” the Colonel said. “Since you're already here.”

Snuggling more deeply into the throw, Claire smiled. The smaller of the dogs roused himself to come over, his entire back end wriggling as he laid his jowly chin on her knee. Claire scratched the top of his wrinkly head, and the beast shut his eyes in obvious bliss. “This is a lovely house.”

“Thanks. It's been good to us all these years. Time to let it go, though.”

“Oh? Too bad.”

The older man shrugged. “Don't need a place this big anymore. Five bedrooms...” His head slowly wagging, he turned to lean against a post, his arms crossed. “So Julie tells me this is your first year at Hoover?”

“It is.”

“You like it?”

“I do. Not that there aren't...challenges,” she said with another smile, petting the dog some more when he nosed her hand. “And I'm still feeling my way with the kids, finding that balance between not being a stick-in-the-mud but not being a pushover, either. All in all, though, it's a pretty good gig.”

The Colonel looked out over the yard. “Ethan said you came back here to help your mother when she got sick.”

“Yeah. She's been gone about a year now.”

That cool blue gaze met hers again. “And you're still here.”

“I am. At least until—”

“Something better comes along?”

Claire smiled. “Until being here no longer feels like a good fit.”

Ethan's father paused, then said, “After more years of base housing than I care to remember, I don't think it ever even occurred to Jeannie and me that we'd end up right back where we both grew up. But then a position opened up at McGuire Air Force Base, and Jeannie found this house, and...” He smiled. “So you never know what life's got in store.”

“No,” Claire said quietly. “You sure don't. If it's one thing life isn't, it's static.”

The Colonel's lips tilted in a half smile before he resumed watching the game. “God knows, we didn't expect so many of the kids to hang around, set down their own roots here. So I guess it's not such a bad place to live....” Since he seemed to be talking to himself more than to her, Claire didn't answer. Then he asked, “You get introduced to everyone?”

“Not yet, no. I met Kelly, though, in the kitchen.”

“Then let's see if I can remember all the names,” the Colonel said as he lowered himself into the rocker next to hers, crossing his arms over a heavy brown cardigan Claire guessed had some serious years on it. “You know Ethan's brood, so I won't bother with them. But the other coach? That's Matt, our next oldest. He's married to Kelly. Kid in the glasses is her son by her first marriage, Cooper. And the cutie on the swing's his sister, Aislin, better known as Linnie. Now, over there...” He leaned closer, pointing. “That's Tyler, our youngest son—”

“The one who looks like trouble waiting for a place to happen?”

The Colonel chuckled. “Got that one pegged, all right. He's gonna marry Laurel—she had a baby not all that long ago, the father... Well, we don't talk about him. Anyway...the skinny little blond thing is Abby, Jeannie's and my youngest, who's living proof that God has a sense of humor. We'd been married more than twenty years, no kids of our own, and then boom. Here comes Abby.” He glanced over, humor dancing in his eyes. “Your head spinning yet?”

“Ever so slightly. How on earth do you keep track of everyone?
Did
you, when you cared for all those fosters?”

“You learn to go with the flow, I guess. What you said about life not being static? Same goes for family. Even with ‘normal' families, whatever that means these days, the dynamic is always in a state of flux. People are added and subtracted, babies are born and old people pass away.” He got quiet. “Sometimes, not so old. But it's like Jeannie's rosebushes over there.” He waved toward a couple dozen lifeless-looking bushes, barren except for the occasional fat, rust-colored rose hip. “Come spring, there's always new flowers to replace the old ones from the year before.”

Hard to believe that this sentimental old man was the rod-up-his-rear disciplinarian Ethan had made him out to be. Although given what it must have been like with all those kids in the house, without at least some semblance of order things could have easily degenerated into anarchy. A mind-set that, from what she'd observed both with his kids and his players, had clearly rubbed off on Ethan. At least to some degree.

Turning this thought over in her head, Claire said, “Wasn't like that with my family, though. Me and my parents—that was it, basically.”

“No other relatives? Grandparents?”

She shook her head. “They were both only children, too. And older. And their parents...” Her mouth tightened. “Dad was Jewish, Mom Italian. Catholic. Not even an issue for most people anymore, but it was for my grandparents. I did see them occasionally, but only at their houses, with that parent. So holidays were...very subdued.”

“That's one thing they definitely were not around here. Or any other day, for that matter,” Preston said with a soft chuckle. “I assumed, as I got older, I'd welcome the peace. I was wrong. The noise, the barely controlled chaos... I miss it. I really do.”

Having nothing to say to that, Claire watched Ethan huddle with his “team,” thinking how hard the day—or at least this part of it—had to be on him. Especially after what Juliette had said about her mother keeping the holiday tradition alive after Ethan's mother's passing. And yet, there he was, doing the brave-faced thing for his kids, the rest of his family...

Her heart ached.