Authors: Ruth Logan Herne
Finding him at this point in her life was just what she needed. Singing words that had been written generations ago, she silently thanked God for bringing her back to where she belonged.
* * *
“Gram, Granddad,” Jason said proudly, “this is Amy Morgan. Amy, these are my grandparents, Olivia and Will.”
“Come in, come in!” Gram exclaimed, embracing Amy with enthusiasm. “We've known your aunt and uncle forever, and Jason's told us wonderful things about you. We're thrilled to finally meet you.”
“Thanks so much for inviting me today,” she said quietly. “I know this is a family gathering, and it was nice of you to include me.”
“Always room for more,” Granddad assured her. “It's a big house.”
So far, so good, Jason thought. Amy was a little tense, but he hoped she'd relax once she met everyone and figured out how to keep them all straight. “It smells great in here.”
“Roast beef and gingerbread,” his grandfather announced eagerly. “I've been smelling it all morning, and I'm starving. Maybe you and Amy can go in and hurry them along.”
“Gotcha.”
Ushering Amy through the archway, he paused to let her get her bearings before wading into the bustling crew in his grandmother's kitchen. Mom was just taking a batch of gingerbread men out of the oven to add to the ones already cooling on a large rack. When she caught sight of him with their guest, she set the hot tray down and hurried over.
“There's my bear,” she cooed, beaming up at him before turning her attention to the petite woman who seemed to be doing her best to hide behind him. Laughing, Mom grasped her hand and drew her forward. “And you must be Amy. I'm Diane Barrett. Welcome to chaos.”
“Thank you for having me,” she replied so quietly Jason could barely hear her. It struck him as odd that she'd be so timid around new people after all those years performing. Then again, in those days she'd been elevated on a stage, a good distance from the audience. Close-up contact was a whole different ball game. While he was mulling that over, she surprised him again.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, a bit more loudly this time.
“We're covered in here, but I think Paul and Chelsea could use a hand in the living room. We've got a ten-foot tree and a dozen totes filled with ornaments that need new hooks. Last year, somebodyâ” she glared across the kitchen at Jason's father “âtossed out all the old ones.”
“They were rusty or bent, or both,” he said defensively while he sharpened a carving knife.
Sensing an ongoing argument, Jason laughed. “Let me guess. You forgot to buy new ones.”
“No, I bought a bunch after Christmas last year. I just forgot where I put them.”
“Paul stopped to pick some up after church, and now he and Chelsea are stuck in the living room stringing ornaments,” Mom said. “I'm sure they'd appreciate your help.”
“It beats checking the lights,” Jason commented, giving Amy a questioning look. “Wanna help?”
“Okay.” Staying glued to his side, she murmured, “How many people are here, anyway?”
After a quick calculation, he came up with sixteen. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head, and he chuckled. “Is that a lot?”
“For your immediate family, yes. Then again, it's usually just my mom and me, so I'm not the best judge.” Outside the living room, she tugged him to a stop. “I've met Paul and Chelsea, but before we go in, can you point out the others for me so I can keep everyone straight?”
“Sure.”
As he went through the gathering of brothers, wives and children, she watched carefully, and he assumed she was committing their faces to memory. When he took her around the room for introductions, she seemed more confident than she had earlier, and he marveled at the change in her demeanor when she was prepared. Since he was a by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy, it hadn't occurred to him she might need a briefing on his large family before being tossed into the fray.
Obviously, this was one lady who preferred to test the water before she jumped in. Lesson learned, he mused with a grin.
“Amy, I'm so glad to see you,” Chelsea gushed from her seat on a hassock in front of a decorations bin. “Paul is no help at all.”
“It's not my fault,” he protested. “Those hooks are too small.”
“They're normal-size hooks,” his wife informed him curtly. “It's your hands that are too big.”
“My hands are pretty small, so I'll help with these,” Amy offered. “That way the guys can do the lights.”
When Jason caught sight of the knotted balls of cords and bulbs, he groaned. “I thought we coiled 'em up nice and neat last year.”
“We did,” Paul confirmed, “but they didn't stay that way. We've gotta come up with something else for next time.”
“We should wrap them around some of those empty wire spools we've got at the mill,” Jason suggested. “They're just taking up space in the storage room.”
“Great idea,” Chelsea said approvingly. “You're elected to take care of that.”
“Huh. That'll teach me to keep my big mouth shut.”
Amy laughed at that, and he congratulated himself on making her feel more at ease in what was clearly a difficult situation for her. As he trailed after his big brother, he glanced back to find her chatting easily with Chelsea. Considering how the afternoon had started, he was relieved to see it was going to end up just fine.
“Okay, folks!” Mom called from the doorway. “Come and get it.”
Everyone made a beeline for the dining room, and Jason positioned himself so Amy wouldn't get trampled in the crush. The sideboard was stocked with the average Barrett family spread, but when she got a good look at it, she laughed. “You're kidding, right?”
Following her openmouthed stare, he shrugged. “We Barretts go big, or we don't bother. The bonus is there's lots of leftovers to go around.”
“That's not a problem for you,” she commented as she took a plate from the stack. “Your grandmother obviously feeds you well.”
“That she does.”
They chatted lightly while they filled their plates with everything from mac and cheese to a tender roast, but he couldn't miss the way she kept glancing over at Granddad. His frail condition prevented him from moving around on his own, and even though he had a perfectly good wheelchair, he despised using it. So they all took their seats around the huge dining table, with his hospital bed in its place at the head.
Gram made sure he had what he wanted, then pulled her chair up beside him. Ever since Jason could remember, they'd been that way, together through everything life had thrown at them. Even now, with his days slipping away, their touching devotion to each other was plain to see.
While his father said grace, a wave of sadness swept over Jason. This was a bittersweet Christmas for the Barretts, doubly so for him. If things had worked out the way he'd planned, he'd be sitting here with his wife. But the past was done and gone, and it was time to let it go. Making a vow to do just that, he added a heartfelt “Amen” at the end of Dad's prayer.
“Everything tastes even better than it smells,” Amy announced with a smile for the cooks and another for their hosts. “Thank you so much for making me feel at home.”
Gram returned the smile with a warm one of her own. “Jason's friends are always welcome here.”
“Especially the single ones, right?” Amy teased.
“I have no idea what you're referring to, dear.”
Grinning, Amy sipped her sweet tea but didn't say anything more. Jason hadn't seen this part of her yet, and he had to admit it intrigued him. Up till now, she'd come across as an intense, creative type obsessed with perfection in everything she did. Discovering she had a playful side was like getting an early Christmas present.
Once they'd plowed through their meal, the family split into groups for various decorating assignments. With Christmas music playing from four sets of speakers located around the main floor, the work went by quickly. Outside, inside, everything was done up the way it had been for more years than Jason had been alive.
On the porches, pine garlands twined with lights swagged from the railings, and each window held a wreath tied with a burgundy velvet ribbon. Poinsettias sat on the tables, while red-and-green-plaid cushions had replaced the everyday ones on the wicker chairs and porch swing. Around it all, the three rooflines were rimmed in white lights that made the house look as if it was glowing with Christmas spirit.
When they were done, everyone took a few minutes to admire their handiwork and exchange high fives for getting it done without anyone falling off the roof. Then they all congregated around the tree Paul had trucked in from the woods surrounding the mill. Lots of people had fake ones these days, but to Jason, nothing said Christmas like the scents of a fresh-cut pine and gingerbread.
Jason and Amy stood near the fireplace, and she glanced at the collection of framed photos displayed there. A picture of the five teenage Barrett boys on a camping trip caught her eye, and she tapped one of the faces. “I haven't met him yet. Where does he live?”
His jaw tightened, but Jason reminded himself she couldn't possibly know she'd hit a nerve and did his best to sound casual. “That's my older brother, Scott. He's been in Texas the last five years.”
She gave him an odd look but didn't press him for details. That was a good thing, because Scott was a very sore subject for all of them, and Jason didn't want anything to spoil this evening for his family.
Before they got started, Dad and Paul muscled Granddad's bed through the wide archway, parking it in front of the fireplace so he could supervise. The tree had always been his responsibility, and this year was no exception. Dad might have been the one on the ladder, but Granddad was in charge of telling him where the long strings of lights needed to be adjusted.
When they finally met his approval, Dad handed him the remote. “You do the honors, Pop.”
“You checked all those bulbs?” he demanded.
“Every last one,” Dad assured him with a chuckle. “Just like you taught me.”
“All right, then.”
He flipped the switch, and the massive tree shone with every color in the spectrum. It had gotten darker outside, so the lights were reflected in the angled glass of the bay window, enhancing the effect.
“Oh, kids,” Gram breathed, “it's beautiful just like this.”
They stood and admired it for about two seconds before his nieces and nephews dived into the ornament bins, snatching up their favorites and clamoring for Chelsea to put a hook on each one.
“I'd better go help her,” Amy said, edging toward a small chair.
“Not trying to get away from me, are you?” Jason teased.
“Not a bit. In fact, I was hoping you might walk me home later.”
“Hoping?” he echoed in mock disgust. Thickening his usual Virginia accent, he went on. “I'm a Southern gentleman, Miss Morgan. I've got no intention of letting you go off alone in the dark.”
Picking up on his tone, she batted her eyes up at him. “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
“Blanche DuBois,
Streetcar Named Desire
.” Judging by her delighted reaction, she hadn't expected him to know the reference. Grinning, he added, “Except I'm not a stranger.”
Suddenly, her demeanor shifted, and her eyes darkened somberly. “But you're very kind, even to a demanding woman who drives most people crazy. That means more to me than you can possibly know.”
Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek and left him with a dazzling smile that drove deep into his heart, leaving behind a warm trail he suspected wouldn't be fading anytime soon.
Chapter Seven
B
y the time they were finished decorating the Barrett homestead, Amy knew each family member by name and was actually starting to feel like one of them. It wasn't hard to envision these generous, caring people giving an adopted child not only a home but a boisterous extended family. To her surprise, no one asked a single awkward question about what might be going on between Jason and her. She wasn't sure if that was because they were too polite to pry or if they already knew everything from the gossip flying around town.
Probably the second, she mused with a smile while she and Jason said their goodbyes. Aunt Helen stood proudly at the center of the local news chain, and while she'd never embarrass Amy, the chatty woman wasn't one to hold back anything juicy, either. And in a small, close-knit town like this, nothing was juicier than the prospect of a blossoming Christmas romance.
“Headed out?” Paul asked, holding up Chelsea's sweater for her to slip into.
“Yeah.” Jason's grumbling was totally spoiled by his troublemaker grin. “The boss wants me in extra early tomorrow.”
Paul held up his hands in defense. “Hey, don't hassle me. If you weren't so good on the lathe, you'd get more time off.”
Their good-natured argument continued while the four of them made the short walk through town to Arabesque. On the way, Jason asked Chelsea, “How're things going at your new place?”
“You mean, our old place,” Chelsea corrected him, then explained to Amy, “We bought the old Garrison house on Ingram Street.”
Amy searched her memory for the location. “You mean the one on the other side of the square?”
“That's the one,” the newest Mrs. Barrett confirmed with a sigh. “It's a mess, but the price was right.”
“Now we know why,” Paul added grimly. “I thought the home inspector was kidding when he said the only good things were the foundation and the roof.”
“Underneath all the ugly, it's still a lovely house,” Chelsea assured them. “We just have to get it there.”
Busy as they were at the mill, Amy admired their willingness to put so much effort into reclaiming the stately old Colonial. She was about to tell them that when she noticed Paul had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and was staring at a pickup parked outside the Whistlestop. Because all the streetlights were on for holiday shoppers, it was easy to make out that it was dark green, with Idaho license plates. On the back bumper was a faded sticker that read “Ladies love country boys.”
“Hey, Jason,” he commented in a curious tone. “Isn't that your truck?”
Looking over, Jason scowled. “Sure is. They must've changed out the Oregon plates so the cops couldn't find it.”
“So either Billy's hereâ”
“âor Rachel,” Jason finished for him as the driver's door swung open and a petiteâand very pregnantâwoman stepped out.
Flipping long auburn hair over her shoulders, she arched her back in obvious discomfort and scanned the tiny business district with a helpless look. When her eyes landed on their group, they lit up with what Amy could only describe as joy.
For someone as front-heavy as she was, she moved pretty fast, and before anyone could react, she'd thrown herself at a flabbergasted Jason.
“Oh, Jason!” she choked out in a half sob. “I'm so glad to see you.”
Moving like a man in a trance, he peeled her arms from around his neck and gently pushed her back. “How'd you find me?”
“I stopped in one of those internet cafés out on the highway and looked you up online. There's a bio of you on the Barrett's Mill Furniture website, and it was updated a couple weeks ago, so I was hoping you'd still be here.”
The wonders of modern communication, Amy groused, wondering how Jason was going to handle this bizarreâand delicateâsituation.
Giving his ex a disapproving once-over, he asked, “How's Billy?”
“Gone, months ago,” she replied, her face twisting in anguish. “As soon as he found out about the baby, he was done with me. Hey, Paul,” she added, as if she'd only just realized they weren't alone.
She didn't even glance at Chelsea or Amy, and Chelsea raised a disapproving brow. Paul settled an arm around her shoulders in an obvious attempt at keeping the peace. “Rachel McCarron, this is my wife, Chelsea.”
She giggled at that, then seemed to register his somber expression. “Oh, you're serious. Sorry about that,” she told Chelsea. “Back when I knew him, Paul wasn't exactly the marrying type.”
Her thoughtless comment hung in the night air, which was growing chillier by the second.
Finally, Chelsea broke the tension. “We're on our way home, so we'll see you two later.” She hugged both Jason and Amy, pointedly leaving out their unwelcome visitor. Wrapping Paul's arm around her shoulders, she angled him away and headed cross-lots to their house.
Sighing dramatically, Rachel watched them go. “She doesn't like me.”
Chelsea adored Jason, and knowing what this woman had done to him couldn't sit well with her. Amy would be amazed if Chelsea's opinion of Rachel McCarron ever came close to thawing.
In truth, she hadn't been all that crazy about Jason's former fiancée even when Rachel was a distant memory for him. It had never occurred to Amy that they might actually meet someday. Or that she'd be pregnant and evidently in need of help. Then it hit her: Jason hadn't introduced them. After asking about Billy, he'd gone completely silent, as if he couldn't come up with anything more to say. Sadly, Rachel didn't share his affliction, but chattered along about this old friend and that one in a desperate attempt to fill the awkward silence.
When she finally stopped for breath, Amy seized what might be her only opportunity to air what she was thinking. Tapping his shoulder, she gave him a cool look. “Could I talk to you a minute?”
“Sure. Excuse me, Rachel.”
Now he remembered his manners, Amy seethed while they moved a few yards away. She didn't know why she was so upset about his unexpected reunion with his ex, but her temper was simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to flare into an blistering tirade. Determined to avoid embarrassing them both, she took a deep breath to regain her composure.
Gazing down at her, he frowned. “What's wrong?”
“What's wrong?” she echoed furiously. “Are you serious?”
Patient as he usually was, she was stunned by the flash of anger in his eyes. “Look, this is a shock to me, too. You'll have to cut me some slack.”
Most of the time, she gave in when people spoke to her that way. Then later, when she had a chance to think it over, she regretted allowing them to wipe their feet on her like some kind of doormat. Not this time, she vowed, pulling herself up to her full height and glaring at him for all she was worth. “By all means, take as much slack as you need. Good night.”
Pivoting on her heel, she started across the street to where the cheery windows of Arabesque beckoned her inside where things still made sense to her. It was a fantasy, of course, but it was hers, and it was calling to her like the beacon marking a safe harbor.
Before she could reach it, Jason caught up with her and gently grasped her arm. When she yanked it free, he put up his hands in deference to her temper. “I shouldn't have done that, and I'm sorry. Please don't go off this way.”
“What way?” she spat defiantly.
“Mad.”
Stepping into an empty parking space, she folded her arms and scowled up at him. “Mad doesn't begin to cut it, mister.”
“I'm confused. It's not my fault Rachel's here, y'know. I didn't ask her to come.”
Clueless, she ranted silently, shaking her head. “Then I'll explain it to you. Paul introduced Chelsea to Rachel, but you left me standing there like the invisible woman.”
By the startled look on his face, her complaint was news to him, and he hung his head like a woebegone hound. “I'm sorry. She caught me off guard, and my brain just shut off.”
He looked so ashamed, she didn't have the heart to go on being angry at him. She understood his reaction, because she'd felt the same when she'd run into Devon shopping in Manhattan with his new girlfriend.
Uncomfortable
didn't even begin to describe the scene, and she recalled her tangled emotions vividly enough that she opted to give Jason a break.
“I guess I understand,” she said, ducking to look at him. “And I apologize for overreacting.”
His features brightened immediately.
“It's over between us, I promise. And that baby's not mine.”
She'd figured that out for herself from their exchange about the absent Billy, but she appreciated him having the courage to meet the sensitive issue head-on. “What are you going to do?”
“I'm not sure,” he confided with a glance over to where Rachel stood waiting for him. “I'm guessing she needs somewhere to go, or she wouldn't have come all this way.”
“What about her family?”
He grimaced. “She's from Iowa, and her parents are the conservative, buttoned-up type. They're probably not real thrilled with her right now.”
Despite her initial reaction to Rachel's surprise visit, Amy couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Alone and pregnant, she'd driven across the country to the one person she thought she could count on. That it was Jason didn't surprise Amy in the least. That was the kind of guy he was, after all, and she'd certainly benefited from it herself.
Taking her hand, he fixed her with a pleading gaze. “It's a lot to take in, but I hope you can get your head around this. My no-good father left my mother to deal with her pregnancy and a baby when she was sixteen years old. If it hadn't been for the Barretts, who knows what would've happened to me? If Rachel needs my help, I'm gonna give it to her. It's the right thing to do.”
While she still didn't like the situation one bit, Amy sensed he was appealing to her as a friend. Determined not to let Rachel get to her, she tamped down her irrational objections and did her best to appear calm. “I'm going home now. I'll be in my office doing the books, if you want to talk later.”
He flashed her a little-boy grin. “Thanks.”
With a quick “You're welcome,” Amy gladly finished her walk to Arabesque. Fighting the urge to glance back at them, she unlocked the door to her apartment just as the vintage rotary phone on the counter began ringing. “Hello?”
“Who's that pregnant girl out there with Jason?” Aunt Helen demanded breathlessly.
“Are you using Uncle Fred's high-powered binoculars again?” she chided. “You know they're meant for bird-watching and spotting deer, right?”
“He's sound asleep, so he won't be missing them. Are you going to answer my question or not?”
Knowing she'd get the information one way or another, Amy decided to be helpful. “Rachel McCarron, his ex-fiancée from Oregon. And before you ask, the baby's not his.”
She gave a very unladylike snort. “Of course it's not. He'd never leave the mother of his child to fend for herself like that.”
While her aunt launched into a melodramatic assessment of other local couples in dicey situations, Amy was astonished to discover she didn't doubt his claim for even a single moment. As a performer, she'd learned to be wary of people's intentions, never taking anyone at face value because most of the characters around her were superb actors. Because of that, she had a hard time believing anyone until she'd known them for a long time.
Somehow, Jason had earned her trust very quickly, and she took it on faith that he was being straight with her.
An interesting change, she thought while she
mmm-hmm
ed and
uh-huh
ed at the right spots in their one-way conversation. She didn't know the dictionary definition of
faith,
but she understood it basically meant believing in something you couldn't see or touch.
She believed Jason, but did she also believe
in
him? She hadn't considered that before, but she had to admit she probably did. She certainly felt he'd been honest with her, right from their first meeting through tonight. He was funny and sweet, and he had a way of making her feel special without saying a word.
“Don't you think so?” Aunt Helen asked, finally dragging Amy back into the discussion.
“Absolutely.” Since she hadn't heard the question, she hoped her response made sense.
“A good boy, through and through. And from what Olivia tells me, he really likes you. You could do worse.”
I have,
Amy thought grimly. But over the past few days, Jason had convinced her she deserved better, and at some point she'd started to agree with him. “Aunt Helen, I hate to cut you off, but I really should get going on the books.”
“Oh, listen to me, rattling along when you've got work to do. You go on, and I'll see you soon.”
Adding a noisy air kiss, she hung up. Amy disconnected with a relieved sigh. She adored the woman, but an extended chat with her could be exhausting. Normally, she detested opening her bookkeeping program and logging everything in, but after the hectic day she'd had, she was actually looking forward to sitting down at her desk for some Mozart and number crunching.
* * *
After watching Amy to make sure she'd gotten inside all right, Jason cast a hesitant look over at Rachel. For the life of him, he didn't know what to say. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he trudged back to where she was waiting, searching his uncooperative brain for a way to start a conversation he'd never anticipated having. When she took off nearly a year ago, it had taken him a while to accept she was really gone. Once he did, though, he'd assumed he'd never see her again.
But here she was, and he had to come up with a way to deal with it. Inspiration struck, and he asked, “Are you hungry?”