Mackinnon 03 - The Bonus Mom (12 page)

Hell’s bells, the two of them almost brought tears to her eyes.

The mess was cleaned up—or cleaned up good enough. A new coffee cake was made. About then, they claimed they were starving for lunch, and because Rosemary hadn’t completely forgotten about being a kid, she made mac and cheese—with extra cheese and French-fried onions.

Whit would likely show up at any time, but he wasn’t here yet. “Okay, guys, the last thing we need to do is set the table for tomorrow.”

Truthfully she’d never planned any such thing, but after the tear burst, she wanted to do something to boost Pepper’s confidence. And Lilly’s, too.

It was easy to see she’d made a good choice when the girls immediately shared worried glances.

“Here’s the thing,” she said calmly. “I’ll finish cleaning up the kitchen. You two take charge of the table. We need the obvious—five of everything, plates, silverware, napkins, dessert plates. Oh, and glasses. Sound easy so far?”

“Is any of that good stuff?” Lilly asked bravely. “I mean, I know you said you don’t have stuff that can’t be replaced. But all the same, if we dropped, say, a glass, would it cost a whole lot?”

“Nope. Not that I’d care if you did. Putting out the dishes is the boring part, anyway. There’s a linen closet—I’ll show you where. There should be a bunch of holiday place mats. Pick out whatever you like.”

“You mean, no matter what’s there?”

“Yup. There’s no fancy white linen in there...not for that old oak table. But there should be lots of place mats. And then in the middle of the table, we need some kind of decoration.”

“Like what?” Pepper said warily.

“Well...I’ll give you a bunch of things. Pine boughs. Red ribbon. A strip of red plaid fabric. The oranges poked with cloves. Some old, old salt cellars...that you might fill with almond or vanilla or cinnamon. Whatever you think would smell Christmasy. Just play with it, you know? And you can add anything you can think of.”

“Like some pine cones from outside?” Lilly asked.

“Exactly. You’re getting the picture. Whatever you two think would look nice. Or fun. Or pretty. Or whatever else rings your chimes.”

You’d think she’d given them gold. Pepper dealt out the plates faster than a deck of cards. Lilly set the silverware and napkins just so. Then came the table decoration...and they fussed for more than a half hour, with ribbon and sprigs of pine and salt cellars they filled with spices. Then they took a look, and started all over.

Pepper came first into the kitchen. “Do you have any marshmallows? Big’s better but even little marshmallows would be okay.”

“I think so. Let me look.”

After that, Lilly asked for toothpicks...and peppercorns. Then they fussed with the table all over again. Lilly climbed on the table in her stocking feet, and used ribbon to tie a handful of the clove-studded oranges from the wagon chandelier.

A bunch of the marshmallows disappeared—Rosemary expected they went directly inside tummies—but the rest were turned into toothpick snowmen with peppercorns for eyes. Lilly was still fussing when Pepper, finally bored, ambled into the kitchen and plopped on a stool.

“This was way fun,” she told Rosemary.

“For me, too. You thirsty?”

“Yeah. Dying of thirst.”

“Cider?” Lilly wanted some, too, but she wasn’t finished with her Christmas table centerpiece. Pepper hung in the kitchen, sipping cider, not saying anything...but there was something in her eyes that Rosemary noticed.

“My dad’s due pretty soon, isn’t he?”

“Actually, he’s overdue. But I think he was afraid of getting stuck with dishes, so he might be deliberately a little on the late side.”

She thought Pepper might laugh, but she just propped her elbows on the counter and hooked her chin in her palm. “Rosemary?”

“What, hon?” She tried to make her voice casual.

“Sometimes it really bothers me. That most of my memories of my mom are of her yelling at me. It’s not that we didn’t have good times, but most of the great times I remember were all with my dad.”

Rosemary didn’t know what to say or how to react. “Maybe your mom tended to yell when she was under a lot of stress?”

“But she didn’t yell at Lilly that I can remember. I think sometimes...” Pepper said hesitantly, “that Mom didn’t like me.”

Cripes. The kid was breaking her heart. “You know what?” Rosemary said, but the phrase was just a stall.

“What?”

Rosemary gulped. “I think, maybe, that parents try so hard to make their kids safe, to teach them lessons and values that will help them in life. So sometimes it could seem like they’re yelling too much. Or being mean. Or being critical. When all they’re trying to do is be good parents.”

Pepper stewed on that for a while. “So. Did your parents yell at you?”

“My parents weren’t around enough to do much yelling,” Rosemary said honestly.

“Well. I wish my mom had been more like you,” Pepper said, and looked as if she was about to say something else, when Lilly yelled from the other room.

“Dad’s back! He’s just driving up!”

When Pepper took off for the front door, Rosemary let out a long, uneasy breath. Pepper’s words punched every worry button. She never wanted the girls to think she could replace their mom—or that she wanted to take their mother’s place.

She just never dreamed that either of the girls could form an attachment to her so quickly.

Or that she could feel a deep love for both of them, just as fast.

The icing on the worry was Whit. They’d made extraordinary love last night. But to presume that intimacy meant love or potential commitment or a future together was downright crazy. And unfair. To him. To his daughters.

Whatever they did together was about Christmas. Nothing else. Just Christmas. She damn well better keep that in mind.

And then she heard his voice in the living room, and felt her heart thump like a foolish puppy dog’s tail.

Chapter Ten

W
hit pushed off his boots at the door, then shed his jacket. His daughters gamboled toward him as if he were their favorite horse and they could both climb on.

“Where have you
been,
Dad!”

“Hey. You two sent me out with a job to do. It took a while. I’m exhausted.”

Both girls giggled. “Dad, when you have to shop, you’re exhausted before you even walk in the first store.”

The twins couldn’t be more bright-eyed and happy, but right off, he could see Rosemary was avoiding his eyes. His naked tigress from last night had disappeared. Her red sweatshirt was Christmasy; her socks had Santas. But she was hanging back in the doorway, her posture careful.

“Wow. Looks like you three have been busy.” He said, looking at the pretty table.

“You think? Rosemary let us do it. Make up our own centerpiece and all.” Lilly swallowed a gulp. “It wasn’t like Mom would have done it—”

“It’s terrific. Really pretty.” Whit squeezed his daughter’s shoulders. “You’ve got a great eye for balance.”

“You think so?”

“I think so, too,” Rosemary said immediately. “The girls have been going nonstop. Ask them. I’ve been working them both to the bone.”

“No, she hasn’t!” Pepper immediately defended her. “We made coconut cake for dessert tomorrow. And a fancy coffee cake for tomorrow morning.”

“As you can tell,” Rosemary deadpanned, “we concentrated only on the important food groups.”

“I figured that ahead of time. The list you gave me was for all the dull stuff—like the twelve-pound ham in the back of the car.”

“Which you get to stud with more cloves, Dad!”

“Not that! Anything but that!”

“And tomorrow,” Rosemary added, “if you’re really, really good, we’ll let you peel potatoes.”

Whit looked at his daughters. “I thought you guys loved me.”

“We do love you, Dad,” Lilly assured him. “But you have to face it. You’re outnumbered.”

“But I was counting on being popular when I got back. I brought dinner. And candied apples for dessert. And two DVDs to watch. And the ham. And potatoes. And...”

“All right, all right.” Rosemary turned to the girls. “We did give him the grunt work. And now he’s brought dinner. I think we should let him off the hook. In fact, I think we probably have to give him hero status.”

Pepper and Lilly both claimed he needed more time to prove himself. “For one thing,” Pepper said, “he hasn’t told us what DVDs he brought yet.”

“One’s
Father Goose.
”

“
Yeah!
That’s tradition in our family, Rosemary. We always get to watch it over Christmas sometime. It’s really old, but it’s still pretty awesome.”

Lilly wasn’t giving up so easily. “What’s the other tape?”

“It’s a surprise. But it has
‘Wedding’
in the title,” Whit said, in the tone of the long suffering. As far as he knew, the girls’ top ten favorite movies all had to do with brides and bridesmaids and junk like that.

Since they both screamed, he figured he’d scored a good one, but Lilly was quick to move on. “Did you get the other thing we talked about?”

“Yeah, did you, Dad?” Both girls looked at Rosemary.

They were about as subtle as a cattle prod. Rosemary picked up the hint in less than two shakes. “If you got me a present,” she told him, “you can just take it right back. I haven’t been out. Haven’t gotten any of you three presents. You’d make me miserable if you gave me something and I had nothing to give back.”

“It’s not that kind of gift,” Whit promised her, and to his daughters, “we’re going to have to take some lessons on how to keep secrets.”

Rosemary ambled closer, crossing her arms under her chest. “Listen, you three.” She took a breath. “I have an idea. I think it’s probably a stupid idea, and there’s no problem if any of you say no.”

“What? What?” The girls couldn’t wait to hear.

“Well...you all came up to Whisper Mountain to have a different kind of Christmas. That’s why I’m here, too. And since we’ve been doing things all day, and it’s already almost dark...well, Christmas Eve can be on the lonely side if you’re remembering the people who aren’t with you. So, maybe...would you all like to sleep over?”

Whit’s jaw almost dropped. His lady appeared as wary of looking at him, wary of being close to him, as a fragile doe. But before any of them could answer, she forged on.

“We’ve already collected all the food here. And there are a half-dozen bedrooms upstairs—you girls could either choose your own or share together. Your dad could pick another, or else sleep down here. I’m just saying, there’s lots of choices, lots of ways for everyone to be comfortable.”

The girls were all for it, judging from their jumping and hand slapping exuberance. So was he—but Rosemary still hadn’t made eye contact with him.

He most definitely hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. “I think the idea’s brilliant,” Whit said.

“It’s probably not convenient.”

“It couldn’t be more convenient. Like you said, the food’s already here for tomorrow. And we’re not doing the usual Christmas morning big-present thing.”

“I understand that...but you three probably want some family time just for yourselves. I don’t want to intrude. In fact, that may be just what all three of you really want, a quiet family Christmas.”

“Rosemary.”
Lilly’s voice went up three octaves. “You’re being
silly.
We’re already family. We’re together all the
time.
”

“Yeah. We get family time whenever we want it.”

“I’m on the girls’ side,” Whit said meekly—since the girls were already laying on the arguments.

“Well, you girls don’t have nightgowns and all that—”

“It’ll take me less than ten minutes to head back down the mountain, pick up a few things, get back.”

She started to make another objection, then stopped. She looked at him, eyes full of worry and nerves. When he first saw those soft blues, he’d been stunned by the sadness in them. Now...some impulse had encouraged her to suggest the sleepover. Knowing her better now, he suspected she wanted to do something for the girls—some way to make Christmas Eve and Christmas morning less sad for them.

A sleepover would definitely help that. No question the girls loved the idea, and it’d be good for them. Good for him. But not, Whit suspected, so good for her, not if she was trying to back away from intimacy between them.

So he’d just have to find a way to make the sleepover a good thing for her.

Sometimes a man had to do what a man had to do.

* * *

Just after eleven that night, Rosemary opened her bedroom door and listened. Like the infamous poem claimed, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The whole household had started yawning after nine, and completely folded around ten-thirty.

Rosemary knew she wouldn’t sleep, so there was no point in tossing and turning. She crept downstairs barefoot, leaving lights off until she reached the far hall closet in the back.

Her mood was more than ebullient. She’d known the sleepover idea could turn out disastrous, the instant the suggestion came out of her mouth. Encouraging more closeness was risky and foolhardy—especially for a vulnerable family like those three.

But it had all gone so great. Whit made a fast trip back to their place for night gear—and came back with such a huge load that Rosemary had to hold her stomach from laughing so hard. He just looked so beleaguered as he carted in more and more stuff. The girls could have lived for six months in Europe on the “critical things” they needed to stay overnight. Their own pillows. Their own blankets. Their own “sleeping socks.” And both of them claimed to have given up dolls “
ages
ago,” but it seemed they both slept with life-size stuffed animals—a lion for Lilly, a panda bear for Pepper.

They all chowed down on the chili Whit had brought for dinner, adding cheese on top and dollops of sour cream, then consuming candied apples as if they’d never tasted sweets before. Then the girls charged off for their “blankies,” which were apparently required before curling up with the DVDs Whit had brought.

She’d sat on one end of the couch, with the girls in between and Whit on the far end. Everyone had “blankies” heaped over them, and popcorn bowls on top of that.

Whit kept it together until halfway through
Father Goose...
when she suddenly realized he’d leaned his head back and was looking at her. If she leaned her head back, she could see him over the girls’ heads. He made gestures of extreme suffering, of major yawns, of gruesome boredom, then covered his head with the blanket.

Silly. Who would have guessed Whit could be downright silly? And since she couldn’t help laughing, she had to cover her head with a blanket, too. Chuckling—downright giggling—until the girls admonished the adults to behave themselves.

Rosemary was still smiling at how easily the evening had gone—and how much simple fun she’d had with them. Now, though, since she was stuck with insomnia, she pulled a footstool into the hall closet. Two weeks ago, she’d planned to forget about Christmas altogether. But now, Whit and the girls had put her in the spirit, in spite of herself.

She tugged down two boxes—neither heavy—and carted them into the living room. Family holidays hadn’t always been spent at the lodge, especially not in recent years, but certain decorations had always been stored here. One box held coils of old-fashioned Christmas lights, the kind that looked like candles and clasped onto each branch.

The second box held four very old, giant glass bulbs—one sapphire, one emerald, one gold and the last ruby-red. Every generation of MacKinnon kids had to wait until they were old enough to be trusted with the “sacred” balls.

She lit candles on the mantel, providing just enough light for her to add those decorations to the tree. It didn’t take long, and once she’d plugged in the old-fashioned lights, she sank in front of the tree with a blanket draped around her.

Memories whispered through her mind...so many Christmas Eves, just like this. Creeping downstairs to look at the lit-up tree, to hear the hiss of fire, to look out at winter stars, to smell the pine and cherrywood. To just inhale the magic of the night.

She heard a quiet footfall, and turned her head.

Whit, wearing jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, was just coming down the stairs. “You couldn’t sleep, either?”

“Just had some last-minute things I wanted to do.” She noted the boxes in his hands. “You, too?”

“Yeah. The girls think we’re not doing presents. And in principle, I don’t think it’d kill any of us to have a less material Christmas. I know we bought all that stuff for their bedrooms at home, but that was different. And it’s nothing I could wrap up, besides. Anyway...”

He was nattering. Whit was so not a natterer.

“Anyway, I bought them each a gift. A camera. Not too easy, not too complex, or that was the goal when I picked them out.”

“They’ll love it!”

He nodded. “I hope so. When they were talking about your darkroom, it made the mental wheels spin. They were both entranced. Pepper, I suspect, will want to take people pictures. Lilly will want to go prowl around outside, snap flowers and trees and just things that draw her eye.”

“They’re both artistic in different ways.”

“I think so, too. When they were little, the ‘twins thing’ was fun for them—dressing alike, talking alike. But these days I can see them trying to differentiate from each other. So I may have bought them both cameras, but I was hoping it was the nature of gift that they could use to develop something in their own individual style.”

“And what’s the third gift you just snuck under the tree?”

She caught his grin by firelight. “The nongift for you. Nothing scary. Nothing over the top. Nothing to fret about. Besides which, the kids’ mother could have told you, I pretty much never get girl gifts right.”

He plunked down next to her, cocked up a leg at the base of the tree. She could feel the heat of his body, see the kindling warmth in his eyes.

Too close. She said quickly, “Would you like a glass of wine? Or a beer?”

“Either one. Whatever you have around.”

“I can guarantee I don’t have anything fancy.”

“Anything you have would be perfect,” he said.

But the way he looked at her, he wasn’t talking about wine. She uncoiled and aimed for the kitchen, unsure what she’d find. She had an occasional glass of wine, but living alone, a bottle usually turned to vinegar before she could finish it. Still, the lodge had a small wine keeper, just underground, with a mishmash variety of wines people had either liked or left or been gifted in the past. She found a Shiraz, opened it, poured it in two jelly glasses. Her mind whirled a million miles an hour at the same time.

There was a background reason she’d come up with the sleepover idea. The reason was real. But now she had the opportunity to do something about it...well, she sure wanted that glass of wine first.

When she came back, Whit had stoked the fire, added a log and was back on the blanket by the tree, an elbow cocked on his knee.

“That tree looks downright magical. In spite of impossible odds,” he said wryly.

She handed him his wine, took a couple serious sips. “All trees look magical on Christmas Eve.” She gulped. “Whit?”

He looked at her.

“I would like to tell you something—the reason I broke up with my fiancé. And the reason I’ve been keeping it a secret.”

“I’ve wondered,” he admitted.

She nodded. “Actually, I’d like your opinion. It was never that I was unwilling to talk about this. It was that I believed I had to keep the secret from my family. And after I tell you, maybe you could tell me if my judgment was right to keep it all quiet.”

He waited. She sipped some more wine, and then started telling the story.

“I practically grew up with George, even though he was a few years older than me. His parents and mine were all doctors. The adults became close friends, did dinners together, parties, sometimes holidays. I didn’t think of George—romantically—until after college. He was a brand-new doctor at the time. I was just starting my first serious job. We were both home after being away for a while, both single.” She shrugged. “We started going out. Had fun. We already shared a lot of history. We didn’t have to waste time getting to know each other, never suffered from those dating nerves. He was so easy to be with...it was almost like we were already family.”