That Christmas Feeling (15 page)

“Be with me, Lord,” she whispered, not sure if she were talking about the drive home or about what had happened inside the house.

P
aul hadn’t felt normal since the night he’d nearly kissed Rose. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment and asking himself over and over what he’d been thinking. The answer was always the same. Rose and her smiling eyes.

He hadn’t been able to loosen her image from his thoughts, not since the night at Historic Log Village when he’d seen her face illuminated in the candlelight. Even before that. Days seemed to meld together like a collage of wonderful moments. Rose had brightened their lives.

But now he had to decide what to do about it.

Struggling with his dilemma, Paul let his gaze drift to the sleeve of photos he’d taken in the backyard weeks earlier. They’d been lying on the table, and he hadn’t looked at them since Rose had brought them home.

He opened the packet. Emotion washed over him. He gazed at the twins mugging for the camera, their faces shining in the autumn sunlight, their clothes sprinkled with leaves. He shifted the top photo and, beneath, sat his own picture with his beautiful children beside him.

Next he saw Rose cuddling the twins while love filled
her eyes. He paused, afraid to look, afraid to see what was coming. He inched the top photo away and looked. Rose again. Each one touched his heart—her smile, her happiness, her face glowing with contentment. He slid a photo into his shirt pocket and placed the rest back into the sleeve.

Paul stood and moved to the window. Outside, the leaves were gone. Beneath the leaden sky the earth looked cold and hard, but his life had been warmed by a woman who’d been his children’s nanny for nearly two years. What would he do now with these growing feelings?

He’d been blind.

The scent of turkey filled the air as Rose removed the potatoes from the burner. She’d been in a daze for the past three weeks, trying to make sense out of Paul. She’d truly thought that he was about to kiss her that night. The ride to her apartment had been a nightmare, between the unfamiliar slippery streets and the events that had brought on a tangle of fantasy, reality and disbelief.

She and Paul hadn’t spoken of it since that evening. So often, Rose wondered what might have happened if Kayla hadn’t barged into the room. She’d been prepared for his kiss. She longed for it, yet she knew it wasn’t meant to be. It could only have added to the confusion already in her heart, especially since she’d learned Paul’s friend was a woman. Now she was coming for Thanksgiving dinner.

When the doorbell rang, Rose let Paul answer it. Voices drifted in from the foyer, and Rose’s heart lodged in her throat. Prayer had helped her with the struggle. Only God promised to be faithful forever, and Rose couldn’t blame Paul. He’d asked her to be his friend—nothing more than that. And she’d realized this woman might also be only a
friend—maybe a beautiful, shapely friend, but those were things Rose couldn’t control.

“Rose.”

She straightened as Paul’s voice sailed through the dining room. She could see their shadows moving across the white table linen before she saw them.

“Rose,” Paul said again, coming through the doorway. “I want you to meet Gretchen Thomas.”

Rose managed a smile.

“Gretchen, this is Rose Danby, my right arm…and my left one, too.”

When she saw the woman behind Paul, Rose clamped her jaw to avoid showing her surprise. Rose had expected a young, shapely woman. Instead standing in front of her was a tall, large-boned woman whose hand was extended toward her.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Rose said, accepting the woman’s handshake.

“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you,” Gretchen said.

Shame washed over Rose as she gazed at the woman’s once-blond hair, now streaked with gray. She’d never thought Gretchen would be a woman executive in her fifties, but Rose could only guess that’s what she was. “I’m glad you could come. Eating alone on Thanksgiving isn’t easy.”

“I’ve had to do it since my husband died,” she said. “We were married nearly forty years.”

Nearly forty years. Rose did her math. Unless the woman had married very young, she had to be in her sixties. “It must be difficult.”

“We can get used to anything as long as we have our faith,” Gretchen said.

“Can I help you do anything?” Paul asked.

Rose shook her head. “We’ll be eating shortly. I’m just about ready. You go ahead.”

Paul took Gretchen’s arm and steered her back through the dining room. Their voices faded to a distant hum.

Ashamed of herself, Rose leaned her back against the kitchen counter and covered her face. “Lord, what can I do?” She’d judged a situation that she’d known nothing about.

Living with distrust and jealousy was destructive. She’d become too involved in the family and knew she needed a life of her own, a husband and children. She’d never have these staying in Little Cloud.

If she couldn’t get her emotions under control, she had no choice but to leave. Jan had told Rose she was always welcome if she decided to return to L.A., and Rose truly missed her friend. Maybe this was God’s way of pointing her back to California.

While Paul was giving Aunt Inez a ride home with a bag of turkey-dinner leftovers, Rose helped the children with their baths, then convinced them it was bedtime. They grumbled until she teased them about the broom, and they giggled as they obeyed.

The scent of turkey filled the house, giving her a homey feeling. The meal had gone well, and she had finally settled her ragged emotions and enjoyed Gretchen’s company. She could see why Paul respected and admired the woman.

She settled on the sofa, recalling her fluttering heart as her arm had brushed against Paul’s while they worked in the kitchen. They’d been preparing dessert—he making coffee, she whipping cream. Since the night of the near kiss, they’d become like strangers at a bus stop, apologizing for getting too close and avoiding each other’s eyes. The change felt frightening, but it made her think.

Tonight she decided to talk with Paul if she could find the courage and the opportunity. The chance would arise when he returned from his aunt’s. In a way she felt better having made the decision.

By the time Paul arrived, the house was quiet. Rose had her legs curled beneath her and a blaze in the fireplace.

“Thanks for the fire,” Paul said as he came through the doorway. His coat was littered with newly fallen snow. He slipped it off and shook it, then vanished.

Rose heard the entry closet door open and close, then footsteps as Paul came back into the room. “It’s snowing again?” Rose asked, uncurling her legs and rising.

He nodded. “Just a few flakes, though.”

Paul settled into a chair by the fire while she remained standing. He grew more handsome every day, and the reality broke her heart. Tonight his light brown hair looked disheveled from the wind, and his close-cut shave had begun to shadow. She longed to touch his jaw and feel the prickles of the whiskers that bristled on his cheeks.

“Are you leaving?” he asked.

She motioned toward the window. “If it’s snowing, I probably should go.” But that wasn’t what she’d planned to do. Her commitment to talk to him niggled in her mind.

Instead of leaving, Rose returned to the sofa. “Do you have time to talk?” She sat on the edge of the cushion.

“Talk? Sure.”

She lowered her gaze, not knowing where to begin. The words clung in her throat, unwilling to leave until she forced them out. “We don’t usually talk about personal things, but I want to tell you something so you understand why I react as I do.”

“Is this about the other night?” he asked.

It was the first reference he’d made to the incident, but
she didn’t want to start there. She had too much to explain before that ever happened.

She shook her head. “When I first came here, you said you needed a friend. I certainly needed one. I had no way to make friends, since I wasn’t working in the community. But sometimes I’m not sure…” She faltered, knowing she had to back up to start the story where the problem had begun.

When she looked up, Paul was giving her a questioning look. “I hope you didn’t misunderstand me,” he said. “I never meant anything inappropriate when I asked you to be my friend. I—”

“I know that, Paul.” Suddenly she felt foolish. Why confess the humiliating experience with Don? “Never mind. Let’s forget it.”

He leaned forward. “No, please. I want to hear what’s bothering you. I thought it was the proposal or something else I’d said or done. The other night when—”

“It’s a combination of things,” she said. She sent a quick prayer that the Lord would help her tell the story without bitterness or embarrassment. She so often felt guilty for what had happened. Yet she had been faithful, as God commanded. Don hadn’t.

She began, controlling the old hurt that clashed with the present. She made it brief, and when she stopped she studied his face. “So you can understand why I have a problem with trust…and judgmental people.”

“Yes, and thanks for trusting me. I understand now. I know you have a strong faith and high morals. I’ll always respect that.”

He stood and crossed the floor, sinking beside her on the sofa. “But I wish you’d told me before. You’ve been suffering in silence, and I’ve probably stepped on your toes a million times without knowing what you had gone through.”

She shrugged. “It just takes me a while to come to grips with most everything.”

“You needed a friend you could trust, and then I walked through the door in L.A. and proposed to you without explaining what I had in mind.”

“That did undo me. Don had been my boss, and I’ve promised myself never to mix romance and work.”

Paul flinched. “No wonder you were upset.”

“And I’ve never understood how you could propose to someone you didn’t know well or didn’t care about.”

Paul pressed his hand against her arm. “Don’t think that, please. I cared very much about you. You were excellent with the twins. They loved you. I admired your ability and respected you as a person. I thought that perhaps—”

“But you didn’t love me.”

Paul jolted backward, hearing her words. “No, I didn’t, but I…” After what she’d said, how could he ever tell her now that his feelings were different? He’d spent every waking hour thinking of her and the twins, imagining how they were spending the day, envisioning Rose’s smile waiting for him when he came home, her gentle voice when she met him at the door.

“You say you respected me, but I don’t see it.”

“What do you mean?” His pulse tripped.

“If you respected me, you would have known I would never marry a man who didn’t love me fully. Not for convenience, not for money, not for comfort or security. I’d rather be single.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say—”

“I’d rather be childless.” She turned to him. “And I want children more than anything else in the world.”

Childless? Seeing the look on her face, Paul felt his heart break. He couldn’t imagine Rose single and childless
for the rest of her life. One day a man would sweep her off her feet, and lately he’d wished he could be the one to do just that.

R
ose leaned against the kitchen counter and wondered what she was doing. Prolonging the agony was her answer. She’d fallen in love with the children, and worse, she’d fallen in love with Paul.

He cared about her. She accepted that. He’d been kind and generous. He’d included her in family activities and told her she was important to them, but as she’d said the other night, she was his employee. That would never change.

And she would never be available for another man as long as Paul was in her life. So what about marriage and children? The answer hung on a thread.

Christmas was only three weeks away, and she needed to prepare the family if she were really going back to California. The quicker the better, as far as she was concerned. As soon as the thought entered her mind, a knot formed in her chest.
Heavenly Father, please let me hear Your voice.

She heard nothing but the twins banging something from the front of the house.

Her thoughts drifted back to Gretchen. Rose had been
mortified when her jealousy had caused her to concoct a romance between Paul and the woman. Every time the memory resurfaced—and it did often—she cringed.

Jealousy, distrust and frustration had become her way of life, and they were not the attributes of a Christian. She’d asked God to guide her, to give her courage to leave, then her heart would tell her to stay.

Since Gretchen had returned to L.A., Rose was pleased that Paul had done what he’d promised. He’d been arriving home on time again. She knew it would be good for the children after she was gone.

Gone? Is that what she would ultimately do?

Her only defense had been keeping busy, planning for Christmas and wrapping the children’s gifts. She’d hidden them everywhere she prayed the twins wouldn’t look. Today she’d put her energy into baking cookies. She’d have a supply that would last through January.

Rose wandered into the living room and put on a CD of Christmas music. The holiday carols filled the room and wrapped around her heart. She checked on the children, who’d decided to conspire in Paul’s study about what they wanted to give their father for Christmas. They’d been particularly well behaved in the past week, and Rose assumed their goodness had to do with Christmas.

Though she’d written to Jan that she was giving serious thought to going back and had even received a lively telephone call filling her in on all the news and giving her encouragement, Rose couldn’t envision actually walking out the door. The thought made her ill.

Yet the idea persisted. Though she would miss the twins, the possibility of getting married and having her own children softened the hurt.

Before she left Little Cloud, Rose wished she could be
honest with Paul about her feelings. But what good would it do? She’d only embarrass herself and face his rejection. A woman should never fall in love with her boss. The relationship was doomed.

The buzzer on the oven sounded, and Rose’s heart lurched. She opened the door and pulled out two sheets of plump sugar cookies. She’d bought decorator frosting, and once she covered the cookies with a white glaze, she planned to let the children help make the designs.

As the new aroma sailed into the air, she heard the sound of two pairs of feet thudding nearer. She watched the doorway, and in a heartbeat the twins appeared.

“More cookies?” Kayla asked.

“I thought you liked cookies,” Rose said.

Kayla leaned over the pans and sniffed. “We do, but you’ve made lots already.”

“I’m stocking up.” Rose’s throat tightened.

Colin eyed the icing tubes. “Can we help put on the decorations?”

“Once they cool.” Rose shifted the cookies to cooling racks, then set the sheets in the sink. “Did you decide what gift you want to buy for your dad?”

Kayla nodded.

“What is it?”

Colin plopped his hand over Kayla’s mouth. “A surprise, but we need little round macaronis.”

His request threw Rose. What would they do with macaroni? “I’ll pick some up for you the next time I’m at the grocery store.”

“Okay,” Kayla said. “Buy a big box. We’re going to make something.”

“Make something. That’s wonderful. Your daddy will love that more than—”

A noise caught her attention, and all eyes shifted to the outside door.

Paul stepped into the kitchen in his stocking feet. “Mud,” he said.

Colin pointed. “Rose will get the broom after you.”

Paul wiggled his toes. “No shoes. I’m safe.”

Rose grinned at their antics.

Paul sniffed the air, then ambled to the table and snatched a cookie. He took a big bite and licked away the crumbs. When he turned, he gawked at the filled containers piled on the counter. “We’re having a bake sale?”

“We’re stocking up,” Kayla said. “And don’t eat any more of those, Daddy. We’re going to decorate them.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, meandering across to the counter that held the plastic bins of cookies. “Are you decorating these?”

Rose shook her head and watched him slip out another. “You won’t be hungry for dinner.”

“Yes, I will. Paul Bunyan can eat a million flapjacks.” He grinned. “Or something like that.”

Rose eyed him. “Paul Bunyan?”

“Paul Bunyan’s a lumberjack,” Colin said, peering at Rose.

“I know, but what’s that have to do with anything?”

“We’re cutting down our Christmas tree tonight,” Paul said.

“We are?” The twins whooped and bounced across the floor to Paul’s side.

He gave them a hug, then looked at Rose. “Don’t worry about dinner. We can pick something up while we’re out.”

She nodded, having lost her spirit for cookie baking. The Christmas tree. The emotion seemed too much for her.

“You’ll come, too,” he said, as if he sensed what she’d been thinking.

“No. I think I’ll—” She stopped herself. She wanted to decline, but sitting home alone was the last thing she wanted to do tonight.

“You’re coming along,” Paul said. It wasn’t a question.

Rose nodded. “Do we have time to ice these cookies?”

“By all means. I have to change clothes, and then I can help, too.”

When he was gone, Rose pointed the children to their task. She put on the glaze, and they decorated. By the time Paul returned, they were giggling at their mistakes and praising their successes.

Paul pitched in, and soon the cookies were finished and spread out over the table to dry.

Within minutes, they bundled up and headed out the door. Paul drove to the restaurant first, and when they’d finished eating, they were on their way. Rose still hadn’t gotten used to the miles and miles of forest that lined the roadways. In L.A. a tree off a freeway was a rarity. As she watched evergreens blur past her window, she figured they could have stopped anywhere and laid an ax to a pine or fir.

About thirty miles from town Paul pointed to the sign—Willard’s Tree Farm. The temperature had dropped in the past hour, and the mud had frozen. At the tree farm the car bumped along the compact ice and snow as if it were on an old corduroy road. The few flakes that had twirled past the windshield earlier had grown to a full snowfall. Rose hoped they’d dressed warmly enough.

After they parked, Paul pulled a handsaw from the trunk and headed toward the cashier’s shed. The kids frolicked beside him while Rose trudged behind, her heart vacillating between sorrow and joy. This Christmas had become so special to her—not because of her leaving, but because of the closeness she felt to all of them.

The attendant pointed out their options, and soon they were trudging across the frozen earth toward the trees. “Douglas fir? Balsam? Scotch pine? What’s your pleasure?” Paul aimed his gaze at Rose.

What was her pleasure? She drew in the pine scent that filled the air. This moment was her greatest, surrounded by the people she loved and entertained by the snowflakes flitting from the sky. They caught in Paul’s hair and lashes. The children twirled in circles, their tongues sticking out to catch the infinitesimal crystals.

Though the night was cold, Rose warmed at the sight of it all. “I like real Christmas trees with big gaping holes and short needles. The kind I had when I was a kid.”

“You mean the ugly kind?” Paul’s voice was filled with teasing.

“Beautiful ones,” she said, swinging her fist to poke his arm.

With the momentum of her punch, she lost her footing on the slippery ground. She felt her legs sail out from under her, and all she could do was protect her arms and head from being injured. She smacked against the ground on her backside.

Kayla darted forward, concern wrinkling her smooth face. “Help her, Daddy,” she cried.

“I’m fine,” Rose called out to halt their worry.

“You don’t look fine to me,” Paul said, coming to her rescue. He reached down, clasped both her hands in his, braced her feet against his heavy shoes and pulled her upward.

She stumbled against him, her breath making a cloud of white mist that mingled with his in the cold air.

When their eyes met, Paul let her go.

“No, Daddy,” Colin said in his directive voice. “You have to hold Rose up so she doesn’t fall again.”

Paul shrugged as if the boss had spoken. He clasped Rose’s waist and held her close to his side.

Rose felt enveloped in protection and love. The children romped in front of them, pointing to trees and chattering like squirrels. Finally Rose spotted the tree between the feathering snowdrops. A beautiful tree, almost perfect, with widespread limbs and open places to hang large ornaments.

She slowed and pointed. “That’s it. That’s a real Christmas tree.”

Paul let his arm slide from her waist and moved closer. He read the tag. “It’s a Fraser fir. They say it doesn’t lose its needles.”

“That’s what we want,” Rose said, thinking of the housecleaning.

The children agreed, so Paul stepped forward, bent low and drew the saw back and forth. Rose watched the tree until Paul called, “Timber.” As it tilted, Rose scooted in and caught the fir before it hit the ground.

While she carried the saw, Paul hoisted the heavy tree over his shoulder, and they made their way back to the hut. He had become Paul Bunyan as she watched him walk along, his back so straight he seemed taller than usual, his strong arms balancing the tree on his shoulder. The vision made her ache.

The attendant bagged the fir, and as Paul paid the cashier, she ushered the children to the car. The snowfall grew heavier. In moments Paul joined them, and while he mounted the tree to the car roof, she buckled Kayla and Colin into the back seat. Before she could open the passenger door, Paul stepped beside her and laid his hand on hers.

“I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have been fun without you,” he said.

She sensed his sincerity and something deeper in his
eyes. The look sent her reeling. “That’s because I fell and made you all laugh.”

He tilted her chin upward, and she felt snowflakes settle on her nose and eyelashes.

“No,” he said, “it’s because you’re as much a part of this family as I am.” His hand slid up to cup her face and he leaned closer and kissed her cheek.

Rose’s skin tingled, and his words swirled through her mind as wildly as the snowflakes.
Heavenly Father, why can’t I hear You?

She heard nothing but Paul’s breathing.