Finding Her Christmas Family

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Renzo hurried in the first time the smoke alarm went off. He charged through the back door like a knight in rancher’s coveralls, and when he spotted the pie—and the blackened rim of crust—he tried to wipe away a grin as he scrubbed a hand across his whiskered jaw. “Forgot to set the timer?”

  “I think we distracted her,” said Kristi. She and Naomi exchanged worried looks. “We’re sorry, Aunt Sarah.”

  “Oh, you sweet thing, you don’t have to take the fall for me,” Sarah assured her. “It was my fault. But we need pie for tomorrow.”

  Renzo motioned toward the barn. “Kyle’s out there now, so do you gals mind if I come join you in the kitchen?”

  “We would love it if you’d help us in the kitchen!” crowed Chloe as she skipped in from the other room. Her tone of voice didn’t exactly dismiss Sarah’s contributions, but her preference was quite clear. “Can’t we just make a real pie?” she went on. “Like Mama G. does?”

  “Lots of ways to make pies,” Renzo told her in a firm voice as he ditched his outer work clothes. The temperature was dropping and the wind was picking up, so when he closed the inner door, warmth seemed to encircle them. When he drew closer, smelling of fresh wood and hay and the great outdoors, she realized the warmth might have nothing to do with the door. “And I think Mom has pie dough in the freezer.”

  He scrubbed his hands in the big sink, then opened the freezer and withdrew a plastic bag. “Success,” he told them all with a smile. Then he arched an eyebrow at Sarah and the girls and took a vote. “What kinds of pies do we want?”

  “Apple is the best, always!” declared Chloe.

  “Not as best as pumpkin,” Kristi told her.

  “I like pumpkin, too,” Naomi added.

  “What about you, Sarah?”

  He looked over at her, and his gaze lingered. When it did, thoughts of pie and baking flew out the window as other thoughts crept in, and when she tried to shut them down, it didn’t work. He drew her. She felt it. Did he?

  She thought so at times, but he wasn’t an easy read. What good would it do, anyway? His life was here. Hers was hours away in Seattle. This short leave of absence couldn’t be extended.

  And yet she still found it hard to pull her attention away from him.

  “Do you have a favorite?” he asked, and she refocused on the question at hand.

  “Pecan,” she admitted. “Mom’s from Georgia and making pecan pie was always a salute to her roots. And it’s just crazy delicious,” she added. “But there are three pie crusts there, and you need two for apple and one for pumpkin, I do believe.”

  “Not if we make a crumb-topped apple,” he told her. “Then we have just enough.”

  She hadn’t considered that, but he did, and when he smiled back at her, that warm feeling magnified. “Crumb-topped apple pie is another favorite,” she told him, and he grinned.

  “Then it’s settled. And I know Mom has pecans in the freezer.”

  “So bugs don’t get in them.” Naomi pulled up a stool to the counter and took a seat. “Little bugs like to get into nuts in the summer, and Mama G. keeps them in the freezer. Just in case.”

  “Which should we do first?” Renzo asked the girls as he reached for a pair of mixing bowls in a nearby cupboard.

  “Sarah’s favorite,” said Kristi. “Because that will make it feel special for her.”

  “Yes!” Naomi fist-pumped the air. “And then we do pumpkin, okay?”

  “On it,” Renzo told them, and he set the dough rounds on a plate near the warm stove. “We’ll make the fillings, then roll the crusts. That will give them just enough time to thaw.”

  Sarah was skeptical, but when she realized it took three times as long to include the girls in making the filling, she saw the error of her ways. “You nailed it,” she told him as he rolled the first crust out with Naomi’s help nearly an hour later. “I didn’t think they’d thaw in time.”

  “When you have so many willing helpers...” His eyes twinkled at her as he let Naomi take a turn with the rolling pin. She went too hard and tore the crust, but he calmly spliced it back together and had her keep going.

  When Chloe grew impatient, he reached for two loaves of crusty bread. He broke the loaves in half, set them on the table and put a restaurant-size stainless steel bowl between the hunks of bread. “I need someone to tear this bread into little pieces. Like this,” he said, showing them. “Not bigger, okay?”

  “I remember!” Kristi scrambled to one of the chairs. “I love this job so much!” She dug right in, tearing the bread with quick motions.

  Not Chloe. She frowned and sighed and moved as slowly as she possibly could. Then she said, “Okaaaay,” drawing out the word extra-long, in case they didn’t realize she was miffed about not doing the first crust. “I know Uncle Kyle likes stuffing, so we should make a lot,” she added.

  “’Cept he’s not coming for Thanksgiving,” Kristi told her. “I heard him telling Renzo that they were going someplace else again.”

  “He doesn’t even hardly come to anything anymore,” grumbled Chloe. “I bet he won’t even come to our birthday party.”

  “They always come to your birthday party,” Renzo replied. “We have to remember that Aunt Valerie has family, too,” Renzo continued. “We can’t be selfish and expect them to be here all the time, can we?”

  “I think if it’s a whole family doing Thanksgiving, we can,” Naomi noted sensibly. “Or we can just invite Aunt Valerie’s family too. We have a very big table,” she assured Sarah. “There are extra boards and Renzo can make it like this big.” She set the rolling pin down and stretched her arms wide. “I think that will fit lots of people. Don’t you?”

  She caught the expression on Renzo’s face and tried to play peacemaker. “Sometimes we have to do things because of family traditions. My mom’s family is far away, so when we go there to visit, we have Thanksgiving dinner, and it can be any time of year. We don’t care,” she added. “Being together any day is more important than one particular day, isn’t it?”

  “But if it’s a special day, you’re supposed to be together. You can’t just make stuff up,” Chloe told her in a scolding tone of voice. That earned her a reprimand.

  “Hey.” Renzo leaned around Naomi to catch Chloe’s eyes. “Talk nice or don’t talk at all. Got it?”

  She huffed, rolled her eyes and began tearing at the bread again, but her reaction wasn’t lost on Sarah. How could she upset this child’s life any more than she already had? Would Chloe come around eventually? Would she adjust to life on the coast if Sarah won custody? Or would she harbor resentment all her life?

  “They may look alike, but they’re quite unique.”

  Renzo whispered the words so that Naomi wouldn’t hear as she slowly drew the rolling pin across the dough to finish it up.

  “I would have thought that impossible.” Same DNA. Same appearance, and yet—

  “Each with her own soul,” he said softly.

  His words drew her attention, and there he was, standing right next to her, so close that she could count the tiny points of ivory in his beautiful blue eyes. He met her gaze.

  She met his.

  And for just a moment she wondered what it would be like to kiss Renzo Calloway. To have those big, strong arms hold her in a warm embrace.

  He brought his eyes back up to hers with a look of chagrin on his face. Because he couldn’t kiss her here and now? Or because he’d even thought of it?

  She thought it was most likely the latter when he shoulder-bumped her lightly. When she looked up, the twinkle in his eyes set her pulse thrumming all over again.

  Then he took the rolling pin from Naomi’s hand, put it into Sarah’s and took a place next to her. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Doc. I’ll help.” He showed her how to position the rolling pin onto the dough, then slowly wind it up and place it gently in t
he pie pan.

  It tore almost in half. She screeched softly, but Renzo lifted the torn half, set it into the pan so it slightly overlapped the other half and slipped it back to her. “Just press it together along the seam. Once it’s baked, it will be fine. It happens all the time.”

  She did that, and then he stepped closer. Close enough that she could breathe in the scent of him, fresh air, a woodsy soap and sweet pie filling. A heady combination, all told.

  “Now we fold and crimp, which is not my strong suit,” he told her. “You’ve got smaller hands. If I show you how, can you help Naomi while Chloe and I roll the next crust?”

  “Sure.” He demonstrated the pinch-crimp to her.

  “Got it.” She picked up the pie plate and moved to the table, making room for Chloe at the counter. It took another hour before the pies were actually in the oven, one in the top oven and two down below.

  “Different temperatures,” he explained, when he programmed the ovens. “Fruit pies need a higher temperature than custard pies.”

  “We can clean up while they bake,” she replied.

  “Can we watch a show?” asked Kristi. She yawned and stretched after she spoke. “The princess one?”

  “You guys have earned it,” Renzo told her. “I’ll turn it on.” Just then, his phone buzzed. He read the text and frowned. “I’ve got to head to the barn. I don’t mean to leave you with all of this.” He indicated the messy counters and tabletop.

  “You were here for the creative side,” she assured him. “When I said I don’t cook, I meant it, but I’m masterful at cleanup. And my mother should be back from the store any minute.”

  “I believe I’ve mentioned my kitchen prowess before, Sarah.” He said it softly, as if one of them knowing how to cook was enough.

  It wasn’t, and she couldn’t let the rugged cop draw her off course. “Between you and Mom, we’ll have the holiday covered with no problem,” she replied, but she didn’t look up. “See you later.”

  He turned on the show for the girls and tugged on his ranch clothes. “Back soon,” he called.

  She wanted to look up. Meet his gaze. Exchange a smile.

  She didn’t. She kept facing the sink as she rinsed dishes. “All right.”

  When the door clicked shut behind him, the room felt emptier. Cooler. He exuded a presence. The protector in him, she supposed, and when the door opened a few moments later, she turned. “Forget something?”

  But it wasn’t Renzo coming into the kitchen.

  It was Valerie.

  She took one look at Sarah, sat down and promptly burst into tears.

  And these weren’t just any tears. Sarah sensed that right off. These were the tears of a broken heart, so she crossed the room, took the seat alongside Valerie and quietly covered the other woman’s hands with her own. And then—silently—she prayed.

  * * *

  “I blew the hydraulic lines,” Kyle muttered when Renzo came into the barn. “I tried to do too much, too soon, and the whole thing erupted.”

  It sure had. Renzo couldn’t even imagine what his brother had done to blow two lines out.

  He wanted to berate him. Frankly, he’d been wanting to do that for a while, but one look at the agony on his brother’s face made him shift tactics. “They’re just hoses, Kyle. Nothing we can’t fix.”

  Kyle stared at him.

  Because he was being nice? Or was there something else going on?

  Then his brother nodded. “Just hoses. Yeah. Something we can fix.” He aimed a work light toward the hydraulic framework. “We’ll have to get new ones.”

  “Let’s head to the supply store. They’re still open, and Sarah’s with the girls. Although the pies are in the oven, so I’m taking a big chance here,” he joked, trying to ease the tension, then texted Sarah.

  She sent back a thumbs-up emoji. Won’t burn pies. Promise. Timer is set.

  “We’re good,” he told Kyle. They climbed into Renzo’s pickup truck and he drove toward Quincy. It wasn’t a long drive, but the thick silence made it feel long. They obtained the hoses and new clamps and couplers, then headed back to the ranch, still quiet.

  Renzo turned the radio on. The cab filled instantly with lilting tunes of kid music. The girls’ CDs were filled with childhood favorites and a few of his, too, but he was pretty sure Kyle didn’t need this right now. He moved to change the music.

  Kyle stopped him. “It’s all right. Better than Christmas,” he said gruffly, and Renzo grimaced. He loved Christmas music. He loved everything about Christmas. He got a kick out of prepping for the holiday with the girls and his mother. Being silly and reverent, all at once, because he never forgot the reason for the season.

  But he’d read the sorrow in his brother’s eyes, and he wasn’t about to argue with him. Whatever was going on with Kyle wasn’t going to be solved by arguing about Christmas music. He pulled up alongside the barn.

  Kyle climbed out. He grabbed the box of hoses and accessories and headed toward the barn. “I’ve got this. You go back and take care of the kids.”

  Yesterday Renzo would have been tempted to do just that, and as a cold north wind gusted into his face, he was somewhat tempted now. But he’d seen the grief in his brother’s eyes, and no matter how much of a bonehead Kyle had been, he couldn’t. He shut the driver’s door and followed Kyle into the barn. “It’ll go a lot quicker with two of us, and there’s still time to make more pies if Sarah’s burned the ones we just made.”

  A photo text came through right then, a shot of three pies, cooling on the counter, and not one of them was burned. He grinned, then held up the picture for Kyle. “Pies are safe. I’m all yours.”

  Kyle almost smiled. Then his expression faded once more. “She seems nice.”

  “She is. Real nice. And smart. And her mother’s wonderful, and she’s got a great job so if she goes for custody of the girls, I can’t imagine a judge wanting to refuse her,” Renzo admitted.

  “But Jenn left custody to Mom and Dad.” Kyle frowned as he worked to remove the blown hoses. “How can she fight her sister’s wishes?” he asked, then sighed. “Oh, right.” He answered his own question. “Jenn didn’t know she existed, and that could have made a big difference.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I hate life sometimes.”

  Renzo’s ears perked up.

  “Not the living part, but all the things you can’t control,” Kyle told him as he retrained a light onto the tractor’s hydraulics. “We make all the right choices, do all the right things, and it gets messed up anyway. And there’s nothing you can do about it. The ranch. Dad. The weather. Everything,” he muttered as he worked the first hose free.

  Renzo was generally good at explaining to Kyle how wrong he was about things.

  Not today. Kyle’s sadness worried him, and as he worked to attach the new right-hand line, he bit his tongue. Not because he wanted to, but because it seemed like the right thing to do.

  “Is that clamp working?”

  Renzo recognized the change of subject as he tightened the screw firmly. “Nice and snug.”

  Kyle grunted. The sound of tires on the driveway drew his head up. He paused, as if he could see through the barn walls, and when the car’s lights headed west, toward his house, he sighed.

  And then, chin down, he got back to work while Renzo silently prayed for his brother, for Valerie and for whatever was going on in Kyle’s head, because while Kyle wasn’t the most ambitious person in the world, he was never despondent.

  Today he was, and Renzo wasn’t sure what that meant for the ranch and the legacy of Calloway Beef, but under the current circumstances, it didn’t bode well.

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah heard the back door open a little past six. So did the girls. They raced for the door. They didn’t see the tired look in Renzo’s eyes, or the initial stoop of his
shoulders as he stepped into the enclosed porch.

  Sarah did.

  He replaced the look with a quick smile when the girls attacked him, then shooed them off momentarily. “Nasty clothes,” he told them. “We were doing some tractor maintenance and I’m pretty messed up. Let me shed the outer layers, okay?”

  “Yes, but we have such good news!” shouted Chloe, never one to be outdone. “We have three, count them one-two-three.” She used her fingers to illustrate her very important message. “Unburned pies and they smell so good! I don’t even know why we can’t have some pie tonight because remember how Aunt Sarah said it’s not about the day, like you can celebrate any day. Right, Aunt Sarah?”

  “Little did I know my wonderful words would come back to haunt me so quickly,” she told Chloe. “We have the cookies you made with my mom for a treat tonight, remember? Let’s save the pies for tomorrow. Part of the fun is the anticipation, right?”

  “I’ve been ’ticipating all day because they smell so good,” grumbled Chloe, but then she brightened right back up. “Except I love cookies, too, and maybe with ice cream on them? Like a special treat for helping get ready?”

  “Did you eat your carrots?” Sarah pointed to the single plate on the counter. “I do believe veggies are crucial for growth. Right?”

  “Except I hate carrots,” Chloe muttered, but when she spotted the container of cookies on the counter, she huffed her way over to the table. “But I’ll eat them. Not because you’re making me.” She made sure that Sarah understood her reasoning. “Because it would make Mama G. sad if I don’t follow directions. And I don’t ever want to make Mama G. sad.”

  What could Sarah say to that? She shifted her attention back to Kristi and Naomi and Renzo.

  He’d kicked his coveralls aside when the girls retackled him, and when he tried to reach down to retrieve them, she stepped in. “You go enjoy the girls. I’ll throw these in. I’ve actually figured out this washing machine. I can’t say we’re friends,” she stressed, smiling. “But we are no longer mortal enemies.”