One Bright Christmas

by Katherine Spencer

  Okay, we’ll skip the niceties. They aren’t going to work. Just as well.

  “Mr. McGuire, I’m here on behalf of Wagner and Associates, a law firm in town. We represent the Cape Light Golf Club, your neighbors to the west.” She paused and pointed to the open field behind the barn and the stand of trees that stood between Cole McGuire’s property and the golf club. “I’ve come because these animals have wandered off your property on at least three occasions and ended up on the golf course. They’ve disrupted the players and could have caused serious injury with the distraction, and they have also done considerable damage to the greens.”

  “Disrupted the players? My, my. That is serious.” He leaned on the pitchfork and stared at her, his wide mouth pressed into a tight line. A very nice mouth, she couldn’t help but notice. She thought he was angry, then noticed the amusement in his eyes. Was he trying very hard not to laugh at her? Seemed so. Which annoyed her even more.

  Lauren, get a grip. You’re a New York corporate attorney. Are you really going to let this country bumpkin rattle you?

  “The courts take property damage seriously, Mr. McGuire.”

  His eyes widened. “So . . . you’re going to sue the animals? Is that why you’re here?”

  Lauren took a breath to keep herself from losing her temper. How had this gotten so out of control?

  “Of course not. I’m here to ask you—or whoever is in charge of their care—to keep them on your property. To figure out how they’re getting onto the golf course and make any necessary changes or repairs to fencing that will contain them, by December first. That should be plenty of time. The golf course doesn’t want to be a bad neighbor,” she added, recalling the soft-soap approach she’d practiced in the car, which had totally flown out of her head once she encountered this guy.

  “Good to know. It gives me comfort.” He nodded, still secretly laughing at her, she suspected. “The offenders in question belong to the Grateful Paw. It’s an organization that rescues animals that have been abandoned or are headed for a slaughterhouse. That sort of thing.”

  “I’m familiar with that group.” Lauren kept her expression blank and businesslike, though it was a surprise to hear the real source of the animals and the problem.

  “A woman named Jessica Morgan is in charge. She used to be a bank manager but gave up that career to save animals. An interesting woman,” he added in an admiring tone.

  An innocent comment, though Lauren couldn’t help but feel that he was also saying, As opposed to a fussbudget like you, totally bent out of shape about a few sweet, old creatures who nibbled some expensive grass.

  Jessica Morgan was an interesting woman. She was also Lauren’s aunt. And Aunt Jessica had not run the whole bank, just the loan department. But Lauren didn’t bother to correct him.

  “Jack always helped her out, housing the overflow,” Cole McGuire continued. “Especially farm animals. I’ve continued to do the same.”

  “That’s commendable. But it doesn’t change the situation. The animals live on your property, and you need to contain them.”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a letter that included everything she’d just explained, in more official language.

  He stood back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I was wondering when you’d get to that. Was there ever a lawyer who didn’t write a letter?”

  No argument there. The profession was prone to setting things down in black and white. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his point.

  “Here’s the one I wrote for you. If you have any questions after reviewing it, feel free to call . . . the firm.”

  She’d nearly said call me. But she caught herself. Right now, she wasn’t sure she would take more assignments from Joe.

  She held out the letter, hoping that he’d simply agree to mend the fence and that would be the end of it. Though a tiny, mischievous voice did wonder if he would get in touch. Maybe just as an excuse to talk to her again? Or . . . she could find an excuse to call him?

  Where in the world had that come from?

  He pulled off his work gloves and gazed at the envelope but didn’t take it. “Can you drop it in the mailbox? I have to pick up my daughter.”

  Before she could reply, he’d jabbed the pitchfork into a pile of hay, then hopped over the fence and out of the corral in a smooth, strong motion that stole her breath away.

  He yanked on the gate to make sure it was locked, then he pulled a set of keys from the pocket of his down vest. When he looked back at her, they were eye to eye. Lauren found it jarring and realized she had felt safer when he’d been corralled.

  “Anything else?” His tone was impatient.

  At five-foot-ten and wearing heels, Lauren knew she was hardly a wilting flower. But she still tipped her head back to meet his gaze. The conversation was clearly over.

  “That’s all. Thank you for your time.”

  “Then we’re square. Watch your step. It’s slippery out here. More than you’d expect.”

  He was talking about the patches of mud on the drive, but she also heard a second meaning. He thought he’d won their little verbal sparring match. The idea irked her.

  Not that it mattered—as long he complied with her request and did what he needed to do.

  Still, she didn’t like anyone thinking they had gotten the upper hand. Especially an intentionally difficult, contrary man, like this one. One who was obviously intimidated by an accomplished woman. She had only been out of the law loop for a few weeks. Had she lost her edge so quickly? Maybe you really do belong out here in the boondocks, she scolded herself.

  She watched Cole climb into the faded red truck. He started it up and drove off without sparing her a glance.

  Feeling a mixture of relief and dismay, she pushed her carefully worded letter into the mailbox in front of the cottage and snapped it closed.

  “That’s that.” She said it out loud and hoped it was true. She didn’t like the way Cole McGuire got under her skin.

  * * *

  * * *

  It was good to be back in the house where she’d grown up, but it felt a little strange to Lauren as well. There was a quote about coming home that she’d heard somewhere. She was fairly certain Nelson Mandela had said it. “There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”

  It came to her as she sat at the kitchen table in her old, familiar chair, eating dinner with her mom; her half sister, Betty; and her stepdad, Matt. Lauren and her younger sister, Jillian, both called him Dad, and they thought of him that way, too. Their biological father, Phil Willoughby, had tried his best to be a good parent but had drifted in and out of their lives all the while they were growing up. But since the day her mother had married Dr. Matthew Harding, he had been a solid and loving presence twenty-four-seven. Lauren and her sister never thought of him as a “step” anything. He was their dad and held a place in their hearts just as important as Phil Willoughby’s.

  Lauren thought of her stepsister, Amanda, and half sister, Betty, in the same way. It had been her friendship with Amanda, a new girl in town when she was just twelve, that had helped bring their parents together.

  Once her sisters Jillian and Amanda came home for Thanksgiving, it would feel more normal, she thought. Even though Amanda was married, her sisters would still tease her, argue with her, and put her in her place.

  Right now, her parents were giving her so much attention and velvet-glove treatment, Lauren felt as if she had come home to recuperate from an illness. Little Betty—not so little anymore at age eleven—was completely in awe of her just because she’d been living in New York. Betty treated her like a movie star, or a superhero, which was sweet and a great balm to Lauren’s confidence. Lauren knew she was still licking her wounds from the law firm and her breakup with Greg. The tender, lovin
g care of her family wasn’t the worst thing.

  Lost in her thoughts, Lauren had hardly been following the conversation at the table. Her mother’s excited tone caught her attention. “I beat out three other bids, Matt. Including the Clam Box,” Molly announced. “I thought you’d be proud of me.”

  “Of course I’m proud, honey,” her dad said. “And not surprised at all. Your food is the best anywhere. I’m just not sure how you’re going to get it all done. Feeding a movie crew three meals a day, in addition to all the holiday parties you book? Not to mention the regular business at the bakeries, which are both madhouses this time of year.”

  Matt was right to be concerned. Lauren was used to her mother working around the clock during the holidays. She now owned two bakery-cafés, one in Cape Light and one in Newburyport. She also did a big business catering holiday gatherings. But it sounded as if this year’s schedule would be even more intense.

  “No worries, Matt. It works out perfectly.” As usual, Molly Willoughby was unfazed by what sounded to Lauren like a disaster in the making. Her mom did thrive on chaos—one trait Lauren had happily not inherited. “The movie crew leaves town right before Christmas, so that job barely overlaps with our catering schedule.”

  Her father looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” Molly promised. “We say, ‘It’s a wrap!’ in the business. No pun intended,” she added with a cheeky grin.

  Lauren saw her father try not to smile and quickly give up on trying to advise his dynamo wife. He gazed at her mom with a tender warmth and a familiar sparkle in his dark eyes. After all their years together, all their ups and downs—and raising four daughters—they were still very much in love.

  That’s what I want, Lauren thought. It’s probably all for the best that I broke it off with Greg. I never felt that way about him . . . or he about me. Instead of making her sad, the realization did her heart good, just to remember that love was possible. Rare, she knew. But possible.

  Matt sighed and shook his head. “You’ll do what you want anyway, Molly. You always do. And you always bite off more than you can chew. Pun totally intended.”

  Her mom smiled and began to clear the table. She knew she’d won. This round, anyway. “Betty and I have it all under control.” Betty Bowman, Lauren knew she meant, who was her mom’s business partner—and such a dear friend that Lauren’s younger sister was her namesake. “Everybody wants to work on a movie set. We’ll find extra help easily.”

  Lauren rose to help clean up. “I think so, too. The town is struck by movie fever already, and the production company hasn’t even arrived yet. When do they come, again?”

  “November thirtieth, the Monday after Thanksgiving. Betty thinks we should put Thanksgiving leftovers on the menu for them that first week, like turkey with gravy, stuffing, and sweet potatoes. But I think it would be tacky. The closest I’ll get is a turkey wrap with goat cheese and cranberries, maybe. We always have some leftovers from the catering gigs, no matter how carefully we measure,” Molly mused.

  “Never mind the movie crew, what are we doing for Thanksgiving? Are we hosting here again?” her father asked.

  “Jessica and Sam offered to have us all over when they heard I got the movie job. But since we’d be bringing most of the food, I figured it will be just as easy to have it here. You and the girls can get the house ready while I’m working.” Her mother dumped a pile of pots in the sink, and Lauren slipped on an apron as she headed over to scrub.

  “Don’t we always?” Lauren filled the sink with water and soap suds. Her mother would leave a long and precise list of orders for them; she had already fussed over the table setting and flowers, as if Martha Stewart would be dropping by to critique her hosting skills. “By the time you come home, everything will be perfect,” Lauren promised.

  Betty brought a pile of dishes to the counter, and her mother began loading the dishwasher. “Can I go with you, Mom? You said last Thanksgiving that this year I’d be old enough to help.”

  Molly gently smiled. Lauren knew she was wary of having Betty in the commercial kitchen during such a crazy, stressed time but also didn’t want to disappoint her. “We’ll see, honey,” she said, offering the standard reply of parents who’ve been asked questions they don’t want to answer. “Goodness knows you’re the only one of my girls who shows any interest. I have to leave the business to somebody.”

  She glanced at Lauren, who shrugged and laughed. “Don’t look at me. I can hardly work a coffeemaker. I’m a lawyer, remember? I haven’t given up on it yet.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” Molly patted her shoulder. “Just teasing. How did it go at Joe’s office? I was so distracted by my news, I forgot to ask.”

  “It was fine.” Except for her encounter with Cole McGuire, but she had no intention of going there. “I guess I will do a little work for Joe while I’m here. It’s good to keep my hand in.”

  “Very true. You might end up liking it.” Her mother gave her a look, for once not blabbing out everything that she was thinking.

  Lauren already knew what she was thinking. Her mom hoped Lauren might enjoy the job at Joe’s firm more then she expected—and end up feeling a lot different about Joe, too. Lauren doubted either outcome was likely, but she didn’t want to get into that conversation right now. She turned her attention and energy to scrubbing a big iron skillet.

  The mention of Joe’s firm brought to mind the animal problem. Even though the creatures were living on Cole McGuire’s land and he was responsible for their trespassing, Lauren thought her aunt should be aware of the situation, too. Her aunt Jess was one of the sweetest, most reasonable people in the world and would take the golf course’s concerns seriously. Unlike McGuire. When the time was right, Lauren would talk to her. Jessica probably knew more about him, too. Lauren had to admit—even if just to herself—that she was curious.

  Excuse me? You’re looking for warmth, understanding, mutual respect, and compatibility—everything your mom and dad have, remember? I don’t see the curt and churlish Mr. McGuire checking off any of those boxes.

  She was just bored here, she realized. Already. It was even quieter than she remembered. But things would get livelier when Jillian and Amanda came home. Besides, Lauren knew that a break from city life was the perfect remedy for all she’d been through recently.

  But she never wanted to feel so bored she’d have any interest in a guy like Cole McGuire.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Charlie kept the Clam Box open on Thanksgiving, at least until five. He knew it was an inconvenience to his wife and children, and even an obligation for them. Some thought his strategy was to catch any stray customers looking for a meal that day, since every other eatery, including his chief rival, Willoughby’s Bakery & Café, was closed. But that wasn’t the reason at all. He simply believed that everyone should enjoy a good Thanksgiving dinner—from families who couldn’t afford a fancy restaurant to the lonely souls who had not received any invitations from relatives or friends.

  He wanted the Clam Box diner to be a warm, cozy place where anyone could enjoy roast turkey, stuffing, and all the trimmings. Even if they didn’t have a dime in their pocket. That was the best part, Lucy thought as she moved through her own kitchen, taking mugs and dishes out of the cabinets. She was very proud of him for that. They all watched carefully for customers who looked down on their luck and in need of a free meal. When such a guest was spotted, all they found on their check was a smiley face and the words, We hope you enjoyed your dinner. Happy Thanksgiving!—Charlie Bates and Family.

  Over the years the word of this generosity had gotten out. As Lucy rose at six a.m. on Thanksgiving morning, she expected that today Charlie would be picking up the check for at least half of the customers who came in, maybe even more. He did this quietly, too—for Charlie. Even though touting his charity would have certainly been good publicity.

  Charlie wa
s a complicated man, without question. Perhaps the contradictions in his character were the reason he never really got his due for his good deeds and his soft heart. Or maybe because he managed to hide them so well?

  As much as Lucy loved having her whole family home for the holiday and only wanted to pamper them, her three children knew they were obliged to help at the diner before enjoying the family dinner that Lucy prepared in advance.

  C.J., Jamie, and Zoey took the place of the waitstaff, who couldn’t be asked to come in on such a big holiday. Charlie stepped up as cook and captain of the kitchen. Lucy helped a bit in the kitchen and out in the dining room, too, directing her brood. They had all worked at the diner at one time or another, as had some of their boyfriends and girlfriends. Like Zoey’s fiancé, James Potter, who was always happy to pitch in on the holiday.

  They were all good sports, Lucy thought as she set up the coffeepot and set out a “grab and go” breakfast for them—yogurt containers and a plate of date, nut, and banana muffins that she and Zoey had baked together the night before.

  Charlie had left the house at least an hour ago; he was already deep into his cooking in the diner’s kitchen. Her children, all in their twenties now, were still fast asleep. They’d all arrived last night and had stayed up late, talking and teasing each other in the usual way.

  Her younger son, Jamie, who was twenty-three, had driven up from Hartford, Connecticut, where he had an entry-level job in the actuarial department of a big insurance company. He’d always been a whiz at math and loved to get lost in numbers. Her older son, C.J., had inherited his father’s outgoing personality and talent for glad-handing. He was doing well in his career in advertising and public relations and had been living in Boston for the past five years, since graduating college. Their daughter, Zoey, lived the closest, in Salem. Lucy was secretly thankful, though she’d never pressured her children about anything like that. But she did love having Zoey just about a half hour away, seeing her often for shopping, a movie, or other mother-daughter outings. Zoey had come into their lives only ten years ago, when she was fifteen. Lucy had missed out on raising her but knew that her adopted daughter was as dear to her as either of the boys whom she’d given birth to.