She might have been a little bit tipsy. That still didn’t explain how she had wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, her body tight to his, aching inside for more. “Why did you wait until the last night to tell me this? We could have spent three days in bed instead of snorkeling and visiting every temple on the island.”
They kissed again, the warm breeze swirling around them, tantalizing and seductive. She wanted to tug him inside to her villa, even though warning bells were sounding that everything between them would change if she did.
She didn’t want to listen to those bells. She wanted to live in the moment, with him, this man she...cared about.
José was the one who stopped, who stepped away, breathing raggedly. “I won’t be one of your short-term flings, where you run off as soon as things start to get serious. I want more than that. I need to know that you are as committed as I am before we go any further.”
At his words, she had felt as if he had dunked her into the ocean without warning, as if she was drenched and sputtering and fighting for air.
“That’s not fair,” she had finally managed. “You know that’s not what I want right now.”
“Then I’ll wait until it is what you want.”
She had felt perilously close to tears. Again, probably because she was a little tipsy. It couldn’t have anything to do with the line he was drawing in the sand at this tropical paradise. A line she would never cross.
“That’s stupid. Why not just sleep together now? We both want to.”
He had gazed at her for a long time in the moonlight, his features shadowed, inscrutable.
“I am thirty-three years old, Lucy. I don’t want another meaningless relationship. I’m looking for something deeper. Something that will last beyond the sunrise. And I want that with you.”
She didn’t remember everything she had said in response but was fairly certain none of it showed her in a good light.
He had kissed her one more time on the forehead, leaving her achy and hungry, then had gone into his villa.
The next morning, they had barely spoken on the way back to the airport as she prepared to fly back to Chiang Mai and he on the first leg of his long journey back home.
Her head had pounded, her throat had been tight and her eyes had felt gritty and sore, as if the entire beach had poured over her in her sleep. Finally, just when they would have separated at their respective gates, he had kissed her again, holding her for a long time. “Goodbye. I love you, Lucy. When you’re ready to say those words back, I’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t bother,” she had snapped. “I’ll never be ready.”
It had been completely unfair of him to throw that at her. He knew what her childhood had been like. Her parents’ marriage had been a nightmare. They loved and hated each other with equal passion, and had divorced and married twice that she could remember. Each had had affairs, marriages, divorces, remarriages.
It had been chaotic and horrible, and had convinced her she was genetically incapable of a long-term relationship. She would never put someone she cared about through that kind of turmoil.
She had decided when she was about thirteen years old, listening to her mother sob after yet another relationship disaster, that she wasn’t ever going to be vulnerable like that. She refused.
Yes, she preferred short-term relationships where both parties knew the ground rules. It wasn’t like she slept around. She’d had a grand total of four relationships. It was completely unfair of José to make it seem like she was the kind of woman who loved a man and then left him.
Everything had changed between her and José after Thailand. And yet... He still texted her a couple of times a week and they had video chatted a few times, usually at the request of his brother Rodrigo, who José knew was Lucy’s one and only true love.
José never referred to the ultimatum he had given her, but it was always there simmering just below the surface. He wanted a relationship with her but only on his terms, which were exactly the terms she couldn’t accept.
She would see him again in two weeks, when she returned to Silver Bells for the holidays. It was inevitable. He worked for Lancaster Hotels, his mother was one of Winnie’s best friends and the two families were close.
How would she handle it?
Easy. She had told him how she felt, and she wasn’t about to change her mind.
No matter how much she might ache to be in his arms again.
Three
Abby woke up in that strange netherworld of semiconsciousness, not knowing for a few moments where she was.
She blinked and opened her eyes to a room she didn’t recognize at first. The walls were painted a soft sage green and the furniture was much nicer than anything she and Kevin had been able to afford while he was in med school.
For a moment, she thought she was back in the hotel in Austin where she had stayed when she interviewed at the hospital there. Somehow that didn’t feel right. Why would she be there again? She and Christopher were leasing an apartment not far from the hospital, near one of the best schools in the city.
She blinked again and a few more elements came into focus. She wasn’t in Austin, she suddenly remembered in a rush. She was in Colorado for a few weeks helping Lucy’s grandmother.
The events of the day before flooded back. The long drive. Arriving at the beautiful Victorian mansion. Meeting Lucy’s brother.
Ethan Lancaster’s handsome features danced across her memory. Oh. That must have been why she dreamed of blue eyes and a smile that left her breathless.
The bed was warm and luxuriously comfortable. She didn’t want to move. If she wasn’t mistaken, she had enjoyed a much more sound sleep than she had known in a long time. She wasn’t sure if that was due to the snug bed or simply because she had been exhausted from the drive.
“Hi, Mommy.”
She sat up and saw Christopher beaming at her from the slipper chair in the room, his favorite action figures beside him.
She cleared the sleep from her voice. “Good morning, bug.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, that’s right.” With a jolt, she sat up. It was Thanksgiving, and she was supposed to be cooking dinner for Winnie and her guests.
“The lady is awake. She’s in the big kitchen.”
Abby was the worst mother ever. If Christopher knew that, then he must have arisen before she did and wandered out of the room. Why hadn’t she woken up? They were sleeping in the same bedroom!
She was usually a light, uneasy sleeper but had to assume exhaustion from their drive had played a part in her negligence.
“Oh, man. I had an alarm set, but I must have slept through it.”
“She told me to let you sleep so I took your phone in the other room. I played with Mr. Jingles and watched TV on the phone.”
How could she have slept in, leaving her son to entertain himself by wandering around for who knows how long in a strange house?
“Give me five minutes. Stay here and play on my phone a little more, then we have to go help Winnie with dinner.”
“I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Christopher said.
She kissed his forehead. “We’ll take care of that, too, I promise.”
“Okay.” He returned to his action figures, and she thought again how very blessed she was in the child department. Her son was sweet, kind and excellent at entertaining himself. He usually never minded finding something to keep him occupied when she had to do other things.
She dressed quickly, washing her face and yanking her hair into a ponytail, before hurrying into the kitchen with Christopher close behind her.
She did indeed find Winifred Lancaster there. The woman was standing at the table trying one-handed to knead what looked like bread dough.
“Good morning,” Winnie said with a sunny smile that didn’t completely hide
her pain.
Abby winced, feeling terrible all over again. “I am so sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m supposed to be your nurse, but instead I slept in and here you are in the kitchen working on Thanksgiving dinner. Please stop. You should be resting.”
“I’m fine, really. And I haven’t been here long.”
Abby stepped forward. “I told you last night I would handle Thanksgiving dinner for you. I’m sorry I overslept, but I’m here now and can take over.”
“No need. I’ve got this covered. You should go back to bed. You had a long day yesterday.”
Abby moved closer and drew on all the experience gained over the years of dealing with recalcitrant patients. “No. You should step away from the dough and let me take over whatever you’re doing there.”
Winnie chuckled, though it sounded a little strained to Abby. “I wanted to prep the dough for the rolls so it would have plenty of time to rise. Turns out kneading dough is a little trickier than I expected one-handed, but I think I’m getting there.”
Abby crossed to the sink and lathered her hands, speaking as she rinsed. “Lucy asked me to come to Silver Bells for a few weeks so I could take care of you in her place. That includes helping you knead dough for rolls. You have to let me do my job, or I’ll feel like I’m failing you and Lucy.”
Winnie sighed. “I don’t feel good about dumping everything on you. You’re not the one who invited a dozen people over for dinner.”
“A dozen? I thought there were only ten.”
“I’m counting you and Christopher now. I can’t just expect you to do it all.”
“You have to. I insist, Winnie. This is the whole reason I’m here.”
“To help me take my meds, not to feed my friends.”
“To do whatever you need, and that includes Thanksgiving dinner,” she corrected. “We talked about this last night when I helped you get ready for bed. I might be a little late to the party this morning, but I think we can still make it work.”
She sensed Winnie wavering, probably because she was struggling to knead the dough with only one hand.
Abby pressed her advantage. “As I told you last night, I’m not the greatest cook in the world, but I take direction very well. I’ve already made a list of what I need to do.”
“That might be a problem. I’ve never been very good at delegating. You can ask anyone.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she said cheerfully. “Christopher and I will bring in a comfortable chair for you, and you can oversee the entire proceedings from there. How would that work?”
“I don’t know. I feel guilty about just handing it all over to you. On the other hand, I won’t lie, this ankle is biting at me.”
“Ankles can’t bite,” Christopher informed her knowledgeably. “They don’t have teeth.”
Winnie chuckled. “I just meant it was hurting me. I would like to know why my broken wrist hurts less than my sprained ankle and bruised ribs. It makes no sense.”
“Your wrist is supported by the cast. It’s still going to hurt, but it’s not being jostled like your ribs every time you breathe. Also, you’re putting weight on your ankle, which you’re not supposed to do. Of course it’s going to hurt. You’ll feel better once you sit down, I promise.”
The older woman sighed. “Fine. I suppose there are still plenty of things I can do while I’m sitting. Snap beans. Fold napkins. That kind of thing.”
“Excellent. Teamwork. That’s the way to get the job done. Now, what chair would be most comfortable for you, and where can I find it?”
Winnie pointed to a seating area next to the kitchen, dominated by a gas fireplace that glowed merrily in the room. “My favorite chair in the house is that big red thing next door.”
Abby headed in that direction, where she instantly found a thickly padded club chair and matching ottoman tucked into a comfortable corner near the fireplace. Several books, magazines and notebooks were neatly stacked on the side table. This must be Winnie’s own cozy retreat. She could definitely see why. Next to the fire, a little Christmas tree decorated with antique bobbins and spools of thread twinkled brightly.
Fortunately, the chair was sturdy but not heavy, and she was able to slide it on an area rug across the hardwood floor of the sitting room and the tile floor of the kitchen.
As soon as she found a space for it in the kitchen, Winnie settled into it with a sigh of relief that told Abby all she needed to know about Winnie’s pain level.
“Christopher. Help me move the ottoman.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
“I think we can use the same rug and slide it.”
“Can I have a ride?”
She couldn’t think of any reason why not. Her son giggled like they were at Disneyland as she tugged him the short distance between the sitting area and Winnie’s new corner in the kitchen.
“That looks like fun. When my ankle is better, maybe you can pull me around,” Winnie said to the boy, which sent Christopher laughing again at the idea of trying to pull an almost eighty-year-old woman through her grand house on a makeshift sled created out of a throw rug and an ottoman.
“All right. Thanksgiving. Where do we start?”
Abby had never cooked dinner for more than a few friends before. She had to admit she found the idea of being in charge of serving twelve people beyond daunting, though Winnie seemed certain she could handle it.
“I’ve found it’s best to write out a schedule for what needs to be done when. The turkey doesn’t need to go in for another hour,” Winnie said. “I think the two of you should find something to eat first. You need your strength.”
“I’m starving,” Christopher said dramatically.
“We can’t let the boy starve. A friend of mine brought cinnamon rolls over yesterday. They’re delicious. I bet you wouldn’t have to twist his arm to convince him to have one. There’s plenty for you, too.”
Abby wasn’t a big breakfast eater. She usually only had coffee and sometimes added a slice of avocado toast. Christopher, on the other hand, was a pretty avid lover of scrambled eggs with feta cheese and her buckwheat pancakes.
He would have to make do today with straight carbs.
“I love cinnamon rolls,” he declared.
“You’re in luck, then. These are the best around.”
Winnie pointed to a tray on the counter, and Abby pulled out a gooey, sweet-smelling pastry that she set on a small plate for him.
She settled her son at the island with the roll and a glass of almond milk from the refrigerator, then pulled a chair closer to Winnie’s.
“All right. Where do we start? Also, I need to find a notebook so I can write a list. I was thinking I should run to the grocery store first thing. Don’t they usually close early on Thanksgiving?”
Winnie shook her head, pink locks flying. “No need for that. First of all, our Thanksgivings here at Holiday House are always potluck, so you don’t have to do everything. We’ve had crowds of up to twenty-five and everyone brings something. My guests have already told me in advance what they wanted to bring so I could make sure everything is covered. Here’s the list so you can see the plan.”
Ah. A woman after Abby’s own heart. She loved lists and plans. Sometimes she thought being organized had been the only thing keeping her sane after Kevin died.
Winnie handed Abby another piece of paper, and she saw that Winnie had written the names of her guests and what they had agreed to bring to dinner—yams, salad, cranberries and pie.
“I am only taking care of the turkey, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the rolls and a pumpkin pie. The turkey doesn’t have to go in until noon, since we’re eating late this year. Which means we only have to do the pie and maybe prep the potatoes this morning. I already bought everything we should need last week, and
the turkey has been thawing for days. I’m usually not this organized, but some crazy instinct told me to get ready early this year. I had no idea why. Boy, I’m sure glad I listened to that inner voice, right?”
“Definitely.”
“Isn’t it funny, how the universe sometimes tries to give you a warning that your life is about to be shaken up?”
Abby could certainly relate to that. She had been getting signals from the universe for a year now, ever since the initial shock and overwhelming grief over Kevin’s death began to wear off and her life began to fall into patterns that would become her new normal.
Something else had been calling her, a whisper on the wind telling her maybe it was time to make a new start.
She had lived in Phoenix for nearly a decade, but it wasn’t really her home. She didn’t have any family there and neither had Kevin. He had moved there for med school and she had followed him.
Over the years, they had built a strong network of friends, wonderful, cherished people who had supported her throughout the ordeal of losing him so violently. She would be forever grateful to all of them for helping her these past two years.
Lately, though, she had grown weary of the role everyone had assigned to her. To all their friends, she would always be the grieving widow. She could see it in their sympathetic looks, hear it in the cut-off conversations when she would walk into a room.
She didn’t want to wear that badge for the rest of her life.
That didn’t mean she would stop grieving for Kevin’s bright light, extinguished too soon. He had been a wonderful man and a dedicated, caring doctor. He had already been offered a position at a teaching hospital in Austin when he finished his residency. They had researched the town and thought it would be a good place to raise their son and any other children they might have.
He hadn’t accepted the offer yet but had been on the brink of taking it when a patient who should never have had access to a gun because of his mental illness had barged into the ER that fateful night and extinguished that bright, cheerful light.
Christmas at Holiday House Page 4
