The Christmas Wedding Quilt: Let It SnowYou Better Watch OutNine Ladies Dancing

by Emilie Richards

  What? Was this code for, Goodbye, nice knowing you? Did she still have all the contempt for him— rich-boy attorney—that she’d had at the beginning? God, he thought, had she been hiding how she really felt about him until she’d wrung his usefulness dry?

  He’d been attacked once in the courtroom by a pissed-off client who blamed him for a conviction. That fist to his gut hadn’t hurt as much as this one did.

  He had to get out of here. Otherwise, he’d say something he didn’t mean. Or maybe something he did.

  “Listen,” he said, aware that he was being abrupt but unable to help it, “you’re right. There actually is something I need to do right now.”

  She pasted a smile on. “Sure. Probably just as well. I’ll get weepy if we do a postmortem.”

  He hesitated very briefly at the door. No matter how shattered he was, he wasn’t quitting. He wasn’t going to coast through life anymore.

  He was tempted to tell her not to email her cousins yet, but didn’t. His throat seemed to have closed up. He nodded and left.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IN THE SUDDEN silence of the house, Ella hugged herself. Why, oh why, had she done that? She felt sick, remembering the shock on his face. She hadn’t meant it. Please, I didn’t. She’d only been lashing out, ashamed of herself and of their disparity. But, heaven help her, she had never believed he’d go.

  Cold reason said if he’d accepted his dismissal that easily, he’d been ready to go anyway. And look how quickly he’d taken her at her word! She’d said, Go fix your own life, and he’d admitted that he had to be somewhere—anywhere—else.

  Because she’d hurt him.

  Unless it was something worse. Did he hate failure so much that he associated her with that failure? Had he only wanted her in the first place because she made him feel good about himself?

  But she didn’t believe that. Not moving, she drank in the knowledge of what and who he was. A man who had refused to give up, no matter how unlikely it had ever been that they’d get the quilt back. A man who loved his family, who made mistakes but could be counted on when it mattered. A man who was funny, self-aware, smug and self-doubting all at once.

  Maybe there really was something he had to do. Or maybe he’d retreated to nurse his hurt feelings. But... no matter what, he would be back. The glow inside her felt like the warm coals in the big stone fireplace at Hollymeade when they reached the perfect temperature for melting marshmallows for s’mores. She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered herself and the other cousins kneeling in front of the fire, accepting sticks and marshmallows and greedily noting the pile of chocolate bars and packages of graham crackers. Those s’mores tasted better than any other dessert she’d eaten, then or since, because Grammy Mags allowed the grandchildren to make them only once during each visit.

  It wasn’t so much the taste she’d relished as it was the togetherness and the laughter. It was knowing this was special.

  Very calmly, she recognized that the time had come to email Jo and Rachel about the quilt. She’d sit down before she went to bed and send that message. But she wouldn’t only say, I lost the quilt. She would tell them everything she’d tried to do to recover it. She would tell them about Brett. And she’d say, I haven’t totally given up. I’ll talk to the guy’s attorney, and to the prosecutor, and maybe they’ll persuade him that returning the quilt would make a good impression on the judge.

  She would not give up, not until she knew the quilt had been destroyed.

  Brett was right. No matter how this ended, she would be sure she’d given her all. Bad things happened. She wasn’t always to blame.

  “I didn’t know Mom was going to die,” she whispered, “or I would have stayed with her. I would have.”

  * * *

  BRETT PARKED A block away and walked the short distance. He cut across the lawn, avoiding the front window to prevent forewarning Kyle Bernard and the girlfriend. They wouldn’t expect him back so soon. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d be incautious enough to open the door.

  Ding dong.

  Sure enough, the door cracked open right away, Bernard’s alarmed face appearing in it. He was quicker to try to slam it, but this time Brett was ready. His athletic shoe protected his foot nicely when he stuck it in the opening.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said urgently. “All I’m asking is that you listen to me for a minute. I want to make you an offer.”

  The pressure on his foot eased.

  “What kind of offer?” the guy asked with acute suspicion.

  “Will you let me come in?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  The blinds in the front window fluttered. He continued to stand where he was while they conferred in low voices.

  “Yeah, okay.” With that grudging agreement, the door opened.

  Brett stepped into a shabby but unexpectedly neat living room with furniture likely assembled from garage sales. Nobody invited him to sit down. Bernard and his girlfriend stood close together, huddling for comfort. In an effort to appear harmless, Brett thrust his hands into his trouser pockets.

  “Here’s the deal,” he said. “I’m a criminal defense attorney. A lawyer,” he translated when their stares remained blank. “In fact, I’m one of the most expensive—and successful—defense attorneys in King County.” He named his firm, which obviously meant nothing to them. “I can’t defend you myself, because I’m the one who chased you down. But if you give me the quilt now, tonight, I’ll guarantee that one of my associates will defend you in court. With me looking over his shoulder, we’ll get you off. I swear.”

  “How can you promise shit like that?” Bernard sneered.

  “If I have to lie on the stand and swear you aren’t the guy I saw driving the Subaru that first day, I’ll do it.”

  There was a long, long pause, during which Brett withstood a scrutiny as intense as any he’d undergone from an entire jury box of doubtful citizens.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because this quilt means so much to Ella. My girlfriend.” He enjoyed claiming her. And intended to keep claiming her. It hadn’t taken him five minutes after leaving her house to know he’d been stupid to feel hurt at all. He’d just made her relive the most terrible thing that had ever happened to her. She could have been angry at him, or maybe she’d needed to say, I’m not the only one with problems. She was right, and that was okay.

  Ella Torrence wasn’t getting rid of him.

  Bernard and the scrawny girl were still staring at him.

  He cleared his throat, then described some of what Ella had said about the quilt—the bits of fabric from the groom’s baby quilt, snippets from a dress the bride’s grandma had made her when she was small. “The center part, with the house and the snowmen and the star, can never be replaced. It was made by the bride’s mother, who died last year. This was her last gift of love to her daughter.” Was that laying it on too thick? He continued, “A court-ordered attorney won’t care much about you. He’ll go through the motions, because that’s his job. But to make Ella happy, I’ll give your case my all.”

  “What if I show you the quilt, but I hold on to it until you do get me off?”

  “No deal.” There was nothing but steel in his voice. “You don’t give it to me, I’m out of here.”

  The girlfriend stood on tiptoe and whispered in Kyle’s ear. To Brett he said, “We need to talk.”

  Brett kept his posture relaxed. “I’ll wait.”

  They disappeared down a short hallway. He could only make out scattered words of the whispered, urgent conversation. The very fact that they were talking at all convinced him they still had the quilt.

  Bernard alone returned. “So, okay, we do have it, but that doesn’t mean I stole the car.” His chin had a pugnacious tilt.

&nb
sp; “No, it doesn’t,” Brett agreed, as though he were calming a scared witness. “I’ve known people to sell houses with stuff left in the attic or basement.”

  Bernard stared sullenly at him. “That’s right. You’re not going to get me to say I stole that car.”

  The suspense was killing him, but Brett only nodded. “I won’t even try.” He paused. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  There was one more agonizing hesitation. Then he gave an abrupt nod. “Yeah. Kayla is getting it.”

  It was all Brett could do not to pump his fist in the air or let a big grin split his face.

  The girl came back with a slightly larger than expected box. The tape clearly having been ripped off. “There’s a bunch of, like, old fabric in there. I guess she wants that, too?”

  He hadn’t thought about anything beyond the existing quilt, but nodded. “That’s so the third cousin can use some of the same pieces, too, when she sews one more border around the outside.”

  “Oh.” The girl—Kayla—nibbled on her lip. “It really is pretty. I guess I sort of wanted to keep it.”

  “I understand,” he said gently, and he did. She probably didn’t have much that was really pretty in her life. “But it will mean more to Olivia and—” What was the groom’s name? “Eric,” he said, grateful to remember.

  She nodded and held out the box.

  * * *

  HAVING PUT IT off as long as she could, at nine-thirty Ella reluctantly sat down at the computer, opened her email program and began to type.

  Rachel and Jo,

  I’m sorry. I have the worst of news...

  Five minutes later, she was reading over what she’d said when her doorbell rang.

  Her heart gave a startled thump. “Who on earth...?”

  Brett. It had to be Brett.

  She flipped on the porch light and, through the small inset of leaded glass, could make out his face. Ella fumbled with the locks and flung open the door, ready to throw herself at him. “Brett! I’m so sorry for what I said! I didn’t mean—”

  She registered what he held under one arm. Her breath left her in a rush and she had to grip the door frame.

  Triumph blazed in his grin. “You’re not seeing things.”

  “How...?” was all she could manage to say.

  “I made a deal.” He explained in a few words.

  Staring again at the box as if it held the crown jewels, she backed up and he followed her inside.

  Suddenly speech was possible. “Did you look? You’re sure it’s mine?”

  “I’m sure.” He set the box on the sofa and opened it. “I checked before I shook hands on the deal.”

  “That’s why you wanted to see a picture,” Ella realized.

  “Partly.” He was careful when he lifted the now-folded fabric and laid it out, faceup, across the back of the sofa.

  Through the blur of Ella’s tears, the silver star shone with all the glory of the Christmas star that long-ago night, at least in her eyes.

  “You did find it for me,” she whispered. Her smile trembled and became a laugh of pure joy. “I can hardly wait to tell your mom and dad what you did.”

  He shook his head. What she mostly recognized on his face now was tenderness. “I didn’t do it for them, or to prove anything to myself. What I wanted you to be sure of is that, when you need help, I’m here. And I need you to be there for me, too. Maybe you’re used to being alone, but, uh, I’m hoping you’ll learn to do things differently.” There was a quick frown. “Not that I think I’m owed anything. I just want you to know I deliver when I make a promise. And,” he seemed to take a deep breath, “I’d like to promise you a whole lot.”

  Ella was both laughing and crying when she went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Nobody has ever done anything like this for me,” she told him when their lips parted. She had to swipe at her wet cheeks. “You don’t have to tell me, of all people, that you keep a promise.”

  He cupped her face and used his thumbs to capture her tears. “The question,” he said, “is whether you believe you can keep a promise.”

  “Yes.” In the miracle of the moment, her smile won over the tears. “Yes. I promise, I can. Earlier...”

  He pressed his finger to her lips to silence her. He didn’t even want an explanation. But she had to give him one anyway.

  “I felt so inadequate.” She knew she was flushed. “Just for a minute, I was mad and wanted to prove you weren’t any more together than I am. But it isn’t true—”

  “It is.” He smiled gently. “And you were right. I’ve been ignoring the fact that I was unhappy because I didn’t want to disappoint Dad.”

  Ella shook her head. “I’m not so sure you will.”

  He waggled his head a little. “Maybe, maybe not. The point is, when I went to law school, I had a fire for justice. You can achieve that on both sides of the courtroom, but I realize now that what I’m doing isn’t right for me. I’m going to quit and apply for a job at the prosecutor’s office. That’s where I belong.” A wry smile broke out. “Crappy pay or no.”

  Ella laughed, though tears burned in her eyes, too. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered.

  Brett made a sound, raw and needy, just before he bent his head. But she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Wait! I have to delete an email.”

  She rushed to her home office and the desktop, where the email was still open. Ella highlighted and deleted the text, leaving the subject heading: The wedding quilt.

  And then, in the body, she typed, Rachel, I’m mailing the quilt to you first thing in the morning. I can hardly wait to find out what you do to finish it. And better yet, to see you again—you and Jo and Olivia. She added her name, and then moved the cursor to Send.

  In an instant, the email was on its way, and she turned to face the man who leaned in the doorway, his gaze resting on her face.

  He understood exactly what she felt, sending that email instead of the one she had already written.

  It only took her two steps to cross the small room and go into his arms.

  * * * * *

  Nine Ladies Dancing

  Sarah Mayberry

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  RACHEL MACINTOSH KNEW she was in trouble the moment she opened the box and caught her first glimpse of the quilt.

  She’d been expecting the delivery ever since her cousin Ella had emailed to let her know it was on the way. The instant the postman had handed it over, she’d ripped the box open, eager to see the fruits of her cousins’ labors.

  “Oh, boy. Wow.” Her words echoed in the front hallway, filled with the awe she felt as she touched the delicately stitched ornaments hanging off one of the many trees that formed the outer border of the quilt.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Something a bit folksy, maybe. Like something you’d find at a church fete, handmade by someone with more enthusiasm than skill. But the quilt panel she unfolded from the box was nothing less than a work of art. From the central panel depicting the Miller family’s lake house, Hollymeade, to the two intricately sewn borders, the quilt was simply stunning. Beautifully, intricately worked, crisply pieced together, the colors harmonizing wonderfully...

  And she was supposed to put the final border on this gorgeous creation. Her mind boggled.

  She carried the quilt into the living room of her small cottage and spread it over the edge of the sofa. Taking a step back, she surveyed the quilt in its entirety, shaking her head in wonder and growing trepidation.

 
She hadn’t even sewed on a button in more than ten years. As for quilting... The last time she’d quilted had been that final summer she’d spent with her cousins Jo, Olivia and Ella at Hollymeade. She’d been fifteen then, and she was thirty-three now. To say her quilting skills were a little rusty was the understatement of the century.

  “This is officially not good,” she said.

  Her first instinct, born of panic, was to email Ella and Jo and tell them that there was no way she was capable of matching their skill, and that they needed to work out another way to finish the quilt. The last thing Rachel wanted to do was tarnish everyone else’s amazing contributions with a substandard offering. This quilt was far too important for that: a message of love from beyond the grave from Aunt Gloria to her daughter Olivia, a lovingly crafted reminder that although Olivia had lost her mother, she would always have her love.

  But that was just her first instinct. Instead of rushing to her computer and firing off that email, Rachel sat and contemplated the quilt some more, taking in all the small, delicate details, absorbing all the love and care and creativity and attention that had gone into these few square feet of fabric and thread.

  She wanted to be a part of this, even though it was daunting in the extreme. She wanted to do her bit to celebrate Olivia’s upcoming Christmas wedding, and she dearly wanted to help make her aunt Gloria’s final wish come true.

  Which meant wimping out was not an option.

  She slapped her hands against her thighs, the sound decisive and bracing at the same time. Okay. If she was going to do this, she would do it right. She would go in all guns blazing. And she would need help.

  Carefully she folded the quilt and packed it back into its box. If she had the choice, she normally walked into town, as her house was located only a few blocks from the busy main street of the seaside town of Sorrento, Australia. Today she didn’t have the time to walk, though, so she reversed her bright red Mini Cooper—vintage, not new—onto the street and zipped into town.