The Christmas Cookie Collection

by Lori Wilde

  Christine preheated the oven and then went to work. Abbey cracked eggs into a big blue Corningware bowl and grinned with pride. “Wow, Abs, that was an awesome job,” Christine said, discreetly fishing out the bits of eggshell.

  “I Abs,” the little girl announced to her brother, wearing the nickname like a badge of honor.

  “Ooh, Abel,” Christine praised. “Good job.” She’d assigned the little boy to buttering the cake pans and he’d managed to butter his cheeks too. He beamed up at her, and she realized these kids were hungry for maternal attention.

  “Whatch you name?” Abel asked.

  “Christine.”

  Abel gave his sister a happy smirk. “Christine say I do a good job.”

  “I do a good job, too!” Abbey protested.

  “Yes, yes.” Christine hugged first one and then the other. “You both did wonderful jobs. Now let’s mix it all up and pour it in the pan and you each get to lick a beater.”

  They cheered that idea, and a few minutes later the twins were sitting in their chairs busily licking cake batter off the beaters. It was so touching how easily little children were won over. Smiles, praise, cake, a hug or two, and they were putty. Just as she popped the cake into the oven, Eli reappeared.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Great.”

  Eli took one look at his children, faces covered in cake batter, and he burst out laughing. “They look happy,” he said.

  “So do you.” It was true. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he’d come into the room whistling, “Always,” by Bon Jovi. A popular song when they’d been in high school.

  “I’m feeling good.” Eli held her gaze too long. His eyes were warm, inviting. “You look good.”

  It was only then that she remembered she was wearing the bathrobe.

  Deacon drifted back into the room, his nose twitching. “Something smells good.”

  “Cake!” declared the twins, as if the evidence wasn’t smeared all over their faces.

  Christine pulled in a deep breath. What a lovely family. She couldn’t have dreamed up one any better. She wished they were her family, but that was a big leap from Eli’s bed partner to his wife.

  Wife? Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?

  “You okay?” Eli asked.

  She smiled brightly. “Yes, why?”

  “For a second there, you looked sad.”

  “Just thinking about Sierra’s cake,” she lied.

  “Done, Daddy,” Abbey said and held out the mixer beater she’d licked clean of batter.

  Her twin did the same.

  Eli shook his head. “I can see baths are on the agenda before we get this party started.”

  “I’ll help you,” Christine volunteered. “While the cake bakes.”

  “I’ve got it,” Eli said.

  “I don’t mind,” she said earnestly. Honest, she wanted to bathe his kids. Dumb as that might sound to some. “It is my fault they’re in a mess.”

  “Okay, sure.” Eli smiled and reached for the hem of his daughter’s shirt. “Hands up, Abigail.”

  “Abs,” she told him.

  He looked amused.

  “I sort of gave her a nickname,” Christine explained.

  “Abs!” Abbey said and pointed at her chest.

  “It seems to have stuck,” Eli chuckled. “If you want to go ahead and run the bathwater, I’ll get these monkeys stripped.”

  Five minutes later, she and Eli were kneeling side-­by-­side washing his naked children. The twins splashed and giggled. Eli reached over to grab soap for a washrag, and his shoulder brushed against Christine’s. She just about came undone.

  The soft grunt that sprang from his lips told her that she wasn’t the only one affected by the contact.

  “Rub-­a-­dub, three men in the tub,” Christine sang, anything to keep her mind off the sizzling tingle shooting through her shoulder.

  Abel caught onto the song immediately and joined in.

  Christine’s eyes met his, and in that moment they both stopped soaping up messy kids. “You have a wonderful family, Eli. You are so lucky.”

  “I know,” he said, his voice husky.

  A dinging noise sounded.

  “What’s that?” Abbey asked.

  “The timer on the oven,” Christine said.

  Abbey’s big brown eyes, the same color as her father’s widened. “Why?”

  “It tells me the cake is ready.”

  “Why?” Abbey raised a handful of bubbles, squinted one eye closed and peered at Christine through the bubbles.

  “So the cake doesn’t burn.”

  “Why?”

  “This could go on all day,” Eli chuckled. “Go check the cake. I’ll finish up with these two.”

  “Why!” Abbey hollered as Christine left the bathroom.

  Still grinning, she opened the oven door. The red velvet cake was perfect. She extracted it from the pan, sat it on a cooling rack, and busied herself with making frosting. Chaotic thoughts played pinball in her head as she measured and mixed powdered sugar and cream cheese.

  Eli.

  Whenever she was around him, she felt all weak and noodly. Like pasta boiled too long in salty water. And she started thinking dangerous things—­like the possibility of happily-­ever-­after. Like the sweetheart legend coming true for her.

  She glanced at the clock. It was almost four. Eli’s guests were expected at five. Her clothes. She had to change back into her clothes.

  Where was the laundry room?

  “I put your clothes in the dryer,” Eli said, coming into the room carrying a clean toddler in each arm.

  “Mind reader.”

  “Sorry, I forgot about them. I should have put them in sooner.” His gaze strayed to the bathrobe that cut a low V at her cleavage. “Then again, there are some advantages to a forgetful mind.”

  Christine’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to the frosting. Was this what a hot flash felt like? A storm of feelings, rushing and pushing against your skin?

  Deacon came into the room. “Grill is ready to go, Dad.”

  “Thanks, Son.”

  Christine shook her head, amazed.

  “What?” Eli asked.

  “Your kids are perfect.”

  “You haven’t met them all yet.”

  “Yeah,” Deacon said. “Sierra’s a real pill.”

  “Don’t talk bad about your sister,” Eli chided.

  The back door flew open, and every head in the place swiveled to see who’d arrived. It was a teenage girl, wearing a gray-­and-­yellow tracksuit, with a long brown ponytail swishing behind her.

  The same girl who’d darted in front of Christine’s car. She hadn’t been a figment of Christine’s imagination. A vicious scowl marred her pretty features. She sank her hands on her hips, stalked across the floor, and planted herself right in front of Christine. “Just who the hell are you?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Sierra Colleen,” Eli scolded his eldest, ashamed of the way she was treating Christine. “Apologize to our guest.”

  “She’s not my guest.”

  He clamped a firm hand around Sierra’s wrist. He hated to scold her. She’d been through so much. Losing her mother had affected Sierra far more than it had the younger children. Still, he wasn’t going to tolerate rude behavior.

  “This is Christine Noble,” he said. “She’s a friend of mine from high school.”

  “She’s wearing Mama’s robe. Why is she wearing my mama’s robe?” Sierra’s voice bordered on hysteria, and Eli saw the situation from his daughter’s point of view.

  Christine looked stricken. Her hands flew to cover her mouth.

  Eli shook his head. Sent her a silent message with his eyes. This is not your fault.

&
nbsp; “Is that your car out front?” Sierra demanded. Without waiting for a reply, she jerked from his grip and launched into another barrage of agitated speech. “She almost ran over me, Daddy. Did she tell you that she almost ran over me?”

  Daddy.

  Whenever she called him Daddy, he unraveled. It was like she was Abbey’s age again and looking at him as if he was the sun and the moon and the stars all rolled into one. Usually, she called him Dad. Lately, once in awhile, she even called him Eli. Testing. Seeing what she could get away with. Mostly, he picked his battles. Let it go. Raising four kids alone wasn’t easy, and he relied on her.

  “She darted in front—­” Christine pressed her lips together. “No. It wasn’t her fault. I didn’t have my eye on the road.”

  “Damn straight it wasn’t my fault,” Sierra glowered.

  Eli understood what had happened. Sierra loved running along the roadside, but she could be impulsive like any fourteen-­year-old. She’d darted in front of Christine’s car, and Christine had slammed on the brakes. That was how the birthday cake had ended up in Christine’s lap. His daughter’s recklessness scared him.

  “Tell her to take off my mother’s robe!” Sierra stood foolish and proud. Trembling with anger and indignation. Christine stayed quiet. He could tell by the studied expression on her face that she was weighing the situation, trying to find the right words.

  “We were just about to frost your birthday cake,” she said calmly. “Would you like to join us?”

  Sierra’s gaze flickered to the red velvet cake, to her brothers and sister, then back to Eli. He saw his daughter’s body tense, knew she was revved up. There was no soothing her when she got caught in the onslaught of teenage emotion. He thought about how this must look to her, Dad’s girlfriend in her mother’s bathrobe, making a birthday cake with her younger brothers and sister. Taking her place. Usurping her role.

  Dad’s girlfriend?

  Even as the thought settled into his brain, Eli knew it was true. He wanted Christine to be his girlfriend. He’d wanted it sixteen years ago, but circumstance and their young age had intervened. Now, the main obstacle was standing right in front of them. How could a good father place his own wants and needs above his child?

  “Hell no, I do not want to ice a cake with you,” Sierra snorted, nostrils flaring and arms folded over her chest. “This is the shittiest birthday ever.”

  “Sierra!” Eli said sternly. “You apologize to Christine right now for your language and disrespect.”

  “Eli,” Christine’s voice cut through him. “It’s all right. I’m sure my clothes are dry now. I’ll go change, frost the cake, and head home.”

  “No,” Eli said. “I want you to stay.”

  Sierra’s chin jerked up, and unshed tears shimmered in her eyes. “It’s my birthday, and I don’t want her here, and I don’t want her stupid cake.” She turned and stormed from the room.

  He realized then that this was more than just teenage drama. Something else was bothering Sierra. For one thing, she was supposed to have been at the movies with her friend when she’d been running alongside the road. Why had she not been at the movies? He’d get to the bottom of this, but he didn’t want to leave Christine hanging.

  Christine’s gentle smile told him that she understood completely. “It’s all right, Eli. Go to her.”

  “But—­”

  “She needs you.”

  He hesitated.

  “Go on.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “For understanding. Can I call you later?”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” She nodded in the direction Sierra had disappeared.

  “Please, don’t write us off. Not yet.”

  “We moved too fast,” she said. “We knew it was a mistake, but we did it anyway. We allowed ourselves to get caught up in our emotions, but this isn’t a fantasy, Eli. It’s the real world. You have children and they matter. The decisions you make affect them. We had a good time. We got closure on that long-­ago kiss. It’s enough. It has to be. For the sake of your daughter.”

  Even though it ripped his heart right out of his chest, Eli knew she was right. This thing between them was too powerful. It burned too hot. If they weren’t careful, too many ­people could get hurt. Better to stop their affair now, when a minimal amount of damage had been done.

  Why, then, did watching her walk away hurt so damned much?

  “I screwed up,” Christine mumbled to Butterscotch as she got down a can of Fancy Feast. “I listened to my heart and not my head. But I can’t be in love with him. How could I be in love with him? We barely know each other. Yes, we knew each other in high school, but that was a long time ago. We’re both different ­people now.”

  Butterscotch meowed and butted the calf of Christine’s bad leg with her furry head. She dumped the cat food in a bowl, and Butterscotch pounced on it as if she hadn’t eaten in a week.

  Christine washed her hands, and then she preheated the oven. “Yes, it hurts, but it will go away. Sure, his kids are adorable, and Sierra’s just upset because she perceived I was taking over her mother’s role. I understand completely.”

  She took a roll of lemon cookie dough from the refrigerator, sliced off half a dozen cookies. “You know, it’s really a good thing that we broke up. I’ve been distracted all week because of Eli Borden, and I only have five days to get Patsy and Hondo’s cake made. That should be my focus. Baking is the one thing that saved me when everything else was falling apart.”

  The timer dinged, letting her know the oven had preheated to the correct temperature, and she slid the cookies in. She put water on for chamomile tea. “And yes, it was dumb of me to start fantasizing about spending Christmas with Eli and his kids. Totally stupid. It’ll be me and you this year, Kitty, but that’s fine. We don’t need anyone else, do we?”

  Butterscotch purred happily.

  “That infertility thing probably scared him off, too. I mean, I know I’m officially the one who broke up with him, but he never called me after I told him. Although, to be fair, it was only two days. Still, I’m sure it gave him pause.”

  Christine pulled a palm down her face. “So here’s the deal. We’re not going to mope. We’re going to smile and go back to work, and eventually we’ll forget all about Eli. We’re going to drink chamomile tea and eat lemon cookies and remember what Marva taught me. That we’re never really alone. We have friends, and they love us.”

  She sat down on the floor, and Butterscotch crawled in her lap. She sat there scratching her soft fur, salty tears streaming down her face. She cried until she could not cry anymore. When the smoke detector went off because she’d burned the lemon cookies, Christine got up, turned off the oven, threw out the cookies, and started over.

  Eli talked to Sierra, but he couldn’t get to the bottom of what was making her so moody lately, nor would she tell him why she hadn’t gone to the movies with her friends as she was supposed to do. So he persuaded his sister, Tilly, to come talk to her.

  Tilly came out of Sierra’s bedroom as the party guests were starting to arrive and crooked her finger at Eli to come over for a private conversation.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

  “Here’s the deal, baby brother, your daughter started her period while she was at the movies, and she’s too embarrassed to tell you. That’s why she left. That’s why she was running. That’s why she hid out. That’s why she’s been extra moody.”

  Eli slapped a palm to the nape of his neck. “She needs a mother.”

  “I’ll do everything I can for her. I’ve already given her some of my feminine products, and I’ll take her to the store later.”

  “Man, isn’t she too young for this stuff?”

  “Nope. In fact, she’s a little later than average.”

  “I thought they taught girls this stuff at school.”


  “Not like you’d think. But Sierra’s smart. She googled it. But she just needs a woman to talk to.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate your help.”

  “She’ll be out in a little while for the party. She just needs some time to adjust to the changes in her life.”

  “Don’t we all?” Eli mumbled.

  Tilly helped him with the party, and he made idle chitchat with the guests, but his thoughts were firmly centered on Christine. How many women would have baked a second cake for his daughter? How many would have helped him bathe his kids? How many would put up with sassy lip from his teenage daughter with the same level of kindness and understanding that Christine had shown?

  He thought about how she couldn’t have children of her own, and a knot of sadness gripped him. He’d handled everything wrong. He’d blown his chances with her by moving too fast, and it was a grand loss because she made his blood pump harder than it had pumped in years. She reminded him of the seventeen-­year-­old he’d left behind. She possessed a deep, centered calmness that quieted his anxiety. When he was around her, he worried less. With Christine, he had an abiding feeling that no matter what happened, everything would be okay.

  It was a powerful combo. Pretty woman who made his pulse race. A woman who met his emotional needs, as he met hers in return. A woman who liked his kids and they liked her back. Except for Sierra. That was the sticking point.

  It was scary. Opening his heart up again. Risking rejection.

  But he’d moved too fast before. He hadn’t stopped to consider the ramifications of his actions. He had a lot to think about. Mostly, how he was going to convince Sierra to give Christine a fighting chance.

  Christmas Eve. It took every ounce of courage that Christine possessed to go to Patsy’s wedding. While all her friends were living their dreams of being reunited with their high school sweethearts, she was miserable because her happily-­ever-­after had slipped through her fingers. But once she was there, she had to admit it was one of the most beautiful weddings she’d ever attended, and the wedding cake she’d made was the star of the reception.

  Patsy looked luminous in the white gown, studded with lace and pearls. Shaking her hand in the receiving line, a lump rose in Christine’s throat. “You look like a fairy princess.”