Western Christmas Wishes

by Brenda Minton

  During their visit that morning, her grandmother had filled her in on the situation with Rose, and relayed the caseworker’s threat to move her to a foster home with a younger couple. Or a group home. But the group home would be in Tulsa or Oklahoma City. Laurel could see how much that threat affected her grandmother and she knew that Rose would be devastated.

  “I’m afraid if she isn’t out of there by Christmas, she’ll have the residents staging a revolt,” Cameron added.

  Jack grinned at that statement, revealing a charm that he’d probably perfected over the years. “What’s going on at the Manor?”

  “They won’t allow a tree or any other Christmas decorations or celebrations. I think it’s just a way to make the place look more profitable, but it definitely hurts the residents who have little enough cheer in their lives.”

  Jack sat back in his chair and waited as Holly took their orders. She didn’t hurry away but instead remained at the side of the table to listen.

  “Now that’s a real shame,” Jack said in a gravelly voice. “I can’t imagine we’d let them get away with that. They might not want to provide Christmas but we can figure something out. We all know folks that live there, and some of them don’t have any close family or friends in the area. I think we should add Lakeside Manor to the list of people and charities that can be helped by the Christmas at the Ranch event we’re planning. Obviously folks from the manor can’t attend, but we can make sure donations are taken to them.”

  The door to the café opened. Jack West shot a quick look at the person entering, then he shifted his concerned gaze to Laurel. He cleared his throat.

  Laurel moved in her chair so that she could see who had caught his attention. Her breath caught as Curt Jackson stopped in the middle of the café. So, not everyone in Hope was unaware of who her father was. Jack West obviously knew.

  “I need to go,” she said, scooting her chair back from the table. “I’m sorry.”

  “What?” Cameron had just picked up his glass of sweet tea. “Didn’t we just order lunch?”

  Jack jerked his head toward the door, a not-so-subtle gesture that made Laurel cringe. Cameron turned around to see who’d just entered.

  “You stay and eat. I’ll go.” Laurel grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She wasn’t surprised when Curt Jackson reached for her. She evaded the gesture and hurried for the door.

  “Just give me a minute,” he called out as he followed her out the door.

  “I don’t think you deserve a minute,” she told him.

  He followed her down the sidewalk. At the corner they both stopped. That’s when she turned to face him. He was close to fifty, or so she guessed. His red hair had more brown in it and his face was weathered and deeply lined.

  “Laurel, I would have married your mother but I didn’t know about you until after I was married.”

  She waited, needing more than that. She wanted him to say something that mattered but didn’t know what.

  He tugged down on the brim of his cowboy hat and shifted his gaze to the lake.

  “I was a coward,” he finally said. “It was easier to send your mother the money to start over in Chicago than to explain to my wife, Marla, that I had a daughter living in Hope. I eventually told her and she said she’d always known. Someone here told her. But again, we just didn’t communicate.”

  “That’s it? Lack of communication is why I grew up not knowing my father’s name?”

  He looked sad. He looked sorry. And she didn’t know what to feel, other than anger and loss. She didn’t feel much like forgiveness right now.

  “At least now I know your name and I know who I look like.” Questions she’d had her entire life finally answered.

  She’d actually prayed for this. She told herself she should be thankful but it was hard to do after so many years of feeling ignored.

  Somewhere in the distance a church bell rang. She closed her eyes as the tones filled the quiet country afternoon.

  “Have you talked to my mother?” she asked him.

  “I have.” He glanced in the direction of the café. The door had opened and Jack West was exiting with the help of his sons. Curt nodded a greeting. “She thought we would meet eventually, but not this way. I planned on having Gladys set up a time.”

  “Surprise.”

  He grimaced. “I know we should have done this differently, but I am so glad to finally meet you, Laurel. I hope we can take some time to get to know one another.”

  “Do I have siblings?” She ’d always wondered about that.

  “No.” He shrugged. “Marla and I couldn’t have children.”

  “I see.”

  The bell on the café door jangled again. Cameron exited with a to-go bag in his hand.

  “I have to go,” she told the man standing in front of her. Her father. A stranger. She let her gaze drop to his hands. Her hands.

  “Can we set a time to talk?” he asked.

  She nodded but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. “Soon.”

  He touched her shoulder and, with a nod, walked down the sidewalk, leaving her alone. A moment later Cameron joined her, his already familiar cologne a steady presence. He stood next to her, his gaze on the lake less than half a mile away.

  “Well, that went well.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you for bringing my food.”

  “You said you were hungry.”

  “Yes, thanks.” She took the bag from him.

  Together they walked toward his truck. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I mean, why wouldn’t I be? I just met my father.”

  “Curt Jackson. He’s a decent man.”

  “Is he?” She thought about that, about all of the things she might learn about the man who was her father.

  “Let’s walk a bit. It’s warm today and taking a walk always helps me clear my head.” He made the offer and started to walk, not waiting for her reply.

  “You have other things to do. I’ve dragged you to see Gladys, forced you to get lunch with me...”

  “I can assure you, you haven’t forced me to do anything. I’m fully capable of saying no when I choose to.”

  They walked side by side down the sidewalk to a park located across the street from the Hope Community Church, the church she’d attended as a child. It looked the same. The white siding, the tall bell tower, a side wing that had been added in the seventies. A nativity had been set up in the front of the church.

  The entire town had been decorated for Christmas, it seemed. Lights hung from electric poles. The stores were layered in lights, garland and wreaths. Trees sparkled in storefronts. She loved that the little town had come back to life with the help of Jack West and people willing to start fresh with new stores.

  Starting over. Something she would soon be doing. With the demise of her bakery, she knew it was time to go in a new direction. Or perhaps return to her previous plan. She’d always wanted to teach but she’d pushed aside that career goal when she’d started a catering business with a friend, and then had started her bakery.

  She sat on a bench facing the church. Cameron sat next to her. A cool breeze blew but the sun was warm on them. It did feel good to be outside.

  “I didn’t enjoy church when I was a kid,” she admitted. “I knew people judged my mother. I heard whispers. People would talk about my red hair. I never heard them mention Curt Jackson, but they all must have known. Or suspected.”

  “It’s a small town. People talk. You can’t run from that.”

  She gave him a sideways glance because she wondered if he hadn’t been doing his own share of running.

  “No, you can’t outrun the past or the gossip,” she agreed. “What about you, Cameron? Are you running?”

  Surprise registered on his expression. He hadn’t expected the question. She hadn’t expected to ask him something so personal. That
wasn’t who she was, delving into the lives of people who were little more than strangers. She’d always had a live-and-let-live policy. But sitting here with him she realized it was more than average curiosity that caused her to ask the question.

  She found herself truly wanting to know him.

  * * *

  Cameron was taken by surprise, by the question, by the woman sitting next to him. He watched as she buttoned her jacket, maybe to avoid looking at him. The wind suddenly picked up and clouds began to cover up the blue sky above them. In the distance he could hear Christmas carols playing over one of the speakers hooked up to light poles on the main street.

  The woman sitting next to him looked beat up. Emotionally. She’d picked at the salad she’d ordered and was now staring at the church across the street from the park.

  “We all have things we’re trying to run from,” he admitted. “A law degree was my way of escaping the family ranch, church on Sundays and my father, with all of his rules. Church had even more rules. I guess it made sense that I considered a degree in law. Law follows rules. But now I regret running. I regret the years I lost with my dad.”

  “I think we all have regrets. I shouldn’t have avoided my grandmother. I think that’s the good thing that has come out of this trip. I can rebuild my relationship with her.”

  “And meeting your dad?”

  “I’m not sure about that yet.” Her voice took on a faraway tone and she slipped the takeout container back into the bag. “Thank you for sitting here with me.”

  The side door of the church opened and the pastor’s wife walked out, carrying a box. She saw them and waved, then headed for the sign at the edge of the lawn.

  “Sermons on a sign,” Laurel said.

  “Yes, I guess they are. Sixty-second sermons for people driving by. Get their attention, make them think and maybe they’ll show up on Sunday morning.”

  “Does it work that way?”

  “Maybe.”

  The words began to take shape on the sign. “‘Faith is more than a building or church attendance. It’s a way of life.’”

  “That’s a good one.”

  Cameron glanced at the woman sitting next to him. “Sermon on a sign.”

  “Yes. I have some good memories in that little church. Willa Mae Wilkins taught our Sunday school. It wasn’t all bad. I think people just don’t stop to consider how their words can wound the heart of a child. Of anyone, really.”

  “No, sometimes they don’t.”

  She shivered and hugged her arms around herself. He wondered if it was the memories or the cool air blowing in from the north.

  She grinned at him. “My favorite sermon on a sign was ‘Love one another is a way of life, not a slogan on a shirt.’”

  “I think I’ve seen it on this sign.” He considered his next words carefully. “And I’ve seen it lived in this church.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not lecturing, just saying, perspective and time change things. Change people.”

  “Yes, they do. And I’m not walking on water. I know I should have been here more often to visit my grandmother.” She studied the sign, then smiled up at him, her hazel eyes misty. “Let’s change the subject. Something not so deep or emotional.”

  “We could go pick Rose up at school, then get ourselves a Christmas tree,” Cameron suggested. He stood and held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

  As he stood there staring down at her, he found himself reluctant to let go. She looked up, her expression registering the same surprise he felt. He couldn’t say that he’d ever felt this way, just holding a woman’s hand. It was as if the wind was suddenly calm.

  He’d been spending too much time alone. That was the only explanation he could come up with. Alone there were no questions, no one asking how he was doing. No curious souls asking him what had happened to him. He didn’t have to fear that if he heard a loud noise, he’d want to run for cover and drag everyone in the vicinity to safety with him.

  And, yes, it had happened, more than once.

  He’d embraced his solitary existence. But the solitary life was cracking all around him, as if he was standing on a frozen lake. The hand-holding had made it evident he wasn’t alone. The woman staring up at him didn’t do so with a look of fear or disgust. She looked at him the way few people had done since the explosion. She looked at him as if he was still whole.

  And that made him feel whole.

  Her hand squeezed his, bringing him out of his thoughts. She smiled. “Are you okay?”

  She wouldn’t want the real answer. “I’m good,” he answered.

  “We could do that. We could pick Rose up and go pick out a tree. Do you think she’s ever done anything like that?”

  “Probably not. She told us she’s looking forward to Christmas and having a real family. She worries a lot that caseworkers will move her.”

  “My grandmother mentioned that today. She said the caseworker will visit the house tomorrow. If they don’t feel comfortable with Rose remaining with me until Gladys gets home, they’ll move her to a foster home.”

  “As much as she’s always in my business, I don’t want her gone.”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t.” She took a breath, as if fortifying herself. She withdrew her hand. “Okay, let’s go get her.”

  They pulled up to the school and both of them got out and walked up to the front doors. He pushed the button and a moment later they were buzzed in. The secretary smiled when they walked through the door.

  “Hello, Cam.” She pushed a sign-out sheet across her desk. “Here to get Rose?”

  “Is it okay if we take her a few minutes early?” he asked.

  “I think so. Are you taking her to see Gladys?”

  He signed the sheet. “No, we’re taking her to pick out a Christmas tree.”

  “Perfect. I’ll call her down.”

  When Rose saw them, she rushed at them both, hugging them in turns. “What are you doing here?” And then her face fell. “Is Gladys okay?”

  “Gladys is fine,” Laurel assured the girl. “We’re here to take you tree shopping.”

  “A real tree?” she asked. She was already heading to the door, talking nonstop.

  “This is just like having a real family. I’ve watched kids with real families. Their parents show up for school programs. No one ever showed up for my school stuff until Gladys. And then she got hurt. But going to get a tree together is like total family. Can we get hot chocolate at the store?”

  Cameron groaned. “Can you take a breath and slow down? My head is spinning with all of your plans.”

  She smiled and took a deep breath.

  In blessed silence they drove the short distance to the feed store, where a portable round pen had been set up and inside it were a variety of evergreen trees, some in tubs of dirt to allow for replanting after Christmas.

  The silence didn’t last. As they parked, Rose erupted again.

  “Wow, look at all of those trees! Could we make homemade decorations? And I had an idea. Sunday at church I’m going to see if we can paint Christmas trees on paper. We can make dozens and take them to the nursing home. Everyone who wants one can have one for their room.”

  Laurel smiled at Cameron over the top of Rose’s head. Her arms went around the girl, drawing her close. “I can definitely help with decorations. And the paper trees are a great idea.”

  “You’ll be at church, too—you could help,” Rose added.

  Cameron watched as Laurel began to respond, probably to reject the idea, but Rose was already making a beeline for the trees. Laurel shook her head.

  “How did that happen?” she asked as Cameron joined her.

  “I warned you. Trouble with a capital T. You’ll get sucked in faster than you can say her name.”

/>   “I think I’m learning that.”

  He found himself smiling as he watched Rose slip between trees, awestruck and happy. “She isn’t all bad.”

  “No, she isn’t,” Laurel said in a thoughtful tone. “She makes me thankful for my childhood. I have so many wonderful holiday memories. Not just Christmas, but throughout the years. Those memories should be treasured.”

  He leaned his arms on the top rail of the round pen. “I’ve ignored Christmas for the past few years. It was easier to be alone than to face everything I’ve lost. But you can’t ignore Christmas with someone like Rose around. She’s reminded me of what it means to share this holiday, to feel the love of family and friends.”

  “Our holidays have been quiet. There were a few years when my grandmother visited us in Chicago, but other than that, it’s been my mom and me. My mom is a nurse so her schedule made it difficult to do much.”

  “I found the tree,” Rose called out. “It’s perfect.”

  “Perfect?” Laurel saw the huge tree Rose was referring to and shot Cameron a look, silently asking him to intervene. No way would he tell Rose she couldn’t have the mammoth tree she’d picked.

  “That’s a beauty,” he called out. Laurel gave him a death glare that only made him laugh.

  “It won’t fit in the house,” she insisted.

  Cameron remained leaning on the pen, watching as Laurel, with her red hair coming free of the bun she’d secured it in, walked around the tree. Her cheeks were red from the cold air and her lips were shiny from the gloss she’d applied. She looked like Christmas. She was tinsel, twinkling lights and laughter.

  And he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how much he didn’t want her to leave.

  Chapter Six

  Laurel popped popcorn while Rose put a needle and thread through cranberries. Rose had the decorations all planned out. Paper snowflakes, popcorn balls, cranberry garlands and a few ornaments they’d found hidden in a closet. Mostly homemade or ornaments Laurel’s mother had sent to Gladys over the years.

  Rose had told her they were going to turn the house into Christmas.

  “What’s for dinner?” Rose asked as she threaded cranberries.