CHAPTER SIX
THE SOUND OF the garbage disposal woke Grace. Sunlight streamed through the edges of the window blinds.
Morning already?
She didn’t want to believe it. Neither did her heavy, let’s-go-back-to-sleep eyelids.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 8:26 a.m.
Not early, even if it felt that way.
Grace rolled onto to her side toward Liam. He slept like a hibernating bear. Since he’d been up and down all night, she wasn’t surprised.
Too bad she couldn’t blame Liam for her exhaustion. Images of the truck and Bill had etched themselves into her mind. A swirling mix of dreams and thoughts had made for a sleepless night. She hoped her and Liam’s restlessness hadn’t kept Bill awake. He needed his sleep if he was going to be working a twenty-four hour shift.
Another noise sounded—cabinets creaking open and shut.
Bill must be going in late this morning. She could apologize for Liam’s behavior.
Grace slid out of bed, careful not to wake Liam. He would be cranky enough, with Bill at work. She didn’t need her son tired, too.
In the hallway, she rolled up the waistband on Bill’s pajama pants. Liam had wanted her to wear them again last night. She liked the softness of flannel even if the jammies didn’t fit.
She shuffled down the hallway.
A faucet ran.
Weird.
She’d cleaned the kitchen before going to bed last night. Maybe Bill had made himself breakfast. But she didn’t smell food. No coffee. And he’d said nothing would keep him from work.
She slowed her pace and lightened her step. If Bill was at work, who was in the kitchen?
She peeked around the corner.
A fiftysomething woman stood at the sink looking down at the running water, a blue sponge in her hand. Her short brown hair was stylishly cut, her makeup perfectly applied. Candy cane earrings dangled from her earlobes. Snowmen covered her red sweater. Not exactly what a cleaning woman would wear. Or a prowler.
Grace waited, watched, grew impatient. She couldn’t stand here spying all day. “Hello.”
The woman looked up. She gasped.
Grace held up her hands. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”
“Who are you?”
“Grace Wilcox.” She waited for the woman to offer her name. She didn’t. “Bill’s, um, guest.”
“I’m Mrs. Paulson.” Her gaze ran the length of Grace, taking in her messy hair and too big pajamas. “Bill’s mother.”
The unfriendly tone bristled. Grace overcame the urge to snap back. She needed to be polite. This was Bill’s mom. “Nice to meet you. I love your chocolate chip cookies and cocoa mix.”
Mrs. Paulson pursed her lips. “You’re not the usual type my son brings home.”
To sleep with.
The words were unspoken, but implied.
Grace didn’t know what to say. Knowing someone for what—thirty-six hours?—didn’t make them friends, but after spending yesterday together they weren’t strangers. “I’m not...”
“His lover?”
Heat rose up Grace’s neck. Her cheeks flamed. “Gosh, no. I’m staying here, but in another bedroom.”
Mrs. Paulson’s brows arched. “Well, you’re creative. I haven’t heard that one before.”
The accusation in her voice twisted Grace’s insides a dozen directions. She shouldn’t care what Bill’s mother thought of her. Yet standing straight was difficult when all Grace wanted to do was squirm. “It’s the truth.”
“He doesn’t usually have his women stay when he’s at work.”
His women. His here-for-a-good-time women. Grace wasn’t one of them. She raised her chin. “I’m from out of town. I hit a patch of ice and my truck slid into a snowbank, so I ended up on Bill’s doorstep.”
The words rushed from her mouth like water from a fire hydrant. Needing to shut up, she clamped her lips together.
“This happened last night?” Mrs. Paulson asked.
Grace rubbed her face. “The night before.”
“You’re not injured?”
Funny, the woman sounded as if she might care. “No.”
Mrs. Paulson’s lip curled. “So you spent yesterday here, too.”
Grace angled her body toward the doorway, wishing Liam would wake up screaming for her. Anything to escape Mrs. Paulson’s demeaning glare and resist the growing itch to tell her off. “Yes.”
“Leave his pajamas in the bathroom.” The woman’s dismissal was clear. “I’ll wash them after you go.”
Mrs. Paulson was a mama bear; no blaming her for that. She seemed to have no patience for Bill’s womanizing. Grace agreed with her there, but needed to take a stand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But—”
“Big dude...!” Arms outstretched, Liam skidded around the corner in his footie pajamas. One look at Mrs. Paulson had him darting behind Grace quicker than a camera flash.
“It’s okay.” She reached behind to reassure him. “This is Bill’s mom, Mrs. Paulson.”
Liam peeked around Grace’s hip, then hid again.
A puzzled expression crossed Mrs. Paulson’s face. “Who is this?”
“My son. Liam.”
An unexpected smile replaced Mrs. Paulson’s scowl. The change was dramatic. She looked ten years younger and ten times nicer. She must like kids better than women wearing her son’s jammies. “Hello, Liam.”
His little fingers dug into Grace’s legs.
She patted his hand, trying to release his death grip on her. “It’s okay.”
“How old are you, Liam?” Mrs. Paulson asked.
He stuck three fingers out to the side, then added a fourth.
“Three and a half,” Grace said.
Liam poked his head out. “Almost four.”
“Almost four,” Mrs. Paulson repeated. “You’re a big boy.”
Liam jumped to the left like a jack-in-the-box on its side. “Big and strong like Bill.”
“Yes, you are.” She studied him, then looked at Grace. “You said you were from out of town.”
“Georgia.”
“What brings you to Hood Hamlet?”
“Just passing through.”
Liam looked around. “Bill? Where’s he?”
“At work,” Grace said.
Liam’s lower lip stuck out. Quivered. “Want Bill. Time to play.”
She touched her son’s shoulder. “We talked about this last night. Bill’s working at the fire station.”
Liam stared at the floor as if his world had come to an end.
Grace had to admit she, too, would rather be speaking with Bill than Mrs. Paulson. Damon’s mom hadn’t liked her much, either. Maybe it was a mother-with-sons thing. Grace vowed not to be like that when Liam brought a girlfriend home someday. “Your son is my son’s new best friend.”
“I’m not surprised. Bill’s a kid at heart. That boy will never grow up. Though I wish he’d find a good woman and settle down.” Mrs. Paulson removed a cookie from the cookie jar and gave it to Liam. “This will make you feel better.”
Grace sighed. “This is the second day in a row he’s had a cookie for breakfast. He’ll be spoiled rotten by the time we leave.”
“Nothing wrong with a little spoiling,” Mrs. Paulson said. “I do that with Bill. I was wondering why the house looked cleaner than usual this morning. You must have dusted and vacuumed. Decorated the tree and the house, too.”
The woman didn’t sound pleased, but Grace wasn’t going to let Bill’s mother get to her. She had allowed that to happen with Damon’s mom. “The least I could do. I’m so grateful for Bill’s hospitality. I plan on doing as much as I can for him in return.”
Grace didn’t know what to say. From the time she was twelve she’d done laundry, cleaned the house, washed dishes and cooked meals. Her parents’ high expectations had led Grace to work hard around the house and at school to make good grades. As long as she met their demands, everything was fine. If she didn’t, they’d made her feel like a stray cat they regretted bringing into the house. “Bill’s lucky to have a mother who wants to do so much for him.”
Mrs. Paulson focused on Liam, who ate the cookie. “You’ll understand when your son gets older. They grow up so fast.”
Grow up were the key words here. Grace hoped by the time Liam was thirty he would want to take care of himself, and she would let him.
Mrs. Paulson walked back to the kitchen. “What would you like for breakfast, Liam?”
“Eggs and toast, please,” he answered.
The woman beamed brightly. “Such manners.”
The surprise in her voice made Grace grit her teeth. “I can make you breakfast, Liam. I’m sure Mrs. Paulson has a lot to do this morning.”
“Not as much as I had planned, thanks to you.” The words didn’t sound like a compliment. “I’m happy to scramble eggs and make toast.”
“With jelly.” Liam followed the woman into the kitchen, as if being related to Bill automatically made her another friend. “I help.”
“I’d love your help. Bill used to help me cook when he was your age.” The smile on Mrs. Paulson’s face turned genuine. She looked at Grace with appreciation. The woman must be lonely. “Go ahead, take a shower and get dressed. I’ll watch Liam.”
No way. Bill’s mom might be lonely, but Grace wasn’t about to leave her son with her. “Thanks, but Liam isn’t used to being around people he doesn’t know.”
Mrs. Paulson tsked. “Don’t you worry. Liam will be fine with me. Won’t you?”
“I fine.” He opened the refrigerator for her. “Eggs inside here.”
With her head in the fridge, Mrs. Paulson waved in Grace’s direction. “Go on, now.”
Liam mimicked the gesture. “Go, Mommy.”
Something about the Paulson family made Liam feel comfortable, in a way he’d never been with anyone but her. Grace, on the other hand, felt nothing but tension, a different kind with Bill than with his mother.
Grace didn’t like to be dismissed, especially by her son. Mrs. Paulson approved of Liam, not her. Bill’s mother likely thought she was another one of Bill’s women du jour. But tense run-ins with Damon’s mom had taught Grace not to get huffy. She’d have to earn Mrs. Paulson’s respect with charm, no matter how much it irked.
And she shouldn’t be complaining.
A shower alone would be great. Her second one in as many days. A record.
“Thank you, Mrs. Paulson,” Grace said with a slow Southern smile and sweet drawl she’d learned in Georgia. “I sure do appreciate the help.”
The older woman looked startled. “Why, you’re welcome, Grace. I promise, Liam will be fine. If he needs you, we’ll come get you.”
She nodded, then walked down the hall, thinking. She didn’t know why she’d tried so hard to end their tense meeting with a draw. She and Liam would likely be gone the next time Bill’s mom showed up.
Grace might not understand her behavior, but she knew one thing—no woman would meet Mrs. Paulson’s standards for her son.
Thank goodness Bill didn’t plan on settling down anytime soon. He would need years to find a wife his mom considered to be a “good woman.”
* * *
Bill’s shift flew by, with not a lot of downtime between calls except for a five-hour stretch of sleep. Now it was Wednesday morning. Time to head out.
He wondered how Grace and Liam had fared alone.
Bill hoped they were doing well, stuck in his house for the past twenty-four hours. He hadn’t thought to leave them transportation or his cell number or a key. Most of his houseguests spent the night and were gone the next morning. No one ever stayed longer.
“Paulson.” Thomas had changed into ski clothing—insulated pants and soft shell jacket. Two long braids hung from her pink-and-purple fleece cap. She might be “one of the guys,” but according to Christian she liked girlie things, too. “See you on the hill.”
Bill would swing by home, check on his houseguests, grab his gear and be on his way. “Won’t take me long.”
Fifteen minutes later, he opened his front door.
Christmas carols played. The scents of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air.
He took another sniff. His mouth watered. Whatever was cooking smelled delicious.
He closed the door behind him.
Liam ran from the kitchen-dining area, his arms outstretched and mouth open. He barreled into Bill, hugging him tight. “Big dude is home.”
Warmth pressed down on the center of his chest. No one had ever welcomed him home like this. He lifted Liam into his arms. “How’s it going, bud?”
Liam cuddled and rested his head against Bill’s shoulder. “Going great now.”
A figure-eight-shaped knot formed in Bill’s throat. He tightened his grip on the boy, who squeezed back, his little fingers holding on as if Bill was as important to him as his beloved Peanut.
Unexpected warmth flowed through Bill. This was a different feeling than holding a soft, sweet-smelling woman. Different, but good. He didn’t want to let go of the kid.
Whoa. What was he thinking? Maybe five hours of sleep last night hadn’t been enough. “Where’s your elephant?”
Liam squirmed.
Bill placed him on the ground.
The kid ran to the kitchen, darting past Grace, who stood in the doorway. She wore a pair of boot-cut jeans and a baggy forest-green, long-sleeved T-shirt that hid her waistline and chest. The kind of shirt women wore when they didn’t want a man to notice their assets.
But Bill already knew.
Grace was luscious. His good manners, not her camouflage shirt, kept her safe from prying eyes and fingers. Though the thought of slipping his hands up her shirt made his mind go blank and his temperature rise.
Stop. He’d gone over this. Seducing Grace would be wrong. She needed someone reliable, someone long-term, someone not destined to repeat the mistakes of his father.
Bill wasn’t about to hurt a woman and child with false promises and vows.
“Good morning.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Your welcoming committee has been waiting for you. Liam has been up since six.”
Bill wished she wanted to be part of the committee, too. He liked being welcomed home. Especially with her wearing those jeans. Unlike her blouse, the denim hugged the curve of her hips nicely, leaving nothing to his imagination. “No sleeping in for you.”
“I’m used to it. How was your shift?”
“The same as usual. Whatever you’re making smells delicious.”
Grace and the aroma of her cooking dragged him in like a tractor beam.
“Baked French toast.” She glanced back in the direction Liam had gone. “It’s almost ready if you want some.”
Bill looked at his watch. He was supposed to be meeting Thomas and Welton to ski, but he didn’t want to be rude. He would text Leanne to let her know he was running late. “Sounds great.”
“I’ll add another place setting to the table.”
His table never had place settings. Not until Grace arrived. He liked coming home to food cooking, and sitting at the table together for a meal, something he had only at his parents’ house during holidays.
He followed her into the kitchen.
Liam sat on the floor next to the plastic bin full of toys Bill had brought in from the truck. Laughing, the kid held Peanut with one hand and an airplane with the other.
“Settling in,” Bill said.
“I hope that’s okay.”
She sounded nervous. He wanted to reassure her. “It’s fine.”
And it was. Surprisingly.
He liked coming home not to an empty house, but one full of warmth and laughter and home cooking. This was what Hughes, Porter and Moreno must mean when they talked about their families and wanting to be home. Well, except the cooking for Hughes. His wife, Zoe, could burn water. “I didn’t leave you with transportation if you needed groceries or something.”
“You’re pretty stocked with groceries for a guy who lives alone.” Grace motioned to the bag of powdered sugar, the can of whipped cream and what looked like defrosted berries. “We had everything we needed and then some, thanks to your mom.”
His stomach plummeted to his feet and kept right on going. “My mom was here?”
“Tuesday morning.”
He smacked his forehead with his palm. “I forgot to tell her not to come.”
“We were both a little...startled. Your mom thought I was one of your women.”
“She didn’t.”
“She called me your lover.”
“I’m sorry.” And he was. “My mom has definite views about the women I date. She doesn’t approve of any of them. Thinks I can do better.”
“At least she loves you.”
He still couldn’t believe how badly her parents had treated her and Liam. “I’m sorry about your folks. Maybe time has softened their hearts.”
“I’ve tried. I finally gave up. They want nothing to do with us.” Grace’s voice held no regret, only resignation. “Your mom’s a little over the top, but it’s nice to see a parent care so much for her child.”
“I’m all my mom has.”
“Only kid?” Grace asked.
“Yeah. When I was seven, she got pregnant again, but she miscarried and couldn’t have any more children.”
“That had to have been rough.”
He blamed himself. “My dad wasn’t here when it happened. Just me. I had no idea my mom was in such bad shape.”
A Little Bit of Holiday Magic Page 9
