Once Upon a Christmas (PTA Moms Book 2)

by Holly Jacobs

  Tara's sister.

  Brandon's aunt and guardian.

  Daniel got out of the truck and went to the front door. He rang the bell.

  Moments later, a tall blonde opened the door and smiled pleasantly. She wasn't what he'd expected. Tara had been shorter. Her hair color was subject to change. One day pink, another brown. She'd had piercings and tattoos, been wild and unpredictable.

  This woman wasn't, if appearances were correct. She wore a simple pair of navy slacks and a blouse. A single teardrop pearl hung from a gold chain. Her hair was in a neat bun, and if she was wearing makeup it was light enough that he couldn't tell.

  Her smile faded as he took a bit too long assessing her. "Yes? Can I help you?"

  "Are you Brandon Hamilton's aunt?"

  She nodded, smiling again. "Michelle Hamilton. And you are?"

  Ah, he had thought maybe Shell was short for Shelly, but instead it was short for Michelle.

  "My name's Daniel McLean. I'm an old friend of Tara's."

  The smile vanished and a look of wariness replaced it. "Yes?" she asked, more cautiously this time.

  "Your nephew showed up at my door today, with an old medal of mine, asking if I could be his father."

  The woman's pale skin lightened further, leaving her a waxy ghost.

  "I don't want to cause you any trouble," he assured her, hoping to allay some of her obvious fear, "but the truth is, he could be mine. We need to talk about that."

  For a moment, she stood mute, but then an expression, very much like Brandon's when Daniel had opened the front door, settled in. "No, we don't. I'm Brandon's legal guardian, and—"

  "And you know him well enough to understand that he won't let this go. Hell, I've just met him and already know as much. The fact is, you don't know me yet, but let me assure you, I won't let it go, either."

  "Mr. McLean, was it?"

  He nodded.

  "I don't take threats lightly."

  "It's not a threat, it's just me telling you how it is. There's an equally likely chance I'm not his father. Tara and I—" He stopped a moment, a fresh wave of anger at his old friend washing over him. "We just had one night, and then she left without a word."

  "Tara was famous for that," Michelle assured him with a tinge of bitterness in her tone that told him she had no illusions about Tara.

  "She left and the timing was close enough that Brandon could be mine. I didn't want to say anything to him, but I do know she'd broken up with someone a few weeks before the two of us. . .were together. And I don't know who she was with after. So, I can't be sure."

  "What do you want me to do? Are you suggesting I let one of Tara's one-night stands be a part of my nephew's life on the off chance he's his father? I can guarantee you that's not going to happen."

  "It's true that Tara and I had just that one night together, but we were more than that. We'd been friends for two years. Good friends."

  Daniel saw that Michelle's knuckles had turned white as she gripped the edge of the door even harder. "If you were such good friends, Mr. McLean, don't you think she'd have told you about Brandon if you were my nephew's father?"

  He'd like to think so but, knowing Tara, he wasn't sure. "You know your sister. Is there a chance she wouldn't have told Brandon's father she was pregnant?" She visually flinched at the question. "Maybe we could talk inside?"

  She looked reluctant, and he couldn't blame her. "Miss Hamilton—"

  "Ms."

  "Ms. Hamilton. I can understand your not wanting to invite me inside, but I think it might be preferable to having your neighbors in on our conversation. There's someone in the window of the house next door, blatantly watching, and a second ago, she unlocked the window, and—" his voice dropped and he leaned closer "—it just opened a crack."

  She glanced over at the next house and forced a smile. "Hi, Mrs. Myers." Then she said, "You're right. Come in."

  It was definitely not the most gracious invitation Daniel had ever received, but he couldn't blame her. He was a perfect stranger, and she was trying to protect Brandon.

  She let him inside to a small entry hall. As she shut the door behind him, he noticed the shoe rack and the coat hooks. There was a small basket on the inside door handle, with letters in it. He assumed she'd be mailing them tomorrow.

  He'd been right. This was a woman who liked things neat and tidy—precise.

  "Where's Brandon?"

  "He rode his bike out to my house. I hated the thought of him riding back into town, given the cold, but he insisted that he was already going to be in trouble with you and he wasn't going to add to it by coming inside my house or getting in my car. Part of me wished he'd have let me give him a ride. The other is impressed that you've taught him to be careful. . . safe."

  She nodded, and he wasn't sure if she knew he'd meant that as a compliment. Of course, his complimentary skills were more than weak. He'd have to be more blatant next time.

  "You might as well come have a seat while we wait for him."

  Again, not exactly a heartfelt invitation, but Daniel would take what he could get.

  Michelle Hamilton led him into a living room. It was comfortably furnished, and in keeping with the rest of the house. The deep brown couch had half a dozen throw pillows on it, but there was no throwing. They were evenly spaced and all completely straight. There were magazines on one end table, and they were neatly stacked. There was a small fireplace, with a fire already laid out and ready to go.

  "Nice place." He meant it. Despite the fact she liked things in their assigned places—or maybe because of it—the room was inviting.

  "Have a seat," she offered, sounding a bit more hospitable now.

  Daniel sat on the couch, and she took one of the matching chairs opposite it.

  "So, what are we going to do?" he asked.

  "We are not going to do anything. I'm obviously going to have to do something, because I'm Brandon's aunt and his guardian. You are a stranger who has no rights whatsoever in this matter."

  "A stranger who might be your nephew's father," he pointed out gently. "I need to know if I am, every bit as much as he wants to know. I'm going to suggest that's our first order of business."

  "And if you are his father? What then? Where do you picture that leading, Mr. McLean?"

  "Ms. Hamilton, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

  MICHELLE WORKED at keeping her breathing even, worked on keeping her demeanor calm, because she was not going to give this stranger an inch.

  This Daniel McLean, who'd admitted he'd had a one-night stand with her sister, couldn't walk into her home and tell her he planned on seeing if Brandon was his son, and if he was, then they'd cross that bridge.

  Michelle was not the type of person who crossed any bridge unless she knew exactly what was on the other side. And no matter what was on the other side of this particular bridge, she was pretty sure she didn't want to cross it at all.

  "Mr. McLean, I'm not prepared to do anything until I've consulted with a lawyer." She'd call Henry Rizzo from Erie Elementary, whose daughter, Izzy, was in second grade. They weren't exactly friends, but they were friendly and she was sure he'd help. There was a feeling of connection at Erie Elementary, even between families that only knew each other in passing.

  "Do you really want to do that, Ms. Hamilton? Do you really want to turn this into a battle before we even know if I'm Brandon's father? Before you even know me?"

  "I don't want to, Mr. McLean, but you're right, I don't know you. And I'm not willing to allow a perfect stranger—who's admitted he was just another one-night stand for Tara—to waltz into my home and try to tell me what we are and aren't going to do."

  "Do you know who Brandon's father is? Maybe there's some reason you don't want him to know."

  She could lie.

  Michelle knew she could say yes. That she knew who Brandon's father was and that she was keeping it from Brandon because. . .because the man was in jail.

  It was plausible.


  It was tempting.

  Tara probably wouldn't have hesitated lying to a stranger to protect herself, or to get what she wanted, but Michelle just couldn't do it.

  "Mr. McLean, Tara left home the moment she turned eighteen." Her father had passed away when she was very young. Then her sister was gone. And finally, her mother remarried during Michelle's first year of college and started a new life, in a new state. A life that didn't include Michelle. Those losses were still fresh, all these years later.

  "I'd get an occasional call from Tara every few months. Sometimes it was almost a year between calls. But she always did call. She'd ask about me, but she never said where she was or what she was doing, even when I asked. She'd just brush the question aside. Eventually, I stopped asking. Tara lived life on her own terms, without much care for anyone else's feelings. To be honest, she never even told me she had a son. I didn't know until she showed up on my doorstep, Brandon in tow."

  Michelle could distinctly remember that moment. She'd opened her front door, and Tara was there, pale and sickly, with a small boy at her side. "This is your aunt, Brandon," Tara had said to the boy in his well-worn clothing, a tattered stuffed horse in his hand. Michelle hadn't missed Tara's meaning, and quickly became angry.

  How could her sister not have told her?

  The anger took a back seat when Tara announced she had cancer. It's hard to fight with someone whose second sentence was, "She'll be taking care of you after I die."

  "Tara told me she was dying and that she'd brought Brandon to me to raise. My mom had remarried and already cut me out of her life, so she didn't want Brandon." Even now, her mother rarely visited or even called. "Tara never gave me the full story of where she'd been and what she'd been doing all those years. She just took care of the paperwork and two months after she'd arrived, she died."

  Two months. That's all she'd had with her sister. The last few weeks Tara hadn't said much, not that she'd been good at saying the things that mattered when she still could. And it took months for Brandon to start opening up.

  "From what Brandon's said, they moved from place to place, or more accurately, my sister moved from man to man, always looking for a better love. So, no, I never asked which of those men was Brandon's father. When Bran started asking, I promised to help him find out when he was eighteen. I don't suppose you'd be willing to wait until then?"

  Daniel shook his head. "I don't suppose I would."

  She sighed. "I didn't think so."

  The front door flew open and Brandon, his cheeks red and chapped from the long bike ride in the cold, burst into the room. "You came."

  "I told you I would," Daniel said softly.

  "I wasn't sure." Brandon turned to Michelle. She could see his nervousness, but he stood tall and faced her. "I know you wanted me to wait, but I couldn't. I need to know who my father is. I'm old enough to make that decision. But if you're going to punish me, then I'll accept it, because even if you didn't specifically tell me I couldn't look for him now, we both know that you thought I was going to wait."

  "So, you lied to me, and then you skipped out of basketball practice and rode your bike—"

  "Out to Greene Township."

  "You were riding your bike on Route Eight in the freezing cold? I'm supposed to take those as signs that you're mature enough to handle a decision this big?"

  "I'm sorry about all of that, but I knew you wouldn't let me."

  "I thought this was settled. If you wanted to impress me with how grown-up you are, you should have told me that it wasn't settled at all."

  "I need to know, Aunt Shell." He glanced from her to Daniel McLean, longing evident in his expression.

  Seeing it softened Michelle. "Just go to your room, Brandon, while I finish talking to Mr. McLean."

  "I want to spend time with him."

  "I know you do, but he's a stranger, and I'm not comfortable with that right now. Mr. McLean and I are trying to figure out—"

  "He could be my dad. He said so. You can't make me stay away from him, Aunt Shell."

  "Brandon, go to your room now," she said sharply. "We'll discuss this later."

  Brandon glared at her with more anger visible in his expression than she'd ever seen before. He wheeled around and faced Daniel McLean. "Mr. McLean, no matter what my aunt says, I want to find out if you're my father. I want to know you and spend time with you." That said, Brandon wheeled around and stormed from the room. Michelle could hear his pounding steps up the stairs, followed by his bedroom door slamming.

  "I think we'd better come up with some sort of plan, Ms. Hamilton, because your nephew appears to be a very determined boy. I don't think anything you do will dissuade him for long. And I'll confess, if I am his father, that particular characteristic might come from me, because although I can understand you need some time to process this, I won't be put off for long, either."

  He stood. "I'll go now. You make any calls you need to, seek whatever advice you want, then contact me." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet, removed a card and handed it to her. "All my information's on that. I have my own business. I do finish carpentry. I'm working on a project for Christopher Brothers Construction right now. They're in the book. They'll vouch for me on a professional level."

  "And on a personal one?"

  "Ask for Josh. He'll vouch for me personally, as well. I think that will do for starters. I'll expect your call soon, Ms. Hamilton, because I want answers as much as your nephew does."

  He turned and strode from her house.

  Michelle heard the front door close and knew she should get up, knew she should do something. She should start a list of things to do. Talk to a lawyer. She wasn't sure what kind of law Henry Rizzo practiced, but he could give her a referral, give her some sort of place to start.

  She should look up his number now.

  She should call this Christopher Brothers Construction and ask for Josh.

  She should go talk to Brandon.

  She should. . .

  But she didn't.

  She simply sat and tried to think through her mind-numbing fear that someone was going to take Brandon away from her.

  Of all the things she should do, that was the one thing she had to do. She had to protect her nephew.

  Even if it meant protecting him from himself.

  Feeling a sense of resolve, Michelle walked up the stairs and knocked on Brandon's bedroom door. There was a mumbled response that she took as an invitation to enter.

  She opened the door and walked into the evening-gloomy room. She switched on the light and found Brandon sitting in the chair by the window.

  "You made him leave." It was an accusation. Brandon glared at her.

  The expression broke Michelle's heart. "Honey, I—"

  "Aunt Shell, I know you think you're protecting me, but I'm thirteen. I'm growing up. And I deserve to know my father."

  "Bran—"

  "Do you know what it was like when Mom was alive?"

  Brandon rarely talked about Tara. Oh, there were bits and pieces he'd let slip over the years. Michelle had asked, but he'd always been vague. "No, honey, I don't know much. Only what you told me."

  "My mom was always laughing. Always smiling. Mom was always sure her next boyfriend would be the love of her life. She'd move us into his house and for the first few weeks things would be great. She'd tell me that she'd found me a new dad and tell me stories about the life we'd all have together. Fantastic stories about the fun we'd have. But, Aunt Shell, they were just stories."

  Brandon sounded so mature.

  No, so old and jaded. As if at thirteen he already was so much older than Tara had ever been.

  "The longest we ever lived with anyone was with this guy named Johnson. He had a garage and he'd come home every night and smell of gasoline and oil. He'd pat me on the head and say, 'Hey, squirt,' then go in and shower before dinner. At first, Mom would have it all ready for him. Then later, Mom would call and say she was working late, and me an
d Johnson would get our own dinner. He taught me all about football, 'cause he liked it. And cars. He liked me, too."

  And in that one sentence Michelle understood that not all of Tara's boyfriends had liked Brandon, and even at a young age he'd been insightful enough to realize it.

  "Then one night Mom came home and said it was time to pack. Just like that. It's time to pack, B. That's what she called me. And she told me to pack like it was no big deal, no surprise. She told me that she had a new boyfriend, and we were moving in with him. I told her no, I wouldn't. Me and Johnson would be fine without her, she could just go. But I was little and she didn't listen. She made me move in with her and. . .I think it was Raphael. After that, I didn't like any of her guys too much, even the nice ones, 'cause I knew sooner or later, we'd leave them, too."

  "Oh, Bran." Michelle had known her sister was flighty and moved around. All those years, she hadn't known Tara had a son she was dragging around after her. Thinking of Bran, so little and helpless, so lost, it hurt her. . .it was a physical pain.

  "It's okay, Aunt Shell. I've got you now, and I know I'll never need to leave this house. Even if you're mad at me, like right now, you'll still try to do what's right. 'Cause you'll always take care of me. But, Aunt Shell, I want to know if this guy's my dad. I know you're worried that I'll find out my dad's not a good guy, but I know about guys that aren't good. And I know about guys who are like Johnson was. Neither of us know this Mr. McLean. We don't know if he's a good guy or not. Either way, I have to find out if he's my father. I love you, and I don't want to hurt you, but I'm going to get to know this guy. I'll figure out what kind he is. I'm pretty good at it."

  There was a look of determination in his eyes, a maturity far beyond his years. It was a look that said she could try and keep him from Daniel, but he'd do whatever he needed to in order to spend time with this man.

  "Can you give me a day or two to process all this? I mean, you've obviously been thinking about it, and planning this for some time. I just found Mr. McLean on my front porch, with no warning. So, let me think, and then you and I will figure something out."