Logan motioned to the cushioned bench across from him. “Have a seat.”
Christopher and Eric Sloan sat at a nearby table. Their presence palpably raised the energy level in the place. Brandon joined them. Only Adam was missing—the stonemason brother, as Logan recalled.
“Looks like you had some fun,” Justin said, pointing to the scratch on Logan’s hand.
“I got in a fight with a balsam fir.”
“Nasty bastards.” Justin grinned, settling back against the booth. “Hope you cleaned your wound. Wouldn’t want it to get infected.”
“Good advice. Thanks.”
As Logan chatted with Justin over breakfast, with a few comments from the Sloans at the next table, he wondered if his beer with Brandon had helped thaw his brothers’ attitude toward him.
Heather, the youngest and the only female, joined Brandon, Christopher and Eric at their table. A fresh round of sibling teasing ensued. Logan understood that was how they communicated with each other, and Heather—dark-haired and blue-eyed like the male Sloans—gave as good as she got, clearly up to the challenge of dealing with five older brothers.
Justin added milk to his fresh coffee refill. “How long are you in town this time?” he asked Logan.
“I go back to Boston later today.”
“We’re working out at the McCaffrey place for a few hours today,” Justin said. “We’re making up for taking Wednesday afternoon for our annual Christmas party.”
“I’m making eggnog from scratch,” Heather interjected from her table.
“Which no one will touch,” Eric added.
She rolled her eyes. “Anyone can make eggnog. Besides, I’ll add bourbon. Can’t go wrong.”
“You can,” her eldest brother said, grinning at her.
“I did do a dry run that didn’t go so well,” she said. “It had little threads of egg in it. Totally gross. Mom says to drain it through cheesecloth.”
Christopher grimaced. “Pour the bourbon, skip the eggnog.”
“That would be easier, too,” Heather said. She turned to Logan. “You see how this works, Dr. Farrell? All of a sudden I only have to bring Jack Daniel’s to the party.”
Before Logan could comment, her brothers jumped in and pressed their case against her cooking abilities. She took their teasing in stride, giving as good as she got. Logan decided to keep quiet.
Brandon turned in his chair. “Maggie’s stopping by to help Clare take the rest of Daisy’s old books to the library. They won’t be in the way, will they?”
Logan shook his head. “Not at all. We’re decorating the tree we cut on the farm yesterday. I hadn’t done that since I was a kid. My grandfather and I would go out together.”
“He always let us pick out a tree,” Justin said. “Good memories.”
If he meant to be critical or skeptical, it didn’t show in his voice. A welcome thaw, Logan thought, given their last breakfast together.
After breakfast, he walked across the common. If he were in Boston, he’d either be sleeping late or grabbing a latte at Starbucks on his way to the hospital. Maybe working out at his health club, but he usually hit the treadmill and weights after his shift, whatever time it ended. He had a nonstop schedule but it could feel random. Life in Knights Bridge felt more ordered—or at least more predictable. He doubted much had changed in town since his grandparents had been teenagers.
Clare had arrived with Owen when Logan got back to his grandmother’s house. “Good morning,” she said, rosy-cheeked from the cold weather.
Maggie pulled in behind them. “Oh, my,” she said as they all entered the house. “Look at that tree. It’s gorgeous just with the lights. I’ll have to walk by the house when it gets dark and see the lights in the window. Do you have them on a timer, so they’ll come on even when you’re in Boston?”
“I don’t, but it’s a good idea,” Logan said. “I’ll set it up before I leave this afternoon.”
“Can we decorate the tree now?” Owen asked.
“I can help,” Maggie said. “Or I can come back later—”
“No, no, stay, please,” Clare said. “You’re bound to have a good eye for decorating a Christmas tree. It won’t take long. Then we can grab the books. Logan, is it okay with you? Or did you decide you want to play Christmas music and decorate the tree by yourself?”
Logan grinned. “How did you guess?”
They decorated the tree in short order. He picked up Owen to let him hang decorations on the highest branches. Clare found a star for the top of the tree. Maggie was a whiz at plucking just the right balls and baubles from the boxes.
As they finished, Maggie got a call. Logan could tell instantly it wasn’t anything good. He glanced at Clare, who had gone slightly pale, watching her friend. When Maggie got off the phone, she turned to them. “Brandon’s uncle Pete had a bad encounter with a nail gun. Brandon says there’s blood everywhere.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Logan asked.
“Pete’s got his hand wrapped in a towel. He won’t let them call an ambulance. Says if he needs stitches, he’ll drive himself to the ER.”
Not an attitude with which Logan was unfamiliar. “How did it happen?”
“Brandon says Pete was doing fine one minute, then he spaced out and mumbled something about his left arm aching, and next thing he’d nailed his hand.”
“How far away are they?” Logan asked.
“Ten minutes. The McCaffrey place.”
“I’ve been wanting to take a look at what Dylan and Olivia are building—want to drive over there?”
Maggie nodded, looking relieved. “Pete’s a stubborn old bastard, but he’s a great guy.”
“Sounds like your typical Sloan.” Logan turned to Clare. “You and Owen can help yourself to Gran’s Dutch cocoa.”
She nodded. “We’ll be fine. If you need anything, let me know.”
Logan grabbed his jacket and followed Maggie out the front door. She had driven her van to the house. “Easier to load books in the van,” she said.
“We can take my car.”
“Logan...” She inhaled deeply. “You’re worried something more is wrong with Uncle Pete than a nail-gun accident, aren’t you?”
“I’d like to check him out.”
Twelve
He had never dreamed that any walk—that any thing—could give him so much happiness.
—Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
CLARE FINISHED DECORATING the tree and enlisted Owen’s help to stack the decoration boxes, glad there was plenty to do with Logan and Maggie checking on Pete Sloan. She had the ancient vacuum out when they returned an hour later. “How is he?” she asked, unwinding the heavy vacuum cord and flopping it onto the floor.
“He’s on his way to the hospital,” Logan said.
Maggie unzipped her jacket. “That’s the understatement of the year. Our Dr. Farrell just saved Pete from a massive stroke or heart attack—whether tonight or a month from now, who knows. It’s in the works. Logan also got through Pete’s thick Sloan head that he needed to go to the ER and get checked out.” She grinned suddenly. “That’s the layman’s version.”
“It works,” Logan said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on a chair. “Olivia and Dylan are building quite a place, but it blends in with the land out there. He seems excited about getting his adventure-travel business off the ground.”
“Brandon’s excited, too,” Maggie said. “He’s helping out part-time. He knows he needs to go in for regular physicals but today with his uncle will be a wakeup call. I don’t want him nailing his hand twenty or thirty years from now because he refused to see a doctor. Not that I’m blaming Pete for having an accident, mind you, but if there are things you can do to stay healthy, I’m all for doing them.”
“Pete’s healthy,” Logan said. “People make mistakes.”
“Yeah. We’re all human. That’s why we have hospital emergency departments and doctors who specialize in emergency medicine.” Maggi
e gasped, spinning around to Clare. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I can’t believe I said that. It was terribly insensitive of me. I don’t do well with blood and sickness. I never have. It obviously made me stupid.”
Clare stepped back from the vacuum. “You’re not stupid, and you’re entitled to speak your mind. You don’t have to tiptoe around me.”
Maggie shuddered. “I’m still an idiot. You’re nicer than I deserve.”
“I very much doubt that.”
Logan took the vacuum cord and plugged it into a socket.
“Look, I have to run,” Maggie said. “Pete’s accident ate up the free time I had. Rain check on the books?”
“Of course,” Clare said.
“A mea culpa bottle of wine later?”
“I’ll split a bottle of wine with you anytime, Maggie. It doesn’t need to involve a mea culpa.”
Maggie relaxed, clearly putting her faux pas behind her. She wasn’t one to dwell on her mistakes, Clare thought. Recognize it, own it, apologize and move on. Maggie O’Dunn Sloan wasn’t a ruminator. She turned to Logan. “Thank you for your help.”
“Not a problem.”
“Do you get many nail-gun accidents in Boston?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be, since Brandon and I lived there for a few years. We love the city, but we decided to come back to Knights Bridge to raise our boys.” She smiled, her turquoise eyes brightening. “That’s the short version. See you both later.”
She flew out the front door, racing down the steps and out to her van.
“Her energy amazes me,” Clare said with a smile.
“She’s had a jolt of adrenaline, too,” Logan said. “I can do the vacuuming.”
“Thanks. Owen’s investigating the rest of the toy drawer in the dining room. I’ll organize the books and stage the boxes for quick transport when I get a chance to bring them to the library.”
“On second thought, vacuuming can wait and I can help you with the books.” Logan stood straight, winking at her. “In my world, vacuuming can always wait.”
Clare laughed. “Funny, I say the same thing.”
They hauled the boxes out to the porch. Logan seemed tireless, and he showed no concern about what books were in the boxes. “Library’s free to have them,” he said. “I’m glad to have them put to good use. They’d just be collecting dust here.”
“I have no idea what will sell,” she said, following Logan down the stairs with a box. “Vera tells me there’s no predicting. Have you ever been to one of the library’s book sales?”
“I haven’t, no.”
She stood straight, brushing strands of stray hair out of her face. “I’m looking forward to my first. It will include a bake sale.”
Logan caught one last hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I have about two dozen of Gran’s molasses cookies left,” he said.
“They’d be a hit.”
Justin Sloan pulled up in front of the house in his truck. From his look as he got out, Clare didn’t think he was bringing bad news. He thumped up the porch steps. “Thought you’d want to know Pete’s going to be fine. They’re running some tests. He might need a stent or two, but most likely whatever’s going on with him can be treated with medication.” He nodded to Logan. “Thanks for stepping in.”
“No problem. I appreciate the update, and I’m glad he’s getting any underlying issues addressed.”
Justin grunted. “He’d haunt me for sure if he died on the job.”
The Sloan humor. Clare was still getting accustomed to it herself.
Logan grinned. “This town’s filled with ghosts.”
Justin grinned back at him. “Don’t you forget it.” He glanced around at the decorated porch. “The place looks good. You’d never know no one was living here. Let me know if you need help with anything.” He pointed at the stack of boxes. “Getting rid of these?”
“They’re books Daisy is donating to the library,” Clare said.
“I’ll give you a hand.”
Having Justin’s help would speed up the job. He suggested they use his truck to transport the books to the library. They had the boxes loaded into the back in a few trips. Neither man broke a sweat that Clare could see, but she didn’t mind admitting she could feel perspiration on the back of her neck. She’d been running around since she’d gotten out of bed that morning. Owen was still playing in the dining room. He’d had a big couple of days and seemed to appreciate some quiet time.
“I’ll unload the truck when I get to the library,” Justin said as they stood on the sidewalk in front of the house. “Any particular place you want them?”
“By the stage would work,” Clare said. “I can help—”
“I’ll be done before you get there. My front seat’s loaded with boxes of screws or I’d offer you a ride.”
“Thank you, Justin.”
He shrugged. “Anytime.”
He climbed in his truck and was gone, heading up South Main the short distance to the library.
Clare turned to Logan. “I should get over there. I’ll grab Owen. We can walk. I could use some air after decorating and hauling books.”
“Why don’t I walk with you? I could use some air, too.”
“Because of the musty boxes and balsam fir needles or because of saving Pete Sloan with his nephews watching you?”
“Talk about pressure,” Logan said with a grin, skimming a curved finger along her lower jaw. “I’d like to walk with you. That’s all.”
“You’re looking for a way out of vacuuming balsam fir needles off the rug?”
“I never procrastinate.”
“If I believe that, will you tell me next that Santa Claus is for real?”
“I don’t know about Santa Claus, but Dickens’ Christmas ghosts damn sure are for real.”
“Another one paid you a visit?”
“Marley. Scary old bastard. At least it wasn’t one of the Christmas spirits.”
Owen wasn’t thrilled about taking a walk but he got into it once he found out they were going to the library. When they started up South Main, sunlight was sparkling on the snow on the common and in yards. A fresh dusting from last night added to the winter-wonderland quality of Knights Bridge village. Clare couldn’t imagine a prettier place to spend Christmas.
When they reached the library, Justin Sloan was carrying the last box of books up the steps. Not a man to waste time. He set it in the entry, muttered he had to get rolling and climbed back in his truck, waving as he shut the door and drove off.
Owen raced into the children’s room. The library wasn’t open—Clare hadn’t even thought about giving Justin a key, but he obviously had one. Another thing she had to figure out: who had keys to the place.
Logan pulled the smallest box off the top of the stack and opened it.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said half under his breath, holding up an old edition of A Christmas Carol. “I swear I’m being haunted.”
Clare laughed, but when he handed her the book, she saw that it was a very old edition. She opened it, and a yellowed, folded note fell out. She caught it and handed it to Logan.
He unfolded it. She saw his eyes tear up when he read it. He obviously couldn’t speak and handed it to her. The handwriting wasn’t neat, but it was legible.
Christmas Day, 1945
To Daisy,
I will always remember my Christmases past with Angus, but I am glad we’re together this Christmas. I hope we will be together for many Christmases yet to come.
Tom
“That’s so sweet,” Clare said. “Who is Angus?”
“My great-uncle. Angus Farrell.”
“Your grandfather’s older brother who was killed in World War II?”
Logan nodded and tucked the note back into the book. “My grandfather never talked about him. Not to me.” He cleared his throat. “And I never asked.”
“This book obviously meant something to your grandfather, and
probably to your grandmother, too.”
“It could be a valuable edition, couldn’t it?”
“Possibly. George Sanderson donated his book collection to the library. It contained some rare books. This could have been one of them, only no one realized it and it went into one of the library sales. They’ve been going on for decades.”
Logan shut the book. “Let’s go see my grandmother. Would you join me?”
“It’s library business. Part of its history.”
“I meant for my sake,” he said quietly.
* * *
They dropped Owen off with Maggie and drove out to Rivendell in Logan’s car.
Daisy was awake, watching her favorite soap opera and doing a crossword puzzle, relaxing after a senior yoga class with Audrey Frost. “You should see Grace doing the cobra, and she’s even older than I am.”
Logan smiled. “Nice and limber now, Gran?”
“I feel good, whatever the reason.”
“We were going through books and found this one.” He handed her the copy of A Christmas Carol.
“Oh, my. I knew it was there somewhere. Tom...” She smiled, touching the worn cover with her age-spotted hands. “He was late with a book report on Charles Dickens and chose to read this because it was short.”
“Gran, he mentions his brother,” Logan said. “Does what happened to Angus have something to do with the candle?”
“Have a seat. I’ll tell you.”
Thirteen
“Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,” said Scrooge. “But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.”
—Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
December 1945
AFTER TOM’S VISIT with the candle, Daisy’s father relented about decorating the house for Christmas and apologized to her and her mother for being such a Scrooge. He drove them out to the Farrell farm, on Tom’s invitation, and they collected pinecones and princess pine. At home, they found a bit of red ribbon and made a simple wreath. But Daisy could tell her father still didn’t have his heart in Christmas.
A Knights Bridge Christmas Page 14
