by Nicole Deese
Praise for the Award-Winning Love in Lenox Novels
“Deese tackles a hurting young widow’s need for control with a sometimes ache-worthy depth and subtle touches of humor. Fans of small-town romance will find these pages flying through their fingers. Highly recommended!”
—Happy Ever After blog, USA Today
“With her unique mix of humor, swoon-worthy heroes, and genuine emotion, Nicole Deese has delivered a masterful story of courage, freedom, and faith in her newest Love in Lenox novel, A Season to Love. This five-star romance elevates the genre with its fresh writing, depth, and authenticity. A must-read for 2016.”
—Tammy L. Gray, author of the Winsor Series, Mercy’s Fight, and Sell Out
“A Season to Love satisfies deep in the heart, like eating your own wedding cake.”
—Jennifer Fromke, author of A Familiar Shore and Special Delivery
“A Season to Love was artfully done—so deep and honest it ripped at my heart from the first page. Nicole Deese is a dialogue diva, an emotional puppet master, and an enchantress with words. Always a must-read!”
—Amy Leigh Simpson, author of When Fall Fades
“Nicole Deese has a gift for capturing true-to-life characters you can’t help but love and root for.”
—Lynne Gentry, author of the Carthage Chronicles series
“As charming and soulful as the small town in which it is set, A Season to Love is a must-read for contemporary romance fans, particularly if you enjoy the likes of Denise Hunter and Susan May Warren. Nicole Deese has won over a faithful reader!”
—Lydia, The Overweight Bookshelf blog
“I love Deese’s writing style. She has a wonderful way with words—her verb choices, her use of metaphor, her succinct way of communicating so much with a few well-chosen words. Her writing doesn’t just show—it animates.”
—Fiction Aficionado blog
“A Hallmark movie in the making, A Cliché Christmas is a magical love story that is anything but cliché, dazzling readers with a truly delightful plot and characters who shine more than the twinkle lights on a tree. One of my favorite holiday reads ever!”
—Julie Lessman, award-winning author of the Daughters of Boston, Winds of Change, and Heart of San Francisco series
“’Tis the season for some fun Christmas fare, and this book fits the bill. A Cliché Christmas is a page-turner with a wonderful setting, a brilliant cast of characters, and sigh-worthy scenes that will make you sleep-deprived.”
—Jenny B. Jones, award-winning author of A Katie Parker Production series
“This story is begging to be made into a movie and I have decided to officially christen A Cliché Christmas as My Favorite Christmas Romance of All Freaking Time. Yes, I love it that much—and I’m betting that you will, too!”
—Happy Ever After blog, USA Today
ALSO BY NICOLE DEESE
Love in Lenox Novels
A Cliché Christmas
A Season to Love
Letting Go Series
All for Anna
All She Wanted
All Who Dream
Stand-Alone Titles
The Promise of Rayne
A Summer Remade
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 Nicole Deese
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Waterfall Press, Grand Haven, MI
www.brilliancepublishing.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Waterfall Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542046688
ISBN-10: 1542046688
Cover design by Jason Blackburn
To my boys—
Preston and Lincoln.
For the eighteen summers I have you at home . . . and all the summers that come after.
I love you.
Contents
Start Reading
Prologue DAVIS
Chapter One DAVIS
Chapter Two CALLIE
Chapter Three DAVIS
Chapter Four CALLIE
Chapter Five DAVIS
Chapter Six CALLIE
Chapter Seven DAVIS
Chapter Eight CALLIE
Chapter Nine DAVIS
Chapter Ten CALLIE
Chapter Eleven DAVIS
Chapter Twelve CALLIE
Chapter Thirteen DAVIS
Chapter Fourteen CALLIE
Chapter Fifteen DAVIS
Chapter Sixteen CALLIE
Chapter Seventeen DAVIS
Chapter Eighteen CALLIE
Chapter Nineteen DAVIS
Chapter Twenty CALLIE
Chapter Twenty-One DAVIS
Chapter Twenty-Two CALLIE
Chapter Twenty-Three DAVIS
Chapter Twenty-Four CALLIE
Chapter Twenty-Five DAVIS
Chapter Twenty-Six CALLIE
Chapter Twenty-Seven DAVIS
Chapter Twenty-Eight CALLIE
Chapter Twenty-Nine DAVIS
Chapter Thirty CALLIE
Chapter Thirty-One DAVIS
Chapter Thirty-Two CALLIE
Chapter Thirty-Three DAVIS
Chapter Thirty-Four CALLIE
Chapter Thirty-Five DAVIS
Chapter Thirty-Six CALLIE
Chapter Thirty-Seven DAVIS
Epilogue DAVIS
Acknowledgments
About the Author
There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.
—Vincent van Gogh
Prologue
DAVIS
Considering my allegiance to classic rock, I couldn’t claim an eclectic taste in music. Or in much of anything in particular. But I was definitely not a fan of the wannabe bohemian band currently droning through the speakers in my operating room. My vet techs found far too much pleasure in pushing my personal preferences to the limit.
“Whoever selected this station should be put on kennel duty for a week.” I glanced up from the heavily sedated golden retriever on my table. “It’s depressing.”
“I think the term you’re looking for is culturally relevant,” Jones said.
“If that’s your attempt at a dig at Zeppelin, then you’re definitely on kennel duty.”
Both my techs snickered behind their masks, and Jones adjusted the light overhead as my hands moved to the middle of the eight-inch incision.
As I threw another tight suture, my front desk manager, who had an affinity for cat-print scrubs, pushed into the room and rounded the surgical table.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Dr. Carter.” Marie’s voice sounded oddly strained. “But the school counselor just called, and she’s insisting she speak to you regarding Brandon. Should I send Dr. Julie in to finish up for you?”
Jones huffed out a laugh. “I remember that old bat from when I was in junior high. Isn’t she the one who also insisted you take Brandon on that Kumbaya Campout last spring?”
I bit back a groan and continued the course of my sutures. “The one and only.”
A thirty-year veteran of Lenox Middle School, Mrs. Bernard seemed to have an endless supply of resources for single parents. “Mr. Carter, you really ought to enroll for our . . .” was her standard opener for every conversation. But I didn’t need a parenting coach. I’d been a father for twelv
e years, and Brandon and I were doing just fine. Nothing the upcoming summer break couldn’t solve anyway.
“Thanks for relaying the message, Marie. I’ll call her back after I’ve cleaned up here.” Whatever Mrs. Bernard had to say could wait an hour.
Marie shifted closer to the table, and the anxiety in her voice tripled. “Um . . . I really don’t think this can wait.”
My gloved hands stilled as I met her gaze. “Why not?”
“Because she said if you don’t show up at the school within the next fifteen minutes, she’ll be forced to contact the police.”
Chapter One
DAVIS
One month later
I jiggled the locked doorknob again and wished, not for the first time, that it was legal to use tranquilizer darts on adolescent boys. “Open the door, Brandon.”
“I’m not going to that stupid summer day care. You can’t make me.”
A theory yet to be proven. “I refuse to have this discussion with you through two inches of pine. If you have an opinion regarding the summer schedule, then I suggest you open this door immediately.”
The sound of paper shuffling bled through the door—no doubt from the sketchbook permanently affixed to his person. Heavy footfalls came seconds before the lock sprang.
Brandon appeared in the doorway, his wiry arms folded across his chest. A dark tuft of hair fell over his left eye, much like the pirate patch he refused to take off after his seventh birthday party. Only that child, the one with the toothless grin and tales of playground games, was a far cry from the scowling kid who stood before me now.
“Why can’t I just hang out with Uncle Shep while you’re at the clinic?” Brandon asked.
“You know why. He can’t keep his eye on you and supervise a construction site.”
“He works at a restaurant, not a skyscraper.”
“It’s not happening.”
He opened his mouth, but I could easily guess the direction of his next subterfuge. I cut him off. “And your grandma Carter is in the middle of her busiest gardening season. So, no, she’s not an option either.”
Brandon’s glower intensified. “I’m twelve! I don’t need a babysitter to watch me.”
“Your guidance counselor would disagree.” Especially after the monthlong in-school detention he served for vandalism of school property.
I cringed as the memory of that miserable day rushed back—the shock of Mrs. Bernard recounting my straight-A student’s confession that he’d tagged the outside of the school gymnasium building. “Mr. Carter, prior to this last trimester and today’s unfortunate events, we considered your son an exemplary pupil. He showed up to school on time and participated in classroom discussions. He never left his assignments incomplete and consistently tested above average in nearly every subject matter we offer. But that, unfortunately, has not been the case for months now.”
“Mrs. Barnyard doesn’t know anything about me,” Brandon huffed.
“Mrs. Bernard,” I corrected, “has some valid concerns. As do I.”
“I’m old enough to take care of myself. It’s not like you don’t work across the street.”
I blew out a slow breath and rubbed my forehead with my forefinger and thumb. It didn’t matter how close my clinic was to our house. I’d lost faith in his judgment. And maybe in mine, too.
“When we see this kind of altered behavior in a student of his age, it’s important to search out a root cause. And usually, the breakdown can be traced back to the home. Have there been any recent changes in your personal lives? Different work hours? A new dating relationship?”
As if I had the time to date, let alone the patience. Working sixty to seventy hours a week wasn’t uncommon for a veterinarian, especially considering I’d recently taken on a partner and expanded my business to offer house-call services.
“You seem to forget you’ve already shown me what happens when I give you too much freedom.”
Brandon jutted out his chin. “Then send me to Oma and Papa’s early this summer. It’s not like you want me here anyway, and they said they’d buy my plane ticket anytime I wanted to come out.”
Of course they did. Because Viv and Charles Lockwood would love nothing more than to swoop in and extricate my son from his small-town existence. “Your recent behavior has not earned you a one-way ticket to an early vacation. And until you show some actual remorse and a stark attitude adjustment, you’ll be staying in Lenox all summer.”
His eyes narrowed to a silent dare, a mocking challenge that seemed to say, You’d never actually do that. Hands tucked in the hollows of his armpits, Brandon balled his fingers into two tight fists. Despite my growing frustration, I managed to level my tone into an authoritative yet understanding tenor—the exact tone The Choice Method: Cultivating Truth with Your Preteen suggested in chapter three. Along with the dressing-down I’d received from Mrs. Bernard that fateful afternoon, she’d also given me and my delinquent son a parenting book that promised a turnaround in only three short months. At first, I’d chucked the paperback inside my nightstand. Now, I read it like gospel.
Give your child space to make choices for themselves whenever possible, even if it means pairing an obvious choice with a less desirable one. This practice will promote healthy autonomy and provide a foundation for mutual trust building.
“You have two options.” I held two fingers in the air. “You can come to work with me at the clinic this summer like you’ve always done and earn some extra money for helping with the kennels, or I can enroll you at the day camp at Lenox Elementary starting Monday. It’s your choice.”
His arms dropped from their pretzel position, and for an instant, his cool-kid mask slipped away. “But that isn’t fair. I’d be the oldest kid at that stupid camp! They play baby games and have snack time and do sing-alongs! Collin told me the only reason those high schoolers even sign up as counselors is because they need makeup credits so they can graduate.”
“Then come to the clinic with me.”
The flare of his nostrils ticked like the second hand of a clock as I waited for him to make the only obvious and rational choice.
Things were rough between us now, but once he settled into a solid routine at the clinic, everything would right itself again. Brandon simply needed to find a new rhythm.
Much the way I’d done last year.
With a heavy step backward, Brandon gripped the edge of his door and snapped his favorite mask of indifference over his face once again. His hardened expression triggered a handful of unbidden words to scroll through my mental hard drive. The teacher comments from his last report card.
Withdrawn.
Keeps to himself.
Won’t complete assignments.
Doesn’t participate in class.
Seems unfocused and distracted.
Angry.
And then, as if to prove every accusation true, he spoke in a voice so controlled it could have been my own. “I choose the day care.”
Overlooking the darkened backyard from the steps of my patio, I unbuttoned the choke hold of my collar and listened to the hoot of an owl not far away. How many summer nights had I carried my boy out here, wrapped in his favorite Superman blanket, to count the stars when he couldn’t sleep? More times than I could even recall.
Where had I gone so wrong with him?
The backup alarm I’d set on my phone chimed from inside my pants pocket, reminding me of the to-do list I’d left unfinished at the clinic—to-dos that couldn’t roll over into tomorrow’s already packed schedule. No matter how many staff we added, there were certain responsibilities I didn’t like to delegate, and answering inquiries from loyal patrons about their pets was one of them. I slipped my phone out and scrolled through my unread e-mails, my gaze singling out one sender’s name immediately.
With a hard tap, I opened the message, knowing I’d likely regret the decision an instant later.
I wasn’t wrong.
To: Davis Carter
From: V
ivian Lockwood
Date: June 10, 8:53 p.m.
Subject: Brandon’s summer visit
Dear Davis,
I never heard back from you last week regarding this year’s dates for Brandon’s summer visit, which is why I’ve resorted to writing to your work account. I’d like to think my unanswered e-mail was a simple oversight, but our communication over these past couple months has been greatly lacking.
While I’m certain you remain busy at the clinic, not to mention all the other small-town activities you engage in throughout the year, you know as well as I do that Stephanie would never wish our time with Brandon to suffer due to poor scheduling. As you recall, it was our daughter’s utmost desire for her son to remain close to us after her passing. He’s told us on many an occasion that he looks forward to his visits with us in California with great enthusiasm. That said, we are more than happy to extend his stay this summer by a week, or perhaps by several weeks. This offer is of no imposition to us as we relish in our grandson’s joy and well-being.
Please note that the deposits we put down on Brandon’s private art lessons will remain in good standing through the end of August, but we’d much prefer his visit be closer to the week of July Fourth. You know how much he enjoys the firework show in the valley.
I would appreciate a response at your earliest convenience.
xoxo
Vivian
I forced out a slow breath—and then another—allowing myself a moment to imagine the reply I would never send.
A minute later, I tapped out a response.
To: Vivian Lockwood
From: Davis Carter
Date: June 10, 9:14 p.m.
Subject: RE: Brandon’s summer visit
Dear Vivian,
I trust you and Charles are doing well.
I apologize for my delayed response time on your previous e-mail, but unfortunately, I’m not ready to commit to any summer visitation dates for Brandon as of yet.
I’ll keep you updated.
Davis
I hit send and then immediately powered off my phone. I might not be able to avoid them for long, but at least for tonight, I would have the last word.
