Even the perfect gift always had some flaw. The color was wrong, or it had an almost-impossible-to-see scratch, or it was what they had wanted last week, but not this. Even the tastiest meal could have been seasoned a little differently. And nothing—nothing—was ever as their mother had done it and therefore wasn’t worthy of their appreciation or even their simple courtesy.
The terrible thing about today was not how much it resembled all those other disasters, but how wonderfully close it was to the way she’d always imagined a family holiday should be, filled with laughter and shared memories. It was a bittersweet sample of the one thing she would never have on a permanent basis, not with Ken Hutchinson at any rate.
She heard the kitchen door swing open and surreptitiously dried her eyes. If Ken noticed the tears, he pretended otherwise.
“How’s the turkey?” he asked, though it was obvious from the concern written all over his face that he was far more worried about her than he was about dinner.
“I was just about to check,” she said, and hurriedly did just that. “Looks done to me. Is there a fork around to test it?”
Ken handed one to her.
“Perfect,” she said.
He nudged her aside with his hip in a casual gesture that seemed somehow very familiar and very right.
“Let me take it out, so it can cool a bit,” he said. “Is there a place for it on the counter?”
Beth saw that Delores had put a thick wooden cutting board next to the already-baked pumpkin pies. “I think the roasting pan can sit right here,” she said.
The huge turkey was a golden brown. As soon as the pan was safely on the counter, Ken snitched a piece of white meat and handed it to Beth, then reached for another sample for himself.
“I saw that,” Delores said as she came in to join them.
Within minutes, everyone was crowded into the kitchen as side dishes were prepared or popped into the oven for warming. Chelsea was underfoot, trying to sneak a taste of everything. For once she didn’t say anything overtly antagonistic toward Beth. In fact, for the most part, she just ignored her. That only hurt when Beth stopped to consider how sweetly the child was behaving toward everyone else.
Thanksgiving dinner was a huge success. Compliments flew, from praise of the food that Beth had brought to Delores’s perfectly baked turkey and mashed potatoes and on to Chelsea’s neatly colored decorations for the table. The table groaned under the weight of all the dishes, which contained more than enough for a gathering twice this size.
As they ate, Beth felt Ken’s gaze returning to her time and again, his expression speculative, as if he couldn’t understand why a woman who rarely hesitated to speak her mind was suddenly so silent. If anyone else was aware of how unnaturally quiet she was, Beth didn’t notice it. She saw only Ken’s reaction, felt only his bewilderment. Regret stole through her. How could she explain to him that she was terrified to make an effort to fit in, terrified of the awful sense of failure that would follow their eventual and inevitable parting?
“Dessert?” Delores asked when everyone had finally pushed back from the table.
Only Claude looked willing. A chorus of laters came from everyone else.
“I think a walk is in order,” Harriet said.
“There’s a game coming on,” Claude protested.
“Can I watch with you, Uncle Claude?” Chelsea asked.
“Absolutely. I can tell you how I would be doing it, if I were on the field.”
“You’re pitiful,” Ken teased. “You’re resorting to telling your lies to seven-year-old girls now.”
Harriet shook her head and Beth and Delores laughed as the bantering disintegrated into a debate about which man had more talent and more know-how.
“I was the quarterback. Everybody knows that’s the brains of the team,” Ken challenged.
“And I protected your sorry butt,” Claude countered. “My apologies, ladies, but that’s the gospel truth.”
“Just go watch the game,” Harriet said. She looked at Beth. “What about you?”
“I’m ready for a walk.”
“Delores?”
“I think I’ll stay here and clean up.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You leave that for us,” Harriet protested. “If you don’t feel like walking, then sit down someplace and put your feet up.”
“I won’t do much,” Delores promised. “You two have a nice walk. Be careful of the road. There are still some icy patches.”
Harriet and Beth bundled up and set off along the stretch of road toward town. The icy air froze their breath. The wind cut through the layers of clothes they’d put on before walking outside. For the next few minutes, after the heavy meal, Beth knew it would feel invigorating. Then they’d be ready to dash back inside to warm up by the fire.
They hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards when Harriet said, “So, tell me. Are you in love with Ken?”
Beth lifted startled eyes to meet her gaze and felt a rush of blood in her cheeks. Hopefully Harriet would attribute that to the cold. She managed a weak laugh, then commented, “Direct, aren’t you?”
“It’s the best way I know to get answers. Ken’s like family to Claude and me. We’ve been worried about him since he and Pam split. She was a real piece of work, nothing at all like Delores. I swear that woman must wonder sometimes if Pam wasn’t a changeling. Anyway, we’ve been afraid the whole experience would sour Ken on marriage. Then out of the blue he goes and decides to settle down all the way up in Vermont. I figure you must have had something to do with that.”
Beth shook her head. “I don’t think so. He seemed pretty set on settling here when he called me about looking for a house,” Beth said, avoiding the real issue Harriet had raised. “He hasn’t said much about the past.”
“And you haven’t asked?” Harriet said incredulously. “Isn’t that supposed to be the first question a woman asks a divorced man—how bad was it? The answer tells you a lot about what to expect.”
“I suppose I didn’t ask because the answer didn’t matter,” Beth said. “I’m not looking for a serious relationship.”
“I didn’t ask if you were looking,” Harriet reminded her. “Seems to me like one found you.” She glanced over. “You getting along okay with Chelsea?”
Beth shrugged, wishing she could confide in this woman who was sensitive enough to guess the potential for conflict between her and Ken’s daughter. Still, she was determined to keep her own counsel about this. It wouldn’t be fair to discuss her relationship with Ken with his friends.
When Beth didn’t answer right away, Harriet added, “Chelsea can be difficult.”
“I suppose. We don’t spend a lot of time together.”
Harriet stopped in her tracks. “I must be getting my signals all mixed up here. I could have sworn that the sparks flying between you and Ken were of an intimate nature. Have I been married so long I’ve lost my knack?”
Beth blushed.
“Aha. So I’m not going nuts. Is there some reason you’re fighting the inevitable? Or need I ask? It is Chelsea, isn’t it? She’s being a brat. Claude said so, too.”
“So far the damage is only minor,” Beth admitted, trying to minimize the problem.
“Give her time.”
“There are some things time can’t fix,” Beth said bleakly.
Harriet studied her intently. “You’ve been through this before, haven’t you?” she guessed.
Beth wasn’t nearly as stunned by Harriet’s intuitiveness as she could have been. “How did you know?”
“You display all the signs of the walking wounded. Have you discussed this with Ken?”
“There’s nothing to discuss. It’s my problem. I’m just not cut out to be a mother.”
“Bull—” the other woman began and cut herself of
f with a wince. “Sorry. I’m picking up Claude’s bad habits.”
Beth chuckled at her chagrin. “But sometimes those words are just so much more satisfying and to the point, aren’t they?”
“You’ve got that right, girl.” Her expression turned serious again. “Look, I’m a school counselor. Prying is my business and I don’t seem to be able to turn it off at the end of the day. So you can ignore me if you want to. You can even tell me to hush up, but not before I tell you that you owe it to yourself and to Ken to be honest with him. Nobody comes into this world a mother. It’s something we learn to do by trial and error. Whatever happened in the past probably taught you a few things. Chances are you weren’t to blame for most of the problems, anyway. I could cite all sorts of comforting statistics to prove you’re not alone. Second marriages are very difficult when there are stepchildren involved. Spread the guilt around a little, why don’t you, instead of taking it all on yourself.”
“But I was the adult,” she said, echoing Peter’s oft-spoken refrain.
“That’s right,” Harriet agreed. “You were the adult. Not a saint.”
Beth was grateful for her directness and her common sense. “Thanks for the advice.”
“You going to take any of it?”
Beth sighed. “I just don’t know if I can.”
Harriet leveled a gaze at her. “Ken Hutchinson’s worth it, girl. He’s a decent, caring guy, and despite all the garbage that’s been written about him, pro and con, he’s come out of football with the same solid values he took into the game. Don’t go messing up a chance to have a life with him for all the wrong reasons.”
* * *
Ken had no idea what had happened when Beth and Harriet had gone for that walk, but when they returned Beth seemed more at peace. She didn’t even flinch when he brought her a piece of pumpkin pie, then lingered on the arm of the chair next to her.
“I’m glad you’re here.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear.
A tentative smile curved her lips. “Me, too.”
In fact, the den, which had been converted into a makeshift TV room for the occasion, seemed to be filled with warmth and goodwill. It was the happiest holiday he could recall for some time. Pam had always insisted on throwing these perfectly orchestrated bashes, which were incredibly successful but far from homey or intimate.
Just as Ken was thinking how much it meant to be surrounded by family and good friends, rather than an entourage of people he barely knew, Claude lumbered to his feet.
“Come on, Harriet. We’ve got us a plane to catch.”
Chelsea immediately protested.
“Sorry, Half-pint, I’ve got to get ready to go pound on some bad guys on Sunday. I need my beauty rest.”
“But you’re already beautiful, Uncle Claude,” Chelsea proclaimed, tightening her arms around his neck. “Don’t go. You’re my only friend in the whole wide world.”
Ken winced at the plaintive note in his daughter’s voice. He and Claude exchanged a look, then his friend held Chelsea up in the air. “Now, you listen to me, young lady. I am not the only friend you have. You’ve already got a brand-new friend right here in Vermont.”
“Who?” Chelsea said doubtfully.
“Beth.”
“She’s Daddy’s friend, not mine.”
Ken watched Beth’s expression when the blunt assessment popped out of Chelsea’s mouth. Some of the color drained out of her face.
“Well, that won’t always be the case,” Ken said hurriedly. “Now that you’re all moved in we’ll be doing lots of things together.”
“There,” Claude said. “I told you so. And pretty soon you’ll be going to school here and the next time I come to town I won’t be able to take a step for fear of squishing some little munchkin under my big, old feet.”
Chelsea laughed at that. “You’ve never squished me.”
“That’s because you’re so noisy, I always know where you are,” he informed her. “You’re just like a kitty with a bell around its neck.” He planted a smacking kiss on Chelsea’s forehead and turned her over to her father, then wrapped his beefy hand around his wife’s elbow. “Come on, little mother.”
Harriet paused on the front steps and looked straight at Beth. “Don’t forget what I said.”
“I won’t.”
When the couple was finally out of sight, Ken looked at Beth. “What was that all about?”
“Girl talk.”
He grinned. “Must have been about me.”
“Don’t look now, but your ego is showing,” Delores said.
“What’s an ego?” Chelsea demanded.
“Something your daddy has way too much of,” Delores said. “Come on, Chelsea. You can help me put the dishes in the dishwasher.”
“But I wanted to play a game with Daddy.”
“After we get the dishes going,” Delores said firmly. Chelsea opened her mouth to offer another protest, but her grandmother already had her firmly by the hand and was leading her away.
Ken captured Beth’s hand in his own. “Alone at last.”
“I really should help with the dishes,” Beth said hurriedly.
“Three sets of hands will only get in the way. Believe me, Delores considers the kitchen her domain and it’s good for Chelsea to have chores. Now, come into the den with me and relax. We haven’t had a minute to ourselves all day.”
“Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
He grinned at her worried frown. “Talking was not what I had in mind. Today’s Thanksgiving. You’re one of the things I’m most thankful for. I thought I should demonstrate how much.”
A sigh seemed to ease through her, but her expression turned sad.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said, sitting in a chair and pulling her into his lap before she could protest. “You’ve had that expression on your face half a dozen times today. Tell me what it’s all about.”
“It’s just that you’re so sweet.”
“Sweet, huh? Some guys would consider that an insult.”
“Oh, I think you’re strong enough to take it,” she said, allowing herself the first hint of a smile he’d seen all afternoon.
Ken frowned. “I wish you’d talk to me.”
“I talk to you all the time.”
He gestured around the room with its remaining piles of wallpaper rolls, paint cans and papers. “About this. Not about anything important.”
“This is important.”
“We’re important,” he corrected. “All of this is just window dressing.”
“You won’t feel that way when the wiring goes on the fritz or the plumbing leaks.”
“Yes, I will,” he insisted. “Wiring and plumbing can be fixed. I’m more worried about us.”
“Meaning?”
“I want to get back what we had this time last week. We can’t do that as long as you’re not being honest with me about what went wrong.”
He watched with a sense of resignation as her expression completely shut down. “Beth?” he prodded.
But instead of responding to his question, she visibly distanced herself emotionally, then followed that by physically removing herself from his arms.
“It’s been a lovely day,” she said in that tight, polite voice that made him want to scream in frustration.
“It could be a lovely evening, as well.”
She shook her head. “I really should go. I—I promised Gillie I’d stop by.”
Ken knew in his gut that she was lying again. He could read it in her eyes, because she was so damn bad at it. If she actually stopped off to see anyone between his place and home, he would be stunned.
“Are you coming by to work tomor
row?”
She shook her head. “Most of the crew are taking it as a holiday. I thought I would, too.”
“Then let’s do something together. Chelsea will be starting school on Monday. The next few days will be our only chance to get out and do things just for fun.”
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her expression grew even more distant. “It’s important for the two of you to spend this time together,” she said stiffly. “She needs you right now.”
Ken’s temper finally kicked in. “I can’t tell if you’re truly trying to be unselfish here or if you just don’t want to spend time with us. Whichever it is, it’s beginning to grate on my nerves.”
Her lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”
He threw up his hands in a gesture of resignation. “Yeah, so am I.”
She cast one last look at him, then trudged off through the rapidly deepening snow toward her car. She looked so forlorn he almost went after her, but then he reminded himself that she had made a clear choice. He’d be damned if he’d force himself on a woman who so plainly no longer wanted any part of him.
But that didn’t keep him from standing in the doorway and watching until the red glow of the taillights on her car finally faded from view.
Chapter 13
The day after Thanksgiving Ken was still trying to figure out what to make of Beth’s abrupt departure when Chet Mathias called.
“Sorry I haven’t gotten to you before this, but I’ve been out of the country,” the sporting goods manufacturer explained. “Took my wife on a fortieth anniversary trip all over Europe. I hope to hell I can work until I’m eighty. That’s how long it’ll take to pay for all the shopping she did. Give that woman foreign currency and she thinks it’s play money.”
“But you had a good time, didn’t you?” Ken retorted.
“The best,” he admitted.
“I can hear it in your voice.”
“I have to admit I feel better than I have in years. But that’s enough about me. You settling in okay? I hear Beth’s been helping you.”
“She’s been a godsend, Chet. I can’t thank you enough for recommending her,” Ken replied truthfully.
One Step Away: Once Upon a Proposal Page 14
