A Texas Christmas Homecoming

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  Until it was too late.

  Rachel had no idea what kind of father he would’ve been to Katie. Maybe he would’ve been one of those men whom fatherhood changed and made into a better person. The way things ended, Rachel could write her own ending to the story. For Katie’s sake, in the future, when she started asking about her father, she’d go with the happy ending to the sad story and tell her her daddy would’ve thought she was a princess, that he would’ve loved her very much.

  Katie walked over to Rachel and put her tiny three-year-old hands on either side of Rachel’s face. “Are you sad, Mama? Don’t be sad.”

  Rachel smiled and placed a kiss on her daughter’s nose. “How could I be sad when I get to be the mama of a daughter as fabulous as you?”

  She scooped Katie up and hustled her over to the couch where she blew raspberries on her stomach and tickled her until the little girl’s screams of laughter turned breathless.

  “Are you ready to decorate the tree, Katie Bug?”

  “I want to hold the ormaments,” Katie said, pushing up onto her knees and peering into the plastic bin.

  “If you’re very careful, you can take them out of the box.”

  Katie’s eyes brightened. She hopped off the couch and went to work prying open the cardboard box.

  “Careful now,” Rachel reminded her.

  “I’m careful, Mama,” she said as she removed an ornament and held it in her little hands. She looked around the room, then looked up at Rachel, perplexed.

  “Where do we put it? Where does it go?”

  “Gigi is coming over with a Christmas tree for us.”

  “Gigi has a tree?” Katie looked genuinely surprised.

  “Gigi is bringing us a tree,” Rachel clarified. “For us to have here.”

  Katie put down the ornaments and clapped her chubby little hands.

  Katie had good reason to be surprised. Donna, who had insisted on Katie calling her Gigi rather than grandma because she said she felt much too young to be a grandma, didn’t come over very often, but when she did she usually made some grand gesture, whether it was bringing Katie a toy or a favorite treat. What she lacked in quality time, Gigi made up for with lavish gifts.

  Rachel believed that way was the best for everyone. Work was still Donna’s first love. At least when she came around, she genuinely wanted to be there. She would never be the cookie-baking, get-down-on-the-floor type of hands-on grandma—or Gigi—but at least she came around enough for Katie to know her. Really, there wasn’t any use in challenging Donna over it. Donna did what Donna wanted to do.

  A knock at the door pulled her out of her head. She recognized her mother’s signature tap-tap-taptaptap-tap-tap. She opened the door to find Donna standing there looking beautiful in winter-white trousers and a black silk top all pulled together by a cherry-red cashmere coat. She had a matching red hat, which looked fabulous against her shiny dark hair. She was holding a pair of black leather driving gloves. She stepped aside so the man behind her could bring in the Christmas tree.

  “Thank you, Don,” she said. “Please set it up in the stand.” Donna gave the apartment a cursory glance and then motioned to the far corner. “Over there would be fine. You’ll be able to see it first thing when you enter the apartment.”

  Katie squealed and hugged Donna’s leg. “How is my Katie Bug?” Donna knelt and hugged the little girl. “Let me get a good look at you, darling. Have you grown? I think you’re taller than when I last saw you.”

  “I’m big, Gigi!” Katie stood on her tiptoes. “Look at me. I’m big!”

  “Yes, you are,” Donna said, as she got to her feet again.

  “Hi, Mom,” Rachel said. “Let me take your purse and coat.”

  As Donna shrugged out of her coat, she said, “Rachel, this is Don Jones. He’s from the Christmas tree lot and he was gracious enough to not only help me transport your tree, but he also brought it upstairs, singlehandedly.”

  Rachel and Don exchanged pleasantries as he positioned the tree in the stand that Rachel had set out.

  “Katie and I made cookies specially for our tree-trimming party,” Rachel said. “Would you like some and a mug of hot chocolate?”

  “Actually, I’d like some black coffee,” she said, standing up straight and putting her hands on her nonexistent belly. “I ate way too much last night. I’m cutting down this week to make up for it. You outdid yourself with the food, Rachel. I was very proud of you.”

  For all of Donna’s aloof unavailability, Rachel had to hand it to her. She was always quick to praise Rachel’s successes, and somehow the praise always caught Rachel off guard. Her compliments were few and far between, because Rachel didn’t have the opportunity to pull new, praiseworthy feats out of her hat very often. But when she did, Donna wasn’t stingy. Even at this age, it was almost like Donna thought her daughter’s success reflected well on her. In the past, it had, at times, been difficult to see the Donna glass as half-full, but Rachel had learned to separate herself from her mother and not let her have that much power over her.

  She caught Don looking hungrily at her mother. “Don, would you like some hot chocolate and cookies?” she asked.

  “Nope, thank you, though, but could you ladies please do me a favor and tell me if the tree is standing straight while I tighten the stand? There’s nothing worse than a leaning tree.”

  “No, there isn’t,” Donna gushed.

  Was her mom…flirting? With Don Jones the Christmas tree man?

  Rachel shook her head when she realized Don wasn’t really interested in her opinion and she left Donna and Katie to supervise the operation while she went into the kitchen to fix the coffee and cocoa.

  Of course, Donna was flirting. Otherwise, why would he agree to come all the way over here on a weekend afternoon during prime sales time? Well, good for Donna. She was probably getting a whole lot luckier than Rachel was. If she got serious about him they would be Donna and Don.

  However, if it was true love, names wouldn’t matter.

  The thought immediately brought Eli to mind. He was the only person who had made her think thoughts like this since…well, for a very long time.

  Rachel took the tray of cookies and drinks out to the living room. “Are you sure I can’t get you something?” she asked.

  Before the man could protest, Donna said, “My daughter owns that cute little shop on the square called Cookies and S’more(s). She’s a darn good baker. Rachel, why don’t you wrap up some cookies to go for Mr. Jones?”

  This time Don didn’t argue. Rachel packaged up his cookies and set them on the coffee table next to the tray holding their cookies and beverages.

  After Don had the tree positioned just right, he strung the tree with lights in short order. He stepped back to admire his work, standing a little too close to Donna. After a little small talk, Donna escorted Don to the door, handed him his cookies, and said goodbye.

  After he was gone, and they had gotten most of Katie’s favorite decorations on the tree, the little girl lost interest and retreated to her bedroom where she was playing quietly.

  As Donna and Rachel finished hanging the remaining ornaments, Donna said, “Have you made a decision about whether you’re going to sell your business to that outfit that wants to buy you out?”

  “I haven’t,” Rachel said. “Even Johnny Gamble said the offer is kind of low for what they’re expecting. They want me to sign a non-compete clause that says not only can I not open another cookie shop, but I also can’t sell cookies to anyone. I just don’t see how that’s worth it. I don’t know what else I’d do. I’d love to start a catering company, but that feels too risky.”

  “You can always get your real estate license and come to work for me,” Donna said.

  Rachel chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

  Donna frowned and Rachel realized her mother was serious. “What’s so outlandish about that idea?”

  Where did she start?

  “It’s a nice thought, Mom, but I think you
and I do better when we each have our own space.” Needing to change the subject fast and knowing she had to ask her before she lost her nerve, Rachel said, “On another note, did you really believe that Eli Lane stole your car?”

  “Excuse me?” Donna frowned at her.

  “I’m curious. I really need to know. Do you believe he stole your car?”

  Donna stood in the middle of Rachel’s living room and admired the lighted tree. “This one’s a beauty, isn’t it?” She was avoiding the question, but Rachel wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

  “Mom, I’m serious. I need to know. You didn’t really believe he was guilty, did you? Otherwise, you would not have let him off like you did.”

  Donna put her hands on her hips. Her mouth had flattened into a hard line. “Darling, that was a long time ago. Why are you bringing it up now?”

  “Because Eli is back,” she said. “Did you know that?”

  Donna picked up another ornament, walked over to the tree, and hung it on a high branch. “I suppose I heard a little something about that. He and that Logan Calloway are back to try and start some sort of business—”

  “Yes, a vineyard,” Rachel said.

  “Over there north of the Pedernales River,” Donna added. “I heard about the property sale earlier this year.”

  Donna sniffed. And Rachel understood the subtext was that her real estate brokerage did not get the sale.

  “I ran into Eli at Felicity’s Ball last night,” Rachel said. “He told me about his vineyard venture. You know, he says he has you to thank for becoming a wine expert?”

  Donna arched a brow, but looked bored. “Does he?”

  “Yes. He said if you hadn’t sent him to California for that reform program, where he worked in the vineyard, he might have never found his calling. I think he’d like to thank you in person.”

  “That will not be necessary,” Donna said. She picked up another ornament and studied the tree before she placed it.

  “So, that’s why I’m curious,” Rachel said. “Did you really believe that he stole your car?”

  “Rachel, he was caught behind the wheel. How could I not believe he stole it when he was caught red-handed?”

  It was clear to see that this line of conversation was going nowhere.

  “I think he was covering for somebody,” Rachel said, but Donna did not seem to hear her. Or at least she did not reply.

  “Okay, I have another question. Did you delete a text from Eli from my phone right before he left?”

  Donna blew out a breath through her nose. Rachel knew she was irritating her, but, dammit, she wanted the truth.

  “Rachel, that was so long ago and I have so many more important things on my mind. How am I supposed to remember what I did more than ten years ago?”

  Rachel decided to employ a little psychology. “So, are you saying you did that?”

  Donna turned toward Rachel and laughed. She crossed her arms over her middle and the answer was as plain as day on her face.

  “Oh, my gosh, you did. He tried to contact me, but you deleted the message.”

  “Honey, you were under age—”

  “I was seventeen years old—”

  “As I said, you were under age. As your mother, it was my job to protect you. I knew if you got that message from him you would go to him and—”

  “Mom, that wasn’t your call.”

  The bottom fell out of her stomach. Eli was telling the truth. He had tried to contact her. He’d asked her to meet him, but he’d thought she stood him up. It was like their own Whiskey River version of An Affair To Remember.

  “Oh, yes it was my call. You were living under my roof. I knew if you saw him before he left you’d go to California with him.”

  “You’re damn right I would’ve.”

  Donna picked up her coffee and sat down on the edge of the couch. “So, what does this mean? Please tell me you aren’t going to get involved with Elijah Lane again.”

  Chapter Six

  All day Sunday, Eli thought about calling Rachel. He’d even gone as far as asking Logan to ask Avery for her number. He’d put it in his phone. He’d brought up the number several times, but he hadn’t pressed the button.

  She’d been so adamant about her family time that he didn’t want to interrupt. After he and Logan finished walking the land, he’d dropped off Logan and driven into town to see her at the shop, but the shop was closed on Sundays.

  For family time, obviously.

  Actually, he wanted to talk to her about the restaurant they wanted to open at the winery, not ask all the questions that had been festering in the back of his mind for the past decade-plus. He decided the business talk could wait.

  By Monday afternoon, he decided he’d waited long enough. He drove to the square, parked in a space a few doors down from her shop, and walked the short distance to the place she’d made her life.

  Saturday night, when he’d driven her home, he had parked around back in her reserved space. It had been handy, but because it was around back and because of the ice storm, he hadn’t had a chance to get a feel for her new life. Yesterday, he’d been able to look at the windows, but the shop was dark and lifeless, not giving up many clues about how she spent her days.

  He was so hungry for information about her, he was beginning to feel like a stalker. He was beginning to weird himself out. He certainly didn’t want her to feel that way. That’s why he had let things rest for a day and a half.

  He could smell the delicious aroma of cookies baking before he even pulled open the door. He had a flashback to the days when she used to create cookie recipes and test them on him. He couldn’t remember a single time that they hadn’t tasted good. Before everything got so screwed up with Donna, he’d been trying to talk Rachel into asking the owner of Baron’s Steakhouse for a meeting and trying to interest them in offering her cookies in the restaurant. He made a mental note to ask her about that.

  Later.

  Right now, he had other things to talk to her about. It might not be a convenient time for her to talk right now. If not, he’d ask her if they could make a date for another time.

  The shop bells sounded when he pulled open the door.

  The even stronger aroma of cinnamon and vanilla hit him in the face the second he stepped inside.

  The cases were full of at least a dozed different flavors and types of cookies and, it looked like, a couple of varieties of s’mores.

  But no one was behind the counter.

  “I’ll be right there,” someone called from beyond a doorway through which he had a very limited view of the stainless steel counter tops of a commercial kitchen.

  Before he could read all the different signs explaining the different cookies, a young brunette bounded out of the kitchen. She smiled at him as she wiped her hands on a towel.

  She was wearing a white apron and a nametag that said Polly.

  “Hi, sorry about that. I was taking a batch of cookies out of the oven. Didn’t want them to burn.”

  Was she the only one in the shop?

  “I’m here to see Rachel,” Eli said. “Is she in?”

  “No, I’m sorry, she stepped out a moment. But she should be back any second now. Do you want to wait?”

  He didn’t want to be hulking around the shop when she got back.

  “I’ll stop by later,” he said. “But I’ll take a couple of those chocolate peppermint cookies.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Polly said. “Those are totally my favorites. Well, I haven’t had a chance to try all the cookies Rachel makes. Only the ones we have out today. Today’s my first day. But she has like a gazillion different flavors, and if you can think of a kind that she doesn’t have, all you have to do is tell her about it and she’ll come up with a recipe. Isn’t that cool?”

  Eli smiled and handed her a five-dollar bill. “Very cool. She obviously made a good call hiring you, Polly. Your enthusiasm is great.”

  The girl beamed. “Thanks.”

  Sh
e handed the small bag to Eli and tried to give him the change.

  “Keep it,” he said. “Happy first day of work.”

  The girl thanked him again and stuffed the bills and coins into a glass tip jar. “Do you want me to tell her who came by?”

  “Nah. That’s okay. I’ll be back.”

  He turned around to leave just as Rachel was walking into the shop hand-in-hand with a little girl who looked just like her.

  *

  “Eli,” she said as she bent down to pick up Katie as if she could render her invisible and shield her from this meeting.

  “Hey, this is good timing,” he said.

  No, it’s terrible timing.

  “I just picked up Katie from preschool.”

  Katie swiveled in her mother’s arms. “Who’s that, Mama?”

  Rachel hesitated for a moment. Her gaze flitted from Katie to Polly, who was watching the scene unfold from behind the counter, to Eli, and back to Katie again.

  “This is Mr. Lane,” Rachel said to her daughter.

  Eli flinched and wrinkled his brow. Rachel braced herself for him to make some sort of snide comment about her calling him that. And he would’ve been within his rights because as soon as she’d called him that she’d wanted to laugh out loud at the sound of it.

  Mr. Lane? God.

  Instead of doing that, she doubled down. “Mr. Lane is a friend of Mama’s. He stopped by to say hello.”

  “Hello.” Katie held up a chubby hand and waved. Then she held up three fingers. “I’m three.”

  A smile warmed Eli’s face. “It’s nice to meet you, Katie. You’re a very big girl.”

  The way Eli was engaging with Katie might have been touching, but things were so uncertain. She didn’t want Eli engaging with Katie. Katie was not even supposed to know Eli existed. Eli was carrying a bag. He’d bought some cookies, which officially made him a customer. She couldn’t very well tell a customer he wasn’t allowed to come into her shop.

  Yeah, nice try. He’s Eli. He’s not a customer.