The Trouble with Christmas

by Amy Andrews

She stepped back and held Suzanne at arm’s length. There were tears in her eyes, which made Suzanne feel totally shitty. Deceiving her parents was one thing. Her parents, she knew, would move on quickly from Grady when Suzanne announced it had all fallen through. Deceiving this woman who plainly loved and worried about Grady and who clearly wore her heart on her sleeve was terrible.

  And, if they’d been alone, she’d have fessed up right then and there even before Grady had the chance. Because it was obvious Cora had bought in to the gossip about her and Grady and that she was thrilled. But her parents were hovering, and there wasn’t one single person in Déjà Brew who wasn’t watching the exchange with interest.

  “Oh yes,” Cora said with a sniff as she blinked back the moisture in her eyes. “You’ll do nicely.” She beamed at Suzanne, then shook her head wistfully. “I’d always hoped he’d find someone after Bethany but—” Cora stopped abruptly, as if she’d said too much, then pulled Suzanne in for another hug. “Never mind,” she said, her voice muffled, “you’re perfect, I can see why he’s sweet on you.”

  Bethany?

  Suzanne frowned into the other woman’s neck. Who the hell was Bethany? An ex? Wife? Or maybe long-term girlfriend? It made sense that there would be someone—frankly, Suzanne had found it difficult to believe there wasn’t. And a bad relationship breakup would certainly explain his determination to not get involved with a woman. But how long ago? There were no pictures around the cabin of her—or his parents, for that matter—and no evidence that a woman had ever lived there at all. Those little touches like pretty hand towels and candles, nice china, or a cupboard with vases.

  Grady’s cabin was so masculine, she could practically smell the testosterone.

  But…there’d been a Bethany?

  Burl laughed. “Cora, let the poor girl breathe.” He gently pried his wife away from Suzanne, who felt weirdly bereft despite the clash of her inner thoughts. It had been nice to be welcomed with such unfettered delight by someone who was, in essence, a complete stranger.

  Burl introduced Cora to her parents. She gave them a hug, too, much to her mother’s surprise, but Cora went right on and did it anyway. “Sorry,” she said with a rueful smile. “I’m a hugger from way back, aren’t I, Burl?”

  Suzanne felt a swell of emotion in her chest just thinking about how much Cora must have hugged Grady when he’d arrived at their house, a grieving teenager. Had he let her? Was that why they were so close today?

  Burl gave another indulgent laugh. “You sure are.” And he slid his arm around her waist, giving her a squeeze as they smiled at each other like they were newlyweds.

  It was a stark contrast to her parents, whose definition of public displays of affection was air kissing at gallery openings. Sure, Burl and Cora may not have been as stylish as her parents, who were dressed head to toe in the latest high-end winter labels from Saks, but their closeness was unmistakable. They might be more homespun in their faded denim and plaid, but the way Burl’s hand rested gently on Cora’s hip made them richer by far in Suzanne’s eyes.

  Her parents’ body language was terrible. They were separated by a couple of feet and had barely said two words to each other this morning. Suzanne began to wonder if this whole plan had been doomed to failure from the start. That forcing them to spend time in each other’s company to get away from all the unsightly Christmas spectacle at the cabin had been for nothing.

  Damn it all, what were they doing in that cottage?

  “Burl tells me your parents are here for Christmas,” Cora said, reaching for Suzanne’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I insist you all come for Christmas lunch.”

  “Ahh—” Suzanne glanced at Winona, then back at Grady’s aunt. Shit. What did she do now?

  “Oh.” Cora’s face fell a little, but she kept a smile on her face. “You already have plans? That’s fine.” She dismissed her invitation with a quick flap of her hands. “We’ll catch up with you and Joshua over the holidays at some point.”

  Cora’s smile was still bright and bubbly, but it didn’t take an expert to see she’d been looking forward to spending Christmas with them. Winona obviously saw it.

  “Oh no, please.” Winona stepped forward. “Why don’t you both join us at the boardinghouse? All the newbies are gathering there for our first Christmas in Credence celebration, along with Grady and Suzanne and her parents, and we’d love your company, too. The more the merrier, really.”

  Cora’s full-wattage smile returned. “Oh yes. There’s nothing nicer than sharing the Christmas spirit and welcoming new neighbors.” She glanced at Burl. “That sounds lovely, doesn’t it, honey?”

  Burl chuckled indulgently. It was clear he didn’t care where they spent Christmas as long as he and Cora were together. “Reckon it does,” he said with a nod.

  A general discussion followed about the logistics of the day and what Cora could bring, but Suzanne barely heard any of the conversation. She was too busy thinking about the warning text she was going to send to Grady as soon as she could about the possibility of a pregnancy rumor circulating around town.

  And, oh yes, there was also Bethany…

  …

  Grady was totally, 100 percent avoiding going back to the cabin as he strode into Jack’s at four that afternoon after stopping off at the supply shop to pay his account. The god-awful rendition of “Jingle Bells” playing on the jukebox reminded him he’d made a mental note not to come here until after Christmas, but desperate times required desperate measures.

  He’d have a couple of light beers before heading home. Finally look at his phone with the text from Suzanne that had been burning a hole in his pocket ever since it had come in around lunchtime—he should never have given her his number. He’d seen her name pop onto his screen and promptly ignored it, not ready to face what she had to say about last night, especially when it was something he was still processing. He sure as hell hadn’t wanted to run an analysis on it via text.

  But he was going to need to look at it before facing Suzanne again, and for that he needed beer.

  Jack’s was—thankfully—quiet as he strode across the room. “Tucker,” he greeted as he came to a halt at the bar.

  “Grady.”

  “Bud Light, please.”

  Tucker reached for the drink, cracked the lid off, and passed it over. Grady picked it up and swallowed half of it down in one go.

  “Been that kind of day, huh?” Tucker asked when Grady finally came up for air.

  Grady wiped his mouth. “Been that kind of month.” He threw some money on the bar. “Give me ten minutes and bring another one over,” he requested. Grady had absolutely no intention of sitting at the bar, inviting the kind of attention he’d garnered last time he’d been in Jack’s. He didn’t want or need anybody’s unsolicited opinions.

  Tucker nodded, and Grady made his way to his usual booth that faced the door. Placing his beer and his phone on the table, he stared at both. He pressed the home button, and the notification that Suzanne’s text was waiting flashed on the screen. There was also one from Cora.

  Which reminded him he needed to go and tell his aunt and uncle about the predicament Suzanne had landed him in before it got any more out of hand. He’d head there after he left Jack’s.

  The phone taunted him for the next ten minutes as he sipped more slowly at his beer. By the time Tucker came over with his second drink, he’d picked it up and put it down twice.

  “You get a call from the IRS?” Tucker asked as he slid into the chair—uninvited—on the other side of the booth.

  Grady shook his head. “The IRS would be easier.” Reaching for the new beer, he took a swig.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  Grady cocked an eyebrow. Jesus. It was like his last visit all over again minus the peanut gallery. “You that hard up for conversation?”

  Unperturbed by Grady’s clear ba
ck-off signals, Tucker pressed. “Looks like something’s bothering you. Sometimes it helps to talk.”

  Grady snorted. He’d heard that practically his entire life, and he wasn’t doubting it. He’d even seen a military shrink a few times, but talking wasn’t his preferred state of being. “I’d rather be bare-ass naked and staked to an ant hill.”

  Tucker laughed. “Aww, man. You sure know how to hurt a guy’s feelings.”

  “Don’t you have a business to run?”

  “I can sit a while.” Tucker looked around at the five other people in the bar taking up another two booths. “Slow day.”

  Grady grimaced. “Lucky me.”

  “I’m thinking about Christmas carol karaoke. Thoughts?”

  If Grady had been asked to guess what would come out of Tucker’s mouth next, it would not have been Christmas karaoke. “I have no thoughts other than ugh.”

  “Not something you’d come to the bar for?”

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who enjoys karaoke? Of any type?”

  Tucker regarded him for long moments. “Nope.” He shook his head slowly. “Can’t see you belting out ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.’”

  “Right.” Grady nodded.

  “You’re kind of antisocial—anyone ever tell you that?”

  “It’s been said.”

  Just then, the bar doors flung open, and for a split second, Grady could have kissed whoever the hell had chosen that moment to enter. Then he realized it was Arlo and Drew Carmichael and, spying Tucker, they both made a direct beeline for his booth.

  Fucking awesome. The peanut gallery.

  “This where the action’s at?” Arlo said.

  Grady threw him a tight smile. “Apparently.”

  “You want beers?” Tucker asked, finally shifting his ass out of the booth, and Grady dared to hope he’d be left in peace.

  “We’ll have what he’s having,” Arlo said, speaking for both of them. And then he slid his ass into the booth, followed closely by Drew as Tucker left to get their beers.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” Drew said as he settled into the chair.

  Drew had taken over his father’s funeral home business a few years back. He seemed like a nice-enough guy from the limited time Grady had spent in his company. He looked more like an old-fashioned Hollywood screen idol than a dude who drove a hearse around bumfuck nowhere. But apparently even he had heard the rumors about Grady and Suzanne.

  And wasn’t that just dandy?

  Grady raised his beer bottle and mumbled a “Thanks” before taking another swallow.

  “Fast work there, bud. I didn’t realize she’d been in town long enough to put a bun in her oven. You should enter those swimmers of yours into the next Olympics. You’ve got some golden medal spunk going on there.”

  Grady blinked, placing his bottle down on the table with a loud thunk. An itch started at the base of his spine, his bloody pressure spiking. What. The. Fuck?

  “Who’s got a bun in the oven?” Tucker asked as he reappeared with three bottles of beer and handed two over.

  “According to Dolly Watson at the Gerald funeral this afternoon,” Drew supplied, “Suzanne St. Michelle.”

  Arlo nodded. “I heard it from Shirley at the bakery.”

  Grady stared at Drew and Arlo as his brain tried to process the most preposterous gossip he’d ever heard. And that was saying something for Credence. There was no way—despite the lack of condom, which had been monumentally stupid given they’d moved to her bedroom to get one, for fuck’s sake—Suzanne could be pregnant now.

  Correction. Grady’s blood pressure spiked again. No way she could know she was pregnant now, because ultimately, he supposed, she could be pregnant. If she wasn’t using some other kind of contraception.

  Grady’s heart pounded. Oh. Holy. Jesus.

  He came back to the conversation, which somehow had moved to prenatal vitamins. “Folic acid,” Drew was saying. “It’s important she get started on that ASAP.”

  Arlo snorted. “Dude, you sell fancy coffins for a living. What you’d know about pregnancy vitamins could be written on the back of a postage stamp.”

  “I can read, dickwad.” Drew shot Arlo a withering look. “And please, we in the terminal-care industry prefer the term eternity suites.”

  Which cracked up Arlo and Tucker.

  Grady barely registered the laughter and banter going on among the three guys who had not only crashed his peace and quiet but blown it to smithereens. His gaze fell on his phone, and suddenly the presence of those text messages took on an urgency they hadn’t before. He picked it up, his hands shaking, his pulse tripping.

  Tapping on Suzanne’s message, he mentally braced himself as it opened.

  God I’m so terribly, terribly sorry, Grady. Wish I didn’t have to give you a heads-up but here goes… There may or may not be a rumor going around Credence about me being preggers, so I wanted to forewarn you. I DID NOT start it and there’s ZERO chance of it being true because I have a contraceptive implant, but I think it’s out there and I think your aunt (who is so so so lovely btw) thinks it’s true even though I DENIED it most vehemently. I promise I did.

  Grady stared at the lengthy message. God…even her texts suffered from verbal diarrhea. He read the message several times over, that awful, all-too-familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach making itself known. Fucking hell. What was happening to his life? Not only were he and Suzanne supposedly in a relationship, but now he’d knocked her up as well?

  Christ. Cora…

  Quickly, he scrolled to his aunt’s text, hoping against hope it was about something as innocuous as her semi regular reminder he hadn’t attended church in forever.

  Nope.

  Met your Suzanne today. She’s perfect, Joshua. I’m so happy for you. And is there something else you haven’t told us yet, young man?

  Well, crap. When his aunt called him young man, she was already convinced.

  “There’s fascinating new research on neural tube defects, in fact—”

  Whatever tidbit of information Drew had been about to impart was cut off abruptly by Grady practically leaping out of the booth.

  All three guys looked at him quizzically. “Where’s the fire?” Tucker asked.

  “Gotta go and see Burl and Cora,” Grady replied, not stopping to finish his beer or even to say goodbye as he strode out of the bar, his mind grappling with the conversation he was about to have and the strange cramp in his chest at the thought of being a daddy.

  Even a fake one.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was almost eight by the time Grady stepped into the cabin. The immediate warmth was a welcome relief from the already freezing temperatures outside. Most of the snow that had fallen last night had melted, but it was going to be another cold one, and the weather bureau was predicting blizzards to sweep across the country in two days’ time. Which meant he was going to be busy around the ranch getting everything ready for the cattle to survive what could be a potentially catastrophic weather event.

  He didn’t generally welcome blizzards, but they could always count on at least one during winter, so it might as well work to his advantage. The less time he had to spend in Suzanne’s company, the better. A fact reinforced by the lurch of his body as he spied her all the way across the kitchen. She shot him a nervous smile and took a gulp of wine from the glass she was holding. Her parents were nowhere in sight, and the lights were on in the cottage, so he presumed they’d retired for the night.

  “Hi.” She cleared her throat as she placed the wineglass down on the bench. “I was starting to worry about you.”

  Grady’s hackles were immediately—irrationally—raised. He didn’t need anybody worrying about him. He’d done just fine by himself these past seventeen years, and he’d do just fine after she left for New York.
Add to that the eyeball assaulting interior, her ridiculous candy-cane earrings, and another hideous sweater sporting pom-poms that were begging to be touched, and Grady’s mood was swinging around more wildly than a wind chime in a blizzard.

  How could he be so simultaneously annoyed and aroused?

  It made no sense. Particularly given he’d just had to tell his aunt that he and Suzanne weren’t a couple and definitely were not having a baby. Which had been awful. Sure, she’d taken it in stride and had understood how Suzanne’s little while lie had escalated, but Grady had still felt like pond scum that she’d had a period of false hope, no matter how brief. So how could he want this woman, who had brought this unholy mess down on his head, so much?

  How?

  He’d thought—hoped—he’d fucked her out of his system last night, but apparently not, if the pull in his groin was any indication. Which only made him madder.

  “I was at my uncle’s place.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” Grady nodded. “Oh.”

  She picked up her wine and took another slug before putting it down again. “I really am sorry, Grady. I don’t know what happened. Jenny said I looked tired; then she said I looked like she looked at the beginning of her pregnancy and I better watch out or I’ll be next, which everyone in the shop overheard and presumed, including your aunt and uncle, and it didn’t seem to matter how much I denied it. They all just nodded and smiled at me like I was trying to be coy.”

  “Maybe you just shouldn’t…go into town again?” Grady suggested. Lest they suddenly start expecting triplets.

  She gave a half laugh. “Maybe you’re right.” Folding her arms, she asked, “How did your aunt take the news?”

  “Fine,” Grady said dismissively. Because she had. She’d taken it like a trouper. Grady suspected that was because, deep down, Cora was a romantic, and despite him stressing it was all an act, she had that speculative little gleam in her eyes his uncle called her knowing look.

  “I hope you apologized for my behavior. God…” Suzanne wrung her hands in front of her. “Does she hate me?”