by W. J. May
Beth snorted under her breath, but Rae was undeterred.
“Gabriel, I’m serious.” She caught him by the arm, ending his perpetual bustle. “I really can’t believe you did all this.”
Another shrug, but beneath the casual nonchalance he looked pleased. “Let’s just get a move on, Kerrigan. These cakes aren’t going to bake themselves.”
She released him with an incredulous grin. “Cake? Gabriel Alden is baking a cake?”
The words didn’t make sense strung together in the same sentence.
“For Thanksgiving.” He nodded with determination. “Thanksgiving cake.”
Rae bit her lip, struggling to keep it together. “Pie, Gabriel. We have Thanksgiving pie.”
He faltered, glancing down at his recipe book.
At the stove, Beth also came to a sudden stop.
“Not cake?” he asked hopefully, as if she might be playing a joke. “This book is for cake…”
“We can have both,” Rae assured him, shaking the flour from her hair as a wide grin started stretching from ear to ear. “Start a new tradition of Thanksgiving cake.”
“What about treacle tart?” Beth asked nervously, glancing down at the pan she’d been mothering on the stove. “I figured every holiday has it, but maybe this one doesn’t…?”
Rae laughed aloud, feeling like the clouds were lifting for the first time. “Let me guess, you’ve also started on those Scottish sausages your mom always made for Christmas dinner?”
“Of course not.” Beth shot her a withering glare. “This is an American holiday.” But a second later, a heavy tray dumped not so discreetly into the trash.
Both she and Gabriel went back to work, hurrying to finish the breakfast waffles so they could get started on the rest of the meal. But Rae simply stood there, gazing between them with a rare feeling of warmth lighting up her eyes.
It’s going to be a family Thanksgiving after all. One way or another. For better or worse.
“Get dressed,” Beth instructed without turning around. “We need help in here.”
“And take off those ridiculous slippers,” Gabriel added. “They’re going to single-handedly ruin all my sexual fantasies about you.”
Rae paused in the doorway, doing everything she could to keep from laughing. Anyone else might have considered her mother a poor audience for such a comment, but as usual—when it came to the rules of propriety—Gabriel Alden considered himself somehow exempt.
Sorry,” he quipped when Beth caught his eye, looking not sorry at all. Then he pointed to the counter with a carefree smile. “Pass the salt?”
* * *
One by one the others stumbled into the kitchen, also greeted with the same scene as Rae had been. One by one they were babied with coffee, then set promptly to work.
This was done with varying levels of enthusiasm.
“Angel! Get your arse in here!” Gabriel shouted, slipping into that special ‘older brother’ tone he got whenever she was frustrating him. Lately, he’d been using it a lot.
She was perched on the windowsill, staring down with great concentration at a wad of crumpled construction paper in her hands. “Just a minute,” she yelled back, “I’ve almost got it…”
A second later she skipped into the kitchen, a makeshift chef’s hat perched proudly atop her head. It was a testament to how hard the rest of them were trying that no one said a single word about the catastrophic creation.
Beth simply handed her a bowl of potatoes and pointed to the sink.
Devon and Julian stumbled in about ten minutes after, walking stiffly and squinting painfully in the bright morning light. They took one look at the festive chaos going on in front of them before turning abruptly on their heels and heading for the stairs in silent retreat.
Beth stopped them.
“Looks like someone went on a little bender last night.” The sweetness in her tone was hilariously offset with the death-grip she placed on their shoulders as she steered them back into the room. “I trust it won’t interfere with your holiday spirit.”
She thrust a potato peeler into Devon’s hand, and a bowl of dough into Julian’s.
The former looked like he was considering using it as a weapon; the latter looked like he was considering using it to throw up into.
“Beth,” Devon muttered painfully, “this really isn’t the best—”
“What’s that?” she called loudly from just two feet away.
He winced against the noise, and forced a sickly smile onto his face. “I said…Happy Thanksgiving.”
Her face twisted up into a satisfied smirk. “That’s what I thought you said. Now what about you, Jules? All this holiday merriment getting in the way of your busy drinking schedule? Or do you think you can fit us in?”
The others buried their faces in their work, trying to hide their smiles and laughter.
Bless his heart, Julian tried to rally. “I’ve foreseen that this will all go a lot smoother if I’m upstairs in bed,” he proclaimed, trying to pass the bowl of dough to Devon at the same time.
“Is that right?” Beth’s eyes flashed dangerously beneath her smile. “Tell me, Julian, what else do you foresee?”
It was incredible how one tiny woman could humble two full-grown men.
Julian met her gaze for only a second. His eyes flickered white around the edges, but he seemed unwilling to actually witness whatever horrors she had in store. Instead, he flashed a pearly smile and edged carefully around the kitchen towards the coffee-maker. “I see myself…making this dough.”
“Atta boy.”
“Honey,” Rae glanced at Devon with a look of tender pity as Beth busied herself with the crackling stove, “you awake? How many fingers am I holding up?”
He was still standing exactly where Beth had left him, staring down at the potato peeler like he was trying to remember what it was for.
“Pardon?” He glanced up in a daze. “Fingers?”
Before he could say another word, Gabriel swooped in to the rescue.
“Here, mate, have some coffee.” He pressed a warm mug into Devon’s hands, pairing it with an equally warm smile.
Devon simply stared up at him, trying to focus through red-rimmed eyes. Then the steamed espresso wafted up into his face, and he caved without a fight. “…Thanks.”
Rae looked on in surprise, but Devon wasn’t the only one to find himself bathed in a sudden spirit of hospitality.
Whether it was because of his talk with Rae, the fact that it had been his little sister who had knifed a houseguest, or simply because Simon Kerrigan was gone—Gabriel seemed determined to single-handedly lift the spirits of the entire house.
The second he finished with Devon, he turned to Molly who had just wandered into the kitchen, bedecked in a fluffy pink bathrobe. “Hey! Just the gal I was hoping to see! I ran out last night and got you some more of that tea you like.” He grabbed a box from a paper bag on the counter, and pulled out a satchel of ginger. “With honey, right?”
Molly glanced automatically at Rae before cautiously returning his stare. “You ran out in the middle of the night to get me tea?”
He shrugged dismissively.
“There’s a store in London that’s open twenty-four hours.”
She blinked. “You drove all the way to—”
“Honey, right?” he interrupted.
She hesitated a moment before looking around with a dawning smile. “Okay…am I being pranked right now? Where are the cameras? Why’s there a new wall in the kitchen?”
“What?” he countered with a grin. “I can’t do something nice?”
Her face pulled up in sudden horror as her eyes grew wide as saucers. “Oh no… Gabriel, you’re not in love with me, are you?” She ignored the laughter coming from all corners of the room and lowered her voice patiently. “Because I’m not exactly available.”
“You’re pregnant, hon.” He pulled out a chair for her with a burst of sweet laughter. “You get to be doted on for the next
few months.”
Hon? Rae and Molly shared another incredulous look. Hon was in Gabriel’s repertoire?!
“I’d also like you to name the baby after me,” he added seriously.
There it was.
Molly took her first steaming sips, and instantly agreed. “Might as well. I figure we’ll all end up keeping our names in the family. After all, it’s kind of an unspoken assumption that Rae’s going to name her eventual baby after me.”
Beth lifted her eyebrows with a scarcely contained smile, but said nothing. Across the kitchen, Devon shook his head.
“We’re naming it after Jules. Girl or boy—doesn’t matter.”
Julian looked as though he expected no less.
“First and middle,” he insisted.
“So, what?” Rae laughed. “It would be Julian Julian Wardell?”
It might have been the onions, or actual tears misted his eyes.
“That sounds beautiful…” Julian let the last word come out with a soothing sigh.
“No, it doesn’t—that’s bullsh—crap!” Molly cried, slamming her mug on the table. “Everyone knows Rae and I are naming our kids after each other.”
Rae swung her head to glance back at Molly. This was news to her.
Molly clearly wasn’t finished. “Or, come to think of it, I could always name it after myself…” Her gaze drifted as she suddenly considered the possibility.
Luke chuckled and gently reined her in. “If it turns out to be a boy I don’t think our son—Molly—would really appreciate it.”
Her eyes narrowed as they fixed upon Julian. “Well we wouldn’t even have to guess if that one would just tell me already.” Julian promptly busied himself with a can opener, but she refused to let it go. “Seriously, Jules, keep this up and Kraigan’s not going to be the only one in this house who tries to stab you.”
The kitchen fell dead quiet.
“What?” She looked around, drawing a blank. “Too soon?”
“The love of my life, ladies and gentlemen,” Luke muttered. “The mother of my child.”
“And just the person I’ve come here to see.”
The gang whirled around at the same time as Luke’s father swept into the room. Rae froze with her hands dripping cranberry sauce as he made a beeline not for his son, but for Molly.
“Hi, Mr. Fodder!” she exclaimed as they embraced. He gave her a look, and with a little effort she corrected herself. “Anthony, sorry. I keep forgetting.”
“My dear, you’re looking more radiant with each passing day.” He looked her up and down with fond affection. “How’re you feeling? That queasiness go away?”
With no further prompting, the two of them got into a lengthy discussion about the merits of ginger tea. Rae and the others watched in amused silence.
At first glance, you couldn’t find two more different people in the world than Molly and the Knights’ Commander. One was strict, crisp, efficient. Almost Draconian in the stern practicality of his reign. Molly was all whimsy. Bouncing red hair, shimmering, over-expensive fabrics, and a penchant for shooting random bits of lightning from her hands. She was a doll, all grown up and pregnant with her own. He was the man who would never be caught dead buying one.
And yet…the two had become adorably smitten. He provided the paternal structure she so badly needed and secretly craved. She was the little princess he’d never gotten with his two sons.
“…and so I had to dump the whole thing out,” she was busy explaining. “Everyone knows you can’t eat honey bottled in the Western Hemisphere…”
Rae bit back a smile and shook her head.
Molly had, predictably, taken to all the attention like a fish to water. But there was something sincere beneath the affection as well. Something that went beyond the usual charm.
This man was going to be in her life for a long, long time. Especially in the last few weeks, after losing people who were also supposed to be permanent, she seemed to recognize how precious the importance of such a thing.
“And I see the rest of you are keeping busy.”
The Commander finally surfaced from the conversation long enough to glance about the haphazard room. Six pairs of eyes stared guiltily back at him, still frozen in whatever they’d been doing when he walked into the room. The last time they’d seen this man had been in their own, hellish interrogations about Simon Kerrigan. It was an encounter they’d all like to forget.
The silence was broken only when Kraigan—who hadn’t been seen since his attempted stabbing the day before—sauntered carelessly into the room. “Oh, good morning, Anthony.”
The man shot him a look as well. Very different from the one he’d given Molly.
“Mr. Fodder,” Kraigan amended. The look intensified and he rolled his eyes. “Fine. Commander Fodder. Is that better for you?”
“Quite,” the Commander replied stiffly.
Kraigan ignored him and wandered through the kitchen, taking stock of the various culinary exploits as he went. “I see Thanksgiving is back on then? Morning, sis.” He cast quick glance at Angel before adding, “Good morning, Julian.”
Angel rolled her eyes and returned to pounding a piece of steak with a hammer. A task which had little to do with the holiday meal, but Rae figured it fit both her patience for cooking and her expertise to a ‘T’.
Beth stepped in and handed Kraigan a bowl.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
Beth looked at him and shrugged. “Mix it.” Then she turned back to her station on the counter.
Kraigan grabbed a chair and sat at the table with the wooden spoon in one hand. He sniffed. “What is it?” When no one answered, he shrugged and started mixing.
As the others returned slowly to their tasks and conversation resumed, Mr. Fodder wound his way through the mayhem to where Rae was stationed at the berries. She panicked when she saw him coming, hands still dripping crimson drops into an ominous-looking bowl.
“I’m just doing the cranberries,” she said preemptively. “Nothing sinister.”
Fodder stared at her for a moment before chuckling softly under his breath. “Understood. I was actually just coming over to see if you might have a word with me outside.”
Rae wiped her hands on her apron and nodded, following him nervously into the living room. They both spotted the bloody knife at the same time. It was a testament to how strange things had become, that no one had even bothered to pick it up.
His mouth opened when he saw it, but a second later he seemed to think better of it and turned to her instead. “Rae, I wanted to…apologize for the way things unfolded yesterday.”
Apologize? Did I possibly hear that right?
Her lips parted in surprise, and she automatically shook her head. “No. You apologize? I should be the one saying I’m sorry. Which I am, by the way. Truly. I should have told you about my da—Simon from the very beginning. The whole thing just caught me so off-guard, that I—”
“Please, Rae.” He held up his hand for silence. “You’ve said you’re sorry enough. Let it be my turn.” He paused for a moment, looking her up and down in a way that reminded her strangely of Carter. “I forget, sometimes, your age. I address you only in terms of the presidency. But in truth, you’re a young girl who just found out that her father is alive. In a moment of life or death adrenaline, you decided not to kill him. How can I fault you for that, when I could only hope that my own sons would do the same for me?”
Rae bowed her head to her chest, profoundly grateful for the enlightened point of view. But no matter which way you looked at it, the fact still remained… “I wish that mattered, but we both know it doesn’t.” Her voice was abruptly grim. “You can’t judge me by my age; I’m the president either way. I need to be judged by that, and that alone.”
“And the fact that you are the president renders that judgment all by itself,” Fodder said firmly. Rae looked at him curiously, and he continued. “Rae, I know you never wanted the job. I see the way your eyes
glass over at every meeting, bored out of your mind. You never dreamt of being an administrator, let alone the administrator in charge. It’s no crime not to want it.”
Rae fell momentarily quiet. For the record, she thought she’d done a magnificent job at pretending to appear interested during all the Council meetings. But she hardly felt like that was the point he was trying to get at.
“But you took the job anyway,” he continued passionately. “In your people’s time of need you answered the call, disregarding whatever personal cost that may have implied.”
The sound of quiet laughter echoed out from the kitchen, and for a moment the two of them simply listened. Then Fodder looked down at her with a strangely paternal smile.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m proud of you, Rae.”
He left before she started to tear up.
Returning to the kitchen before those tears could fall for anyone to see.
* * *
A little over three hours later, the feast was ready.
They’d had to forgo an actual turkey. Although it was the staple of the meal it didn’t lend itself well to last-minute preparation, and the household was too hungry to wait. At any rate, they had plenty of dishes without it.
They’d gone all out.
Casseroles and potatoes. Vegetables and fruit platters. Rolls and biscuits. Berries and yams. Pudding and pastries. There was the very special addition of the one ‘Thanksgiving Cake’ that had survived its trip to the oven. Fodder had even brought another pie.
By the time everyone sat down, their shared time working away in the kitchen had soothed the edges of their frazzled nerves. Kraigan had discreetly moved his place-setting as far away from Angel’s as possible, so the lines of peace were maintained. Fodder and Luke had embraced, long and silent, and then sat side by side at the table. Rae wedged herself squarely in between Devon and her mother, flashing a twinkling smile at Gabriel sitting directly across.
“You set a place for Dad?” Kraigan murmured to her, glancing at the empty seat at the head of the table.
Rae followed his gaze with a sad smile. “I set a place for Carter.”
