Breakfast With Santa

by Pamela Browning

  There was another pause, and then he said, “Here, I’ll let you say goodbye to Mitchell.”

  Mitchell came back on the line. “Their milk is bad, Mommy. It tastes like a cow smells.”

  Beth almost laughed. The day-care center had taken the kids on a field trip to a dairy farm recently. “I told your dad that you like chocolate in your milk. You be a good boy, and I’ll talk to you again soon, okay?”

  “Okay. We’re going to a movie tomorrow. Did I tell you that?”

  “No,” she said, missing him even more now that she’d been reminded of all the clever, funny things that Mitchell would say.

  “I’ve got to go now. Ava’s going to bed, and I want to help tuck her in.”

  “I wish I could tuck you in, too, sweet boy,” she said past the lump in her throat.

  “So do I. ’Bye, Mom. I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” Beth whispered, and then Mitchell was gone.

  Chapter Five

  She barely realized that Tom had walked over and was standing in front of her.

  “It’s tough, huh?” he said, and when she looked up, she saw compassion radiating from his eyes.

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, only to nod.

  He stood watching her for a moment. “Well,” he said slowly, “how about explaining this heart collection of yours before we go? I guess hearts mean something special to you, right?”

  “I just like them,” she said, settling on the simplest explanation. There was more, of course, that prompted her fixation on this symbol of love—her parents abandoning her, never to be seen again, when she was Mitchell’s age; the lack of caring and attention in her grandmother’s house; the struggle to get along on her own after Josephine denied any responsibility for supporting Beth once she turned eighteen. It was silly, she knew, but adding yet another heart to her collection in difficult times had often reminded her that somewhere in the world, love existed, and that she would find it someday. Collecting hearts was a matter of faith with her, an assurance that things would eventually get better.

  Well, they hadn’t, not really. But she had Mitchell now, and her love for him was all-encompassing, sustaining her through every difficulty that life threw in her path and making her optimistic about the future.

  She wouldn’t elaborate on that now. Tom was waiting for her, and she made herself say, “We’d better go.”

  They walked down the driveway to where he’d parked his blue Dodge pickup, which he explained would be useful for his new job and also for the rodeoing that he intended to do in his spare time.

  “I’ll be hauling around horse tack and trailers,” he told her after he slid behind the wheel, “as well as a bunch of kids.”

  All she knew about Divver Holcomb’s ranch was that the place had belonged to Divver’s family for generations. Though most of the Holcomb spread had been sold to the developer of Hillsdale, Divver had recently opened a rodeo school on the homestead portion of the ranch, where he taught bronco and bull riding.

  “How did you get interested in teaching skills to at-risk kids?”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “After I got back from duty in the Gulf War, I became a drill sergeant at Parris Island, South Carolina, the marine corps training school for recruits. I guess you could say that I met a few guys there who made me think about why kids don’t live up to their potential in life. I took college courses on the base and eventually earned my BA in education, did my practice teaching in a middle school with lots of problem teens. I figured out before long that there were parallels between marine recruits who washed out and the problem kids I taught.”

  Beth was grateful for a subject that required little more of her than listening. She studied Tom’s expression in the lights from the dash. “Parallels?”

  “The washouts would have been good marines if someone had provided structure and discipline early on. They had the desire to be marines. They were physically fit and highly intelligent. Those middle-school kids had many of the same traits. I concluded that the thing that made recruits succeed and kept middle-school kids out of trouble was someone caring enough to impose restrictions early on.”

  “Is that the problem with the at-risk kids who’ll be coming to the ranch?”

  “Could be. After Divver talked to me about the youngsters he wants to help, kids who haven’t been turned on by anything or anyone at school or at home, I knew I could make a difference in their lives. If the ATTAIN program gets to them early enough, provides the structure and self-esteem they need, they’ll pull themselves together.”

  “What did you call it—ATTAIN?” she asked, intrigued by the fervor in his voice.

  “It’s an acronym for Attention To Teens Assessed In Need. The county school board is working with us, and Divver and I have been meeting with experts in education who are helping shape our program. We’ll have twelve youngsters from around the state at first, starting after the semester break in January. They’ll attend Farish High and room with local families. A van will pick the kids up at the high school and deliver them to the ranch for a half-day of work with Divver and me.”

  Leanne, when she had mentioned her brother Tom’s move back to Farish, hadn’t sketched in these details. Basically, all Beth had heard about Tom Collyer before she met him was that he had been upwardly mobile on the rodeo circuit fifteen years ago. Now she felt herself drawn to him in some inexplicable way. Most men she’d met since her divorce were interested mostly in themselves, their cars and sports, in that order. Tom had a passion for helping kids, and the idealism reflected in his eyes made her want to know more about him.

  They had slowed in front of his house. Leanne’s husband, Eddie, waved genially from a car parked nearby as they got out of the truck. In the house, Leanne, who was rearranging the refrigerator to accommodate another six-pack, straightened as they came in the door.

  “Thank goodness! Eddie’s ready to leave, and I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you two.” Tom, after aiming an encouraging smile in Beth’s direction, disappeared through the swinging door into a dining room filled wall-to-wall with people.

  Leanne, clearly frazzled, wasted no time in giving her instructions. “I’ve stored the unbaked cheese puffs on the bottom shelf of the fridge, and you’ll need to place them a couple of inches apart on the cookie sheets. Watch to make sure that they brown evenly, and set them out on the counter as each batch is done. Tom will pass them around. Everyone’s so busy having fun that no one will notice you.”

  For the first time, Leanne focused on Beth. “What in the world have you done to your nose? It’s a lovely shade of cerise.”

  “Cried a lot,” Beth said truthfully.

  “Bad idea. You need other interests, Beth.”

  “Leanne, didn’t I join the Homemakers’ Club? Don’t I show up for church most of the time?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  When Beth opened her mouth to protest, Leanne patted her shoulder comfortingly. “I hope you feel better soon, but now I’ve got to run. Lord, I hope all my kids won’t be sick with this flu for Christmas. Thanks, Beth,” she said, and she was out the door.

  Beth closed her mouth again and studied the current batch of cheese puffs through the glass oven door before parking herself on a stool. On the other side of the kitchen door, she heard her friend Chloe Timberlake talking loudly over music blaring from a stereo, and two other people were arguing about the probable outcome of the Superbowl. When she peeked through the window in the kitchen door, she spied a table full of food and Tom Collyer backed into a corner beside a huge Christmas tree by two equally voluptuous single women, Muffy Ledbetter and Teresa Boggs. Both wore too much makeup, too much jewelry, and both talked too loudly and too fast.

  Well, Beth thought as she retreated to her stool in front of the oven, Tom Collyer wouldn’t have to worry about meeting women after this party. Thanks to Muffy, who had recently started writing a column called “Here ’n’ There in Farish” for the local newspape
r, word would soon reach all eligible females in Farish that the new guy in town was handsome and personable and in the mood for female companionship.

  Beth was heaving a giant sigh when Tom himself marched through the kitchen door bearing a full wineglass.

  “I brought you a drink. Or would you care for something stronger?” His smile was disarming, his eyes warm and interested.

  She accepted the glass. “This is fine,” she said, hesitating briefly before she took a sip. The wine was nice—not too dry, not too sweet.

  Tom wrinkled his nose. “Are you sure those things aren’t burning?” he asked.

  Beth slid off the stool and yanked the oven door open. “Hand me that pot holder, will you?”

  He slapped it into her hand, and she removed the cookie sheet from the oven. “Leanne said you’d serve these,” she told him as she deftly slid cheese puffs onto a platter.

  “Leanne makes a lot of assumptions, but I guess that’s no news to you.” Tom’s eyes sparkled in wry amusement as she thrust the platter at him.

  “Hardly, but we don’t mind, do we? Much,” she added grudgingly as she managed a reluctant smile.

  He moved toward the door, then turned back toward her. “Hey, can’t I lure you into the living room?”

  “I promised Leanne I’d take care of these.” She averted her eyes from his hopeful face as she transferred the next batch of cheese puffs into the oven.

  “There’s no need for you to hide in the kitchen like Cinderella,” he said. “Anyway, Leanne told me to cheer you up.”

  “You’d better get those canapés to your guests before they get cold,” she pointed out.

  “At least she had a handsome prince,” Tom replied enigmatically with a jaunty lift of his eyebrows.

  Beth stared after him. Handsome prince, Beth was thinking. I had the handsome prince. Also the house in what could pass for suburbs in Farish. But the glass slipper was the wrong size. And it had shattered to pieces along with all her hopes and dreams for the future, which before her divorce had run along the lines of more kids, an even bigger house and a dog.

  Someone plunged through the door from the dining room, her stiletto heels wobbling as she walked. “Da-yumn,” said Muffy Ledbetter, grappling with her dress behind her back. Muffy made two syllables out of one even when she was cursing.

  “Hi, Muffy,” Beth said. “Is something wrong?”

  “The zipper on this dress is busted. I expect I’ll have to go home, and just when that scrumptious Tom Collyer was asking me about my best bull.” Muffy, whose father was a prominent rancher in Bigbee County, was into breeding cattle. But if her low-cut come-hither dress was any indication, she’d like to try out a few breeding techniques herself.

  Beth, having been a city girl until she moved to Farish, didn’t know much about cattle, but she’d grown proficient at repairs of all kinds since Richie’s exit from her life. “Want me to try my luck with that zipper?” she offered.

  “Sure ’nuf,” Muffy said. She presented her back to Beth, who expertly realigned the two sets of zipper teeth. One tug and it was magically rejoined.

  “Gosh, Beth, you’re a whiz. Say, why don’t you want to come to the party for a while?”

  Beth waved at the oven. “Can’t. Promised Leanne I’d tend to the cheese puffs.”

  “Everyone’s taking tours of this house. Four bedrooms upstairs, and two baths. It’ll be awesome when Tom finishes fixing it up.”

  “Mmm,” Beth said.

  “Well, if you’re not going to join us, I’ll get back to the others. Though why I need competition as drop-dead gorgeous as you, I’m not sure. Tom’s probably crazy about blondes.” Muffy was a redhead herself, though she freely admitted that her hair color was derived from a bottle.

  “Has Beth mentioned that she and I have already met?” Tom inquired as he breezed into the kitchen. He leaned over and plucked the cheese puffs from the oven. “Falling down on the job, Beth? These were ready.”

  “I was going to take them out,” she said with dignity. She picked up her wineglass, took a sip.

  Tom seemed unconvinced as he arranged the delicacies on their platter, still favoring his bandaged wrist. “Muffy, how about passing these around?” he suggested.

  Muffy looked askance, clearly confused by Tom’s air of familiarity with Beth. “Well,” she said halfheartedly, “sure I will. Anything to help. Thanks, Beth, for fixing my zipper.” She disappeared through the swinging door with a swish.

  Tom raised his eyebrows, which gave him a roguish expression. She wished he weren’t so attractive. “What was that about a zipper?”

  “On her dress. It broke, and I repaired it.” In this light his eyes looked silver.

  “What’s making you nervous? Is it me?”

  “I’m not nervous,” she said as she spilled her wine down the front of her blouse. Hand still trembling, she went to the sink and blotted water on the stain with a paper towel.

  Tom hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and leaned toward Beth as she turned back toward him. “Say, Cinderella, this won’t do at all. Want some eyedrops? There’s a new bottle in the bathroom medicine cabinet.”

  She smiled wanly. “I’m coming across as a real nutcase, aren’t I?”

  He moved away, studied her. “You give the impression of a mother who loves her son very much,” he said quietly.

  Tears stung her eyelids; she couldn’t help it.

  “Hey, no crying allowed in my kitchen,” Tom said, tipping a finger under Beth’s chin and tilting her face upward.

  “Seems like you’re always having waterworks problems in here,” she said, attempting a smile and gesturing toward the now-operational faucet.

  “I suspect you need a hug,” he said.

  She blinked the tears back and leaned away from him, struggling to get down from the stool. He rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “Do you mind?” he said gently.

  She liked the weight of his hands and their warmth through the fabric of her blouse. “I should put those other jalapeño whatchacallits in the oven,” she whispered, inhaling a heady whiff of his aftershave.

  “Hang the whatchacallits,” he said with feeling.

  “My blouse is all wet,” she said. But he paid no attention. Instead, he enfolded her in his embrace and pulled her so close that she heard his heart beating slowly and steadily beneath his sweater.

  They stood like that for a time, with Beth drawing strength from the warmth of his body and the gentle pressure of his arms around her.

  The door opened abruptly. “Beth—” Muffy Ledbetter halted in her tracks and stared at them in consternation. “Well, da-yumn,” she said. “What’s going on in here?”

  Chapter Six

  Beth bit her lip, whether in chagrin or stifled laughter over Muffy’s perplexed expression she wasn’t sure.

  Tom handled the situation more coolly. “I was merely giving Beth a hug,” he explained, as if this were an activity he practiced regularly. After releasing her, he sauntered to the sink and casually ran water into a glass.

  “Oh,” Muffy said. “Does everyone get one?” Coyness was built into Muffy like her big bosom and impossibly narrow hips.

  “Sure,” Tom said easily, his eyes twinkling over the top of his water glass. “We’re passing them out as party favors.”

  Beth made a show of opening and closing the oven door. “In fact,” Tom went on, “Beth is helping me. Come on, Beth, let’s give everyone their hugs.” He grabbed her hand and started out of the kitchen, calling back to the still-perplexed Muffy, “Watch the cheese puffs, Muffy, will you please?”

  He propelled Beth into the dining room. “Here’s Beth, folks. She’s been hiding out in the kitchen.”

  “Beth! No one told us you were here!” called Gretchen from the back of the room.

  “The thing is,” Tom said with a grin, “we’ve decided to make hugs our party favors tonight. Here’s one for you, Chloe. Merry Christmas.” And he enveloped her in a bearlike e
mbrace. Chloe, never one to lack spirit, turned to hug Divver and his wife, Patty, and then Gretchen hugged Divver and Beth. They were a convivial group, and soon everyone was hugging everyone else, good-humored greetings reverberating throughout the room.

  That sort of friendliness might have seemed out of place anywhere else but in Farish, which was the kind of town where you ran into your neighbors at the supermarket and invited them to dinner the same night and where most people had grown up together, as had their parents and grandparents. Beth had to admit that after she stopped being self-conscious over her wet blouse, she liked being hugged. Since her divorce, she had been suffering from sensory deprivation, she realized.

  “Beth, where have you been lately?” Chloe asked as she perched on a chair arm across from where Beth stood by the window.

  Beth realized she still held a pot holder in one fist, and stuffed it in her pocket. “Driving the day-care carpool. Conferring with clients. How about you?”

  “Caring for my grandmother. Toilet training my cat.”

  “Does it work for cats?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. I suspect it’s easier with kids.”

  Beth smiled at her friend, who was wearing a vintage yellow sweater-dress with shiny over-the-knee boots. Multicolored Christmas-tree lights reflected off her dangling silver earrings, which she’d probably made herself. Chloe had recently streaked her rebellious hair with magenta and done something spiky with her bangs.

  “I didn’t have any trouble with Mitchell’s toilet training, but he wasn’t accustomed to kitty litter,” Beth told her, and Chloe laughed.

  “Beth, I’ve missed you. It’s been a long time since we got together.”

  Beth thought for a moment. “There’s an estate sale near Kettersburg tomorrow. Want to drive over there with me?”

  “Grandma’s talking about closing the store. There’s no point in going to the sale, since we’re not buying now.”