Jeremiah looked at them now, their earnest expressions, their pent-up frustration. Letting out a long breath, he leaned back in his chair. “If it means that much to you, fine. Go talk to the person in charge of the program, this—” he glanced down at the flyer “—this Dr. Crane. See if the university would even be interested in putting a student in our guest cottage. We’ll look into it, and see if we can help out in one way or another.”
“He’s gonna try to weasel out,” Benjamin told his brother. “That’s how he talks when he’s leaving loopholes.”
“Don’t worry,” Daniel said. He set the bowl of popcorn back in his father’s lap. “We’ll win this one.”
As they sauntered out of the room, Jeremiah crossed his legs, turned back to the game and dipped his hand into the popcorn. His sons successfully outmaneuvered him now and then. But only when he chose to hand them the victory flag.
Jeremiah pulled his BMW into its space in the garage and let his head drop back against the headrest. A long night of work lay ahead of him, and both boys’ cars were home. That meant the basement would probably be full. And loud. Teenagers would be running up and down the stairs, baking pizzas, letting friends into the house, playing music and video games at loud volume. It was a school night, but so close to the Thanksgiving break that the teachers had all but given up assigning homework.
Lifting his briefcase from the car floor, he thought of the board meeting the following morning. Ever since the firm’s clash with historic preservationists a couple of years back, everyone was spooked. Nowadays, when an old building was scheduled for demolition, the board went through the paperwork with a fine-tooth comb.
In this project, Jeremiah was working with a developer to convert a defunct shoe factory in downtown St. Louis into loft apartments. A high-class project with excellent funding, it promised to enhance the city’s riverfront. The firm had worked hard on the design, and Jeremiah had spearheaded the effort to keep as much of the building’s original features intact as possible. But with the board arriving in the morning, he was probably going to be up most of the night preparing to defend his plan.
“Yo, Dad!” Daniel bounced a basketball around the corner of the garage. “You’re here!”
That ought to be fairly obvious, Jeremiah thought as he stepped out of the garage. Didn’t his older son have a late class on Tuesday afternoons?
“He’s home, Ben!” Daniel called. “Over here!”
Benjamin danced into the open. “Hey, Dad. Wanna shoot some hoops with us?”
As he looked at his sons, the tension in Jeremiah’s shoulders eased. Dressed in gray sweatpants and T-shirts, they were a picture of health and wholesomeness. These were two good kids. Sure, Benjamin had spent a little time in the principal’s office in grade school for acting up. And Daniel had made some unwise choices, including a girlfriend a few years before. Neither boy was perfect by a long shot. But they were turning out all right. He couldn’t be prouder.
“I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning,” he told them. “That St. Louis shoe factory deal is on the table.”
“Aw, just half an hour,” Benjamin pleaded. “C’mon, Dad!”
“Yeah, Dad.”
Daniel tossed the ball to his father. Jeremiah caught it with one hand and dribbled for a moment before rifling it back to his son. Dropping his briefcase on the driveway, he shrugged out of his suit coat, rolled up the sleeves of his starched white shirt, loosened his tie and headed for the basketball hoop. Still wearing his tasseled loafers, he would probably fall and crack his tailbone, but so what?
“This way, Daniel,” he called.
The older boy threw him the ball, and the three of them went at it, just as they always had. Father and sons, orange hoop on the side of the garage, air echoing with the sound of the ball hitting the pavement and the players grunting. Despite the November chill, they were sweating in no time flat. Daniel spotted an opening and put up a shot.
“Nothin’ but net!” he crowed, pumping a fist.
“Look out, Dad.” Benjamin scooped up the loose ball and dribbled away from the hoop.
Jeremiah went for a steal. With a quick move, he swatted Benjamin’s dribble and turned it into his own. Then, in two long strides, Jeremiah slam-dunked the ball through the hoop just as a blue compact turned into the driveway.
Lara stared in amazement as the man in business clothes went airborne, stuffed a basketball into the net and landed hard on the pavement. Ballpoint pens flew from his shirt pocket. A cell phone leaped out of its holster on his belt and skidded across the court. His leather-soled shoes came down with a crack, and he nearly lost his footing. But he stayed upright, high-fiving one teenager and swatting another on the back.
This boyish, handsome man could not be Jeremiah Maddox. After his son had left her office, Lara ran an Internet search on the architect. Divorced, wealthy, a talented designer, he had drawn the ire of every historical preservationist in the region by tearing down old buildings and erecting new structures in their place. She pictured Maddox as elderly, rigid and as sour as an old lemon, and she had fully expected to dislike him. But this man’s broad grin and playfulness—despite the ridiculous business getup—softened her heart.
Bringing her car to a stop in front of the massive stone home, Lara studied the gray facade, soaring slate roof, bank of multipaned windows and heavy oak door. With instinct born of experience, she instantly translated the cost of building such a structure into cauldrons of bubbling maize meal—enough to feed countless starving babies. Or fund vaccinations. Print AIDS education pamphlets. Build orphanages. Lara had spent only two years in the Third World, but the experience had forever changed her.
The man in the white shirt stooped to pick up his cell phone as she stepped out of her car. As she walked down the driveway toward the three ballplayers, she focused on the one face she recognized. “Daniel?”
“Hey, Dr. Crane!” Spotting her, he grinned. “This is my brother, Benjamin. And here’s my dad, Jeremiah Maddox.”
A little stunned at the disclosure that she had been so off the mark about him, Lara turned her attention to the father. “Mr. Maddox, pleased to meet you. I’m Lara Crane, director of the International Student program at Reynolds University.” She held out her hand.
Dark brown hair scattered like blown hay across his forehead, sweat dripping from his chin, breath coming in heavy puffs, Jeremiah Maddox stared at their visitor. Blue eyes glittered like ice as he looked her quickly up and down, zeroed in on her lips for a moment, and then jerked his focus back to her eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at his son, and the skin between his brows furrowed.
“Daniel didn’t tell me we were having company,” he said. He gave Lara’s hand a perfunctory shake, squeezing a little too hard, she thought.
“You told me to talk to Dr. Crane,” the younger man said. “So I did. She’s here to look at the guest cottage.”
“Yeah, Dad.” Benjamin gave the basketball in his hands a bounce. “We asked you the other day, remember? You said it would be okay.”
“I said I would consider it.”
A muscle flickered in Jeremiah’s jaw, and Lara realized this whole event had caught him by surprise. Clearly his sons wanted a student to move into the extra house on the property. But why? And how could she make sure the experience was successful for all concerned? Not every American family blended well with an international student. Lara had run into explosive situations, and she didn’t want to risk a mistake.
Jeremiah Maddox, with his starched shirt and cell phone holster, gave the impression of someone caught up in the pursuit of money and success. Someone who might not adapt well to a challenging living situation. He was a controller. She saw that right off the bat. And being caught off guard by his sons was not making him happy.
Tempted to head straight back to her car, she studied Daniel and Benjamin Maddox. Though they shared their father’s square jaw, dark good looks and piercing blue eyes, both boys were softer somehow. Needy? Vulnerabl
e? Something inside Lara wanted to reach out to them.
“Perhaps I should explain the situation,” she told their father. “Reynolds University lacks enough housing to meet the demand. Even this late in the semester, some of our international students are living in motels or in seriously inadequate apartments.”
“Why aren’t they in dorms?” Jeremiah asked.
“Most are older than the traditional dormitory resident. Also, our international scholars tend to be extremely focused on their studies. They hold down part-time employment, and they need their sleep…more sleep than dorm life generally offers. I’m sure you know teenagers tend to keep late hours.” She gave Jeremiah a smile, but he didn’t return it.
Continuing the spiel she usually gave to prospective hosts, Lara realized that what little goodwill she had felt toward this basketball-playing father was quickly vanishing. “The university provides the International House for socialization experiences,” she told him. “Most of the students in our program live in off-campus housing.”
“I went by the I-House, Dad,” Daniel spoke up. “It’s great. They’ve got art on the walls from all over the world. They have a tutoring program to help the international students with their classes, because English is a barrier for a lot of them. Some of the I-students will teach classes in their language. Did you know that in Congo the people speak French?”
“That’s great, Daniel, but listen, I have an important meeting tomorrow.” Jeremiah’s expression went from warm to positively chilly as he turned from his son to Lara. “Maybe you could call me sometime next week to discuss this matter, Dr. Crane. I have a lot of work I need to do tonight, and I’m pretty much tied up the rest of the week.”
“We’ll show her the guest cottage,” Benjamin volunteered. “It’s got a lot of room.”
“More than you’d think from the front,” Daniel added. “Dad designed it that way.”
“Sounds wonderful. I’d love to see it.” Lara focused on the two young men. “This won’t take but a few minutes, Mr. Maddox. I need to know what you’d like to charge for rent. We have a standard agreement form.”
“Now just a minute—”
“Come on, Dad.” Daniel’s brow furrowed exactly the way his father’s had. “We have an extra house, and it’s empty.”
“We can’t say no,” Benjamin chimed in.
“You’re a couple of con artists,” Jeremiah muttered. “All right. I’ve got the keys. Follow me, Dr. Crane.”
“One second.” Lara gestured toward her car. “I’d appreciate it if Peter Muraya could see the place, too. Peter and his family.”
“His what?”
The slender Kenyan stepped out of the car and beamed at Jeremiah Maddox. “Good evening, sir,” he said as he helped a lovely young woman from the backseat. “May I present to you my wife, Tabitha Muraya?”
“Good evening, sir.” Tabitha gave a shy smile as she leaned into the car and helped a skinny little boy clamber out. In a moment, Peter took the shoulders of the boy and planted him in front of Jeremiah.
“This is my son Wisdom who has seven years of age,” he said proudly. Then he placed a second child beside the first. “My son Justice is five years old.”
Tabitha Muraya emerged one last time with a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. She drew aside the corner of the knitted blue cover to expose a round face with cheeks like warm chocolate muffins, a pair of bright brown eyes, and a wide toothless grin.
“And this,” Peter Muraya said, “is Tobias.”
Chapter Two
Five. Jeremiah counted them. One, two, three, four, five. Five people on his driveway looking at him with expectant faces, shining eyes, eager smiles—as though he were Santa Claus.
“Oh, and they do have a dog,” Lara Crane said. “Wisdom and Justice found it in a garbage bin and brought it home. It’s just a puppy.”
A dog. Jeremiah rubbed his temples. Suddenly he felt like a two-ton weight had dropped on his shoulders. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his sons. They wore the exact same expression as the Muraya family.
Please, Dad, please. He could almost hear them pleading. It was like the time they just had to have a toy Millennium Falcon from the Star Wars collection. Or a trip to Six Flags amusement park. Or a basketball goal mounted on the side of the garage. The desire for any number of things had made his sons act as if their lives depended on getting whatever it was.
But this was no toy or vacation trip. These were human beings. Five of them. And a dog.
He looked at Lara Crane. This was her fault. She had somehow coerced Daniel. Jeremiah’s son—always a sucker for an appeal from a pretty woman—would give away his last dollar if he thought it might help a lady in need. Tall, attractive, with a mop of shoulder-length strawberry blonde curls, the program director looked too young to have an advanced degree. Probably only in her midthirties, the woman would have no realistic idea what she was asking of him. No doubt she had come into her position all starry-eyed and full of goodwill. She probably expected people to fall all over themselves with joy over the privilege of housing her international students.
“I can’t have a dog on the property,” Jeremiah told her. “My landscaping was just redone this summer—”
“With a new fence around the pool and another one around the backyard,” Benjamin spoke up. “It would be cool to have a dog.”
“We’ve always wanted a dog,” Daniel said. The light of pleading in his blue eyes was growing stronger by the minute. “Dad, I didn’t realize there was a whole family when I brought it up to Dr. Crane. But why not?”
“The cottage only has two bedrooms, for one thing.”
“The Murayas have been living in a single motel room for three months.” Lara Crane was insidiously leading Jeremiah’s sons toward the family. “Two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom will feel like a mansion. I’m sure they’ll take good care of your property, Mr. Maddox.”
Jeremiah couldn’t help but follow the group, tagging along behind, hoping he could somehow put a stop to the inevitable meeting. And then it was too late. Benjamin knelt and shook hands with the two little boys. Daniel lifted the baby out of his mother’s arms. Peter Muraya laughed with delight as his sons began to cavort happily around the group. Tabitha covered her mouth with her hand and giggled.
“Dad, look at this baby!” Daniel said, swinging toward his lagging father. “He’s a chunk.”
“Here, give me the cottage keys!” Benjamin swiped the ring from Jeremiah’s hand and beckoned. “Come on, everyone. It’s right back here. You’ll love it. There’s room for everyone, and more!”
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “Here, Dad. Take this little guy.”
Before Jeremiah could protest, Daniel lifted Tobias Muraya into his arms. The warm, slightly damp and unexpectedly heavy bundle emitted the fragrance of talcum powder and baby oil. With Jeremiah’s sons holding the hands of Wisdom and Justice, the young African couple hurried off down the driveway and around the garage.
“The Murayas are from Kenya,” Lara Crane said, pausing long enough for the others to go on ahead.
Jeremiah tried to think where Kenya was situated on the continent of Africa. Then he realized he didn’t care. “I appreciate your work,” he told the woman, “but I really can’t have a whole family living in the guest cottage.”
“Peter Muraya is pursuing his doctorate in civil engineering. He hopes to return to Kenya and help rebuild its sagging infrastructure.”
“That’s great, but five people…” Jeremiah looked down at the blue bundle in his arms. Solemn brown eyes in a small round face stared up at him. Eyes like chocolate bonbons shone, encircled by long, curling black lashes.
I’m holding a baby, Jeremiah thought. I haven’t done this for eighteen years. I don’t hold babies. I’m an architect. I design buildings.
“Tabitha is a great mother.” Lara Crane’s voice broke into his reverie. “She and Peter spent several years apart while he studied for his graduate degree. She practically
raised Wisdom and Justice by herself. Then the family was able to be reunited, and nine months later, along came Tobias. He’s been a great blessing to all the Murayas.”
As if on cue, the baby’s face suddenly broke into a broad grin. That was when Jeremiah saw it. A tooth. One tiny white tooth barely poked through the gum on Tobias’s lower jaw. Instinctively, Jeremiah placed his index finger on the tooth…and sure enough. There it was. The baby’s first tooth. Tobias let out a gurgle and clamped down.
“Ow!” Jerking away his finger, Jeremiah looked up sheepishly at Lara Crane.
“They do bite,” she said.
“I’d forgotten. It’s been a long time.”
“Kids grow up fast. Your sons are great, by the way. I was very impressed with Daniel when he visited my office the other day. I think Wisdom and Justice will enjoy being around older boys. I’m sure it will be a positive influence—both ways.”
Jeremiah regarded Lara. He now saw that she had green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Evidently, she had tried to conceal the freckles with makeup. It hadn’t worked. Despite his determination to resent the woman and her interference in his life, he couldn’t deny the delightful effect of those freckles. Dr. Lara Crane was downright cute.
“So, how many international students live at your house?” he asked her.
“The university doesn’t allow the students to live with anyone except their own family members. We do pair those in our program with area residents for fellowship and the benefit of cultural exchange, but we’ve found it doesn’t work well to place students in private homes.”
A Merry Little Christmas Page 2
