I'll Be Home for Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  “I seem to recall some sort of baked French toast Mae used to make,” Trace said, his gaze on Savannah. “I don’t suppose...”

  To his surprise, Savannah’s eyes lit up. “I remember that. She always made it Christmas morning.”

  “Then it’s a tradition?” Trace asked hopefully.

  “Yes, it’s a tradition. And yes, I’ll make it. And yes, you can have breakfast with Hannah and me on Christmas morning.”

  “Before or after we open presents?” Trace asked, only to see her shoulders stiffen slightly.

  Hannah arrived in the kitchen just in time to hear the question. “We’re not having presents this year, ’cause we’re poor,” she said with absolutely no hint of self-pity.

  “We are not poor,” Savannah said, obviously embarrassed by her daughter’s comment. “It’s just that the divorce and the renovations needed on this place have left us temporarily strapped for cash, so we’re keeping Christmas simple.”

  “I see,” Trace said slowly.

  Simple might be good enough for Savannah, maybe even for Hannah, who seemed resigned to it, but not for him. For the first time in years, he had the desire to splurge on the holidays.

  Oh, he always sent truckloads of toys to various homeless shelters in the city, but his personal gift list was small and mostly confined to business associates. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had anyone in his life to whom he’d wanted to offer even a small token of affection.

  He made a mental note to make a few more calls the second he had some privacy.

  “Why don’t you guys grab your coats while I clean up in here?” he suggested. “I’ll meet you at the car in a few minutes.”

  Savannah regarded him curiously, almost as if she suspected something was up because he’d let her description of their financial plight pass without comment.

  “Go on. Warm up the car,” he encouraged, tossing her the keys. “You cooked. I’ll clean up. That’s my tradition.”

  “I thought you didn’t have any traditions,” she replied.

  “I’m starting a new one.”

  To his relief, she seemed to accept that.

  “We’ll be outside,” she said. “Try not to break any dishes.”

  “Hey,” he protested, “I know what I’m doing.”

  He loaded the dishwasher, turned it on, then grabbed his cell phone. It took less than ten minutes to set things in motion. That was one of the benefits of being rich. Trace rarely threw his weight or his money around. When he did, people were eager enough to do as he asked. He’d always been satisfied in a distant sort of way when he thought of the delight his toys would bring to kids on Christmas morning, but he’d never actually experienced that sense of awe and wonder that was pictured in his commercials. Maybe this year things would be different.

  Satisfied that Christmas was under control, he grabbed his coat and joined Savannah and Hannah, who’d already retreated to the slowly warming interior of the car. Hannah shivered dramatically when he opened the door.

  “I hate cold weather,” she declared.

  Trace regarded her in the rearview mirror. “You’re living in the wrong place, then, kiddo. Weren’t you the one who was out here half-buried in snowdrifts yesterday?”

  “It’s colder today,” she insisted. “And now I’ve seen snow. Yesterday I hadn’t.”

  “Does that mean you want to move back to Florida?” Savannah asked.

  There was no mistaking the note of trepidation in her voice, Trace thought. He glanced over and saw the tight lines around her mouth.

  “No,” Hannah said at once. “Even if it is cold, I want to stay here.”

  Savannah’s relief was almost palpable. “Why?” she asked.

  “Because since we got here, you’ve started laughing again,” Hannah said quietly. “You never laughed in Florida.”

  Savannah turned her head away, but not before Trace saw a tear sliding down her cheek. He wanted to reach for her, to hold her...to make her laugh.

  Instead he glanced toward Hannah. “How about you and me making a pact?” he said. “The one who makes your mom laugh the most today wins.”

  Hannah’s eyes lit up. “Okay. What’s the prize?”

  “Hmm,” Trace began thoughtfully. “If you win, I make us all hot-fudge sundaes for dessert tonight.”

  “Good prize,” Hannah said enthusiastically. “What if you win?”

  “Then you make me the biggest, mushiest Christmas card ever, something I can hang on my office wall.”

  “Deal,” Hannah said, slapping his hand in a high five.

  He glanced toward Savannah and saw that her lips were twitching. It wasn’t a real laugh, but it was at least the beginning of a smile. He pointed it out to Hannah.

  “I get the first point,” he said.

  “That’s not a real laugh,” Hannah scoffed. She leaned over, slipped her hand down her mother’s back and tickled Savannah until she giggled aloud. “That’s a real laugh,” Hannah said triumphantly.

  Savannah wriggled away, then scowled at both of them. “What do I get if I maintain a totally stoic facade all day long?”

  “Never happen,” Trace said.

  “No way,” Hannah agreed.

  “Bet I can,” Savannah retorted, her eyes twinkling.

  “Okay, that does make it more interesting,” Trace agreed. “If you win—and that’s a really big if—you get Hannah’s mushy card.”

  “What about you? What will you give me?”

  Trace met her gaze evenly and felt his heart take a leap into overdrive. “Same as last night,” he said softly.

  He noted the flush that crept into her cheeks as she remembered that fleeting kiss they’d shared.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” she challenged.

  His gazed remained steady. “Oh, I promise you, darlin’, it will take your breath away.”

  * * *

  The blasted heater in the car must have shot the temperature into the nineties, Savannah thought, barely resisting the urge to fan herself as Trace’s words hung in the air.

  Unlike the day before, when his seductive teasing had merely irritated her, today she was immediately all hot and bothered and wishing for more...maybe because she knew for a fact exactly what Trace’s kiss could do to her. Worse, she wanted another of those kisses so badly, she was going to have to try really, really hard not to laugh for the remainder of the day. Given Hannah’s determination to win that bet she’d made with Trace, Savannah was going to have a real struggle on her hands.

  She could do it, though. She just had to remember her resolve...and keep a whole lot of distance between herself and those two coconspirators.

  The second they reached the hardware store, Hannah begged to take a walk through town.

  “Back here in thirty minutes,” Savannah instructed, relieved to be rid of one of them. She looked at Trace. “I’ll meet you back here in a half hour, too.”

  “You sure you don’t need my help?” he asked, regarding her with a knowing grin.

  “Nope. I’m sure someone will help me carry whatever I buy.”

  “Here’s the spare key, then, in case you finish before I get back. You don’t mind if I come in and pick up a few things myself, do you?” he asked.

  “What sort of things?” she asked suspiciously. Trace didn’t strike her as the type who had a lot of fix-it projects back home. Then again, didn’t most men get a little giddy around wrenches and screwdrivers and power tools? Maybe he just wanted to soak up the atmosphere.

  “This and that,” he said vaguely. “I’ll know when I see it.”

  “Fine. It’s a big store. I’m sure you won’t be in my way,” she said.

  They parted at the front door. Savannah headed straight for the paint supplies. She’d
already thought about the colors she wanted for each of the guest rooms—rich, deep tones, accented by white trim. In no time at all, she’d picked out the appropriate paint chips and had the colors being mixed while she chose brushes, rollers, an edger for trimming and a paint pan.

  Just as she headed through the store toward the wallpaper-removal materials, she thought she spotted Trace coming around the end of the paint aisle, but then he vanished from sight. She didn’t see him again until she was unloading her purchases into the back of his SUV.

  “Find everything you were looking for?” he asked, tucking his own mysterious packages beside hers.

  “Yes. What about you?” she asked as he lifted something heavy into the car. “What on earth is that? It looks as if it weighs a ton.”

  “Just a tool,” he said, immediately turning his attention to the street. “Any sign of Hannah yet? Maybe we should go meet her. We could grab some lunch while we’re in town. There’s a little restaurant on Main Street that Mae used to like.”

  “The Burger Shack,” Savannah said at once. “Is it still in business?”

  “It was last time I was here. I took Mae a burger, fries and a chocolate shake from there.”

  “I can almost taste their shakes,” Savannah said. “They made ’em the old-fashioned way with milk and ice cream. They were so thick, a straw would stand straight up in them.”

  When she looked at Trace, his lips were curving into a grin.

  “Sounds like that’s a yes,” he said.

  “Absolutely,” she said eagerly. “And here comes Hannah.”

  She noticed that her daughter was carrying a shopping bag and that her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “What did you buy?” Savannah asked.

  “Mom, I can’t tell. It’s almost Christmas, remember?”

  Savannah started to question where Hannah had gotten the money to buy a gift, then stopped herself. Rob had probably slipped her a little money before they’d left Florida. Knowing him, that had been his gift to her, and she was turning right around and spending it on Savannah. On Trace, too, more than likely. Her daughter had the most generous heart of anyone Savannah knew, something she clearly hadn’t inherited from her father.

  “And that’s all you need to tell us,” Trace said, making room in the back of the car for Hannah’s purchases. “Your mom and I were just talking about lunch. You interested?”

  “Only if you’re talking about that burger place on Main Street. The smell coming out of there is awesome. And I saw lots of kids my age going in. It must be the cool place to go.”

  Trace grinned. “Then it sounds like it’s unanimous.”

  “Guess what?” Hannah asked excitedly. She went on without waiting for a response. “I met this girl at the store. Her name’s Jolie. Isn’t that a great name? And she’s my age. We’ll be in the same class at school. She says the teacher is really great. Her name’s Mrs. Peterson. She’s been here, like, forever, but everyone loves her because she’s so nice.”

  “Really?” Savannah said, since Hannah didn’t seem to expect much of a response. She was already rushing on.

  “And guess what else?” she said. “Jolie says there’s going to be caroling in town tonight and that everyone will be there, so we should come, too.” She regarded Savannah hopefully. “Can we, please?”

  Savannah instinctively thought of how uncomfortable Trace had been when she’d asked him to sing carols at the house the night before. She glanced at him.

  “I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” he said with apparent sincerity.

  Hannah grinned at him. “Jolie says they give out song sheets, so you’ll know all the words.”

  “Then I definitely say we do it,” Trace said. “Savannah?”

  Being out on a cold, snowy evening two days before Christmas singing carols with her daughter and Trace? Savannah couldn’t imagine anything more romantic. That probably meant she ought to say no, but of course she wouldn’t. Not if it meant disappointing Hannah.

  Sure, as if that were the real reason, she mentally scolded herself. She was going to do it because there was no place on earth she’d rather be tonight.

  “Yes,” she said, noting the smile that spread across Hannah’s face. It was almost as bright as the warmth stealing through her.

  Seven

  Savannah had the radio blasting as she got into a rhythm of applying paint to the walls of the first guest room. The beautiful deep shade of green brought the color of the evergreens in the surrounding forest inside. When the white trim was added, it would be reminiscent of the way the scenery looked right now with snow clinging to the trees’ branches. She envisioned a thick, warm comforter in shades of green and burgundy on the queen-size bed, with aromatic candles to match on the dresser.

  Glancing out the window, she caught a glimpse of Hannah building her first snowman and chattering happily, no doubt to Trace, though Savannah couldn’t figure out exactly where he was. He’d been up to something, though for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what it was. The instant they’d arrived home after lunch, he’d disappeared into Mae’s den. She hadn’t seen him since.

  Despite her declaration that she intended to handle the painting task on her own, a part of her had been counting on his defiance of that. She’d expected him to show up by now, if only to critique her work, maybe try to coax a laugh out of her in his ongoing attempt to win that bet with Hannah. Instead, much as her ex-husband would have done, Trace had retreated to whatever work he considered more important.

  Oh, well, this was her job, not his, she thought with a sigh. And a man she barely knew was hardly in a position to disappoint her.

  Besides, the painting was going very well, she decided, as she stood back and surveyed the room. There was an elegance and warmth to the result. Once the finishing touches were in place—probably after she could hit the January white sales at the Boston department stores—it would be perfect.

  Satisfied, she snapped the lid back on the can of paint and prepared to move on to another room, the one she thought of as the blue room, though at the moment it had faded wallpaper that needed to be stripped. It was already late afternoon, so she probably wouldn’t get much of the stripping completed before they left for the caroling in town, but any progress on the messy task was better than none.

  She was about to peel off her first chunk of paper when something that sounded a lot like a big-time power tool kicked on downstairs, followed by a muttered curse, then giggles and deep, booming laughter. Savannah went to the top of the stairs and looked down just in time to see Hannah and Trace cast a furtive look in her direction.

  “Uh-oh, we’re busted,” Trace said.

  “If she heard you cussing, she’ll probably send us to our rooms,” Hannah said, looking downcast.

  Hands on hips, Savannah scowled at them. “What are you two doing?”

  “Nothing bad, Mom. Honest.” Hannah’s expression was filled with sincerity.

  “Trace?”

  “She’s right. It’s just a little surprise,” he said.

  Savannah remained skeptical. “A surprise, or a shock?”

  Hannah giggled. “Mom’s not real good with surprises.”

  “Maybe because I’ve had so many bad ones,” Savannah said. “By the way, I’m not hearing any reassuring explanations. Do I need to come down there?”

  “No,” they both said at once.

  The quick chorus only roused her suspicions further. She started down the steps, only to have Trace take the bottom steps two at a time and meet her when she was less than halfway down. Putting both hands on her shoulders, he gazed into her eyes.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  Now there was a sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “I suppose,” she said, hedging. Only Mae’s faith in him was giving him her current benefit o
f the doubt.

  “Well, you can,” he said, clearly disappointed by the less than wholehearted response. “You need to go back to whatever you were doing and let Hannah and me finish up what we’re doing.”

  She returned his gaze without blinking. “I was thinking of quitting for the day, maybe coming downstairs for a snack.”

  “I’ll bring you a snack,” he said at once. “Anything you want.”

  “An entire pint of your ice cream?”

  “If that’s what you want,” he said at once.

  “Okay, that’s it. Something bad is going on down there, isn’t it?” she said, trying to brush past him.

  “Mom, please,” Hannah wailed. “You’ll spoil everything. It’s not bad. I promise.”

  Savannah told herself that it was her daughter’s plea, not the pleading expression in Trace’s eyes that won her over. “You can’t keep me up here forever, you know.”

  “Just another couple of hours,” he said, looking relieved. “Still want that ice cream?”

  “No, that was just a test.”

  He grinned. “I figured as much.”

  Savannah sighed. “I’m going back to strip wallpaper.”

  “Maybe you ought to take a break,” he suggested. “Maybe take a long, leisurely bubble bath or something.”

  “Who has time for that?” Savannah grumbled. “This place isn’t going to get fixed up by itself.”

  He tucked a finger under her chin. “When you start saying things like that, it’s exactly the time when you need a break the most.”

  “This from a workaholic like you?” she scoffed.

  “Actually that’s something your aunt used to say to me every time I protested that I couldn’t get away from the office to come visit. It got me up here every time,” he said, an unmistakable hint of nostalgia in his voice. “And she was always right. I always felt better after a few days with her. I even got so I barely cracked open my briefcase the whole time I was here.”

  “Did she talk you into taking a bubble bath, too?” Savannah teased.