by Mary Campisi
Her gaze sliced over him, glittered in anger. “I gave him love and consistency.”
“And two people couldn’t have done that?”
She swiped a strand of hair from her face in what looked like an agitated response to his question. “We barely knew each other. I couldn’t risk exposing Cash to a relationship that might not work out.” She paused, smoothed a wrinkle from her slacks. “Then what? Move the boy back here and pretend we never happened?”
“Isn’t that pretty much what you did?” he asked. “You know, the pretending-we-never-happened part?” Oh, she didn’t like that comment. Too damn bad. There’d been a lot of things he hadn’t liked, starting with refusing to discuss their relationship, but she’d done them anyway.
“I sent you away because I was not going to be responsible for holding you back. You had such dreams and they weren’t about making barrels of money.” Her voice dipped. “They were about making a difference.”
That was before he’d tasted the sweetness of money dipped in expense accounts and year-end bonuses from the advertising company, making anything less seem bitter and inedible. Why would he spend hours teaching high school kids to dissect a sentence and look for symbolism in Animal Farm when he could enjoy five-star dinners, sporting events, and fly to New York City, all in the name of business, and all on his business account? His mother said he possessed the “gift of gab” and while many struggled with simple conversation, this was an area where he excelled. Talk, talk, talk, posture, convince, win. It became a game as he worked to convince naysayers to try a particular product. They argued, he cajoled, they postured, he retreated and let them think they were in charge. Of course, they weren’t, and by the next conversation, he’d won them over. It was all a game that paid big money and came too easily for him, until one day last year, it wasn’t fun any longer. That’s when he knew he was trapped.
“What happened to those dreams, Anthony? Did you sell out?”
The accusation in her question angered him. She had no right to judge him because he’d wanted a better life than his parents. So what? He’d earned everything he had, no handouts or special favors. He finished his wine, set the glass on the coffee table, and said, “I found something I was great at and it made a helluva lot more money than teaching sophomore English.”
“And what is that?”
“I convince people to want things they didn’t know they wanted.”
“Ah.” She tapped a long finger against her chin and nodded. “You take their money.”
“No. Why would you say that?”
“You fill their brain with fancy words and make them believe they need things and then you take their money. Money some can’t afford to spend.”
“That’s not true. You don’t even know me.”
“No. I don’t.” And then, “Did you do that with me, Tony? Try to make me want something I didn’t know I wanted?”
“What?” The cold look on her face spoke of disgust. “Of course not. You’re the one who sent me away, remember? And for what? So you could raise your nephew, living in this dump? Do you know what I could have given you, given you both? Do you have any idea?”
“I raised my nephew,” she said quietly. “It’s a bigger task than you think. No amount of money can pay for the joy of seeing him married and happy.”
“So you were an example of married and happy? Somehow I doubt that.” That was cruel and unnecessary, but damn it, she’d ripped his heart in two all those years ago. She deserved to feel some pain, too.
Those dark eyes turned black. “Was I happy? Much of the time, I wasn’t. Do you know what it’s like to have to clean other people’s toilets to put food on the table? Or cook fancy meals when you can’t afford a cheap cut of meat? Do you have any idea? But I had my pride and my self-respect. No man kept me and no man took advantage of me.”
“Good for you. I hope it kept you warm at night.”
She squared her shoulders, her expression blank when she said, “You’re going to lose your daughter if you don’t make amends. The reason she doesn’t want to return to California with you is because she doesn’t consider it a home, not her home.” She paused, drew in a deep breath. “Apparently the servants taught her more about family than you and her mother did.”
“What?” He stood and paced the small living room. “She didn’t say that.”
“Oh, but she did, and much more. Seems you and her mother were so busy fattening your bank accounts that you forgot to be parents.” She tilted her head in challenge. “I might not be able to build equity, but I do know how to build a relationship with my nephew.”
Why would Lucy say that? He could see where Rosalyn might fit into the “un-parent” category, but not him. He loved Lucy. She knew that. Didn’t she? Well, didn’t she?
“If you care about your daughter, you’ll listen to her, really listen. The same with your father. He wants to die here, Tony. I know it would be a lot easier if you could pack him up and take him with you like a suitcase, but he’s not going. Maybe he and Lucy can watch out for each other.”
And what about me? Who am I going to take care of, and who’s going to take care of me? He really was all alone, and the pain of knowing that burst through him, burning a path to his heart.
“Tony?” Ramona stood an arm’s length away, her lilac scent drifting to him. “I did have regrets once.” She met his gaze, held it. “You’d been gone three months. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get through the day without wondering how life might have been had I said ‘yes’ to you. The wondering lived in my soul, threatened to suffocate me, until one day I decided to call.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I never got a call from you.”
“A man answered the phone and when I asked for you, he told me you were at an engagement party.” She paused, her eyes so bright he had to look away. “Yours.”
***
Christmas was coming to Magdalena in less than seventy-two hours and this year, like so many others, there would indeed be a white Christmas. The snow had tapered to flurries last night, a welcome relief among the adults, while the children hoped for even more of the white stuff—the better to build forts, snowmen, snowladies, even snow dogs!
Nate, Cash, and Ben loaded up the SUV to deliver the third round of gifts on The Bleeding Hearts Society Christmas list. They’d started the deliveries this morning, heading to the outskirts of town first and working their way toward Main Street using the spreadsheets Christine and Gina had created. Nate knew his wife specialized in organization, but with Gina at her side, it was a little too organized. Color coding? Pie charts according to area? Was it really necessary? What would they say if they knew there’d been no spreadsheet in the past, no charts either, pie or otherwise, and they hadn’t missed a single home? Nate didn’t think he’d mention that because Christine and Gina were so darned proud of those sheets.
“You know we’re supposed to get dumped on tonight, right?” Cash peered out the front window of the SUV. “Damn, but it’s going to get interesting.”
Ben sighed from the back seat where he sat wedged in by the overflow of gifts. “Yeah, looks like I’ll be trading in the car for a four-wheel drive.”
Cash laughed. “Welcome to the husbands’ club, right, Nate?”
Nate smiled. “You’re going to have bigger headaches when Gina puts a For Sale sign on that Harley.”
“Huh? That is not happening.” When Nate shrugged, Ben went on. “You think she’ll want me to get rid of it?” There was some serious worry in his voice. “I love that bike. I can’t get rid of it.” Big sigh. “Damn.” And then, “I’m going to have to get rid of that bike.”
“Hey, Nate’s just ragging on you.” Cash grinned and shook his head. “He still likes to see you squirm.”
“Who, me?” Nate shot Cash a look. “Would I do that to the police sergeant of Magdalena?”
Another laugh from Cash. “Hell yes, you would.”
“You’re right.” Nate’s smile spread. “Rel
ax, Ben. Gina might have forgotten it’s sitting in Philly waiting for you.” He paused, added, “Then again, that wife of yours doesn’t forget a thing. Unless the pregnancy hormones take over and she’s too preoccupied with the baby to think about your toys.”
“Well, don’t say anything,” Ben said. “I want to work it into the conversation, not just spring it on her.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Nate said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Gina won’t like that.”
“Yeah, women don’t like surprises that have to do with your past.” Cash blew out a long breath and muttered, “Especially if they weren’t part of it.”
He was talking about Ben’s cousin, Paige Reed, and the visit she paid to Magdalena that almost destroyed the fragile bond between Cash and Tess. Nate knew about pasts and people who wanted to dredge them up and create all kinds of turmoil and insecurities. Hadn’t Gloria Blacksworth tried her damnedest to use Natalie Servetti to break up his marriage? Who knew what other evil she’d have orchestrated if she’d lived longer? Thoughts of his mother-in-law made him remember the notebook in his desk drawer at work. He’d have to do something about it soon. Part of him wanted to open it and see what vile Gloria had conjured up, but he hesitated. Once he read the words he wouldn’t be able to forget them, even if they weren’t true. And that’s where the other part came in, the one that wanted to throw the sucker in the fire and watch it burn. He would have done it by now if not for Christine. She hadn’t mentioned the damn thing in months, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten about it and he wasn’t going to ask her, so he’d stay in limbo, waiting…for now.
“So what’s the story on this Androvich guy who’s coming to visit Bree’s father’s place?” Ben asked. “Bree seems pretty upset about it.”
“Androvich?” Cash asked. “Never heard of him.”
Nate shrugged. “Me either. Who is he?”
“I guess he’s part owner of the lumber company that provides black cherry to Bree’s dad. The guy’s in Pennsylvania; Bree said their fathers were friends back in the day.”
“Hmm.” Cash rubbed his jaw, sliced a look at Ben. “Maybe he heard there’s going to be a Harley for sale in Philly and wants to talk to the owner personally.”
“Asshole,” Ben muttered.
Cash grinned and then turned serious. “Bree’s pretty jumpy right now, especially with that jerk husband always on her about working at her dad’s place. Androvich might just want to do a little PR and try to sell more lumber, who knows?”
“Bree’s worried her dad will want to bring in this Androvich to run the place and she’ll lose her chance,” Ben said.
“When’s the guy coming?” Nate asked.
“No idea.” This from Ben.
“I’ll talk to Rex and see what I can find out. Tell Bree to try and relax; she’s got enough problems right now without looking for more.” Nate was so busy thinking about Bree and Brody Kinkaid and their mounting issues that he almost missed the first delivery address.
“Hey, Nate, there’s our stop.” Cash pointed to the brown ranch where Joy Hammond lived with her two young children and her wheelchair-bound mother. Nate pulled into the driveway, while Ben grabbed the bag of gifts marked for the Hammonds and opened the door.
“Be right back.” He hopped out of the SUV and headed up the driveway.
“Who would have thought…?” Cash said, watching Ben greet Joy Hammond with a big smile and the bag of gifts.
“Not me,” Nate muttered. “Never saw him as a domesticated prospect, especially not here.”
“Especially not domesticated by Gina,” Cash added.
Ben waved good-bye to Joy and made his way toward the SUV, whistling.
“Yeah, goes to show, you just never know.” Cash laughed. “Even when you think you do.”
Chapter 7
Harry Blacksworth didn’t do anything small-scale, especially on Christmas Eve. Charlie used to say that if Harry could throw a party on the moon, he would. Oh, but she wished Charlie could see Harry now: married, a father and stepfather. Content with life, happy. The town loved his loud laughs, wide smiles, and silly jokes. Word had it he often paid for random customers at Lina’s Café and escaped before anyone knew the mystery benefactor. Word got out, though, and with it, a greater respect and appreciation for the Chicago playboy-turned-husband and small-town resident. Nothing created a bigger “splash” than the darn pool he built. People hoped for an invitation and if they didn’t receive one, figured out how to get one, usually by way of Greta. Harry Blacksworth would do anything for his wife, and it did a heart good to see that kind of love.
Miriam sucked in a deep breath, placed a hand on her chest to ease the ache. I miss you, Charlie. Every day and every night. This pain is never going to go away, not until I close my eyes for the last time. But it’s worth it, all of it. I love you, Charlie Blacksworth; I’ll always love you. She sniffed, cleared her throat. If you could see your little brother right now, you’d be so proud of him. He’s grown up, he really has. Merry Christmas, my love. Until we meet again, you hold my heart.
“Mom, look at this place! It’s all sparkly.” Lily dropped the shopping bags filled with presents and made a slow circle, eyeing the snow-covered garland, the life-sized toy soldiers, the silver and gold wreaths. “Beautiful,” she whispered. When she caught sight of a three-foot twinkling angel suspended from the ceiling, she ran to it. “Wow! An angel!” She scrunched her nose and glanced at the glittery lettering on the angel’s wings. “L-I-L-Y,” she read. “Lily. Lily! That’s me!” Her blue eyes sparkled brighter than the suspended angel. “That’s me, Mom!”
Miriam nodded and pointed to another angel in the corner of the room. “How about that one?”
Lily ran to the second angel, read the glittery name on it. “Lizzie.” She laughed. “Lizzie’s an angel, too.” She looked at Miriam, excitement and wonder splashing across her face. “Is there one for Jackson and AJ, too? And Anna?”
“I don’t know, but I think you should check, don’t you?”
Lily nodded and said, “Uh-huh.” And then, “I’m an angel.” She twirled around once, twice, almost lost her balance. “I’m an angel, Mom.”
Miriam blinked hard, smiled at her daughter, and said, “Yes, dear, you’re an angel.”
“After I find the angels, I’m going to find Uncle Harry.” She paused, glanced at the large Christmas tree in the living room. “He said I could help put presents under the tree. They have five trees. Do you think we’re going to put presents under all of them?”
“With your uncle in charge, I have no idea.”
Lily giggled. “Uncle Harry always has a good plan. He’s probably wrapping presents right now.”
Miriam stifled a laugh. “Oh, I doubt that.”
“Why? Do you think he doesn’t know how?”
This time Miriam did laugh. “I’m sure he doesn’t know how, Lily, but if you find him, tell him he needs to get wrapping. You may have to teach him.”
A smile burst across Lily’s face. “I’m a good wrapper. See you later, Mom.” She headed toward the winding staircase, her ponytail bouncing back and forth against the back of her lavender velour outfit.
Miriam shook her head and made her way to the room that often provided the most comfort: the kitchen. She did not expect to find Ramona Casherdon there, spooning sauce over a tray of manicotti. “Ramona? What are you doing here?” Everyone knew the woman didn’t socialize, limited her interactions to her nephew and his wife and the people who paid her to clean their houses and cook their meals. Engaging in conversation and spending time with people for the pure enjoyment of it? Well, that would not be something anyone in this town would link to Ramona Casherdon.
“Surprise.” She eyed Miriam with what might be close to a half smile. “Harry asked me to help out.” She paused and stumbled over her next words, “And stay for dinner.”
“Oh.” Their gazes locked, Ramona daring Miriam to comment on what they both knew was an odd situation. �
��Well then. Let me find an apron and tell me what I can do to help.”
For the next hour, they worked side by side, making up trays of manicotti, arranging meat and cheese platters, slicing pumpkin rolls, and organizing the Blacksworth Christmas Eve dinner. They didn’t talk much, but after an initial awkwardness, Miriam actually enjoyed working with Ramona. Her skilled hands and cooking knowledge made preparing food for such a large event so much easier. When they did speak, it was Ramona who began the conversation and in typical fashion, she got right to her point.
“Ever wonder why women like us end up alone?”
Miriam was slicing a cucumber for the salad, and that comment stopped her. “What?”
Ramona slid her a look, those dark eyes almost black. “Women like us. Are we too independent? Too picky?” She tilted her head and the gold earrings she always wore jangled against her neck. “Or do we know there’ll never be another one like the one we lost, so we shut down that part of our life? What do you think?”
What Miriam thought was that she’d like to know who Ramona had loved and lost. It had to have been someone from before she landed in Magdalena because no one had ever seen her with a man, though in the beginning, several had tried to elicit her interest. With no success.
“Well?”
The woman really expected an answer. Okay, she’d give her one. “All of the above.”
“What?”
Miriam shrugged and tossed several slices of cucumber in the salad bowl. “I’d rather be alone than with someone for the pure sake of avoiding loneliness, because it backfires and then you’re really miserable. I’ve lived that life and I swore I’d never do it again.” She paused and her voice shifted to the softness of remembering. “I wasn’t looking for a man when Charlie came along, but there he was, at Sal’s Market in the pickle aisle, searching for kosher dills. I needed chocolate chips for the cookies I promised Jack Finnegan.” She glanced at Ramona, held her gaze. “If Jack hadn’t asked for those cookies, I might never have met Charlie.”
