by Lori Wilde
Gabi didn’t know. She’d never been in love. But instead of getting into it with Belinda, she simply nodded as if she knew what the older woman was talking about.
“There’s even a group of us in town who were all reunited with our high school loves and we’ve formed several craft clubs. The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club and the True Love Quilting Club and the First Love Cookie Club. It’s a lot of fun.”
“Sounds like it,” Gabi said politely.
“But here I am yammering on when we need to get down to business. How good are you with spreadsheets?”
“I’m proficient.”
“Great!” Belinda clapped her hands. “I can put you doing inventory on the donated toys coming in. I’m already behind, and any help you can give me will be greatly appreciated. Let’s go into my office.”
Belinda ushered her to the back room, parked Gabi in front of a computer, and opened up Excel. The spreadsheet contained names of needy families, the ages of the children, and their want list. As Belinda explained, it was Gabi’s job to match the inventory to the child.
“No problem,” Gabi said.
“You are such a lifesaver.” Belinda plopped down into a chair opposite Gabi. “I’ll work on the transportation logistics.”
“You’ve taken on a big volunteer job,” Gabi said.
“We take turns doing it every year.”
“We?”
“Why the ladies of the sweetheart clubs.”
“I see.”
They worked in silence for a while, Gabi whizzing through the list, when the jingle bells over the door jangled.
“Aunt B,” called a man’s voice as heavy footsteps trod up the stairs.
Gabi knew that voice. Her pulse leaped at the sound of his voice.
“Back here, dear,” Belinda called.
A second later, the door opened and Joe stuck his head into the room. His eyes met Gabi’s and he looked startled. “Oh.”
“You’ve met Gabi, right?” His aunt Belinda asked.
Joe’s gaze slid away from Gabi. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
Wow, he was acting like he’d rather be anywhere but in this room with her.
Suddenly self-conscious, she patted her hair, making sure it was in place, and smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt. Good. Fine. She was busy anyway. Gabi jerked her gaze back to the computer screen, tried to pretend Joe wasn’t there.
But she could smell him, that delicious mix of man and outdoors that was uniquely Joe.
“What did you need, Pork Chop?” Belinda asked in a voice as soft as a flannel blanket.
“Um … um … um …” he stammered. “I forgot.”
“Just take a deep breath and wait a minute. It’ll come back to you,” Belinda said, her voice growing even kinder.
“I gotta …”
Gabi desperately wanted to peek over to see the expression on Joe’s face, but she wasn’t about to.
“… go …” Joe finished. “Tons of Christmas tree deliveries today. I’ll text you if I remember what I wanted.”
“No worries.”
Joe couldn’t get out of there fast enough, the door snapping shut behind him. Gabi leaned back in the chair, sucked in air, realizing she’d been holding her breath the entire time he’d been in the room.
“That was a bit abrupt,” Gabi said.
Belinda waved a hand. “That’s just Joe.”
“How do you mean?”
“He can get a little distracted at times, but it’s all part of his charm,” Belinda said. “He’s spontaneous.”
Gabi fingered her lips. Thought of their kiss. She could certainly attest to that.
“And he’s so much fun to be around. Whenever all the kids were little, he was the one who’d organize the games. Of course he was also the one most likely to be involved in mischief.” A smile flitted across her lips. “We called him GoGo because he was always in motion. He’s got a quicksilver mind and he gets bored easily. It’s caused him some challenges over the years, but he’s a good boy.”
“He’s twenty-nine,” Gabi pointed out, even though she was dying to ask, What kind of challenges?
“I don’t care if he’s sixty. He’ll always be a boy to me. I helped change his diaper and burp him.” Belinda pantomimed rocking a baby in her arms. “I practiced on my older sister’s kids for when I had babies of my own.”
“Why did you call him Pork Chop?”
“Oh my,” Belinda tittered. “When he was a teenager that boy was a bottomless pit. Even though he was skinny as a rail, he could eat and eat and eat. And he loved pork chops. One day at a family get-together, his brothers dared him to eat a dozen pork chops and by gosh he did. Kept them down too, but he never ate another one after that. He and I love to tease each other and Pork Chop is my pet name for him.”
“Tell me more,” Gabi coaxed, intrigued to have the ear of someone who knew Joe so well.
“Joe’s got a heart as big as Texas. He left a good-paying welding job in Florida to come home to take over my father’s Christmas tree farm when Dad was in a car accident. No one else in the family could do it, at least not on a full-time basis. Although we were all willing to pitch in.”
Gabi’s heartstrings yanked. Hard.
“My dad, the grandkids call him Gramps, and Joe are so close …” Belinda paused, looked up at the ceiling, and blew out her breath. When she met Gabi’s gaze again her eyes were misty. “Joe wants to believe Dad will go back to running the farm when he’s out of the rehab hospital, but he’s eighty-one years old. Joe isn’t ready to accept that his grandfather is … well, never mind. That’s not your problem, is it?” Belinda’s friendly smile was back and she wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re here to have fun.”
“I do appreciate Joe helping me get settled in last night,” she said. “Yurt living takes some getting used to and the howling coyotes unnerved me a little.”
“You don’t have to worry with Joe around,” Belinda said. “He’ll take care of you.”
Gabi straightened in her chair. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“Oh dear. I didn’t mean to step on your toes. Of course you can take care of yourself. I just meant it’s good to have a strong man around in case something unexpected crops up.”
Gabi couldn’t really argue with that.
“I do worry about him though.” Belinda’s ample bosom bounced on a heavy sigh.
“Why?”
“I worry he’ll never settle down. After what Tatum did to him, I’m afraid he’s soured on the idea of love and marriage and happily-ever-after.”
“Who’s Tatum?”
“His high school sweetheart and ex-wife. That situation is such a mess. Part of me knows they’re no good together, but the romantic part of me wants to think there’s always hope. Second chance at love and all that.” Belinda sighed. “But the real reason I’d love to see them work things out is for Casey’s sake. The girl needs a strong male role model permanently in her life.
“Casey?”
Belinda lightly patted her chest with her fist right over her heart. “Joe and Tatum have a beautiful eight-year-old daughter named Casey.”
CHAPTER 9
A lovely thing about Christmas is that it’s compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.
—Garrison Keillor
While Gabi was inside the Sweetest Match cataloguing donated toys, Joe was pulling into the parking lot at the Twilight Rehabilitation Center.
When he’d popped in to see his aunt, it had thrown him to find Gabi in front of the computer with a surprised expression on her face that matched his own. He’d forgotten she was taking Katie’s place as a toy drive volunteer and he couldn’t very well talk to his aunt about Gabi with her sitting right there.
Gabi on his mind, he’d spent a restless night because he couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d told him. How Christmas was no big deal in her family. And Christmas addict that he was, Joe couldn’t squ
elch the urge to rock her world with the biggest Christmas celebration ever.
If he were being completely honest with himself, he’d admit that his motives extended beyond making things merry and bright for his new neighbor. By infusing her holiday with gifts, music, customs, parties, food, and laughter¸ he’d lighten his own mood, which was heavier this year because of Gramps.
That was why he’d stopped by the Sweetest Match. He’d wanted to ask his aunt’s opinion on what Christmas gift he could give Gabi that would send the right message.
Trouble was, he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted the gifts to say.
You’re cute. You’re hot. I wanna do you. Let’s get naked leaped to mind, but so did Don’t be a crude douche.
He shook off the thoughts. Focus. He was here to check on his grandfather and decorate the drab walls of his room. He got out of the pickup and went around to take a small Christmas tree and a big tote bag filled with ornaments and treats for Gramps from the truck bed.
Whistling “Deck the Halls,” he slung the tote over his shoulder, hoisted the tree in his arms, and carefully navigated his way up the sidewalk.
Nativity scenes and Christmas trees decorated the walls, and twinkle lights surrounded the windows. He carried the tree close to his chest, the scent of pine drowning out the hospital smell of antiseptic, cold oatmeal, and citrus air freshener.
A nurse in blue scrubs walked beside a shuffling elderly woman pushing a wheeled walker. A middle-aged man, wearing a white protective helmet, sat in a lobby chair, knees drawn to his chest, obsessively touching his fingertips to his thumb and counting off. A teenage boy, with a shaved head and a crescent scar over half his skull, tiptoed quickly down the corridor, chanting, “Christmas is coming, Christmas is coming.”
Joe’s chest tightened and he lifted the tree higher so he could barely see over it, so he didn’t have to make eye contact with anyone.
The cheery whistle died in his throat. He hated that Gramps had to be here, that all these poor folks had to be here.
When he reached his grandfather’s semi-private room, the door was standing open. On the wall beside the bed, a list was posted detailing his grandfather’s physical therapy regimen and rehab treatment plan. He heard his grandfather’s raspy voice, saw a nurse standing at the foot of the bed, waiting for Gramps to take his pills.
“Why lookee here!” Gramps’s face dissolved into an instant smile. “It’s my favorite grandson.”
Flushing warm in his chest at his grandfather’s words, Joe lowered the tree, balanced the bottom on the floor, and held the top steady with his hand.
The nurse smiled. “You must be Joe. He talks about you all the time. I’m Devi. I just started this week.”
“Nice to meet you.” Joe nodded. She was an attractive woman, but he barely noticed. She couldn’t hold a candle to Gabi.
“That’s sweet of you to bring your grandfather a tree,” Devi said. “But I’m afraid live trees are against the rules.”
“It’s from our Christmas tree farm,” Joe explained. “A bit of home away from home.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her smile turning sad. “But live trees are a fire hazard.”
“It’s cut fresh this morning. I’ll come by every day to tend it.”
“It’s out of my hands. We have to comply with the fire code. I know you’re disappointed, but you’re welcome to bring in an artificial one as long as you don’t put lights on it.”
“Artificial?” Gramps snorted. “Just stab me through the heart, woman, and be done with it.”
“It’s okay,” Joe soothed. “You’ll be out of here before Christmas anyway.” He glanced over at the nurse for confirmation.
Devi’s face was noncommittal. “I’ll let you two have a visit,” she said, and left the room.
Joe propped the tree in the corner, settled the tote bag of ornaments on the floor, and turned back toward his grandfather.
Gramps was sitting up in a big chair with a view of the TV, his right arm curled in his lap. The stroke had left the right side of his body weakened. He reminded Joe of a field overtaken by weeds with his bush eyebrows, mussed hair, and three days’ worth of beard stubble.
“How ’bout I give you a shave?”
“Naw. Nurses keep pesterin’ me about it.”
Aha, the old man was enjoying being stubborn. Made sense to Joe. If he were in Gramps’s position, he would be trying to take control wherever and however he could too. “They’re expecting you to look like Billy Goat Gruff. What say we surprise them?”
Gramps grunted, but he didn’t refuse.
Joe retrieved a large plastic basin from the bedside table, filled it with water, and took shaving cream and a disposable razor from Gramps’s toiletries kit. He got everything set up on the overbed table, found a stiff white terry-cloth towel in the linen closet, and draped it around his grandfather’s neck.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Joe smiled, lathered up his grandfather’s face, picked up a razor, and went to work.
Ten minutes later, the job completed, Gramps reached up with his left hand to stroke his clean-shaven pink cheeks and smiled.
Joe slipped into the rocking chair beside his grandfather. “Feel better?”
“Don’t feel worse.”
“What happened to your roommate?” Joe motioned toward the empty bed.
“Kicked off.”
“He died?”
“It happens,” Gramps said casually, only his left shoulder rising in a wizened shrug.
Gramps took off his eyeglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a trick Joe had seen him use before to ward off unwanted emotions. “Jed was two years younger than me.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your roommate.” Eager to shift the downward direction of the mood, Joe got up and wandered over to the tote bag he’d brought with him.
“What did you bring me?” Gramps perked up.
“Decorations. Some snacks.”
“Whiskey?”
“I’m not contributing to the delinquency of a senior citizen.”
Gramps snorted. “I could kick off tomorrow. Just like old Jed. One drink isn’t gonna kill me.”
Instead of answering that, Joe started taking his grandfather’s favorite snacks from the tote bag—hard candy, saltines, beef jerky, a tin of Vienna sausage, tangerines.
“Give me some of that beef jerky.” Gramps held out a hand.
Joe opened the package and passed him a slab of beef jerky.
Gramps chewed vigorously. “Still got my own teeth,” he said proudly. “Never take your teeth for granted.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Gramps put down the beef jerky. He looked wiped out. “I’m tired, Joe. Real tired.”
Concerned, Joe walked over. “Do you want me to help you back to bed? Or call the nurse?”
“No.” Gramps reached out and fisted the front of Joe’s shirt in his hand. “I want you to listen to me.”
“Okay, Gramps. I’m listening.” Joe sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I used to be just like you,” his grandfather said. “Probably why you’re my favorite of all the grandkids. You remind me of me. Full of wanderlust. Never able to sit still. Mind hopping around all over the place. I traveled. Romanced a lot of women. I really lived. Or I thought I had. Until I came back home from the Korean War and met your grandmother.”
This was the first time Joe had ever heard this. To him Gramps had always been Gramps. Living in the same house on the Christmas tree farm for as long as Joe had known him. “Did you have ADHD?”
“We didn’t have letters for it back then. My daddy used to say I had ants in my pants. My mama called me wiggle worm. My teachers carved my name into their paddles because they used it on me so much.”
“But you’ve lived on the farm for fifty years. If you were so restless, how did you manage to stay in one place for so long?”
Gramps shoo
k his head, making his jowls wobble. “I realized all that other stuff was just meaningless activity. I’d been killing time, waiting for my real life to start. Waitin’ for my Hannah to show up.”
For no reason whatsoever, Joe thought of Gabi. Was Gramps saying love tamed his ADHD?
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying it was easy.” Gramps paused, took a deep breath, looked up and to the left, as if drawing on an inner strength to say what he wanted to say. “Sometimes when money was tight and the kids were sick, that old wandering feeling would come over me and I couldn’t think of nothing but taking off.”
Boy, did he understand that impulse.
Gramps moistened his lips, cleared his throat, and slowly went on. “Then I’d look at Hannah and those kids and know I couldn’t run out on them. They were counting on me. They made me a better man. And I loved ’em more than life itself.”
It was the most he’d heard his grandfather say since the stroke, but he sensed Gramps wasn’t finished, so he kept quiet, waited. And waiting wasn’t an easy thing for Joe. His leg bobbed restlessly of its own volition, an involuntary tic for discharging nervous energy. He thought of Gabi and her hiccups, wondered if it was the same sort of thing.
“When you find the right woman, you’ll understand. You will do anything in your power to keep her ’cause she’ll change you.”
“That’s what I’m scared of.” Joe laughed, but the sound was tinny, hollow. “I don’t want to change.”
“Oh, the right woman won’t change you like that poor ol’ gal you married the first time,” Gramps said. “You were hot for that one and then you felt sorry for her. That ain’t the way of true love.”
“No?”
“Well …” One corner of his grandfather’s mouth shifted up in a half smile. “She will make you hot, but she won’t let you feel sorry for her. She’ll be strong and independent and square off with you toe to toe. She’ll call you out on your bullshit. The right woman … Why, the right woman, she’ll change you for the better, and no matter what happens, you won’t be able to stop loving her, because she’ll save you from yourself.”
Joe was a dad.
That made Gabi feel kind of weird and then she had to wonder why she felt weird.
