A Child's Christmas Boxed Set: Sugarplum HomecomingThe Christmas ChildA Season For Grace

by Linda Goodnight

  No one had asked her to be kind to his kids either. She’d fluffed Paige’s too-short hair for church, obviously feeling sorry for his little girl and her inept dad. Paige had been so proud of the curls and bows she’d pranced around like a princess.

  A couple of nights ago, Lana sat on her couch next to Nathan and read the same story four times in a row. And time after time, she’d tolerated three children tearing wildly through her house or perching at her table for PB and J sandwiches. No, she wasn’t trying to take advantage of his neighborly kindness.

  The more he knew about Lana Ross, the less he understood. She was a contradiction, a mystery. A beautiful, gifted, complicated mystery. He was both muddled and mesmerized.

  He recalled the power and beauty of her voice, and he wanted to hear it again. Just a hum from that smoky throat captivated him. So what had happened in Nashville to bring on stage fright so bad that she couldn’t get on stage? She’d sung for him. Why not on a stage? She was twice the singer Tess was and yet, Tess was still in Nashville while she was here, writing articles for the Gazette.

  The song she’d shared lingered in his mind even now. She should do something with it. Not that he knew anything about the music world. The lyrics and melody were a hauntingly beautiful combination, better than anything he’d heard on the radio in a while. Why hadn’t it been published? Had she tried? Or was this one something new?

  He flopped onto his back and stared up at the faint shadows on his ceiling. The house felt lonely. He was lonely. For more than his children.

  Tossing the covers back, he padded to the window and pushed the curtains to one side. Curtains Cheryl had ordered from J.C. Penney years ago. Not unusual for him to think about those days when he and Lana had talked about Cheryl tonight. Another thing he liked about Lana Ross.

  Fumbling in the dark, he found the lamp and snapped it on. Cheryl’s photo sat on the bedside table where he’d placed it the day after she died.

  “Hi,” he said, as he’d done dozens of times over the years. Her brown eyes twinkled in response. At least in his imagination. “What am I doing up at this hour? Good question. You see, there’s this neighbor. Yeah, a woman. Lana. What do you think about her? Should I run for the hills?” He chuckled quietly. “Oh, right, we live in the hills.”

  He studied the simple face of his first love, the crooked smile that they’d never had the money to get straightened, the sweeping length of brown hair he’d loved to touch.

  That, of course, brought him back to Lana. Lana, of the brown hair.

  Carrying the silver frame, he returned his gaze to the window and beyond. From this spot, he could see the old house down the street and across the way. Lana’s light remained on. Probably working on her article for the Gazette. Or was she, like him, too restless to sleep? Too bothered by feelings neither of them seemed to want?

  His breath fogged the cold pane. He placed his late wife’s photo back on the table.

  “I like her, Cheryl,” he said, admitting the truth to the emptiness, but mostly to himself. “I’m not sure that’s smart. She’s carrying a lot of baggage, but there’s something special about her, too. A lot special. She’s a good person, a Christian, but she wasn’t always. I know, I know.” He puffed out a gusty breath. “It’s the kids. I have to be sure. I have to do what’s best for our kids.”

  Davis rubbed a hand down his T-shirt, kissed his fingertips and touched them to the photo.

  Then he snapped off the light and climbed back into bed, no closer to answers than he’d been before.

  Chapter Ten

  Thanksgiving Day arrived cold and rainy, the skies weeping down the windowpanes of the Ross house. A blustery wind whipped the barren crepe myrtle trees against the needed-to-be-replaced siding.

  Inside the house all was snug while the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade boomed from a nineteen-inch TV Lana had found at a garage sale. A vigorous marching band pounded out a cheerful, familiar rhythm. Surrounded by autumn color, a pair of talking heads blabbed over the music. Bundled against the cold, their breaths puffed white fog.

  Lana stood over the gas range where warm moisture from boiling potatoes dampened her face. Sydney chopped lettuce for a salad. The ancient oven hadn’t worked since Lana was fourteen, so she’d bought a precooked rotisserie chicken from the IGA for their main course. A turkey was too much for the two of them anyway.

  Cooking wasn’t Lana’s game but as with her newspaper job, she could read and she could learn. Sydney learned along with her, probably more natural in the kitchen than Lana would ever be. Store-bought chicken, canned gravy, packaged stuffing was as close as she could come to a traditional meal. At least she and Sydney were together.

  Times like these she wished for a big, noisy family, especially for her niece. A mother who baked for days and a sister with the perfect recipe for sweet potato casserole and pecan pie. A dad to carve the turkey and maybe a few brothers to horse around and yell at televised football games. Sydney deserved better than one single aunt and an AWOL mother she barely knew.

  “Can I smash the potatoes?” Sydney asked. She’d pulled her fuzzy hair into a ponytail and tied it with a purple ribbon, a match for her purple monkey sweatshirt. Loose beige curls corkscrewed along her hairline.

  “Smash ’em, mash ’em, stomp ’em. Whatever works.”

  Sydney’s aqua eyes laughed before her mouth did. Lana smacked a kiss on her forehead, then handed her Mama’s metal potato masher, tossed some butter in the bowl and let Sydney pound away while she put the food on the table.

  Today was the day they started their own holiday customs, something Sydney hadn’t had heretofore. Lana had shared family traditions once, and the memories were some of her happiest. Daddy had made a fuss over the fine brown bird, which had made Mama smile. Usually by day’s end, Mama found something to be angry about but the meal was usually peaceful, thanks to her father.

  She wanted that for Sydney. Good memories, good times to block out the bad.

  “Here you go, Miss Ross,” she said, pulling the chair out for Sydney. “Please be seated for this luscious, marvelous Thanksgiving feast.”

  “Just like the Pilgrims,” Sydney said as she minced into the seat like a pampered princess. “But who’s going to hold your chair?”

  Lana winked. “Good ol’ me.” She wiggled all ten fingers. “I’m so handy.”

  The silliness made Sydney giggle again. “This smells yummy.”

  “It should. I’ve slaved over that boxed stuffing for a full five minutes.” She fanned her face and grinned, then took her place kitty-corner from the little girl who held her heart. “Would you like to ask the blessing?”

  They bowed their heads and Lana listened, throat full, as Sydney prayed a litany of thank-yous and blessings.

  Finally, she said, “And bless Paige and Nathan and their dad. I hope you give them a real good dinner like ours. Thank you for sending me a friend. And please take care of my mom. I hope she’s okay. Amen.”

  Unexpected tears spurted behind Lana’s eyelids. Tess. Oh, Tess. Where are you?

  She pressed her fingertips hard into her eyelids to gain control. A small hand patted her arm.

  “It’s okay, Lana. God’s taking care of my mom.”

  Most times she tried not to worry about her twin but she’d heard from her only once since the return to Whisper Falls. Tess had called, full of over-the-top excitement, an endless spiel of chatter and wild promises that told Lana immediately she was high. She’d tried to talk to her sister, urging her again to go to the mission for help. Tess had hung up on her.

  “I wish I knew where she was.” Lana scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate.

  “You miss her,” Sydney said, adultlike. “Maybe we can call some of her old friends?”

  Most of Tess’s friends had long since abandoned her but it was worth a try. Though Tess had never been much of a mother, she’d once been a good sister, and Lana did miss her. Terribly. “That’s actually a very good idea, Sydney. After dinner,
we’ll give it a try. Now, do you want some of these fluffy, creamy, Sydney-awesome mashed potatoes or not?”

  Sydney grinned and took the bowl. “And some of that Lana-awesome gravy and stuffing, too!”

  They both laughed heartily at that comment, considering the foods were packaged.

  “Paige said her grandma cooks everything in the universe for Thanksgiving dinner. They even have corn on the cob and chocolate pie.”

  “Wow. Wish I’d thought of that.”

  “It must be fun to have a grandma.” Sydney drizzled brown gravy over the potatoes and stuffing as well as the chicken. A sea of gravy. “She lets Paige and Nathan and their cousins decorate cookies, and they play games with her, too. Did you ever have a grandma?”

  “I did. My Grandmother Packard lived right here in Whisper Falls.”

  “Was she nice?”

  “Really great. She sewed Tess and me matching dresses every year for Easter.” Losing Grandma Packard at age nine had been a turning point in her young life and in her mother’s, too. Mama’s anger and moods had spun out of control once Grandma was gone.

  “That’s cool. I wish I had a grandma.” Sydney’s matter-of-fact comment hurt worse than if she’d whined in self-pity.

  “Next time we’re in Walmart, we’ll buy you one.” Lana pointed a hot roll. “Nine ninety-five plus tax.”

  Sydney put a hand over her full mouth and giggled. “Will you buy me a sister and brother too?”

  “Tall order but why not? As long as they are on sale.”

  Smiling, feeling good, they continued their feast. The day was going great, better than she’d expected. Thank you, Lord. Really. Thank you.

  “Lana?” Sydney said, putting down her roll and looking suddenly serious.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Lana managed to answer while chewing a succulent piece of chicken breast.

  “You know what I’d really like to have more than anything?”

  Lana swallowed and reached for her coffee cup. “More than a grandma or a brother or a sister?”

  “Yes, even more than that.”

  A puppy, Lana was certain. She was going to have to give this pet thing more serious thought. “What?”

  “A daddy. A real good daddy. Just like Davis.”

  * * *

  The kids were bouncing off the walls.

  Davis, his belly full, flopped into his recliner and pointed the remote. Mom had outdone herself this year. He couldn’t think of a single Thanksgiving food she hadn’t produced at some point during the rainy day. They’d stayed even longer than usual playing board games and snacking while the Cowboys and Lions battled on the gridiron.

  He snagged Paige as she romped through with Nathan in hot pursuit. “Good day, huh, pumpkin?”

  “Yep, except I felt bad for Charlie. He didn’t even feel like eating Grandma’s magic cookie bars.”

  Jenny’s son, always frail, had seemed worse today. He’d slept most of the afternoon, worrying his parents.

  “Me, too.” He hugged his child, thankful for her robust health. “Aunt Jenny is taking him to the doctor in Little Rock tomorrow.”

  “I hope he’s better. He said he was going to have to get an operation.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I prayed for him.”

  Of course she did. That was Paige. Freckles and faith.

  Nathan, who stood beside Davis’s chair, head cocked as if he was listening, clearly wasn’t. He said, “I’m hungry.”

  “Hungry?” Davis burst out laughing. “You can’t be hungry.”

  Nathan pooched out his belly, rubbing the tiny mound beneath his camo T-shirt. “Can I have some pie?”

  “Grandma sent home enough leftovers to last a week. Go for it.”

  Paige, still draped across Davis’s lap like a blanket, patted Davis’s neck. “Daddy, why doesn’t Aunt Jenny like Lana and Sydney?”

  Whoa. Where had that come from? He grasped Paige’s hand and sat her up. “Did she say that?”

  “She said Lana was a bad person and she might hurt us. I heard her tell Grandma.”

  Heat rose on the back of his neck. Where did Jenny get off saying such a thing? “Lana’s not a bad person. Aunt Jenny’s upset because Charlie’s sick. She says things she doesn’t mean.”

  “That’s what Grandma said. She said you have to be careful about judging people. She said Lana might have problems we don’t know about.”

  Thanks, Mom. “Grandma’s right.”

  “Does Lana have problems, Daddy? She’s really nice to me and Nathan. I’m sure she would never, ever do anything to hurt us. Never. We love her. I don’t think she has problems. I think she’s wonderful, like Mommy was.”

  “Everyone has problems, pumpkin. Lana is no different than Aunt Jenny or you or me.”

  Davis felt like a hypocrite, considering how he’d wrestled with Lana’s admission about Sydney’s father. How did a woman not know who fathered her child?

  But all day today he’d thought about her. Not just today but every day. Even though he’d avoided her house all week, he thought about her. Missed her.

  When they’d pulled into their driveway after the wonderful day at Mom’s and Dad’s, he’d noticed her car was home. His conscience had twinged then and it twinged now. Today was Thanksgiving, a family day, a day he and his children had basked in all the noise and pleasure that was family. Yet, he was fairly certain Lana and Sydney had spent the holiday alone.

  He should have invited her to the Turner Thanksgiving madness, regardless of Jenny. He didn’t appreciate the seed of gossip his sister had placed in his daughter’s head. That was wrong, no matter how upset or how protective Jenny might be.

  He popped his chair upright. “I have an idea. Let’s take one of Grandma’s pies over to Lana and Sydney.”

  Ten minutes later, he and his kids stood on the Ross porch, each of them holding containers of food. The rain continued to drip like a leaky shower from a cold, slate sky.

  Lana opened the door. As soon as she saw him, her smile bloomed. His stomach, full as it was, went south. He smiled back, staring long enough that Paige said, “Dad! It’s cold out here.”

  Lana blushed a pretty pink and opened the door. They flooded inside, all talking at once. Sydney exclaimed over the pecan pie while Nathan hugged Lana’s waist and told her she was pretty. She hugged him back and told him he was the handsomest little boy she’d ever seen. Then the trio of kids headed to the kitchen to eat pie as if they hadn’t eaten all day long.

  “How was your Thanksgiving?” Lana asked once the kids had disappeared.

  “Great. The whole clan was there. Even my aunts and uncles from out of town.” Everyone I wanted to see except you. “So how did the Rosses celebrate?”

  “We made dinner together and watched a Christmas movie. The oven doesn’t work so we had Oreos for dessert. And ice cream.”

  He laughed. “Works for me. Ice cream on top of pecan pie sounds pretty good.”

  “Want some?”

  No. I want you. I want to hold you and smell your hair and touch your creamy-looking skin.

  Davis shook the flash of forbidden thought out of his head. “I’m still stuffed. You?”

  “Later, but I should probably look in on the kids now.”

  “Good plan.”

  “Sit down and relax. I’ll put on some fresh coffee while I’m in there.” Lana disappeared through the French doors leading through the dining room and beyond to the kitchen. Davis watched her until she disappeared from sight, unnervingly glad to see her again.

  The ever-present work list—the one he and she had made together weeks ago—lay on a side table. Restless, he picked it up and ran a finger down the check marks. She had a long way to go on a complete remodel but the house was ready for winter. He was glad about that. He didn’t like to think of her and Sydney in a draughty, cold house with frozen pipes.

  The French door clicked open and Lana came to where he stood. His belly dipped again and he didn’t deny his attraction. She s
melled like flowers. Gardenias, he thought. In her heeled boots she reached his ear. Her reputation from long ago didn’t matter to him at all, and he wondered if he should worry about that fact. Lana Ross had him by the heart.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said to her tilted face, gripping the notepad to keep his hands off her.

  “Mostly I’ve painted and cleaned and ripped out old flooring.”

  “And put weather stripping around the doors and windows.”

  “Some of the doors and windows need replacing but there’s no time for that now.” She made a face. “Or money yet.”

  He laid aside the notepad and stuck his hands behind his back. “How’s the Gazette job going?”

  “Better. I think I’m getting the hang of this article-writing business. Saturday morning, I’m covering the Christmas Bazaar committee meeting. Saturday evening is the Cheerleaders’ chili supper. Sunday, the Baptist Church is having its one hundredth birthday homecoming with a special speaker and a dedication of the new family center. I’m covering all those.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Me, too.” She widened her eyes, laughing at herself. “So what have you been up to lately?”

  “Thinking about you too much.” The reply shocked her as much as it shocked him.

  “Really?”

  “I missed you.”

  “I’m right down the street.”

  The words flailed him, though her tone held no accusation. He was the one who’d withdrawn, not her. “If I had invited you to the Turner Thanksgiving feast, would you have come?”

  “And given your sister a heart attack?” Lana smiled but her bottom lip trembled. Jenny’s attitude hurt her, no matter how tough she tried to be.

  Davis moved closer, finding her fingers. They felt cold. “Jenny’s had some stuff going on, Lana. Not just with you. Her son is really sick.”

  Lana’s chin came up, her eyes searching. “I didn’t know that.”

  “He has a heart condition. I don’t know the details. I just know he’s been sickly all his life and is going to need another surgery real soon.”