Midnight's little family was absolutely charming. Rebecca felt accepted and at home with them. And now she had several pairs of jeans and some sweaters to wear, plus some flannel pajamas with black bears on them, and another pair with horses.
"You feel okay about the clothes, Rebecca?” Midnight looked concerned. “The gathering at Charles and Dorothy's is casual."
"Yes. Absolutely. They're not exactly the types of things I packed in my suitcase, but I think these will be better.” I would have felt out of place in the designer clothes, the dress pants and expensive sweaters. I want to fit in here ... for the short time I'm around.
Rebecca's hand went to her diamond stud earring, twisting the back. “So, Charles and Dorothy are McClains, I take it?"
"Yes. My uncle and aunt.” Martin trailed his hand along Midnight's arm as she stood and went to sit in her own chair by the fire. The look in his eyes sent a message to his wife that said Later.
Rebecca felt her face color. These two obviously had the right kind of marriage. Good for them. But about this evening...
"So, it's at their house?"
Midnight twisted around at an angle in the armchair, swinging her long legs over the arm. She smoothed her shiny black hair behind her shoulders. “It's at Charles and Dorothy's house, just a short drive from here. We'll be fine in the Jeep, especially since Joe's been through in that big truck and left some tracks. Depending on what the roads are like, it may be a houseful. Some of the family lives out of town quite a distance, and with small children, they might not make the trip if they think the roads are too bad."
Martin said, “Don't worry about my family, Rebecca. We're mostly friendly. Definitely nothing to worry about as far as having somebody to talk to. There are dozens of us, all ages."
She wasn't worried about the McClain family in general. She was wondering about one particular member of the family. Would he be there?
"Oh yeah, and you already know us, and Joe and David.” Martin seemed to think this was encouraging news.
"Joe and David will be there?” She hoped it sounded nonchalant.
"Skipping it wouldn't be an option. It's their parents’ house, you know.” He said it as if it were obvious.
Rebecca began to twist the earring back again. “No, I didn't know. Ah.” How did she feel about seeing David again?
Midnight began to swing one leg. “Um. About David. I suppose I'd just as well tell you, if you haven't already figured it out. When I called you a few days ago? David is the guy I mentioned wanting you to meet.” Martin's jaw snapped shut with a look from Midnight. “I'd intended it to happen at his parents’ house tonight. Much less dramatic than being snowbound. Overnight, no less.” She smiled at Rebecca and her black eyes sparkled. “I think you're perfect for him."
"Ah. Well. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He is interesting.” Rebecca felt a blush coming on—something that hadn't happened to her in years.
"And a hunk."
"Yes. And that."
"And damaged. Do you know about Holly?"
"Yes. He told me. How awful."
"He needs to move on."
Rebecca thought back to the scene in the kitchen the moment before Joe arrived. “I think he's beginning to do that."
"Do you?” Midnight raised a brow and cocked her head. “Hm. That's good. I was hoping."
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Chapter Eight
David decided to be as helpful to his mom as he could while she was putting last minute touches on the food for tonight. He stirred three crock-pots of mashed potatoes loaded with butter, sour cream, and cream cheese. He'd spent much of the afternoon peeling the potatoes. David wanted to eat out of the big stir spoon, but restrained himself. He was very good at restraint.
The best way to get through this evening was to stay very busy in the kitchen. He'd already polished and set out all the silverware, carried out plates, napkins, and glasses to the buffet tables. At his mother's direction, he'd lit every candle in sight, most of which were scented. The whole house, huge as it was, smelled like turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, vanilla, cinnamon, and bayberry. His stomach was turning over and over, but he knew it wasn't just because the food smelled fantastic. He was anxious about what it would be like to see Rebecca again. He was, in fact, nervous—an emotion David McClain did not often experience. He wanted to see her again, see how she looked in his parents’ house. And he refused to think about why that was important to him.
His dad came down the back staircase having changed into fresh slacks and a sweater without holes in the elbows—per his wife's instructions. “David, how's it going in here?"
"Good, Dad. I think we're ready for the onslaught."
"Your mother seems to believe everything's under control. She's not quite as deep into panic mode as she usually is about this time. She's upstairs changing clothes, humming White Christmas. Your help makes a big difference.” The tall, stately, white-haired man put a frilly apron over his clothes and took a turkey roaster out of one of the large ovens to check the bird. “Looks like this guy's ready too.” He set the heavy pan to one side. “Holly was always a big help, too—Oh, David! Sorry."
"It's okay, Dad. I'm okay. You're right, Holly was a big help, and she loved Christmas more than any time of year. She lit up the place, I always thought."
His father leaned on the counter and crossed his arms across his big chest. “She sure did, son. She was one special girl.” His voice was soft.
David's eyes burned a little. “She was amazingly special, and we were lucky to have her as long as we did. I was lucky she married me and put up with me. Now, though, I need to let her go. I think I never have managed that."
"It must be hard for you, son. I can't imagine how hard."
David looked him straight on, two sets of sky-blue eyes locked. “The family has helped. Knowing all of you cared. Knowing you would let me work through my mourning in my own time. I couldn't have gotten through it without you."
David took a deep breath. This conversation had been a very long time in coming. He could see his dad was relieved to hear he was ready to move on.
"Son, I'm glad you've found some peace. That's the best any of us can do with a tragedy like Holly's. Find peace, and pick up the pieces.” He took a couple of steps and wrapped his big son in an equally big embrace. “We love you, David. We all do."
Dorothy sailed into the room then, dressed in the special caftan she wore only on Christmas Day, much to the delight of the grandchildren who called it “Grandma's tent dress.” It was spruce green, printed with large red poinsettias. Her earrings were clear plastic globes filled with gold tinsel. Her lipstick and fingernails matched the poinsettias.
"Mom, you look like everything Christmas is supposed to be.” David hugged her tightly and kissed her soft powdery cheek.
She slapped at him playfully. “Stop that! I'll have you know I don't have time for silliness. There's work to be done before—"
The doorbell chimed and shock registered on Dorothy's sweet round face. “Oh no! They're here!"
Charles chuckled and headed toward the front door in his wife's wake. “Come on, son. Let's see who we can trap under the mistletoe."
"Now, Charles!” She threw him a glare, then opened the door and beamed at the newcomers. “Merry Christmas! Oh, Merry Christmas everyone! Hurry in here! It's so cold out. Did you have a safe trip? Let me take your coats. Charles? David? Help me with the coats..."
The same basic scene was replayed time and again. No one but Dorothy got trapped under the mistletoe, and she enjoyed every peck on the cheek from her sons, grandchildren, nephews, cousins ... All the McClain family who could manage to make the trip arrived eventually, including David's sisters Maureen and Janelle, and Joe's bunch—wife Theresa, and kids Joey and Marliss.
David was stirring gravy when Joey poked his blonde head into the kitchen and look around. “Hey, Uncle David."
"Hey, Joey.” He squinted at the youngster. “You look old."<
br />
"Thanks. Fifteen and a half. Gonna get my license the day I hit sixteen."
"Man, you're scarin’ me here. I'm afraid you're gonna put lumps in this gravy with that kind of talk."
Joey smiled the gorgeous smile he'd inherited from his mother. Not David's motor head brother Joe, who no doubt promised the license thing to his son. Joe was all about driving cars, fixing cars. Joey had gotten some of that too.
"Uncle David, you seen Daniel yet?"
"Hm. No, I don't believe I have. It's not late yet though. Maybe he had to finish playing a computer game before he could come on over here."
"Ha. More likely building a website or trouble-shooting somebody's computer over the phone. He's all about that stuff."
"That's cool."
"Yeah. I like cars and he likes computers. When we get outta school, we're gonna go into business together doin’ that stuff. Gonna make a lot of money sellin’ computer car ideas to the big guys."
"Sounds great.” The doorbell chimed again, and David took a quick, deep breath. “Might be them now.” He didn't look up—wasn't sure what would be in his eyes.
Rebecca. Was he fooling himself, or did the two of them have possibilities—together?
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Chapter Nine
Shaken from the bumpy ride through the snow-rutted back roads in Martin's Jeep, Rebecca carefully chose her path to the house so as not to soak her stiletto ankle boots for the third time in two days. They were designer boots, and had cost a mint, but she wasn't certain how much abuse they could take. She had no choice, though—no footwear in Midnight's house was anywhere near Rebecca's size. Daniel's old shoes were too small, and everything else too large. She'd gotten behind the other three because of her cautious navigation, stepping into footprints already made so she didn't have to tread through anything deep.
Finally she made it onto the wide front porch just in time to see Midnight and Martin be pulled into the house. Daniel received an exclamation from a plump white-haired lady in a wild caftan. Smiling like a round-faced angel, she pointed to the mistletoe hung in the doorway and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. Daniel hugged her and went into the house. Rebecca stood on the porch, hearing the happy voices inside, and wishing she could somehow escape. What audacity to come here as an interloper on a holiday. What had she been thinking?
"Oh, honey, come on in here! I'm Dorothy McClain. David and Joe's mother. And Janelle and Maureen's too, but you haven't met them yet, have you? But you will. I'm so glad you're here. Now, tell me your name. And tell me all about yourself. You're Midnight's friend, right? That makes you special in Legend, I'll tell you true."
While Dorothy McClain talked, she was giving Rebecca a quick hug, taking her cloak and handing it to someone to be carried away, and ushering her to a buffet table in the large dining room, pouring her a lovely glass of red wine.
Dorothy stood to one side, near a swinging door that probably led to the kitchen. “And your name is..."
"Rebecca.” He said it so sweetly, she had to look twice to be sure it was the same David McClain she'd been snowbound with. There he was, standing in the doorway, halfway in the kitchen and halfway in the dining room, looking tall, dark, handsome—and very uncertain.
"I'll let you children talk.” Dorothy floated out of the room, completely unnoticed.
"David. Um. Good to see you again."
"Yes. It's good. You look good."
Rebecca looked down at her clothes. She'd seldom had this many compliments on her designer outfits. “The clothes are loaners.” She took a step toward him, sipped the delicious wine. “From Daniel. I guess he was my size when he was about twelve years old."
Chuckling, David came the rest of the way into the dining room. “Well, you still look good. Very good."
"Thanks.” Rebecca felt her face grow hot, felt something in the air between them. Something electric and exciting.
"Any chance you and I could start over?” David walked to the buffet and poured himself a glass of wine, then stood in front of her. She could see a slight movement in the liquid. Was his hand was a bit unsteady?
"Start over?” She looked up at him, so tall and handsome in his dark brown sweater, the strands of white hair catching the light from the chandelier. She couldn't seem to breathe normally, felt as if her voice was too soft.
"Yeah. Start over, as in, meet like normal people and get to know each other. Or if you prefer ... we could pick up where we left off. That would be nice, too.” He reached down and took her free hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the knuckles lightly. “I think I came across as a big ugly brute out there on the mountain. At least part of the time. But I do have a couple of redeeming qualities.” He linked his fingers with hers.
She held on, liking the direction this conversation was going. She couldn't look away from those blue, blue eyes. Didn't want to. “Um. I think I really need to apologize for the way I behaved up there. I staggered into your cabin—into your Christmas Eve—and just ruined your solitude. You ended up having to take care of me. Worse yet, put up with me. Most people don't have much patience—don't want to put up with my obsessive-compulsive—"
He silenced her with a kiss as sweet as soft red wine, as spicy as sex. Rebecca set her wine glass shakily onto the buffet, put her arms around David's neck, and pulled him closer. He set his glass down too, almost missing the horizontal surface in his haste to have Rebecca in his arms. It felt so right. It felt like home, at last, after the loneliness and denial both of them had been through.
David came up for air a few minutes later. “So. Rebecca. It feels like we're onto something here. Like maybe we're on the same side of the counsel table for once."
She smiled up at him. “There's just nothing as romantic as a courtroom metaphor.” Sighing, she ran her hands through his hair. “But I think you're right. I think we started something up there on the mountain that is worth some ... research.” She tipped her head to one side. “Would you like me to file a brief?"
"Hm. I don't think briefs will be required.” He teased her ear lobe with his tongue.
Catching her breath—and then catching his meaning—she laughed softly and shook her head. “No. You're right about that. Do you require any type of pleading?"
"Pleading isn't necessary, either.” David ran his hands down her back and pulled her closer.
She laughed out loud. “Okay, Your Honor. What's the verdict then?"
"My verdict is, this case has merit, but I'm still dismissing the complaint. In fact, no more complaints are allowed."
She stamped her tiny foot. “Well! Any chance of an appeal?"
"Oh yeah. There's no end of appeal. But first, let me pronounce the sentence."
"Hey! Is this civil or criminal?"
"Baby, we'll keep it as civil as we can. The criminal part is that we already wasted all those hours in the cabin."
She snuggled back into him. “So, no more wasted hours. Is that part of the sentence?"
"Absolutely.” He pulled away a little, looked down into her eyes. “I'm talking life here, if you get my meaning."
Startled out of the repartee, Rebecca looked up into his beautiful, trustworthy eyes.
"Life. David, be serious for a minute. I'm forty years old, I'm sick and tired, and I'm ready to throw away a hugely successful law practice in New York and start over. And I don't even know what I'll do when I start over. I may be a bad risk.” She looked down at the floor. “Perhaps you've got the wrong woman."
He lifted her chin with one long finger. “No. I've definitely got the right woman. I have it on very good authority."
A white pillar candle on the buffet suddenly flared more brightly, then settled down again. Rebecca briefly wondered about it.
The rest of the McClains visited in the family room, in the living room, on the enclosed four-season back porch, oohing and aahing at the Christmas trees, lighted manger scenes, and huge potted poinsettias. They sang carols around the piano while Dav
id's sister Janelle played. They stayed out of the dining room for a good long while, because Dorothy told them to. She pulled the sliding oak pocket door closed and gave David and Rebecca some privacy, though they were unaware of the movement or the sound. They stood molded together, kissing and holding each other, and beginning to make plans.
This year's Christmas Collision had given both of them another chance at happiness. Another chance at love.
The End
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About the Author
A Jack of All Trades, Janet Eaves is a wife of 28 years, mother of two daughters, and grandmother to the most incredibly beautiful child in the world. She writes fiction independently as well as collaborating with her SisterWriters Maddie James, Magdalena Scott, and Jan Scarbrough in the Ladies of Legend Series. She runs her husband's contracting business from her home office, works for H&R Block during Tax season (after weeks of recertification classes each summer), and is in the process of building another web based business, while redecorating several rooms in her home. In the midst of all, she is passionate about the written word. An avid reader and passionate writer, she loves nothing more than losing herself in fantasy.
The newly released Claiming the Legend is the first of four novellas in the Ladies of Legend: Finding Home anthology, and Janet's first step into publishing fiction. The story introduces the town of Legend, Tennessee and some of the people who reside there. The story opens with Lilly Peach running for her life, desperately needing a place to hide. She believes she's found obscurity in this small town, nestled at the foot of the Appalachian Mountains . When the Legend of Legend, the popular local high school football coach, takes an interest in her she is thrust into the local spotlight. Unfortunately for her, his ultra-successful football program has garnered national attention as well.
Currently Janet is working on her second contracted Legend Series book, Beauty and the Beast, which will be followed up by Harvest Moon, then before the year is out, a Christmas novella which will rejoin her with her SisterWriters in the Ladies of Legend: A Legendary Christmas anthology.
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