by Arlene James
“I’m not Mrs. Beasley,” Clint snapped.
“A course not,” Zoey giggled. “You’re too big. But you got lots of things to be happy about and some people gots none. So you should help Mommy.”
The old man raked a hand through his hair but didn’t refuse. Maybe her child’s convoluted reasoning would thaw the elder rancher?
“If you did the readings, Dad, you could be behind the stage or in the shadows,” Brett suggested. “In fact, that might force everyone to really listen to the words.”
“How many songs?” Clint asked.
“Four, maybe five. We need an opening reading to set the stage, one between each song and one to close at the end.” Elizabeth held her breath when Clint didn’t immediately reject the idea. You can do all things, Lord. Even soften his heart.
“Who chooses the readings?”
“You do, but they must fit the songs we’ll perform. I feel these selections are easiest for the children.” Elizabeth held out the sheet music.
He barely glanced through them. “Who’s doing the ‘I Know that My Redeemer Liveth’ solo?”
Elizabeth gulped. The song she’d flubbed—and to quote James, she’d performed shamefully.
“I thought you could read that,” she said hesitantly.
“My son tells me you have a beautiful voice. You should sing.” Clint’s glare penetrated.
“I’m already directing,” she said quickly. “And playing.”
“I’m already recuperating from a stroke. Could relapse anytime.” He leaned back against the sofa, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t know if I should take on all that stress.”
“You’re not—”
“I’ll help if you sing. Take it or leave it.” Clint looked as if he’d just scored a goal.
“But I haven’t sung in eons.” Turning to Brett for support she received only an encouraging smile. “That solo isn’t the easiest to perform.”
“So practice,” Clint said.
“We don’t have a pianist.” Elizabeth glanced from father to son. “You expect me to play, direct and sing?”
“We’ll use the church’s sound system to record the music ahead of time.” Brett’s cheerful voice irritated her. Elizabeth grasped at straws.
“We still need something else in the program. Four or five songs and a few readings will be too short.” Solve that, she fumed silently.
“Congregational singing of carols helps spread the Christmas spirit.” Clint’s gloating tone bugged her.
“Not enough.” Elizabeth watched the two men exchange a glance.
Clint frowned. Brett offered, “The high school band?”
“To go with the Messiah?” Elizabeth sighed in defeat. “There’s another thing. An expectant patient is due Christmas Eve. Her other three kids have arrived right on her due date. If the town’s only obstetrician isn’t back from his Hawaiian vacation I’ll be called to deliver. What if she goes into labor in the middle of the concert?”
“Doc Terry can come out of retirement for that. Or we’ll have an intermission.” Clint leaned forward. “Let me see those songs again so I can figure out the readings. I need a few days to put something together.”
“I need months,” Elizabeth said gloomily.
“I think you’ll both pull it off without a snag,” Brett proclaimed with a grin. “Now, can we sample some of those cookies you brought, Zoey?”
“Wait a minute, what are you contributing to this?” Clint demanded.
“Yes, what?” Elizabeth pinned Brett with her most severe look.
“Building the sets,” he said quickly.
“Refurbishing former sets, actually.” Clint frowned at Elizabeth. “What else do you need help with?”
“I thought maybe the kids could play bells or something for one of the songs. Only I can’t find any.” She frowned at Brett, who was shifting uncomfortably. “Any ideas?”
“About bells?” He blinked, nonplussed. “Where would I find bells?”
“I don’t have a clue.” Elizabeth crossed her arms. “But you know what? You conned me into doing this and I’ve got my hands full so I’m going to leave finding bells up to you while I keep Mabel from stitching up a bunch of angel costumes for the kids.”
“What’s wrong with angel costumes?” Clint demanded.
“Her idea is way over the top, besides which the kids do not in the least resemble angels when they sing.” She glared at him.
“But they will, Doc.” Brett grinned and put the kettle on. “We have faith in you.”
Which would make it even more embarrassing when the evening was a colossal flop, Elizabeth thought gloomily while watching Zoey and the men dip shortbread cookies into the tea Brett poured. She felt exhausted, but at least Clint would help.
“When do we get our Christmas tree from your ranch?” Zoey demanded.
“Not yet, sweetie,” Elizabeth said to shush her. Their lives were getting entirely too entwined with Brett and Clint Carlisle.
“Teacher said it’s three weeks till Christmas. That’s not hardly any time.” Zoey snuggled Mrs. Beasley on her lap, her face troubled. “Is your sleigh ready, CC?”
“Zoey!” Elizabeth winced at the loudness of her voice. “We’re not going to trouble these men to get us a tree. Now finish your tea. We have to leave.”
“Just so happens I looked at that sleigh two nights ago, Zoey,” Clint said.
Elizabeth saw Brett’s eyes widen as he gaped at his father.
“Made me decide I’d check out the forest in the back forty Saturday evening. Want to come?” Clint winked at Zoey, who immediately whooped for joy.
“Uh, Dad—”
“Can we, Mommy?” Zoey’s eyes gleamed. “I never rided in a sleigh before. Can Mrs. Beasley come, too, CC?”
“She’s too young.” Brett’s face was thunderous. “Dad, I—”
“Supposed to snow.” Clint smiled at Zoey as if they were coconspirators. “We’ll take along some hot chocolate and sing carols.”
“Oh, goody!” Zoey jiggled in her chair until she realized her puppy didn’t like it.
Truth to tell it sounded like fun to Elizabeth, too, but it seemed Brett didn’t want them to go. Why?
“For a man who didn’t want to celebrate Christmas let alone get a tree, you’re suddenly very gung-ho,” he complained.
“Zoey brings out my Christmas spirit.” Clint winked at her, his grin spreading when Zoey grinned back. “About time we made some new memories,” he said firmly.
Over the next hour Clint regaled Zoey with stories about his childhood. Her giggles and his laughter made the house hum with joy. Brett pretended to join in, strumming his guitar while Clint and Zoey sang familiar carols, but his mind seemed to be on something else, something that heightened the worried look in his eyes every time he studied his father.
Elizabeth drove home with Clint’s invitation for a sleigh ride hunt for a Christmas tree ringing in her ears, but with Brett’s dark-eyed anxiety on her mind.
She’d been so busy trying to get help for the Christmas choir she hadn’t given a thought to anyone else’s troubles. Soon she’d find out if she’d asked too much of Brett.
And pray she hadn’t because without him there to encourage and support her, doubts about failing another choir would overwhelm her.
Chapter Five
To Brett’s ear, Saturday morning’s choir practice sounded slightly less chaotic than previous ones. He figured it was probably due to the little “talk” Doc had given the kids about their responsibility to make Christmas Eve special for everyone.
Not that they sounded great. But better. Sort of.
“Hi.” Doc stood in the doorway of the gym where he was polishing the wooden cradle where Baby Jesus would lie.
“Hi, yourself.” To Brett, Elizabeth always looked gorgeous, but today her cherry-red sweater was both appropriate and functional given the cooler weather and the season. “It’s too cold for a sleigh ride today, right?”
“Really?” She frowned. “I thought Clint’s suggestion of going this afternoon instead of tonight is smart given the expected temperature dip. Zoey and I have our stuff all ready.”
“Oh. Good.” Part of him danced with joy at the prospect of an afternoon with this special woman. The other part knew an outing together would only make things more difficult later.
Don’t get involved, Brett. Too late.
“I’ll be finished here in five minutes.”
“How’s the bell search coming?” She wrinkled her nose at Ernie’s drawing of a camel.
“Working on it.” Brett gave up polishing. He couldn’t concentrate, anyway.
“Something’s bothering you.” Concern darkened her eyes to a deep forest green. “Would you rather cancel our sleigh ride?”
“You’re welcome to come.” She had to come. “Dad wants to go,” he added lamely.
“Then what’s the problem?” She tilted her head to one side.
“It’s a long story.” Brett didn’t want to dump his problems all over Doc, though the prospect of sharing appealed. “You’re busy.”
“Not today. Zoey’s gone home with Mrs. House. I’m not on call. I have time.” She sat down beside him. “Tell me.”
Brett debated but he needed advice and she wasn’t a gossip so he finally gave in.
“For a long time I’ve wanted to be a veterinarian,” he began. “I planned to attend college after high school.”
“I heard.” Elizabeth nodded, hair wildly askew.
He hid his grin, knowing she’d raked her fingers through the silver strands during practice. She took the choir so seriously, as if any failure would show a flaw in her. He didn’t get why.
“You canceled your plans when your dad had a stroke,” she prodded.
The town busybodies again.
“He needed my encouragement to push through his exercises.” Partly true.
“You gave up your dreams to care for your dad. Be proud of that.” Her big smile made him feel better, for a minute. “So what’s wrong?”
“Two months ago I was offered a chance to return to college and get the degree I want,” he blurted then nodded at her shocked expression. “Crazy bit is that a buddy of mine, we were going to college together, is now on the veterinarian faculty. He nominated me for a full scholarship in their new mature studies program. Starts in January.”
“Full scholarship for vet school? That’s fantastic.” Elizabeth reached out and hugged him. A second later she pulled away, cheeks pink. “Sorry, but I’m thrilled for you. What does your dad say?”
“I haven’t told him.” Brett liked that hug. Too much. “I know I should have. I keep praying for the right way to say I want to leave his beloved ranch, knowing he can’t manage the place on his own.”
“Achieving your dream means crushing his.” Elizabeth’s immediate understanding touched him. “I’m so sorry, Brett. This should be the best news—”
“The best yet the worst,” he agreed. “I want to have my dream, but I owe Dad everything, especially since I’m only now learning just how much he gave up to keep me when my mother left.”
Elizabeth silently slid her hand in his and leaned toward him as if she couldn’t wait to hear whatever he wanted to say. He admired Doc’s giving spirit so much.
“Have you noticed how Dad opens up to Zoey?” Brett smiled when she rolled her eyes. “I overheard a part of their conversation last night, which made me ask questions around town. Dad always had an amazing voice. Still does.”
“He should be the one leading the choir,” Doc muttered then shrugged. “Go on.”
“Turns out my father once auditioned for and won a coveted spot to go on tour with a well-known national choral group performing the Messiah. He found a renter for the ranch, sold some of his best cattle, was even buying a travel trailer so Mom and I could go with him when she announced she was leaving and taking me.”
“Oh, no.” She winced.
“This morning I learned that my Dad took every cent he’d raised, cleaned out his savings and gave it all to my mother. He gave up his dream of singing with that famous group so he could keep me.”
“Your father loves you. Parents sacrifice for their kids, Brett.” Elizabeth brushed his cheek with her fingers. “And you sacrificed your dream to go to college when Clint needed you. But that doesn’t mean you should sacrifice again. Your dad would agree.”
“I know. Even if it killed him, he’d insist I go.” Brett turned his hand so her fingers were meshed with his, relishing the touch of her soft palm against his. “I don’t know if I can do that, Doc.”
“Because?”
“I don’t have a bad life here. The ranch is doing fine. I’ve added my own interests. I’ve made it work,” he said quietly, staring at her smooth oval nails. “I’m managing.”
“That’s what you want from life? To manage?” Her firm words demanded a reply.
“To make him happy—I owe him that.”
“You owe your dad honesty,” she said firmly. “I can’t believe he’d want you to give up this opportunity and settle for a life of managing.”
Brett said nothing. Elizabeth withdrew her hand from his, straightening as if she was girding herself for something unpleasant.
“May I tell you something personal?”
“Sure.” Knowing more about Doc was exactly what Brett wanted.
* * *
“I was married for five years.” Elizabeth couldn’t look at him.
“To James.” Brett nodded.
“Yes. We met in medical school. I planned to be an obstetrician. He wanted to be a plastic surgeon. I loved him very much but it was not a good marriage.” Wasn’t that an understatement? “I gave up my dream of women’s medicine and worked as a general practitioner to put him through surgical residency. I didn’t have the children I longed for because James said he wasn’t ready. I worked long, draining hours at a hospital emergency room so James could take more and more specialty courses.”
“Not very fair.” Scorn laced Brett’s voice.
“Fairness isn’t part of James’s world.” Pain-filled memories cascaded through her mind. “At first I justified his constant criticism of me as constructive. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough to study obstetrics, or be a full partner in the practice we started, though I worked far more hours than he did. Then his deprecation extended to everything I did. I learned to bury my dreams so I didn’t have to listen to him castigate me for my failures. Eventually his belittling stopped me from doing most things I loved.”
She slumped at what she’d given up for what she’d called “love.”
“You don’t need to say it.” Brett’s voice tightened. “I can guess he’s why you stopped singing in public.”
“I directed a choir of handicapped kids. James hated it. Said I made a fool of myself with them, but I loved them. The day of their Christmas concert I got sick. I could barely walk but I couldn’t disappoint them when they’d invited their entire families. So I directed, anyway.” She gulped. “It was horrible. I couldn’t hear properly to play and my pitch was way off for my solo.” She saw only sympathy on Brett’s face. “James was furious. He stole my joy in Christmas music. Those lovely notes always reminded me of James’s scorn.”
“You never directed since?”
“Not till now. I managed. Until now all I heard were his words of shame.” She tried to smile. “I’m getting to the point.”
“I’m listening, Doc.”
Brett’s caring nature—that was what would make him an amazing veterinarian. That w
as why she’d urge him not to give up his dream.
“When I became pregnant I was so happy. But James grew increasingly distant. The day Zoey arrived James sent our lawyer to the hospital to say he wanted a divorce. He had a mistress and she’d borne him a son. He wanted nothing to do with Zoey or me. Ever.”
“Neither of you deserves a jerk like him.” Brett’s clenched jaw made her heart swell.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth pressed on. “Anyway, while I was in the hospital James closed my part of the practice. My patients were directed elsewhere. Our joint accounts were emptied. I’d stupidly let him handle everything.” She bit her lip. “The only thing he couldn’t touch was my home because my parents had entailed it to me along with some money before we were married. They’d never approved of James. He showed up to rage about that the day I came home with Zoey.”
“That’s when he hit Rex.” Brett squeezed her hand.
“Yes.” She stifled a half sob. “Rex’s death woke me up. I refused to sign the divorce agreement and hired a lawyer, an old friend from college who’d warned me years earlier about marrying James. She ensured my husband didn’t leave me high and dry when all I could manage was tending my daughter and mourning Rex.”
“God was caring for you,” he said with a smile.
“I had to start over. I sold the house, left New York and when I was ready, worked part-time. On the fourth anniversary of Rex’s death I cut my hair. My final act of defiance.” She touched the very short strands. “Silly, isn’t it?”
“Depends. James insisted on long hair?”
“He said it was the only thing that made me look halfway pretty.” Why did that still hurt?
“I don’t ever want to meet this stupid man.” Brett’s curling fist built a warm, tender feeling inside Elizabeth. How wonderful to have a defender.
“Thank you but he isn’t worth it.” She slid her hand atop his fist and gave him a heartfelt smile.
“True.” But anger still burned in Brett’s narrowed gaze. Anger for her? Her heart turned to mush. What a sweet, caring man.
“James thought he’d won when I settled for less money. But it wasn’t about money. It was about Zoey. Not knowing her, not seeing her grow and change, not feeling her hugs—he gave up all of that. I won the best part.”
