A Family Under the Christmas Tree

by Terri Reed

  Louise had said Sophie was pretty, but “pretty” was such a mild word. She wasn’t model gorgeous in that surreal way that some women had. No, Sophie’s beauty was natural. Her golden skin spoke of other places, warm and sunny places. Her blond hair had hung loose about her shoulders and framed an oval face that he’d itched to draw the second he’d returned to his desk. Now that drawing stared back at him, pulling his mind away from his work.

  He pushed the sketchbook aside. He couldn’t let anything or anyone divert his attention. Operating a million-dollar company and raising a child—especially one you hadn’t planned on—was hard enough. The last thing he needed was to add a complication such as romance into the mix. Romances, he’d found, took energy and effort that he didn’t have right now. He’d discovered early on that along with love came heartache. It was a state of being he didn’t want to experience ever again.

  He refocused on his computer, which he’d set up in the dining room so he could work and keep an eye on Troy. Juggling the sudden demands of single parenthood and the company he’d built from the ground up was taxing not only his energy but also his emotional reserves.

  After his brother and sister-in-law’s tragic deaths, David had been granted custody of his nephew, a fate David had never expected. Why had Daniel and Beth appointed him guardian of their son?

  David and Daniel had had such different lives the past few years. They hadn’t seen eye to eye on many things. David had been focused on building his company, Daniel on taking care of his family. Daniel had been clearly disappointed that David had devoted himself to work instead of family and faith. He’d said as much to David on more than one occasion.

  Guilt ate at David for allowing a wedge to develop between him and Daniel. A wedge that had been shattered by Daniel’s death.

  And now, six months into fatherhood, David still felt like he was walking through a minefield. To say it was overwhelming would be an understatement.

  There was no class to prepare someone to become a parent overnight. David was not only struggling with his own grief over his brother’s passing, but he was trying his best to help Troy cope as well. Some days were better than others.

  Yesterday had been good. Troy and Riggs had played hard for a couple of hours, and Troy had been exhausted by the time they’d returned home, which allowed David some focused time at his computer.

  David hoped today would be good too, but Troy hadn’t slept well. Ever since Daniel and Beth’s accident, Troy had been struggling with nightmares—night terrors, the doctor called them—that left him screaming and afraid. The next day, they would both be cranky. But they’d managed to make breakfast together, do their laundry, and make their beds without any meltdowns. He considered that a success.

  With school out for the holiday break, Troy was in the living room watching a cartoon. The volume crept up to a deafening level and grated on David’s already tightly strung nerves.

  He was working to develop a sensor for smartphones that would determine a person’s hydration level. The sensor would be able to read the saturation in their skin when a finger was pressed against the sensor, and it would be connected to an app that would track and monitor this.

  The idea came after a reporter for a national online newspaper had issued a challenge to software designers to develop a number of seemingly outlandish apps. Every software developer in David’s sphere had been abuzz about the list of wished-for apps. Some were too ridiculous to contemplate, while others had merit.

  Like an app that detected when someone was dehydrated.

  As David had done research into the negative effects of dehydration, he saw how useful such an app could be. He’d begun working on it nearly a year ago, and was now at the final stages. This project could be the one that set his company up for life. So much was riding on getting it right. And rolling the app out before anyone else got wind of it was paramount.

  But to succeed, David needed time. Uninterrupted, focused time.

  He rose and strode to the archway of the living room. Troy sat on the floor with his legs crisscrossed as a set of animated superheroes saved the world.

  “Hey, buddy, can we turn the volume down a couple of clicks?” David asked.

  Troy ignored him. David stepped over a dump truck to pick up the remote from the coffee table and decreased the sound. Troy seemed not to notice.

  Shaking his head, David returned to his project. His hands flew over the keyboard of his computer. He made notes on a yellow legal pad. He was so close. This app could save lives if he could get it to run correctly.

  Ten minutes later, Troy raced into the room and jumped on David’s back. The chair squeaked with the extra weight. David took a deep breath and tried to summon as much patience as he could. Then David lifted his hands from his keyboard and took a deep breath. “Troy. I’m working.”

  “You promised we could go to the park!” Troy jumped down and twirled in a circle. “I want to go to the park.”

  “You’re right. I did say we’d go to the park. Later. But I need to work now.”

  “All you do is work,” Troy said, his face set in a mulish look. This didn’t bode well. “I want to play.”

  “Troy, we’ll go to the park after lunch.”

  “No! I want to go now!” he shouted.

  Cringing from the high decibel noise coming from the small child, David grit his teeth. “Do not yell at me.” He tried to keep his voice even and calm, like the books had told him to.

  “You promised,” Troy said in the same tone of voice.

  Again, David took a deep breath and answered calmly. “Do not raise your voice at me.” His hands gripped the chair, and he noticed that his knuckles were turning white. “We will go to the park when I am done here.”

  “Well, I’m going to go now,” Troy said. His voice was quieter, but laced with challenge.

  “You are not going to go to the park on your own. We will—”

  “You can’t tell me what to do!” Troy screeched. “You’re not my daddy!”

  David’s heart sank. The accusation shredded his insides. He’d been warned that Troy would act out in his grief. David was barely processing his own sorrow at the loss of his brother; he couldn’t imagine how hard this had to be for Troy.

  Patience, he told himself. He knelt down and gripped Troy’s slender shoulders. Looking into his face, David saw his brother in the jut of Troy’s chin, in the shape of his eyes. Sadness swamped him, making his eyes burn. “I know I’m not your father. I can’t replace Daniel. But, Troy, you and I are all either of us has in this world. We have to figure out how to live together.”

  “I don’t want to live with you anymore.” Troy wrenched free, and he ran toward the front door.

  “Troy, no!” David raced after his nephew. David’s feet tangled in the Thomas the Tank engine tracks that lay in the middle of the living room, and he fell to his knees as Troy ran out of the house into the wet, cold, rainy day. Without a hat or coat.

  Pure panic gripped David. All sorts of horrible scenarios played through his head. “Oh, Dear Father in Heaven, please don’t let anything happen to him.” The prayer slipped out, surprising him. He wasn’t really sure where he stood with God, but he’d been raised to believe. Apparently in a crisis, default mode was to turn to Him.

  He jumped to his feet, grabbed his and Troy’s jackets, and chased after his nephew.

  CHAPTER

  2

  Sophie clicked a leash to Riggs’s collar. She was dressed for the rain with mud boots, waterproof pants, and a raincoat over a warm sweater. She knew better than to come to the Pacific Northwest in December unprepared. “Come on, dog. We’re going to let Grandma rest.”

  Grandma had settled in a recliner by the fire, her feet up and a blanket covering her. A book lay open in her lap but her eyes were closed. Sophie smiled with tender affection.

  After a filling breakfast and some Christmas planning—­decorating the house, shopping online for the family, and recipes to make for th
eir holiday dinner—Grandma had taken to her chair while Sophie finished unpacking her things into the guest room. Not much had changed in the house since her childhood. The same green comforter covered the trundle bed. The same lace curtains, yellowed with age, hung over the window that looked out on the small backyard.

  The hallway was lined with framed photographs, starting with black-and-white images of her grandparents from back when they were first married and moving through time with each subsequent picture. It was like watching her family’s lives unfold.

  Sophie touched the images of her grandfather with fond remembrance. He’d been a big man with a large laugh. If she closed her eyes and listened she could hear the echo of his laughter filling the house.

  In the living room, the knickknacks Sophie had played with as a child still sat on the shelves of the hutch in the corner. She’d liked to pretend the blue glass swan was a princess in disguise and the ceramic farm animal figurines were trying to help the princess find her way home.

  The mantel clock softly ticked away the time. Warmth from the fire filled the house, and the hint of Grandma’s gardenia perfume teased Sophie’s nose. The smell brought back memories of curling up under the orange afghan on the couch and watching old movies with her grandparents.

  She was amazed by how happy she was to be here, to be back to the one place she’d always felt at home. And she was surprised by how much she was looking forward to spending Christmas here. She couldn’t wait to get a Christmas tree and dig out the box of old ornaments that Grandma had said was packed away in the attic. They also planned to do some serious baking, something Sophie hadn’t had time for in ages—let alone a place. She tended to spend most of her days and nights in hotel rooms on assignments that took her around the globe. Her small studio apartment in Burbank was more of a landing pad and staging area than an actual living space.

  Riggs was pulling on the leash, so Sophie cast one more glance back at Grandma and saw that she was sleeping. Then she followed behind as Riggs tugged the leash all the way toward the door. Sophie figured a little exercise and fresh air would do her and the dog good. Though Riggs wouldn’t be getting the same type of workout he’d had yesterday with the neighbor’s nephew. What a cute kid!

  And his uncle was pretty cute, too. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired. The stuff of girlhood dreams. Okay, maybe some adult dreams, too. She couldn’t stop thinking about the flare of interest she’d seen in his eyes or the stirring of attraction she’d felt.

  Not that it meant anything.

  She probably wouldn’t even see David again while she was here. Well, maybe in passing. A friendly wave. A Christmas greeting. Nothing more.

  Getting involved was not on her agenda. Her focus while in Washington was to get Grandma back on both feet. Then Sophie would be off on another job. Hopefully with a prestigious skiwear company, though she didn’t want to get her hopes up. She’d had that particular dream quashed before.

  But that was then. This time the company had come to her. Or rather her agent. She’d been pursuing jobs with them for a long time, and it looked like her career was finally starting to take. She wanted to be one of the top commercial photographers in the country, and she had worked very hard to get there.

  And she’d learned from painful experience that pursuing her dream didn’t line up well with romantic relationships. Boyfriends tended not to like it when she was gone for weeks at a time. They got insecure when she was photographing some of the best-­looking men in the world. They didn’t understand that just because she was traveling to exotic places, she was not on vacation. Better, she had discovered, to stay focused on what she could control. Men certainly were not on that list.

  Riggs’s nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he danced with excitement at the prospect of going out for a walk. His long, bushy tail swept from side to side. He really was a handsome pup, all fluffy and very masculine. One could never mistake Riggs for a girl dog. His striking coloring and expressive face would photograph well.

  Which reminded her . . .

  “Stay put,” she said, and dashed back to her room to grab her camera from its case. She put a bright blue rain cover over the equipment for protection from the rain and then slipped the camera strap over her head and rested the camera against her chest.

  After grabbing the ball thrower from the laundry room, Sophie tugged her rainhat over her ears, buttoned her coat, and opened the front door. A blast of cold rain greeted her. For half a second she contemplated aborting the idea of a walk, but Riggs rushed out the door, pulling her along with him. She held tight to the end of the leash as she shut the door behind her.

  The dog stopped at the top of the steps to glance back at her as if to say hurry up. She tucked the ball thrower under her arm and snapped off a few shots of him with her camera. Was he smiling?

  With a rueful laugh, she let Riggs take the lead and hurried to keep up.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” she asked him. He did seem to know the way to the wooded community park that she’d intended to take him to. The park had tennis courts, basketball hoops, a playground, and a dog off-leash area. They didn’t encounter anyone as they walked through the neighborhood, but she was struck with a sense of nostalgia.

  How many times had she and her brothers made this trek to the playground? Back then her grandparents had never been far behind, always wanting to keep a watchful eye on their grandchildren.

  There’d been other kids in the neighborhood who’d sometimes come out to play with the Griffith kids when they visited. Sophie wondered whatever happened to Amy Keen, a girl the same age as Sophie. Amy had had dark hair and a bright smile. They’d become fast friends and had promised to be friends forever. They’d stayed in touch until middle school.

  Then Amy’s letters had dried up and Sophie’s cards had been returned stamped NO LONGER AT THIS ADDRESS. Grandma had said Mr. Keen had been transferred to a job overseas. The loss of Amy’s friendship had stung.

  Sophie and Riggs reached the park and entered the fenced-in, off-leash dog area. As Riggs sniffed around, Sophie stared across the street at the blue house on the corner that had once belonged to the Keens. Someone had hung lights and set up an inflatable snowman in the front yard.

  The echo of a yearning she hadn’t felt in a very long time throbbed in her chest. She’d enjoyed spending time with the Keens. They’d been a kind and loving family who had actually eaten dinner together.

  That was unheard of in Sophie’s life. Both of her parents had very demanding Hollywood careers that required long hours away from home. A string of nannies had attempted to fill the void over the years, but Sophie had always felt the lack of connection to her parents. Still did, if truth were told. Even though her parents had recently slowed down, they were strangers to her in many ways.

  Riggs let out a short bark. He sat on his haunches and cocked his head at her, his eyes locked on the ball thrower. He was clearly waiting for her to pay attention to him.

  She laughed and unleashed him. “Okay, you. We’ll play until I’m too cold to throw the ball anymore.”

  Thankfully, the rain had subsided to a misty drizzle. She threw the ball, and then quickly brought her camera up to capture action shots of Riggs as he whipped around and raced through the mud after the flying tennis ball. His paws flung mud and water everywhere.

  Her heart beat with excitement. She knew she’d gotten some great shots that she could add to her portfolio. Riggs found the ball where it landed, and he loped back to her side to drop it at her feet. All the while she kept clicking away.

  “Hmmm. Someone has trained you well.” She picked up the slobbery ball. “Ick.” She popped it back into the thrower and then wiped her hand on her coat. “Don’t get used to this, dog. We’re going to have to find you a new home after Christmas. Grandma can’t take care of you. You are too big, too much.”

  Riggs shuffled closer and licked her hand, then stared up at her with soulful brown eyes that seemed to plead with her
to love him. Tender affection budded within her and she took several pictures of him. She came out from behind the lens to say, “Stop looking at me like that.”

  She threw the ball again and marveled at Riggs’s agility as he chased after it.

  She’d have to make sure to find him a good home. Someplace that would be able to accommodate a dog of his size. He already was past her knee and would only grow bigger when he matured.

  Riggs scampered toward her, carrying the ball in his mouth, and then skidded to a stop a few feet away. His ears perked up. His nose lifted. He dropped the ball and let out a bark. She captured the change in him with her camera.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him.

  Riggs shifted to face her, barked again, and then ran to the gate. Her mouth dropped open. She kept taking pictures as he jumped up. His huge paw hit the release mechanism on the gate, allowing the gate door to swing open.

  He raced through the opening like his feet were on fire. She sputtered with astonishment and took off after him. What if he darted into the street and was hit by a car?

  Dread spread through her like a virus, making her stomach roil with nausea. She couldn’t let anything happen to him. “Riggs, come back!”

  The dog ignored her and darted around the brick building that housed the restrooms.

  “Riggs!” Her sneakers slipped and slid on the slick grass. She tucked her camera to the side so that her arm could hold it like a football and it wouldn’t be damaged bouncing against her ribs. Mud and water soaked her jeans as she ran in an effort to keep up with the much faster Riggs.

  She rounded the edge of the restrooms in time to see the dog disappear into the thick shadows of the woods that bordered the park. Oh, no. She’d never catch him. But she had to try.

  She ran harder and caught sight of a dark figure in her peripheral vision a second before they collided.