Love To The Rescue

by Brenda Sinclair

  Kevin had been wonderful, holding her while she sobbed, whispering comforting words in her ear. When she’d finally wrangled control over her emotions again, she noticed his completely bewildered expression. For a man who appeared at a total loss, he’d acted remarkably well.

  “Thank you for...for...” Amy stammered.

  “Sweetheart, I wish I could do more.” Kevin kissed the top of her head, patted her back as if comforting a crying child.

  “Just being here, holding me...”

  “Amy, honey, I’d do anything to spare you this pain. Trust me, I know how you feel. I mourned the loss of my marriage until I realized it was a blessing in disguise. Barbara didn’t love me. I’m not certain she ever loved our child. At least, not enough to stay and stick it out.” Kevin sighed. “Divorcing me, and then leaving the country was actually an unselfish act on her part. Had she stayed we would have made each other miserable, totally destroyed Sarah’s happiness and sense of security in the process.”

  “How could she not love someone so precious?” Amy hiccupped and reached for a tissue.

  “I’ll never understand Barbara either. But your situation was totally different. You loved your husband dearly.” Kevin brushed a strand of hair off her face. He paused for a few seconds and then added, “Anyone could see that you’re probably still in love with him.”

  Amy leaned back, met his eyes, uncertain if she’d heard regret or resignation in his tone. Had that observation wounded his heart? Surely, Kevin was aware of how much she loved him. “Allan will always be tucked away in a corner of my heart, and September 27th will always be difficult for me. But I love you so much it frightens me sometimes. And having Sarah in my life is such a blessing.” She almost blurted out the admission that sometimes she felt like a real mother, but caught herself. Kevin seemed to welcome her help with Sarah, and he didn’t complain that she was overly-insinuating herself into his daughter’s life.

  “Amy, darling, we both want what’s best for Sarah. She adores you. But you never mention whether or not you’d want to be married again. And I’ve been reluctant to bring up the subject. Maybe we’re both a little gun shy.”

  Amy felt her eyes well with tears. She hated sharing her most intimate thoughts or worst fears with anyone. She tried to avoid feeling so vulnerable to another person’s opinion of her, and she refused to relinquish the highly-valued sense of power, independence, and control over her own life that she’d acquired at an early age.

  But Kevin was different. She believed he wouldn’t judge her, no matter what she confided or shared with him. She took a deep breath. “Truthfully, the thought of remarrying frightens me. My father died of cancer when I was only seven, and a year later my mother remarried. I remember being thrilled—I’d acquired a new daddy—and then...”

  “What happened?” inquired Kevin, frowning.

  “Robert MacArthur was killed in a car accident four months after I turned sixteen. The police suspected a drunk driver, but the hit and run case was never solved.” Amy wiped at her tears. Losing her beloved stepdad in an unsolved drunk driving accident had haunted her for years. And then she’d lost Allan to a drunk driver, too. History repeating itself in the cruelest way. “My stepfather’s sudden senseless death devastated my mother. Over the years, I realized Mom loved Robert so much more than she ever loved my father. My parents only married because Mom discovered she was pregnant with me. She told me Dad cheated on her more than once, but she truly loved my stepfather. He was funny and faithful and such a nice man.”

  “How tragic that must have been for both of you.” Kevin kissed her cheek. “Did your mother eventually accept his death, move on with her life?”

  “She turned to prescription drugs and I suspect a few street drugs, too, to dull the pain of losing my stepdad.” Amy heaved a sigh. “She died three months later of an overdose one day while I was at school. I found her when I returned home from cheerleading practice.”

  “Oh, Amy. That’s horrible.” Kevin tucked her head under his chin.

  “The coroner ruled her death accidental; she hadn’t committed suicide. I believe in time she would have straightened her life out again and become the wonderful mother she was before my stepfather’s death. But it wasn’t to be. Fate robbed her of the opportunity.”

  “I’m so sorry. What happened to you?”

  “The courts sent me to live in Edson with my namesake, Aunt Amelia, and Uncle Jimmy. I hated living in such a small northern town. As soon as I graduated from high school, I headed back to Calgary and attended the University of Calgary on scholarships and student loans and completed my degree in English. I’ve been writing almost every day of my life. Either for high school and college newspapers, or magazines, and novels. You name it, I’ve written it. Now I can concentrate on what I love most, writing romance novels.” Amy straightened her back and looked him in the eye. “Okay, enough of this. I’m all cried out. How about that omelet I promised you?”

  “Can I ask you a question first?”

  “Kevin, you can ask me anything. You should know that by now.” Amy leaned back on his lap, looked deep into his eyes.

  “Are you reluctant to consider marriage again because of what happened to your dad and your stepdad and your husband? Do you think every man that comes into your life will meet a similar fate?” Kevin stared at her, expectantly

  Amy felt her mouth fall open. “I never considered such a thing. Not consciously anyway, and I’m not superstitious or anything.”

  “The possibility crossed my mind as you were telling me about your dad and stepdad.” Kevin brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.

  “Yeah, but what would be the chances of something like that happening?” Amy wrapped her arms around Kevin, protectively.

  She had loved being married to Allan. Sharing her life with someone on a daily basis. True, they’d had their arguments and fought about silly things like all married couples did. But she never again wanted to endure the pain she’d experienced when he died. She’d never survive it.

  But was avoiding marriage in order to prevent losing someone she loved deeply a ridiculous notion? Sacrificing what could be, fearful of what might happen, seemed completely foolish once she thought about it. Until this moment, Amy had never understood the expression, ‘the light bulb went on’. But suddenly she glimpsed her situation for what it truly was.

  She’d rescued Rover after he’d endured pain and suffering at the hand of an abusive owner. She’d helped Sarah overcome the grief and depression resulting from her mother’s desertion and subsequent death by encouraging Sarah to spend time with Rover who made her so happy. And she’d lent a hand to assist Sarah with her schoolwork woes and dreams of joining Girl Guides. The possibility that Amy MacArthur required rescuing from her own lonely existence hadn’t crossed her mind.

  But darn it all, perhaps she did require rescuing, whether she knew it or not. And just maybe Kevin was the man to accomplish that. And then her mind filled with doubts again. In real life, did anyone get a second happily ever after? Or did that just happen in romance novels?

  Chapter 15

  Amy stuffed the turkey back into the oven, tossed her potholders onto the counter, and glanced at her watch. Three-thirty. She grabbed her glass of wine off the counter, took a sip and leaned back against the island in her sunny kitchen. Her house overflowed with family and friends, and the Thanksgiving dinner preparations were moving along right on schedule.

  “Gosh, it’s warm in here,” she observed aloud. She had even cracked open the window over the sink to keep the temperature bearable with the oven on all day, but the room felt like a sauna at a high-end spa. She strode across the kitchen and slid the patio door open a foot, welcoming the cool breeze that wafted inside.

  Rover took the opportunity to sail out through the door for a quick romp in the backyard.

  “Remind me to close that again in a half hour or so,” said Amy, smiling at the women gathered in her kitchen to help with the Thanksgiving feast.
Every square inch of the substantial amount of counter space was occupied. She’d set out china and silverware, salad bowls, platters, and dessert trays to set the two dining room tables—one for the adults and one for the kids. The kitchen appeared to be in utter chaos, but Amy had everything under control.

  “The aroma in here is worth the discomfort.” Aunt Amelia looked up from adding the final touches to her broccoli salad and smiled at her niece. “I’m so proud of you, Amy. You certainly inherited your stepfather’s love of cooking and entertaining.”

  “Thanks, Auntie.” Amy felt herself beaming.

  Robert MacArthur legally adopted her shortly after marrying her mother, and he’d been her father in every way from age eight to sixteen. She remembered the tears she’d seen in his eyes the first time she called him Dad, and she couldn’t have loved him more if he’d been her birth father. She’d taken his surname, even kept it after she married since she’d established her writing career and her name had become a brand by then.

  He’d taught her to ride a horse, and later to drive a car. He’d read the riot act to her dates, frightening the daylights out of every young man brave enough to step into their living room and shake his hand.

  “I hosted Thanksgiving today to provide Sarah with a happy holiday memory, similar to the get-togethers I loved as a child,” admitted Amy, glancing over Tiffany’s shoulder while she stirred flour into the gravy. “Thanksgiving was my stepfather’s favorite holiday. Having been raised in the U.S., Dad insisted on two celebrations. Our Canadian Thanksgiving in October and another in November. Thanksgiving isn’t nearly as big of a deal in Canada as it is to our neighbors to the south, but Dad enjoyed both holidays immensely.”

  “I bet you miss him so much,” observed Tiffany.

  “Especially on days like today. Dad would invite family, friends, and anyone from work he’d heard would be alone on the holidays to our home. Aunt Amelia, Mom, and some of mom’s friends cooked for days beforehand. I remember the sumptuous buffet that lined our dining room table on the big day. Everyone dished up a plate to overflowing and pulled up a chair, a stool, an ottoman, or even sat cross-legged on the carpet, and ate until they couldn’t fit in another bite.”

  “My husband would be all over that. Dave loves to eat,” said Tiffany, chuckling.

  “What man doesn’t love eating?” added Aunt Amelia.

  “Dad would insist the gentlemen don the aprons, put the leftovers away, and wash the dishes, since the women worked so hard to prepare the meal.” Amy set a basket of rolls beside the microwave to warm up at the last minute. “But first he would serve the women coffee in the living room. Then he supervised the clean up in the kitchen. Inevitably, a contest involving snapping dishtowels broke out, and the guys realized they’d actually enjoyed their KP duty. While the men were up to their high jinks, the ladies separated into groups of four for card games or contests.”

  “Sounds like so much fun. Speaking of fun, my kids loved those invitations you sent out, Amy.” Tiffany drained the huge steaming pot of potatoes.

  “Let me mash those while you finish your gravy, Tiffany,” said Aunt Amelia, reaching for the potato masher.

  “They were cute invitations, weren’t they?” Amy recalled the fun she’d had creating the homemade cards with images of turkeys, pumpkin pie, and horns of plenty on pale orange paper. She signed her name and used a blue inkpad to stamp Rover’s paw print on them as well. “Sarah called me, giggling hysterically on the telephone, delighted that Rover had signed her invitation. Too bad Mrs. Harris couldn’t attend.”

  “Previous plans?”

  “She’s spending the weekend with her sister. She sent Kevin and Sarah with a roaster filled with cabbage rolls. They’re in the oven keeping warm. Mrs. Harris is an exceptional cook, and you’re going to enjoy them.” Amy sipped her wine.

  “I absolutely love cabbage rolls,” gushed Sally Wilson, invited to join the fun since her family all lived in Toronto. “I finished setting the table.”

  Amy set her empty wineglass on the counter. “What’s next?”

  “We’re almost ready to eat.” Aunt Amelia shook her head. “I cannot believe your house accommodates a sit down dinner for thirty people so easily.”

  “One of the reasons Allan chose this house was the huge dining room. He loved to entertain. And setting up the kids’ table in the wide hallway away from any carpets works so well.” Amy grinned.

  “I appreciate that with my four kids here,” added Tiffany.

  Just then Leslie shouted from the front door, “We’re here!” As usual she just rang the bell and let herself inside since Amy and Leslie had swapped keys years ago.

  “In the kitchen,” called Amy, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel before meeting her friends in the hallway.

  “Sorry we’re late. I got an emergency call from a client—his water pipes burst in the basement—and I had to deal with it.” Rick kissed Amy’s cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Same to you, Rick, and you’re not late. We won’t be sitting down to eat for another few minutes.” Amy reached for the glass bowl Leslie extended to her. “Your world famous coleslaw, I hope?”

  “You wouldn’t allow me through the door otherwise,” teased Leslie, slipping out of her coat and hanging it in the overflowing closet.

  “True,” admitted Amy, laughing. “Come on in. I think you know everybody, but if not, introduce yourself.”

  “I could smell that turkey half a block away.” Leslie inhaled deeply.

  “My stomach’s been growling for an hour already,” Amy called over her shoulder on her way back to the kitchen.

  “When’s supper ready, Amy? I’m hungry.” Sarah raced into the kitchen with Rover on her heels. She wore a dark blue velvet party dress and shiny patent shoes. Sarah peeked under the foil at the carved turkey, and a small hand with pink-polished fingernails reached out and swiped a piece of white meat off the corner of the platter.

  “Careful you don’t burn yourself,” warned Amy. “I just carved that and some of those pieces could be hot still.”

  Sarah peeked across the island at Leslie and swiped a pickle out of the dish with her other hand. “I know, Amy. ‘Be patient young lady.’ You always say that.”

  “We’ll eat as soon as Tiffany finishes the gravy, okay?” Amy shooed the child and the dog out of her kitchen. “Go find the other kids and all of you wash up. I’ll be calling everyone to the table in five minutes.”

  Leslie poured herself a glass of wine from the assortment of open bottles lining the bar area in the dining room. She turned toward Amy, chuckling.

  “What do you find so amusing?” inquired Amy, setting the platter heaped with carved turkey on the sideboard already straining from the holiday feast.

  “You sounded like a mother just then, dealing with Sarah.” Leslie sipped her wine. “I always knew you’d be a great mom some day.”

  Amy smiled, appreciating her friend’s observation. “She’s such a good kid.”

  “Her father is pretty special, too. Is he working today, or is he here somewhere?”

  “Downstairs playing pool with the guys. He traded shifts with another officer who ‘owed him one’ from this summer.” Amy couldn’t disguise her happiness. “I’m so thankful he could share this day with us. No pun intended there.”

  “Come and get it!” called Tiffany, and then she carefully entered the dining room maneuvering two gravy boats in her hands. “Where do you want these, Amy? Right on the dining room table?”

  “On this side table, please. I left you a spot beside the bowl of mashed potatoes.”

  “Thank you. Everything’s ready now.” Tiffany stood back, hands on hips, admiring their feast. “You realize it has taken days to prepare all this. These people are going to inhale it in less than a half hour.”

  “Yeah, I know, but think of the compliments we’ll receive.” Amy whispered, wistfully. “Before Mom’s plummet into depression after my stepdad’s death, she thought cooking for her fami
ly and friends was a woman’s ultimate show of love.”

  While Amy spoke, Kevin poked his head into the dining room. “Is the ultimate show of love ready to serve? If I don’t eat soon, I’ll go deaf listening to my stomach grumbling.”

  “You poor thing. Call everyone to the table and make sure the kids have washed their hands, please.” Amy smiled.

  He smiled back and she saw his love for her in his eyes. He blew her a kiss and then headed down the hall, shouting encouragement to everyone to hurry up and get seated.

  “Demonstrating my undying love was the last thing I was thinking about while standing at the sink for over an hour, back aching, peeling potatoes and cleaning carrots.” Tiffany grinned. “I can’t keep it to myself any longer, ladies. I’m pregnant again.”

  “Congratulations.” Amy smiled.

  “Number five.” Leslie gaped, incredulously. “I don’t know how you do it, but I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  “Thank you. I thought sharing the blessed news today was only fitting.”

  “What news is that?” asked Uncle Jimmy, entering the dining room.

  Tiffany filled him in.

  “I’ll add a few words to my blessing if you’d like.” Uncle Jimmy beamed at Amy’s friend. He always insisted on saying grace at these family get-togethers.

  “It’s still a secret. I just shared with my two best friends.”

  Uncle Jimmy zipped his lip with his fingers. “Won’t say a word then. But I’ll whisper a silent prayer for your little one.”

  “That means a lot to me.” Tiffany’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, no. Are you one of those women who cry for nine months straight?” teased Leslie.

  “Shush,” ordered Amy. “I think she’s entitled.”

  The sumptuous meal proved a resounding success. A couple of guys discreetly let out a notch on their belts just after Amy served dessert, and several people groaned when they rose from the table.

  Later, Kevin snuck up behind Amy in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her middle, while she stood at the sink washing the crystal wine glasses and silver cutlery she never trusted to the dishwasher. “Good God, do you women cook like this every holiday? If Christmas doesn’t fall on one of my days off, I’m trading shifts with another officer again.”