“My story has its happy ending. You still have to write yours.”
Cara almost cried. She’d already told him she meant to stay in Christmas Town—and finish her novel. That put her near Brady at Acadia and they’d visit back and forth until, he’d said, they would have to discuss a more permanent solution. The long winter wouldn’t seem so cold now. She could even envision Beth smiling down on them.
“Thank you, Brady.” She kissed his cheek. “This is perfect.”
“So is mine.”
So was he, she thought.
~*~
When all the gifts had been handed out and admired, Chris suddenly stood up then tugged on Hope’s hand. He reached for little Joel too and lifted him into his arms. It was the first time Joel had stopped moving all day. Brady had never seen so many toys, which Joel had shown to everyone over and over, and each seemed to talk or make noise. “We have an announcement to make,” Chris said now.
“I wanna say it,” Joel piped up. “We’re married to Riff!”
Chris ruffled his hair. “We’re engaged, buddy.”
And Hope flashed a shiny ring that hadn’t been on her finger earlier. “I didn’t want to take it off, but we wanted to surprise you today. It’s been hiding in my pocket.”
“Aww,” his mother said then burst into tears.
“Some Christmas, huh, Mom?” Brady said.
“The best. Dreams really do come true.” Blinking, she looked at each person in turn. “All of you here, your father doing so much better after we thought we might lose—” She sniffed and took his father’s hand. “Anyway, the doctor’s very pleased with our progress.” The two of them exchanged misty smiles then kisses. His mother beamed. “And a first grandchild too,” she added with a fond look at Joel. “What could be better?”
She glanced at Faith as if prompting her to make a similar announcement.
“Sorry, Mom, but we’re going to see the world,” she said. “For a while.”
“Together,” Drew added, her hand in his.
She leaned against his shoulder. “But we’ll always come home.”
That tied a neat bow around it for Brady. He and Hope were okay now too. His family was here. He was part of them again. But then, he always had been.
“About home,” his mother said with a little frown. Suddenly she looked older than her years, even though her ash blond hair was stylishly cut, her face relatively unlined. “You all know we’ve been planning to move south to somewhere warmer—”
“The doctor agrees I don’t need the winters here,” his dad put in. “Shoveling snow, running the store—we really wanted to keep it in the family but now—”
“You will.” Hope glanced at Faith then Brady as if for support but they’d already given their okay. “We’re going to take it over. When Faith and Drew are away, I’ll run Comfort and Joy. Brady can spell me whenever he’s here to see Cara.”
Cara added, “I can help too.”
“You’d do that for us?” his mother asked.
“Anything,” Brady, Hope and Faith said at once.
There was a lot more talk after that, and plans made to get together next Christmas, but Brady heard only parts of it. Earlier, before everyone else came, and with Cara there, he’d talked with his parents. At long last.
“We always knew Doug Merrick had more to tell,” his father had said. “Yes, we were disappointed in you then, Brady—”
“But we never stopped loving you,” his mom finished. “How could you doubt that? And we didn’t know the true story. All this time.”
“To think Doug’s father threatened to ruin us—”
“He has no power now,” his mother said. “He’s well on his way to being just a mean old man. But we’re going to forget all of that.” She had patted Brady’s cheek. “All you need to do now is forgive yourself.”
Brady relaxed against the loveseat, holding Cara close. Little Joel zipped around the room, buzzing everyone with a plane Drew and Faith had brought him from their travels. Like his mother, Brady couldn’t remember a better Christmas. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted when he came back to Christmas Town. Forgiveness.
And now, Cara. But his mom was right. He’d been the one who couldn’t forgive himself. With Cara in his arms, his family around the fire, and sunlight twinkling on the snow outside, Brady said, “Merry Christmas, everyone.”
The End
A Note from the Author
Thanks for reading His Christmas Gift, my novella in A Heartwarming Christmas! I also write sweet romance for Harlequin Heartwarming.
Would you like to know when my next book is coming out? I’ll have two Heartwarming novels next year, and you can find out about them on my Facebook page at Leigh Riker Books. Follow me on Twitter @lbrwriter. Or, visit my website: leighriker.com.
Happy reading!
The Gingerbread Heart
Liz Flaherty
Copyright © 2015 by:
Liz Flaherty
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
150921.175524
Acknowledgments
I am so grateful to the original Christmas, Actually authors, Melinda Curtis, Anna J. Stewart, and Anna Adams, who invited me along for this year, and to Pat and Rula, my “pod-mates”, who made it all so much fun. Thanks to Nan Reinhardt, friend, writer, and editor extraordinaire for her input and for fixing my messes. I’m also thankful to Susan Sarandon and Mark Harmon for being my unwitting inspiration and to Duane Flaherty, who inspires me (sometimes not in a good way) every day of my life.
Praise and Awards
“Jar of Dreams is small town romance at its best! It is filled with a cast of quirky, loveable characters that I wanted to get to know in real life.”
~ Harlequin Junkie Blog
“The Debutante's Second Chance (4.5) addresses a difficult subject in a sensitive but realistic way, and it's aided by characters with lots of depth and an abundance of humor.”
~ RT Book Reviews
“Liz Flaherty has written a love story with so much more than love. I give One More Summer 5 bookmarks.”
~ The KariAnnAlysis
Chapter 1
Cass drove west into the tie-dyed sunset, keeping her eyes on the two-lane road that stretched before her after she took the exit for Christmas Town, Maine. The audio book that had played for the last twelve hours of driving time held her interest, but she had to work at it, backing it up sometimes when she lost track of Cyrus Wisdom’s latest adventures. This never happened—Cyrus was her favorite mystery protagonist since Murder, She Wrote’s Jessica Fletcher. Cass called the self-professed “nosy preacher” by his first name and laughed out loud at his self-deprecating humor even when she was alone. But her mind wandered in spite of herself to places she didn’t want it to go.
She couldn’t bear to think about the empty spaces she’d left behind, but she didn’t want to think about her destination, either. Other than her girls, who didn’t need her anymore, there was nothing left in Christmas Town for Cassandra Logan. There was nothing left anywhere.
She supposed she’d been deep-down lonely at some previous point in her fifty-few years. Maybe in high school before Paul asked her out and ended their first date by giving her his class ring, but she’d been sixteen then, and even now she remembered the kind of barren separateness that went with being that age. She’d felt profound grief after Paul’s death eighteen months ago, but the move to Indiana to care for her mother in the end stages of Alzheimer’s came so soon after it that there hadn’t been time to feel lonely. At least not the bone-hurting kind she felt now.
The road was cleared of snow, but she still slowed her speed to a few miles an hour below sedate. Twilight was the trickiest part of the day when it came to seeing where you were going, and no one was behind her to sig
h and look at the time because they had something or someone to go home to and they were in a hurry.
She passed Two Sticks Farm, where she and Paul had raised the girls and planned to spend their old age. Amy lived in the farmhouse. She was a speech therapist who used horses to help her patients at her clinic, Kids Speak. On the other side of the farm, Lia operated Holly Haven, a rescue and rehab shelter for whatever animals needed her. Cass had suggested that she was ready and waiting for grandchildren—either biological or adopted; she didn’t care which—but they’d rolled their eyes at her exactly as they had all the way through high school. She’d subsided, but not without a heavy sigh.
They were alone, as she was, but that was where the lifestyle similarity ended. Their solitude was by choice, even though Amy’s had come after a painful divorce; Cass’s was because people kept dying.
She was tempted to stop and see her daughters, and she slowed even more. It had been a week since the girls flew back to Maine after making the quick trip to Indiana for their grandmother’s funeral. Cass tried not to hover over her grown children—her own mother’s tendencies had taught her that—so she drove on past both Amy’s driveway and the one that led to Lia’s shelter, where she knew her younger daughter would be working late as usual. She tapped the horn in the “hi there—love you” tattoo they all used and tried to blink away the burning in her eyes.
Darkness was settling in hard as she approached the city limits of Christmas Town, the dappled colors calming into the deep hues of winter nights. She drew to a stop at Reindeer Meadow, getting out of the car to lean on the wooden fence.
There were no signs yet of snowball fights—this was the best battleground in Christmas Town—or footprints made by people walking through the pristine field. The old farm wagon that had sat in the corner back by the woods for more years than Cass could remember was covered with several inches of untouched snow.
Paul had proposed to her there when he’d come to visit her at college, swinging her onto the seat of the wagon and looking up at her because he said his knees were too bad from hefting bales of hay his whole life to kneel on one of them.
Oh, Paul. The grief hadn’t killed her, but she sometimes thought the memories would. She closed her eyes against them, resting her head on the arms she’d folded on the top rail of the fence.
“Ma’am?”
~*~
Elijah Welcome passed the car stopped at Reindeer Meadow without slowing down. But when he reached the green in Christmas Town, he drove around it and went back the way he’d come. The little red SUV looked lonely sitting there at the side of the road, as did the figure leaning on the cross-buck fence. Everybody and their brother, sister, and dog had cell phones these days, but what if this person in a green jacket didn’t? What if he or she needed help?
He wasn’t a minister anymore. He didn’t have a church or a flock or even a preferred-parking sign for his car. If anyone had asked him, he’d have said he didn’t have a calling, either.
But he heard something in his spirit when he saw the silent figure at the fence, and he knew from experience that not answering wasn’t an option. He pulled in with the front of his car facing the red one in case its driver needed a jump. “Stay, Maggie,” he instructed the rescue dachshund in the passenger seat, and got out, grimacing when snow squished into the tennis shoes he’d worn at the gym.
The person—the build in dark jeans and knee-high boots told him it was a woman—didn’t appear to hear him as he approached. He didn’t want to scare her unduly, so he spoke when he was still several feet away from her.
“Ma’am?”
Her gasp was so ragged he felt it as much as heard it. She turned, her hands crossing over her chest. He didn’t recognize her, although she looked familiar. And frightened.
He held both hands up so she could see he wasn’t armed. He hoped he didn’t look like a serial killer, although his black gym pants and white and black Bowdoin College sweatshirt probably weren’t too reassuring, either.
“Oh.” She looked relieved, though he didn’t know why. “You went to Bowdoin?”
He glanced down at his shirt. “Uh, yes. Did you?”
“Just for a year.”
He relaxed, which might have been a mistake—maybe she was a serial killer, albeit a pretty one. “That’s a shame. It’s a great school. Did you transfer?”
“Changed majors.” She smiled, though there was a wistful edge to the expression. “I got married.” She spread her hands as though to take in their surroundings. “Am I trespassing? I’ve been gone for over a year, but this tends to be a public place, even though I’m sure it’s privately owned.”
“It’s still public. I believe the town owns it. I just stopped in case you had car trouble or—” He hesitated, doubting she’d appreciate being told she looked both lonely and needy. “Well, just in case.” He extended his hand, hoping it wasn’t as cold as his feet were. “I’m Eli Welcome.”
“Oh!” Belatedly, she took his hand, and an unexpected frisson of awareness warmed his arm. “Pastor Welcome. I’m Cass Logan.”
He started to tell her he wasn’t a pastor anymore, but maybe he was. He certainly wouldn’t be the first clergyman to offer succor even though his beliefs were going through a shaky time.
“Are Amy and Lia your daughters?”
“Are you still at St. Matthew’s?”
They spoke at the same time, then smiled and shrugged. “Go on,” he invited, not wanting to talk about St. Matthew’s.
“Yes, they are.” He could see the sadness that flattened the color of her eyes, even in the darkness, but there was both pride and joy in her smile. “Do you know the girls?”
He nodded and gestured toward his car, where Maggie was standing with her front paws at the lower edge of the driver’s window. “Lia introduced me to Maggie, and I’ll be forever grateful. We’ve pulled each other out of some rough spots lately.”
Cass’s smile seemed to fall away. “Maybe I need a Maggie.”
“Sometimes we all do.” He stretched his hand toward her. “You’re back, then, after taking care of your mother? I’m so sorry for your loss. Are you staying with one of the girls or do you have a home here?” His words sounded too platitudinous to him, but he didn’t know what to say. He lifted both hands, palms up. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No.” But she hesitated over the word. “I’ll be fine. I’m not staying with the girls—they’re busy enough without worrying about me. I’m staying at Esther’s House for a few days.” She named the Federal-style restaurant and inn just north of the square in Christmas Town. “Esther’s probably wondering where I am.”
He nodded, thinking of the kindhearted innkeeper. “Supper will be ready in the restaurant, and she never wants anyone to miss it.”
“I don’t want to miss it, either. I think I forgot to eat lunch.”
He took her arm as they stepped away from the fence and held it as they went to the cars, still feeling awareness arcing between them, though he didn’t know if she felt it, too. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you.” She slid under the wheel when he opened her door. “I’m just not sure it is home. Do you ever feel that way?”
He nodded, hearing the ruefulness in his own voice. “All the time, I’m afraid. All the time.”
Chapter 2
Three mornings after her arrival, Cass woke in Room Seven’s canopied bed with the realization that she didn’t know what to do with herself that day. She’d had dinner with both girls as well as one-on-one time with each of them, left flowers and some tears on Paul’s grave, and looked at the few apartments for rent in the area. She had decided she hated apartments.
She followed the scent of Esther’s waffles with maple syrup to one of the two downstairs dining rooms and sat alone at a table beside a window overlooking the inn’s front porch.
She’d offered to help the girls at both Amy’s clinic and Lia’s shelter, but they’d shooed her on her way. “You’ve been a care
giver since the minute Amy was born,” said Lia gently. “It’s time for you to take care of yourself and to do what you want.”
Cass thought that was an indicator she and Paul had raised their children well. However, she didn’t know what she wanted. Beyond another waffle, anyway, and she certainly didn’t need that.
The view through the tall window was dusky blue with dawn, lit by old-fashioned streetlamps and frosted by falling snow. She remembered walking this street with Paul, stopping for dinner at Esther’s after Christmas shopping at Dockery’s. Her husband had hated shopping, but he’d always gone with her for one full day during the first week of December.
Last year, she’d already been in Indiana for a few months at this time, reminding her mother each morning who the stranger in her house was and why she was there. Christmas had gone by with little more celebration than turkey and dressing for dinner. She’d sent gift cards to the girls, written donation checks to her church and the Christmas Town holiday fund, and trudged through another day. The only real tradition she’d observed was baking the gingerbread ornaments she gave as gifts.
She supposed that buried in the grief and the weariness there was relief—because her husband and her mother rested, so did she. But mostly she felt lost, coupled with that to-the-bone aloneness she didn’t know how to fight.
The delivery of a cinnamon roll with her breakfast gave her the urge to bake. That had been one of the first personal pleasures to fall to the wayside as her mother’s condition worsened in the last months, and Cass missed the therapeutic benefits offered by a mixing bowl and a hot oven. If she didn’t find a kitchen to make gingerbread ornaments in this year, it would be the first time since she’d married Paul that she hadn’t made the spicy treats.
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