by Brenda Novak
Praise for the novels of Brenda Novak
“A page-turner with a deep heart.”
—Nancy Thayer, New York Times bestselling author, on The Bookstore on the Beach
“Novak handles difficult topics with sensitivity, making for a heart-tugging romance. Readers are sure to be sucked in.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on The Bookstore on the Beach
“I adore everything Brenda Novak writes. Her books are compelling, emotional, tender stories about people I would love to know in real life.”
—RaeAnne Thayne, New York Times bestselling author
“Fascinating characters, powerful conflicts and complex emotions make any Brenda Novak book a must-read for me.”
—Sherryl Woods, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Once you visit Silver Springs, you’ll never want to leave.”
—Robyn Carr, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Brenda Novak doesn’t just write fabulous stories, she writes keepers.”
—Susan Mallery, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“The author deftly integrates topics such as coming to terms with one’s past and the importance of forgiveness into another beautifully crafted, exceptionally poignant love story.”
—Library Journal on Discovering You
“This Heart of Mine had such beautiful details that it captured my full attention—and had me sniffling and smiling while waiting to board my plane.”
—First for Women
Home for the Holidays
Brenda Novak
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
One
To Natasha Sharp, nothing said Christmas like Victorian Days. She couldn’t help smiling as she tasted the sweet yet salty kettle corn she and her mother had just purchased from a nearby vendor, something she hadn’t had in years, and paused to admire the colored lights adorning the quaint shops and old-fashioned, Western-style boardwalk that ran the length of Main Street. The sight of the porch and yard of Little Mary’s Bed & Breakfast, a historic building from the late nineteenth century, jammed with noisy revelers wearing heavy jackets and scarves while drinking hot cider or eating homemade sugar cookies, reminded her of the type of idyllic scene you’d find in a snow globe. If only she could make white flakes swirl gently onto the people as well as into the valleys of the roof and along the banisters of the building before falling thickly to the ground, the picture would be perfect.
Real snow wasn’t likely, though. Whiskey Creek rarely received more than a dusting.
“What are you doing? Why’d you stop?” her mother asked, turning back in surprise.
At forty-one, Anya Sharp was only sixteen years older than Natasha, but hard living was beginning to change the fact that they used to look more like sisters—hard living and substance abuse. Although Anya didn’t seem to be high tonight—thank goodness—she had the voice of a longtime smoker and the stench of cigarettes clung to her hair and clothes, impinging on the pleasant aromas of gingerbread and roasted chestnuts.
“Just taking it all in,” Natasha said.
Trying to keep her bleached-blond hair from whipping around her face, thanks to a stiff, cold wind, Anya gave her a funny look. “Taking what in? The festival?”
Apparently, Anya didn’t feel the same nostalgia. Although she was now divorced, she still lived in Whiskey Creek, so it was easy to take the innocence of the small, California Gold Rush town, nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, for granted. Whiskey Creek hosted Victorian Days every year, usually the week before Christmas, but Natasha hadn’t been back, not during the holidays, since leaving for college six years ago. She was trying to get through med school at UCLA, and she had a job at a nearby hospital working as an orderly. The demands of both were especially high in December, so she typically visited during the summer.
“Yes, the festival,” she said. “The buildings. The people.” Natasha had such fond memories of this place, which was ironic. When Anya had married for the third time and told her they’d be moving yet again, Natasha hadn’t been happy about it. Barely a sophomore in high school, she’d already lived in so many cities and towns, and with so many “fathers”—both those who’d married her mother and those who hadn’t—that she’d almost rebelled.
She would have, if she’d had anywhere else to go. But she didn’t know who her biological father was. For that matter, neither did her mother. Given the type of encounters Natasha had witnessed as a child, she had little hope he’d be anyone she’d welcome into her life and had never tried to learn more about him. Dealing with Anya was difficult enough. She didn’t need another deadbeat parent. But since Anya’s behavior had alienated any extended family years ago, and Natasha had no father or anyone else to step in and help her, she’d had no choice except to move with her mother.
Anya had insisted that J. T. Amos, her new husband then, would take care of them as soon as he got out of prison, that this place would be better than all the others, and for once, she’d been right. Not that Anya or J.T. could assume any of the credit. It wasn’t what they did that had changed Natasha’s life. It was J.T.’s adult sons who’d made the difference. If Rod, Grady and Mack—the three brothers who’d still been living in the house where all five boys grew up—hadn’t looked after her until she could graduate, this town would’ve been like all the others.
“Do you think you’ll ever move back here?” her mother asked.
“Maybe. One day.” She spoke as though it was merely a possibility, even though she’d always planned to come back to Whiskey Creek. When she closed her eyes at night, this was where she dreamed of setting up her pediatric practice.
But in those dreams, she was also married to Mack, the youngest of the Amos brothers—and he didn’t seem to have the same dream.
“I think the Amoses, especially Mack, expect you to move back when you finish school,” her mother said as they started walking again.
Natasha said nothing. If that was the case, no one had ever told her.
“Are you going to see any of J.T.’s sons while you’re here?”
They passed a guy Natasha vaguely recognized from high school. She nodded to say hello before responding. “I’ve seen them already.”
Her mother’s head snapped up and her gaze sharpened. “When?”
Natasha had expected this reaction. She knew her mother wouldn’t like that she hadn’t been included. “Night before last.”
“But...I thought you didn’t get in until yesterday.”
“Actually, it was the night before.”
“Where’d you stay?”
She’d stayed at Mack and Grady’s—Rod was now married and had moved out—in her old room, where she’d spent the happiest years of her life. It had been wonderful to be back, to feel that sense of home. And she’d been so excited to see Mack. Each time she came back to Whiskey Creek, she thought something might change between them. That he’d finally act on what she believed he felt. That he’d realize they were meant to be together. But he’d been as careful as ever to avoid saying or doing anything that could be construed as romantic.
Apparently, he didn’t love her the way she loved him. Or he wouldn’t let himself. He was hung up on the nine-year age difference between them and the fact that his brothers considered her a kid sister.
“Where do you think I stayed?” she asked. “In my old room.”
“Why didn’t yo
u call me? Why’d you lead me to believe you didn’t reach town until you came to my house?”
Natasha pretended to be too busy navigating the crowd to maintain eye contact. “I didn’t lead you to believe anything.”
“But... You had to know that’s what I would assume.”
“Does it matter? Now that Dylan, Aaron and Rod are married, they have so much extra room at the house. And I knew I’d be seeing you soon.”
Anya scowled. “Oh, I get it. Well, I’m sorry I can’t provide what they can.”
Hearing her mother’s injured tone, Natasha took her hand. “Oh, stop. Your house might be a little cramped, but I don’t mind sleeping in your bedroom.” She didn’t mention the many strangers who filled the living room almost every night, using the place as a flophouse. They made her uncomfortable, but her mother called them friends.
“I would’ve liked to go to the Amoses’ with you,” she said. “Why didn’t you invite me?”
They’d been polite enough to include Anya in the past, but Natasha knew in her heart that they’d rather not have her around. So she’d come to town before her mother was expecting her, and she’d gone to visit the Amos brothers alone. That way, she wouldn’t have to ask them—again—if she could bring Anya. And it had worked out so well. She’d really enjoyed not having to worry about what her mother might say or do. Anya embarrassed her too often. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal to you. You live here. You must see them all the time.”
“I run into them now and then, especially J.T. I can’t seem to avoid him. But it’s different since we divorced. I miss the boys, would like to spend more time with them.” They paused to let another group cut through to reach a booth selling clam chowder. “What’d you do while you were there?”
“Just visited,” she replied, but that wasn’t strictly true. Mack had invited his brothers and their wives and children to come over and see her and have a big Christmas dinner. Everyone had brought a dish, and she’d exchanged gifts with them.
Some carolers, dressed in Dickens garb, were singing “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” Natasha kept hold of her mother’s hand as they navigated around the foursome.
“Was J.T. there?” her mother asked, raising her voice to be heard over the music.
“No.” At least that was true.
“Where was he?”
“At his house, I suppose. I swung by, once I was on the way to your place, to drop off his Christmas present, but we didn’t talk long. Looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.”
Creases formed in her mother’s forehead. “You gave J.T. a present? After how he’s treated me?”
“The way you guys fought? I think you both treated each other pretty poorly. Besides, it was just a tin of candy.” She’d brought some of her homemade fudge for her mother, too.
“Did he have a gift for you?”
Despite everything her mother had to say about J.T., Natasha could tell Anya still cared about him, or she wouldn’t be so acutely interested in him and his sons. Natasha also suspected that Anya didn’t find it entirely unpleasant to run into her ex. Maybe they were even still hooking up now and then. Regardless, they had to see each other quite often, since they traveled in the same circles and had so many mutual friends. “Of course not. But I wasn’t expecting a gift.”
“Since when has he ever had the money to give anything to anyone?” her mother asked bitterly.
Anya had no room to talk. She hadn’t made much of her life, either. But Natasha bit her tongue.
As they stopped to check out some jewelry and Natasha held a pair of silver hoops to her ears to see how they’d look against her brown hair, she hoped Anya would forget about the Amoses. But her mother brought them up again as soon as she put the earrings back and they continued to meander down the row of vendors.
“I bet Mack and his brothers had a gift for you.”
They’d gone in together to buy her a sweater and a new smartphone, since hers was ancient and the screen was shattered. She’d made the switch this morning. But she preferred that her mother not know about the more expensive part of their gift. It would only make Anya jealous. “They got me a sweater,” she volunteered before her mother could ask for details.
“That’s it? From five grown men? Three with wives? That surprises me. They have money. And you’re their baby sister.”
Natasha winced. She hated it when her mother or anyone else referred to her as part of the Amos family, because it meant that Mack would never view her in any other way. “No, I’m not. We didn’t grow up together. And you and J.T. were only married for what...eight years? That hardly makes us related.”
“You can say that after the way they took you in and looked out for you?”
Natasha gaped at her. “They took us both in because we had nowhere else to live. We’d just been kicked out of that crummy apartment in Los Banos when you married J.T. So you contacted Dylan and asked if we could meet him and his brothers at some steak house—that one in Sutter Creek, remember? Then, once we got there and you announced that we were their new family, you asked if we could move in until J.T. got out of prison.”
“That was J.T.’s house,” Anya said.
Natasha hugged the bag of kettle corn to her body so she could use her hands to pull her jacket tighter. “Not really. Not anymore. He would’ve lost it when he went to prison if not for Dylan.” At only eighteen, the oldest Amos son had taken over his father’s auto body shop and finished raising his four younger brothers. He hadn’t done a perfect job as their guardian, but she didn’t know a kid who could’ve done better at that age. He’d loved his brothers fiercely, and he’d worked hard to keep them out of foster care. Natasha had so much respect for Dylan.
“Well, they wouldn’t have had it if J.T. hadn’t bought it in the first place,” Anya said.
“I think he owed them the house, don’t you?” J.T. had gone to prison for knifing a guy in a bar, just for spouting off. Allowing his sons to take over payments on the house where they lived so they’d still have a roof over their heads was the least he could do.
“He wasn’t himself when he did what he did, Natasha. His wife had just overdosed on depression meds.”
Natasha was well aware of that. Mack was the one who’d found her. “I understand. But what about his responsibility to his children? Mack was only six when that happened.”
“Not everyone can live their life as perfectly as you do,” her mother grumbled.
Anya’s defense of J.T. served as further proof that her mother was still in love with him. “I’ve never claimed to be perfect,” Natasha said. “But I’ve never stabbed anyone, either.”
A vendor selling wooden signs with various inscriptions came up. The Tanner Residence; Here Lies the Last Trespasser. May He RIP; No Trespoopers, with a circle and a line through a dog taking a dump. Natasha chuckled at a few as her mother pulled out a cigarette. Anya was about to light up when Natasha nudged her.
“I don’t think you can smoke here, Mom.”
“Why not? I’m outside!”
“There’re too many people.”
Muttering a curse for all the “assholes” who tried to tell her what to do with her own body, she said, “Fine!” and put it away.
Setting her jaw so she wouldn’t point out that it wasn’t just her body at risk, Natasha stopped to admire some handmade ornaments.
Anya didn’t pretend to have any interest. She rarely bothered with the holidays, usually didn’t even put up a tree. Folding her arms, she cocked one hip while she waited, as though she was irritated or bored or both. It didn’t take much to make her mother’s mood deteriorate.
“So... How’d they treat you?” she asked once Natasha was ready to move on.
“Who?”
“The Amos brothers.”
“You’re talking about them again? Why?” They’d told Natasha they w
ere planning to be here at the festival. She and her mother could bump into them at any moment, and she didn’t want to be discussing them when it happened.
“Just answer the question. I’m curious. Was Mack excited to see you?”
Mack had been nice. But that was nothing unusual. He’d always taken a special interest in her. When she’d lived with him and Grady and Rod, he’d enrolled her in dance lessons, shown up for any events she was involved in at school, helped her with homework whenever he could, taught her how to play chess and tried to include her in whatever he did—if that was four-wheeling, seeing a movie or target shooting in the mountains—when the catty girls her age shut her out, which happened quite often. She knew he cared about her a lot. But he’d been careful not to let their relationship drift toward anything beyond kindness and support. “No more than Dylan and the others.”
Her mother peered closely at her. “Are you upset about that?”
Shoving another handful of kettle corn in her mouth, Natasha averted her face. “Why would that upset me?”
Anya grabbed her arm. “Oh, come on. Quit pretending. I know how you feel about Mack. We all do. So does he.”
Embarrassed, she looked around but didn’t see anyone she recognized. Was Anya right? Had she been that transparent?
She supposed she had. She’d been so head over heels it’d been difficult to hide her feelings. She was embarrassed about that now, especially when she remembered how she’d behaved the night before she left for college, when she’d slipped into Mack’s room and offered him her virginity. She’d been nineteen at the time, old enough, but after she’d stripped off her clothes, he’d made her put them back on. His rejection had broken her heart, but the way he’d hauled her up against the wall and kissed her before shoving her out of his room suggested she hadn’t been entirely wrong in assuming he’d want what she had to offer.
That certainly hadn’t been a brotherly kiss.
It was, however, all she’d ever gotten.
