Cutting off Gramps, who finally seemed to recognize Pauline’s pique and appeared to be about to reply in kind, Bexley quickly said, “What about fabric? Could you use strips of fabric instead of yarn, Pauline?”
“Fabric. That’s … interesting. What were you thinking of?”
“The towels we found behind the bar?”
“They’d need to be washed. Doing it by hand, I doubt they’d dry in time. And the machine…”
Looks pinged around the four of them. Kiernan said what was in the looks. “We shouldn’t risk running out of propane to wash old towels. Or to dry them.” He looked at Bexley. “Even for a toy for those kids.”
“That’s right,” Gramps said. “Not practical.”
Pauline stood. “So, we’ll choose from your clean shirts.”
“My shirts! You can’t take one of my shirts.”
“I don’t intend to take one of your shirts. I intend to take two.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Pauline stood firm on the number of shirts and she had the initial choice, but agreed he could save some of her choices from their octopi fate … down to the final two.
She went quietly into the bedroom, careful not to wake the three sleeping, and returned with seven shirts.
Squawking that they were brand new, Gramps immediately removed a white and dark blue. Then he dithered and complained until Pauline threatened to make the decision for him. He sacrificed a solid red and a red plaid. “Excellent. This will look Christmassy and you certainly can spare red shirts. That’s half your wardrobe.”
She instructed Eric and Kiernan on cutting the shirts into narrow fabric strips. Bexley started the hunt for three suitable soft balls to form the octopi heads before Pauline joined her.
They found three play balls that would do.
Gramps limited himself to a groan when he saw the package of balls being opened. Then he resumed instructing Dan.
They cut and sorted the fabric, but before they could do more, yawning became epidemic. They bundled up the fabric and stashed it away.
Dan was in his bedroll and asleep before Bexley and Pauline left the bar room.
*
He should be as sound asleep as the other three men nearby.
Instead, Kiernan, on his back, with his hands tucked under his neck, stared at the decidedly uninspiring ceiling, replaying the day … and avoiding any replays from farther back.
That didn’t keep his memories from getting him in trouble.
Have you done it?
She’d said those words and he’d flashed back to when he had.
Of course, he had — they had. Their bodies hot and slick and awkward and so right.
How could she ask? She knew. He knew she knew. For all that she pretended he was a pesky piece of furniture in her way every time she turned around.
He’d not felt like a piece of furniture standing close behind her, not even when she’d sidestepped to be clear of him. Nothing like a piece of furniture. Especially not when she brushed against him for a bare second — against her wishes, as she made clear by nearly leaping away.
While he… Well. The cold through the store’s door was all that let him recover soon enough to not make a total amadán of himself.
He listened to the wind knocking at the building, a faint scratching sound when it picked up a drift of snow and flung it at the walls.
What were the chances of Pauline bringing up the same flowers the woman at that place Dave and Jack took him had gone on and on about? She’d acted like they had significance to him, when he’d never heard of them before. What had she said? Something about they could be toxic when fresh, but medicinal later. How they bloomed so early, they promised spring, even in the snow.
Then, louder than the storm outside, a little girl’s voice sounded in his head.
You’re not folding. You’re just staring at Bexley.
He hoped to hell he could still say he hadn’t made a total amadán of himself when this was all over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
December 24
Molly and Lizzie didn’t need sugar for a sugar high.
The excitement of Christmas Eve day was more than sufficient.
And Bobby caught the contagion. He ran in circles, flopping on the floor, jumping up, and repeating whatever either of the girls said.
After a short consultation, she and Pauline dug into the store’s stash of eggs for a protein-heavy breakfast.
It gave the three youngest more endurance to bounce off the walls.
The storm also seemed to have gathered force overnight. It drove a fine mist of snow around the edges of the store’s door.
The small bedroom had been warm enough with the girls and Bobby sharing the huge chair, while she and Pauline had the bed. Body heat also helped out the stove when they were all in the bar room, but Bexley passed through the store at double-time when it was her turn to use Gramps’ bathroom.
She showered in record time, too, twisted her hair around, then up, pinning it at the crown, leaving the ends wild and free.
It wasn’t great, but with limited hot water, it would have to do.
In her suitcase for a change of clothes, she spotted her traditional Christmas pajamas in a corner of her suitcase and let out a sigh.
Traditional as in a family tradition. All the Farbers had PJs of the same ersatz Scandinavian fabric, with lines of snowflakes, hearts, reindeer, and Christmas trees in white on a red background. If they moved too fast around each other the disjointed lines could make onlookers dizzy.
Their mother started the tradition of family pajamas when they were little.
They outgrew them faster than they wore them out. Until the year Mom gave them these pajamas when they were all grown. Amid the laughter, they’d resolved to wear them every Christmas. Not another night of the year, but always Christmas Eve.
Not this year, though. Not for her.
She picked up her phone, still fully charged, but showing no connection. Sometimes texts went when calls wouldn’t.
Still fine. Making Christmas here for 4 kids & the rest. Love and Merry Christmas Eve to all.
*
“Oh, good, Bexley. I hoped you were here,” Pauline greeted her as she left the bathroom for the bedroom. She held up a shirt on a hanger. “What do you think of this?”
Before Bexley could respond, Gramps clomped two steps into the room then stopped dead. “What’s that you’ve got?”
Pauline spoke with total calm. “A red shirt.”
“My red shirt.”
“I figured that, since it was in your closet, though it’s not worth hanging in anyone’s closet. Look at these cuffs. They’re completely worn. So’s the collar and placket.”
“Plack-what?”
“The front strip where the buttons and buttonholes are. It’s frayed all the way down. You can’t possibly wear it. But—”
“Sure I can wear it.”
“—we could use the fabric. We could make it work for stockings.”
“Oh, that’s great, Pauline.” Both combatants ignored Bexley.
Gramps’ scowled deepened. “Hey. It works for me as a shirt.”
“Does it?” Pauline held up the shirt. It was straight where he turned round. “When was the last time you wore it?”
“I was savin’ it.”
Pauline propped her hands on her hips. “For what? When you’ve nearly starved to death and have an urgent desire to wear a shirt down to threads on the cuffs and collar and placket?”
He growled. He grumbled. He folded.
“All right, all right. Take it. You all have taken over everything else. Don’t know why you shouldn’t take the shirt off my back. Want my undies, too?”
“Decidedly not. This shirt needs brushing and airing before we use it. I’ll see to it.”
She took the garment, picked up a kit from her suitcase, and went to the kitchen.
As Bexley started past Gramps to head for the bar room, he murmured, “That’s a ha
rd woman, that is.”
He sounded more impressed than critical. And she could almost swear that somewhere under the messy tangle of beard, he smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“There.” Bexley finished the last squeeze of the scissors and a stocking-shaped piece came free of two taped-together pieces of paper that escaped the snowflake- and star-making efforts of the previous day.
It had taken a couple tries to get a pattern she liked — with plenty of commentary from the girls, even though they were set up at the other end of the two tables, with a project to turn catalog inserts from newspapers into Christmas trees.
It involved folding two pages a time in a large triangle from the top and a small triangle from the bottom. Then tucking those turned pairs back into the spine, leaving their outside parts rounded. Pauline helped Lizzie and Kiernan helped Molly with that part, which required manual dexterity.
In the meantime — under Pauline’s remote supervision — Eric carefully secured unbroken ornaments on the windows and wall sconces. All well out of Bobby range.
Bobby sat with his grandfather and Dan by the stove, their backs to the rest of them. Bexley knew Gramps was directing Dan in whittling. Bobby stayed occupied by mimicking them with a bar of soap and his fingernails — they sure would be clean.
It reminded Bexley of her family Christmases when everyone would be wrapping at the same time, secrets happening in each corner of the room, yet all of them together.
Of course, they wouldn’t be in a rustic — putting it kindly — bar room. They’d certainly have Christmas music playing in the background and wonderful smells coming from the kitchen.
She’d missed that in her years with Nigel. He’d spent one Christmas with her family, but insisted he couldn’t possibly leave New York for the holidays after that.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being home until last year, arriving there still raw from the breakup. She sank into the security and comfort and love of home, starting her healing.
This year, her anticipation started building early. She wouldn’t be a sodden mess of misery for this holiday season. Not to mention she had an exciting new venture, getting off to a great start, in no small part thanks to Val Trimarco Ralston.
But she would still enjoy home after the storm passed. For now, the point was having as good a Christmas as possible for these kids.
Bexley put aside the templates she’d duplicated the right number of times.
“Now to figure out how to get eight of these to fit on the shirt to make four stockings,” she murmured.
“Been meaning to ask, how do you plan to fasten the fronts and backs together?” Pauline asked from the other end of the table. “I have a bit of thread and a needle in my kit, but not enough to sew these.”
“I was thinking about that… Gramps—?”
“Don’t have no sewing kit.” Proving he was listening from over by the stove.
Or was he keyed into Pauline’s voice? Bexley felt a smile flicker.
“But if you can’t put the fronts and backs together, how will the stockings hold anything from Santa?” Lizzie’s worried question reflected in her sister’s expression.
“Och,” Kiernan said to them in an exaggerated way that sounded more like a badly faked Scottish accent than his normal voice. “Have no worries. Doncha know by now Bexley always has another idea and another?”
Molly grinned at his accent.
Lizzie nodded solemnly. “She does, doesn’t she?”
“Thanks, Kiernan,” Bexley grumbled wryly. “No pressure.”
Molly looked at her. “You do have an idea, don’t you?”
She held up a wait-a-minute finger. “Gramps, what about a stapler? Do you have one?”
“One of them guns? Might have one of those. But it’d be out in the shed.”
He sounded more satisfied than sorry at informing her of that impediment, but Bexley pretended not to notice. “That’s okay. Something not so vicious would probably work better.”
“A staple gun?” Pauline said, incensed. “You’d tear right through the fabric. Never heard of anything so nonsensical.”
Kiernan looked down quickly, but Bexley saw his grin. A chuckle came from Eric, wiring an ornament over the second window. Fine for them to think the squabbling was humorous while she played the peacekeeper…
Okay, she was having trouble suppressing her grin, too.
Dan spoke up. “He’s got a couple back-to-school packs in the store that didn’t sell. Might have staplers in them. They’re on the end of the aisle by the jerky.”
“Can’t go breaking up those packs. They’re sold as a set.”
“Haven’t sold,” his grandson said with equal stubbornness, “and looks like they’ve been there a lot longer than this fall.”
Gramps’ humph sounded like Dan had that right.
Pleased at the teenager volunteering something to help with their projects, Bexley pushed a bit more. “Terrific, Dan. Would you go get them, please? I think if we staple the stockings, with the staples very close together, then turn them inside out carefully and if Santa doesn’t stuff them too much or put heavy things in them, they should last at least a day.”
She hoped.
She kept that to herself as the girls’ faces glowed with the anticipation of stockings stuffed by Santa.
But before they could put that to the test with the stapler Dan brought back from those back-to-school packs, Bexley hit a different snag.
She had two pairs of the patterns on the back, fitting easily when she nested the top of one into the curve of the toe of the other. But she couldn’t get the remaining four pieces out of the front material.
Bexley sat back with a sigh. “They’re not fitting.”
“I don’t need one. They’re for kids,” Dan called, once more seated by the stove.
“You’re getting one.”
Did he even know what a fraud he was? Working hard over there on a gift for one of his sisters while trying to sound like a world-weary old… Well, actually, a lot like Nigel.
“If only this shirt were bigger,” she muttered.
“He’d never have given it up then,” Dan said.
“That’s the truth,” Gramps confirmed.
“If we have to, we could put the side seams down the back of a couple, though we might need to staple those, too, because the seams are coming loose and I’d hate to have the stockings burst open down the back. We could use different material for the backs—”
“Another one of my shirts? I’ll be goin’ naked in another day.”
Kiernan cut through Gramps’ outrage and the others’ sputtering of chuckles. “To avoid that calamity… Mind if I try something, Bexley?”
“Not at all.”
She started to get up, to leave him the chair directly in front of the spread-out shirt and the stocking templates.
His hand on her shoulder pressed her back to sitting, while he leaned in from the side.
Close.
Too close.
“What if you put the patterns horizontal on the front, straddling the side seams? Having the seam there makes it look like a cuff.” He moved the patterns into position, then flipped back the top of one to show her what he meant. “You can get four on the front that way, then do the up and down pairings on the rest of the back to easily get the remaining four.”
“Cuffs— that’s perfect. This will work.”
He turned his head toward her, smiling her enthusiasm.
Close.
Too close.
She tilted away from him and, still, he was too close. Her heart jumped up, battering against her ribs as if it could reach him.
He stepped back.
Relief.
That’s what she felt. Relief.
“Do you want me to do the cutting, Bexley? Could be hard going with those old scissors.”
She popped up from the chair so he could take it. “Yes, that would be great. Then I can help the girls with the next
step on the trees.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kiernan cut — more like hacked — through the material with the old scissors — while they took the next step with the two paper-folded trees. They spray painted them green, using cans from the store … which Gramps protested, but without his usual enthusiasm.
Eric helped set up an area for them to spray paint in the store with an old sheet and cardboard.
Then they left them to dry thoroughly.
Bexley, the girls, and Eric hung the paper bells from the ceiling on either side of the wagon wheel light fixture.
“Too bad we don’t have mistletoe to hang from it,” Pauline said.
Kiernan jerked his head around and saw Bexley and Eric standing together under the wagon wheel, exactly where mistletoe would hang.
“Okay, now we start stapling the stockings,” Bexley said cheerfully.
“I’ll staple,” Eric volunteered.
Were they both as indifferent to mistletoe as they sounded?
“Good. I’ll turn them right side out. Girls, you straighten up. Then I have something else for you to do.”
As Kiernan looked away from Bexley and back to the cutting of stockings, he found Pauline watching him with a knowing smile.
He knew half an urge to tell her there was nothing to know. Couldn’t be. If there’d been any chance it ended in July, but there hadn’t been any chance anyway… Because.
But there was no saying that aloud. Denying what she thought would only make it more real.
A whisper in his head pointed out two thought that now — Pauline and Eric.
Didn’t matter. He knew otherwise. He and Bexley knew otherwise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Five months and two days ago
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Outside the airport — this was no conversation for eavesdroppers — Kiernan sat on a boulder set in a bed of rocks to call his brother. The discomfort suited his mood. He’d packed up last night, leaving in the still dark, before anyone stirred on the ranch. He left Matty and Dave a note — called away by work, of course.
Making Christmas Page 10