by Susan Hatler
Red flags flew up. “So you’re commitment shy?”
“Where is all of this coming from?” He exchanged a look with me. When I didn’t answer, he hooked the bulb on the tree. “She was a nice person. But it just . . . didn’t seem right. She needed me to be there more and I couldn’t be. Right around that time, my aunt got sick. I was so caught up coming back to visit her that I didn’t have a lot left over. Then she didn’t get better and I decided to move back to Christmas Mountain,” he said, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a swig.
He didn’t have to say he hadn’t asked her to come back with him. I already understood. He was, as Connor had said, the kind of guy who clammed up when things hurt. He had done that with that woman, which made me wonder how he’d be with me if things got hard.
I settled another bulb. “So you two broke up?”
“Yes, but we keep in touch on occasion.”
I winced. “Do you miss her?”
“I feel bad about how we broke things off, but she wasn’t the right person for me. She’s married now and happy. I’m glad because she’s a really good person.” He paused again, then a line formed between his eyebrows. “How about you?”
Oops. I’d walked into that one.
I shrugged. “I’ve been busy for so long, trying to be the perfect daughter—the one my parents want me to be—that dating was usually the last thing on my mind. I’d date on occasion. But nobody special.”
“Good,” he said. His facial muscles softened as he gazed up at me, making me melt.
I ran my fingers through his short, dark hair, loving the soft feel beneath my fingertips. Eight years had passed by without us seeing each other and already I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him. “Do you see your uncle often?”
He nodded and then got to his feet, picking up a container of silvery tinsel. “He’s over at Sunny Acres. It’s supposed to be the best in the area and he has dedicated care there.” He popped the tinsel container open. “Why do you try to be who your parents want you to be? At some point, you’re going to have to live your own life. Right?”
Ouch. “If I were still trying, I’d have my MBA and be working at their bank with Connor. Instead of being here doing this.” But what was this? What was happening between us and would it last? Fresh worries set in. If this thing between us went sour then where would that leave us, especially if we were sharing a business space? “But I did what they wanted for a long time. I guess I didn’t want to disappoint them or hurt them. I still don’t want to. . . They’re my parents. I love them.”
Dallas took a seat in a chair. He dabbed at the water ring his bottle had left there but he didn’t answer. I finished off my beer, wondering if he was thinking about his own parents—his mom who had left and his dad who still didn’t have his life together.
I didn’t know what they put in that pale ale. Liquid courage maybe, because I set my empty bottle down and took a seat right in his lap. I ran my fingers through the back of his hair. “You know you can trust me, right? We’ve known each other all our lives, so you know I’m not out to hurt you, right? Not ever.”
“I should buy you pizza more often.” There was laughter in his voice but a serious note hung below it and he slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. “I’m glad you came back, angel.”
My heart melted. “Me, too.” I had no idea if what was happening between us would last, but I wanted to find out. I gestured toward the tree. “We make a great decorating team.”
His legs shifted under me. “I think we’ll be a good team in the shop, too. That is, if you don’t come up with some nefarious plot to get me tossed out.”
My mouth fell open. How had he known what I was thinking? “You have to admit that a beauty salon and a furniture store doesn’t seem like the best combination.”
“You never know.” He shrugged. “I can’t believe you decided to be a beautician. Come to think of it, you were always carrying a doll around. I remember one time you cut the hair off and cried when it didn’t grow back.”
“Yes, Miss Kitty Lee was devastated by her permanent crew cut when she wanted to grow it out again.” I giggled, touched that he’d connected my passion to where it began. “How did you get into making furniture?” I asked.
He reached for a second beer, keeping one arm secure around my waist. “I made my first chair when I was a kid.”
My eyebrows lifted. “I never heard you say anything about it back then.”
His fingers tightened on my waist, sending heat flares skittering along my skin. “I know. I stopped for a long time. I was about eight years old the night I showed my folks the chair I made out of glue, leftover wood and a bed pillow. They laughed their heads off. I thought it was amazing at the time and they swore it was, but what was I thinking with a bed pillow?”
I fought back laughter. “It sounds like a good start.”
He nodded. “I remember every minute of that night. I brought the chair out from the garage where I’d been working on it. My mom was cooking dinner. She stopped and said, ‘that’s beautiful, honey’ when it had to be the ugliest chair ever made.”
I smiled at him. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“I used the pillow with a superhero pillowcase still on it.”
I sputtered laughter. “But your mom loved it, right?”
He nodded. “She seemed so excited about it. She sat down in it and swore it was the most comfortable chair she’d ever sat in.”
“Must’ve been the pillow,” I said with a grin. “It had superhero power level comfort.”
He roared laughter. “She called my dad in the kitchen and he knelt down, checking the rungs and the pillow and then he declared it was perfect. He said next I should make a table that we could use in the dining room since ours was getting older.”
I’d never seen Dallas come alive with so much energy. I hung on every word he said, especially since his dad had changed so much after his mom left.
“What happened next?” I asked, my body humming with anticipation.
He fidgeted. “Mom insisted on sitting in it and after dinner we had dessert. The next week, she packed her bags and left. She never came back.”
My gut clenched. “Did she say why?”
“She and my dad had an argument, bigger than usual.” A line formed between his brows. “But I didn’t know that a mom could leave for good,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “Once, I asked my dad where she went and whether or not she’d return.”
I waited for him to go on, but his jaw had tightened. “What did your dad say?”
His gaze met mine. “He said not to waste my time thinking about that woman.”
“Ouch.” My heart tightened with pain for him. “I’m sorry, Dallas.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ve never told anyone that story before.”
“Thanks for trusting me,” I said, knowing how much that meant coming from someone who had been hurt by the ones he’d loved most. I also knew he took things to heart and had probably felt as much guilt over his mother’s desertion as he did over his uncle’s accident. I suspected his dad had a hand in the guilt Dallas felt. It wasn’t fair. “My sister died,” I blurted.
“I know, angel,” he whispered.
Of course he did. He’d been there when it happened.
“Afterwards, my mom was so grief stricken,” I said, my throat tightening as I shared what haunted me most. “She stayed in her room and rarely came out for meals. It went on for months. I never want to see her upset like that again. It’s like I’ve become the replacement daughter, trying to be everything my mom thought Grace could’ve been. My parents were always so proud of her.”
The corner of his mouth turned down. “You’re an amazing person, Morgan. No matter what Grace might’ve accomplished, you have to live the life that’s right for you. You can’t try to replace someone who’s gone. Nobody should expect that of you.”
There was a haunted look in his eyes. Te
ars sprang into mine. I got up and walked over to the tree, my whole body shaking. “I know that on one level.” My voice was hoarse. “But I want to be enough for my folks. I’m the only daughter they have and part of me wants to be more than that, to fill that hole Grace left . . .” My fingers went to a pile of ornaments I’d painted earlier with Ruby’s leftover paints. I picked one up at random and held it as he came over to me.
“Morgan—”
“I just wish . . .” Tears clouded my vision and made everything blurry. “That night had never happened. That Grace was still with us. Mom never talks about her unless she’s pointing out something I’m doing wrong.”
I guided the ornament to the tree and hooked it on a sturdy branch to let the blue-eyed angel with the rosy lips dangle there. She reminded me of my sister. Angels always reminded me of Grace. I lifted another angel ornament from a bag.
Dallas looped his arms around my waist. I turned toward him, intending to say something, but instead I kissed him. He tasted like a combination of pizza and ale and him. His firm lips parted against mine and he tasted me. Oh, yum.
My pulse raced along, faster and faster, and I forgot about everything, the worries I had about my folks and the salon as my arms went round his neck and I leaned into that kiss with everything in me. The tears spilling over my cheeks salted our kiss but he held me tight, kissing away the sad past and bringing me into the present moment.
“Morgan Reed,” came a familiar female voice, jerking me from my heavenly fog. The two words were firm, like a warning without even raising her tone.
Dallas broke off the kiss so fast that it left me breathless as my head swiveled toward the front door and the woman who stood there. My heart dropped like a rock straight to my belly.
I managed to squeak out, “Mom?”
My mom stood inside the doorway, her dark-brown hair elegantly coiffed in a simple French twist, thick lash extensions framing her green eyes, and her trim body neatly attired in an elegant pair of slacks and a white cashmere sweater.
She advanced a few steps. “What is going on here?”
Her tone indicated bewilderment and disapproval, the kind of tone she used when something didn’t meet Ivy Reed’s standards or approval.
That something being me.
Chapter Ten
The ornament in my hand gave off a small rattle as my hands began to tremble. My mom advanced further into the space and my gaze flew out the window to the Cadillac Escalade parked right in front. I hadn’t seen her SUV pull up. But I’d been so absorbed in Dallas and the tree and our soul-baring conversation.
My mom tilted her head. “Dallas Parker. I’d heard you were back.”
Her voice gave new meaning to the word “frosty” as she spoke to him and it was a wonder the window didn’t gain an inch of ice. I gulped and eyed the distance to the stockroom, which had a back door. I considered making a run for it, but I knew that—despite the fact that she wore sharply heeled boots—she’d be willing and able to chase me down.
When Ivy Reed was determined to have something then nothing stopped her. Besides, my mom wore heels like most women wore perfume. She could probably run a marathon in those things and never feel a single ounce of calf strain. Scary, but impressive.
“Hello, Mrs. Reed.” Dallas nodded to her and appeared at ease, but I could see the vein on his temple throbbing. He brushed a gleam of moisture from his bottom lip, which had obviously been put there by me. Oops.
“Funny story,” I said, managing to speak through the rock in my throat. I was in so much trouble they needed to invent a new word for trouble. “Dallas and I somehow managed to lease the same business space. Isn’t that crazy?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“The landlady rented the space to both of us,” Dallas said.
“Sounds like a legal issue.” Mom’s eyebrows drew together as I eased the angel ornament onto the tree, hoping the angel would bring me good luck. “I suppose that explains what you’re doing here with him. Besides the obvious, that is.”
My face heated big time. Getting caught kissing a guy would’ve been bad enough. Getting caught kissing Dallas Parker? That might necessitate having to leave town. “I’ve become aware that Morgan is opening a beauty salon. But if the sign outside is any indication, you’re selling used furniture on consignment, Dallas?”
My gut clenched and my gaze flew to Dallas. It had been a lot of years since he’d decked Tom Brand, but part of me worried he might lash out at my mom’s condescending tone. And that would so not improve my situation. Luckily, his face looked neutral.
“I build the furniture myself,” he said, simply.
“Interesting,” she said, surveying the shop. A moment ago I’d felt like our hard work was visible but now I could only see what hadn’t been done, including our half-decorated tree.
“We still have a lot to do obviously,” I said, my voice trembling. I watched disappointment flood her face, sending a slice of pain to my heart. She was disappointed in my salon. She was disappointed in me. I’d never be the daughter she really wanted. Tears threatened. I needed to get busy to keep them at bay. “Speaking of having a lot to do, I’d better finish decorating our tree.”
Mom peered at one of the branches. “Is that tinsel?”
She’d said “tinsel” like it was a dirty word.
I regarded the silvery strands. “Yes.”
“Oh, my. I didn’t think I knew anyone who’d actually put that stuff on their tree. It’s so tacky, and it gets into everything.” She scanned the tree, her gaze stopping mid-point. She reached toward a bulb. “This one is off-center.” She tweaked it slightly. “You also have two reds next to each other and too many greens next to the golds.”
I stood there, irritated as she began rearranging the bulbs. No matter that I’d liked them the way they were. . . .
She glanced at me as she worked. “I’m disappointed you haven’t made time to visit your father and me, Morgan. You seem to be over the illness that suddenly struck you.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve been so busy.” I grabbed the cardboard box that held the tinsel and began yanking thick clumps of it out. I draped the tinsel over the tree limbs and Mom immediately began to pluck it off as I went. “Sweetie, if you have to use tinsel do it sparingly, like so.” She left one single strand hanging and then blocked it from view with a gingerbread house ornament.
“Mrs. Reed?” Dallas called out, making me cringe. I’d been hoping she’d forgotten he was here and that he’d had her daughter in a lip-lock earlier, but it was harder to stay in denial with him talking aloud. “I could use a different perspective on this sofa. I tend to build for comfort, but perhaps this needs more style. What do you think?”
He was trying to help, to lessen her focus on me and give me room to gather my thoughts. I was grateful for his attempt to help but it didn’t do much good. My mom’s fingers hovered above a red bulb, which was decorated with a flurry of white snowflakes. “It’s not my style, but I suppose I wouldn’t be shocked if it sold. Everyone seems to want modern nowadays.”
She managed to make “modern” sound like a dirty word, too, when I knew good and well the painting she’d purchased on our Caribbean cruise fit the definition.
Irritation rolled through me. “Dallas makes beautiful furniture in many different styles. I think his entire store is going to be a hit.”
Dallas shook his head slowly, telling me to leave it alone. But my comment had been like a reflex. I couldn’t stand up for myself, but I wouldn’t stand for her picking on him.
My mom gave me a tired look. She fingered the trim Dallas had settled along the branches, wrinkling her nose at it. “I don’t know how you can have a beauty salon and a furniture store in the same location. This seems to be the most unlikely pairing I’ve ever seen.”
Her gaze flew to Dallas as she spoke, leaving no doubt that she meant more than the store by her comment. My irritation grew.
“I think it’s a terri
fic pairing,” I said, gesturing around the room, which, admittedly, still needed a whole lot of work. “Look how that table accents the wood floor. Dallas laid the hardwood himself, saving us labor costs. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen such beautiful floors, or such a stunning table. You should see his house, too. The furniture he made for it is incredible. I loved everything in there.”
Oops. I cringed. What were the chances my mom wouldn’t catch what I’d just admitted? I watched her eyes narrow. Yeah, that would be slim to none. Gulp.
She pulled more tinsel off the tree and placed it back into the cardboard box. “You have time to visit Dallas at his home, but not time for your father or me?”
Guilt settled deep in my bones, thick and smothering. I knew I was wrong for not telling them about the salon or going to see them right away. But I’d had my reasons and the main one was staring me in the face at that very second. I mean, this was exactly the scenario I’d been hoping to avoid.
My mom was so controlling she couldn’t even let me decorate my own Christmas tree! I yanked the tinsel box up off the table and pulled the stuff out again. I tossed a bunch of strands at the tree, my nerves so shattered all I could do was try to regain control over some part of the situation and my life. Granted, tinsel wasn’t the best solution—and the amount I’d thrown on did seem on the tacky side—but I piled more on anyway.
Dallas cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two to talk privately.”
“What a wonderful idea,” my mom said.
“No . . .” I started, but my voice trailed off because he’d already turned and gone. The traitor. He was out the door before I could even frame a protest, much less utter an intelligent reason why I shouldn’t be left alone in the room with my own mother.
Mom waited three seconds. “Do I need to list the reasons why I’m upset?”
“No, I can guess.” I rubbed my hands over my face, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I lied about how I spent my trust fund. I should’ve told you I didn’t want an MBA, but . . . no, no excuses. I should’ve at least told you the minute I arrived in town.”