Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas GiftThe Soldier's Holiday HomecomingSanta's Playbook

by Allison Leigh

  Trick of the light, he wanted to say. Because if it was one thing he did not feel right now, it was peaceful.

  Although no way in hell was he gonna let her see that.

  “I can’t believe it’s been six years since I cuddled a little person like this,” Ethan said quietly, gazing at his little nephew. “Since Bella. It really is one of the best feelings in the world.”

  * * *

  Watching the big guy currently cuddling the tiny one, something tugged so hard inside Claire’s chest she could barely breathe. Hard to believe this was the same dude who’d been bellowing at his players on the field earlier that day, who’d walked right into the middle of a fight outside the cafeteria the week before, prying apart a pair of Godzilla-size kids as if they were made of straw.

  “I heard you singing, before.”

  “Poor you.”

  “Not at all.” Because what he lacked in musicality, he more than made up for in sincerity. Suddenly antsy, Claire shifted in the chair. “Did you sing to your own kids?”

  “To the twins and Bella, yeah. Jules would pass out right after she ate. No entertainment necessary. She was so laid-back Merri said she’d almost forget she was there. Good thing, too, since I was away so much, there at the beginning. But the boys...” He sighed. “Both of them were colicky, too. Like this one. Soon as the sun went down, they’d start crying. And they’d keep it up for hours. We’d no sooner get them both settled than somebody would rev up again.”

  “Gee. Fun times.”

  “I won’t lie, for about six weeks there it was hell. I lost fifteen pounds.” Chuckling, he added, “And Merri gained it. I don’t think she ever forgave me or the boys for that.”

  “I don’t blame her. Jeez.” At his short laugh, she flushed. “Sorry, it just seems... I’m not sure I could handle that.”

  “Nobody is. Especially when you’re in the middle of it. Six weeks seems like forever when you’re so sleep deprived you can barely remember your name. But then they start crying less and laughing more, and you know what? In the greater scheme of things, a few sleepless nights are nothing. Of course, then they hit the Terrible Twos—”

  “Oh, God, I can only imagine.”

  “—and you survive that, too. Because two-year-olds are funny as hell. And the hugs? Ah, man—there’s nothing like ’em. And it only gets better...” He sighed. “Great. Now I sound like a freaking Hallmark card.”

  “Pretty much, yeah.” Jonny stirred in his sleep; Ethan adjusted him on his chest, big hands cradling tiny bum and back, and Claire practically leaped from the chair and over to the French doors. Moonlight soaked the yard, making everything glow silver. “I can’t believe how warm this room is,” she said, grasping for a more neutral topic. “All these windows and not even a draft.”

  “Triple paned. And radiant heating underneath the tiles.” Behind her, the chair faintly creaked. “It was my mom’s favorite room. When she got sick, Dad had it completely weatherized so she could stay out here as long as she wanted, whenever she wanted. And he set up bird feeders all over the place, so she could watch them. The cardinals, especially, were her favorite.”

  Although Claire couldn’t hear the sentimentality in his voice, she could sense it in his heart, beating soundly against a sleeping baby’s ear. She cleared her throat, then said, “The rest of the house, too—speaking of Norman Rockwell. It’s like... It feels so welcoming.” She paused. “Safe.”

  “It was. Is.”

  “Almost seems a shame to sell it.”

  She heard Ethan sigh. “Can’t say I’m not conflicted about that, frankly. It was Pop’s and Mom’s first home. My first home. Not to mention home to more foster kids than I can count. But it hasn’t been the same since Mom died. For any of us, but Pop especially. He provided the protection, the sense of order and stability that some of those kids had never known before. But Mom...”

  The chair creaked again. “She was the light,” he said, his voice hushed. “The joy. For a long time I think Pop wanted to stay here because it reminded him of her. Now I think it only reminds him of what’s missing. Not that he ever talks about it—I can’t remember ever seeing him outwardly grieve, to be honest—but some things don’t have to be put into words.”

  Now Claire heard it, even if only faintly: Ethan’s own grief echoed in his reminiscence of his father. She turned, her arms crossed. “And you?” she said gently.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. I can’t imagine how hard it must be, still living in the house you shared with your wife. Heck, I can sense her presence there, and I didn’t even know her—”

  “Not even remotely the same situation,” he said sharply, and she realized she’d overstepped.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “No,” Ethan breathed out. “It’s okay. Because to be honest, once the initial shock wore off I did consider finding us another place. For exactly the reasons you said. Hell, even after all this time I half expect her to walk into the family room, plop down beside me on the sofa. Or I’m gonna find her in the kitchen, making cookies or something. So at the beginning? I thought I’d go nuts, frankly. Except then I thought, it wasn’t only about me, you know? That the kids... After what they’d just gone through, no chance to say goodbye, even...” He stopped, took a breath. “They needed consistency in their lives far more than I needed...” He paused again, and Claire though her heart would crack in two.

  “Peace?”

  His gaze briefly met hers before veering away again. “The kids... They come first. Always.”

  “So...you never do anything strictly for yourself?”

  His laugh was dry. “At this point I’m not even sure what that would be.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “No, it’s life,” he said, more out of weariness, she thought, than as a rebuke. And, from years of digging into what makes a character tick, of analyzing literature up the wazoo, Claire thought maybe she heard a little warring going on inside his head—that his commitment to his kids’ needs was perhaps taking more of a toll on his own that he’d admit. Or was ever likely to.

  Which in turn reminded Claire of those months when, even though her primary focus had been making sure her mother was as comfortable and happy as possible, how often Mom would urge her to get out for a little while, go see a movie. Not that she did, or at least not very often. And during those last few weeks, never. But knowing she could, at least in theory—that she had permission to take care of herself—went a long way toward easing what, yes, had occasionally felt like a burden, even though she’d loved her mother with all her heart. So who was giving Ethan that same permission? To live not only his kids’ lives but his own?

  However, it wasn’t her place to dispense advice she not only had no idea how to give but strongly suspected would be soundly rejected.

  From way deep in the house, a roar went up. A touchdown, no doubt. Claire sat back down. “For what it’s worth? I think you did the right thing, keeping the house.”

  His eyes again grazed hers for a moment before he looked back down at the baby. “Thanks.” Then he stretched out his leg, as though it was bothering him.

  “You okay?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. Sure. Been sitting too long in this position, that’s all.” He smirked. “Yet another reminder that I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

  “I suppose... Maybe you could give me the baby to me for a bit? So you can get up, walk around.”

  “But I thought—”

  “He looks harmless enough, asleep like that.”

  “Okay, then... Come here—” she stood, her stomach cramping “—and put one hand under his butt...that’s right...and support his head with your other. You got it.”

  Awkwardly, she arranged the surprisingly floppy—and heavy—infant under her chin, then lowered herself back into the chair. “Like this?
”

  “Mostly. Although it’s okay to breathe.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. Claire thought maybe she saw a grimace. And she definitely saw, once he started to move, a limp.

  She eased back in the chair, amazed that the baby didn’t wake up.

  “See?” Ethan said. “Piece of cake, once you get the hang of it.”

  “Speak for yourself. This feels totally weird, holding a little human being.”

  “You never played with dolls?”

  “No, actually. I liked building sets better. And yes, I was a strange kid.”

  He carefully worked his knee. “Bella prefers her brothers’ toys to hers, too. Although her clothing choices make my teeth ache.”

  Claire smiled. And relaxed a little more. Then she said, “How bad is it?”

  “How bad is what?”

  “Your knee.” When he frowned at her, she said, “Your dad told me you were hurt when you were overseas. And that you don’t like talking about it.”

  Several beats passed before he said, “I was. And I don’t. What I do is deal. You know, like a grown-up?”

  “Got it. So...how’d you come to live with the Nobles? Or is that a forbidden subject, too?”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’re nosy?”

  “I prefer curious, but yes. Often. Well?”

  He shook his head, then sat back in the rocker, his leg stretched out in front of him as he massaged the muscles around his knee. “My parents were in their teens. Married, actually, but in way over their heads. Family Services convinced them to let the Nobles foster me, at least until they got their act together.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Around two. Long story short, they never did work it out, and the Nobles adopted me. My birth parents eventually moved away, married other people, had other kids. I haven’t heard from my father in years, although I’m still in touch with my birth mother. Occasionally. She and her second husband did come to my wedding, though. And she’s seen the older kids, once or twice, although I doubt if they’d remember her.”

  “So...any half siblings?”

  “Five. Three brothers, two sisters. But we’re not close—”

  “There you are!” Laurel said, scooting over to take her son from Claire, her smooth, straight hair curving around her face as she bent over. She lifted the sacked-out kid to her shoulder, making a little “aww” face when Jonny arched his back in his sleep. Claire wondered if she’d miss the feel of the baby in her arms...but honestly? Not so much.

  “Game’s over,” Laurel said, “food’s all sorted out, so the party’s breaking up. Thanks for watching Jonny, you two.” Then she turned to Claire. “Hey—Kelly and I are doing the Black Friday thing at the mall tomorrow morning...Wanna come with?”

  “Oh! Wow. You know, I’ve never had the nerve to do that.”

  “Us, either,” Laurel said with a grin. “So we can be Black Friday virgins together. Whaddya say? We can meet up here at, say, six—”

  “In the morning?”

  “Kelly says she’ll bring the coffee and doughnuts. We’ll go in her van. No guys, no kids... It’ll be fun.”

  “Okay. Sure,” Claire said, even as a little voice in her head said, Are you off your rocker? Then again, no guts, no glory. Or something.

  “Great! See you then!” Laurel said, and she and Jonny were gone.

  Ethan stood. “Guess that’s our cue to make our retreat, too. You need a ride?”

  “And again, five blocks. I also need to walk off the eighty pounds of food I put away. Kelly is seriously an amazing cook.”

  “Speaking of which, I almost forgot—there’s something for you. In the kitchen.”

  “You mean besides the entire bag of leftovers Kelly insisted I take?”

  “Yes.” With that, he headed out of the sunroom, his gait a little stiff, clearly expecting her to follow. The kitchen was empty, the dishwasher whirring away, the only lights still on the pendants over the island. He ducked into the pantry, returning with a pie box...and a slightly embarrassed smile.

  “I remembered what you said about eating a whole pumpkin pie by yourself. So this is all for you.”

  A laugh burst from her throat. “What did you do, steal it?”

  “No, I asked first. So.” He held out the box. “Here.”

  This was silly, it was only a pie, but... Claire carefully set the box in the plastic bag she’d left earlier on the counter, on top of all the other food Kelly had foisted on her. “Why?” she quietly asked, not looking at him.

  “I guess...to say thank-you for taking the boys this morning. Although since I didn’t make the thing I’m not sure how much it counts.”

  Smiling, she hefted the bag off the counter and faced him again. “You thought of me. So it counts.” Big-time.

  “Um...you sure you don’t need a ride?”

  Okay, so she might have been tilting a little. “Honestly, it’s not that heavy—”

  A somewhat breathless Juliette burst into the kitchen. “Kelly says you guys are going to the mall tomorrow?”

  “It would appear so—”

  “Can I come, too? Please?” She turned to her father. “Please, Dad?”

  “If it’s okay with Kelly and Laurel. And Claire—”

  “Hey, I’m only going along for the ride. If everyone else is cool—”

  “I already asked, they totally are! Omigod, this is going to be so much fun—!”

  Behind her, Ethan groaned. She looked back to see him shaking his head at his daughter’s vapor trail. “Definitely her mother’s child. Merri also never met a bargain she didn’t love. Put the kid in an entire mall of bargains...” He shuddered, and Claire laughed.

  Which actually brought forth something close to a real smile.

  And that, boys and girls, was worth any amount of Black Friday madness.

  Chapter Seven

  Thank goodness Ethan actually didn’t have anything on his agenda today—other than getting up the outside decorations before the kids blew a gasket—because considering the sleepless night he’d had? He was basically worth bupkes.

  Because what was going on here, he thought as he put on coffee, then stared at the maker as if he expected it to tell his fortune, went beyond deprivation-driven, half-assed fantasies. Which was not good. Or fair. To anybody. Which naturally only made him feel guilty that he was thinking about Claire Jacobs that way. Although the truth was he’d been feeling that way about her for some time, but only in the occasional moment when his defenses were down and other things...weren’t.

  Beside him, Barney yipped, then sat and gave Ethan sad eyes. As if he wanted some coffee, too. Or, more likely, a doggie treat. Ethan reached for the Milk-Bone bag in the cupboard, handed one over without making the dog perform. Barney cocked his head, suspicious.

  “No strings. I swear.”

  Cautiously, the dog took the treat, then pranced out of the room before The Man could change his mind. Ethan poured his coffee as he yawned, taking a sip before it’d cooled off. Wincing, he carried the cup to the kitchen table, yanked out a chair and dropped into it, remembering sitting at another kitchen table at around fourteen or so, when he and the Colonel had had a surprisingly blunt chat about those things that, like every other teenage boy in the world, Ethan thought about pretty much constantly. And the takeaway was, a real man was in charge, in control, of both his thoughts and his body.

  His life.

  Of course, that last part was a joke. Monkey wrenches happened. To some more than others. But if he couldn’t control his destiny—or, it would seem, a certain body part—he could still control his reactions. His choices. And, make no mistake, he did have choices. A few, anyway. And one of those choices was to never agai
n let another human being—save the possible exception of his children—have that much power over his emotions.

  Jules came bouncing into the kitchen, dressed like an elf—red tights, green shorts, black-and-white striped vest over a sparkly red sweater. She was even wearing earrings with bells, good God. Only thing missing was the pointy-toed shoes, which she’d apparently eschewed in favor of her brown suede hiking boots. And the streak, conspicuously absent from her just-washed hair.

  “Whatever happened to jeans and hoodies?” Ethan grumbled as she poured herself a glass of orange juice.

  “Um...I don’t want to look like everybody else?”

  “Aren’t you worried somebody’ll take away your teenager membership card?”

  “Har-har. And besides, I can’t very well be an actress if I’m afraid to stand out, right? Grab someone’s attention?”

  “And whose attention, exactly, do you expect to attract at the mall?” he said, immediately realizing, at his daughter’s blush, that he’d inadvertently hit a bull’s-eye. Well, crap.

  “Nobody, silly Daddy,” she said, swooping in to give him a hug as a horn beeped outside. “That’s Miss Jacobs, gotta go—”

  “And you both can hold your horses a minute,” Ethan said, getting to his feet, only to remember he was still in his sleep pants and an ancient Marine Corps T-shirt. Then he thought, Screw it, I’m sure she’s seen worse, and padded after his daughter through the living room and outside onto the cold, cold step. Barefoot.

  Claire lowered her window as his daughter jingled out to the car and climbed in beside her.

  “Fetching,” she said, grinning. His arms crossed over his chest, Ethan came to the edge of the step. His knee complained loudly. As did his rapidly freezing feet.

  “It’s six-freaking-thirty in the morning, I’m not exactly holding court. You really ready for this?”

  “I sincerely doubt it. But there will be doughnuts, so it’s all good.”

  “Got your phone, Jules?” he called out, even though he couldn’t see her. Claire laughed.

  “She rolled her eyes. I’m gonna guess that’s a yes.” Then she pushed a curl behind her ear, the tiny diamond twinkling at him as she said, “You should join us for lunch in the courtyard,” and he could hear his daughter’s groan. “All of you, I mean. Bring Bella to see Santa.”