“Then what’s it to be?” A proposal was a straightforward enough question. “Yes or no?”
“Who told you?”
“Told me?” he echoed. “Told me what?”
“About the baby.”
Nine
“Home For the Holidays”
“B aby?” Len’s knees went weak and to remain upright he braced his shoulder against the wall.
“Who told you?” Amy repeated.
“No one…” Len’s thoughts twisted around in his mind until he was convinced he’d misunderstood her.
“To make sure I understand what’s happening here, I need to ask you something. Are you telling me you’re pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think you should’ve mentioned this before now?” he demanded, not caring who heard him. “You must be at least three months along.”
“Three and a half…I love you, Len, but you’ve never said how you felt about me. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to marry me. My dad married my mother because she was pregnant and the marriage was a disaster. I refuse to repeat my mother’s mistakes, although I certainly seem to have started out on the same path.”
“Amy, listen, I swear I didn’t know about the baby. No one told me a damn thing.” He took a deep breath. “As for you being like your mom…this is different. I love you. I want us to get married. I wanted it even before I knew about the baby.” It hurt to think Amy had held back, not telling him she was pregnant. “Who else knows?”
“Jenny.”
“You’d tell your best friend before you’d tell me?” he said, hardly able to believe his ears.
“Why’d you ask me to marry you?” she returned, equally insistent. “Is it just because of the baby?”
“No…I already told you that. Isn’t loving you and wanting to spend the rest of my life with you reason enough?”
“Yes,” she whispered, whimpering now. “It’s more than enough.”
“Listen, Amy. I want to be with you. And I want my baby. We’re getting married, understand? Soon, too, next week if it can be arranged, and when I go back to Maine, I’m going to ask for married housing. Next month I’ll come down and get you.”
“Len…”
That was the reason she’d asked if she was just “his girl in Rawhide.” He hated the thought of her worrying and fretting all these weeks, wondering how he’d react once he learned the truth.
“You said you love me. Are you taking that back now?” he asked.
“No…”
“I love you. I knew it after my last visit home. I should have said something then. I regret now that I didn’t.” Then, remembering how he didn’t enjoy having his life dictated to him, he asked again, “Will you marry me, Amy?”
Her hesitation was only momentary this time. “Yes, Len, oh, yes.”
He could hear her sob softly in the background.
“I knew tonight would be special,” she murmured.
“How’s that?” Len’s mind continued to spin with Amy’s news, but it wasn’t unwelcome. He was ready to be a husband and had always loved children. His own parents had been wonderful and he was determined to be a good husband and father himself.
“Mr. Danbar came out of his room tonight when I sat down at the piano,” Amy told him.
Len could only vaguely recall the man’s name. “Mr. Danbar?”
“He’s the one who hasn’t spoken a word since his wife died three years ago. The man I eat my lunch with every day. I’m the one who does all the talking, but that’s all right.”
“He came out of his room?” This was big news, Len realized. He remembered now that Amy had written to him about the older gentleman.
“His wife used to play the piano and when he heard the music, he climbed out of bed and came into the recreation room. He sat down on the bench beside me and smiled. Oh, Len, it was the most amazing thing.”
His wife-to-be was pretty darn amazing herself, he thought proudly. She could coax a lonely old man from his room and brighten his life with her music and kindness. Len meant what he’d said, about their marrying as soon as possible. Their marriage would be a strong one, based on love and mutual respect.
He felt like the luckiest man alive.
“Are you awake?” Nick whispered to Kelly in the dead of night. He thought he’d heard her stir and realized they were both accustomed to Brittany waking and needing to be fed around this time.
Nick had been wide-awake for the better part of an hour. Sleeping upright with his head propped against the wall had been awkward, but he’d managed to get some rest. It helped to have his arm around Kelly and hold her close to his side. They hadn’t held each other nearly enough lately, but that was something he hoped to remedy.
In response to his question, Kelly yawned. “What time is it?”
“About two.”
“Already?” His wife smothered a second yawn.
“How’s Brittany?”
“Better than either of us.”
Nick grinned into the darkness and gently squeezed her shoulder.
“I never thought we’d spend our first Christmas as parents stuck in some train depot,” Kelly said, her words barely audible.
“Me, neither.”
“It hasn’t been so bad.”
Nick pressed his face into her hair and inhaled, delighting in her warm female scent. He loved Kelly and Brittany more than he’d thought it was possible to love anyone. More than it seemed reasonable for any human heart to love. Little in his life had come easy, and this parenting business might well be his greatest challenge yet. But his struggles had taught him to appreciate what he did have. Tonight, Christmas Eve, had taught him to recognize what he had.
He’d considered the trip home to Georgia unnecessary, but Kelly had wanted to introduce Brittany to her grandparents. Besides, traveling in winter was a mistake, he’d told her over and over. In the end he’d agreed only because Kelly had wanted it so badly. He hadn’t been gracious about it, and when troubles arose, it was all he could do not to leap up and tell her how right he’d been.
Nick felt differently now. Being with these people on Christmas Eve hadn’t been a mistake at all. Nor was taking Brittany to meet her extended family. They needed each other. He’d stood alone most of his life, but he wasn’t alone anymore. He had a wife and daughter. Family. And friends.
More friends than he’d realized.
At six o’clock Christmas morning, Clayton Kemper received word that the tracks had been repaired. He hurriedly dressed and rushed down to the train depot, not sure what he’d find. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover everyone waking up in a good mood, grateful to hear his news. While the travelers stretched and yawned, Clayton put on a pot of coffee, then dragged out the phone book and called the hotels in town to alert the passengers there that the tracks had been repaired.
“I don’t imagine this will be a Christmas you’ll soon forget,” Clayton said as he led the small band from the depot to the train. The engine hummed, ready to race down the tracks toward Boston.
Mrs. Norris was the first to board. She smiled as she placed her hand in his. “Thank you again for all your kindness, Mr. Kemper. And Merry Christmas.”
“I was glad I could help,” he said as she climbed onto the train.
The couple with the baby followed, along with the young navy man who lugged his own bag as well as the infant seat. It never ceased to amaze Clayton that one baby could need this much equipment. Time was, a bottle or two and a few diapers would suffice. These days it took the mother and two full-grown men to cart everything in. Clayton was pleased to see that the couple had struck up a friendship with the sailor. They certainly seemed to have a great deal to talk about.
The sales rep boarded next, after helping an elderly black couple with their luggage. This was the man who’d spent a large portion of the day before scowling and muttering under his breath. Kemper didn’t know what had happened to him, but this morning the man grinned from e
ar to ear and was about as helpful as they come.
“We appreciate everything you did for us, Kemper,” he said as he made his way into the train.
Five-year-old Kate bounced onto the first step and told Clayton, “Santa came last night and dropped off a present for me and Charles.”
“Did he now?” Clayton asked, catching Elise Jones’s eyes.
“Indeed he did,” Elise said with a wide smile.
Apparently the adults had arranged something for the children. Clayton was glad to hear it. He wished he’d been able to do more himself, but he had his own family and plenty of obligations. It was a sad case when the railroad had to put people up in a depot for the night, especially when that night happened to be Christmas Eve.
He waited until everyone was on board before he stepped away from the train. Glancing inside the compartment, he watched fascinated as the group of once-cantankerous travelers cheerfully teased one another. Anyone looking at them would assume they were lifelong friends, even family.
Was it possible, Clayton wondered, that this small band of strangers had discovered the true meaning of Christmas? Learned it in a train depot late on Christmas Eve in the middle of a snowstorm?
The question seemed to answer itself.
SHIRLEY, GOODNESS AND MERCY
To my St. Simons Island, Georgia, friends
Becky and Hank Wyrick
Hilaire Bauer
Jackie Randall
and
Phillip DePoy
One
G reg Bennett had always hated Christmas.
He’d never believed in “goodwill toward men” and all that other sentimental garbage. Christmas in the city—any city—was the epitome of commercialism, and San Francisco was no exception. Here it was, barely December, and department-store windows had been filled with automated elves and tinsel-hung Christmas trees since before Thanksgiving!
Most annoying, in Greg’s opinion, was the hustle and bustle of holiday shoppers, all of whom seemed to be unnaturally cheerful. That only made his own mood worse.
He wouldn’t be in the city at all if he wasn’t desperately in need of a bank loan. Without it, he’d be forced to lay off what remained of his crew by the end of the year. He’d have to close the winery’s doors. His vines—and literally decades of work—had been wiped out by fan leaf disease, devastating the future of his vineyard and crippling him financially.
He’d spent the morning visiting one financial institution after another. Like a number of other growers, he’d applied at the small-town banks in the Napa Valley and been unsuccessful. His wasn’t the only vineyard destroyed by the disease—although, for reasons no one really understood, certain vineyards had been spared the blight. For a while there’d been talk of low-interest loans from the federal government, but they hadn’t materialized. Apparently the ruin hadn’t been thorough enough to warrant financial assistance. For Greg that news definitely fell into the category of cold comfort.
It left him in a dilemma. No loan—no replanted vines. Without the vines there would be no grapes, without the grapes, no wine, and without the winery, no Gregory Bennett.
What he needed after a morning such as this, he decided, was a good stiff drink and the company of a charming female companion, someone who could help him forget his current troubles. He walked into the St. Francis, the elegant San Francisco hotel, and found himself facing a twenty-foot Christmas tree decorated with huge gold balls and plush red velvet bows. Disgusted, he looked away and hurried toward the bar.
The bartender seemed to sense his urgency. “What can I get you?” he asked promptly. He wore a name tag that identified him as Don.
Greg sat down on a stool. “Get me a martini,” he said. If it hadn’t been so early in the day, he would have asked for a double, but it was barely noon and he still had to drive home. He didn’t feel any compelling reason to return. The house, along with everything else in his life, was empty. Oh, the furniture was all there—Tess hadn’t taken that—but he was alone, more alone than he could ever remember being.
Tess, his third and greediest wife, had left him six months earlier. The attorneys were fighting out the details of their divorce, and at three hundred dollars an hour, neither lawyer had much incentive to rush into court.
Nevertheless, Tess was gone. He silently toasted eliminating her from his life and vowed not to make the mistake of marrying again. Three wives was surely sufficient evidence that he wasn’t the stay-married kind.
Yet he missed Tess, he mused with some regret—and surprise. Well, maybe not Tess exactly, but a warm body in his bed. By his side. Even at the time, he’d known it was foolish to marry her. He certainly should have known, after the messy end of his second marriage. His first had lasted ten years, and he’d split with Jacquie over…Hell if he could remember. Something stupid. It’d always been something stupid.
“You out shopping?” Don the bartender asked as he delivered a bowl of peanuts.
Greg snorted. “Not on your life.”
The younger man smiled knowingly. “Ah, you’re one of those.”
“You mean someone who’s got common sense. What is it with people and Christmas? Normal, sane human beings become sentimental idiots.” A year ago, when he and Tess had been married less than eighteen months, she’d made it clear she expected diamonds for Christmas. Lots of them. She’d wanted him to make her the envy of her friends. That was what he got for marrying a woman nineteen years his junior. A pretty blonde with a figure that could stop traffic. Next time around he’d simply move the woman into his house and send her packing when he grew bored with her. No more marriages—not for him. He didn’t need any more legal entanglements.
Just then a blond beauty entered the bar, and Greg did a double take. For half a heartbeat, he thought it was Tess. Thankfully he was wrong. Blond, beautiful and probably a bitch. The last part didn’t bother him, though—especially now, when he could use a little distraction. He’d be sixty-one his next birthday, but he was trim and fit, and still had all his hair—gone mostly gray, what people called “distinguished.” In fact, he could easily pass for ten years younger. His good looks had taken him a long way in this world, and he’d worked hard to maintain a youthful appearance.
“Welcome,” he greeted her, swerving around on his stool to give her his full attention.
“Hello.”
Her answering smile told him she wasn’t averse to his company. Yes, she might well provide a distraction. If everything worked out, he might stay in town overnight. Considering the morning he’d had, he deserved a little comfort. He wasn’t interested in anything serious—just a light flirtation to take his mind off his troubles, a dalliance to momentarily distract him.
“Are you meeting someone?” Greg asked.
“Not really,” she said, her voice sultry and deep.
Greg noted the packages. “Been shopping, I see.”
She nodded, and when the bartender walked over to her table, Greg said, “Put it on my tab.”
“Thanks,” she said in that same sultry voice. He was even more impressed when she asked for a glass of Bennett Wine. A pinot noir.
He slipped off the stool and approached her table. “I’m Greg.”
“Cherry Adams.”
He liked her name; it suited her. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Go ahead. Why not?”
The day was already looking brighter. He pulled out a chair and sat down. They made small talk for a few minutes, exchanged pleasantries. He didn’t mention his last name because he didn’t want her to make the connection and have their conversation weighed down by the problems at Bennett Wines. However, it soon became clear that she was knowledgeable about wine—and very flattering about his 1996 pinot noir. Tess had been an idiot on the subject, despite being married to the owner of a winery. She didn’t know the difference between chablis and chardonnay. And she never did understand why he couldn’t call his own sparkling wine champagne, no matter how many times he told her the nam
e could only be used for sparkling wines from the Champagne region of France.
After another glass of wine for her and a second martini for him, Greg suggested lunch. Cherry hesitated and gazed down at her hands. “Sorry, but I’ve got a nail appointment.”
“You could cancel it,” Greg suggested, trying to hint that they could find more entertaining ways to occupy themselves. He didn’t want her to think he was being pushy. Later, after lunch, he’d surprise her and announce who he really was. He was pleased—no, delighted—by her interest in him, particularly because she didn’t know he was the man responsible for the wine she’d described as “exquisite.” He grinned; wait till he told her. Cherry’s interest proved what he’d been telling himself ever since Tess had walked out on him. He was still young, still vital, still sexy.
That was when it happened.
The look that crossed Cherry’s face conveyed her thoughts as clearly as if she’d said them aloud. She wasn’t interested. Oh, sure, he was good for a few drinks, especially since he was buying. Good for an hour of conversation. But that was all.
“I really do have to go,” Cherry said as she reached for her shopping bags. “My nails are a mess. Thanks for the, uh, company and the wine, though.”
“Don’t mention it,” Greg muttered, watching her leave. He was still reeling from the blow to his pride.
Soon afterward, he left, too. He’d never been one to take rejection well, mainly because he’d had so little experience of it.
After two martinis he knew he wasn’t in any condition to drive. So he left his car in the lot and started to walk. With no destination in mind, he wandered down the crowded street, trying to keep his distance from all those happy little shoppers. His stomach growled and his head hurt, but not nearly as much as his ego. Every time he thought about the look on Cherry’s face, he cringed. Okay, okay, she’d been too young. At a guess he’d say she was no more than thirty.
A Gift to Last Page 8