She’d known he would change everything. And yet she hadn’t run, but had embraced that change. No one had ever had that faith in Nat. Heck, he’d never had that faith in himself.
“He seems like a good man.”
“He really is. Nat…”
“Hmm?”
“Have you ever been in love?”
Laying the guitar carefully against the wall Nat struggled to fix his expression into something suitably amused. “Hundreds of time, little sister.”
“That’s not love,” Lacey said scornfully.
Nat shrugged. “Not everyone wants to settle down, Lace. You know that. My life is unpredictable. I don’t know where I’m going to be one week to the next. My income changes monthly. I can fit most of my belongings in a suitcase and that’s how I like it.” That was how he’d liked it. But now his life seemed as insubstantial as his music.
“I always said you could walk into a bar anywhere in the world and come out with a dozen new best friends. But you always leave them behind. You have thousands of connections on social media, but do you have anyone other than me who you could call in the middle of the night and know they have your back?”
She knew he didn’t. She was right. He’d learned to fit in anywhere, to make friends fast—and to discard them just as fast. There was no point putting down roots when he was going to be moving on in a few days, weeks, or months. No point getting attached. He’d learned that lesson young. Had it reinforced since.
“I have to get to rehearsal.” He wasn’t sorry to bring the heart-to-heart to an end. “Don’t worry about me, Lace. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
By the troubled look on Lacey’s face, Nat was pretty sure she didn’t believe him. He wasn’t sure he believed himself.
Chapter Fourteen
Okay, everyone, listen up.” Nat clapped his hands together to get the hall’s attention, feeling horribly alone and exposed as he stood on the stage, the three music teachers down in the hall next to their classes, Linnea to one side, already seated at the piano. He slid his gaze over to the upright figure, hands poised above the keys, her forehead wrinkled in concentration and tried not to dwell on three nights ago. On a kiss, just one kiss—and yet more powerful than any relationship he could remember.
He dragged his gaze away from the piano and back to the rows of children. “Tonight things get real. It’s the fifth December so we have just over two weeks to get ready. But I know we can do it.” He smiled down at the kindergarten kids, sitting cross-legged at the front of the hall. “The key to most success is keeping it simple and doing it well. That’s my family motto. So, we are going to recreate Marietta Christmas through the ages.”
He paused and, as expected, there was a fluttering of excited chatter from the younger members of the choir and some well-rehearsed eye-rolling from the older kids. “Thanks to the drama departments from the schools and some very helpful seamstresses and tailors you younger kids will be in nineteenth century-style costumes. Older kids will be moving forward a few decades and we’ll be dressing you in a variety of forties and fifties outfits.” The eye-rolling was a little less pronounced this time, some of the teens actually looking interested at the prospect. “We’ll be issuing costume lists at the end of this rehearsal; we’re hoping you will all be able to supply some of the basic parts of your costumes, but if you can’t don’t worry. If you have any problems talk to your teachers, but earlier rather than later would be appreciated.”
He looked around and saw a few hands waving. He picked one, a girl in her early teens with short spiky hair dyed a vibrant blue. “Yes? Let me know names when you ask questions,” he added. “There’s a lot of you and I’d rather not keep calling you all ‘you there’.”
The blue-haired girl didn’t seem at all fazed as some of the younger kids giggled, her voice carrying clearly across the room. “I’m Carrie,” she said. “And I was wondering when we’ll know about solos?”
“Excellent question, Carrie, straight to the point. As you know, we’ve been learning traditional carols and a couple of classics from the twentieth century. Tonight we’re going to start working on harmonies and solos and those of you who will be given solos will know tonight. I will be dividing you into two groups, and those with higher voices will be singing descants—that’s when a second tune soars above the main tune. It’s very effective and guaranteed to get all the parents crying. Any more questions? No? Good. Now, I hope you all know the words to “Silent Night”? Yes? If you don’t, then there are lyric sheets being distributed. Ms. Olsen will play it through twice and then you will sing. I am going to walk round and listen to you, don’t be scared, it’s quite painless, and I will give you one of three cards. If you get a red card go to the back of the hall, a blue the front and a green go up on stage. Most of you will be red. Okay? Got that? Then let’s go.”
He nodded at Linnea and she began to play the age-old notes, the tune soaring through the hall. Nat waited until the children joined in, tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence and then he hopped off the stage and began to patrol the rows just as he had a week ago. He listened intently, before collecting the bag with the pieces of card in and handing them out. Most singers, whatever their tunefulness, were given red cards, those with clear, true and soprano or high alto voices he handed blue cards, and the few with a genuine gift he sent to the stage. He hadn’t wanted more than eight soloists, but in the end there were twelve children standing there of all ages, including Elsie and Carrie, the spiky blue-haired girl who had spoken up earlier.
Nat returned to the stage, holding his hands up for quiet. “Excellent. Now, I want you in rows, in your groups according to size, try and remember your places so you can return to them on Thursday. This week we are all going to run through all the songs together, then next week Mrs. Bloom is going to take the red group and I am going to work with the blues and the greens. Okay? Now, if you’re all ready, let’s get started.”
Ninety minutes later Nat felt wrung out. Teaching was exhausting, give him a tour bus through the night and a hostile crowd after a disastrous sound-check anytime. How did teachers do it? And he had to do it all again two more times this week—and then again next week. And the week after. Worse, he only had himself to blame, no one had forced him into this. He’d stood up and volunteered like a good boy scout. Not that he had ever been a scout.
As if drawn by a magnet, his gaze fell on Linnea, helping Betsy into her coat. She looked up, flushing as she caught his gaze, her own eyes soft, and his breath hitched in his throat. What would it be like to come home to a woman like Linnea every night? Nat couldn’t even begin to imagine it.
His dad had always said how lucky how was to have found Nat’s mom, a woman with the same goals and dreams as him, but Nat had seen far too many marriages fall apart, too many families split up by the demands of the road to ever want to take the risk. He’d never met a woman who wanted to travel with him. Never met a woman who made him want to stay put. Who wanted him to stay put. Who wanted him to be more than transition guy.
He looked over at Linnea again, her arms around her girls, anchoring them to her. She belonged right here in a way he never could but, for once, he ached for more. Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving in the new year.
The hall rapidly emptied until only Linnea and the girls remained. Nat walked over to meet them, high-fiving both girls. “Good job, Betsy. Beautiful, Elsie, well done. Nice accompanying, Linnea. What a talented family you are.” He grinned down at Betsy who giggled.
Linnea raised an eyebrow. “Your standards must be slipping, Hathaway. I was passable at best. I counted at least twenty wrong notes—and those are the ones so glaringly wrong even I couldn’t help but hear them despite doing my best to ignore them!”
“I didn’t notice,” he lied. He noticed everything about her.
“You don’t have to spare my feelings. Not with the piano anyway.” She looked around. “Betsy wanted to ask you something. Hurry up, sweetie,
dinner will be ready and you need to get to bed as soon as you’ve eaten. This concert is going to mean a lot of late nights I think.”
“How’s Biscuit?” Betsy asked. “I wanted to see him yesterday, but Mommy said we couldn’t go bothering you every evening.”
“I didn’t say that exactly, I said Nat was probably working and…” Linnea stuttered to a halt under Nat’s amused gaze.
“I was working, but I’m sure Biscuit would have been happy to have seen you. He’s feeling a lot better and thinks he’s ready for a walk. Unfortunately for him, the vet disagrees.”
“Give him a pat from me?” Betsy asked. “And a treat? Tell him it’s from Betsy so he knows I’m thinking of him.”
“I will. I promise. Is your car outside?” he asked Linnea. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Mom dropped us off; she was on her way to her library meeting. I hope she’s done; these girls are tired and hungry. As am I,” she admitted.
They’d reached the parking lot, but there was no sign of Mrs. Olsen’s station wagon. Linnea pulled her phone out of her bag and sighed. “Oh no, Mom is running late, I knew I should have brought my own car.”
“I’ll give you a lift,” Nat offered. “I have something to give the girls anyway.”
“Come and eat with us,” Betsy looked up at Nat. “Mommy always makes lots, don’t you, Mommy.”
“I can’t, Betsy,” Nat said hurriedly.
He and Linnea hadn’t even had a chance to discuss the kiss yet and where—if anywhere—it left them. “I have to get back to Biscuit. He’ll be wondering where I am.”
Betsy pouted. “But I want to see Biscuit. You said we could help look after her, and I haven’t even seen her today.”
Linnea looked up at him. “I’m sure you have plans, but if not, both you and Biscuit are very welcome to come for dinner. It’s just mac and cheese, nothing exciting.”
It was just dinner. Dinner with two small chaperons and a sick dog. Mac and cheese around a kitchen table. And yet somehow the invitation felt more intimate than the most romantic of restaurants. Linnea had said she felt safe with him, but he wasn’t sure the reverse was true. Could Nat really cope with being her transition guy? There was only one way to find out.
Chapter Fifteen
What on earth was she doing? It was one thing to sit in the back of a hay wagon on a Saturday night and exchange a few kisses, it was quite another to invite Nat back for a family dinner. All the reasons he’d been safe to kiss were all the reasons he wasn’t safe to get close to. He was leaving, his career and life far away from Marietta.
But there were just a few short weeks until the new year. The girls liked him, sure, but how attached could they get in such a short time? How attached could she get?
It didn’t take long to collect the dog and for Nat to drive the short distance to Olsen’s orchard. Linnea and the girls climbed out of his pickup, then waited while he picked up Biscuit, directing Betsy to carry the dog’s blanket, before Linnea led him round to the back of the house. “The girls and I use this entrance,” she explained. “The house was built with a front and back staircase so it was easy to divide when we decided it would be best for me to move back here. Mom and Dad have the front of the house, we have the back and we share the kitchen.”
They’d made the family room, which led off the kitchen, into a dining and living room for Linnea and the girls. Linnea still felt a jolt of satisfaction when she walked into the room she had furnished with such care. She’d chosen a warm white paint with pink tones and added a huge sectional couch covered in a rose-print fabric, a pink velvet love seat, and two vintage leather chairs. Cream rugs covered the wooden floorboards, and the alcoves were filled with book-lined shelves. A small table and chairs stood by the window, the perfect size for dinner when it was just her and the girls, or for homework or crafts. The room was perfect; warm, dainty, and homelike.
The downstairs smelled enticingly of baked cheese and herbs. Linnea directed the girls to divest themselves of coats and shoes, wash up, and set the table, while she put the old soft blanket down by the fireplace for Biscuit.
“This looks and smells amazing.”
Linnea turned and smiled as Nat walked into the room, Biscuit nestled into his arms as if he had always belonged there. It was most unfair how appealing a dog could make a man, especially a man already as handsome as Nat. It wasn’t just the way he cradled Biscuit in strong arms, or the look of adoration on the dog’s face as it rested his head on his shoulder, it was the softness in Nat’s voice as he lowered Biscuit to the blanket, murmuring reassurances to him, the softness in his eyes, in his every gesture as he settled him down.
“He suits you.”
“He’s a sweetheart. Matthew says he must have walked miles and miles before the girls found him. He’s not chipped, not on any lost dog database; beats me how anyone could lose a dog like this and not tear the country apart looking for it.”
“Not everyone appreciates what they have. Make yourself comfortable, I’m just going to make sure the girls have everything.”
She couldn’t help looking back as she left the room, at the way the dog stared at Nat like he was his whole world. It was all too easily done. She remembered the way she had turned to him in the hay wagon, the way she’d raised her face to his, desperate for his kiss, without a thought about what came next. She’d told herself she was safe, that she’d let him walk away once before with no repercussions. Was she lying to herself? Hoping that somehow things would be different this time? She was a fool if so. Nat showed no inclination to settle down. Why should he, with his career taking off and the world at his feet?
The sound of cross small girls quickly brought her back to earth. Her daughters were standing by the open cutlery drawer arguing. “It’s not better, stupid!”
“It is better, isn’t it, Mommy?
“What’s better?” Linnea interjected, wanting to head the quarrel off before it got too heated. “And don’t call your sister stupid, Elsie.”
“Well, she is,” Elsie muttered.
“The concert. Elsie says it’s lame and the Milchester concert is much better, but I like the Marietta one.”
Linnea shot her eldest daughter a worried glance. Elsie had seemed so much better recently. Linnea had begun to hope Elsie had turned a corner, was beginning to accept her life in Marietta. The weekend had been nothing but positive; Elsie’s castle had won first place in the gingerbread house competition, and she had had a great time at the stroll, complete with photos with Santa and a hayride with her grandparents. But for every step forward, there seemed to be a half-step back.
“Go and set the table,” she said. “Let’s not quarrel in front of Biscuit.” She watched the girls go, her heart heavy. The last thing she should be doing was fantasizing about kisses while her girls needed her.
She was just so tired of doing it alone.
*
Linnea set the casserole dish onto a mat in the center of the table, and pulled the salad she’d made earlier out of the refrigerator, putting it next to the casserole, before adding a freshly-sliced loaf of bread and calling the girls to the table.
“This looks amazing,” Nat said, as he slid onto the seat she indicated. “Much better than the limp salad and the week-old takeout, which is pretty much all that’s left in Lacey’s refrigerator.”
Dinner passed quickly, Elsie lightening up a little as Nat talked about Biscuit’s visit to the vet earlier that afternoon and about his plans for the soloists. “I went to a midnight mass in England a few years back,” he said. “The church choir was all kids, the youngest around your age, Elsie, up to early teens. The whole congregation sang the carols, but the choir did the descants—it sent chills up my spine. That was why I wanted to do Adeste Fidelis in the Latin, with the descant, I have never forgotten the way their voices soared. I was what? Nineteen? A cynical American teenager who thought he knew it all—and I had tears in my eyes. If we can make at least half the concert-goers tear up, then
I’ll be happy. They also had soloists doing the first verses of some of the carols, and that’s what I’d like you to do, Elsie. Sing the first verse of ‘Away in a Manger’ just like you did at Crooked Corner last week.”
Linnea’s throat swelled at the thought of her little girl standing there alone singing the ancient song. “I think I might cry at the thought alone, it’s a good thing you don’t want me to be the accompanist on the night, I’ll be a blubbering wreck.”
“Did you know,” Nat said as Linnea began to collect the plates, “that tomorrow is St. Nicholas’s Day?”
Both girls shook their heads. “What’s St. Nicholas’s Day?” Betsy asked.
“It’s a European tradition which signifies the start of Christmas. Do you remember Mrs. Hoffmann, the lady who lodges at Crooked Corner with my great-aunts? She told me all about it at the weekend; her husband was German and when her son was your age, they used to celebrate it. Apparently, you have to leave your shoes outside your front door the night before St. Nicholas’s Day and, if you’ve been good, then in the morning it’s filled with sweets. But, if you’ve been bad, then all you’ll find is a bunch of twigs.”
Betsy’s eyes were round with excitement. “My shoes? Any shoes? Mommy, can I?”
“I…”
But Nat was one step ahead, his eyes twinkling as he cut in. “You can, of course, leave any shoes, but Mrs. Hoffmann asked me to give you these. Elsie, can you pass me that bag by Biscuit’s bowl?”
Their Christmas Carol (Big Sky Hathaways Book 2) Page 10