Bringing Home Christmas

by Vicki Hinze

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Lauren dropped a kiss on her cool forehead. No fever. That was a good sign. “You fight to get well, Mom. Really fight. And eat.”

  Her mother nodded then closed her eyes to rest.

  Lauren left the room and closed the door behind her. When she turned, she was looking right into Jessica Weaver’s smiling face. Her ebony skin glowed, and her hair had been snipped short. Lauren smiled and wrapped her arms around Jessica’s neck. “You look fabulous.”

  “Wearing love on the outside,” she said, swiping an arm down her blue scrubs, her stethoscope dangling from her neck, tucked into her pocket. “Want to meet him?”

  Lauren smiled. “Of course.”

  A tall man wearing boots and a cowboy hat joined them. Jessica wrapped her arm in his. “Jason, this is my best friend, Lauren Holt. Lauren, my guy, Jason.”

  They chatted briefly, then Jason said, “I’m sorry. I’m late for an appointment. Lauren, I’m glad you’re home. Jessica has been waiting for you to come back for a long time.”

  “Thank you.” Lauren watched him walk away. “He’s gorgeous, Jess.”

  “He is.” Jessica let out a dreamy sigh.

  Lauren smiled, unable to resist a little taunting. “So, she who swore since third grade she would never be interested in a guy who wore a cowboy hat and boots—does he drive a truck?”

  Jessica laughed. “He does!” She dropped her voice. “We star gaze from the backend all the time out at Miller’s Creek.”

  “Well, you got to eat all your words, then.”

  “I did.” She chuckled. “Isn’t that the biggest blessing ever?”

  “If it puts that kind of happiness on your face, then I’d say it certainly is.”

  “I’m crazy about him. The miracle is he’s crazy about me, too.”

  Lauren clasped her arm. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “I know you are.” Jessica looked over her shoulder. “Boss is back. I’ve got to run. Let’s do dinner tonight at Granny’s. Seven okay?”

  “Perfect.” Granny’s was an institution in Holt Ridge. It’d been the first business to open on Main Street. Granny’s granddaughter ran it now—or she had three years ago, when Lauren had left, and her dad, Bailey Adams, owned it. “See you then.” Two steps down the hall, Lauren paused. “Jess?”

  She stopped, turned back, and waited.

  “You should have told me he was here.” No need to mention David’s name. The suddenly sober expression on Jessica’s face proved she knew exactly who Lauren meant.

  “I would have, if I’d known you were coming back.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

  Jessica shifted on her feet. “Because you would have felt betrayed by everyone on the ridge, including your mother, and by him all over again.”

  She did anyway. Jessica was right, though. Knowing he had usurped her life here and she was now the outsider would have made Lauren more miserable in Atlanta. At least, she’d just been wondering what had happened. She hadn’t been clueless and betrayed. Being both was definitely worse. “See you at seven.”

  Jessica walked on, and Lauren checked her watch. She had three minutes to get to Community Hall. She wouldn’t make it by eleven, but that was fine. David Decker could just wait.

  At least, he wouldn’t have to cancel a wedding and then face the entire community alone. Remembering how hard that had been, how much it had hurt, she couldn’t wish that experience on anyone. Not even him.

  5

  December 20th

  11:00 AM

  Light snow dusted the crusted pack on the shallow lawns of the businesses and municipal offices at Town Circle. Lauren dipped her chin into the scarf draping her neck, her hands stuffed deep in her pockets, and made her way down the sidewalk to Community Hall. The rockers, barrel table and checkerboard stood empty, which was common this time of year. At the door, she stomped her snow boots on the mat, then went inside.

  The main hall was a flurry of activity. Familiar people decorating an enormous Christmas tree, admiring their handy-work. A woman who looked from the back like Mrs. Grayson placed wrapped packages with gold and silver ribbons under the tree atop the red velvet skirt. Men moving out the sofas and chairs that typically filled the space, and more men moving in circular tables that would be placed around the perimeter of the wide room, leaving the far third for a dance floor. Across the hardwood floor, in that far third area, a long table stood. Six committee members sat in chairs around it. Barbara and Kenneth Pope, their beloved and spoiled rotten dog, Baxter, and at the head of the table, David Decker.

  He wore a black suit and tie, white shirt, and a scruffy beard that looked great on him. His face was thinner, more angular; he’d lost maybe fifteen pounds, not that he’d needed to, and his hair was darker, nearly black. No sun-streaks in it now. He looked… amazing. She wanted to deny it but couldn’t. Reminding herself to breathe, Lauren walked across the expanse to the foot of the table. “Hello, everyone.” She focused on the Popes. “I see you’re doing well, Baxter.” She bent to ruffle his scruff.

  “Welcome home, Lauren.” Barbara laughed. “The scamp is nagging us for a quick walk.” Barbara stood up. “Kenneth, you’d best come too, in case he decides to make a run for it.”

  “Good to see you home, Lauren.” Kenneth stood up. “We won’t be long.”

  The other committee members grabbed the opportunity to freshen up their coffee and run to the restroom. Truth be told, Lauren knew they expected fireworks between David and she and they were getting out of the line of fire. Lauren stiffened her back. Neither they nor he would be getting that from her, and likely not from David. At least, if he was anything like she thought he had been. But he was here. Who knew anymore what to expect?

  When only the two of them remained at the table, David greeted her. “Hello, Lauren.”

  “David.” She spotted a walking cane hooked on the arm of his chair. Had he pulled a muscle or something?

  “I hope your being here isn’t a sign your mother has taken a turn for the worse.”

  Civil. She could be civil. The cane handle looked a little worn. Had he been using it a while, or was it issued to him at the hospital? “She isn’t responding to the antibiotics yet, but she is eating a little again. That’s a good sign.” Lauren feigned a smile. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Baxter!” Barbara Pope’s shout echoed through the large room.

  Lauren glanced over and saw Baxter standing staring at Barbara with a gold-ribboned package dangling from his mouth.

  Barbara pointed a finger and barked an order. “You take that back right this minute, young man.”

  The dog tucked his tail tucked, turned, and headed back to the tree. He dropped the package and sat down, no doubt waiting for Barbara to turn her back so he could snitch it again.

  Some things never change. Baxter getting into trouble was one of them.

  “Kenneth,” Barbara called to her husband, standing nearby. “Check his mouth and make sure he didn’t cut his lip on that ribbon.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  David chuckled. “They treat that dog better than most do people.”

  “He’s like a child to them.” The Popes were crazy about Baxter, and that he was a mischievous rascal entertained them.

  “Gathered that a long time ago,” David said. “He’s annoying, but there’s something about him…”

  “He’s endearing,” Lauren finished for him. “He’s always been that way. No matter how much trouble he gets into, you just can’t stay upset with him.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “It has been to the Popes.” Lauren sighed. “After Janelle passed away, they were lost, and so sad. But then Ollie Mae Baker’s dog had pups and Baxter was the runt. She asked Kenneth and Barbara to take care of him. The others were picking on him, and being the runt, he couldn’t defend himself.”

  “Sounds like a setup.”

  “It was,” Lauren said. “But it wor
ked anyway. They brought Baxter home and spoiled him rotten and they all healed.”

  “Who was Janelle?”

  “Their daughter. She was at college in Kentucky. Driving home, she got a flat. You know the roadside hazards of that.” Lauren blew out a steady breath. “She died instantly.”

  “Tragic,” he said.

  “It was.” Lauren looked away.

  “So, people don’t get riled by Baxter’s antics. Makes sense. Ridgers do tend to protect their own.”

  “Most of the time.” That he was sitting at the other end of the table proved that wasn’t always the case.

  Questions of why he was here burned in her mind, but she tamped them down. The best way to deal with this—with him—was to stick to committee business. “I reviewed my mother’s plans and I’m hoping yours are more complete. What’s been done, and what is left that needs doing?”

  He shifted on his seat. “Bluntly put, the plans are a train wreck.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “When your mother told me that she had to have surgery, I stepped up on my side of things. I thought she had her side well in hand. Everyone said she was typically done by Thanksgiving. But apparently this year, she wasn’t.”

  “I’m discovering she’s been ill longer than anyone realized,” Lauren said. “What exactly is your side of things?”

  “Organizing the volunteers. Handling setups and breakdowns, and laying out the sleigh ride route with Bailey Adams, making sure it is safe.”

  “For?”

  “The dinner and dance, the sleigh ride, the bonfire, the critter parade. And the Circle tree.” He tilted his head in a way that was endearingly familiar. “That’s done. The volunteers all have their marching orders.”

  “That’s good news,” she said. “So, what isn’t done?”

  “Everything else.” He frowned, creasing the skin between his eyebrows. “Some things have been started, they’re just not finished.”

  “Like what?”

  “The dinner and dance tickets haven’t been printed. Barbara agreed to do the flowers, but the order isn’t finalized or approved. Kenneth’s doing the catering, but the menu hasn’t been finalized or approved. He’s about out of time on ordering in, especially with the storms.” David passed her a list. “Nothing on this is final.”

  “Why didn’t you just sign off on it all?”

  “Couldn’t,” he said. “Everything requires two signatures. I couldn’t very well bother your mother with it, and she hadn’t designated her replacement. Well, until now. I’m assuming you are replacing her. Why else would you be here?”

  “I am filling in for her.” This was so unlike her mother. But with her health issues, she wasn’t herself. “What’s top priority?”

  “Everything.” He frowned again. “It’s only three days, Lauren—two until the bonfire, sleigh rides and the critter parade.”

  “Are the vendors set for the events?”

  “They are. Just waiting for your signature.”

  She motioned for the document. Scanned it, spotted all the usual names for all the usual purposes, and signed off. “What’s next?”

  He paused to think a second. “I’m most concerned about the ticket sales for the dinner and dance. They’re really slow.”

  “If they haven’t been printed yet for people to buy them, that’s why they’re slow.”

  “Of course.” He swallowed a sip of what had to be cold coffee. “Businesses around town have been having people sign up with ticket lists—so when the tickets are delivered, they can just pick them up. But sales are still slow compared to previous years.” He looked down at the table. “I’m hoping it’s not because I’m involved.”

  Clearly, he wanted reassurance. The wounded, angry part of her wanted to withhold it but, having been on the receiving end of that kind of thing one time too many, she didn’t. “I’m sure it’s not. They want the actual tickets in their hands,” she said. “The dance is still a family affair, right?”

  He nodded. “Dinner and dancing, people of all ages—and this year, formal.”

  “Formal?” That surprised Lauren. “The dance has never been formal.”

  “Community voted. The women wanted a chance to dress up.” He looked back through his notes. “Most of the men opposed—on the first round of votes. But some swung the other way on the second round.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing influences were exerted.” He cleared his throat. “It was a very robust debate.”

  Lauren couldn’t help it. She smiled. “Just for the sake of curiosity, how many rounds of votes did it take for the women to get their formal?”

  “Three.” He grunted. “They were persistent and persuasive.”

  “I’m sure they were.”

  “Well, I guess the wisest place to start is to review your documents and then get to the printer. Is Carter Slade still running the shop?”

  David’s relief was evident. “He is, and we have a meeting with him at two o’clock.”

  More time with David. Lauren buried her reaction.

  “Would you like to grab some lunch?” he asked. “I could answer any questions…”

  The invitation surprised her. She would, of course, refuse. Tongues would be blazing before their order was taken. “Better not. I think I need to get somewhere quiet and go through all this. I’ll meet you at Carter’s at 2:00.”

  6

  December 20th

  2:15 PM

  David rushed into Carter’s print shop looking flustered. Scraggly bits of cotton stuck to his coat. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “What happened?” Lauren plucked a couple bits from his sleeve.

  “I was on my way out, and Baxter decided to rip the stuffing out of Santa—the stuffed one. What a mess.”

  “What about Santa?” Lauren asked. “He’s an institution at Community Hall.” The six-foot tall Santa had been an icon there since Lauren was a little girl.

  “Barbara promised she’d have him as good as new in no time.”

  Relieved, Lauren adjusted her handbag on her shoulder. “Has anyone suggested Baxter might be better off at home instead of in the middle of things?”

  “I did, but he’s hosting the Critter Christmas Parade, so Barbara insists he be there.”

  “Translation, he’ll destroy the place while they’re gone.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  The parade. “You did limit the costume entrants in the parade to dogs and cats, right?”

  “I did,” he assured her. “I heard all the stories about the raccoons, goats, and the skunk.”

  “Oh, good.” Lauren laughed and David joined her. It seemed so odd, strange, to laugh with him, especially still not knowing why he’d broken their engagement.

  She didn’t want to laugh with him, or to notice the little changes in him, and she really didn’t want him to appeal to her as much as he always had. She took a step back, sobered. “Carter is waiting.”

  They walked deeper into the printing shop and approached the counter.

  Carter, in his late fifties, stood on the other side of it. “Glad you two could finally make it. Where’s the design?”

  “What design?” David asked, glancing at Lauren.

  “For the tickets,” Carter said.

  “I don’t have a design, Carter,” Lauren told him. “Can’t you just do what you did last year?”

  “I could, but your mother won’t like it,” he said. “I’m not the artist she is but let me see what I can do. Give me fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Okay,” David said. “We’ll step over to Granny’s and grab a cup of coffee.”

  “Fine.” Carter shouted back at them and disappeared into the back of his shop.

  “That’s probably not a good idea,” Lauren told David. “Us going to Granny’s.”

  “Why not?”

  Let him find out for himself. She’d dealt with all of it for months before leaving for Atlanta. “Never mind.”

  They walked two doors down and into Granny’s. It wasn’t meal t
ime—too late for lunch, too early for dinner—but the men’s afternoon coffee club was there, and a smattering of tables were filled with women who’d teamed up for last minute shopping.

  Ignoring the sudden silence and the stares, she and David sat down across from each other at a table near the window—their second mistake, in Lauren’s opinion—and ordered coffee. David asked for a slice of apple pie, and asked Lauren if she’d like one. “No, thanks,” she said.

  Two minutes later, the first sidewalk gawkers stopped at the window to stare at them, then came inside and sat down at a table nearby. More followed.

  The waitress refilled their cups. “You two are good for business.”

  Lauren knew exactly what she meant.

  David appeared baffled, and uttered, “What?”

  “Nothing,” the waitress said. “Enjoy your pie.”

  He looked to Lauren to explain.

  She plastered on a smile. “They’re curious about us.”

  “Who?”

  “The people filling up the place.” How could he not have noticed the stares? The covert glimpses. The bold watches.

  “What are they expecting?”

  “For us to argue or make a scene. The romantics likely are hoping we’ll make up.” It felt good to say it all aloud. To lay it out there, and for him to grasp what she’d dealt with all that time.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She slid him her best deadpan expression. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “You’re smiling, but it isn’t touching your eyes. Not kidding.” He turned solemn. “So, what do we do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “At all?”

  “At all.” She shrugged. “You put on your innocent face, bury your feelings, and just do what you do.” At least, until you just couldn’t do it anymore. Then, you left, hoping to find peace, and eventually discovering peace is elusive and nowhere to be found.

  He stilled. “You’re speaking from experience.”

  “I am.”