Under the Christmas Star (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  “Is such a beautiful thing to do. I will deliver them myself, and I will stay to talk to them for a few minutes. How is that?”

  The moment she offered, Lena regretted it, but the largest of the ladies shook her head. “That’s so kind of you, Mrs. Rojas, but it’s part of our ministry, you understand.”

  “Of course, of course.” She’d almost offered to send some of The Confectionary’s soft candies, but that thought fizzled as one woman said, “We have some of Audrey’s soft centers for the men.”

  Another woman giggled. “Audrey even keeps a few specially printed stickers with ‘confectionery’ spelled correctly so old Mr. Harbinger doesn’t get his editorial nose out of whack. Isn’t that funny?”

  Lena knew nothing of which they spoke, but she gave a light laugh and rang up her six smallest arrangements with a ten percent discount for each. Wayne would laugh when he saw it, but she couldn’t help it.

  By the time the ladies disappeared through the door, Tabitha appeared looking like a ray of sunshine that had been sprinkled by a thunderstorm. “Thanks for calling me in, Mrs. Rojas. Mom’s having a terrible day and wanted me gone, but she was too afraid to ask, and I can’t just decide to go, because…” She swallowed back the rest of the explanation. “Anyway, it’s good to have something to do.”

  Oh, Dios mio, please keep her here until after Christmas. One more.

  Only when she’d made it to her car and started the engine did Lena realize she didn’t know if she’d replied. As she pulled down the alley, she saw the back door cracked and Wayne watching.

  After a stop by the post office, a stop in at Bookends to pick up some new music, and a dash into The Market for eggs, asparagus, and chorizo, she finally made for home. If she could not work, she could at least have a decent meal—huevos a la flamenca. The baked egg and tomato dish would give her a taste and feel of home.

  So would Ramon sitting on her doorstep. The moment she pulled into the little gravel driveway—the one she’d have to pave in the next year or two just to save her sanity—Lena saw him there just sitting on the porch, shivering. He hopped up and helped carry her things into the house without a word. Not one.

  Lena quaked.

  Sure enough, the moment she pulled out her Dutch oven and began chopping bell peppers and onions, Ramon began. “You must forgive him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “But you do.” He leaned forward until she couldn’t keep him from her line of sight. The temptation to poke her knife in his direction was tempered only by the fear that he’d move closer and she’d hurt him. “You do.”

  “I can’t. I must not. I just…” She couldn’t say it. Even in her pain-filled state, Lena knew how ridiculous and unfair she was.

  “Magdalena…” When she didn’t respond, Ramon slammed his palm flat on the counter. “Do you know what Marta would say? She would say, ‘You are better than this. You are not a coward!”

  The words echoed in her mind if not in the little kitchen. Anger flared in her heart and spewed from her lips. “I am not! You are correct. This is wisdom, not the coward!”

  “What did he say?”

  That stopped her tirade, and she dropped the knife on the cutting board. “What? Who said?”

  “Wayne. When you asked what he was doing in a place like that, what did he say?”

  “I—he—well—” She scooped the peppers and onions up, tossed them and a bit of olive oil in her Dutch oven, and slammed it on the stove. “It isn’t important why. He was there. He wouldn’t tell me where—”

  Ramon exploded in a string of Spanish that was almost unrepeatable. This time, Lena did whirl and brandish her knife with enough force to make her anger known. “No! You will not talk like that in my house! No!”

  “You didn’t even ask him—or if you did, you didn’t let him answer, did you?”

  “I asked! He wouldn’t tell me. He said it was a surprise.”

  That stopped Ramon. “A store like that? A surprise? For you? It doesn’t sound like him.”

  That’s the problem, isn’t it? She just glared and reached for tomatoes from her fridge and a cheese grater from the drawer. With it balanced over the top, she began grating tomatoes into the simmering mixture.

  “Call him.”

  Lena shook her head.

  “If you don’t ask him, I will. Call him.”

  Every instinct demanded that she order him to stay out of her business—that their friendship would be over if he interfered. But she couldn’t. She didn’t have enough friends to toss good ones aside just because of misguided interference.

  As she reached for the next tomato, Lena spoke. “Fine. Do as you wish. Ask him. Believe his excuses and his lies. It will not change my mind.”

  “You love him, Lena.”

  The tomato dropped into the pot ungrated. Lena stood there, eyes closed, tears sliding down her cheeks, and sighed. “It does not matter if I love or if I hate. I cannot trust him. I will not.”

  Lena hadn’t been out the door five minutes before Wayne lost all patience and called Brooke. “Hey, I need Emma’s number. What’s the name of her shop?”

  “Little Star Boutique, why?”

  “My ornament. The party’s in three days, and it’s not here.”

  She snickered. “Cutting it short, Uncle Wayne.”

  “That’s why I have to call now. I call—” It didn’t matter why, and if he got started, she’d weasel the whole conversation out of him without even trying. How she always got him, he didn’t know, but she wouldn’t this time. “Gotta go call. See if she can overnight or something.”

  “I think she mailed it already. This is Emma. She probably mailed it that Monday.”

  “It’s not here, so she didn’t.”

  Once more, Brooke argued. “She must have. Did she send it to the shop or your house?”

  He started to answer and realized he didn’t know. That’s what you were calling Mom about. “Not sure. Wherever Mom sent her. I’ll call Mom first. Thanks.” He barely tossed out a half-hearted, “Merry Christmas,” before disconnecting.

  His mother didn’t pick up. “Probably getting her hair done for Christmas,” he muttered as he jabbed a rose stem into the delightfully pink arrangement. Anything not including red delighted his over-Christmassed soul.

  The stem broke, and his thumb slid down and impaled itself on a missed thorn. “Now you’re just getting lazy.”

  Thanks to Siri and her beautiful searching skills, he found Emma’s online shop but no phone number. “Ugh. Better just leave a message with Ma.”

  Five minutes later, the pink beauty stood on the table, all set for a sweet sixteen birthday. His phone rang. “Ma! Hey—”

  “You called?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  His mother interrupted. “Sorry, I was baking cookies. Had my arms up to elbows in dough. Do you want—”

  “Mom!”

  She didn’t stop talking. She just rambled on about gingerbread versus molasses cookies and if he wanted anything else. “Maybe peppermint bark? If I’m going to send a box, I might as well make it worth your while.”

  “I swear, you still try to ‘fatten me up’ like you did when I was twelve. I’m no longer underweight, Ma.” He jabbed a finger in his slight paunch and groaned. “Not even close. Look—”

  “Well, I think you look nice and healthy—not like these scrawny kids today. What’s with that? Even the men look partially anorexic.”

  “Ma!”

  “Yes, dear?”

  Wayne froze. Eyes closed, mouth dry, he choked out, “Oh, Ma. What did you do? Do you have the ring?”

  “Ring? Of course not! Why—?”

  “Mooom…”

  Still, she didn’t back down. “Wayne, I’m becoming concerned about you. None of this makes any sense!”

  “Mother. Did Emma Sheldon call you for my address?”

  “Yes, of course. I told you about that, didn’t I? Did you know she sold out—?”

  Again, Wayne brok
e in “Mom, did you give it to her?”

  “You don’t have to be rude, Wayne Farrell. Of course, I gave it to her. Just a few days after you left. It’s not there yet?”

  Her tone couldn’t be denied. Now she was concerned. Still, that “yes, dear” always meant one thing. She’d meddled. Brooke’s question derailed that thought. “Did you send it to the house or the shop?”

  “Oh, the house. Definitely. Should I have given her the shop address?”

  “Apparently. Look, I’m going to go ask down at the post office. Meanwhile, will you text me Emma’s phone number? I forgot to get it from Brooke, and it’s not on her website.”

  The following silence sent ominous waves over him.

  “Ma?”

  “Um, about that…”

  He closed his eyes. I knew it. Taking a steadying breath and gripping the worktable, Wayne asked the obvious question. “About what exactly?”

  “Well, you may need to leave Emma out of it. I gave her the address. If it didn’t arrive, she’d feel terrible about it. You know how she gets if things don’t go according to plan. Better just deal with the post office and leave Emma out of it.”

  Every instinct told him there was more to it, but Wayne couldn’t deny a single thing his mother had said, either. Emma’s quirks were well-known in Crossroads. “Um, okay. Well, I’ll call you back. Maybe you could find a way to just happen to run into her and get the insurance slip—for my records, you know. Something like that?”

  Wayne couldn’t help a bit of pride coming out in that plan. His mother pounced on it. Not until he’d turned off the phone and carried the vase of roses out to his truck did he realize why it unsettled him. She was too eager. Much too eager.

  In a pristine kitchen, with only lingering scents of baking overriding the scent of dishwashing liquid and Soft Scrub, Barbara stared at her phone, wondering if she’d done the right thing. Still, if it delayed an ill-advised proposal until Lena could work through whatever problems she had, wouldn’t it be worth it?

  “But the ring. I really can’t afford to replace that ring for him. Maybe if I didn’t get that new car until year after next…”

  That did it for her. She hated her car with a passion usually reserved for tomato worms in July. It took only a moment to find Lena’s number and tap the screen. With a prayer for favor and a niggling feeling she may need to examine her actions a little closer, Barbara waited for an answer.

  It came in the uncertain but melodic tones of a light, Spanish accent. “Señora Farrell? Is this you?”

  “Hello, Lena. How are you?” Her mind demanded that she get to the point and get off the phone, but Barbara couldn’t make herself do it. “I’ve been concerned.”

  “I am good.” Silence. “That is not the right word. But it is.”

  “Well, is the one you’re looking for. Not to worry, dear. Now I just have a quick question for you. I won’t keep you except to say that you are welcome to call me anytime. You know that, right?”

  “Sí, yes. I know. Thank you. What is your question?”

  Despite every attempt to keep herself calm, Barbara’s voice wavered. “I just wondered if you’d received a package recently? An ornament from Crossroads?”

  “You sent me this? I—”

  “No, no.” She had to think and think fast. “I didn’t send it, no. But I knew it was coming and didn’t know if it had made it. It’s so valuable that—”

  “I should give it to him. Why did—?”

  “No!” Barbara swallowed. “Sorry, dear. Um…” She scrambled for truthful words and smiled as the right ones came to her. “Lena, Wayne bought that ring for you. He bought it because he loves you. He lost everything that mattered to him, namely you, because of what happened when he bought it.”

  Silence filled the airwaves and settled uncomfortably in Barbara’s stomach. She waited.

  “What happened when he bought it? He didn’t tell me.”

  I knew it! She had few words to work with before Lena spooked, of this Barbara had no doubt. “Lena, dear. Remember? He fell trying to save the jewelry store clerk from hurting herself. I don’t know why that bothered you so much, and I wish you’d reconsider, but he bought the ring for you, and now it’s where it belongs. I just wanted to be certain it had been delivered.”

  With apologies for not being able to talk any longer, Barbara disconnected the call and sagged against the fridge in relief.

  “Now, to confess to Wayne.” She eyed the phone in her hand. “Maybe after dinner. I’m famished.”

  With promises to ask both of Wayne’s mail carriers if they’d delivered any small packages to either of his addresses, Wayne hurried down the post office steps and hesitated. Work or The Grind for coffee?

  Tabitha had come in last minute. He’d get her the peppermint vanilla frou-frou coffee the girl loved and get him a nice cup of something extra bracing. He ordered, waited in line, and then backed up next to the Christmas tree in the corner and watched as the room full of coffee aficionados interacted. Couples, moms, businessmen, and teenagers filled the chairs.

  The wait grew. Even a trip to the restroom and back still had his order waiting. Three to go it looks like.

  A familiar voice from the other side of the tree slowly worked its way into his consciousness. “—a great guy. I really like him. I just wish…” The words trailed off, and her friend commented on how not all relationships work out.

  “I think Wayne needs someone who understands him—challenges him to step outside his comfort zone. I want to be that person—”

  “Jennie aaand Desiree?” The voice rang out, cutting her off.

  The two women stepped forward to retrieve their steaming cups, and when Jennie turned and saw him standing there, she blanched. Wayne just smiled. It’s okay. You’ll see why soon enough. I’ll ask even without the ring. You’ll understand.

  Face flaming, she shot out of the shop and into the cold. Wayne, however, never noticed the frigid temperatures or the giant snowflakes filling the streets of Fairbury. He carried the hot coffees all the way to The Pettler. Tabitha took hers with a bounce and a grin. “Oh, I was just dreaming about one of these. Mrs. Paulson was just in to complain about flowers she received.”

  Wayne frowned. “We didn’t deliver any to her. No orders—”

  “I know, right? Someone sent her Christmas flowers through one of those overnight places that ship with FedEx. But she just assumed we were to blame somehow. I told her to contact the number on the invoice, but we were not allowed to interfere in other businesses’ customer service issues.” The girl gave him a weak smile. “Was that the right thing to do?”

  “Perfect!” He took a swig of his coffee and wondered why it didn’t seem as hot as usual. “I think they’re getting careless over there. Mine’s not quite piping. Going to heat it up. Want me to do yours, too?”

  Tabitha shook her head. “Mine’s just right. I’ll heat it up when it gets halfway gone, but thanks.”

  A text message came just a second before his phone rang. Jennie and his mother—in that order. Skipping the call, he clicked on the text message.

  Sorry you had to overhear that. We should talk.

  He grinned, his heart warming at the picture of her mortified that he’d overheard her sharing her feelings about him. His thumbs flew over the keyboard with speed and skill usually reserved for teens on an angst-riddled mission.

  I’d like that. When are you free?

  His heart soared as her reply arrived.

  Now?

  Wayne tapped back a quick, On my way, before grabbing his spare shop key and taking it out to Tabitha. “Gotta duck out early. Can you lock up? Just leave the register and the credit card machine. I’ll cash them out later tonight.”

  “You sure? Mrs. Rojas showed me how…”

  He almost agreed, but with him gone so much, the cases looked a little sparse. Still, you may want to spend a little more time with Jenny, after the whole proposal thing. Tomorrow. You can work faster tomorro
w.

  Nearly sick with nerves and almost girly with giddy anticipation, he agreed and shot through the curtain on his way to the back door. “See you tomorrow?”

  “If you want me.”

  He paused, hand on the handle. “Be here. I’m not sure what’s up with Lena.”

  “Okay!”

  Out in the alley, he stared at the empty spot where his van should be. “Where’s my van? Stolen? In Fairbury? Not poss—oh.”

  He took off double-time for the post office.

  Red-rimmed eyes and a hint of pink about the nose greeted him as Jennie opened the door. “Hey…”

  Wayne couldn’t take it. He stepped inside and pulled her into a hug. “Shh… it’s okay.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  It seemed a weird thing to ask, but she was probably doing that psychological thing where people assumed everyone felt the same as they did about something. Projecting. That’s what it’s called.

  “Not at all, silly. You were very flattering.”

  She wrinkled her nose and sniffled. That’s all it took to send her after a box of tissues. Jennie blew twice before admitting, “I thought—well, I just thought you liked…” She swallowed. “Well, I’m glad. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I wouldn’t have told you like that for the world.”

  Her words made no sense until he recalled how private she’d been about some things. “Well, hearing what a great guy you are—”

  “What?” She wrinkled that nose and blew again. Understanding lit her face. “Oh… compliment sandwich without even meaning to. I’ll have to tell Desiree.”

  Compliment sandwich? I thought that was when you had something bad in the middle. What’s bad?

  “You just never seemed to want to talk about things, so I didn’t know how serious—”

  “Oh!” Okay, this is it. Just get it over with. Take her ring shopping before the ornament exchange. Sell that other one before taxes are due, and everything’ll be golden. Or platinum. Definitely platinum this time.