Her Holiday Family

by Ruth Logan Herne

  His daughter’s bedroom, with his mother holding her ninth grandchild and the nighttime candle glowing in the window...

  He saw Tina’s words come alive.

  God had given and God had taken away, but he was blessed with so much more this year. A home, a family, a new life in Kirkwood Lake...

  And a series of tomorrows, blessed by God.

  He bent and kissed his mother’s cheek, then his wife’s, before he went downstairs to heat up the famous Martinelli red sauce. Thirty years ago he’d been a dirt-streaked kid dumped on Social Services four days before Christmas.

  Now?

  He was part of one of the best families on earth and despite life’s ups and downs, Max Campbell couldn’t be happier.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from SUGAR PLUM SEASON by Mia Ross.

  Dear Reader,

  I love this story.

  I love the reality of life forging on despite loss, the poignancy of Max’s old guilt and Tina’s genuine frustration as she works so hard to get all her ducks in a row...and then something messes with her well-thought-out game plan.

  Forgiveness and guilt are the themes of this story. Max shouldered undeserved guilt as a kid and hasn’t let it go in over a decade. How sad is that, and yet, I know many adults who carry a similar weight. He had to face his past finally in order to help his parents. Would he have shouldered that guilt forever if Charlie hadn’t gotten sick? Who knows?

  Tina fell between the cracks of family crises, her father’s health and her uncle’s tight-fisted, empty promises. Throw a couple of broken hearts into the mix and she’s ready to kiss the whole thing goodbye and start anew.

  But God’s timing wins out, and I’m a firm believer in that. I remember a sports commercial with the theme “Be ready.” An athlete spoke of how he trained hard, so that if he got called off the bench, he’d be ready with his A game. And when he was called to take the place of an injured teammate, he was at his best. God tells us that, too. He sent John to ready the way... He reminds us that we don’t know the day or the hour, and to be ready when called.

  With another joyous—and maybe poignant?— Christmas season upon us, I want to thank you so much for buying Her Holiday Family. From my family to yours, let me wish you a merry and blessedly peaceful Christmas, a time of joy and remembrance. God bless you!

  And if you’d like to chat, I welcome the opportunity. You can snail-mail me c/o Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279 or email me at ruthy@ruthloganherne.com. Come visit my website at ruthloganherne.com, cook with me at www.yankeebellecafe.blogspot.com and/or find me on Facebook! And feel free to stop by Seekerville, our delightful multi-author blog at www.seekerville.blogspot.com. The coffee’s always on, and I’ll make up a stash of cookies, just for us!

  With cheerful blessings!

  Ruthy

  Questions for Discussion

  Tina has worked at becoming a loner. Two failed romances, a singular business, family rejection and loss of her parents has left her guarded and battle-ready. How have uncontrolled circumstances in your life helped shape you? Can you see a correlation between your experiences and your attitude about things? Does your faith help you find a good balance?

  Max is ready to come home. He needs to face the past and he wants to help his adoptive parents. The mix of emotions takes him by surprise. He’s in uncharted territory and even being a covert operative doesn’t prepare him for the raw feelings he experiences coming home. Did staying away so long help or hinder Max’s healing? How can we tell when removing ourselves from a situation is helpful or self-defeating?

  Tina is instantly attracted to Max and resentful of his past actions. He never came around after Pete’s death. She finds that reprehensible. And then to stay away from his wonderful parents for over a decade? Unforgivable. But Tina learns that forgiveness is clutch in family and friends. Have you ever had to swallow your pride and ask...or give...forgiveness?

  Jenny Campbell has taken on a new role, as caretaker for her sick husband. How tough is it to handle the ups and downs of caring for someone with a potentially life-threatening illness? Have you faced death with someone close to you? Did your faith in God help?

  Tina’s relationship with her aunt and cousin is challenged by the truth. The Gospels tell us “the truth will set you free,” but sometimes that’s easier said than done. Have you ever pushed yourself to be honest, only to have it come back to bite you? What would you do if you had the chance again? Would you make the same decision?

  The joy of Christmas can weigh heavy on people going through a tough time. Loss, divorce, injury, illness, mental health issues...all of these can weigh heavy on people at holiday time. How can we help refocus the beauty of Christmas on the simplicity of a baby in the manger, a child born to the poor? Do you think making Christmas more sacred would help alleviate the pain it causes some people?

  Max has the wonderful and difficult opportunity to be present during his father’s last days on earth. This can be a time of healing and mixed emotion. When faced with similar circumstances, what can we do to help? How can we be “Christ” to those in need?

  Max’s Christmas gift to Tina was a leap of faith. He refinished her scorched tables and chairs, offering her the opportunity to stay not just through his word, but through his deed. Why was Max’s thoughtful gift so much nicer than a fancy necklace or bracelet? And wouldn’t you love a fun patio set just like that?

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

  You believe hearts can heal. Love Inspired stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.

  Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

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  Chapter One

  Carpenter Needed.

  Standing outside Arabesque, Amy Morgan studied the sign from the sidewalk in front of her dance studio, wondering if she should’ve added some details. Unfortunately, she admitted with a sigh, she really didn’t have any. She’d spent most of her life at the front of the stage, so she was well versed in choreography, costumes and toe shoes. The more practical elements of set design and construction, not so much. Now that her performing days were behind her, she’d have to learn the mundane aspects of the business, she supposed. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

  “So, you’re looking for a carpenter?”

  Startled by the deep voice that came from behind—and far above—her, she spun into a wall of plaid flannel. Looking up, she saw that it led to windblown brown hair, tanned features and a pair of hazel eyes shot through with gold. When their owner smiled, they sparkled with honest male admiration, and her polite response flew straight out of her head.

  Once she regained some of her usual composure, she carefully straightened to her full height, which was still a foot shorter than his. “Yes, I am.”

  The smile warmed, and he offered her the biggest hand she’d ever seen. Covered in scars, some old and others more recent, it clasped hers with a surprisingly gentle touch. “Jason Barrett. My day job’s building custom pieces out at the sawmill, if you’d like some references for my work.”

  “Amy Morgan.” When she registered his name more clearly, she asked, “Are you related to the Barretts who founded the town and run Barrett’s Mill Furniture?”

  “Yeah, I am.” He pointed across the street to the trolley facade of the town’s famous diner. “I made the
new planter benches for the Whistlestop and replaced the park benches and seats around the old gazebo in the square.”

  Amy had admired the handmade pieces many times and was impressed with his obvious skill. “They’re very nice. You did them by yourself?”

  “Start to finish.” Cocking his head, he grinned. “I take it that means you’re looking for someone who’s good at working alone.”

  “And quickly,” she clarified with a sigh. “My uncle Fred was building sets for our production of The Nutcracker, but he hurt his back during our family football game on Thanksgiving Day. I’ve only got three weeks until the show, so I need someone who can pick up where he left off and get everything done in time.”

  “Sounds doable. Mind if I check things out before I promise something I can’t deliver?”

  Unlike my ex-fiancé, she grumbled silently. He’d promised her the moon and then bolted when she needed him most. Still, her schoolgirl reaction to this towering stranger bothered her. The last time she’d followed her foolish heart, it hadn’t ended well. Who was she kidding? she chided herself. It turned out to be a complete disaster, and she still wasn’t over it. But she was a dancer, not a contractor, which meant she needed someone’s help. If she waited even a day or two longer to give other people time to respond, there was a good chance the charming sets she’d planned would have to be trimmed back to something less elaborate that could be completed in time.

  Being a perfectionist by nature, that simply wasn’t acceptable to her. “Sure. Come on in.”

  “This is real nice, by the way,” he said, motioning toward the huge display window. It was decked out with a rendering of Tchaikovsky’s famous ballet in miniature, and she’d just finished framing the scene with twinkle lights. “Makes me wanna come see the show.”

  “I hope lots of people feel the same,” she confided. “The studio hasn’t been doing all that well in this economy, so Aunt Helen turned it over to me, hoping some new ideas will bring in more business. I’m doing everything I can to make sure she doesn’t regret it.”

  Pulling open the entry door for her, he said, “Helen gave classes here when I was a kid. My mom used to drag my four brothers and me here to get us some culture to go along with the hunting and fishing we did with my dad.”

  The way he phrased it made her laugh. “Did it work?”

  Spreading his arms out, he looked down at his clothes and battered work boots, then grinned at her. “Whattaya think?”

  “I don’t know,” she hedged, tapping her chin while pretending to study him carefully. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “Not with me,” he assured her in his mellow Virginia drawl. “What you see is what you get.”

  How refreshing, she thought as she led him into the studio. In her world, you never knew what was truly going on behind the performer’s mask. Here in Barrett’s Mill, it was a relief to find people who were content being who they were, rather than acting like something else altogether. Knowing that didn’t totally make up for the glittering life she’d left behind, but it helped ease some of the sting that had a way of sneaking up on her when she wasn’t prepared for it.

  Putting past regrets aside, she surveyed her studio with a sense of pride for what she’d accomplished since Aunt Helen handed over the reins to her. After plenty of scrubbing, painting and refinishing, the original plaster walls and wide-plank floors had a fresh, timeless quality to them. The wide-open space was dominated by the stage, bracketed by faded burgundy velvet curtains she’d replace as soon as she had the money. Structurally, the platform was as sound as the days when she’d starred in her aunt’s dance recitals.

  So long ago, she thought wistfully. If she’d known her ballet career would end before she was twenty-five, she’d have valued those productions more.

  “This music is nice,” her visitor commented in a courteous tone that made it clear he’d rather be listening to something else. “What is it?”

  “One of Mozart’s violin concertos. Number four, I think.”

  “Pretty,” he went on with a grin. “It suits you.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t say anything. As they made their way to the stage, she found herself appreciating the self-assured nature of Jason’s long strides. He was well over six feet tall, with wide shoulders and a powerful build to go with the outdoorsy history he’d mentioned earlier. He had a strong, solid look to him; it made her think of an oak tree that could stand up against any storm nature chose to throw at it. And yet he moved with a confident grace she envied. She’d give anything to walk that freely again.

  When he stopped to look at the framed pictures displayed on the wall at stage left, she knew what had drawn his attention and braced herself for the inevitable question. He turned to her with an amazed expression. “This is you?”

  “They’re all me,” she replied politely, the way she always did when someone asked. “Back in my performing days.” Sometimes, they struck her as being from another lifetime. Other days, she felt as if she’d just stepped off the stage after taking her bows. When she allowed herself to think about them, she missed those days with an intensity that made her wonder if teaching was really the right decision for her. The problem was, dance was all she’d ever known, which didn’t leave her with any other options. She’d simply have to find a way to make the best of things.

  “I’m not an artsy kinda guy, but these are incredible. What’s this move called?”

  Going to join him, she saw where he was pointing and did her best to smile. “An arabesque jump. It was my favorite to perform, so I renamed the studio Arabesque.”

  His eyes roamed over the rest of the grouping and stopped on one of her dancing Clara in a youth production of the holiday ballet she’d chosen for this year. The photographer had caught her in midair, making her look as if she was flying. It was by far her favorite shot and the one she would have most liked to shred into a million pieces.

  Staring at it for a few moments, he looked down at her with a remarkably gentle smile. It was as if he’d sensed her reaction and was making an attempt to ease her discomfort. “Incredible. How old were you?”

  “Twelve. I’d been taking classes at a ballet school in D.C. for four years, and that was my first Christmas production.”

  “Not really,” he teased, tapping his finger on a framed print of her as a six-year-old Rosebud. “I was here for this one, and I remember you.”

  “You do not,” she huffed. “I barely remember it myself.”

  “You came onstage after the other flowers,” he corrected her with a grin. “The older ones all stayed in line, doing their thing, while you floated around like a butterfly. They were good dancers, but there was something different about you. Not to mention, I thought you looked like the pretty ballerina in my cousin’s jewelry box.”

  Amy felt a blush creeping over her cheeks, and she blinked up at him in total bewilderment. She’d always assumed boys that age were more interested in bugs and snakes than classical dance, and that he still remembered her all these years later was astounding.

  Realizing she’d been staring up at him like a brainless twit in some old-time romance movie, she gave herself a mental shake. “I’m flattered.”

  A slow, maddening grin stretched across his features, transforming them into something she was certain most women couldn’t resist. Fortunately for her, she’d been burned by a master, and she’d learned to be very cautious around the male species. Since you couldn’t accurately predict when they might turn on you, she’d learned it was best to avoid close contact with them whenever possible.

  “So, let’s see what Fred left you with.”

  Jason easily leaped onto the low stage, then reached back to offer her a hand up. More than a little jealous of his athletic maneuver, she shook her head. “I’ll just take the stairs.”

  That was all she
said, but compassion flooded his eyes, and he jumped down as easily as he’d gone up. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? That’s why you came back here, because something happened and you can’t dance anymore.”

  His quick assessment came in a sympathetic tone that made her want to scream in frustration and weep at the same time. Getting a firm grip on the emotions he’d unleashed, she straightened her back as far as it would go and gazed defiantly up at him. She might have lost a lot of things, but she still had her pride.

  “I’ve changed my mind about the sets,” she said curtly. “Thank you for coming in.”

  He didn’t even flinch. Small as she was, most people backed off when she glared at them the way she was doing now. Apparently, Jason was made of sterner stuff, and she grudgingly admitted he had some grit to go with those rugged looks and killer smile. “You’re not getting rid o’ me that easy, Miss Amy Morgan.”

  “I don’t need your pity.”

  “Wasn’t giving you any,” he reasoned, folding his arms as if daring her to argue with him. When she didn’t, he went on. “I admire anyone who can take a hit, then pick themselves up and keep on going. You’re tougher than you look.”

  No one had ever spoken to her that way, so directly and with such obvious sincerity. Accustomed to people who fawned or blustered depending on the circumstances, she wasn’t sure how to take it. “Thank you?”

  “You’re welcome. Mind if I ask what happened?”

  She winced, but decided that since he seemed determined to work with her, it was easier to get the explanations out of the way sooner rather than later. “In a nutshell, two years ago I was driving back to D.C. and took a shortcut that turned into a patch of ice. Next thing I knew, I woke up strapped into a hospital bed, completely immobilized. They told me I had a fifty-fifty chance of ever walking again.”