Mackinnon 03 - The Bonus Mom

by Jennifer Greene

  “Okay, that sounds...” Her brother searched for a word. “Nice.”

  “It is nice. He’s nice. The girls are nice. But the only thing on their minds is the loss they suffered last year. It’s a sad time of year for them. That’s all.”

  “Okay, okay, I got it. Sheesh.” Tucker hesitated. “All the same, if you wanted, I could run a background check on him—”

  She hung up. Sometimes that’s all you could do with brothers. It was something in the male sibling gene. When they got a bone between their teeth, they all turned into Neanderthals.

  And just then, she saw a sturdy SUV winding up the driveway. The girls were here.

  And so was their dad.

  * * *

  Whit couldn’t take his eyes off her. She bounced out of the house like a kid, a stocking hat yanked over her head, wearing old hiking boots and skinny jeans and a Christmas red parka.

  “Hey, Rosemary!” the girls called out.

  “Hey right back! Does everybody have mittens?” She opened the passenger door, but didn’t climb in yet. The girls had automatically taken the backseat, assuming anyone of adult age would want to sit up front. Which pretty much meant they intended to lean over Rosemary’s seat the whole time.

  “Who’d have guessed it would be this cold?” Rosemary said, and kept talking. “I figured you’d change your mind about the Gator and bring a bigger car. Don’t know how we’d carry trees and the four of us together, otherwise. Anyway, I have spare mittens and hats and gloves in the lodge, if anyone needs stuff like that. Nothing pretty. Just warm.”

  Lilly said, “I brought gloves, but Pepper didn’t. She always says she doesn’t need them, but two seconds later, she’s freezing to death.”

  “You lie,” Pepper shot back.

  “I’m not lying, I’m—”

  Rosemary shot Whit a wink, then just hustled back in the house and came out moments later with a bag full of cold-weather gear. She jumped back in, belted up, handed the bag to the girls and that was it. The girls pulled out gloves and mufflers and leg warmers and hats. Just like that, the three females all started talking at the same time, nonstop. Rosemary carried on two if not three conversations simultaneously...as if she’d always been with them, always been part of the family.

  Part of his life.

  Maybe she was primarily talking to the girls about mittens versus gloves, who knitted what, what colors looked good with their hair, how both of them desperately needed new jeans, and a bunch about movies he’d never heard of—except, of course The Princess Bride.

  Somehow, though, she managed to answer a question from him about the lodge in the middle of all that.

  “I’m not sure how big the lodge is—I think three thousand square feet or so? My great grandparents built it originally...when families tended to be bigger, and cousins and uncles and spare relatives all wanted a place to get together, so they needed a monster-size place like that...”

  Whit wasn’t sure where he was going. The gravel road wrapped around the mountaintop like a drunken ribbon, dipping here, climbing there, branches sometimes scraping the sides of the SUV. There was a lot of virgin forest this high, which meant the trees were tall and huge, nothing appropriate for a Christmas tree. Still, trees fell and new growth always emerged. He wasn’t looking for perfect trees, just two that had little chance of making it on their own.

  In the meantime, she answered another question. “It was kept primitive for a lot of years—no electricity, no hot water. But my brothers and I got into it last year. To start with, we built a solar oven...”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Well, I built most of it. Of course that’s not what they’d tell you, because they can’t stand it that I’m pretty good with power tools. Tucker put in an on demand water heater, and Ike built the current kitchen table from reclaimed heart pine. Our grandparents never had a generator. I bought that. Once I planned to stay here for quite a while, I needed a way to store food at safe temperatures—not counting needing computers and printers and a phone. Living alone never bothered me, but I definitely needed a way to work and a way to communicate with the outside world.”

  No matter what he asked, she answered...but that turned into a tit for tat. She had questions of her own. Not over personal subjects, just friendly queries about their lives. Yes, they lived in Charleston, partly because Zoe adamantly loved city life—and both of them wanted an area with great schools.

  Pepper piped in, just to make sure they knew she was listening in. “Aw, come on, Dad. You know we think school is b-o-r-i-n-g. We could move somewhere else if we wanted to. It’s not like there aren’t schools all over the place.”

  The girls listened just as intently when Rosemary asked him about his landscaping business. He had a handful of regular employees and hired temporary help during the planting and growing seasons. “I really like doing larger scapes, like for businesses, community centers, university planning...but overall, I’ve always loved working with dirt, more than sitting at a desk chair. I’m just lucky to have found something I love, with a lot of variety and something new every day.”

  “There’s nothing like it, is there?” she mused. “Doing work you love? I went into botany for the same reasons—I wanted to be outside more than inside, didn’t want to sit in a fancy office all day.”

  “Mom used to say that nobody could get dirtier than Dad. She used to say that he walked outside and dirt flew on him.” Lilly provided this information.

  Pepper added detail. “My mom wanted white carpeting in the living room. But then she said better not, because Dad would never be allowed in there.”

  “But then she said it didn’t make any difference, because Dad would rather have a beer at the kitchen table than wine at a party.”

  He felt Rosemary glance at him. The girls could never be trusted to not talk a stranger’s ear off, and they had no sense of boundaries for what was off-limits. But their mom was okay to talk about. And the white carpet conversation was nothing weird. Still, he felt her gaze on him, a question in the sudden silence that she never asked.

  That was okay. He finally found a good spot to stop, where a range of young trees struggled for growth on the shade side of the mountain. As far as Whit was concerned, he’d found the site just in time.

  He couldn’t remember being more sexually conscious of a woman in a long time. She was so natural. Earthy. Easy. No airs, no high-heel attitudes. Just pure female.

  She flooded the front seat with estrogen, something tantalizing, alluring.

  So it was a damned good thing he could open the door, pop out and get some bracing cold air in his lungs.

  “Okay, here’s the deal, ladies. We don’t want a perfect tree. We want a hopelessly ugly tree. A tree so weirdly shaped that it probably doesn’t have much chance to survive. That way we’re cutting down a tree that needs a future in our Christmas, because that’s probably the best future it’s got. And small.” He motioned to his shoulder. “No taller than that. And we need two, one for our place, and one for Rosemary’s.”

  “Honest, guys, I’m happy to do this with you, but I don’t really need a tree,” Rosemary said.

  “Yes she does, Dad. She doesn’t have any lights or wreaths or anything at her place. She really needs a tree. Even more than us.”

  “Lilly has spoken,” he said apologetically. “Sorry, but you’re getting a tree.”

  The three peeled out of the car before he even had his door closed. The first tree took the longest to find. It had to be suitably ugly, suitably small. Crooked, not straight, thin in the branches, pitiful. Since Lilly loved every tree, it was tough to make a decision—it was always tough for the girls to agree on anything, and when they finally did, the three females deserted him. While he took the tools from the back of the SUV, they went searching for the second tree.

  It di
dn’t take long, to cut down the scrawny trunk, wrap a tarp to secure the branches and haul it to the top of the car. By the time he turned around, the girls were nowhere.

  They had to be close. He’d heard them all chattering moments before—Lilly saying, “Darn it, it’s starting to rain.”

  And Rosemary correcting her, “Look up, hon. That’s not rain—it’s white stuff coming down. It’s snow.”

  And then Pepper aiming for high volume, “Snow! I haven’t seen snow in my whole life!”

  Truthfully, the sky was barely spitting white than offering a true snowfall, but he had to grin, too, at the soft splash of white crystals drifting down. He ambled in the direction of the last conversation he’d heard. They couldn’t have gone far, and he wasn’t remotely worried. If there’d been a bear in a five-mile vicinity, it would have to be an awfully dumb bear. The three thrashing and crashing through the woods could have scared an ogre or worse.

  Still, when he called out, “Rosemary? Lilly and Pep?” there was no answer.

  Seconds later, he found out why. He wove around a cluster of pines, and found a barren patch...where all three were lying on the ground next to each other. All three had closed their eyes. All three had stuck out their tongues.

  They were all trying to catch the taste of a snowflake.

  Damned, if his heart didn’t suddenly start squeezing tight in his chest.

  Zoe, their mom, would never have gone for the tree adventure. She’d have been waiting at home, with the prized ornaments and lights, and the artificial tree she loved so much. Zoe would never have laid on the ground in the woods. She’d never have closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

  Whit tried to take his eyes off her. Not his daughters. Just Rosemary. The joy on her face, the easy fun in her grin, the way his daughters were bookends to her. So she was a little taller. But her stocking cap and mittens looked as silly as theirs, as fun.

  Her lips had a wet cherry hue...and her cheeks already had sharp blush from the wind.

  He looked and kept looking and couldn’t explain it. But watching her try to taste snowflakes caused an avalanche of sudden emotion he’d never expected.

  He could fall in love with this woman. Maybe he was already half falling. And he hadn’t even kissed her.... But then, he’d never expected to fall in love with anyone ever again.

  Chapter Four

  Rosemary had to laugh. The girls poured through her front door and threw themselves on the old leather couches as if they couldn’t make it another inch.

  “I’ve never been so tired in my whole life!” Pepper said.

  “You’re such a wuss. There’s nothing to be tired about. But I sure am hungry. Really hungry, Rosemary—”

  “Well, me, too,” she admitted as she hooked her red parka on the hall tree and heeled off her boots. “I wasn’t exactly planning for company, but I’ve got a full freezer. The fastest would probably be chili. I made a batch weeks ago, and froze half of it.”

  “Is it really spicy?” Lilly asked.

  “Afraid not. I didn’t have any hot peppers to put in, and I pretty much tend to make it mild anyway.”

  “Good. That sounds great, then.”

  “You don’t have to feed us.” Whit came in last, because he was carrying the tree. Thankfully he’d brought a bucket to put it in, because Rosemary was pretty sure she’d never find the one they’d used at the lodge. The MacKinnons had spent a zillion holidays here. Both the attic and one whole closet held decorations and tableware for Christmas, but she had no memory of seeing a tree stand.

  “It’s no trouble,” she assured Whit. “I just have to thaw and heat it. Won’t take more than a few minutes.”

  She was humming as she aimed for the kitchen. She’d always loved the old room, with its wide beams and plank floor and rustic wood cupboard—the subzero freezer blended in just fine, as far as she was concerned. Only took two shakes to take the container from the freezer, pop it in the microwave and start herding bowls together from the far cupboard.

  As she pulled out the silverware drawer, she was still humming, half dancing around the room. Checked the chili in the microwave, gave it a serious stir, punched it on again. Darned if she could remember the song in her head, but she couldn’t stop humming. She even knew why.

  She was downright happy. What a great morning. All four of them had been laughing and having fun. Maybe the three Cochrans could have done the same thing without her—but she’d loved being part of their group. The girls ganged up with her against Whit, the poor lone guy against the assault of estrogen. Lilly had laughed once so much she had to hold her stomach.

  Whit had to think she had some dingbat genes when he caught the three lying on their backs on the cold ground—but what difference did it make?

  She wasn’t trying to lure him. She was just trying to help the three have a happy, carefree holiday, where grieving for their mom was eased a bit.

  “On the table,” she yelled out a few minutes later, and the three hurtled in the room at Olympic speed. They were hungry. “It’s not fancy,” she began. “And I’m not used to cooking much—”

  Whit squeezed her shoulder. Her head shot up—but he wasn’t looking at her, only aiming past her in the crowded space between wall and chairs. Still, she felt the imprint of his big hand, the gentleness of it, the sudden unexpected scissor-sharp awareness.

  Immediately she put that thought to bed. There was no reason on earth to think his touch had been anything but kindness or friendly affection or something like that. And the girls dug into the chili as if they hadn’t eaten in a year.

  “Like pigs at a trough.” Whit sighed, which earned him a chorus of “Dad!” from his offended daughters.

  She chuckled. “If anyone’s still hungry after this, I have a few—very few—brownies that some fabulous bakers happened to leave me....”

  “She’s talking about us, Dad.”

  “No kidding?”

  Once they’d leveled all the food in sight, they clustered back in the living room to argue about where she ‘‘needed’’ the tree. Lilly wanted it by the fireplace; Pepper wanted it in front of a window. Whit didn’t care, as long as he didn’t have to keep carting it around from place to place while the girls made up their minds.

  Eventually, it seemed to occur to the twins that possibly Rosemary should get a vote. She struggled to find a solution that wouldn’t hurt either girl’s feelings. “Well,” she said slowly, “I like both your ideas better...but I feel kind of stuck, choosing the far corner by the front window. That place is the traditional tree spot in the MacKinnon family for as far back as I can remember.”

  “It’s totally okay,” Lilly immediately assured her. Not for the first time, she noted that Lilly was always the one to watch out for other’s feelings, even coming to stand by her in support.

  So after much groaning and grunting and pine needles all over the floor, Whit finished securing the tree in the holder, and the girls asked for a white sheet to drape around the bottom. Then they all stood back.

  “So what do you think?” Whit asked in a gravely serious voice.

  “Words almost fail me,” Rosemary said. “But the first ones that come to mind are pitiful. Above and beyond any definition of ugly that I can think of. The poorest excuse for a Christmas tree I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “Don’t hold back now,” Whit encouraged her.

  The tree had branches at the top, but then a half foot where the trunk had either lost its branches or never had any. The bottom quarter was straggly, some branches sticking out like lone strangers. The trunk was not just lopsided, but crooked.

  The girls agreed on the awfulness. But Rosemary had to pipe up again. “If ever a tree needed loving, it’s this one.”

  “And besides, Rosemary, it looks half dead and all goofed up already. So it
wasn’t going to live long.” Lilly was obviously serious about trees.

  “So we didn’t hurt anything but taking it out of the forest.”

  “And it smells like a good tree.”

  It smelled like Christmas, Rosemary thought—a smell she’d never thought she’d have a chance to love this year. She felt Whit’s eyes on her face...half turned to see a private smile aimed her way. “I’ll never look for a perfect tree again,” she announced. “Not once I can see how right a tree like this belongs here.”

  “Ours is even uglier, I’m guessing,” Pepper said. “We won’t know until we get it home.”

  “Okay,” Whit said. “Let’s clean up here and then get out of Rosemary’s hair. We’ve got messes to make at our house.”

  For the three, she doled out brooms and a container for trash, but aimed for the kitchen herself. She’d rather be cleaning up with the crew, but facing dishes with dried-on chili later just wasn’t appealing. Besides, it only took a few minutes to collect the dishes, feed them to the dishwasher and wipe down the counters. From the living room, she heard the front door open and close—Whit taking out tools and debris, she suspected—and the usual sound of the girls’ chatter.

  She was just hanging up a dish towel when she realized there was suddenly silence coming from the great room. She hung the towel, squeezed a dollop of almond hand cream from the dispenser, and glanced around the corner.

  Whit had not only cleaned up the tree mess, but brought in kindling and firewood and started a fire. He was an artist at it, she noticed. The crisscross bed was meticulously created, the poke of kindling spearing through the dry brush, the bed of branches fitting like Lincoln Logs. Yellow wicks of fire had already caught and were snipping and scissoring around the kindling.

  Bemused, she looked away from the dancing flames...and immediately spotted the girls. They’d crashed like puppies. Lilly had curled at one end of the biggest leather couch and tugged a throw over herself. Pepper had done a total sprawl, stealing three quarters of the couch space, with an arm flung here, a leg flung there, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of deep, abandoned sleep.