by Jade Kerrion
He waited in silence.
“I can’t have children.” Her voice came out in a breathy whisper.
“What?”
She repeated the words, her voice stronger. “I can’t have children.” She set her glass down, and her fingers entwined, tangling. “I was diagnosed with stage one uterine cancer six years ago, and I had a hysterectomy. I can’t have children, and I know you want more.”
His hands wrapped around hers, warm and steadying. “Noelle, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I didn’t want you to think that I was less-than-a-complete woman, especially after you said you wanted more children.”
“I would never have said it if I’d known.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s always important to lay all the cards on the table, especially cards as life-changing as these. Anyway, I just wanted to put it out there, in case it changes anything.”
“It changes nothing. I want you and the children we’ll raise together. Where they come from doesn’t matter to anyone who realizes that love comes from the heart and not from a birth certificate.”
Noelle breathed out, her relief palpable.
Connor smiled. “Does this mean you’ll let us come out to Los Angeles to visit you?”
“Why would you go to L.A. when I’m staying here?”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I called Rick and cancelled the sale of the pet store. I’m staying, Connor, indefinitely, and I hope you don’t mind having dinner together every night and breakfast in the morning. Maybe we’ll find a new normal that works for all of us.” She tugged her fingers gently through his hair as he drew her into his arms. “It’s time to toast our new beginnings, here, in Havre de Grace.”
“And to love,” he murmured.
Yes, Noelle thought as she relaxed in his embrace. Always to love.
EPILOGUE
[[ Twelve months later ]]
Silvery chimes tinkled through the foyer.
“I’ll get the door!” Grace shrieked. She jumped off the kitchen island, scrambled to the front door, and flung it open. “Daddy!” She threw her arms around his waist and squeezed a hug. “Dinner is ready, and Mom—” She caught herself in time. “Noelle says you’re late.”
If her father had noticed her verbal slip, he said nothing. “It smells—” He inhaled deeply. Faint lines creased his brow. “—like ox-tail stew?”
“Yes!” Grace beamed. “I told Mom—Noelle—you liked them, and she found a recipe.”
Noelle—although Grace secretly thought of her as Mommy—laughed as she stepped out of the kitchen to kiss his cheek. “We had to drive to an Asian grocery store in Baltimore to find the ox tails. I won’t vouch for the taste just yet, but it does smell good.”
“It’s usually even better reheated.” Her father grinned. Grace’s smile widened until her cheeks hurt. Seeing her father smile easily and often, the way he had before Mama had died, made her chest swell with so much happiness, it hurt.
Hope, two years old and always underfoot, peeked out from behind Noelle’s legs and flashed her father a grin over the peeled carrot she used as a teething snack. She held up the half-eaten carrot to Noelle. “Mama.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed as Noelle picked Hope up and settled her in the high chair. It wasn’t fair that Hope could call Noelle “Mama” just because everyone said she was two years old and didn’t know better. Grace looked at her father. “Can we open presents after dinner?”
“Don’t you want to wait until Grandma and Grandpa come over for Christmas tomorrow?”
“Just one, on Christmas Eve, please?” Grace wheedled. She caught her father’s eye.
His smile deepened. “All right, just one. After dinner.”
Grace hurried through the meal Noelle had prepared. She picked the meat from around the bones of the ox tail, shuffled the grilled vegetables around her plate to make it look like she’d eaten some of them, and asked for a second serving of mashed potatoes. Even so, she was done with dinner before her father and Noelle were even halfway through their meal. Of course, Hope didn’t seem to mind dawdling. When she got tired of eating, she played with her food, turning her tray of food into a smear of art.
Grace huffed and squirmed in her seat. She rolled her eyes at her father and gently kicked Noelle under the table. Finally, Noelle gave Grace a smile. “All right, I think we’re done with dinner. You can go get your present.”
Grace shot from her seat and ran into the living room. Beneath the Christmas tree was the small gift her father asked her to hide among the other presents. She snatched up the box and took it to Noelle. “This is for you from Hope and from me.”
Noelle’s eyes widened. “Thank you, Grace.” Her fingers traced the wrapper that depicted storks delivering babies bundled in blue and pink. She looked up, her eyes searching his face. “I saw this wrapped gift in your dresser a year ago, together with the other present—the jewelry box.”
He nodded but said nothing.
Grace stood beside Noelle, bouncing on the balls of her feet, as Noelle unwrapped the gift and opened the box to reveal a platinum ring set with two precious stones. Grace let out a happy squeal. “This is my birthstone, and this is Hope’s. This ring is for you so you don’t forget our birthdays.”
Noelle laughed, but her voice shook, trembling on the edge of tears. “It’s a motherhood ring.”
He spoke, his voice low. “I bought the ring for Millie to celebrate Hope’s birth. She would have wanted you to have it, and I’d like you to have this.” He knelt before Noelle and held up a small, pale blue box.
Noelle held her breath as she flipped up the cover of the box. A diamond engagement ring sparkled with brilliant fire as it caught the light.
“Will you marry me?” He looked up at her. “Be a mother in name as you already are in your heart, and be my wife?”
Grace bit down on her lower lip. Say, yes, she pleaded silently.
“Oh, Connor, of course!” Noelle flung her arms around his neck, and their lips met in a kiss that would have usually made Grace roll her eyes.
At that moment, though, fake disdain was the last thing on Grace’s mind. Her thoughts wrapped around Noelle’s response. “Of course” means…“yes.” She sucked in a tremulous breath. Her voice quivered. “Mommy?” The word was a tentative sound, scarcely a whisper, but Mommy heard, as she always did.
Mommy turned to her with a dazzling smile, and Grace found herself drawn into the familiar embrace that had wiped away her tears and cuddled her for a year, except that it was different. This time, it was her mommy’s embrace. Grace squeezed her eyes shut against the pinprick of tears and leaned into the arms of her father and mother surrounding her and protecting her.
Behind her, Hope giggled and thumped on her food tray. “Mama!”
Grace smiled triumphantly. Now she’s my mama too.
HAUNTED
Holly Langford has given up on love, but the Christmas season unexpectedly ignites her bleak and solitary life with three men who represent her past, her present, and her future.
Peter Warren, her high school and college sweetheart, who shattered her heart but rules her dreams…
James Kerrigan, the principal of Havre de Grace Elementary School and her boss…
Brandon Smith, the dashing New York City lawyer, who promises an escape from the confines of her small town life…
Which man offers the gift of true love and happily ever after?
CHAPTER ONE
The crush of bodies slammed against Holly Langford and rushed past her, sweeping her along like a tidal wave. The noise of raised voices and sneakers pounding against tile blurred into a cacophony that ricocheted through her skull.
The assault had begun, and it wasn’t even 8 a.m.
“Hello, Ms. Langford.”
“’Morning, Ms. Langford.”
The careless owner of a heavy winter boot stepped on her toes. “Oops, sorry, Ms. Langford.”
Thank God, the boot
had been child-sized. The foot, however, and the accompanying singsong apology had belonged to Aidan Warren, which called into question how accidental the toe stomp really was.
Aidan’s grin was taunting, the gleam in his eyes malicious.
Holly fought the flare of anger. “Get to class,” she ordered.
The child’s grin turned into a smirk. He turned his back on her and stalked down the corridor. Holly pressed two fingers to the migraine burgeoning in the middle of her forehead. When had the children in her first grade class become such a pain in the—
“Hey, are you all right?” James Kerrigan’s strong hand gripped her upper arm. His deep, smooth baritone anchored her against the rising tide of irritation. “Did you get back last night?”
Holly glanced up at James, her boss and the principal of Havre de Grace Elementary School. “Yeah, I did.” A few deep breaths pushed back the surge of raw emotions. James’s presence, she had to admit, helped. He exuded serenity, as if he had an inexhaustible supply stashed in a secret desk drawer at his office. If she ever found his stash, she’d steal it. Heavens knew how much she needed peace, especially at Christmas, the seeming nexus of every wretched memory in her life.
He studied her. “I expected you back in the new year, not in the last week of school before Christmas.”
The concern she heard in his voice, combined with the emotionally wringing events of the past week, made her voice tremble. “It’s not like I needed to hang around after my aunt’s funeral.”
“Holly?”
She shook her head to forestall further questions, but the fragile smile on her lips quivered.
James’s brow furrowed with a frown. “Do you need to take another day?”
“No. You’ve had to put up with my class the entire week. Any longer, and they might drive you into quitting. We can’t afford to lose our principal.”
He chuckled at her weak joke. “The kids in your class weren’t too bad.”
“You must have been in an alternate universe.”
“Either that or the threat of being sent to the principal’s office took on new meaning when the principal was actually teaching class. If I was in class, just imagine what kind of monster might have been camping out in the principal’s office.”
“I really appreciate it, by the way.” Holly shifted her book bag to her other hand. Havre de Grace school district had been too short on funds to hire substitute teachers, so the elementary school coped by having teachers cover for each other. In a pinch, the principal helped too.
“Not a problem,” he said. “Mojo missed you, by the way.”
Holly grinned. “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better. Mojo was probably so busy playing with Lucy he didn’t even notice I was gone.”
“I think Lucy’s still trying to decide if Mojo is a dog or a rug.”
“He’s a rug, of course. How could there be any doubt?” She smiled. “Can I come by this evening to pick him up?”
“Of course.” James nodded. “You take care. I’ll see you around.” He walked away, the swarm of students in the corridor giving way to him like the waters of the Red Sea before Moses.
She knew she wouldn’t have nearly as much luck with the children, but thankfully, he left enough of his serenity behind to boost her flagging spirits. He always did.
Holly drew a deep breath, infusing her lungs with the scent of Pine-Sol and children who hadn’t soaped nearly as thoroughly as they should have. It smelled familiar. Eight years into her career as a teacher, the sights, sounds, and smells of Havre de Grace Elementary School were as familiar to her as the essence of her own house. Her natural good humor sizzled through the hints of grudging resentment and ushered in a wisp of gratitude. However much Christmas sucked, it was good to be back where everything was familiar and welcoming.
An excited chorus greeted her the moment she stepped into her first grade classroom. “Ms. Langford! You’re back!”
She couldn’t hold back the smile. “Yes, I am.”
The children rushed to the front of the class, and she didn’t have the heart to tell them to stay in their seats. Instead, she knelt to hug them as they came up to her.
“Where did you go for so long?”
“It was just five days, Perry.”
“Five days is a whole week!”
“No, you silly,” Trina cut in. “A week is seven days.”
“Well, five days is a whole school week, so Perry is also right,” Holly interjected.
Perry and Trina glared at each other.
Leona tugged on the side of Holly’s jeans. “Where did you go?”
“I went to New York City. Do you know where it is?”
“In New York State,” Leona said smugly. “Where the super tall buildings are.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve been to New York.” John bounced on the toes of his sneakers. “Daddy and Mommy took me last summer.”
“Why did you go to New York, Ms. Langford?” Trina asked.
Holly took a deep breath. “My aunt passed away.”
“Oh.” Trina blinked. “Like your daddy passed away.”
“Yes, two years ago.” At Christmas. Holly’s voice remained steady even though her heart trembled. The frankness of children was both a blessing and something to be dreaded.
The children exchanged uncertain glances.
“Can you get back to your seats?” Holly asked before the silence grew awkward. “We should get started.”
The children scrambled past the rows of desks and settled down in their assigned places. Holly’s gaze swept across the class as she marked off attendance. For a moment, her attention lingered on Aidan, who had not come up to meet her. He was only seven years old, but firmly established in his role as the class loner and troublemaker. His eyes were the deep green of his father’s, his hair as blond as his mother’s, and his cherubic appearance showed promise of his father’s masculine good looks. The sullen frown on his face, though, was entirely his own.
If Holly had had a son, he might have looked like Aidan, minus the scowl.
The bittersweet twinge in her chest was so familiar that Holly scarcely felt it anymore. She pasted a smile on her face. “Let’s review what Mr. Kerrigan covered with you last week. Who remembers something from one of his lessons?”
The first half hour proceeded smoothly until Trina let loose a piercing shriek. Holly jerked up her gaze in time to see Aidan release his grip on Trina’s ponytail.
“Aidan!” She slapped her pen on her desk and strode to the back of the class.
Trina hunched in her seat. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes.
“She’s a crybaby!” Aidan sneered. He clutched strands of Trina’s auburn hair in his fist.
“Apologize to her.”
“I don’t apologize to crybabies.”
Holly pulled Aidan out of his seat and pushed him toward the front of the class. “Go to the corner. You’ll stand there until you apologize.”
Aidan snorted and stalked past the rows of desks. When he reached the first desk, he paused and looked over his shoulder, meeting Holly’s eyes. His upper lip tugged into a mocking half-smile, an expression far too bitter for a seven-year-old child.
Holly was staring him straight in the face. There was no mistaking what Aidan subsequently did as an accident.
He shoved Perry’s chair over, sending the other boy tumbling into Leona, who yelped as she and Perry landed up in a tangle on the floor.
An outraged babble filled the classroom.
“That’s enough.” Holly gripped Aidan’s upper arm and dragged him to the door. “You’re going to the principal’s office right now.”
She stared at Aidan’s back as he trekked along the familiar path to James’s office. The subdued headache pulsing at the back of her skull threatened to explode into a full-blown migraine within the hour.
Sweet Lord, and it isn’t even 9 a.m. yet.
CHAPTER TWO
Later that afternoo
n, after classes were over, Holly hurried along the school corridor.
“James is looking for you,” a fellow teacher said as she passed. “And she’s in his office.”
Holly grimaced. The last thing she wanted was to see her again, but there was no avoiding it, not when the other parents in the class had followed through on their threat to file an official complaint against Aidan. What did they expect James to do? Suspend Aidan? The boy was only in the first grade, and besides, no one could stay home with him. Debra, his mother, was always working, which, Holly supposed, was part of the problem, and Peter, his father—well, Peter had never been around, which was most of the problem.
Holly paused outside of James’s office and brushed her hair back from her face. Some childish part of her wished she had stopped long enough to touch up her makeup. The more rational part of her reminded her that the war between her and Debra had been won eight years earlier—by Debra.
Aidan was living proof of it.
She knocked on the door.
“Come in,” James called out.
She straightened her back, raised her chin, and pushed the door open.
Her gaze flashed past James and Debra to fix on the other man in the room. Shock stole her breath. When had he come back to town?
“Holly.” Peter Warren pushed to his feet and extended his hand to her in greeting.
She didn’t move.
The years rolled back. Memories roiled forward.
How could eight years have passed when the memories and the pain were still fresh? Peter had stood in front of Holly, his handsome face a mask of regret. Debra stood behind him, her hand placed protectively on a stomach that had yet to swell with her unborn child. “Holly,” Peter pleaded quietly. “You know what you mean to me.” He reached out to her with both hands and took a step forward.
“No, I don’t.” Her heart breaking, Holly stepped back. She tugged the engagement ring off her finger and dropped it. The tinkle of the ring hitting the tiled floor in Debra’s kitchen was inaudible over the roaring in her mind.