Coming Home for Christmas

by Fern Michaels

  Hank gawked at what he was seeing. Well, that certainly took a lot of nerve. He clicked on the e-mail and saw a to-do list. Not one word about where she was, what she was doing, or that she was sorry. A damn to-do list. He lashed out with his foot to kick the side of the little desk and was instantly sorry. He looked down at his bare feet and howled in pain, knowing damn well that he’d broken his big toe. What the hell else could go wrong? This was way beyond Murphy’s law.

  Hank read the list.

  • Twins get up around 8. Diaper change. Dress.

  • Breakfast. Oatmeal with milk and a little sugar. Applesauce.

  • Lunch is soup, crackers, cheese cubes, and peaches.

  • Milk as often as they want it.

  • Dinner is whatever you want, cut up small or mash all food.

  • Churchill gets fed at four. His food is in pantry in a bag. Do not let anything happen to that dog or Ben will kill you.

  • Do the grocery shopping. List is on the fridge. Money is in the tea canister.

  • Buy Christmas tree. Set it up. Decorate it. Buy wreath for front door. Hang wreath.

  • Put gas in car, it’s on empty.

  • Give Churchill a bath today. His stuff is over the sink in the laundry room. Keep him warm. Build a fire and do NOT let him outside. Walk him. He can jump the fence.

  • Twins get bath at 7. They like to play in the water. Do NOT flood the bathroom. They go to bed at 7:30. Give them a treat, ice cream will be fine if you buy it. They will scream for hours if they don’t get it. Churchill gets a dog treat at the same time.

  • Do laundry twice a day. Fold neatly and take upstairs. Do not leave in laundry room.

  • Do not, I repeat, do not, drink while you are taking care of my sons.

  Nursing his broken toe, Hank looked around wildly for something to hit, to smash. “In your dreams!”

  Miss Sadie hopped up on his lap. She whimpered softly against his chest. “I can’t do this, Miss Sadie. I wasn’t cut out for this. How could she leave me here with this . . . this mess? Do you see how ill equipped I am to handle this? I don’t even want to handle it. I bet ten dollars she’s frolicking in some hot tub somewhere having a grand old time while I’m here . . . suffering. What’s wrong with this picture, Miss Sadie?” The little dog licked his chin in sympathy.

  Hank was on his second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Clutching Miss Sadie to his chest, he ran to the door just as the twins started to cry. He pulled it open to see the grocery delivery boy and directed him to the kitchen. He’d charged the food to his credit card when he ordered it, so all he had to do was tip the delivery boy. He took five dollars from the tea canister and handed it over. The boy looked at him in disgust, so he popped another five into his hand. “I used to get fifty cents for going to the store for my mother.”

  “Yeah, well, that was then, this is now. That’s so like, some dark-age time. I have to buy gas, use my own car, and drive through snow and hope the person I’m delivering to isn’t going to shoot me dead.”

  The kid had a point, Hank thought as he ushered him to the door just in time to see his new day lady/man walking toward the door. He groaned. Miss Sadie was yapping her head off, and the twins were bellowing at a high-decibel level. There was no sign of Churchill anywhere.

  Hank sighed as he introduced himself to his day lady, who just happened to be an older man who said he was Mason Hatcher. He had quirky-looking hair that stood up in little spikes. Rosy cheeks, wire-rim glasses, and a mouth pursed into a pout. He wore a heavy black coat, sensible shoes with laces, and it looked like he had thick ankles. He was thick all over, Hank decided when Mason removed his coat, hat, muffler, and gloves and folded them neatly on the bench next to the door. Mason looked at him and said, “I don’t much care for dogs.”

  “Yeah, well, the dog goes with the deal. And one is temporarily missing. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He’s . . . a little bigger. I’ll pay you extra for the dogs.” Hank hated how desperate he sounded.

  “We’ll see,” was Mason’s response. “Now, where are my charges?”

  “Huh?”

  “The children. Where are they?”

  “Upstairs, second door on the left.”

  Mason stomped his way up the steps as Hank made his way to the kitchen, where he started to unpack the groceries. There wasn’t one thing fit for the twins. Obviously, broken toe or not, he was going to have to go to the market himself with Alice’s list. Damn, his toe was killing him. And, to his horror, his whole foot looked swollen. He also had to go out to look for Churchill. Don’t let Churchill out. He can jump the fence. Ben will kill you if anything happens to him. The words rang in Hank’s ears until he thought he would go out of his mind.

  It suddenly dawned on him that the house was very quiet except for childish laughter wafting down the stairs. Even Miss Sadie, her head tilted to the side, was aware of the sudden silence. A minute later Mason was walking down the steps, a twin in each arm. The little twits were gooing and laughing and tweaking the man’s nose. How was that possible? He’d turned himself inside out to please them, and all they did was pinch, cry, and fight him every step of the way. Obviously, he didn’t have the touch. The right touch.

  “I have to go out,” Hank said. He was stunned at his belligerent tone.

  “I’d put on some shoes if I were you, Mr. Anders. It’s freezing outside.”

  “I don’t know how that’s going to work, Mason. I broke my big toe.” If he hoped for sympathy, he wasn’t getting any from this guy.

  “Soak it in Epsom salts,” Mason said without missing a beat. “When will you return, sir? By the way, is there a lady of the house?”

  “When I’m done doing what I have to do is when I’ll be back. I can’t give you a specific time. There is a lady of the house but not right now. She’s . . . well, what she is . . . she isn’t here.”

  “I see. And you’re in charge temporarily, is that it?”

  “No, no, I’m not in charge. Well, I am, but I’m not. I know that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but . . . you, Mason, are in charge.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Call me Hank.”

  “I can’t do that, sir. You’re my employer. The company frowns on familiarity. Will there be anything else before I feed these little angels?”

  “Nope, that’s it. See ya, Mason.”

  Shoes on, his toe throbbing, Hank dressed and left the house. His game plan was to ride around the neighborhood to look for Churchill before doing anything else. He’d start first by warming up the SUV and brushing the snow off the windshield. He turned around when he heard banging sounds coming from Albert Carpenter’s house. Someone on a ladder was banging with a hammer and stringing lights, and who was it standing next to the ladder but Churchill!

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  A female voice responded, “Hey, yourself!”

  “Do you need any help, other than my dog?”

  “Your dog! This is your dog! I don’t think so! He’s mine now. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I walked him. I fed him. And he slept at my house last night. That means he’s mine. It was freezing out last night. He could have died out there. You just try and get him back and I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” The hammer drove a nail into the post with deadly precision.

  “That’s private property. What do you think you’re doing anyway? Mr. Carpenter died yesterday.”

  “I know he died. God rest his soul. I’m hanging Christmas lights. What’s it look like I’m doing? Furthermore, it’s none of your damn business what I’m doing. Don’t even think about stealing this dog from me. Just try calling him. I betcha five bucks he will ignore you.”

  Hank felt befuddled. That was a sucker bet if he ever heard one. Who was this person? She had yet to turn around, and she was bundled up like Nanook of the North.

  His toe throbbing like a bongo drum, Hank whistled for the dog. Churchill ignored him. He called him by name. Churchill ignored him. He called out, “Go
od boy, come on now, I’ll give you a treat.” Churchill plopped down and put his head between his paws.

  “I’ll take that five dollars now.”

  It was like a lightbulb went off in Hank’s head. “I know who you are. You’re that know-it-all who brought Churchill back last night when I was giving the twins a bath.”

  Amy banged in another nail with the same deadly precision. “Wow! You figured it out. Guess you have a brain after all. He’s mine, and he’s staying with me.”

  “You’re trespassing, you know. The old guy just passed, and you’re hanging Christmas lights on his house. That makes you some kind of ghoul in my opinion. I wonder what the cops will do if I call them. I want my damn dog, and I want him now.”

  “Why don’t you try taking him and see how far you get.” The hammer swung again. The sound was so loud, Hank winced. “Go ahead, call the police. I’m just being a good neighbor. I know for a fact that Mr. Carpenter always had Christmas lights. In his later years he probably had someone do it for him. And just for the record, these are my lights. I didn’t steal them, nor did I break into Mr. Carpenter’s house in case that’s the next thing you’re going to say. Furthermore, you . . .you . . . buffoon, don’t you think it’s a little strange that a woman is doing this when someone of your . . . ilk should be doing it? Go bother somebody else. I’m busy.”

  Buffoon. Someone of my ilk. What the hell did that mean? His toe was throbbing so bad he wanted to bang it on the porch railing. Anger at his circumstances rippled through him. “Listen to me, you . . . you dog snatcher, I want my dog, and I want him now. He’s a boy dog. Why’d you put that stupid red ribbon with a bell on him?”

  The voice that retaliated was syrupy sweet. “It’s like this, you clown. The bell lets me know where he is. This is the Christmas season, and red goes with the silver bell. For the last time, I did not snatch your dog. He came to me. He doesn’t even like you. I can tell. Look at him, he’s petrified of you. That’s pretty bad when a dog doesn’t like his owner. Did you abuse this poor animal?”

  Outrage rivered through Hank at the accusation. Hank bent over to peer at the golden dog, who growled. “I would never harm an animal. I might have been a little sharp with him when he deliberately lifted his leg on a chair. He pees a flood. It took two towels to clean it up. He jumps the fence. I didn’t know he could do that until this morning.”

  The voice was still syrupy sweet. “And I suppose you think I’m going to believe that . . . that ridiculous story. Let’s get real here.”

  Hank was at his wit’s end. His toe was killing him. “Are you always this nasty so early in the morning, or were you born this way?”

  Four things happened at that precise moment before Amy could respond. Mason opened the front door to get the newspaper, Miss Sadie beelined out the door and ran at the speed of light to the Carpenter front porch, at which point Churchill leaped up to greet his new best friend and toppled the ladder. The know-it-all slipped and fell.

  “Oh, shit!”

  “Oh, shit, is right,” Nanook of the North said as she rolled over in her down coat to survey the damage. Somehow or other the two dogs were now tangled in the string of Christmas lights that were twinkling off and on.

  Churchill growled, his ears going flat against his head, a sure sign that he was perturbed at something.

  Hank took that moment to stare at the woman on the floor, who was laughing hysterically. So this is what she looks like. Something teased at his memory then, something he couldn’t put his finger on. She was so pretty it took his breath away. And she had the nicest laugh he’d ever heard in his life. He knew that laugh. Or he remembered it from somewhere. The question was where? “Do I know you?”

  Amy was on her feet when she looked up at her old childhood friend. “I don’t know, do you?” She bent down then to try to untangle the string of lights the dogs were bent on chewing.

  Hank wondered if a buffoon-slash-clown would do what he was doing, which was holding out his hand. “Hank Anders. I’m visiting next door for the holidays.”

  Amy stopped what she was doing, stood up straight, and looked him dead in the eye, hoping she wasn’t giving away the delicious feeling coursing through her. “Mandy Leigh. It’s been a long time, Hank.” She crushed his hand in hers and saw that he tried not to wince.

  “Mandy! It is you! Well, damn! In my wildest dreams I never thought we’d meet up again. You broke my heart when you moved away. I wanted to write you a hundred times, but no one knew where your aunt took you. California, we all thought.”

  “That’s right, California,” Amy said. “I’ve lived there ever since.”

  “Mom said your aunt Flo was a world traveler. We just assumed. . . no one ever came back. I thought the house was sold. Hell, I don’t know what I thought. Look, I’m sorry about . . . about calling you names. This . . . it’s a long sad story. Can we go for coffee or something? God, you’re beautiful! You look just like I remember.”

  Amy laughed. “Is this where I’m supposed to say you’re handsome?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. Mom always said I was good-looking. So, can we do the coffee? I’ll help you with the lights when we get back.”

  “Why not?” Why not indeed. Oh, be still my heart, Amy said to herself as she tidied up the porch, then replied, “Let’s go to my house. I can make coffee, and I have some sticky buns. The kind Mom used to make when we were little.”

  As they walked toward the Leigh house, a light snow started to fall to the dogs’ delight.

  “Then you aren’t mad at me?”

  “Nah. I was just venting. I’ve been upset about Mr. Carpenter’s passing. He was so good to us kids growing up. It’s always especially sad when a person dies during the Christmas season. That’s why I wanted to string up the lights. He used to love Christmas. Remember how we always made him a present?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I remember,” Hank said softly. “I remember everything about that time. You really did break my heart, you know. By the way, Miss Sadie, the little fur ball, belonged to Mr. Carpenter. Ben gave the dog to him after his wife died. Churchill is Ben’s dog. You’re probably right about him not liking me. I was more or less thrust on him out of the blue. I might remind him of Ben. By the way, Ben is in Iraq.”

  “Sounds like you and I have a lot of catching up to do,” Amy said, opening the front door of her house. And he has no clue that I’m a movie star. How wonderful was that? Pretty damn wonderful, she decided.

  Chapter Five

  Amy felt like she was walking on legs of Jell-O as she shed her outerwear on the way to the kitchen. Hank wasn’t married. He was right behind her. In her very own kitchen. And he looked every bit as good as she dreamed. He was here. She was going to make him coffee and sticky buns. How good could life get? But the absolute best was, he had no clue that she was a movie star. A mighty sigh escaped her. She whirled around, not realizing how close he was. They literally butted shoulders. She looked into dark brown eyes that she remembered so well. She could smell minty toothpaste. In a liquid flash she could see something in his eyes, the same thing she was feeling. He blinked. She blinked, then Churchill broke the moment by jumping between them. Flustered, Amy backed away, and Hank sat down on one of the old wooden kitchen chairs.

  The exquisite moment was gone. Hopefully it would return at some point.

  Amy reminded herself that she was an actress. She could carry this off until she saw which way the romantic wind was blowing. “You know, Hank, I can make you a full breakfast if you like, or we can go with the sticky buns and coffee. Your call.”

  Hank looked up at the stunning woman towering over him.

  He wanted to reach out and grab her. The old Mandy would have smacked him for taking such liberties. He’d almost kissed her. And his heart and his eyes told him she would have been receptive to the kiss. This was a new Mandy. Maybe he should step back and not be so . . . pushy. Pushy? He cleared his throat. His voice sounded like a nest of frogs had settled in his throat. “Whatever is
easiest. Let’s just talk.”

  “Great! Then it’s sticky buns, juice, and coffee.” As Amy prepared the coffee and turned on the oven, she threw questions at Hank. “So bring me up to date. Do you come home here to Apple Valley every Christmas? This is my first time back.” Was her voice too breathless, too giddy-sounding? Maybe she should be more cool, a little aloof, instead of this flighty person she’d suddenly become.

  As Hank talked, Amy set the table with her mother’s old dishes. Plain white crockery with huge red strawberries in the middle. Her mother had had a passion for strawberries for some reason. Everything in the kitchen had to do with strawberries: the cookie jar, the canister set, even the place mats were in the shape of strawberries.

  “I remember these dishes. Your mom always served us cookies and sandwiches on them. You always said if you had to eat something you didn’t like it made it okay because the dish was so pretty.”

  Amy stopped what she was doing. “You remember that!”

  “Well, yeah. I guess I considered it an important thing in my life at the time. I don’t have one bad memory of growing up here in Apple Valley. Ben doesn’t either. You never said good-bye,” Hank blurted.

  Amy turned around as she fiddled with the pot holder in her hand. “Flo . . . Flo whisked me out of here so fast I didn’t know what happened. I guess she thought I might . . . I don’t know what she thought. I used to cry myself to sleep. I wanted to come back so bad, but there was nothing to come back to.”

  “Do you like living in the land of perpetual sunshine?”

  “Yes and no. I really miss the change of seasons. I love autumn, and I even like winter. The holidays here in Apple Valley are my greatest memory. How about you?”

  “I live and work in New York. I’m an engineer, have my own business. I have nine employees, and we’re doing pretty well. New York isn’t that far away from Apple Valley. I came home once a month up until my parents died. Then Ben and Alice took over the house, and I came less and less. But I always came back for the holidays. Ben’s in Iraq. He’s a major in the army. He was supposed to be home by now, but they extended his stay over there. He’s getting out when his twenty years are up. He has another ten years to go. Alice is . . . upset. She was so sure Ben would be home for Christmas. The last time he saw the twins they had just been born. The Army allowed him to come home on compassionate leave just before Christmas, when they were born. They’re toddling around now, and they have teeth.” This last was said with so much amazement, Amy burst out laughing.