“I thought so. Lil—”
“Said so.”
Michael nodded. “Daddy, why don’t you sleep with Lil like other moms and dads?”
There was a tick of dead silence. His lips quirked, and he glanced at Lil. She’d frozen, her grip tight on the bear’s neck. Poor bear, another minute, and it’d gasp its last breath.
“I dunno,” he said. “Let’s ask her.”
Three pairs of eyes gazed at Lil. She gave him a look of exasperation. “Like I told you earlier, Michael, since you haven’t seen your father in such a long time, I thought you might want him all to yourself for a few nights.”
Jon’s smile broadened. He hadn’t told Lil how long he’d be here, but he wouldn’t clear out for the coast until the end of January. He wondered how she’d explain the sleeping arrangements to Michael once a few nights had passed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ST. ANDREW’S CHURCH glittered with garlands, candles and silver bells in celebration of the annual pageant. As Jon was surrounded by well-wishers, her family and the curious, Lil greeted the Tidwells. The whole town was here, except Seamus. Puzzled, she looked around. She hadn’t seen him through autumn and had hoped to mend fences tonight after the way they’d parted the last time they’d been together. Spotting Paddy O’Neill, who always knew everything or at least claimed to, she asked after Seamus. The old gossip told her he was keeping the Rooster Bar and Grill open tonight, then winked, “Or that’s what he claims. I think he’s seeing someone. Hot little ticket.”
From a pew near the front, Zinnia waved to Lil. Lil excused herself. She hoped Seamus had found someone special. He deserved it. Whoever it was might be the reason why she never saw him anymore. Either that or he was avoiding her. She couldn’t blame him. Silent, steady Seamus. He must be sick of her problems.
As the lights dimmed to cue the audience, she settled in a space between Patsy Lee and Jon. As she leaned forward to address Zinnia, her thigh pushed against his, and she tried to ignore the shiver that shot through her. Since he’d arrived this afternoon, it was all she could do to keep her hands to herself. Fortunately, the children had kept him busy.
“Where’s Mari? Hasn’t she come in from Warrensburg?” she asked Zinnia. Her sister had spent Thanksgiving with a school friend, the first time the O’Malleys all weren’t together on a major holiday. Lil knew Mari had hurt her mother’s feelings, especially since her Henry’s place was poignantly vacant, but Zinnia hadn’t uttered a word of complaint.
Her mother’s lips tightened. “Arrived today, then high-tailed it down to the Rooster. Said she had to talk to Seamus.”
Seamus? Deflated, Lil settled back and smoothed the skirt of the wine-colored dress she’d made for the holidays. Last year when Mari arrived home from school, Lil was the first person she’d run to see. Seamus had apparently replaced her. Through the fall, she’d written and phoned Mari at college, but her messages weren’t returned.
She shook off her gloom and turned to Jon, still feeling shy. “How’s Zeke?”
“Fine, great. He said to tell you”—Jon frowned—“how did he put it? To tell you, ‘Change continues and you needn’t look far for the answers.’ Sounds like a damn fortune cookie. You know what he meant?”
“Uh, no. No, I don’t.” She fussed at the material on her skirt until he laid a hand over hers. She went still.
“You look beautiful tonight. Cold?”
An empire style, her dress’s bodice was deeply cut, left her shoulders bare and fit snugly over her breasts before draping to mid-calf. Certain her face matched the color of her dress, she slipped from his touch and drew a matching stole over her exposed flesh. For every pageant in the past, she’d shrugged on a pair of practical wool pants and a sweater, but this year she’d wanted to be more festive. Okay, she’d wanted to impress him. “I’m not cold,” she assured him. Her flesh goose-bumped.
He smiled and draped an arm behind her, cradling her upper arm with warm fingers. The sleeve of his navy silk jacket, mildly rumpled even after he’d pressed it—a skill she’d marveled to see since Robbie hadn’t even known what an iron was—tickled the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. Her flesh goose-bumped even more.
The overhead lights darkened. She forgot to be self-conscious as the pageant got underway. The children had worked so hard. She hoped Jon wouldn’t let them see his amusement. She darted a worried look at him, but like all the other parents, only pride lit his eyes. He hid a grin only when the halo dipped across the shepherd’s wide, chocolate eyes. Relieved, she sighed happily, relaxing into his light embrace. For tonight, she’d allow herself to pretend they were a real family.
A half hour later, they neared the end of the program. An angel—one wearing neon turquoise eye shadow—had just intoned, “And, behold! A Child is born!” when Patsy Lee squirmed and gasped. Lil glanced over. Patsy Lee’s eyes were screwed shut, and a spreading pool of water dampened the pew between them.
On Patsy Lee’s other side, Alcea hissed, “It’s time.”
Giving Patsy Lee’s arm a reassuring squeeze, Lil leaned across Jon to tell her mother Patsy Lee’s labor had begun.
Jon started. “Didn’t you tell me it wouldn’t be for a couple of weeks?” he whispered.
“Sometimes Mother Nature just isn’t interested in our little timetables. God love us—a Christmas baby!” Zinnia didn’t bother to whisper, and eyes turned toward the O’Malley pew. The performance faltered to a halt.
In short order, bustling with advice and support, the congregation and the performers had crowded around to help escort Patsy Lee through the church’s heavy oak doors. Helen Tidwell headed off to call the hospital, and Paddy O’Neill, in fine fuss over the doings he’d have to relate at Peg’s, went to fetch Zinnia’s van.
The family paused on the flagstoned threshold. Lil clutched her wool coat to her throat, grateful for the warmth of Jon’s arm around her. Behind them, the children crowded in the doorway, chattering in excited voices. The snow that had fallen so lackadaisically all day now seethed against the night. The old Merry-Go-Read building was a blurry outline across the square. She felt a twinge of pain.
Jon dipped his head. “What’s the matter?”
“I just can’t ever look at that place without feeling sad for Henry, my brother. It might have really been something if he—or I—had put more into it. And tonight with Henry’s new baby on the way—” She gestured at Patsy Lee. Jon pulled her closer. She sighed. “I wonder what the owners will do with the building.”
Her gaze wandered down the street where the red neon of the Rooster’s sign battled the gloom. Last Christmas Eve after the pageant, Seamus had comforted her as she’d cried over the holidays that stretched before her. Thinking of Robbie, she waited for the familiar sad wave to wash over her, but only a sweet nostalgia trickled through her heart. Funny. She’d dreaded Christmas since he’d been gone, yet she’d hardly thought about him at all today, even when he’d smiled at her from the photograph on her nightstand as she’d dressed for the evening.
With a snowy flourish, Paddy braked the van at the curb. The family started down the steps. They were salted, but the snow was falling too fast for it to do much good. She skidded in her unaccustomed high heels, and Jon gripped her elbow, smiling into her eyes and sending her stomach into somersaults.
Pop squinted into the squall, his arm wrapped around Patsy Lee. Roy propped her up on the other side. “We’ll never make it to the hospital in this.”
Zinnia halted at the bottom of the steps and hollered over her shoulder. “Is Doc Jacobson around?”
The crowd parted and Dr. Jacobson stepped forward, rubbing white wisps of hair that sprouted from his shiny pate. “Now, Miz O’Malley, you know I’m not a—”
“You’ll do.” Hurrying ahead of everyone, Zinnia bustled the wide-eyed, retired podiatrist toward the van and called back orders. “Jon, Lil! Fetch the children and bring them along. Alcea, don’t stand there looking like a wide-mouthed bass. Use that phone
of yours and call nine-one-one! Send ‘em to our house. And call Mari and tell her we’re on our way—she ought to be home by now.”
Zinnia bundled Roy, the bewildered doctor and a groaning Patsy Lee into the van and jumped in after them. Pop clambered into the driver’s seat and took off, fishtailing around the corner. Lil called to the children, and they hurried to the parking lot. Somehow Jon managed to cram Patsy Lee’s three kids, his two and Lil into the Escort, wrapping them every which way in seat belts, then folded himself behind the wheel. She thought it admirable he refrained from reminding her of the car she’d turned down before he’d gone on tour.
They followed Pop the two blocks to her parents’ house, the van’s taillights barely visible through the snow. They bowled into the graveled drive and halted behind Mari’s Volkswagen. Roy and Pop were half carrying Patsy Lee up the walk.
Doc Jacobson slipped along behind. “But, Miz O’Malley, I don’t even have my instruments!”
“Fat lot of good they’d do,” Zinnia scolded. “You’re a podiatrist.”
“That’s what I keep trying to tell…”
His voice faded off as they disappeared inside.
They pried the children out of the car, and Jon grinned around the sucker he’d popped in his mouth. “Never a dull minute in the O’Malley family, is there?”
“Never.”
Headlights from Alcea and Stan’s car washed over them as Jon and Lil whisked the children into the house. In the front parlor, a table lamp cast a muted glow. The Christmas tree was a bulky shadow in the corner.
Crumpling her angel wings behind her, Daisy flopped on the faded, claw-armed sofa and punched the television remote. Michael Landon handed a wide-eyed Melissa Gilbert a Christmas box topped with a big red ribbon. “Awesome!” Daisy said.
Melanie settled beside her, thin legs sticking out from under her red ruffles and patted the sofa cushion in invitation, the friendship bracelet Daisy had given her flashing on her wrist. Michael shoved his halo back on his forehead and clambered up, pulling Rose with him. Rose snuggled in next to him and fastened her gaze on the TV. Hank plopped cross-legged on the floor at their feet.
Roy settled into Pop’s recliner. “Little House on the Prairie Christmas Special. Way cool.”
Kathleen entered from the kitchen. She shook snow from the narrow mink collar of her bright red Christmas coat. “Stupid snow. Mother bought this just for tonight, and it’ll be ruined before I go to the church dance next Saturday.”
Daisy glared at her. “Shuddup and take a chill pill, Kathleen.”
“Hmph.” Kathleen perched on a foot stool.
“Yeah, take a chill pill,” Michael parroted, then turned to Daisy, his nose scrunched. “But Kathleen’s already cold.”
Jon watched them with awe in his eyes. Lil smiled. She switched on the Christmas tree lights. The soft glow cocooned the children, turned Jon’s eyes amber and his hair gold.
“They’re all family. And for now—” She brushed a wet strand of hair off his forehead. “So are you.”
He caught her hand in his and guided it to his lips, pressing a kiss as soft as a promise against her palm. “Family.” His eyes held hers.
From the doorway behind them came a clatter of pans, and she tugged away from him, suddenly skittish. “I need to go help. Come on—every member of the family makes himself useful in a crisis.”
“But I like this show.” He started to sink into her mother’s armchair.
She caught his arm. “Oh no, you don’t.”
She pulled him behind her into the heart of the O’Malley home, passing through the dining room with its dark wainscoting, bay windows and ivory walls. Stan had settled with a bottle of wine at the table, covered in lace to hide its scars.
He raised his glass. “Gonna be a long night.”
She leaned her head close to Jon. “Some people are more useful than others.”
As they entered the high-ceilinged kitchen, she heard Jon suck in his breath. She smiled. This room always stunned the fainthearted.
Ladder-back chairs cushioned in a swirl of petunias ringed a massive oak table that squatted on a green and violet braided rug. Wallpaper latticed with purple trellises and violent neon-pink roses hung over a lavender chair rail. A riot of Mexican pottery and baskets cascaded with magazines, books and knitting supplies in every nook, along with a cheerful array of plants. Children’s artwork plastered all the spare wall space.
Mari piled wood next to a black-bellied stove. Alcea leaned into a squat, white refrigerator plastered with magnets holding everything from recipes to a year’s worth of church announcements.
“Wow,” Jon murmured. He turned to study the plaster rounds hanging from pink satin ribbons on the wall behind the table. “What are these?”
“Handprints. One for each of us. All the O’Malley kids and grandkids.” She pointed at two that were whiter than the rest. “Here’s Michael’s and Melanie’s. We added them last month at Thanksgiving.”
He traced the indentations in the clay, then turned to her. Softly, he cupped her chin. His hand was warm, fingers strong. Her stomach quivered in response. She leaned into the caress, and her eyes fluttered closed as he bent his head and let his forehead rest against hers. His breath, a hint of cherry, was a whisper against her cheeks. His lips hovered only an inch away.
Alcea thrust a box of cocoa between them. Lil glimpsed envy in her sister’s eyes. “If you two can tear yourselves away from each other, we need some help around here. Here, make hot chocolate for the children. Mother’s upstairs with Patsy Lee, Mari’s boiling water, and I’ve got coffee going. Although it looks like what you need is a cold shower.”
Flustered, Lil pulled away, avoiding Jon’s eyes. She glanced at Mari, hoping to share a rolling-eye look like they always did when Alcea clambered up on her high horse. But Mari acted like they all were invisible. She stood stiff in front of the double casement windows over the sink, fumbling for the faucet handles through the fronds of greenery that tumbled from the sill. Water gushed into a pot. She didn’t turn around.
Lil’s heart sank. She hadn’t seen Mari since the concert, and she’d hoped Christmas warmth would thaw her sister’s stubbornness.
Opening one of the glass-fronted cabinets, she pulled out a bag of marshmallows and a collection of mismatched mugs. She set them on the counter and handed the bag to Jon. “If you’ll put a few in each mug, I’ll get the chocolate ready.”
From upstairs, there came a muffled cry. Everyone paused. When there was no further noise, the bustling resumed.
A half hour later, the baby had yet to make an appearance. All of Patsy Lee’s children had come quickly, especially the last—so no one expected this labor to last long.
Alcea peered into the fridge, tsk’d, and pulled out a foil-wrapped roast from last Sunday’s dinner. “This will do. Since we’re missing potluck at St. Andrew’s, we’ll make sandwiches. Here, Jon.”
She caught Jon shrugging out of his jacket, his brow moist from the overheated room, and he almost missed his grasp on the loaf of bread she shoved at him.
“Put some mustard and mayo on. Half of each. Make sure you get it out to the edges, Stan hates it when the condiments are all in the middle, although why we should care what Stan likes is another question. Then see if you can find some lettuce and tomatoes. Slice them thin, and don’t dress the ones for the children. They won’t eat them that way. Lil, when you’re through with that, slice up this beef.”
Alcea was in full bossy mode. Lil snuck a look at Jon—and he rolled his eyes at her, much like Mari used to do. She grinned, and the tension eased in her back.
In the crowded kitchen, she and Mari couldn’t help but rub shoulders. When they found themselves side by side at the stove, Lil couldn’t stand the frigid silence any longer. She touched Mari’s wrist, but Mari only looked at Lil’s hand, her eyes icier than the weather. Lil tried to act like she didn’t notice. “Mother said you’d gone to see Seamus this evening. I haven’t talked
to him for a while. How is he?”
“Fine. If you’ll excuse me.” Mari hefted a pot and elbowed past her to the narrow back stairs.
Alcea followed her. “I’ll get clean towels from the linen closet. I remember when I had Kathleen, Dr. Stuart said…” Her voice trailed off.
Lil blinked back tears.
Frowning, Jon watched her. “What’s with her?”
“Mari just can’t accept that I…that we…” She faltered.
“Ah, Lil.” He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. Gratefully, she rested her head on his shoulder and her hands on his chest. She felt the steady beat of his heart.
He tipped her head up with a finger. Concern shaded his eyes. “What if I talk to her?”
She shook her head, then stopped. She was tired of solving all her problems on her own. Maybe it would help if Jon talked to Mari.
He took her silence for permission and nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”
She looked up at him, got caught by his eyes. The warm concern in their depths shifted to something molten. Her breath hitched in her throat. His hand glided to the back of her head, curled into her hair. He moved closer, and all the words of caution she’d fed herself over the past months fled as her bones went liquid. She clutched his shirt and let her head fall back, parting her lips in delicious anticipation. There was a soft sigh that could have come from either one of them. Their mouths brushed at the same time a long moan sounded upstairs.
Stan swung around the kitchen doorway, a half-empty glass of wine dangling from his fingertips. “Hey, are we having a baby or what?” he asked the room in general. He stumbled back against the wall. The wineglass slipped from his grasp, and the crystal cracked on the old wood floor. Stan giggled
A frustrated noise escaped Jon’s lips. “Your family’s gonna be the death of me.”
Grabbing a dishrag off the sink, he mopped up the mess while Stan watched him. After Jon dropped the remains in the trash, he took Stan’s arm and steered him away from the kitchen. “Hey, man. Let’s get you settled back in here, and I’ll grab you a cup of joe. And a sandwich. I spread the mustard all the way to the edges, just the way you like it.”
SING ME HOME (Love Finds A Home - Book One) Page 23