by Lisa Jackson
“Make up for lost time?”
“So to speak.”
She stirred the cream into foam that melted into her coffee. “And you think throwing up a few lights and strings of tinsel will change all that?”
“No,” he admitted with a sound of disgust. “I can’t change the past. That’s the way we lived our lives, like it or not. I made a helluva lot of mistakes, so did my ex-wife, but I’m trying to make it up to Bryan now.”
“And be a real father rather than an absentee?” she said, unable to keep her tongue from being harsh. She’d seen a lot of men who didn’t have time for their families, who were so concerned about chasing after the dollar or other women that they ignored and neglected their wives and children. Oftentimes, they ended up divorced, with a new, younger wife and no relationship with their kids whatsoever. And then there were men like Hank, a man who would have done anything for his newborn baby. A man who was snatched from life far too young. Bitterness climbed up the back of her throat. “You can’t make up fourteen years in one Christmas.”
His jaw tightened. “I know that.”
“And you can’t hire a stranger to come in and expect her to toss some glitter around the house, throw up a Christmas tree and hang a few sprigs of mistletoe in the hopes that the spirit of Christmas will see fit to touch your home.”
“I’m just trying to get started on the right foot,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “Look, I was hoping you and Amy would come over and we’d…I don’t know, have a tree-trimming party or whatever you want to call it.”
“And you would pay me?” she asked, sick inside.
“Right.”
It all seemed so callous, so unfeeling, so crass and commercial. So unChristmassy. “No thanks.” She stood, reached into her wallet and found a couple of dollars, which she slapped onto the table.
“I offended you.” He seemed surprised.
“Bingo.” She placed both hands flat on the table’s surface and leaned forward so that her nose was close to his. Staring deep into his eyes, she noticed the varying shades of gray and the thick spiky lashes that refused to blink. “Look, Keegan, I know you’re used to the city, to the boardroom, to giving orders and expecting everyone to hop to them. You’re one of those corporate executives who flies around in a private jet, sleeps at the best hotels and thinks that he can buy anything he pleases, including a merry Christmas for his son, but you’re wrong. Christmas, real Christmas, comes from the heart not the pocketbook.
“Now, whether you want to hear it or not, I’m going to give you some advice,” she continued, holding his stare, feeling the heat radiate from him, sensing the anger that caused his chin to tighten and his nostrils to flare. “Cascadia is a small town, the people are close-knit, they help one another because they want to, not because they feel obligated or because they expect to be paid. That’s why it’s so special here. That’s why I live here and that’s why big-wheels from the city sometimes have trouble fitting in.
“Goodbye, Mr. Keegan. Thanks for the company.”
She turned to leave but he caught her wrist in a quick motion. On his feet in an instant, he pulled her body close enough that her breasts nearly brushed his chest. Almost—but not quite. “Look, lady, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Well, you did.”
“I—”
“Leave it alone, Keegan,” she said, yanking her hand from his. “We’re just neighbors, we don’t have to like each other.” Spinning on her heel, she walked stiff-backed out of the café and sensed him watching her every move.
* * *
“You did what?” Shelly said, dipping her French fry into a pool of catsup in the paper-lined burger basket. They were sitting in a booth at a local hamburger den and an old song from the Righteous Brothers was playing over the sound of the loudspeaker for the drive-up, the rattle of French fry baskets, orders being yelled to the cooks and the scrape of spatulas on the grill.
The restaurant, a hangout for teenagers ever since Ronni and Shelly had been adolescents was about half-full. Their children were in the next booth arguing over how Santa could possibly finish his rounds and slide down everyone in the world’s chimney on Christmas Eve.
Ronni swirled her straw in her soda. “I guess I told him to get lost. Not in so many words, maybe, but he got the message.”
“Are you out of your mind? Why?” Shelly snapped up her French fry and munched blissfully.
“I didn’t like his attitude.”
Rolling her eyes, Shelly wiped the salt and oil from her fingers on a paper napkin. “The most interesting bachelor to show up in town in years—at least that’s the way Taffy LeMar describes him—and you tell him to get lost? You know, Ronni, sometimes I think you should have your head examined.”
“So you talked to Taffy?” Ronni said, still disappointed that her friend hadn’t let her know that the old Johnson place was going to be the new Keegan estate. As many times as she reminded herself that there was no way she could have bought the land and the old, rambling lodge on it, she wished she’d had the chance to put some kind of deal together. With what? She’d saved twenty-five thousand dollars from the insurance money when Hank had died, but that money was earmarked for Amy’s education and so far she hadn’t touched a dime of it. Not that it would have helped all that much.
“Yeah, I talked to Taffy and she was lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, all atwitter about Keegan, saying he’s tall, dark, handsome and single.” Shelly slid a glance toward her boys, then said, “I reminded Taffy that you were interested in the place and she mumbled something about being sorry but that this guy just swept into the real estate office, told them what he wanted, how much he wanted to spend and within twenty-four hours the deal was done.”
“That sounds like Keegan,” Ronni said.
“How would you know?”
“As I said, it’s the man’s attitude.”
“Men,” Shelly said, shaking her head as her eyes clouded over. “Sometimes…” Her voice faded off.
“How’s Vic these days?”
Shelly sighed and leaned an elbow on the table. “Trying to buck up, I think. He says he’s excited about the baby, but he’s worried. I can tell. He’s started talking about moving to California again. His brother would hire him, but what does Vic know about computers?”
“He could learn,” Ronni suggested. “Vic’s only what—thirty-five?”
“I know, I know, but he hates to be cooped up. An office job would kill him.” She frowned, then heard the boys’ voices begin to rise. “Kurt, Kent, hold it down,” she ordered.
“But he stole one of my chicken nuggets,” Kurt complained.
“Don’t you each have your own?”
The thought of Shelly moving away was depressing, but Ronni would never show it. She and Shelly had been best friends all their lives except for a period in high school when they’d pretended not to know each other. Now they saw each other every day and Amy thought of the twins more as brothers than cousins. Shelly had been Ronni’s strongest support when Hank had been killed and the thought that she might be moving away was devastating.
“Has it really come to that—to leaving?” Ronni asked.
Shelly’s eyes were dark with worry. “I hope not,” she said, “but Vic needs to find work, permanent work, to make him feel good again.” As quickly as the concern had crossed her features, she chased it away with a smile. “I tell him not to worry—things always have a way of working out, but you know Victor. If he didn’t have something to fret about, he wouldn’t be happy.”
Ronni laughed, because that much was true. Ever since Ronni had known him, Victor Pederson had been a guy who stewed about the future, while the wife he’d chosen barely looked past the end of the week.
“You know, Shelly, if things are bad, I’ve got mon-ey—”
&nb
sp; “Amy’s inheritance? Forget it. We’ve been over this before, Ronni.” She picked up the tray. “Now, forget about me for a second and think about your new neighbor. The way I see it, the man just asked for a favor. He needs help decorating for Christmas, so he offered to pay you. Is that such a crime?” She turned her head and shot out of her chair. “Kurt, stop it! Now.” Kurt had his brother in some kind of headlock and Kent was screaming. “I think it’s time we took off,” Shelly said as the boys, red faced and hurling insults, squared off. “I’ll call you later. Come on, boys, let’s go. Now!” She grabbed each one by a tight, grimy little fist and shepherded them out of the restaurant.
“Come on, Amy,” Ronni said, gathering up the trash. “I think it’s time we left, too.”
“Why do they do that?” Amy asked, her little face a knot of vexation as she stared through the swinging glass doors to the parking lot where her cousins were climbing into Shelly’s big car.
“What? Oh, you mean the boys? Why they fight? It’s just natural, I guess. Aunt Shelly and I used to fight.”
“No!”
“All the time. It drove Grandma nuts.” She tossed the trash into one of the containers near the door, then paused to help Amy zip her jacket.
“You don’t fight anymore.”
“Oh, but we did, like cats and dogs, even though we were really each other’s best friend. I know it sounds silly, but it’s true. Kurt and Kent will get over it, too. But not for a long, long time.”
“It’s a pain,” Amy said as Ronni tied her hood in place.
“I’ll second that.”
“If I had a sister, I’d never fight with her.”
Ronni laughed as she searched for her car keys.
“So why don’t I?” her daughter demanded.
“Have a sister?” Ronni asked as she pushed open the door. “I thought you wanted a puppy.”
“I do!” Amy said with a grin, her attention derailed from the subject of a sibling, a painful subject that came up every once in a while. Long ago, Ronni had promised herself she’d never have an only child, that because of her close relationship with her sister, she’d want Amy to have a brother or sister. Hank had agreed, for the opposite reason. He’d had no brothers or sisters and thought he’d missed out.
But then fate had stepped in and taken him and any plans for another baby.
“Come on,” Ronni said, refusing to dwell on the past. She planned to make it her New Year’s resolution that she’d start living her life for the future, not for the past. And she didn’t have to wait until New Year’s—she could make that resolution today, even though there were several weeks of this year left.
They stepped into the parking lot just as Shelly’s car eased into traffic. Ronni tried to envision her sister with another baby and she smiled. Shelly was cut out to be a mother—she was right, things would work out. “Have faith,” she told herself.
“What?” Amy screwed up her face and stared up at her.
“Nothing, sweetheart. Hey, let’s go see what they’ve got in there,” she said, pointing across the street to the variety store that had stood on the corner of Main Street and Douglas Avenue for as long as she could remember. The display window was filled with Christmas decor—lights, ribbon, tinsel, everything a person would need to decorate their house…or an old hunting lodge. Ronnie held on to her daughter’s hand and walked briskly to the cross walk. Shelly’s words followed after her, accusing her of misinterpreting Keegan’s offer, and Ronni decided there was no time like the present to right a wrong. Or to eat humble pie. Gritting her teeth, she pushed open the door of the little shop and heard Jake, the owner’s parakeet, whistle out a throaty, “Come in, come in.”
“Ronni and Amy!” Ada Hampton, the proprietor, grinned, showing, perfect, if false, teeth. A woman with wide hips and a wider smile, she’d stood behind the same cash register since her husband died thirty years ago. “What a nice surprise.” Wearing a crisp red apron, she waddled through a narrow opening in the counter. “What can I do for you?”
“I wish I knew,” Ronni replied, not really knowing where to start.
Ada reached into a voluminous pocket and pulled out a green sucker. “This is for you,” she said to Amy. “You know, I used to give suckers to your mother and her sister when they were about your age,” she said. “But that was a long time ago.”
Jake, hopping from one perch to the other, whistled out a sharp, “Hey, honey, what’cha doin’?”
“What’re you doin’?” Amy responded, licking on her sucker and staring up at the green-and-yellow bird.
“Come in. Come in,” Jake said.
“Silly bird!” But Amy giggled and Jake bobbed his little head wildly.
Ada chuckled and reached for a tissue. Dabbing eyes that were always running from her allergies, she said, “Now, is there anything special you want today?”
“Lights, ribbon, garlands, the works,” she replied, wondering if she was out of her mind. She only had a vague notion of what she planned to do, but it included landing on Travis Keegan’s doorstep with a small fortune in Christmas decor. She only hoped he still wanted it. After their last conversation, there was a good chance she might end up with a door slammed in her face. “Do you have anything on sale—like last year’s stuff?” she asked while mentally calculating what she had in stock at home and in the warehouse. Most of her mail-order Christmas inventory had been sold, but there were still a few garlands, bells and spools of ribbon. She could cut boughs of holly and cedar from some trees in her backyard. With a little money, a lot of imagination and some work, she could make the old lodge look like a Christmas picture postcard.
“I’ve still got a few things,” Ada said, leading her to a sale table where most of the items had already been picked over. “Not much left, I’m afraid, but what’s here is at bargain-basement prices.”
“I think I can find what I need.” Ronni picked up a large spool of red-and-white gingham ribbon that had been marked down to half price. “This’ll do just fine.”
* * *
Over the thrumming beat of hard rock, Travis heard a buzzing. He listened, heard the noise again and put down his screwdriver. He’d been trying to fix the bathroom door as it wouldn’t latch, and pieces of the lock were strewn across the counter. “What the devil?”
The noise quit again and suddenly there was a loud pounding on the front door. The doorbell! Of course. Something was wrong with it and the chimes were reduced to a static-laden, irritating buzz.
Thinking one of the contractors had returned to pick up a forgotten tool, he threw open the door and found Ronni and her daughter on the front porch. Involuntarily, his throat tightened at the sight of her. Wearing oven mitts, Ronni was holding a white pan, covered in aluminum foil. The scents of tomato sauce and cheese seeped out in the steam rising from a slit in the foil. “I, uh, think I owe you an apology,” Ronni said quickly. “I didn’t mean to come unglued this afternoon when you asked me to help you, you just kind of blindsided me and…I overreacted. I brought a peace offering.” She held up the pan and more tantalizing odors wafted from the dish.
“So you’re here to…?”
“Boy, I wish I knew,” she said, shaking her head. “How about to eat a little crow?”
“Crow?” Amy, bundled in a yellow snowsuit, wrinkled her nose and acted as if Ronni had lost her mind. “It’s lasagna, Mommy.”
“That it is.” She winked at her daughter. “I guess I forgot.” She took in a long breath and squared her shoulders. “Look, you can’t imagine how awkward I feel—this is really not my style, but here goes…” Meeting his gaze squarely, she said, “I thought we should start over and I’m going to try and be more neighborly, so Amy and I brought dinner and some Christmas decorations and if the invitation’s still on, we’ll have that tree-trimming party you wanted.”
He coul
dn’t stop the smile that crept from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Unless you’ve already eaten or have other plans,” she added hastily.
“No plans and we’re starved.” Thoughtfully rubbing his chin, he pinned her with a stare he knew was sometimes disturbing. “You know, Ms. Walsh,” he drawled, “I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Come in’ would be nice or ‘Gee, thanks. Apology accepted’ would do. I’d even go for, ‘Woman, I’m starving. Thank God you showed up!’”
Travis laughed. Seeing her standing on the porch with her face upturned, her cheeks rosy with the cold, he felt an unlikely stirring deep in his heart that was completely out of line. She was here offering food, for crying out loud. “Okay, here goes. Woman, I’m starving. Thank God you showed up.”
“That’s much better.” As he stepped out of the way, she strode into the house. Amy wasn’t going to be left on the porch, and clutching a bag full of some kind of tinsel, she followed her mother.
“Can I help?” he asked Ronni, a little bewildered by her change of heart. Why was it he felt as if he’d just won a major battle?
“I thought you’d never ask,” she teased. “The van needs to be unloaded.”
“You brought more things?”
“A few,” she said, then laughed lightly and the sound seemed to echo through the house. Her dark eyes sparkled and she shook the snow from her hair. “When Amy and I are asked to trim a tree, we come prepared, don’t we?”