Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday FamilySugar Plum SeasonHer Cowboy HeroSmall-Town Fireman

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Not bad.” She sipped her coffee and smiled up at him. “I’m impressed, soldier.”

  He started to smile, but Ray and Mary Sawyer approached from one side, with Sherrie and her husband, Jim, behind them. From the other side of the street, Seth and Gianna worked their way across the green with Charlie and Jenny. Seth carried Bella, bundled from head to toe in a bright pink fleece snowsuit with teddy-bear ears. Mikey was dressed in a brown version, but he stubbornly kept grabbing his hood and yanking down, giving his petite mother a hard time. Seth’s adopted daughter, Tori, and Carmen Bianchi flanked Gianna, and the sight of his brother’s growing family and the Sawyers drove the sharp difference home.

  Seth was here with his family, a spirit of joy abounding.

  Pete would never have that chance.

  “Max! Tina. We’re so excited about all this.” Mary grinned up at Ray, then added, “The thought of a new baby, our first grandchild, Christmas, the lights...”

  “Grandson,” added Ray, clearly proud. “Peter James Morgan, named for his Uncle Pete—”

  Max’s heart strangled.

  “And next year this time, little Pete will be here with us.” Mary pressed a kiss to Sherrie’s cheek, clearly delighted. “I’m just crazy excited to think of it!”

  Nearly fifteen years they’d waited for this new chance at happiness. Fifteen years without their oldest son. A decade and a half of an empty chair, Pete’s laugh silenced by an early grave.

  Guilt clutched Max and refused to let go.

  Why hadn’t he said something? Why had he stormed off, letting Pete make the final decision?

  You know why. You didn’t want to be a third wheel, and you felt like Pete would rather be alone with Amy than have a buddy hanging about, especially a buddy that didn’t want to drink with them.

  Reverend Smith keyed his microphone. The gathered crowd went quiet, waiting.

  The reverend smiled at the crowd, letting his gaze wander and linger here and there. When he got to the growing group of Campbells and Sawyers, he paused. Not a long pause, but enough to tell Max that the aging rector recognized the moment.

  He knows. Or at least suspects. And why wouldn’t he? Max realized. The reverend had officiated at Pete’s funeral. He’d watched Pete and Max grow up, he knew their families, their friends. Maybe ministers came especially equipped with guilt meters, or as least a heightened awareness of human reactions.

  The reverend looked at him, straight at him, and his gentle gaze said the time was right, the time was now.

  But then he launched into a sweet story of Christmas, of Christ as light. With the wind unpredictable, each person had brought a penlight or a cell phone with a flashlight device, and when the reverend called for them to turn on their little lights, hundreds of tiny beams filled the night.

  “You’ve heard it said that it is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.” The reverend motioned toward the sprinkling of lights surrounding the decorated gazebo in the town square. “For the next six weeks, let us make sure our lights, the light of Christ within us, shine as brightly as our town and lake shines during this blessed and joyous Christmas season. And now, may the Lord bless thee, and keep thee: May the Lord make His face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: May He lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.”

  A chorus of “Amen” resounded to the old benediction from the book of Numbers, and as Tina nudged Max forward to hit the switch, he balked. Smiling at his father, Charlie Campbell nodded and moved through the crowd.

  The doctors had warned Charlie to avoid infection, to stay out of crowds, to lay low, but as his father threaded his way to the gazebo, he paused and shook every hand offered. If this was going to be Charlie’s last Christmas in Kirkwood, he seemed determined to make it a good one.

  He drew up alongside the reverend, reached out, shook his pastor’s hand and then hit the switch.

  Main Street was flooded with light; beautiful, warm, holiday light.

  Set to timers, other banks of lights blinked on around them. The village, the circle of homes surrounding the lake, the businesses, all decked out.

  And when the park switch was thrown, a collective gasp filled the air.

  Vintage yet timeless, the depth of light along Park Drive would thrill every carload of people who came to see the beautiful displays.

  “Amazing.” Tina hugged Max’s arm and smiled up at him.

  “I’m pretty psyched that it all came together,” he admitted.

  She shook her head. “Not the lights, although I have to say I think they’re the best ever. You, Max. You’re amazing.”

  She meant it. He read the truth of her emotions in her eyes, the smile she aimed at him. And despite what he needed to face once and for all, Tina’s shining approval made it feel possible.

  The crowd didn’t linger long. A brisk west wind promised deepening cold and most likely snow by morning, but as folks headed home, greetings of the season echoed around him, making him feel like he could handle anything, anything at all.

  Even the truth.

  * * *

  “Uh-oh.”

  Max followed the direction of Tina’s gaze and paused a few minutes later. “Uh-oh, what? I don’t get it.”

  “The restaurant.” She indicated the people heading toward The Pelican’s Nest. “Look at the stream of people going in there.”

  “That’s bad?” The confusion in his voice said he wasn’t following her, but then Max had never worked in the food industry. A rush like this, without the proper staff?

  Crushing from a restaurant perspective. “I’ve got to go help them.” She darted across the street and moved quickly up the sidewalk to the far side of her parents’ old business.

  “Me, too.”

  She ducked behind several cars and turned as she pulled open the back door. “What does a soldier know about restaurants?”

  “I can clear tables and do dishes. And you might be surprised by the wealth of things I know, Tina.”

  “I already am and find it more than a little intimidating,” she whispered, then breezed into the restaurant kitchen as if she belonged there.

  Laura looked shell-shocked by the growing crowd. Ryan’s expression alternated from nervous to strained. Han, the Vietnamese cook who’d worked for her parents years before, looked stressed, as well. Tina tossed her coat onto the pegged rack alongside the back door and grabbed two aprons from the bin. She tossed one to Max and donned the other. “We’re here to help. Laura, you want kitchen or tables?”

  Gratitude and surprise softened Laura’s expression. “I’ll help the girls out front. You and Han can cover this. Max, I—”

  “Dishes.” He moved to the large commercial machine, slid the first filled rack of dishes into place and locked it down. “Uncle Sam makes sure everyone knows how to operate one of these babies.”

  Laura hurried out. Ryan’s worried gaze went from Tina to Max then back again before he followed his mother into the front of the restaurant.

  Han assessed the new situation, grinned and pointed to the stack of orders. “You prep, like old times, eh?”

  “Will do.”

  She bustled around the kitchen, laying plates, starting orders, doling out specials Han had prepared earlier in the day. Wednesday-night pasta specials were a standing tradition in Western New York, and Han had prepped accordingly. Tina prayed that lots of folks would want rigatoni and meatballs tonight. That would take a load of work off the minimal staff.

  She put a new kettle of water on to precook more pasta, glanced around, and asked, “Garlic bread?”

  Han made a face. “No more.”

  “No more tonight? Or you don’t serve it anymore?”

  “No more, anymore. Too much money.”

  Her father’s garlic bread, a Ma
rtinelli tradition, the bad-for-your-waistline deliciousness that brought throngs of folks to The Pelican’s Nest every Wednesday. Great sauce, al dente pasta and Gino’s warm, buttery garlic bread, dusted with fresh basil.

  If she was running this place, the last thing she’d drop would be the Italian staples that set the “Nest” apart from other lakeside restaurants. With their family diner atmosphere, steeped in Italian traditions, they’d provided family dining experiences at reasonable cost.

  Her parents hadn’t gotten rich off the place, but they’d done okay, and shouldn’t that be enough?

  Rocco’s image came back to her, gruff and scowling, grumbling over money and costs all the time. How hard it must have been for Laura to live with him, deal with his outbursts.

  Unexpected sympathy welled within her, but she couldn’t dwell on that now. The three waitresses and Laura kept sliding fresh orders onto the wheel, and as Han moved them to the hanging bar over the grill, she’d prep the plate, drop fries or pull potatoes, and let Han finish the order from his spot. Max alternated between rolling dishes through their cycle and cutting fresh lemons and veggies for tomorrow’s specials. The old kitchen radio added background inspiration. Old hymns blended with new Christmas carols, the jovial tones adding to the familiar atmosphere.

  By eight o’clock the crowd had dwindled to a few dawdling diners, enjoying a few minutes of quiet before going out into the cold.

  Laura came into the kitchen, faced Tina and Max and promptly burst into tears.

  “Hey!” Tina moved forward, not sure what to do. She looked back at Han.

  He shrugged, just as confused.

  “Laura, I—”

  “Thank you.”

  Tina paused as Laura grabbed some tissues from a box behind her, mopped her face and took a deep breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  Laura faced Tina more fully and offered a watery smile. “I’m fine. That’s the first time we’ve been busy like that in over a year. It felt—wonderful!”

  “I love a rush,” Tina admitted. “The adrenaline gets going, and pretty soon you’ve got a rhythm of food and orders and checkouts and seating and if all goes well, it’s like a well-oiled machine.”

  “And when it doesn’t, chaos erupts.” Laura breathed a sigh of relief. “No chaos tonight, thanks to you guys. And you.” She smiled at Han, then wrapped Ryan in a hug as he carried another bus pan of dishes into the kitchen. He looked embarrassed and slightly worried, unsure what to make of this kitchen scene.

  Tina couldn’t blame him. For years he’d been told to avoid her and now she was standing in his mother’s kitchen, filling orders. “Great job tonight, Ryan.”

  He ducked his chin.

  Laura looked like she wanted to reprimand him, but Max changed the subject. “So is this the norm? When folks come to town for the lights or the lighting ceremony? Because I’m beginning to see why the light gig is so important if it pumps local businesses like it did tonight.”

  “Well.” Laura shifted a sympathetic look to Tina. “It was always busy during the light festival and the opening ceremony, but it was especially busy tonight because Tina’s café is gone.”

  “True enough.” Tina made a face, then sighed. “But I have to say, this was a lot of fun, Laura. Working with Han again. Pumping orders. It felt like old times.”

  The middle-aged Asian cook grinned. “Is very good, no?”

  “Is very good, yes!” Tina laughed at him, sharing an old joke, wondering why it felt so good to work with Han and Laura again.

  Sweet memories of what had been? Or longing for what could be?

  “Well.” She peeled off her apron, tossed it into the appropriate bin and stretched. “I’m heading out. This was fun, and if you need help the next few weeks, Laura, I’d be glad to step in. I’ll be right across the street at the hardware store, and if the light show brings folks like it generally does, the extra help might come in handy.”

  “You’d be over here every night?” Ryan’s sharp surprise said he might look like his grandfather, but he had a measure of his father’s rudeness.

  “Ryan!”

  “The busy ones, anyway.” Tina kept her voice level and met the boy’s frustrated gaze.

  “Hey, I’m not the one that called her names and shook his fist out the window for years,” Ryan defended himself. “Now Dad’s gone and all of a sudden she’s like our new best friend? What’s up with that, Mom?”

  Laura stared at him, mouth open. She started to speak, but he turned and rushed out of the kitchen. The slap of the back door said he was gone.

  “Tina, I—”

  Tina raised a hand to stop her. “Laura, it’s time we all moved beyond the past. I’m sure Ryan heard a lot of stuff over the years. He’s young. He’ll sort things out in his head soon enough. But in the meantime, you have a business to run and I don’t mind helping you. You’re my father’s sister. He loved you. My mother loved you. And I won’t pretend it didn’t feel nice—and weird—to be here again.” She shrugged. “Can’t we just take it a day at a time? I’ll come over and help as needed, and we’ll all take a breath. Okay?”

  “I’d like that, Tina. And if you want to use our ovens for anything—”

  “Like pies tomorrow morning?” She’d noticed the empty dessert cooler, and the thought of opening a restaurant on Thanksgiving with no pie seemed alien.

  Laura inhaled. “You’d do that?”

  “I miss not doing it, so yes. I’ll be here by six.”

  “I’ll meet you and make coffee,” Laura promised. Her eyes brightened. “Tina, thank you. I don’t know what other words to use because thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

  Tina jerked a thumb toward the window, where a side view of the church spire reached up into the trees. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. I forgot that for a while, Laura. But I won’t forget again. I promise.”

  “I’m so happy.” Han grinned but kept cleaning the grill, getting ready for closing time. “I will serve the best turkey tomorrow with the best pie. A true Thanksgiving meal!”

  “And while I’d love to wash dishes nightly, I must bestow the honor on someone else, although I hate to miss all the fun,” Max teased as he took their jackets off the peg rack and held Tina’s out. She started to reach for it, read his droll expression and slipped her arms into the sleeves, allowing him to help her.

  And when he rested his hands on her shoulders as if they belonged there?

  It felt like they did.

  He grabbed his leather gloves and opened the kitchen door. “Laura, Han, it’s been real.”

  Han grinned her way. “Very real with Miss Tina here!”

  “Thank you, Max. We’re grateful.” Laura included Han in her statement, and the Vietnamese cook nodded.

  “It is our pleasure to have you back here.”

  Han’s words touched Tina’s heart because she felt exactly the same way. It had been a pleasure to jump in, work with Han, run the kitchen she’d known for years.

  A thread of hope unfurled inside her.

  She paused outside and looked back, studying the lakeside eatery from the sidewalk.

  “You missed this place.”

  “You think?” She turned his way and lifted her eyes to his.

  “I know.” He stressed the verb purposely. “It was written all over you tonight. You jumped in like you belonged there, and watching you work, throwing those orders?” He shifted his attention to the restaurant, then brought it back to her. “You fit, Tina.”

  “I do.” She shrugged, and started to move away. “Well. I did.”

  He laid an arm around her shoulders, slowing her down. “Still do. You can pretend otherwise, but I know what I saw.”

  He was right. She knew it the moment she took her
place to Han’s left, like a dance she’d practiced and performed for years.

  Working with Han, hearing the hustle and bustle of the waitresses and Laura, the customers, the clang of dishes as Ryan bussed tables...

  She’d missed all that by working alone. The downside of being a one-man band was that you were a one-man band. The flow of a busy, well-coordinated restaurant, like she’d experienced tonight?

  That’s what she’d been raised to do, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until just now. “Well, I was raised there.”

  “There’s that,” Max mused. “And your inherent kitchen skills. All that baking I’ve heard so much about—”

  “I love baking.”

  “Can’t prove it by me,” Max retorted. “We’ve worked together for over a week and I’ve seen two measly cookies. Kind of lame, Tina.”

  She laughed, and it felt good to laugh. They got to her door, and she swung about, surprised. “That’s the first time I’ve passed the café site without getting emotional. I didn’t even realize we’d gone by.”

  “The company, perhaps?” Max bumped shoulders with her, a friendly gesture.

  “Indubitably,” she joked back, then looked up.

  His eyes...

  Dark and questing, smiling and wondering.

  He glanced down at her mouth, then waited interminable seconds, for what? Her to move toward him?

  She did.

  Would he ask permission? Would he—

  The warmth of his lips gave her the answer. His arms wrapped around her, tugging her close. The cool texture of his collar brushed her cheek, a contrast to the warmth of his mouth.

  He smelled like leather, dish soap and fresh lemons, a delightful mingling of scents in the chill of a Christmas-lit night.

  * * *

  Perfect.

  Max’s singular thought fit the moment.

  Holding Tina, working with Tina, kissing Tina?

  Perfect.

  He pulled her close when they ended the kiss and tried to level his breathing.

  No use. Being with Tina meant a ramped-up heart rate and accelerated breathing, which meant being without her, even for a little while, would equate a new low. “Well.”