by Irene Brand
“Cute comeback.” He grinned. “But don’t you want me to be honest too?”
“Of course.” Holly massaged her hands. “There’ve been so many times I’ve awakened in a cold sweat, dreaming of her. But in my dreams she remains at a distance. I can’t see her face. I suppose that’s because I’ve felt severed from her all these years. I’ve never understood the why of it. I mean, I was inside her, sharing everything. We were laced together for nine months with such intimacy, not like anything else on earth. We were both given life from the hand of God. Such a holy thing.”
Holly touched her abdomen with reverence. “If it had been me with the child, I would have made that baby my life. I could never leave such a treasure on a stranger’s doorstep.” She shook her head. “I just need to know why. It would help anyway. When my father found me that evening, I was dressed warmly for the cold night, and I was well fed. So, maybe my mother did love me. At least she had taken care of me. But perhaps she was ill, or dying, or just too young to understand what she was giving away.”
“And would knowing the truth about her make everything all right?”
“No, but it would help me understand her, and understanding is the beginning of healing.”
“But what if your mother’s reasoning wasn’t noble? What if she had been frivolous or selfish? What would you feel then?”
Holly looked at him. “I don’t know. I’ve thought of that before. Those scenarios. If one of them were true, I might not want to know. It might be better not to know.”
“But it would only reflect poorly on your mother, not you.”
“When it comes to family, though, sometimes we lack reason.” She slapped the flashlight in her palm. “The irrational mind runs amok.”
He sighed. “Yeah, it runs amok in my family too.”
“You have to understand something. Talking about the past feels like complaining. And I was so fortunate, really, to be placed in the hands of such a fine man. God ordained that Albert Goodnight should find me. He took me in as his daughter. I never wanted to say or do anything to upset our lives together. But we both need to talk about what happened. Perhaps it will help us take the sting out of the past, give us some kind of closure, and, well, help other people in the process. Women who are on this same journey.”
Van set his voice recorder on the rock and laced his fingers together. “You know, it’s not wrong to want to know the answers, Holly. It’s not whining. I would want to know too.”
“You would?”
“Of course.” Van nodded. “Do you ever wonder what would happen if you could alter your story in some way? Like a writer deleting a scene and then starting again?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what if you made an effort to find your mother? Would it make a difference? Change your life in some profound way?”
“It’s crossed my mind—a few thousand times. But if my mother wanted to see me, to find me, she could. I’m still in the same place where she left me all those years ago.” Tears stung Holly’s eyes, but she pressed her nose with the side of her finger—something she always did to keep her emotions in check. Owen’s suggestion about the cave had been a good one after all. It was easier talking in a cocoon than in a bustling coffee shop.
Van reached over and shut off the recorder. “That’s enough for now. I don’t want to dim those inner lights of yours with too many questions.”
“Inner lights?”
“I’m not kidding. You really do have some serious wattage going on. Since you’re a fairy and all, you’re sort of lit from the inside.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just being silly.”
“How so?”
“We’ve known each other for only a few hours. I’m not sure how you can—”
“I know my stuff. I’m telling you—you could walk into a dark room and light it up. Just as you’re doing right now.”
“Hmm. Inner lights.” She cupped her chin in her palm. “I don’t believe a word of it, but you’re more than welcome to go on.”
Van laughed. “You’re funny too.”
“Are you sure those aren’t lines you’re practicing for one of your novels?”
“I would never do that. Well, maybe I’ve done it once or twice.” His expression became somber. “But not now—not with you.” His hand inched closer to hers.
When Holly looked up, Van was gazing at her, and he seemed to be taking some serious notes with his eyes.
“Holly,” he murmured, “you have cave dust on your face.”
She chuckled. “Now that was a line.” Holly fastened her cape all the way up to her chin, and in the process loosened her hair clip. It dropped onto the rock, which made her hair tumble down around her face.
Van touched her cheek. His grin melted into one of those serious “looks”—like in a chick flick when the guy is about to kiss the girl.
“Are you flirting with me?”
His hand lingered on her face. “Depends on what definition we use. Have I teased you? Maybe a little. Am I toying with you? Merely amusing myself with you? No.”
Holly marveled at the way things had gone from descriptive to dreamy in a moment. She didn’t move, but she knew she’d have to back away. They’d just met, after all. They weren’t on a real date. Kissing was not allowed. There were whole guidebooks written on the subject, stored in a celestial vault somewhere.
Van lifted her chin. “I think you’re adorable.”
Holly’s breath caught in her throat. “It’s twilight outside. Maybe we’d better—”
“Some call twilight the blue hour,” Van said in a voice as otherworldly as his flute. “It’s that precarious time right after the sun has kissed the world good night and disappeared under the earth’s covers.”
“Oh?” Her voice jumped an octave. “What a fascinating bit of trivia.”
Van chuckled and leaned closer to her. “Your comments are adorable, Holly Rose.”
Repeat: you will not let your eyes drift shut. “Actually, I’ve been known to be quite the curmudgeon.”
“Curmudgeon is such an adorable word.”
“But it has the word ‘mud’ in it.” Holly opened her eyes wide and then hiccupped.
The spell broke.
Van lowered his hand. “You’re right.” He eased away. “I did get carried away, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Carried away did feel lovely, though.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Must be the altitude.”
Holly stifled a snorting laugh, but the faux pas wouldn’t have mattered, since the romantic interlude had hit a snowdrift. The air between them now was uncomfortable but necessary. Like wearing galoshes.
Holly sensed movement out of the corner of her eye and looked toward the opening of the cave.
Owen stood there, looking like a monster in the fading light. “Hey, you guys okay? It’s starting to get dark.” He stepped inside.
Holly felt like she’d been caught doing something naughty and jumped up from the rock. “Sure. We’re good. Fine.”
“Now there’s something you don’t see in here very often.” Owen pointed to the rock just above Van’s head.
“What’s that?” Van asked.
Owen grinned. “There’s a bat hanging right above your head.”
Chapter Seven
Owen covered his ears as Van let out a holler so egregious, so full–throttled it must have sent up a sonar vibration to the poor bat, which retreated to a safer part of the cave. Van fled outside and made an aerial leap into a brambly bush, which had thorns nearly the size of his aunt’s crocheting needles.
What drama. Actually, Owen felt sorry for the bat. But Van came in a close second, since his expression was particularly pitiable. Owen stepped out of the cave and reached down toward the novelist. “Hey, I’m sorry. You okay?”
Van looked around. “Well, amazingly, I’m still alive.”
Owen helped Van up and then flicked a few dead leaves off his coat
. “I had no idea you were afraid of bats.”
“Isn’t everybody?” Van asked.
The man had such an expression of incredulous horror on his face, Owen laughed.
Holly shot him a look like she was miffed. Mightily.
Owen shrugged. What had he done wrong, really, except to point out one of God’s furry creatures?
Van lifted a thorn out of his jeans. “If you guys don’t mind getting the flashlights and voice recorder, I’m heading back to the car. I think I need some quiet time.”
“Sure. We’ll be along in a minute.” Holly went back inside the cave, scooped up the gear, and came back out wearing an expression Owen couldn’t read.
When Van was well out of earshot, Holly’s face eased into a grin. “Okay, that was kind of funny, Quig.” She put up her hand. “But.” Her expression went stern. “It wasn’t excessively funny, mind you, since Van could have gotten hurt, leaping like that.”
Owen took the equipment from Holly. “I came out here because I got worried about you. I don’t know what possessed me to encourage you to escort a stranger off to an isolated place like this. Especially when it’s getting dark.”
“Oh, that.” Holly waved him off. “Van’s an okay guy. You didn’t have anything to worry about.”
“More of a bumbler than an outlaw, I gather.”
“I thought you liked Van.”
“Sure, but everybody knows writers are as stable as the Dow Jones.”
Holly chuckled. “We’d better go. There really isn’t much light left.” She headed down the path.
Owen followed her. “So, did he interview you for his book?”
“He did.”
“How did it go?”
“It’s going to be good, I think.”
Owen gave her shoulders a squeeze. He thought of their childhood. Their youth. All those years they’d been together. Best friends. And then he remembered, once again, a solemn promise they’d made concerning marriage when they were kids. Right inside Short Bottom Cave. He chuckled, thinking of the scene.
“Okay, what’s so funny now?” Holly glanced back at Owen.
“Do you remember the promise we made to each other when we were twelve years old?”
“Hmm. A promise. I vaguely remember something. What was it?” She slapped her hands together. “Oh, I do. I remember now. We made a vow that if we weren’t married by age thirty, we’d marry each other.”
“That’s right.” Owen opened a small gate, and after they passed through, he locked it back up.
“I remember something else. It was supposed to be a blood pact between us, but when we tried to prick each other’s fingers, you passed out.”
Owen halted on the trail. Guess I’m as lily-livered as Van. “I remember that when I opened my eyes, you slugged me and told me never to scare you like that again.”
Holly laughed. “Sounds like me.” She stopped on the trail.
Owen’s gaze followed Holly’s down the path toward their cars. Van’s silhouette could be seen running from a herd of cattle, but the beasts were so occupied with searching for grass that they hadn’t even bothered to send him an inquisitive glance. “Guess our novelist isn’t used to small-town life, being from Houston and all.”
“Guess not.” Holly released a moan. “What is Van swatting at?”
“Who knows? Some vicious blood-sucking gnats, no doubt.”
Holly grinned. “Yeah, except it’s too late in the season for gnats.”
Owen grinned back at her. “Hey, how about going camping one of these weekends?”
“Sorry. Can’t.”
“Fossil hunting?”
Holly chuckled. “One of these days we’ll do something fun. I promise. My mind is focused on the Christmas season right now—all the tourists. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know that.” He arched an eyebrow. Or was she thinking about one tourist in particular?
“And now I’ll have to take off extra time for Van’s interviews.”
Which was totally my doing, Owen reminded himself. “Listen, I know you’re working to build up your dad’s retirement fund. I wish you’d let me help—”
“No. He would think of it as charity—which it isn’t, I know. But he wouldn’t accept it.” Holly circled her arm through Owen’s as they walked. “You have the most generous heart of anyone I know, but I hope you can understand—”
“I’ve already put the money in a separate account. I want to do this for you both.”
Holly tugged on his sleeve, which meant she didn’t want to discuss the matter further.
“All right. I’ll stop. For now.”
“By the way, because of the national award, there’s a TV station in Springfield that wants to interview me. I’m sure it’ll help business. And Van’s book won’t hurt either. All of this might turn out to be a financial blessing for Dad.”
Owen patted her arm. “I’m glad about the interview. You’ll do great. I’ll go with you if you want me to.”
“Thanks.” Holly rested her head on his arm for a second. “Just so you know—I think I like Van. Enough to go out with him if he asks me. He’s got some germ issues, but he’s also fun and sweet-tempered.”
Owen smirked. “Are you sure you’re not talking about a beagle?”
“Very funny. I’m still going out with him.” Holly gazed up at the sky. “Look. There’s a light snow coming down. How unexpected.”
Indeed.
They stopped for a moment to enjoy the bits of swirling fluff and then walked on.
“So why don’t you ask Van out if you like him so much?” Owen was aiming for nonchalance, but he needed to know what Holly really felt for Van. At the same time he hated himself for his kamikaze fact-finding mission.
“Me? Ask him out?” Holly blew the bangs off her forehead. “I couldn’t possibly do that.”
“You used to ask me out when we were in high school.”
Holly snuggled a little closer to Owen. “But that situation was sooo different. We were just friends, and I knew you’d fill in if I didn’t have a date.”
“All right. I’ll tell Van to ask you out.” Owen shrugged but watched every nuance of her expression.
She jiggled his arm. “Don’t you dare tell Van to ask me out.”
“Okay. Well, you’ll see him a lot while he interviews you. Maybe you could just pretend those are dates.” Good grief, man. Talk about reckless. He warned himself that if he dug for information too deeply he might just bury himself.
Holly winced. “Talk about pathetic. To pretend I’m on a date.”
“It’s easier than you think.” And a lot closer than you can imagine. It was what Owen himself had done when they were teenagers, always pretending he was on a date with Holly—until he finally wised up and realized she just wanted to be friends. He’d made “friends only” his mantra since then, and it had been a comfortable and livable fib for a very long time. But lately the friendship route was getting littered with emotional debris. He cared for Holly beyond friendship, and someday soon he’d have to own up to it.
She looked at Owen with a curious air. “I know you’re joking. In fact, that’s one of the many things I love about you, Quig. You don’t have a fake bone in your body.”
Chapter Eight
Some weeks later, Holly found herself at one of the TV stations in Springfield, sitting in a fake living room, hooked up to a mike, and feeling woozier by the minute.
Okay, they said not to look into the camera. Oh, wow. How many cameras are there? Concentrate on the host. Don’t look nervous. Keep my legs together. She smoothed her red suit once again. Was red bad for TV? Maybe she should clasp her hands together to keep them from shaking. Repeat: do not pass out. Do not throw up. Holly wished she had taken Owen up on his offer to be there for support.
The host glided down in her comfy swivel chair like a swan folding its wings. She set her coffee mug down and reached out her hand. “Hi. I’m Savanna Cummings.”
“Nice to know, wel
l, meet you. I’m happy to be…” Holly forgot the greeting she’d practiced. Oh, great. Here came the meltdown, and she hadn’t even made it on TV yet.
“We’ll be on in a few seconds. Are you ready?” Savanna smiled, and the shine off her white teeth lit the studio.
“Sure. Kind of. Maybe not. No.” Holly meant to relieve some of the tension with a chuckle, but it came out as a burping hiccup. “I’m so sorry.”
“Relax. It’ll be fun.” Savanna shuffled through some papers on her lap.
Holly stared at her mug of water on the coffee table. Even though her mouth had gone dry, she didn’t want to pick up anything that contained fluids. Her shaky hands might slosh the water right out of it.
People in the studio got quiet, and then someone started counting downwards as if they were going to launch the space shuttle.
Suddenly Savanna came to life. “Welcome back. As promised, we have Holly Goodnight with us, the young woman who co-owns The Little Bethlehem Shoppe in Noel, Missouri, which was just voted the best Christmas shop in America.” Savanna turned toward her. “Congratulations, Holly.”
“You’re welcome.” Holly tried to smile, but the expression wilted when she realized she’d flubbed her first reply. God, help me!
“So I hear you won this honor because your customers sent in stacks of letters, praising your store and your service. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Okay, I’m on a roll. Holly latched onto the arms of the leather chair.
“Well, I know you and your father must be excited about this award. But what I think is even more interesting,” Savanna went on to say, “is the amazing history surrounding your shop—that when you were a baby, you were left on its doorstep on Christmas Eve. And the owner, Mr. Goodnight, found you there and eventually adopted you. Is this true?”
Holly opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Breathe, Holly. “I—uh—that is private information.” Was that too confrontational for live television? But how could they ask her such a personal question without warning?
“Well, we found the story in a very public forum, on the blog of popular novelist Van Keaton. In fact, we learned that Mr. Keaton will base his upcoming book on your story.”