“Brayden, it’s almost Christmas, the season of magic and dreams. We have each other, and that’s so much more than many others have.”
“Brayden, we have to be good or Santa won’t come,” Ally said, pleading with her brother with a hint of magic still in her eyes.
“There’s no Santa Claus,” he snapped. “You really need to grow up, Ally.”
“Oh, Brayden, I wish I could get through to you,” Whitney said before turning to her niece. “Santa is real, Ally. He’s magic and light and represents the good still in this world.”
“Whatever. I hate all of this,” Brayden shouted before he stomped from the room.
Whitney cringed when his bedroom door slammed loudly enough to shake the walls. But she took a deep breath. She could tackle only one problem at a time.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Whitney,” Ally said in between sobs.
Whitney dropped to her knees and pulled her niece into her arms.
“Oh, baby, it’s okay. I know how hard things are for you right now. Why don’t we forget all about this and make cookies?”
Ally gave her a watery smile and nodded her head.
“Is there really no such thing as Santa?” Ally asked with achingly innocent eyes.
“Of course there’s a Santa, and he won’t forget about you on Christmas morning,” Whitney told her.
“How do you know?” Ally asked, and then paused briefly in thought. “Why do bad things happen at Christmastime if Santa is real?”
“Ah, baby, the world is far from perfect, and bad things happen because people make wrong choices. And sometimes bad things happen even to good people, and we’ll never know why. But good things happen too, and that’s the magic and hope that we hold out for.”
“I want to believe that,” Ally whispered.
“It’s okay to feel happy, baby girl.”
“But Brayden says if I feel happy, then I’m forgetting Mom and Dad,” Ally said, another tear falling down her cheek.
“That’s not true, Ally. I loved your mother and father more than anyone else besides you and Brayden. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would break their hearts to know you were sad. They were never happier than when you and your brother smiled.”
When the smell of the cookies that the two of them baked didn’t bring Brayden out of his bedroom, Whitney decided it was time to face him again.
The boy was lying on his bed with his headphones cranked up so loud she could hear them from the doorway. Sighing to herself, she stepped into the room and sank down onto his bed. He tensed, but didn’t turn off his music or acknowledge her presence.
Whitney waited for him to turn the music off. She knew he would in a moment; he was simply making sure she knew he was angry. She was way in over her head with the two kids, but she had always felt that the sun and moon rose on the two of them. After a few minutes, he turned off his iPod and removed the headphones, but he still refused to look at her.
“I know how angry you are with the world right now, Brayden. I also know things haven’t been fair for you or your sister, but it’s almost Christmas, and for your sister’s sake we need to make it as special as possible.”
“What’s the point? Mom and Dad are gone. Why should we celebrate anything anymore?”
“I would trade my very life for them to be here with you,” she told him honestly. “But they are gone and we have to live our lives so they can look down on us and feel proud.”
“I wouldn’t want you gone, Aunt Whitney. I love you, I just miss them so much it hurts,” he told her.
She had to pull him into her arms — she couldn’t help herself. He let her hold him without resisting, but she knew that wouldn’t last long.
“I love you, too, Brayden. I wish we could all be together, but sometimes we have to work with what we’re given. For now, we really need to do whatever we can to protect Ally.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Can you come downstairs and join your sister and me?”
“Okay,” he mumbled.
For the rest of the evening, there were no more problems, but Whitney wasn’t foolish enough to believe the rough days were over. No. If anything, they were only just beginning.
Chapter Two
“Is this true?”
“Yes, sir. The letter came in today. It was verified. This was sent from your son’s attorney. The instructions were for the letter to be delivered one year from the time of his death. I’m so sorry for you loss, sir.”
“Why a year?”
“We don’t know, sir. Those were just the instructions.”
“I…this can’t be,” Frederick Felton gasped, and he leaned back into his chair. We were supposed to have more time.”
“Would you like for me to call Liam in here?” his assistant asked.
“Yes, please.”
Frederick could barely speak and was grateful when his assistant walked from the room.
He had two sons, and when their mother had died twelve years earlier, his oldest son, Vince, had left home, saying that his father was too cold, too stubborn and was the reason his mother had taken her own life. Vince hadn’t returned.
It had made Frederick look in the mirror, and he hadn’t liked the man he saw.
“Dad?” Liam’s look of concern told Frederick more than anything else how ill he must look at the moment. “What’s wrong?”
Frederick answered through a tight throat. “I have some bad news,” he said.
“I have a lot of work to do, Father. Maybe you should just spit it out,” Liam told him.
“I’ve messed up so many times in my life, Liam, and I’m sorry about that. I should have been more of a parent, should have shown you more love…”
“Dad, I really don’t have time for this,” Liam said as he began moving toward the door.
“Sit down!” Frederick thundered. Frederick spoke more evenly when next he opened his mouth. “Your brother is gone.”
Liam was quiet for several moments. “I know he’s gone. He left twelve years ago.”
“I mean that he’s died.”
Liam’s eyes widened for a moment before his expression blanked. “How did you find out?”
“We received a letter from him.”
Neither of them spoke for several tense moments as Frederick pulled out the letter and laid it on the desk. Then Liam moved forward, snatched up the letter, and quickly scanned the one-page note.
When he set the paper down, he showed the same shock on his face as his father had not too long before.
“Do you think this is true?” Liam asked “That this really is from him? It can’t be…” He knew he was grasping.
“Yes, son, the letter has been verified.”
“Then we need to find the children!” Liam was forceful in his words.
“I think this is the reason your brother didn’t want the letter delivered for a full year after his death. He didn’t want us storming in and uprooting them from their lives.” Frederick looked with sorrow at his surviving son.
“They are family. They should be raised here,” Liam insisted.
“Your brother clearly states in the letter that they will be raised by his wife’s sister upon their deaths. I’m sure he had an iron-clad will in place.”
Yes, Frederick knew he could get around a will. When a man had as much money as he had, there was nothing he couldn’t get. He was only saying the words to see what reaction his son would have.
“We both know that will means nothing. This aunt of theirs can’t possibly be able to take care of these children. She has no idea who they really are.” Liam almost sneered. “Or maybe she knows exactly who they are and is waiting for payday.”
“I want to meet them as well, my son. I’m an old man, and time is running out.”
“You’re only sixty-two. Your time won’t run out than any sooner than mine,” Liam said. He knew his father’s antics all too well.
“We’ll bring them here, meet them, and make sure t
hey know who they are,” Frederick told Liam.
“Good.”
Liam walked from the room, and his father leaned back. His heart was both broken and full of joy. Though one of his sons had been taken from this world well before his time, Frederick knew that he had two grandchildren, and with that knowledge, a new hope was blossoming.
Chapter Three
The insistent knock on the front door made Whitney’s hand fling out, and the flour that flew up coated her already disheveled hair and blurred her vision.
“Dammit!”
After lurching over to the sink, she scrabbled around until she found the washcloth and turned on the water as she tried to regain her sight. Just as her vision was beginning to clear, another knock sounded at the door, this one more forceful than before.
“Most likely a bill collector,” she almost growled. She tossed down the washcloth and made the short trek to the front of the house just as the oven timer went off. Was bad timing the story of her life? Oh well. She was sure whoever was at the door wouldn’t take too long.
The shocked gaze from the stranger now confronting her reminded her that she must not look her best. But who cared? There was no one in the universe who would call her a good homemaker, so at least with flour in her hair it appeared as if she were trying. If it was another visit from social services, maybe they wouldn’t threaten to take the kids away again.
“Are you Whitney Steele?”
Should she deny it?
The well-dressed man spoke with an accent she couldn’t place. This didn’t bode well.
“Yes.” Her tone of voice clearly told him to make it quick.
“I’m here to deliver a message if you have a moment.” The stranger seemed absurdly formal.
“I don’t have a lot of time, so I’d be grateful if you got to the point,” Whitney said. Her cookies were probably burning already.
“I’m here on behalf of Frederick Felton, the grandfather of your niece and nephew. He’s greatly grieved to learn of the loss of his son, and he wishes to see his grandchildren.”
Whitney looked at him for several heartbeats. What in the world was he talking about?
“Is this some kind of a joke? Because if it is, I don’t think it’s very funny. My niece and nephew have been through hell this last year, and they don’t need to go through anything else. I know for a fact that they have no other family. My brother-in-law said all his family members were deceased.”
“I can assure you, Ms. Steele, that the children’s grandfather is alive, along with their Uncle Liam, and they both wish to see the children.”
Her oven timer continued to beep, and she was torn. Should she simply slam the door in the man’s face and go back to her baking, or invite him in? Good manners won out.
“Step inside, please. I need to take care of that timer.” She turned toward the kitchen just as smoke began filling the air. Another batch of cookies wasted, dammit! She turned back toward the man. “What’s your name? I don’t believe you gave it to me.”
“My name is Mr. Smotter. I’ve worked for Mr. Felton for forty years,” he said proudly.
Whitney wanted to blast him with a brutally mocking remark, but she held herself back. “If you want to continue this conversation, you’ll have to follow me.” With that, she made her way to the kitchen to pull out the blackened cookies and switch on the oven fan. Once that was done, she turned back to the man who had reluctantly followed her.
“Ms. Steele, I don’t have a lot of time here. I would appreciate your attention,” Mr. Smotter informed her.
“Does it look like I have lots of time on my hands, Mr. Smotter?”
He looked away before meeting her gaze again. “I’m sorry to be so rude, ma’am. It’s just that Mr. Felton was unaware of his grandchildren until just a few days ago. He was quite devastated to learn of his son’s death, but elated to learn of the children. He would greatly like to meet them.”
Whitney stared at the man for several more moments and decided that he seemed to be speaking the truth.
“Why would I want to take my niece and nephew to meet a man their father obviously didn’t want them to meet?”
That seemed to throw the man before her off.
“I’m sure it’s nothing more than a family misunderstanding, one that can all be worked out if you meet in person,” he finally replied.
“Where does Mr. Felton live anyway?” she asked as she pulled out a chair at the kitchen island and sat down.
Mr. Smotter stood there stiffly. She didn’t offer him a seat. Hell, she didn’t want him staying long.
“He resides upstate New York.”
“That’s all the way across the country, Mr. Smotter.”
“It’s hardly across the planet, Ms. Steele a simple jet ride.”
“Jet? Are you freaking kidding me?”
“Mr. Felton would only provide the best accommodations of travel for his grandchildren,” Mr. Smotter said, and he sniffed with an upturned nose.
She took a deep breath before speaking again.
“I’m sure you have good intentions, Mr. Smotter, but seriously, there’s no way I’m taking these kids across the country to see some man they’ve never even heard of. For all I know it could be a trap.”
“I can assure you there is nothing underhanded going on. I have a packet of information here for you to peruse. You would be guests of Mr. Felton’s and of course wouldn’t be forced to stay against your will,” Mr. Smotter said. He was clearly affronted.
“I still don’t think we’re going to be taking any trips. Why doesn’t he come here himself if he’s so anxious to meet the children?”
That seemed to take Mr. Smotter aback for a moment, but he quickly recovered.
“I’ve been told not to return to New York without Mr. Felton’s grandchildren.”
“Well, I guess you’ll be moving to Oregon, then. I hope you’ll enjoy it here.” Whitney got up from her seat and began ushering him toward the front door.
“Ms. Steele, Mr. Felton isn’t in good health, and this may very well be his last chance to see the children. Please don’t deny him this — not after he just learned of losing his son,” Mr. Smotter said, appealing to her kind heart.
Whitney wanted nothing more than to throw him out without another word, but that wasn’t who she was.
“Okay, Mr. Smotter. I’ll look over your documents — I promise you. But you can tell your boss that I highly doubt we’ll ever meet.”
“Please, at least ask the children,” he said. “I understand you have guardianship over them, but this is their family as well.”
“I told you that I’ll think about it. If I feel that the children should hear about this, I’ll talk to them. They’ve been through a lot, though, and I don’t want to upset them any further. I can’t give you any more than that right now.”
“I understand, Ms. Steele. Please let me know your decision quickly. The holidays are approaching and Mr. Felton, as I told you, is in a weak state right now.”
She didn’t say anything further, just shut the door. She let out a deep breath as she leaned against the sturdy frame. She wasn’t in any way qualified to make the kind of decisions required for Brayden and Ally. She was only twenty-five years old, and it seemed as if something new happened every day, something confirming she wasn’t fit to raise her niece and nephew. She didn’t know what the right decision was.
Her baking was already a lost cause, so she sat back down at the kitchen table to look at the papers Mr. Smotter had left. She’d be completely irresponsible if she didn’t even look through the information. After all, if the kids did have more family out there, didn’t she owe them the chance to get acquainted?
A shudder ran through her as she looked through the paperwork. And then she went to her computer. Her fear intensified as she did her search.
The Feltons appeared to be from old money, and they were in no way hurting. They were multibillionaires out of New York, owners of a media conglomerate.
Who in the world had her sister married?
Why hadn’t Vince told Maxine where he came from? Was he ashamed of his family? Were they horrible people he hadn’t wanted his children to know? Whitney decided that she’d better try to find out a heck of a lot more before the kids got home.
By the time she was finished surfing the Web, she was sitting back in her chair and chewing her nails, wondering what in the world she was going to do. What if this family wanted to keep the kids because they decided she was unfit to raise them? Her niece and nephew seemed to be heirs to a great fortune. Wouldn’t they want to be a part of that life?
But didn’t the rich raise their children coldly, with nannies and in boarding schools? Weren’t her sister’s children better off being raised with love instead of wealth? She wished more than ever before that Maxine was there to guide her, to help her make the right choice. Of course, if Maxine were there, she wouldn’t be faced with this decision.
Finally, she decided that the best thing to do would be to ask the children what they wanted. If they really wanted to see their grandfather, then she’d take them. What else could she do? Her fear of losing them didn’t give her the right to be selfish and keep them all to herself. Life kept dealing her bad cards, but she’d do her best for her and the children to get through it all.
She heard the front door open, and laughter spilled from her niece as Brayden and Ally came rushing around the corner.
“Hi, Aunt Whitney,” Ally said.
“What’s that look for?” As Ally jumped into her lap, Whitney held her close to her chest, so afraid she was about to lose this beloved child and her dear brother.
“I have a present for you, Auntie,” Ally told her, giggling in her delight.
“Oh, that’s so wonderful! Do I get to open it now?”
“No, Aunt Whitney,” Ally said firmly. “You have to wait until Christmas morning.”
“Okay, sweetie, if I have to wait, I’ll wait,” Whitney replied before tickling her niece. She was fighting back tears as she prayed this wasn’t going to end anytime soon.
“Mercy,” Ally cried, and Whitney stopped. Then she directed her attention toward her nephew, who was sitting on the other end of the table and not looking at either of them.
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