by Meg Maxwell
As Clementine was about to leave, she saw Lacey coming up Blue Gulch Street in her long skirt and cowboy boots and the tan suede jacket. Lacey stopped and turned around, and Clementine was pretty sure she was going to keep going in the other direction, but then she turned around again and came inside.
Clementine sat down and smiled at Lacey, and Lacey gave a tight smile back and came over to the table.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Clementine said. “I know it’s not easy for you.”
Lacey sat down. “I would love a cup of coffee. I hear the pumpkin spice is really good.”
Clementine nodded. “It is. The peppermint mocha too.”
If Lacey could only talk coffee flavors, then Clementine would talk coffee flavors. That was fine. It was finally fine.
They walked to the counter and both ordered the pumpkin spice. When the barista handed Lacey her cup, Lacey took a sip and said it was as good as she’d heard.
“I can’t stay,” Lacey added. “I’m...sorry.”
“That’s all right,” Clementine said. And it was. “I hope I’ll see you tonight at the children’s Christmas show. You were such a big help.”
“I’ll be there,” Lacey said.
She had no doubt Lacey would come and sit on the aisle in the row of chairs closest to the door. Sometimes, you really did have to let people be who they were, take them on their terms. Sometimes, those terms were unacceptable, like Logan’s. It all depended. Clementine understood that now.
“And I hope you’ll come to the Christmas buffet at Hurley’s on Christmas Eve,” Clementine said as she walked Lacey to the door. “Phoebe and I will save a spot for you at our table. But I’ll understand if you can’t come.”
Lacey smiled and hurried away. For the first time ever, Clementine watched her birth mother walk away without feeling bereft or wanting something out of reach.
* * *
At high noon, Logan sat in the stands at the Stocktown Rodeo, watching an old rival—not the rival, though—trying his best to stay on Desperado, a gorgeous black bull who had tossed the past three riders on their butts. Logan wore sunglasses and his Stetson, not wanting to be recognized, whether as Logan Grainger, three-time champ or worse, as the Handcuff Cowboy.
He wasn’t even sure why he’d come. He’d woken up this morning with Clementine’s face, the pain in her eyes, the things she’d said...you’ve chosen bitterness over love...and he’d called Karen to take care of the boys today since they were out of school for the next two weeks and then he’d driven out to Stocktown.
He’d passed through Tuckerville, purposely driving past the steak house where he’d taken the con-woman a bunch of times. Driving past the hotel where he’d been betrayed like a chump instead of a champ. Driving past the hospice and then the foster home where he and Clementine had met Phoebe for the first time. Mrs. Nivens had been on the porch again, a bunch of kids sitting around her as they decorated Christmas stockings.
Then he’d driven to Stocktown and bought a ticket to the rodeo, sitting through all the events, from bronc riding to steer roping to bull riding. The rodeo clown had made him laugh and fear for the guy’s life; the job took guts and skill and had his full respect, despite what Phoebe’s former foster mother had thought.
“That’s my boy coming out next,” the man one seat over from Logan said, nodding in greeting. “Bull rider. He’s never lasted eight seconds, but he keeps trying. Gotta hand it to him.”
Logan nodded back, glancing at the middle-aged man wearing a tan Stetson. “Not easy. I used to ride. Nice of you to come out and support your son. Some parents get nervous about seeing their children, full-grown adults, on bulls and stay away.”
The man’s brows furrowed. “Well, I do worry about him, but I don’t get to see him otherwise. We’ve got our problems. Never seen eye to eye. But up here, I can just be his father, you know? No talking, no fighting, no arguing.”
Up here I can just be his father.
Logan turned to face the man, something inside him shifting. He imagined Clyde Parsons up here event after event, watching his biological son on the back of a bucking bull, thinking for those eight seconds, I am Logan’s father.
He suddenly understood why Clyde had come to his events. Why he’d spoken so proudly about him to Phoebe. Why he’d saved the scrapbook of Logan’s accomplishments. He understood why he’d written the letter.
Clyde Parsons had done wrong and had tried in the ways he could to make it right by putting those one and five dollar bills in the PO box week after week for eighteen years. Then, when he knew he was dying, he had to make amends with his own heart, mind and soul, and the child he’d walked away from. So he’d said his I’m sorry in the letter, a goodbye in lieu of ever having said hello.
It hadn’t been a grenade dropped in a life or a terrible parting gift. It had been a true I’m sorry that I couldn’t and wouldn’t.
“Call your son after his event,” Logan said to the man. “Tell him you’re here. Tell him you’re proud of him, that you love him. You don’t have to say anything else.” He stood up and headed toward the aisle.
“Maybe I’ll do just that,” the man said.
“No maybe,” Logan said. “Just do it. Could change two lives today and your entire future.”
He left the stands and headed for his car. He had a Children’s Christmas Spectacular to get his boys to. Then a woman to see. To try to right some wrongs of his own.
* * *
The town hall community room was standing room only for the Blue Gulch Children’s Christmas Spectacular. When Logan and the twins arrived, their counselor waved Harry and Henry over and hurried them backstage. He looked around for an empty seat, hoping to avoid the back rows so he could have a decent view.
“Logan! Up here.”
He glanced in the direction of Phoebe’s voice. She was waving from the front row, all dressed up in her shepherd girl costume. He walked over to her and she pointed to a sign she’d made with his name on the center seat. A nicely drawn lasso was on either side of his name.
“I saved you the best seat,” she said.
He smiled at her. “I owe you one. Thanks.”
As he looked at Phoebe, he saw a sweet nine-year-old girl who happened to be the stepdaughter of his biological father. Which made her his kid stepsister. Now, it felt like more than just a truth, a fact. It just was. And it was finally okay with him.
“Wait till you see how adorable Harry and Henry are in the show,” she said. “They’re singing in two different ensembles and they’re onstage often as background ranchers.”
He couldn’t wait to see them in their first Christmas show. “I know they’ve loved the rehearsals. Thanks for being such a good friend to them.”
She smiled. “Well, I’d better get backstage. See ya.”
The lights blinked to indicate that everyone should take their seats, then Clementine came onstage, looking so beautiful in a red dress, her long brown hair loose around her shoulders. She thanked everyone for coming and talked a bit about how hard the kids had worked and how wonderful it was to work with them. Then the lights dimmed even more and Clementine hurried down the stage steps...right to the empty seat beside him. Well, it was empty except for a stack of folders.
“Oh!” she said, clearly surprised. She picked up the folders and that’s when he saw a sign with her name on it. Hearts were on either side of her name.
“Phoebe saved the seat for me,” he said, drinking in the sight of her. “I didn’t realize she put me right next to you.” I owe you, again, Phoebe.
“Ah.” She sat down and they were so close he could smell her shampoo. Their knees bumped once, and she shifted over.
“I could move to the back if you prefer,” he said, unable to drag his gaze away from her profile.
She glanced at him, clearl
y uncomfortable having him so close. “No, of course not. It’s fine.”
The curtain rose and he could tell she was relieved not to have to make awkward small talk with him.
For the next forty-five minutes, the Christmas Spectacular was equal parts moving, funny, serious and beautiful. The youngest groups sang “Jingle Bells” without a hitch.
When the curtain closed, there was a standing ovation and the kids came out onstage for a bow, Clementine joining them. Many parents and kids gave her roses and bouquets of flowers, including Harry and Henry, who’d taken the wildflowers they’d picked from their property backstage with them when they’d arrived.
Finally, the room began clearing out. Phoebe was chatting animatedly to a bunch of girls who’d been with her in the show, and the twins were playing a board game in the children’s play area, so Logan took the opportunity to speak to Clementine alone. She was straightening chairs in the back row and picking up the few “Playbills” some people had left behind.
“Hey,” he said, setting a chair back into position.
She whirled around, the flouncy hem of her red dress swishing at her knees. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve got it.”
“My pleasure after all you’ve done for Harry and Henry with this show. Remember a month ago when they couldn’t get past the first two words of ‘Jingle Bells’?”
She smiled. “They sure did come a long way.”
He nodded. “I thought I’d take the boys out to Hurley’s for a celebratory dinner. I was wondering if you and my stepsister would like to join us.”
She froze, staring at him. “Logan Grainger? Did you just refer to Phoebe as your stepsister?”
“I went to the Stocktown rodeo today and had a few realizations as I sat in the stands. One is that Phoebe is my stepsister. She just is. Clyde Parson was my biological father. She was his stepdaughter. That makes her my stepsister. But you know what? Regardless of how we’re connected, I happen to thinks she’s an awesome kid.”
“I happen to think so too,” Clementine said, her beautiful brown eyes misty.
He reached up a hand to her face, unable to take his eyes off her. “So we’re on for dinner?” he asked. Her heart necklace lay just above her barest hint of cleavage. She was stunning, whether in her Hurley’s waitress apron or this red dress.
“We are on,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against his hand.
* * *
As dinner with the Grainger men and Phoebe wound down, Clementine chatted with the boys over the crumbs of their chicken fingers and fries about their favorite parts of the Christmas show. Logan was deep in conversation with Phoebe about the kind of dog she hoped to adopt from the animal shelter tomorrow. She wanted a cute mutt, any color, maybe on the small side. She’d know the right one when she saw it. Clementine absolutely agreed.
“So Clyde was allergic to animals, huh?” she heard Logan say to Phoebe.
Clementine’s head popped up from the placemat she was holding down so that Harry and Henry could draw on it with crayons. She stared at Logan, this man she loved so much, and knew his heart truly had opened.
“Yeah, but there was a dog shelter just a few blocks away from our house, and Clyde arranged for me to volunteer there in the puppy room even though just walking into the shelter made him sneeze. He’d wait in the front area while I played with the puppies. Sometimes the staff even let me name them.”
“Clyde sounds like he was a good person,” Logan said.
Phoebe nodded. “He was. I wish you could have known him. He told me that he’d made a lot of mistakes when he was younger that he regretted and that I should always do the right thing, even if it was hard.”
Clementine watched Logan, saw him take that in.
“Well that’s really good advice, a good way to live,” Logan said, his blue eyes untroubled.
Phoebe smiled. “You know, it doesn’t feel as bad to talk about him the way it used to.”
Logan slung his arm around Phoebe. “I know just what you mean.”
Clementine feared she was about to burst into happy tears so she excused herself to bring out a surprise. She went into the kitchen and loaded up a dessert cart for her table to choose from, a perk of being a Hurley and head waitress, not that she was working tonight.
“I’ll babysit tonight for you,” her gram said as she stirred a big pot of potato leek soup at the stove by the window.
“Babysit?” Clementine repeated, wheeling the cart over to Essie.
“Every time I peeked through the window on the door to the dining room, I saw you and Logan Grainger looking at each other like a couple madly in love.”
Clementine blushed. “Well, I’m madly in love. I don’t know where he stands. He’s come around as far as Phoebe is concerned, with their family connection, but I’m not sure he believes in love and happy-ever-after anymore.”
“Oh really?” Gram said, bringing Clementine over to the window on the door. “That’s love right there.”
Clementine smiled as she watched both Grainger twins sitting on their uncle’s lap as he pointed out the different desserts available on the menu. Phoebe had scooted close and whatever she’d said had made him laugh.
“Love is love,” Gram said. “Logan just didn’t know that before.”
Hope dared bloom in Clementine’s heart. Her grandmother was never wrong.
* * *
At nine o’clock, Clementine sat on the big leather couch in Logan’s living room, waiting for him to come downstairs from putting his nephews to bed. Earlier at Hurley’s, as they’d had coffee on the porch while the kids played in the front yard, Logan said he’d like to talk to her in private, and she’d told him her grandmother had offered to babysit Phoebe, so he’d invited her over. Now, here she was, everything in her on red alert as she waited for him. Would he tell her he was still unable to give her what she wanted: a future with him?
Finally he came downstairs and sat down beside her. “The scamps are asleep. The play and dinner tuckered them out.”
She smiled. And waited.
He turned to face her, taking her hands in his. “Clementine, last night you asked if you should give up on me, if we had a future. I couldn’t even answer you. But now I can. Can and will.”
She held her breath, waiting.
He took her hand. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, Clementine Hurley. But I was scared spitless of how much I felt for you. I’m not anymore. I love you. And I want you to be my wife.”
She gasped. “Oh Logan. I loved you from the moment I met you. And I want to be your wife.”
“So I guess that means you’ll marry me,” he said. He pulled a little velvet box from his pocket and handed it to her.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them, sure this had to be a dream. But Logan was still sitting beside her, love shining in his eyes. And there was a ring box in her hands. She opened it, and a beautiful antique diamond twinkled at her.
“Will you marry me, Clementine?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I will.”
He slid the ring on her finger. “In the coming days, I’d like to talk about us formally petitioning to adopt Phoebe. I know there are some complications, and of course, we’ll need to talk to her first about it. But I want us to be a family. You, me, the boys and Phoebe. Officially.”
Tears came to Clementine’s eyes. “I think Phoebe would love that. And so would I.”
He kissed her, then picked her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs. “You told me more than once that sex meant love. Well, my love, I can’t wait another second.”
She smiled and tilted her face up to kiss him. Neither could she.
Epilogue
Christmas Eve dinner at Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen had also turned into an e
ngagement party for Clementine and Logan. The Hurleys and the kitchen crew were taking turns working tonight, Clementine and Dylan, the eighteen-year-old line cook and single father of sweet baby Timmy, were on the first shift with Gram. Georgia and Annabel were on second shift, and so the first shift bunch were now sitting down with their plates.
West Montgomery and Nick Slater were both helping serve on the buffet line, Clementine’s handsome brothers-in-law both wearing Santa hats. Logan and Phoebe had waited for Clementine’s shift to be over before heading over to the buffet, but the twins had already gobbled up their fill and were now in the children’s play area, coloring.
Clementine glanced at the beautiful Christmas tree in the corner of the dining room by the big window. She smiled as she thought of the tree in Logan’s living room; he’d invited Clementine and Phoebe to come help trim it today, and Clementine had brought over some extra ornaments. But when Phoebe took a small box from her backpack and pulled out two red-and-gold ornaments with her name on one and Clyde’s on the other, Clementine wondered how Logan would react.
“Could I hang these on your tree?” Phoebe asked. “I think Clyde sure would like that.”
“I think he would too,” Logan said. “And so would I.”
Phoebe looked like she might burst with happiness. She’d carefully hung the two ornaments side by side, high up enough that two active little three-year-olds couldn’t reach them, and then stood back and admired them. Then she’d turned and wrapped her arms around Logan and he’d hugged her back.
“Merry Christmas,” he’d said to her.
“Merry Christmas,” she’d said back.
Afterward, Logan had mentioned to Clementine that he’d like to put the money Clyde had left Logan in an account for Phoebe, to be turned over to her on her eighteenth birthday. Clementine had agreed it was a lovely idea.
Clementine glanced at the two of them now; Logan was next to Clementine and Phoebe next to him, and he was explaining the history of gumbo, which he loved, and what all was in it. Phoebe wasn’t sure she wanted to try it, but finally agreed to take a spoonful, then rushed over to the buffet to get her own bowl, which earned her a laugh and a told you from Logan.