They both jumped from the car and ran into the hospital. Colt slid to a stop at the front desk. “Mrs. Chase Jamison, Julie.”
The woman there smiled and peered at the screen before her. “Oh, yes, she’s on the second floor.”
“Thanks.” He made a beeline for the elevators with Val on his heels. When they reached the floor, they didn’t have to ask for a room number. Chase greeted them with a smile as wide as the Mississippi River across his face.
“She’s here. Chelsea Dawn Jamison has arrived.” He glanced at his watch. But on the phone, he just said she was in labor. No baby yet. He led them into the room where Julie held a bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. A pink cap covered the baby’s head.
Val’s heart raced at the beautiful sight before her. So much for first babies taking a long time to arrive. “She’s beautiful, Julie.” Val bent closer to observe the tiny girl who yawned and blinked her eyes before settling back to sleep.
Colt pumped his brother’s hand. “I can’t believe it. I’m an uncle. I’m so glad I’ll be around to watch her grow up.”
Val’s eyebrows shot up. He’d be around? “What did you just say?”
Colt moved to her side. “I said I’d be around to watch her grow up. I’m not going back to New York.”
A squeal escaped her lips, and she grabbed him in a hug. “For real? You’re staying here?”
He laughed and hugged her in return. “Yes, how could I leave the most beautiful women in the world?”
How good his arms felt, and his words sent her heart soaring. Then she remembered the baby and turned to the bed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make so much noise. I didn’t wake her up, did I?”
Julie giggled. “I don’t think anything will wake this little girl. She’s worn out from all the kicking she did before she was born.”
Julie’s parents burst into the room, and her mother rushed to the bedside. “We’re too late. I wanted to be here with you.” She hugged her daughter then gazed down at the baby. “She’s so beautiful. I can’t believe I’m a grandma.” She turned to her husband. “Come here and see this precious little girl.”
Mrs. Burns shook her head and teased Julie. “You never were one to waste time. When you started something, you got it done in a hurry. I see it was no different with giving birth. I’m sorry we’re late, but the traffic from Houston was terrible, even on the interstate.”
Val stepped back to the door to let the family enjoy this time together. Her mind still reeled with the idea that Colt was not going back to New York. She didn’t know what he was going to do here, but she didn’t care. All her hopes had risen to a new peak with his announcement.
Colt gestured for her to come to his side. When she did, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Isn’t she the most beautiful little girl you’ve ever seen?”
At the moment she was. Julie had turned back the blanket for her mother to see more of Chelsea. Her tiny hands curled around her grandmother’s fingers. Chelsea’s bud of a mouth made sucking sounds, and she blinked again.
Val’s breath caught in her throat. To her, birth was a miracle, and for the first time in many years, she had the hope that such a miracle would occur for her. Tears filled her eyes, and she sent up a prayer of thanks for what had happened this evening.
A voice from the door said, “I’ve come to see the latest addition to the Jamison family.”
Colt’s arm tightened around Val, and a choking sound came from his throat. “Mother?”
Mrs. Jamison stood in the doorway with Aunt Cora right behind her. Colt hurried to her and wrapped his arms around her, as did Chase. Val swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped tears from her cheeks. Aunt Cora smiled and nodded at Val. Her aunt’s prayers had been answered, and another miracle had happened right in this room. God sure had a lot of surprises for them tonight, and this was one of the best.
Chase and Colt stepped back, and Chase led his mother to the bedside. “Mom, meet your granddaughter, Chelsea Dawn Jamison. She’s going to be a real beauty, just like you.”
Julie lifted the baby up to Mrs. Jamison, who took her and cuddled her to her chest.
Colt turned to Aunt Cora. “How did you do this? When I left, she was ordering you out of her house.”
“I wouldn’t leave. I made her listen to me, and she finally realized what she’d be missing if she didn’t come. When I called Chase’s house, and they didn’t answer, I tried the hospital. That’s how we knew you were here.”
Mrs. Jamison swayed back and forth with the baby. “She’s so precious.” Then she nodded toward Cora. “My friend here hammered me until I gave in. I was so mad at her then, but now I’m glad she didn’t give up.”
Val hadn’t seen Colt’s mother for ten years, but her beauty was still evident in the perfectly coiffed hair and smooth-as-silk skin. Her smile now lit up her face and warmed Val’s heart toward the woman even though she’d been the cause of Val’s heartache. Two mothers, one doing what she thought best, and the other refusing to do what was best, had sent Val’s life into a tailspin. Tonight, neither could take away the joy of learning Colt would be here to stay.
Colt wrapped his arm around Aunt Cora. “This is the most wonderful Christmas present you could ever have given us.”
She blinked back tears and nodded. “She’s not ready to admit all her mistakes yet, but she’s on her way back to us, and with patience and love, I think she’ll come back completely.”
“One thing Val and I are curious about. What’s with the tradition of all the names beginning with C?”
Cora laughed and hugged Colt. “Sylvia and I both were in love with a boy named Charles. We decided, at age fourteen mind you, that all our children would have C names. We even made a list of them. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Colt grabbed Val’s hand and pulled her to the center of the room at the foot of Julie’s bed. “This isn’t the place I planned to do this, but I think it’s the best place and better than my original idea.”
Everyone in the room stopped, as did Val’s breath. Colt reached into his pocket and took out another black velvet box. He opened it and held it out to her. “Valerie Jean Murray, I love you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Every fiber of Val’s being sang with joy. The words she’d wanted to hear five years ago were just as sweet tonight. “I thought you’d never ask.” She held out her hand for him to slip the ring on her finger.
She threw her arms around his neck, but he turned her face to his and bent his mouth to hers. A cheer went up in the room, and Aunt Cora clapped.
Val heard, but the only thing that interested her at the moment was the man who held her and the promise for the future in his kiss.
Martha Rogers is a fourth generation Texan who has made Texas her home all her life. She is a retired teacher of both the secondary and college levels and now lives in Houston with her husband Rex, also retired. Martha and her husband are both active members at church where he is a deacon and she sings in the choir as well as co-leads a First Place 4 Health group. They enjoy spending time with nine grandchildren, a grandson-in-law, and a great-grandson. She is the author of several novellas as well as a series of historical novels. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and writes a weekly devotional for the group. She is also a member and treasurer of Inspirational Writers Alive! and Writers On the Storm, the Woodlands Chapter of ACFW. For more information, visit Martha at www.marthawrogers.com.
LIGHTS OF LOVE
by Lynette Sowell
Dedication
To Beth, Martha, and Kathleen: We’ve been friends for years, and I’m so glad we had the chance to work on this book together. I’m the only non-native Texan in our bunch, even though I did get here as soon as I could. Thank you for your big hearts and your friendship. You all inspire me in many ways, as writers and as women. May God continue to bless you, your families, and your writing as you use your gifts for Him.
To my own Mr. Christma
s: here’s another Christmas story. I love you!
Chapter 1
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.
ISAIAH 9:2 NIV
Order up, chicken molé, enchilada plate!” Gabriela Hernandez slid the chicken molé plate across the stainless-steel counter. She dabbed her forehead with the back of her sleeve. “Lookin’ good, Hector.”
The newest sous-chef at La Cocina del Rio grinned. “Gracias, Señorita Hernandez.” He bobbed his head, his teeth white on his tan face. “Next week, molé verde?
She shrugged and glanced toward the doorway to La Cocina’s office. “If the boss says it’s okay, but I doubt he will. Please, it’s Gabriela.”
“You’re boss’s daughter. Not right for me to call your name.”
“Okay then. Call me chef.”
“Sí, chef.” Hector continued plating. “Maybe one day Señor Hernandez will let you make the green molé.”
“Maybe. Until then, we stick to the menu.” Gabriela was proud of their newest sous-chef. He held promise. She liked his adventuresome way of plating food. Pop didn’t care much for it sometimes, but as long as a customer didn’t complain, he only raised his eyebrows and let them cook.
Another tray of Wednesday specials went out to the lunch customers who not only craved a mouthwatering Mexican meal but also wanted to eat that meal on San Antonio’s Riverwalk.
Gabriela smiled at the packed dining room lined with tables covering the terra-cotta-tile floor. La Cocina had been her second home since she was barely eye-level with the wooden dining room tables. The restaurant had plenty of little corners that made good hiding places.
One of the latest diners slid onto one of the chairs at a table for two. His back to Gabriela, he leaned on the table and glanced out at the narrow, winding river. He looked familiar, especially his tousled hair.
“Is he here yet?” Pop plucked her elbow.
“Is who here yet?” Gabriela switched to Spanish.
Hector slid another trio of finished plates in Gabriela’s direction. She nodded. “Order up, Maria!”
“The contractor, m’ija. I invited him here for lunch. I’m showing him the plans for our kitchen.”
“I don’t know. Did you ask Maria to watch for him?”
“Sí, I asked her to let you know. I want his order to be perfect because I want perfection from him when he starts our kitchen remodel.”
Gabriela froze, her hand poised over an enchilada plate. “You and Mom are redoing the kitchen now? When did you decide that?”
“Last night, after church. We had some ideas and found the contractor.” Pop beamed. “So it’ll be done by Christmas.”
“Christmas? That’s one of our busiest seasons here.” Gabriela didn’t know what Pop was thinking of. The restaurant demanded many hours of their time. No, it didn’t demand. Something you love didn’t demand. It lured them, day after day, and Gabriela was happy to give in.
She garnished one of the plates with her latest creation, deep-fried, thin strips of tortilla. “Here you go, Maria.”
Their hostess, wearing a simple white blouse and festive embroidered skirt, grabbed the tray. “Gracias. Oh, Señor H, your contractor’s here. Table Eight.”
Gabriela glanced in that direction. The dark-headed stranger, seated solo at a table for two. “Who is it?”
“He has high recommendations and does good work; plus he’s trying to expand his business.” Pop patted Gabriela’s arm. “Show him our best.”
The ringing phone in the office clamored for someone’s attention, but Pop headed for the dining room. Aunt Celi would answer it, efficient as always.
Gabriela went back to the blur of the lunch rush. Hector didn’t miss a beat, even when they ran low on fresh tortillas and another of the prep cooks had to roll out some fresh dough.
Aunt Celi emerged from the office. “Gaby, your mama’s on the phone.”
Was it something about Tommy? Her brother had been complaining of back pain again last night at supper, after he returned from physical therapy. She took the phone from Celi.
“Mama? Is everything okay? How’s Tommy?”
“Tomás is fine, he’s fine. Did your papa tell you about the kitchen? Oh, I’ve always dreamed of a new kitchen.”
“But now? I mean, Thanksgiving is next week, and we’re having dinner at Aunt Celi’s—” At this, Aunt Celi grinned, the same grin that Pop had. She’d followed him from Mexico forty years ago and never looked back.
“Yes, now.”
“But our Christmas dinner … plus Mark and Hayley want Christmas at their abuelo and abuela’s.” Her nephew and niece always brought a ton of laughter to the family.
“We’ll be done by the twenty-third.”
“Are you sure? I mean, contractors always take twice as long, and people end up always blowing their budgets.”
“My worrywart. Don’t worry. Your papa has everything planned, and if anyone can squeeze a penny and make it squeal, he can.” Her musical voice had chased away many a nightmare when Gabriela was a child.
“I hope so, Mama.”
“But you’ll be moving out soon yourself anyway.”
Gabriela bit her lip. “I’m pretty sure I will.”
“What does that mean? Aren’t you going to buy a house? I don’t see why one woman needs a whole house for herself, especially if—”
“I know, especially if I’m not seeing anyone, or married, or …” She hadn’t meant her reluctance to move out to show through, especially since she’d talked about her plans for the last couple of years after culinary school. Finish her business degree then buy her house. She’d finished the degree, but found herself in the restaurant kitchen yet again.
“Mi corazón, all in good time.”
Something crashed behind Gabriela. “I know.”
“And you must go. My cell phone’s ringing, and I think it’s your sister. So we’ll talk more tonight.”
Gabriela placed the phone on the counter’s edge, closest to the office, and hurried back to the worktable. Something smelled burnt. She followed the scent to the chile roaster and found a cluster of blackened poblanos.
She dashed to the prep sink with the chili peppers. Time to quit thinking about the kitchen at home and focus on the business here. One bad plate of food, one dissatisfied customer, and Pop’s reputation was at stake. La Cocina del Rio was their livelihood.
Gabriela turned on the faucet and stuck the burnt chili peppers under the running water. Being here wasn’t a bad thing. She’d ended up at La Cocina after culinary school, and Pop paid her well. The money in her savings amounted to a tidy sum, and instead of a house, Gabriela envisioned something far greater.
La Cocina del Mercado. She’d already scouted for a possible restaurant location close to El Mercado, blocks away from the Riverwalk yet close to another San Antonio attraction. The Mexican marketplace drew plenty of visitors.
But she kept wondering about the diner, the contractor Pop had just sat down across from, even as she peeled the charred skin from the poblanos.
Miguel Rivera took a long sip of sweet horchata water. He never tired of the taste of milk, sweetened rice, and cinnamon blended together with ice. His mama used to make it the same way, and he’d hover around the kitchen while she mixed up the beverage.
He tried to contain his excitement, feeling almost like a kid again. Getting the contract for the Hernandez’s kitchen remodel would help Rivera Remodeling end the year in the black, if barely. For his first year in business, not bad. Not at all. He was surprised when Tommy’s father approached him the other night at church.
“Señor Rivera,” Juan Hernandez had spoken as if to a business equal, “I understand you do kitchens.”
And so after a few minutes of conversation, they agreed to meet for lunch today to talk more about the project, or so he hoped. He needed one more project for the year. Pablo, his friend and fellow contractor, told him busin
ess usually screeched to a halt from November through January.
Miguel perused the menu and ordered the special, beef fajitas, knowing whatever he ate at La Cocina would be delicious.
Gaby was working today back in the kitchen. He’d glimpsed her once at the pass-through window, her serious face focused completely on the food going out on trays to customers. A strict planner like her father, but with a warm side like her mama. Maybe she still had that warm side, but he hadn’t seen it in a long time, and since his return to the fold, she seemed to steer clear of this formerly lost sheep as much as possible. Not that he blamed her.
“You’ve ordered?” Señor Hernandez took the seat across from him. He placed a manila folder on the table between them.
“Yes, the special.”
“It’s on the house, as they say.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I insist.”
“Okay. Well, what do you have in mind for your kitchen? Give me your ideas, and I’ll give you an estimate. Of course, it depends on the materials you want for cabinets, countertops, sink, and floor, and if you want to use the appliances you have now or buy new ones. And your budget.”
“Ah, I see. And my Rita isn’t here. She knows what she wants. But I can tell you the floor plan, where our appliances are.” Mr. Hernandez scratched his chin and frowned.
Miguel opened the portfolio on the table and showed him the graph paper with small cutout pieces to arrange and form kitchen layouts. “Show me the layout. I’ll need to go by your house and take measurements.”
“Sí, sí, of course you will.” Mr. Hernandez looked intently at him for a moment, and Miguel fought the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. Maybe he was changing his mind about the whole idea.
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