If Only

by Lisa M. Owens

  Once in a while, Bree would call, and Karen only bothered to take her calls because she was concerned with her reputation. She didn’t want her loyal fans to know she practically loathed the sight of her own daughter. How would that look to her adoring public? A poet who spent her life writing poems about love and devotion not able to forgive the sins of her only child? Her fans would view her as a hypocrite, even though it wasn’t really true.

  Her fans couldn’t possibly understand. Her own daughter had conspired against her, betrayed her to the point where Karen could no longer trust her. Their relationship had been severely severed, and she honestly couldn’t see any way it could ever be made right.

  She observed herself in the full-length mirror and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length red hair, frowning when she discovered a smattering of gray near her temples. She made a mental note to herself to make an appointment at the salon she often went to, where she could quietly get her hair dyed back to its original color.

  She took excellent care of herself. Nothing was too good for Karen Rhoades. She went to an exclusive hairdresser, pampered herself on a weekly basis at a celebrity spa, lunched at all the local hot spots, and as required, spent a small fortune on keeping her face, figure, and body maintained. She had discovered the gem of plastic surgery, and she saw her plastic surgeon almost as often as she saw her personal assistant.

  What was wrong with keeping herself beautiful and youthful? If she had the resources to do so, she couldn’t see the harm in treating herself, rewarding herself. After all, she had a certain image to uphold. When it was all said and done, she did what she needed to do to make both herself and her fans happy.

  Picking an imaginary piece of lint off her thousand-dollar red business suit, she poked a diamond stud into her earlobe, admiring the twinkling gem in the mirror as she twirled around to inspect her reflection with a critical eye. She must admit, she did have expensive tastes. But if she could afford them, then what was the harm? It was one thing to have champagne tastes on a beer budget, but if you could afford the champagne, then what did it hurt?

  She sighed with annoyance as a knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for a reply from Karen, Janet Watson walked right in, carrying a tower of papers that nearly covered her face.

  Karen sighed loudly, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion. Her personal assistant had an irritating way of just barging right through the door, whether she wanted her to come in or not. Each and every day she was tempted to fire Janet, but she didn’t, knowing no one else would bother to put up with her attitude and temperament.

  “Nice of you to join me, Janet. Without permission, of course,” she stated, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

  “Your daughter is on the phone, Ms. Rhoades.”

  “Tell her I’m in the bathroom.”

  Janet responded, “You used that excuse ten minutes ago when she called. The tabloids will be saying you’re pregnant.”

  Groaning, she shook her head in refusal. “What excuse have I not used in a while?”

  As always, Janet was the voice of reason. “Bree knew you would be back in town today, and she has called for you three times already. Obviously, she isn’t going to give up. Why don’t you just talk to her and get it over with? Although, why you wouldn’t want to speak to your own daughter is beyond me.”

  Practically sticking her nose up in the air, Karen replied, “My reasons are none of your concern.”

  Janet shook her head and refused to say another word. She would never understand her employer. Even though she was only slightly younger than her boss, she was also divorced. But she had never been blessed with children. On her great list of regrets, that was the one that could never be changed. She just couldn’t understand why a mother would simply refuse to have any contact with her only child.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Karen rolled her emerald eyes and picked up the receiver. Clicking on the flashing extension, she spoke without any friendliness. “Yes, Bree?”

  At first she could hear nothing but silence on the other end of the line. Irritated that her daughter was simply wasting her time, she responded, “Either open your mouth and speak, or I am hanging up.”

  After a few more seconds, there was still no response. She was just about to hang up the phone when she heard her daughter’s hesitant voice. “Hello, Mother.”

  “I am a very busy woman. What do you want?”

  *

  What did she want? She was calling her mother with the most important news of her life, and her mother wanted to know what she wanted? Maybe a mother who was supportive, a mother who would actually be excited with her news might be a welcome change. A mother who would actually want to talk to her instead of simply tolerating her. She wanted her to be the kind of mother Bree herself wanted to be. She swore to herself then and there that to her child, she would be absolutely nothing like her own mother. She would love her child unconditionally. She would be loving, nurturing, and supportive. She would actually listen when her child spoke to her. She would be the kind of parent a child would be proud to have and not one her child would be ashamed of.

  Bree took a deep breath before she answered, “I know you are busy, Mother, but what I have to say is important.”

  Silence met her statement. She could almost imagine her mother at this very moment. Knowing Karen as well as she did, she would either be rolling her eyes or tapping her fingernails with impatience, ready to get Bree off the phone as soon as she possibly could.

  “I just thought you might want to know you are going to be a grandmother.”

  “And why on earth would I want to know that?” Her mother responded in a bored tone. “If I am not a mother, then how can I be a grandmother?”

  Bree heard an unmistakable click followed by the dial tone buzzing into her ear, not believing her mother’s gall.

  She released a strangled sound and tightened her hold around the white cordless telephone, which was still clenched in a death grip in her hand. Without thinking, she threw the offending plastic against the wall, her voice shaking as she shrieked, “That frozen, unfeeling bitch!”

  Watching in astonishment as the plastic shattered upon impact and realizing what she had done, she brought one hand up to cover her mouth.

  “I can’t believe I just did that,” she confessed as she looked over at Scott, shock etched on her pretty features.

  “Want to throw something else?” he suggested.

  Chapter 13

  Bree laughed as her husband threw a kernel of popcorn in her direction. She was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, threading cranberries with fishing wire while Scott was chaining together threads of popcorn. Or that was what he was supposed to be doing, anyway. It seemed like more popcorn was being thrown in her direction than being threaded. Her fingers were stained with cranberries, and popcorn was scattered all over the floor, but she was so happy she didn’t care.

  She ducked her head as a gentle shower of popcorn rained down around her. She dropped her mouth open in astonishment as he dumped the entire contents of his bowl over her head. Bree rolled onto her stomach and covered her face with her hands in an attempt to avoid the falling kernels.

  “No fair,” she sputtered as she spit out a piece of popcorn.

  Scott flashed her a boyish grin as he grabbed her and flipped her over onto her back. He gently straddled her, keeping his body slightly elevated with due concern for her condition. His hot breath fanned against the side of her face as he murmured, “What are you going to do about it, Mrs. Weston?”

  A flash of inspiration struck Bree and she grinned. Without a single word, she wrapped her legs around his muscled waist. Her arms encircled his neck, pressing her body against his. Her tongue snaked into the hidden depths of his ear, her wicked mouth gently suckling him.

  “Now look who’s not playing fair!” he complained.

  She laughed again as she reached for the now-empty bowl of popcorn. Handing it silently to Scott, she gave him a pointed look a
s she rolled over and reached for her bowl of cranberries.

  “Slave driver,” he muttered as he began picking up popcorn off the floor.

  “You made the mess, you clean it up,” she said cheerfully, a little too cheerfully. She was enjoying making him squirm, the little minx. He would let her have this one, he grinned to himself. But paybacks were hell.

  For the past two nights after work, they had come home, eaten a light dinner and then spent the remainder of their evening putting the finishing touches on their Christmas tree. What had started out as a simple job, however, had turned out to be not so simple. Of course, the first step had been to string the lights. And Bree loved lights. Scott had strung strand after strand of the colorful bulbs, grumbling good-naturedly the entire time.

  Then had come the decorations, and that had been a chore in itself because Scott was about as meticulous with the ornaments as Bree had been with the lights. Originally, they had only been going to use store-bought ornaments. But once all their ornaments adorned the tree, he had decided they should have some homemade decorations as well, which had led to the two of them threading popcorn and cranberries while Christmas music played in the background.

  Although she had to admit, she was having fun even though she had originally complained when her husband had come up with the idea.

  When she had threaded her final cranberry, she looked up at their tree before looking over at Scott, who was unfolding himself from his seated position on the floor. “Well, what do you think? Do we need more cranberries?”

  He shook his head as he handed her his empty popcorn bowl. He examined the tree with a critical eye, his chocolate brown eyes roaming over every branch, searching for holes that needed to be filled.

  “It’s perfect,” he declared as he reached out a hand to Bree. Pulling her to her feet, he pressed his body against hers. He could feel the beating of her heart against his chest. “Just like you,” he added as he kissed her on the lips.

  She smiled as she tugged affectionately on a lock of his brown hair. “Smooth talker.” She teased him as she placed the smaller empty bowl inside of the larger one and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, baby, would you grab me a soda while you’re in there?” Scott questioned with a grin as she rolled her emerald green gaze in his direction.

  “So that’s why you were sucking up,” she commented as he watched her enter the kitchen.

  Bree placed the empty bowls in the sink, running water in them and then turning off the faucet. Wiping her hands on a dishcloth, she reached for the handle of the refrigerator door. And that was the last thing she saw. Suddenly, everything went black as her eyes were covered.

  A strong hand clasped over her mouth.

  She couldn’t help herself; she began to panic.

  Her first thought was she was being sent back to her previous life, her life with Bryan. That thought scared the hell out of her.

  Bree didn’t want to go back there. She longed to stay here, with the man she loved. The man she had always loved. The man she would always love. She needed to stay here with the child she now carried, the child she had always wanted. The child she had always dreamed of. The child she already loved and already desired with a fierceness and a protectiveness that almost surprised her, even though she knew it shouldn’t. She finally had the life she had always wanted, and now she feared it was being taken away from her.

  She could hear a whispered voice in her ear, and she closed her eyes, struggling to block out the sound. She could imagine cruel words, horrible words, in her ex-husband’s voice, and she tried with everything in her to block that voice out. She didn’t want to go back there, she couldn’t go back there. She would rather die first.

  Then she had another thought. Maybe she wasn’t being sent back.

  With a blindfold covering her eyes and a hand clasped over her mouth, her options were limited. Bree struggled, flinging her arms wide, convinced if she was being abducted or attacked, she was going to do her damnedest to go down fighting. She had an obligation to Scott, an obligation to their child.

  Then she realized with sudden clarity it wasn’t her ex-husband’s voice she was hearing, and she released a deep sigh of relief to discover she wasn’t being abducted at all.

  Well, she was, but not by some stranger. Or a crazy person with a chain saw.

  Although he could sometimes be labeled as a crazy person…

  It was her husband’s voice whispering in her ear.

  Excitement laced Scott’s voice, making him sound like a little boy opening a present instead of a grown man with a surprise for his wife. “I have a Christmas present for you, but it’s a surprise.”

  She heard the sound of the refrigerator door closing as his hand was removed from her mouth.

  “You are out of your mind,” Bree grumbled as his hands gently grabbed her shoulders.

  Scott chuckled as he threatened teasingly, “I could always gag you.”

  He began to move her body forward, slowly guiding her. Her steps were slow and faltering, and since she was blindfolded and unable to see where she was going, she had to trust her husband to guide her in the right direction. Hopefully, he won’t walk me right into a wall.

  “Steps,” he informed her as she cautiously made her way down the four steps at the back of their house.

  Bree could hear the sound of her colored glass wind chime as she crossed the back porch. The hinge squeaked on the porch door as it closed behind them. Scott really needs to spray some WD-40 on that door.

  Then her ears picked up a strange noise. It was a sound she had heard before but not often enough to recognize. She strained her ears as she realized the distant sound was now headed toward her. It was getting louder and louder as it came closer and closer. She grinned when it finally dawned on her whose voice she had heard.

  “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”

  Then she heard another sound. Clop, clop, clop. Clippity-clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop clop.

  Clippity-clop, clippity-clop.

  “Surprise!” Scott exclaimed as the blindfold was removed from her eyes. It took a few seconds for her eyes to focus, and when they did, what she saw nearly took her breath away.

  She gasped out loud at the sight of an old-fashioned horse-drawn sleigh with two beautiful white horses leading it through the freshly fallen snow. She laughed when she recognized the man holding the reins. She would recognize the blue eyes hidden behind those bifocals any day.

  Where he had gotten it, Bree had no idea. But kindly, elderly Mr. Hampton was dressed in style. He was wearing a most impressive Santa Claus suit with crushed red velvet and big gold buttons down the front of his coat. White fur trimmed the sleeves, his neck, and the rim of his hat. A pillow had been shoved underneath the coat, giving the slender old man some added pounds that made her want to laugh out loud.

  A thick black belt with a huge black buckle was fastened around his newly thickened waistline, and in his hands he held a string of bells, which jingled merrily.

  Flakes continued to fall, covering their fresh tracks in the snow. As the sleigh was drawn to a complete stop directly in front of her, Bree looked at Scott in bewilderment.

  “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Mr. Hampton shouted as he shook the string of bells enthusiastically. “Santa comes bearing gifts,” the elderly man boomed, blue eyes twinkling behind the thick bifocals.

  She shrieked when Scott lifted her up into his arms. She was pressed against his chest as he carried her effortlessly across the frozen ground and placed her into the waiting sleigh.

  The sky was just beginning to darken, and snowflakes continued to fall, delicate visions of white dancing against the blackening backdrop.

  Scott was still standing, reaching behind the seat where she was sitting, when the sleigh suddenly began to move. He staggered almost drunkenly as it pitched forward.

  “Wait just a minute, Santa,” her husband called out, and the horses lurched to a sudden stop as he o
nce again reached around behind them. He pulled out Bree’s heavy winter coat along with her pink-checkered scarf and her purple gloves.

  “You planned this,” she accused with a surprised smile.

  “Guilty,” he confessed with a sheepish grin as he removed a large thermos and poured her a steaming cup of hot chocolate. “I was kidnapping you,” Scott explained. “And a kidnapper has to plan ahead,” he commented as he waved a bag of miniature marshmallows under Bree’s nose, taunting her before she quickly grabbed the bag from his hand.

  He shook his hand as he looked over at his wife. Responding to her questioning look, he explained with a mischievous look on his handsome face. “I was just making sure it was still attached,” he joked. “I also brought a blanket for later, if you should need it,” he offered.

  A playful twinkle lit up Bree’s emerald eyes as she slipped into her coat and snuggled against her husband’s chiseled chest. “I thought that’s what you were here for,” she quipped.

  At Scott’s discreet nod, the horses began to slowly move across the field of newly fallen snow. She closed her eyes and listened to the peaceful sounds surrounding her. She could hear the horses’ hooves crunching along the snow. This was a perfect idea. She couldn’t have planned this better herself. She couldn’t believe Scott had thought of it. Apparently, he knew her better than she even knew herself. He was such a hopeless romantic, and she was a lucky woman to have him as her own.

  Kissing her closed eyelids, he murmured, “You’re not going to sleep on me, are you?”

  She opened her eyes at the feeling of his lips on her skin and his deep voice in her ear. She shook her auburn head as his strong arms wrapped around her waist. Resting her head against his arm, she turned to find him staring at her with such an expression of love that she felt the sudden urge to cry with happiness.