Kids by Christmas

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I was an Army Ranger. Got out after I was wounded in Kuwait.”

  “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He shrugged those broad shoulders. “No reason you should. So. What did you hear from the agency?”

  Agency? For a moment, she was blank. Then her whole reason for coming here returned as if floodgates had opened, and she felt foolish.

  “They called to ask whether I’d consider two children. A sister and brother. I met them today for the first time.”

  “Really? Two?”

  Since he didn’t sound disapproving, she said, “The boy—Jack—is seven and his sister is ten. Their mother had MS and died recently. The father has been skipping on child-care payments and was apparently happy to relinquish his parental rights.”

  “A real great guy.”

  “Isn’t that awful? He didn’t care at all.” She marveled at the notion. How could he not love his own children?

  “So, what did you think?” Tom leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, looking as if he was really interested.

  “I fell in love with them,” she admitted. “The caseworker tried to warn me to take it slow, but… This just feels right. They feel right. They need me.”

  He was quiet for a moment. She could feel his gaze on her face, although as always she didn’t meet his eyes. In fact, she didn’t know quite what color they were. Not particularly blue, like Sophia’s, or a rich chocolate-brown, like George Clooney’s—either she’d have noticed. So something in between. A color she’d have to study to identify.

  “Is that why you’re adopting?” he asked. “Because you want to feel needed?”

  “I suppose that’s part of it.” Did he really want to know? “But also…I like kids. I want a family.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. Too polite, she diagnosed, to ask what other people had: Why didn’t she just find a husband, like most women did, and have children in the normal way?

  Or perhaps that wasn’t what he was going to ask, because he likely knew quite well why she wasn’t all that excited about finding a husband. He’d known Josh, had heard the hateful things he’d yelled at her. And the pitiful things she’d screamed back at him.

  The memory had her surging to her feet. “They’re coming tomorrow to see the house and so we can get better acquainted. I need to do some tidying, but I wanted to tell you in case you saw them tomorrow, and because…” She hesitated. “Because you ask. And I was excited, and wanted to tell someone.”

  He rose, too. “So I was handy?”

  Did he sound a little hurt, or was she imagining things?

  “No, because you always seemed interested. I’ve appreciated that.”

  “Oh.” Apparently mollified, he nodded. “I like kids.”

  “You do?” The surprise she felt could be heard in her voice, and she blushed.

  “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Oh, I didn’t think that,” she babbled, edging toward the door. “Just that I don’t know anything about you, and you don’t have kids of your own—” She slammed to a stop, both physically and verbally. Oh, God. What if he did?

  As if he’d read her mind, he said, “No, I don’t, but I’ve always figured I’d have my own someday.”

  She almost blurted, Really? but stopped herself in time. Thank goodness. She’d already tromped on her own toes until they should be black-and-blue. She didn’t have to compound her tactlessness.

  Grasping the doorknob, Suzanne said, “I really had better run. But if you happen to be home tomorrow when they arrive, please come and say hi.”

  He bent his head. “I’ll do that.”

  He’d followed her to the door and now reached over her head to open it, which meant he stood so close to her she could feel the heat of his body. She knew, if she lifted her gaze just a little, she’d see the individual bristles on his chin, his mouth—which she’d never looked closely at before—and even the color of his eyes. Instead, she backed away without once letting her gaze rise higher than the strong column of his throat, stumbled over the doorjamb because she wasn’t watching where her feet were going, said, “Good night,” and fled, her cheeks blazing.

  Grateful for the darkness once she’d left his front porch, she pressed her hands to her cheeks. What on earth was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if she was totally lacking in social skills!

  But the funny thing was, Suzanne was glad she’d gone. She thought he really might have been hurt if she hadn’t. He’d seemed genuinely interested in hearing about Jack and Sophia.

  And…she now knew something about him. Only a little, but it was a start.

  Of what, she didn’t let herself wonder.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TOM WAS SHAKING HIS HEAD in amazement when he shut the door behind Suzanne. He’d never thought he’d live to see the day when she actually sought him out. She was so scared of him, she jumped two feet every time he approached her. He’d always pretended he didn’t notice, figuring someday she’d get over it, but that hadn’t happened.

  What he didn’t know was whether she was afraid of all men. She had reason to be gun-shy after being married to that son of a bitch. The fights weren’t even the worst of it; what had really galled Tom were the constant putdowns. Summer evenings, with the windows open, he’d heard plenty.

  “You’re not going out, looking like that,” the guy would say, with a sneer in his voice. Or, “Can’t you even have goddamn dinner on the table when I get home? You can’t keep the house clean and you’re a lousy cook. What did you do all day? Sit around and knit?”

  Tom had been out dividing perennials the day she had greeted her husband at the door to tell him that she’d sold her first original knitting pattern to a company that published them. He still remembered how her face had shone with delight.

  “Big whoop-de-do,” the bastard had declared. “What’s for dinner?”

  That beautiful glow had gone out, as if her husband had thrown a rock and broken the bulb.

  Tom had wanted to punch the SOB, and despite his special unit training, he wasn’t a violent man.

  When things had got too loud, he’d called 911. He’d been scared for her. He’d fought his every instinct to intervene, because he’d known that he would make things worse. Josh Easton wouldn’t have liked another man telling him how he could treat his wife. And he was just the kind to take his anger out on her.

  What Tom had never known was whether her husband had hit her, too. Tom had heard enough crashes during their fights to be afraid he had. Once he’d seen bruises on her face when she’d left the house. He’d told himself there could be an innocent reason for them but hadn’t believed it.

  Tom had never been happier than the day he’d come home to see half the household possessions piled in the driveway. A man’s clothes and shoes in a jumbled pile. The TV, VCR, stereo system, recliner… Tom didn’t know how she’d managed to haul the heavier stuff out, but she’d been more generous with the creep than he’d deserved.

  Tom also didn’t know how she had held onto the house, but was glad she had. Josh Easton was nobody Tom wanted as a next-door neighbor.

  Six months after the SOB was gone, she’d marched out one Saturday morning and painted over the Easton on the mailbox. A couple of hours later, the black paint dry, she’d used a stencil and white paint to put Chauvin in its place. When she’d finished and seen Tom in his yard, she’d said, “I’m divorced,” and marched back in her house, head held higher than he’d seen it since the day he’d bought his place and moved in next to her.

  He hadn’t known then how to say Good for you, not without letting on that he’d heard and noticed more than she probably wanted him to have. Maybe someday, he’d figured, when they got friendlier. No reason they wouldn’t, now that she didn’t have a husband who didn’t seem to like her talking to anyone else.

  But Tom had realized shortly thereafter that Suzanne was still skittish around him. When he directly addressed her, she’d gaze in his direction w
ithout ever really looking at him. He had to be careful how he approached her because she startled easily. Like the other night, when she’d banged her head on the trunk of her car just at the sound of his voice.

  It seemed to him she’d loosened up just a little lately. She’d seemed really glad to have her brother reappear in her life, and she apparently had a new brother-in-law, too, who had introduced himself one day while the two women had been chatting. Kincaid. Mike…no, Mark Kincaid. Tom had seen her hug him casually a couple of times.

  He knew she dated once in a while, too, although none of the men ever came around for long. So she wasn’t afraid of all men. Or else she hid it better around most of them than she did with Tom.

  The why would likely remain a mystery to him. He didn’t look like her ex, who had been sandy-haired, handsome and charming. None of which applied to Tom, who had dark brown hair, didn’t know how to be charming and who had never been called handsome, even by his own mother.

  But tonight Suzanne had actually come to his door and had even sat on his couch. She still hadn’t met his eyes, but she’d talked to him. He might have even been the first to hear the kids were coming over tomorrow to scope out her house. And she’d invited him to say hi to them.

  Tom had intended to run errands tomorrow, but to hell with them. He’d stick around until the kids had come, find an excuse to be out in the yard so he could meet them, maybe be out in the yard again after they left in case Suzanne wanted to talk some more. Tell him how the visit had gone.

  Taking his plastic-covered dinner out of the microwave, he issued himself a warning. For God’s sake, the woman was afraid of him! She wasn’t likely to go from that to wanting to share his bed.

  His bed? Who was he kidding? Suzanne Chauvin was a marry-or-nothing kind of woman if he’d ever seen one.

  Nope, stick to admiring from afar, he told himself.

  But he was still going to be out there tomorrow, both to meet the kids and because he’d decided he liked Suzanne the day she’d hauled that son of a bitch’s stuff out to the driveway.

  MRS. BURTON DROVE a rattle-trap of a car, even worse than Suzanne’s. It gasped and coughed as she pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine.

  Suzanne hurried out even before the car doors had opened. After the foster mother laboriously cranked her window down a few inches to greet her, Suzanne smiled. “Thank you so much for bringing them. You take your time with your errands.”

  “I’ll do that.” She fixed a stern gaze on Sophia and Jack, who had come around to Suzanne’s side of the car. “You two do what Ms. Chauvin asks you to do, hear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Burton,” they chimed, heads swiveling as they tried to see the yard and house and street all at once.

  “I’ll be back around two-thirty.” She rolled up her window again and backed out of the driveway.

  Glad it wasn’t raining today, Suzanne said, “Do you want to see the yard quick before we go in?”

  “Sure,” Sophia agreed.

  Jack nodded. His eyes were wide and he was sticking close to his sister.

  Suzanne led them toward the back gate. As she did so, Tom’s garage door began to roll up.

  He stepped out and glanced their way as if surprised to see them, which didn’t fool Suzanne for a minute.

  “Your visitors are here, eh?”

  “Yes, Sophia, Jack, this is my closest neighbor, Tom Stefanec.”

  They both nodded shyly.

  He smiled at them, once again startling Suzanne. Had he always looked so kind? How was it she’d never noticed?

  “Good to meet you. Suzanne is excited about you coming.”

  “I’ve been sitting by the window for the last hour,” Suzanne admitted.

  “We could have come sooner,” Sophia offered. “But Mrs. Burton kept saying no, that we’d said one so it was going to be one.”

  “She probably didn’t want to take me by surprise.” Suzanne opened the side gate. “Mr. Stefanec was nice enough to mow my lawn this fall. My mower wasn’t starting.”

  He looked over the two kids. “You two ever mowed before?”

  They both stared at him, their heads shaking in unison. “We never had a yard before,” Sophia told him.

  “Might be a good chore for you to take on.”

  “Jack never had chores,” Sophia said with a sniff. “I did everything.”

  “Did not!” her little brother protested, if quietly. “I helped, too!”

  “Did not,” she repeated under her breath.

  He smouldered.

  Laughing, Suzanne laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. Here, you’ll both have to help, because we have the whole yard and house to keep up.”

  “Well, I’m glad I met you,” Tom said again. “Suzanne, you let me know if I can help haul anything you’ll need for the kids with the pickup.”

  Letting the kids go ahead into the backyard, she turned back. “Really? You’ve been so nice already about the lawn….”

  “You didn’t ask. I offered.”

  She smiled at him, thinking again what a nice face he had. “I can get mattresses delivered, but I’ll probably scour thrift stores for other furniture. Just in case I buy something too big for my car, I’d really appreciate it if you’d pick it up for me.”

  “Glad to.” He nodded toward the excited voices that came from around the house. “You’d better catch up with those two.”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip. “Thank you.”

  His answering smile was friendly, his stride relaxed as he walked away.

  She’d felt really comfortable with him there for a minute, as if they were old friends. Shaking her head in bemusement, Suzanne headed into the backyard.

  Jack was standing under the apple tree staring up at the gnarled dark branches, bare of leaves at this season. “I could climb it.”

  “Do you like to climb?” Suzanne asked.

  He stole a shy glance at her. “I never had a tree. But I like the monkey bars at school.”

  “When he was real little, he climbed on top of a dresser and freaked Mom,” Sophia said. “And he used to get out of his crib. I remember that.”

  “In the summer, I eat out here sometimes,” Suzanne said. “The patio furniture is in the garage. But we can go in that way.”

  The sliding door led directly into the dining area and kitchen. The kids crowded behind her, craning their necks again.

  “It’s not very big,” she began apologetically, before seeing the expressions on their faces.

  They looked as excited as if her modest house was a mansion.

  “Pretty.” Sophia touched the quilted runner on the table. “You even have flowers.”

  She’d bought the bouquet on impulse at the grocery store yesterday, a spray of showy blooms in yellow and lime-green and hot-pink. They weren’t fragrant the way flowers from her own garden were, but Sophia was right. They were pretty.

  “And here’s the living room.” Suzanne trailed behind them.

  Sophia sat briefly on the sofa and bounced. “Your TV is little.”

  “I don’t watch very often.”

  She received two identical, dumbfounded stares.

  “Mom had it on all the time.”

  “But she was bedridden, wasn’t she?”

  “She didn’t ride anything.” The ten-year-old looked at her as if she were stupid.

  “I mean, she was in bed most of the time. So she didn’t have much else to do.”

  “I guess not.” She lost interest. “Can we see the bedrooms?”

  “You may.”

  She’d expected them to race down the hall. Instead they went slowly, wonderingly, Sophia touching the frames of pictures she had hung on the wall, then hesitating for a moment before turning into the first open doorway.

  This bedroom was at the front of the house and was slightly the larger of the two.

  “I used to store yarn in here, until I opened my own yarn shop.”

  “Can it be mine?” So
phia asked. She turned in a circle, taking in the bare, off-white walls, the empty closet, the scuffed wooden floor.

  “You haven’t seen the other one yet.”

  “I like this one.”

  “Then if everything works out, this one will be yours.” Suzanne smiled at Jack. “Let’s go look at the one right across the hall.”

  She could tell he didn’t want to leave his sister, but he did follow Suzanne. “I’ve used this one for my guest room,” she told him, “so it already has a bed in here. You’d probably want a twin size instead, so there’d be more space to play in here. And for a desk and a dresser and…”

  He’d gone directly to the window and looked out. “I can see the tree. It’s practically touching the glass! I like this room.”

  “I’m glad. If you could pick any color for the walls, what would it be?”

  He turned, thin face serious. “Green is my favorite color in the whole world.”

  “I like green, too.”

  Sophia jostled past Suzanne. “This room is way cool, too!” Her eager gaze turned to Suzanne. “Can we decorate our own rooms the way we want?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

  “If you decide to adopt us,” Sophia said, “can we decorate our bedrooms the way we want?”

  “Within reason,” Suzanne agreed. “What’s your favorite color?”

  She pursed her lips. “Um, let’s see. Some days purple is. And some days pink.”

  Pink and purple. Well, that was reassuring. Suzanne had half expected her to say orange and black. At least in this way, she marched in step with all the other girls her age.

  “You two would share the bathroom next to this room.” They followed and she pushed open the door.

  “My bedroom.” Suzanne continued the tour, letting them wander to her dresser and look at the framed photos, stroke her coverlet and the hand-knit salmon-colored throw that lay across the foot of the bed, and rock experimentally in the maple-and-caned rocking chair that sat on a rag rug by the window. They even peeked in her bathroom.