A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances

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A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances Page 4

by Melinda Curtis


  Lizzie gave him a big squeeze. “Lizzie luv Unka Ted.”

  The stress, the doubts, and the body aches eased. Ted kissed her cheek. “Love you, too, hot stuff.”

  “We’re not a family of slackers.” Mom caught Ted’s eye. “Abigail can work a shift with Chloe tomorrow.”

  Ted should have been happy at this show of solidarity. Usually his mother sided with Abigail and her high school demands to carry a light load. But he’d been looking forward to working with Chloe again.

  All in the name of closing the mill sale, of course.

  Abigail huffed. “It’s a holiday weekend. Frank’s home from college and I haven’t seen him.”

  That explained his younger sister trying to get out of work. Ted's spirits felt as worn down as their twenty year-old back-up tractor. “If Frank wants to see you and Lizzie, he can come by the house.”

  But that was just it. Frank didn’t come to the house. He was in his second year at Boston College, and had moved on from Abigail as far as Ted could tell – not that Abigail saw it the same way. Frank only called when he came home, and Abigail – ever hopeful that her undying love for her high school boyfriend was reciprocated – cleared her calendar and held her breath, waiting for his call.

  And Lizzie? She barely recognized Frank on her birthday and at Christmas, the two occasions Frank’s family deemed it necessary he see her.

  “Luv Unka Ted,” Lizzie crooned, giving Ted a sloppy kiss on the cheek that warmed his heart.

  Ted hitched Lizzie higher in his arms. Babies having babies was bad news, but who couldn’t love such an adorable little girl?

  “I need to buy Lizzie new snow boots,” Abigail announced as Lizzie held out her hands to Uncle Ben.

  Ben gathered the tyke in his arms and did a bouncing jig across the barn floor that made Lizzie giggle. “Unka Ben! Unka Ben!”

  “You can buy them on your break.” Ted hated himself for adding, “Just make sure you buy them using your bank account.” Because his mother was taking care of Lizzie while Abigail was at school and because of his father’s injury, subsequent back surgery, and lengthy recovery, Ted had needed to hire more harvest workers this year than they usually did. Money was tight.

  “We can afford to buy Lizzie shoes,” his mother chimed in, accepting Lizzie’s request to be held. Her once sleek blond hair was dull and frizzy. She hadn’t been to the beauty salon in months. “I’ll make tarts tonight and some candied apples. That should pay for them.” Her gaze softened apologetically. “And Ted, the pharmacy called today. Our payment is late.”

  “Slipped my mind with the holiday,” Ted lied, ignoring how his shoulders cramped at the reminder. He’d been hoping for strong weekend sales to pay for his father’s expensive pain medications. There was hope in that, at least. “I’ll drop it by tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of overdue,” Uncle Ben said. “My work truck needs an oil change.” The old man hadn’t driven his truck since first snowfall. And probably wouldn’t drive it anywhere but to have an oil change until the last snowfall.

  A ball of resentment landed in Ted’s gut, squashing his patience. “Does anybody else need anything? New television? New car? New cell phone?” Ted gripped the rim of an apple barrel. “We’re not a caviar farm. We sell apples. We make apple-sized profits.”

  “You’re such a drama king.” Abigail rolled her eyes again. “All I asked for was a pair of snow boots for Lizzie. She grew out of last year’s pair.” She stomped out in the teal, fancy leather snow boots she’d insisted she needed a few weeks ago.

  Uncle Ben shook his head and followed.

  “Really, Ted.” Mom tugged Lizzie’s snowsuit pant legs down. “You shouldn’t be so tight with our money.”

  Look at the books! Look at the bills! Look at the bottom line!

  The words pressed at the back of his throat. But Ted said nothing.

  ~*~

  Chloe was too wired to sit still. She paced through the house long after she’d come home from the mercantile.

  Apples. Who knew she’d be excited about selling apples?

  Especially when she’d sold apples with Ted.

  She’d never been involved in a business that dealt with kids before. They were shy and quick to laugh. They were sticky and wore the most absurd holiday clothes. For the first time since the car wash went under, Chloe didn’t feel like a loser. Because of magic apples!

  “Hey,” Marnie called from the front door. “You didn’t bring in the mail.”

  Because she’d been dreading bad news. News she didn’t want Marnie or Noelle to know about. She should have manned up and checked the mail.

  Chloe hurried to the living room, hand outstretched. “I’m expecting something. I’ll sift through it.”

  “No need. I’ve been handling Dad’s mail for a while. Besides, I’m expecting something, too.” Marnie flipped through the stack. “That’s weird. There’s a letter here for Dad from a bank in Boston.” Slowly, she raised her gaze to Chloe’s. “Don’t tell me. Dad co-signed your car wash loan.”

  Chloe snatched the letter from Marnie. “I won’t tell you.”

  “If he co-signed the loan and you default, the bank could lay claim to his assets – the house, the wedding chapel – ”

  “The mill. Don’t worry. I’m working on it.” Chloe was so behind on working on it, she felt sick. “I had some money come in today.”

  Marnie put her hands on her hips. “You worked for Ted Lincoln. Everyone in town is talking about how great you are.” She injected “great” with a supersized shot of sarcasm. “But you couldn’t have made enough to put a dent in your debt.”

  “The bank repossessed the car wash business, okay?” Wounded pride lifted Chloe’s voice. Guilt brought it crashing back down. “I didn’t just close it down. The bank took it back.”

  “So why the letter?”

  Chloe scanned the contents. Just as she’d been told, she had thirty days to settle the account or they’d put a lien on Dad’s properties. “Because the value of the car wash chain, according to the bank, doesn’t meet the amount of the loan.”

  “Your business is under water?” Marnie tossed her hands, turned her back on Chloe, and then came full-circle to face her. “By how much?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars.” Just saying it was paralyzing. Not that she had to say it to be frozen. She’d been incapable of moving forward since the bank had taken possession of the car wash business weeks ago. “I’m broke.”

  “Sell the mill to Ted. Right now. Don’t be greedy and bargain for more money to start something cockamamie again.” Marnie sank into the sofa. “You should have told us. Our inheritance is at stake. If you’re broke, why don’t you declare bankruptcy?”

  “If I go that route, I’ll never be able to buy another business again.” It was why she’d desperately continued to throw good money after bad at the end of the summer.

  “There’s no shame in working for someone else.” Marnie shook her head slowly. “Heck, I’d hire you. Noelle would hire you.”

  Chloe dropped the letter on the coffee table. “For minimum wage and part-time.”

  Marnie’s disapproving frown roped around Chloe’s chest and squeezed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re working for Ted for minimum wage and part-time?”

  “I’m paid a commission.” Chloe rushed on before Marnie could say anything else. “By how many magic apples I sell.”

  “Magic apples?” Marnie leaned back against the cushions. “This sounds like Jack and the Beanstalk, except there is no goose that laid a golden egg.” She blinked, looking as if she might cry. “You can’t do this to us, Chloe. It’s not fair.”

  “I’m going to fix things before it goes that far. I promise. Thirty days, just like the letter says.” Once more, Chloe felt like the biggest failure in the family. But there was a chance she could make things right. “I’ll go see a real estate agent to list the mill on Monday.” She’d already reviewed some commercial realtor profiles online. All she needed
was a fast cash sale.

  “I’m not going down with you, Chloe.” Marnie stood, her words as hard and bitter as an unripened green apple. “And neither is Noelle.”

  Chapter 5

  Teddy didn’t work the booth with Chloe on Saturday. Abigail did.

  Perhaps he’d sent his younger sister as a punishment. Unfortunately, it was Chloe who was being punished.

  Abigail had stomped in and shed her jacket, revealing she was dressed for summer and seduction in skinny jeans and a black spaghetti strap top. She was too thin, all blunt angles and sharp features. Her dark brown hair was straightened into a fine silk curtain and her eyes were lined thicker than a raccoon’s. The teenager slouched over the cedar counter making love to her cell phone, and treated every customer like an unwanted interruption.

  Hour One: sales sucked.

  Chloe couldn’t afford to be here and not make money.

  Hour Two: Chloe waffled between high anxiety and high empathy.

  From what she could see of Abigail’s screen, she was checking out one young man’s social media accounts: Frank Farasi, who was cute, but there were no recent updates as far as Chloe could see.

  So Chloe spent half of Hour Two wanting to wring Abigail’s pretty little immature neck, stuff her in the space beneath the sales counter, and steal her suede and faux fur, to-the-knees, teal snow boots. The other half of Hour Two, Chloe wanted to take the teen out for hot chocolate and ask her why she was letting one boy sour her life. Her situation could be so much worse. Foster care. Hunger. A lack of stylish footwear.

  Hour Three: Chloe’s patience had worn thin.

  “If you give me your salary, Abigail, you can get out of here.”

  For a moment, Abigail looked tempted. She blinked eyelashes so thick with mascara it was a wonder they didn’t stick together. “You’d double-dip?” Her tone turned fang sharp. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  Why should Chloe be surprised Abigail had the Lincoln barbs in her adolescent arsenal?

  Chloe’s smile never dipped. She was, after all, a veteran of Lincoln skirmishes. “I don’t see a problem if you spend your working hours on social media.” She tried to soften her words. She really did.

  At least, she hadn’t done the girl bodily harm and stolen her killer boots.

  Abigail stuffed her cell phone in her back pocket, and spent the next thirty minutes scowling at everyone, including Chloe. She must have learned that mulish expression from Teddy.

  “You’re scaring the clients away,” Chloe said when the third family in fifteen minutes veered away from their booth. “Are you sure you don’t want to work in security at the Mistletoe Five and Dime? You’ve got the scowl down.”

  “You’re so not cool.” All that teenage disdain had to be draining. It sucked the holiday cheer from the booth. It made Chloe feel as pointy as the star upon the Christmas tree in the town square. “I mean, I thought because you had juggling skills you’d be cool.”

  If Chloe had still been that little girl who was desperate to be included in any kind of relationship, she might have plucked Abigail’s barbs out of her skin and laughed. But Chloe wasn’t desperate for affection, she was desperate for money. “And I thought because you were pretty on the outside and came from a good family that you’d be pretty on the inside and wouldn’t cheat your brother like this.”

  Abigail turned away, crossing her arms over her skinny chest. The thunderously bitter expression was replaced by a tremulous lip and watery eyes. “You don’t know anything.”

  Add biotch to business failure on Chloe’s resume. “I’m sorry. I let your teenage angst get to me.” A sure sign of age. Chloe spotted a family with two young children headed their way. She grabbed three apples. “Do me a favor and smile for this one.”

  Abigail’s pointed chin came up. “What’ll you give me?”

  “Respect.”

  Abigail smirked.

  Chloe should have known that wouldn’t work. “Fine, I’ll…I’ll teach you how to juggle.”

  “Okay.” Abigail spoke with mulish reluctance, but she smiled. With teeth and everything.

  And oh, surprise. She didn’t have fangs.

  ~*~

  “You can’t do that.”

  Ted picked out Chloe’s voice above the crowd before he could see the apple booth or even Chloe’s bright red curls.

  “Stand back and watch me.” Abigail’s attitude-filled response snapped to the high ceiling.

  Ted shouldn’t have left Chloe alone with Abigail. She could be a handful. He wouldn’t have done so if he hadn’t received a call from an organic store in Brunswick that wanted two crates of apples and was willing to pay a premium if he delivered them today.

  He pushed his way through the crowd, barely registering the apples looping through the air. But it wasn’t Chloe doing the juggling. It was Abigail.

  His sister was performing at beginner speed, simultaneously tap dancing without much grace, given she wore those snow boots she loved so much. But she didn’t drop any.

  Abigail caught all three apples, bowed to the round of applause, and pointed to Chloe. “Beat that.”

  “Well, I can’t dance.” Chloe gave Abigail a judging smile. “But I can juggle five apples.”

  The crowd gave an appreciative ooh.

  Chloe picked out five McIntoshes, balancing their weight in her hands. And then she let them fly, one after the other in rapid succession. Most likely, shoppers watched the steady movement of her hands and the high circular motion of the apples. But Ted was mesmerized by the look of intense concentration on Chloe’s face – the light in her blue eyes, the flush to her cheeks, the way the tip of her tongue touched the corner of her mouth.

  “Who’s ready to make a wish?” Chloe called out.

  Several shouts of me filled the air, along with hands shooting up.

  “Catch!” Chloe dealt out apples like a Black Jack dealer dealt cards. To a small boy, a teenage girl, a tall dad, a spry-looking grandma, and Ted. “Make a wish,” she shouted over the delighted shrieks and applause of the crowd.

  She and Abigail moved behind the counter, where brown bags of apples were tied with red ribbon. The rush to buy was so great, it took Ted several minutes to work his way behind the counter.

  “You didn’t make a wish,” Abigail said accusingly when she saw his pristine apple.

  He didn’t believe in eating perfectly good merchandise. “You two were awesome. When did you learn how to juggle, Abs?”

  Abigail gave him one of her rare smiles. “This morning. It’s really easy. Chloe has the best ideas.”

  “Can we sing Kumbaya later?” Chloe half-teased. “There’s a line.”

  Ted pitched in to help.

  Thirty minutes later when the line died down, Max Healy, the manager of the mercantile, showed up. Max really bought into the holiday. He wore a gray sweater with a tree that lit up. “Love the act, ladies. Can I count on that at least twice a day on weekends?”

  “Sure.” Abigail glowed, waiting until Max moved away to release a little squeal. “This is so cool.” She hugged Chloe. “I’m a performer.”

  “A rising star,” Chloe agreed. Her jean-clad legs looked long beneath a green chunky sweater.

  “Did you buy Lizzie’s boots?” Ted asked, not because he wanted to get rid of his sister, but because he didn’t want to show up at the family dinner table without them.

  “Shoot. No. Can I go now?” Abigail reached for her jacket without waiting for approval. “I’ll be back to help close.” She darted into the late afternoon, thinning crowd.

  Chloe palmed three apples, surveying the passersby.

  Ted took a quick inventory. “You sold all the baked goods?” And nearly all the apples. There were only about twenty at the bottom of one barrel.

  “It’s another great sales day,” Chloe said matter-of-factly. “Someone asked if we had apple dolls that look like Elvis. Not that I’d recommend you add that to your inventory, but apple elf dolls might move.” She stepped out
into the aisle and began to perform. “Hey, folks. Learn how to juggle with magic apples from Santa’s Orchard.”

  In no time, they’d emptied the barrel.

  “Don’t forget to make a wish,” Chloe called after their final sale. She turned to Ted. “You never made your wish.”

  “I don’t believe in wishes. I put my stock in planning and hard work.”

  She nodded slowly, as if testing his theory against her own. “But you said yesterday I was magical.”

  “You are.” His gaze dropped to her lips. Immediately, he yanked it back up, feeling like he’d just stepped off a dizzying Tilt-a-Whirl ride. Which might have explained why he blurted, “Why aren’t you married?”

  Chloe drew back. “Why are you divorced?”

  How badly did Ted want an answer to his question? Curiosity had killed many a cat.

  Stalling, he opened a plastic storage tub and gestured that she hand him the supplies under the counter. She wound up the extra ribbon, simultaneously winding up the tension between them. He shouldn’t want to know what Chloe had been doing for the last decade. But the questions remained. Had she fallen in love? Had she ever thought of him? Did she think of him late at night and wonder what if Ted had made a different choice ten years ago?

  He had to know. “Gwen wanted things I couldn’t give her.” Starting with a bigger bank account and ending with a bigger spot in his heart. “I married her because she was pregnant and I tried to love her. She married me because she thought I could buy her jewelry and a new car. And she’d go on and on about wanting to see the world.” Bet Gwen hadn’t imagined she’d see it from the cab of a semi.

  “Money.” Chloe knelt for the cash box. Her face was hidden, but her voice sounded guarded. “The number one reason couples break up. The number one reason dreams die.”

  “You sound like a veteran of the money wars.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes wet with emotion – guilt, remorse, sadness. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. Money helped, but money shouldn't be the hinge on happiness.

 

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