Cass took a moment to mop unexpected tears from her eyes, then went around the block and returned to the hospital, pulling in to park in the visitors’ lot. This was her home, her town, and this was where she belonged.
“Are there any volunteers on duty?” she asked at the E.R. desk, keeping her voice low.
Sophie Banning, a trauma nurse who’d worked at the hospital when Paul was ill, came around the desk to give her a hug. “Not this late in the day. You know where everything is if you want to make coffee for the family in there, though. It’s been too busy for us to do much but give them really fast progress reports.”
“Do they need anything else?”
“You could ask again if they want any other calls made. We called Eli for them, but they didn’t want to alarm other family members.”
Cass took a deep breath before going into the E.R. waiting area. She used to walk the hospital’s halls when Paul slept, making coffee for other family members and playing with and reading to frightened or bored children. She’d rocked babies whose mothers couldn’t concentrate on them right then. At Christmas—Paul’s last one two years ago—she’d brought in cookies and gingerbread ornaments to share with staff and patients and their families.
It hadn’t been caregiving per se, she realized now as she made fresh coffee for the family of the man in E.R. One, even if that was how it had worked out. She had done it to keep from sitting alone in the dark and being afraid.
The thought stopped her in mid-pour, and she nearly handed the person who was waiting a half-cup of decaf without benefit of the cream or sugar he’d requested.
The waiting family told her when their loved one was admitted and transferred upstairs. She went up with them, sharing quiet conversation and making sure a sleeping chair would be available in the patient’s room for his wife. She was at the nurse’s station talking to an assistant who’d cared for Paul when Eli came into the hall. He looked exhausted but in some undefinable way, jubilant.
“Hey, lady, can I get a ride? I’ve got some really good leftover chili at my house I’m willing to share with the right date.”
“The right date being one with a car, right?” She grinned at him. “The only thing different from high school is the gender doing the driving.”
“Oh, no.” His eyes held hers in a dance as exciting and as intimate as if they were touching. “That’s not the only thing.”
Chapter 9
Eli was nervous. Cass seemed different after the day of the wedding and their “date,” although he couldn’t put a finger on how. She seemed more at peace with herself, less driven to be doing something all the time.
A case in that point was the huge Christmas tree in his living room. Less than two weeks before Christmas, it was still only half-decorated. The lights were on, as well as the ornaments he’d found in the attic that had been his and Elnora’s. But there were other ornaments that remained in their boxes, ones Cass had bought at For Christmas’s Sake and from fundraising sixth-graders who’d brought their wares to the door. There weren’t even any gingerbread ornaments on the tree, because she kept giving them away. A childish part of him minded that she hadn’t given him any.
His hand was healing quickly. So quickly he was driving again and could probably do his own typing. Okay, he could do his own typing. Maggie was so low-maintenance, he could take care of her needs even when he was on deadline or busy with the book promotion that took more and more of his time. In truth—and sometimes the truth really did bite—he didn’t need an assistant anymore. Cass could probably forge ahead into whatever new venture called her name.
Of course, that might mean she’d leave the cottage. Leave Christmas Town. Maybe even Maine.
She might leave him.
St. Matthew’s administrative board had invited him to a meeting. The minister who had replaced him at the head of the pastorate advised him to go. When Eli told Cass about it, she urged him to attend, too.
He finally decided he would at least show up. He already had on a clerical shirt and black slacks when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He liked clergy clothes. They gave ease to those he talked to sometimes—Dr. Everly at Memorial called them preacher scrubs—and they exuded a confidence he all too often didn’t feel. But the comfort he’d always felt in the collar wasn’t there anymore, at least not completely.
When he went downstairs, he wore jeans and a flannel shirt. Neither item was faded and there were no holes exposing his elbows and knees. He’d thought about getting a haircut the day before when he and Cass walked downtown for lunch, but he was glad he hadn’t—the truth was he usually did need a haircut, and today was going to be about the truth. If he was going to a meeting with church officials, he’d better go as himself.
Cass was baking—she loved his kitchen and no longer even made any pretense at using the one in the cottage for anything more complicated than making tea or coffee. She smiled at him when he came in. “Good luck with your meeting. I hope whatever you want to happen does.”
He hoped it did, too. Not that he was sure what he wanted. At least not entirely. But he did know one thing he wanted to happen. “Will you go to St. Matthew’s Christmas cantata with me tonight? We could try for a late dinner afterward that didn’t come from my refrigerator.”
She hesitated long enough to make him swallow panic, then nodded. There were questions in her eyes, but he didn’t know what they were. Not only that, he was as nervous as he’d been at his first job interview straight out of seminary.
“Good luck.” Still holding a spatula, Cass came over and put her arms around him. “Whatever it is, it will be fine. You can make it work for both Pastor Eli and E.W. Doherty.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and he pulled her in to give the gesture more length and depth than she’d intended.
He wondered, but didn’t ask, if he could make it work for her, too.
***
Cass was nervous. As soon as Eli left, she hurried to the cottage and put on brown slacks and a dressy gold sweater along with some shiny jewelry she’d found at a booth in the mercantile. She returned to the house, but when she saw her reflection in the mirror on the back of the entry closet door, she ran back to the cottage and put jeans on. New black ones with bling on the back pockets that she’d bought at Dockery’s when she went shopping with Amy and Lia. She changed the sweater for a red one, but left the jewelry.
“What do you think, Maggie?”
The little dog barked approval, her dark eyes shining and her tail lashing as if to emphasize her point. Cass bent to pick her up. She didn’t mind at all that her sweater would have some brown hairs interspersed among the red sequins decorating its front.
She thought of Paul, who—despite his love for animals—had never wanted pets in the house and had groaned in frustration whenever she or the girls gave names to livestock. He’d even looked on Amy’s beloved horses as investments, although he’d never insisted on selling any of them. Life hadn’t always been easy on Two Sticks Farm, nor had the marriage between Cass and Paul been an uncomplicated one. But they had loved each other. Always.
She wondered for a moment, as she strung thin red and white gingham ribbon through the holes in gingerbread ornaments, what Paul would think of Eli.
Maggie warned her before the door opened, running into the entry on her short legs and coming back with Eli at her side. The dachshund looked back and forth between them, as though anxious that the people she loved might not know how to love each other.
“At the hospital the night of Chloe and Ted’s wedding,” said Cass without preamble, “I was helping out, the way I did when Paul or Mother was admitted. I used to resent doing it, considering it another burden of caregiving. And it was a burden sometimes, I guess, but it also kept me from being alone and afraid in the dark. What I so begrudged doing probably saved my sanity some of those long nights.”
He took off his coat, moving slowly, his gaze on hers. “Anyone would have been frus—”
She held up her hand. “Let me finis
h, or I’ll lose my nerve.”
“Okay.” He tossed his coat over the back of a chair and came to sit on the ottoman near where she still stood by the tree.
She folded her hands under her chin, lacing her fingers so tightly together they hurt and she had to loosen them. “I helped Paul pull a calf once. It was the night of a dance and I was all dressed up. I ruined my dress and we missed the dance altogether. But we went into his house and took showers. We both ended up wearing his sweats from school—only thing was they fit him and they pretty much fell off me. He wasn’t much of a romantic, but he lit a kerosene lamp on the kitchen table and turned out the lights and we danced to Clapton singing ‘Wonderful Tonight’ just like you and I did.”
She turned off the lights, then stepped on the switch that turned the room into a magical, spiritual place. Twinkling miniature lights covered the tree and danced through the garland on the mantel and around the French doors. They reflected in his eyes.
Oh, how she loved his eyes.
She knelt in front of him, putting her hands on his cheeks and smiling even though she was afraid of what he might say. Or not say. “I think it’s ironic that I fell in love with two such completely different men while dancing in two different kitchens to the same song.”
~*~
The tree looked wonderful, covered with a gazillion lights and at least that many ornaments, including what had to have been several batches of gingerbread ones. When had she had time to do that? His mind registered that just as it registered that Maggie was standing between them again.
Had Cass really said what he thought she had? He couldn’t breathe. Wow, what a moment this would be if she had to get a brown paper bag for him to breathe into when he hyperventilated. It would be a story for their grandchildren, because if he and Cass married, he’d get to be a dad—even if only by proxy—and with dad-hood would come grandkids. Someday. If they were very lucky.
“St. Matthew’s board asked me to come back.” He spoke abruptly, but wanted to get the words said. “The new senior pastor offered to give me the job I had. He’d be perfectly happy as the assistant, he said. And he meant it, even though he has a family to support and is going to be paying off college loans in perpetuity.”
He saw the anxiety he’d been feeling all afternoon mirrored in her eyes.
“I told them I was still writing books that had occasional cusswords in them and that I really didn’t want to preach twice every Sunday and once on Wednesday anymore. The Lord who called me to the ministry has requested that I sit down and shut up.”
She laughed. So had the board, but they’d renewed the offer.
“Then I said I still wanted to be called when I was needed even if I was somewhere else I’d rather be at the time. I wanted to teach the high school kids in Sunday school because they’re so hilarious and because they’re like sponges when it comes to learning. I wanted to perform weddings and funerals and the occasional baptism because I really love doing it and because sometimes the senior pastor will need to be watching his kids play baseball or dancing in the kitchen with his wife. I didn’t suggest Clapton—they’ll need to figure that out on their own—but I did mention the dancing because I’m about sure that’s when I fell in love with you.”
He watched her face, the lights glowing soft and gold on it, and took her hands in his. “I love you,” he said again, “and I want to marry you. But the truth is I’m still both guys, the preacher and the writer. I hope I never have to depend on you to be my caregiver, but if something goes that way in our lives...well, I want the kind of marriage that caregiving goes along with. I could be all brave and say I’d never want you to take care of me the way you did Paul, but I would. I know I would. And if the need goes the other way, I promise I’ll take care of you, too. It will be a privilege.”
“It is a privilege,” she agreed. “An exhausting, heartbreaking privilege. What I forgot in all that tiredness and heartbreak is that if I could have helped keep Paul or my mother healthy and happy, I would have done it forever. If it’s you, the same goes—I’ll do it forever.”
“Is that a yes?”
“What’s the question?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Then yes. It’s a yes.” She leaned away from him and took one of the ornaments off the tree. “Here you go. It’s for keeps.”
He accepted the gingerbread heart, admiring the lacy white icing on it. “I’ll take good care of it.”
“I’m counting on it.” She lifted her face to his, and he kissed her, drawing her into his arms and holding her.
They walked to the church for the cantata, holding hands and talking about their pasts, their future, how they would spend Christmas. The event was well attended and the music beautiful. When she rose to her feet with everyone else for Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus,” Cass thought her heart would burst. She felt tears on her cheeks and when she raised her eyes to meet Eli’s, she saw moisture there, too.
At this time in their lives, it seemed as though so much was about being spectators instead of participants. About endings instead of beginnings. Cass thought of the day she’d arrived back in Christmas Town, when she didn’t know what she was going to do because she’d thought everything was over.
How wrong she’d been.
It was just beginning.
A year later
Cass stood on the sidewalk, leaning back as far as she could so she could see the colorful sign Sam Collins had painted for the storefront between the Bell, Book & Candle Shop and Tiny Tim’s Toys. Eli stood behind her, his arms around her waist keeping her from falling over. “What do you think?”
She beamed at him, “It’s wonderful.”
Amy and Lia took pictures of the sign before the mayor handed Cass the scissors to snip the red and green Grand Opening ribbon.
“See?” Esther gave Cass a squeeze. “I knew you needed a job.”
“You were right, Esther. Come on in.” Holding Eli’s hand, Cass led the way into the building, walking under the sign that proclaimed:
Gingerbread Hearts
A Christmas Town Quilt Shop
Cass Welcome, Prop.
Inside, Cass reached up to kiss Eli’s lean jaw. Serving gingerbread cookies and coffee for the grand opening had been his idea and—judging from the reaction of the crowd that filled the store—it had been a good one.
What a year it had been, with Cass and Eli discovering again and again that memories and new beginnings went together―just like the squares in a quilt or the chapters in a Cyrus Wisdom mystery. The pieces in both circumstances were bound with love and kindness and laughter.
“Have a cookie,” Amy invited a newcomer. “These are from Mom’s first batch—it’s always my favorite.”
“Good thing, too.” Eli winked at his stepdaughter and pulled Cass into the circle of his arm. “Because the last batch is mine.”
A Note from the Author
I hope you enjoyed reading The Gingerbread Heart as much as I liked writing it. I am so crazy about Christmas that even though I wrote the story in mid-summer, I could easily imagine it really was the winter holiday time.
Please follow me on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lizshaferflaherty and Twitter @LizFlaherty1. I also blog every week at http://wordwranglers.blogspot.com/ and would love to see you there. I love hearing from readers, too, at [email protected].
Next up for me is a Harlequin Heartwarming in April 2016, This Time for Keeps. Keep an eye out!
I’ll let you go now—enjoy the next story. And Merry Christmas!
The Gingerbread Pony
Patricia Bradley
Copyright © 2015 by:
Patricia Bradley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
150921.175526
Acknowledgments
A special thank you to my daughter Carole for sharing your knowledge about hippotherapy
Chapter 1
Five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree…
Amy Logan hummed along with the song piped into the enclosed arena as rays from the late afternoon sun spilled through the windows. Outside snow covered the rolling hills of Two Sticks farm, as it should this close to Christmas. Inside the barn it was cold but not freezing as she worked on fluency with her client.
She nodded to the volunteer leading the therapy pony to alert her to a change. “Okay, Sam,” she said to the five-year-old astride Ginger’s cinnamon-colored back. “I need you to stop. Can you do that?”
Sam’s blue eyes widened, his eyebrows disappearing into the blond hair under his helmet. His shoulders straightened, and he gathered the reins. “W…whoa.”
Her heart soared. Barely a stutter. She patted the mare’s neck and grinned at the boy. “Very good. I believe we’ll end on that if you’re ready to brush Ginger.”
Sam nodded and allowed Amy to lift him off the horse. “What do we use?”
He pointed to the currycomb.
“What do we call that?” she asked.
Sam’s small mouth worked to get the words out. He bit his lip, then took a breath. “Cur-ryc-omb.”
“Awesome!” She high-fived him. Thirty minutes earlier he couldn’t say anything without stuttering, but the rhythm of the horse had unlocked a pathway in his brain. Amy glanced at her volunteer. “Could you help him while I talk with his mom? And then would you get Blackjack out for the next rider?” Ginger’s first foal was due in a month, and Amy didn’t want to tire the pony out.
A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances Page 66