David looked him straight on, two sets of sky-blue eyes locked. “The family has helped. Knowing all of you cared. Knowing you would let me work through my mourning in my own time. I couldn’t have gotten through it without you.”
David took a deep breath. This conversation had been a very long time in coming. He could see his dad was relieved to hear he was ready to move on.
“Son, I’m glad you’ve found some peace. That’s the best any of us can do with a tragedy like Holly’s. Find peace, and pick up the pieces.” He took a couple of steps and wrapped his big son in an equally big embrace. “We love you, David. We all do.”
Dorothy sailed into the room then, dressed in the special caftan she wore only on Christmas Day, much to the delight of the grandchildren who called it “Grandma’s tent dress.” It was spruce green, printed with large red poinsettias. Her earrings were clear plastic globes filled with gold tinsel. Her lipstick and fingernails matched the poinsettias.
“Mom, you look like everything Christmas is supposed to be.” David hugged her tightly and kissed her soft powdery cheek.
She slapped at him playfully. “Stop that! I’ll have you know I don’t have time for silliness. There’s work to be done before—”
The doorbell chimed and shock registered on Dorothy’s sweet round face. “Oh no! They’re here!”
Charles chuckled and headed toward the front door in his wife’s wake. “Come on, son. Let’s see who we can trap under the mistletoe.”
“Now, Charles!” She threw him a glare, then opened the door and beamed at the newcomers. “Merry Christmas! Oh, Merry Christmas everyone! Hurry in here! It’s so cold out. Did you have a safe trip? Let me take your coats. Charles? David? Help me with the coats…”
The same basic scene was replayed time and again. No one but Dorothy got trapped under the mistletoe, and she enjoyed every peck on the cheek from her sons, grandchildren, nephews, cousins… All the McClain family who could manage to make the trip arrived eventually, including David’s sisters Maureen and Janelle, and Joe’s bunch—wife Theresa, and kids Joey and Marliss.
David was stirring gravy when Joey poked his blonde head into the kitchen and look around. “Hey, Uncle David.”
“Hey, Joey.” He squinted at the youngster. “You look old.”
“Thanks. Fifteen and a half. Gonna get my license the day I hit sixteen.”
“Man, you’re scarin’ me here. I’m afraid you’re gonna put lumps in this gravy with that kind of talk.”
Joey smiled the gorgeous smile he’d inherited from his mother. Not David’s motor head brother Joe, who no doubt promised the license thing to his son. Joe was all about driving cars, fixing cars. Joey had gotten some of that too.
“Uncle David, you seen Daniel yet?”
“Hm. No, I don’t believe I have. It’s not late yet though. Maybe he had to finish playing a computer game before he could come on over here.”
“Ha. More likely building a website or trouble-shooting somebody’s computer over the phone. He’s all about that stuff.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah. I like cars and he likes computers. When we get outta school, we’re gonna go into business together doin’ that stuff. Gonna make a lot of money sellin’ computer car ideas to the big guys.”
“Sounds great.” The doorbell chimed again, and David took a quick, deep breath. “Might be them now.” He didn’t look up—wasn’t sure what would be in his eyes.
Rebecca. Was he fooling himself, or did the two of them have possibilities—together?
Chapter Nine
Shaken from the bumpy ride through the snow-rutted back roads in Martin’s Jeep, Rebecca carefully chose her path to the house so as not to soak her stiletto ankle boots for the third time in two days. They were designer boots, and had cost a mint, but she wasn’t certain how much abuse they could take. She had no choice, though—no footwear in Midnight’s house was anywhere near Rebecca’s size. Daniel’s old shoes were too small, and everything else too large. She’d gotten behind the other three because of her cautious navigation, stepping into footprints already made so she didn’t have to tread through anything deep.
Finally she made it onto the wide front porch just in time to see Midnight and Martin be pulled into the house. Daniel received an exclamation from a plump white-haired lady in a wild caftan. Smiling like a round-faced angel, she pointed to the mistletoe hung in the doorway and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. Daniel hugged her and went into the house. Rebecca stood on the porch, hearing the happy voices inside, and wishing she could somehow escape. What audacity to come here as an interloper on a holiday. What had she been thinking?
“Oh, honey, come on in here! I’m Dorothy McClain. David and Joe’s mother. And Janelle and Maureen’s too, but you haven’t met them yet, have you? But you will. I’m so glad you’re here. Now, tell me your name. And tell me all about yourself. You’re Midnight’s friend, right? That makes you special in Legend, I’ll tell you true.”
While Dorothy McClain talked, she was giving Rebecca a quick hug, taking her cloak and handing it to someone to be carried away, and ushering her to a buffet table in the large dining room, pouring her a lovely glass of red wine.
Dorothy stood to one side, near a swinging door that probably led to the kitchen. “And your name is…”
“Rebecca.” He said it so sweetly, she had to look twice to be sure it was the same David McClain she’d been snowbound with. There he was, standing in the doorway, halfway in the kitchen and halfway in the dining room, looking tall, dark, handsome—and very uncertain.
“I’ll let you children talk.” Dorothy floated out of the room, completely unnoticed.
“David. Um. Good to see you again.”
“Yes. It’s good. You look good.”
Rebecca looked down at her clothes. She’d seldom had this many compliments on her designer outfits. “The clothes are loaners.” She took a step toward him, sipped the delicious wine. “From Daniel. I guess he was my size when he was about twelve years old.”
Chuckling, David came the rest of the way into the dining room. “Well, you still look good. Very good.”
“Thanks.” Rebecca felt her face grow hot, felt something in the air between them. Something electric and exciting.
“Any chance you and I could start over?” David walked to the buffet and poured himself a glass of wine, then stood in front of her. She could see a slight movement in the liquid. Was his hand was a bit unsteady?
“Start over?” She looked up at him, so tall and handsome in his dark brown sweater, the strands of white hair catching the light from the chandelier. She couldn’t seem to breathe normally, felt as if her voice was too soft.
“Yeah. Start over, as in, meet like normal people and get to know each other. Or if you prefer…we could pick up where we left off. That would be nice, too.” He reached down and took her free hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the knuckles lightly. “I think I came across as a big ugly brute out there on the mountain. At least part of the time. But I do have a couple of redeeming qualities.” He linked his fingers with hers.
She held on, liking the direction this conversation was going. She couldn’t look away from those blue, blue eyes. Didn’t want to. “Um. I think I really need to apologize for the way I behaved up there. I staggered into your cabin—into your Christmas Eve—and just ruined your solitude. You ended up having to take care of me. Worse yet, put up with me. Most people don’t have much patience—don’t want to put up with my obsessive-compulsive—”
He silenced her with a kiss as sweet as soft red wine, as spicy as sex. Rebecca set her wine glass shakily onto the buffet, put her arms around David’s neck, and pulled him closer. He set his glass down too, almost missing the horizontal surface in his haste to have Rebecca in his arms. It felt so right. It felt like home, at last, after the loneliness and denial both of them had been through.
David came up for air a few minutes later. “So. Rebecca. It feels like we
’re onto something here. Like maybe we’re on the same side of the counsel table for once.”
She smiled up at him. “There’s just nothing as romantic as a courtroom metaphor.” Sighing, she ran her hands through his hair. “But I think you’re right. I think we started something up there on the mountain that is worth some…research.” She tipped her head to one side. “Would you like me to file a brief?”
“Hm. I don’t think briefs will be required.” He teased her ear lobe with his tongue.
Catching her breath—and then catching his meaning—she laughed softly and shook her head. “No. You’re right about that. Do you require any type of pleading?”
“Pleading isn’t necessary, either.” David ran his hands down her back and pulled her closer.
She laughed out loud. “Okay, Your Honor. What’s the verdict then?”
“My verdict is, this case has merit, but I’m still dismissing the complaint. In fact, no more complaints are allowed.”
She stamped her tiny foot. “Well! Any chance of an appeal?”
“Oh yeah. There’s no end of appeal. But first, let me pronounce the sentence.”
“Hey! Is this civil or criminal?”
“Baby, we’ll keep it as civil as we can. The criminal part is that we already wasted all those hours in the cabin.”
She snuggled back into him. “So, no more wasted hours. Is that part of the sentence?”
“Absolutely.” He pulled away a little, looked down into her eyes. “I’m talking life here, if you get my meaning.”
Startled out of the repartee, Rebecca looked up into his beautiful, trustworthy eyes.
“Life. David, be serious for a minute. I’m forty years old, I’m sick and tired, and I’m ready to throw away a hugely successful law practice in New York and start over. And I don’t even know what I’ll do when I start over. I may be a bad risk.” She looked down at the floor. “Perhaps you’ve got the wrong woman.”
He lifted her chin with one long finger. “No. I’ve definitely got the right woman. I have it on very good authority.”
A white pillar candle on the buffet suddenly flared more brightly, then settled down again. Rebecca briefly wondered about it.
The rest of the McClains visited in the family room, in the living room, on the enclosed four-season back porch, oohing and aahing at the Christmas trees, lighted manger scenes, and huge potted poinsettias. They sang carols around the piano while David’s sister Janelle played. They stayed out of the dining room for a good long while, because Dorothy told them to. She pulled the sliding oak pocket door closed and gave David and Rebecca some privacy, though they were unaware of the movement or the sound. They stood molded together, kissing and holding each other, and beginning to make plans.
This year’s Christmas Collision had given both of them another chance at happiness. Another chance at love.
Want to read more about Rebecca’s friend, Midnight?
You can read her story in…
Midnight in Legend, TN
Midnight Shelby is starting over. She’s leaving her ex-husband and the big city, big corporate life behind her. But she doesn’t know where she’s going until she happens upon an amazing website advertising real estate in Legend, Tennessee, a place she didn’t know existed. The virtual tour of a large two-story big brick building—a former bar—on the main street of the small town makes her fall in love. With the building, and with the potential for a new life.
She has no idea she’ll also fall in love with the realtor who sells her the property.
Martin McClain was born and raised in the Legend area. His family has lived there for generations, and he feels a duty to preserve it. Part of the reason is his thirteen-year-old son Daniel. The web site Daniel created has been good for business, but although Martin is a real estate agent by trade, he’s wary of newcomers’ motivations. With good reasons—one of them being Daniel’s absent mother.
For love of Legend, and with an eye toward Daniel’s future, Midnight and Martin begin to work together, and learn that in spite of their different starting points, their destination is the same: Home.
Read an excerpt from Chapter One!
“Mayberry…at last.” Midnight Shelby sighed with relief as she climbed out of her gleaming, silver Mitsubishi Spyder and stretched her aching body. It had been a long drive today and the day before. But a long drive in a convertible was not a hardship. Especially when that very sexy convertible had been purchased with some of the settlement money her jerk of an ex-husband had grudgingly forked over.
After twenty years of marriage he’d expected her to accept a crumpled note on the kitchen table as his final farewell. And she nearly had, in order to get it over with. Then sanity returned and she hired an excellent attorney who proceeded to make Jeff’s life a living hell, as he’d done to Midnight for much of their marriage. It had finally come down to her tough attorney in stilettos out-haranguing his tough attorney in penny loafers.
Ah, the thrill of victory!
But the twenty years of feeling defeated were hard to forget.
Midnight reached back into the car and picked up the little voodoo doll she’d purchased at a roadside stand. One could find nearly anything at roadside stands in the mountains of Tennessee, she’d been surprised to learn. She had avoided the hand-painted offers of bear wrestling and various other oddities, but hadn’t been able to pass up the stand whose purple sign cried out: MEN ARE SCUM! in hot pink letters. Midnight had paid fifteen dollars for the foot-tall white cloth voodoo doll and complimentary three-inch straight pin with “pearl” tip. The dolls came in red, yellow, black, and white, and one could purchase markers to individualize them. A plain white one did her just fine.
Because it didn’t only symbolize her ex-husband, but also the man who’d gotten her fired from the job she’d had—and loved—ever since college. Her co-worker had tried to “comfort” her, in a very physical way, after her divorce. She’d refused. So he had retaliated by pulling strings with upper management. Suddenly Midnight was drawing unemployment checks.
In fact, the doll symbolized men in general to her right now.
She jabbed the pin into the doll a few times where the penis would have been. Some of the stuffing dropped out, as she had worked on that particular area repeatedly since making the purchase a few hours ago.
She sighed again, relaxing a bit. That did feel good.
She tossed the doll back onto the smoky gray leather passenger seat and checked her watch. Just five o’clock. She was early, as usual. She looked around at downtown Legend, a town boasting a population of about six thousand people, according to her realtor’s office. She noted the few people walking along the sidewalk or from car to store, vehicles heading north and south on the unimaginatively named Main Street. In her two days of driving, she’d seen a lot of small towns, some county seats complete with courthouse squares, and some with a single main thoroughfare, very like this one. Before that, small towns existed for her only on television. Mayberry was her favorite, from all those years ago when she’d watched The Andy Griffith Show as a child. It had seemed an idyllic place to live. That’s why when Midnight Shelby’s life had fallen apart, she’d decided to move from big city, big corporate life to the real world—Mayberry—or rather, Legend, Tennessee. She’d found her new town via the Internet. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have known it existed. Even with a good magnifying glass, it was barely visible on the atlas.
Midnight noticed a tall, dark-haired man and a teenager—from the build and hair color, obviously his son—having a discussion in front of a building on the next block. The motion of the red and white barber pole indicated the place was open.
It was obvious that the boy didn’t want anything to do with it. He could have been the poster child for Surly Teenager Syndrome. Finally he relented—she could see it as his shoulders sagged—and entered the shop. His father turned fully in Midnight’s direction and she tried not to notice how extremely handsome he was. Strong facial features that
would have done a Greek statue proud, broad shoulders... Hmm. In spite of herself, she wondered about the rest of him. How would that stand up to the Greek statue test?
Disgusted with the turn of her thoughts, she reached back into the car for the doll again. She might need to go back to the roadside stand. Maybe buy another voodoo doll and pick up a plate for the front of her car as well. Twenty-five dollars to proclaim MENRSCUM everywhere she drove.
As she felt the doll in her hand, she also noticed the tall, dark man was walking toward her. She quickly stuffed the doll under the seat, jabbing her own finger with the pin as she did so. The immediate stab of pain helped focus her attention on reality instead of retribution. Squeezing a dark red drop of blood from the wound and quickly sucking it clean, she straightened and tucked a stray lock of silky black hair behind her ear. In the city, one didn’t meet strangers’ eyes. But this man looked directly at her, or rather, from her to the convertible and back to her, and she could hardly avoid his eyes without being rude. Snooty. Citified. Not a good beginning in her new hometown.
Midnight pasted what she hoped was a friendly smile onto her face, willing him to pass by. A small, bent, gray-haired couple came along from the other direction, also checking out her car and herself. Midnight used the smile on them. They smiled in return and spoke a word of greeting. Okay, now Mr. Greek Statue. She turned the smile his way, watched as his brow furrowed a little. He walked over and stuck out his hand expecting to shake hers.
“Miz Shelby, right? Martin McClain. I wondered if you might have a change of heart and not come.”
Oh, great. My realtor is Mr. Greek Statue.
With an attitude.
She took a good look. Nice tan. Pale blue, long-sleeved polo shirt with a narrow navy stripe, navy Dockers. Very dark brown hair, straight, and a little mullet-ish in the back, dark chocolate eyes, extremely handsome rectangular kind of face. A neatly trimmed goatee. Lips….
“Yes. Right. Good to meet you, Mr. McClain.” Still making an effort at the smile, but with more difficulty, Midnight shook Martin McClain’s hand firmly—and as briefly as possible.
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