A Little Country Christmas

by Carolyn Brown

  * * *

  Momma had stopped roasting a turkey for Thanksgiving the year after Daddy died. And for the last thirty years, Thanksgiving dinner had featured a roast chicken instead.

  Brenda hadn’t missed many Thanksgivings after she’d left Keith in Chicago. Momma always sent gas money, and Brenda made the long drive from Indiana year after year.

  So Thanksgiving at Momma’s house was a habit, or a tradition, or something. But for years now, ever since Ella had followed in Brenda’s footsteps and run off with a man, Ella’s chair at the end of the table had been empty. Cody Callaghan, a handsome country-and-western singer, had convinced Brenda’s daughter that she could make a living playing fiddle in Nashville rather than studying classical music in New York.

  “Lord, make us truly thankful for what we are about to receive.” Momma said grace, and Brenda bowed her head, trying to count her blessings. But the emptiness of the chairs on each side of the table overwhelmed her.

  “Amen,” Momma said.

  Brenda raised her head and picked up her knife and fork. But before she could cut a slice out of her chicken breast, Momma said, “They’re gossiping about you all up and down Harbor Drive.”

  Brenda squeezed her silverware and met her mother’s gaze. “When have they ever stopped?” she asked.

  “Honestly, honey, I don’t understand why you have to be so negative all the time.”

  Brenda swallowed back a retort. Momma was a sweet woman who never raised her voice or said a harmful word to anyone. She was a peacemaker and a member of the Piece Makers, the local quilting club. Which meant she heard all the gossip in town.

  So Brenda counted to three and reached for the same calm voice Momma used. “They asked me to do a job, and I’m doing it the best way I know how. I have no idea how Simon managed the chorale in the past without losing his temper. The sopranos think they’re in charge, and the tenors aren’t much better. The poor altos get lost when the basses start to bellow. And you know how it is with altos, they always lack confidence.”

  Momma smiled, the corners of her eyes wrinkling up. She had a lot of wrinkles these days, but then, she was pushing seventy. The thought was mildly discomforting. Momma had had a few health issues recently. A detached retina and some serious trouble with arthritis that made it painful for her to quilt. She was getting old, and one day she’d be gone too.

  And then Brenda would be utterly alone. Except for Ella. But her relationship with her daughter was strained at best.

  “I’m not talking about the Christmas Chorale,” Momma said, pulling Brenda from her negative thoughts. “In fact, Donna was saying, just this past Tuesday at the Piece Makers, that you might not be as likable as Simon but she feels as if the chorale is in good hands.”

  “Really? I don’t think she likes me much.”

  “Well, she doesn’t have to like you, honey. But she definitely respects you, and that’s more important.”

  “Then what are they gossiping about?” she asked, finally slicing into her chicken breast.

  “Doc Killough.”

  “What about him?”

  “Is it true that he’s been coming out to your house on Thursdays?” Momma leaned in, a strange, almost avid light in her eyes.

  “Oh, good grief. Momma. No. I mean, yes, he has been coming out on Thursday nights the last few weeks, and he was out on Tuesday of this week as well. We’re working on Amy Beach’s Violin Sonata.”

  “Working on?”

  “He’s a gifted pianist. Did you know that?”

  “Well, I know he plays piano. I mean, everyone knows that.”

  “He was accepted to Juilliard. He chose not to go.”

  “What?”

  Brenda nodded, something warm and odd spreading through her chest. Momma might be a saint, but she’d never truly forgiven Brenda for messing up her one chance to study at the nation’s foremost musical college. What would Momma think about a man who walked away from that chance?

  “He wanted to be a doctor more than a musician.”

  “Oh my word. I didn’t know.”

  “So we’ve been playing this piano and violin sonata.”

  “What? Like rehearsing it?”

  Momma’s question was obvious but Brenda had no answer. They hadn’t been rehearsing it. They had no plans to perform it for anyone. They’d just been playing it because…

  And the warm feeling in her chest expanded to include her whole body. Yeah. Okay. She was an idiot.

  “I guess,” Brenda said, not quite telling the truth.

  “Oh. Are you going to play it at the Christmas Gala?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “No. I don’t think we’re going to be ready. And it’s a very long piece so…” Her voice faded out.

  Momma nodded, her mouth twitching a little. Was she amused? Did she see through Brenda’s dissembling? Probably.

  “I also heard from Jenna St. Pierre on Tuesday that you’re going to be on Jude’s boat for the Festival of Lights tomorrow night.”

  Oh boy. Momma had been working herself up to this, hadn’t she? It wasn’t just the gossip about how Jim was stopping by the house to play music. It was the whole pirate wench thing. Momma had probably heard it all.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Brenda said.

  “You guess? You don’t know?”

  “Yes, Momma. I’m going to dress up in a ridiculous pirate costume and ride on Synchronicity Too in the Festival of Lights. And when that happens, I think the head of every gossip in Magnolia Harbor is going to explode.”

  Momma chuckled. “I never thought I’d see you ride on one of the boats in the Festival of Lights.”

  “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

  “Doc Killough must be a very persuasive man.”

  Brenda met her mother’s gaze. “He is.”

  Momma nodded. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  Brenda said nothing.

  “The folks in this town love Doc Killough.”

  Brenda could see why. He was eminently lovable and handsome with a killer bedside manner and serious musical chops.

  “Yeah, I get it, Momma. People don’t like me the same way.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jim stood at the bottom of Brenda’s front stairs trying to catch his breath. She was utterly magnificent dressed in an eighteenth-century costume with a tight, lace-up-the-front bodice. He’d known for some time that she was hiding a nice figure under her big sweatshirts, but…wow.

  His mouth went dry, and his whole body responded to the way the costume accentuated the curves of her body. He couldn’t help but smile. No, he was definitely not too old to feel the pull of sexual attraction.

  He took the cheesy tricorn hat off his head. “Milady,” he said, giving her a sweeping bow.

  And she laughed.

  Oh, good lord, Brenda had a wonderful laugh. Where had she been hiding it? She should let it out more often, because the sound made him happy and light on his feet.

  “You don’t think I look ridiculous?” She tugged at the low neckline and then noticed where his gaze had gone. An impressive blush crept up her neck to her cheeks.

  “No,” he said.

  She laughed again. “Well, you also look pretty spectacular.” Her gaze took in his frock coat, ruffled shirt, and knee britches. “But you need boots,” she said, looking down at his Sperry boat shoes.

  “Yeah, well, not aboard Jude’s boat.” He gave her his arm and escorted her to his Jeep.

  Twenty minutes later, they boarded Synchronicity Too, a gorgeous schooner with mahogany decks and gleaming wooden masts and yardarms. Jude St. Pierre was doing a pretty good impression of Johnny Depp in a killer pirate costume except that he’d traded his tricorn for a fuzzy red Santa hat. “Avast, me hearties,” he said from his spot behind the captain’s wheel. “And Merry Christmas to all.”

  “You said there wouldn’t be any Christmas on this boat,” Brenda muttered.

  “And you were foolish enou
gh to believe me,” Jim said, hoping she wouldn’t back down now. He relaxed when the corners of her mouth twitched in an almost-smile.

  “Doctor Jim, Doctor Jim, lookit.” Jim turned to find Donovan Jephson standing at the bow of the boat with a group of other kids from the clinic and their parents. All the kids and parents wore life vests and tricorn hats. The kids had each been given a gift bag with a toy spyglass, some clip-on-the-shoulder wooden parrots, and eye patches.

  At the moment, Topher Martin was up there dressed like Captain Hook and looking like a total badass, real-life pirate with his real-life eye patch.

  “Hey, singer lady,” Doni called, waving. “You look pretty.”

  Brenda waved back and curtsied. A smile broke out on her face again, and something hitched in Jim’s chest.

  Maybe he should give the gossips something real to talk about. The dress made her look so beautiful and enticing. He had an itch to touch her that was almost adolescent.

  Unfortunately, for safety’s sake, like all the other guests on tonight’s cruise, Brenda had to cover up all that pretty cleavage with a personal flotation device.

  “I think you should rescue the little kids. Topher is scaring some of them,” she said, buckling the big orange vest around her bodice.

  He glanced at the kids. “I don’t think they’re that scared. Or, if they are, it’s fun scared, like going to a scary movie.”

  “Well, the boys are definitely lapping it up, but I think some of the little girls might be kind of intimidated. And speaking as a girl, I’ve never been a fan of scary movies.”

  He snorted a laugh. “You know, people have the wrong idea about you. You aren’t anything like Ebenezer Scrooge. Why do you let people get away with thinking those things about you?”

  “I don’t let people get away with anything. They think what they want.”

  “And you do nothing to change their minds.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. After all, I agreed to direct the choir, but it didn’t change anything. I guess I’m not naturally lovable like you,” she said, turning and pretending to explore the beautiful sailboat.

  “Okay,” he said to her back. “I understand that you don’t want to talk about it. Holidays are hard for you. But—”

  She faced him. “But you think I’ll eventually come around, huh?”

  He shrugged. “I’m known for my perseverance.”

  She huffed out a sigh. “I used to make an effort, when Ella was little. I didn’t have much money so there wasn’t a mountain of gifts or anything. But we had a little tree and some lights.”

  “And what happened?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes a little shiny, her mouth quivering with emotion. “Ella ran away when she was seventeen. Just walked right out of my life following after this man who told her lies and promised her things he wasn’t ever going to deliver. And I should have been like Momma. I should have held my tongue, but I didn’t. I tried to tell her she was making a big mistake, but Ella didn’t take that well.”

  Brenda strolled down the deck toward the bow of the boat. “That’s not the whole story, though, is it?” Jim said, following her.

  She stopped again and turned. “No. It’s not. Because I was wrong. She’s been with Cody for thirteen years. They’ve made a life for themselves.”

  “You have grandkids?”

  She shook her head. “No. And Ella and Cody have never married, but that doesn’t matter; they’ve committed to each other. So who am I to judge? And she’s never forgiven me for what I said the day she left home.”

  She looked out at the shoreline as Synchronicity Too’s engines started. Slowly, they headed out into the channel.

  “All I wanted was to stop her from making the same mistake I’d made. If you think I’m a good violinist, you should hear her play sometime. She was my one crowning achievement. The child who would have the life I threw away because of a stupid boy.”

  “I can see why you didn’t want her to run off when she was seventeen.”

  “Did you have a big fight with your parents when you opted not to go to Juilliard?”

  “There were doors slammed. My mother cried. But they let it go.”

  “Good for them.” She exhaled deeply. “I suppose if Ella had wanted to go to college or join the service or something, I might have come around. But she ran off with a guy I didn’t like. And to this day, I feel as if I should have made more of an effort to get along with Cody. Maybe if I hadn’t disliked him so much, she might have come home to visit from time to time. But I didn’t, and she’s gone, and without her, Christmas doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

  The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. Brenda had every reason to be sour on the season. The light of her life—the daughter she’d sacrificed for—had abandoned her.

  Jim couldn’t imagine spending the holiday without Dylan. His son had been his reason for living each day after Julianne died. If someone took Dylan away from him, he might end up the same way. Sad and lonely and not terribly interested in celebrating a holiday that was supposed to be about joy.

  There was nothing joyful about feeling abandoned and alone.

  * * *

  Heat crawled up Brenda’s face. What was she thinking to spill out her unhappiness that way? Now Jim would know how badly broken she was. Not sick or in need of medical attention, but damaged beyond repair.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty scent of the bay and then turned toward the doctor. He was really something, standing there wearing that red frock coat with the brass buttons up the front and over the cuffs. What did he want to do? Heal her hurts? Make her happy?

  Good luck with that.

  She turned away from him, making her way to the front of the boat while he followed behind saying nothing. And she thanked heaven when Jenna St. Pierre pulled him away to tell stories to the kids. Brenda found a little corner on deck protected from the chilly breeze, and she watched as Jim gathered the clinic kids around him and started telling the story of the dread pirate William Teal, whose ship had gone down in the inlet back in 1713.

  It took about half an hour for the boat parade to form and begin its sail south along the coastline. There was a pretty big crowd on the public dock by Rafferty’s as they sailed by. But then they circled around Lookout Island for a northward tack along the mainland where the crowds were much larger.

  At that point, the kids had grown tired of pirate stories. Jenna St. Pierre herded them belowdecks for hot chocolate in the boat’s state-of-the-art galley. Freed from storytelling duty, Jim found Brenda’s hiding place and tugged her to the railing.

  “I’m not sure I want to get too close to the edge,” she said, resisting him.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said, linking his arm with hers. “Now wave.”

  “What?”

  “The people onshore are waving at us. They think we are very cool in our pirate costumes. It would be rude not to wave back.”

  She waved. And waved. And after about fifteen minutes of waving, her arm was tired.

  “You’re almost smiling,” Jim said after a while.

  “I am not. I’m grimacing.”

  His hand touched her back, below the annoying life vest. “You’re cold.”

  “Only a little.”

  “Come on, the parade is breaking up. Let’s go see what Jude’s new boat is like belowdecks.”

  They headed down the companionway into a salon that had a Christmas tree in the corner where the clinic kids were opening presents.

  “No Christmas, huh?” Brenda muttered.

  “I’m incorrigible,” Jim said. “But we don’t have to stay here. Jude and Jenna are playing host. And you can lose this,” he said, turning her toward him and unbuckling the flotation device. “We only wanted to make sure people wore them abovedecks in case someone fell overboard.”

  He drew the life vest over her head and then his gaze dropped to the neckline of her ridiculous dress. She stifled the urge to tug
at her bodice. Meanwhile, Jim licked his lips like a hungry wolf.

  Her insides took a wild free fall. For a crazy moment, she thought he might actually kiss the top of her breast or maybe bury his nose in the prominent cleavage created by the costume’s ridiculous bodice. But he didn’t.

  “Come on.” He captured her cold hand in his warm one and pulled her down a passageway that led to a series of staterooms.

  The rooms were small, except for the captain’s quarters at the back of the boat. That room was nothing short of gorgeous, fitted out with burled wood on the bulkheads and luxury linens on the queen-sized bed.

  One glance at the beautiful bed and Brenda’s heart took off at a full gallop. For a moment, she wondered if Jim might ravish her like a pirate.

  Good God, she didn’t really want to be ravished. Did she? No. But somehow the idea of being seduced by a man in a frock coat was terrifying in an absolutely sexy way. Like the little girls who had been pretend-scared of the pretend pirate earlier this evening.

  She leaned against the doorway to the stateroom, not trusting herself to step inside the bedroom with him. When she stopped he turned, his blue eyes darkening and his laugh lines deepening. He cocked his head for a moment, and then his gaze shifted upward. A ridiculously jolly smile touched his lips right before he said, “I’m afraid you have made a tactical mistake.”

  “What?”

  “You’re standing under some mistletoe.”

  She looked up. Damn. But before she could escape, Jim took her by the shoulders, slanted his head, and moved in.

  The kiss was surprisingly rich and dark for a man who appeared to be yo ho ho–ing his way through life. He tasted like cinnamon and vanilla in their unsugared form. A little hot on the tongue. A little untamed.

  He pulled the mob cap from her head and ran his fingers through her hair, and she became unmoored in time and space. The touch of his hand against her overexposed breast set off fireworks that were more suited for the Fourth of July than Christmas.