by Barbara Lohr
Table of Contents
Title Page
Licensing Rights
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
More Books by Barbara Lohr
About the Author
Christmas Dreams
and Santa Schemes
by Barbara Lohr
Licensing Rights
Copyright © 2018 Barbara Lohr
All rights reserved.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-945523-12-0
Purple Egret Press
Editor: Bev Katz Rosenbaum
All Rights Reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems. With the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, this work may not be reproduced without written permission granted by the author
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events and places in the book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity of real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Dedication
For every family.
May all find peace and love.
Chapter 1
The smell of fresh bread welcomed them when Sarah ushered Nathan and Justin into the back room of The Full Cup. Her cheeks and lips felt chapped, and she closed the door on the cold December day. “We finally made it.” She got busy unwinding the scarves that covered her little boys’ faces.
“I hate winter.” Yanking off his mittens, Nathan threw them on the floor.
“Nathan,” Sarah said, raising her voice over the rock music. She’d tackle that in a minute. “Please put those on the sink to dry.” With the heat in this room, it wouldn’t take long. Grumbling, her five year-old did as he was told while she tended to Justin.
Her three year-old stared up at her, eyes solemn and blonde hair upended when she whisked off his cap. “Thank you, Mommy.” He was way too serious for a boy his age.
She tousled his hair. “You’re welcome, handsome boy. Hang your jacket up, please. You too, Nathan.” Her voice rose. Her hands stayed on her hips until Nathan did as he was told.
Christmas was bearing down on them. The fragrance of pumpkin pies had barely faded from The Full Cup when Christmas ads began to blare from the TV, glittering with holiday cheer.
Not for her. Not this Christmas.
But what about her boys? The war in a country far across the ocean meant nothing to them. But it had taken their daddy. Jamie would want Nathan and Justin to have a good Christmas. Whatever it took, they would get what they wanted. Sarah hitched up the jeans that wouldn’t button any more.
Emotional eating. She was all about it.
Now, the music. Ryan’s loud music throbbed in her ears, not exactly the fluffy stuff that would raise your sprits. Jamie’s younger brother would be deaf by the time he was thirty. “Turn the radio down!” she called out, slipping off her coat and hanging it on one of the hooks. Her day of babysitting for seven small children had gone well but left her exhausted. She’d formed the group with her friend Lindsay and other young mothers in Gull Harbor.
The oven clanged shut behind her. “The music, Ryan. Please.”
“Okay, boss lady.”
The teasing smile in Ryan’s voice wore on her like summer sand in her sandals. Sarah hated his nickname for her––a sure sign of his immaturity. She helped the boys off with their boots and snowpants. The music changed to a Christmas favorite about having “holly jolly” Christmas. Good luck with that but at least the volume had dropped. “Thank you, Ryan. Nathan and Justin, set your boots on the rug next to the door.”
The warmth of the room seeped into her bones. Usually her mother worked back here but the heavy trays had become too much. Mom had suggested that Ryan might help out if he had time. But they couldn’t afford to pay her brother-in-law, so it felt like begging. “All the cookies you can eat,” she’d joked when she brought it up.
“No problem,” Ryan had said, shifting his stance the way he did when his old injury bothered him. “Do you mind if I split the shift? Cookies in the morning and bread dough at night?”
“Of course not.” After all he worked full time at Branson’s Motors. “I appreciate your help.”
He’d given her a lopsided grin. “This will be my Christmas present. Not the Porsche I had my eye on for you.”
Always kidding. “A Porsche,” she’d sputtered.
So far, Ryan had been reliable. Every morning he was here when she arrived and he closed up at night, driving up Red Arrow highway in between shifts to work at the garage. Jamie would be proud of him.
She’d just have to live with this for a few weeks. If it weren’t for the Christmas baking, she could handle the back work room alone. But her taxes were way overdue. She needed to keep the display cases full and the cash register ringing.
Staring at herself in the mirror above the coat hooks, Sarah wondered who this woman was. Her hair was a rats’ nest and dark circles smudged her eyes. Who had time for makeup? Fluffing her tangled curls, she caught sight of the image reflected in the mirror. “Oh, my.”
Muscles flexed under the gray T-shirt of the man hoisting trays from the oven. A mop of curly hair hid his face. Just for a moment her heart stopped. Jamie. How many times had she seen her husband like this, shuffling the trays like cards in his poker game with the guys? Her throat closed and a tear squeezed from her eye.
The man turned. Ryan.
Of course. Only Ryan.
“What is it?” He swept the damp hair from his forehead.
“Nothing.” She hoped he didn’t notice her damp eyes.
“I didn’t expect you back today. Usually you go straight home after picking up the boys.”
Running her hands over her jeans and a tattered Say Yes to Michigan! sweatshirt, Sarah felt frumpy. “My mother wasn’t answering her phone.”
He nodded toward the stairway. “She went up to her apartment a while ago. You should have called me instead of driving over. The streets are slippery.”
“I––I managed. Think I’ll just run up and check.”
Grabbing a sheet of caraway rye from the oven, Ryan shoved it onto the cooling rack. Then he shut the oven with a clang and ripped off the protective mitts with his teeth. “I locked the front door. No one came in after three. The snow, you know.”
“Did my mother look sick?”
“Maybe a little flushed. Lila’s getting older, Sarah.” He propped a hip against the work counter.
“I know.” As if she needed reminding. Giggling and jostling, the boys disappeared into the front of the coffee shop.
“No cookies!” Sarah called out. “You haven’t had dinner yet.”
Silence out front. Ryan chuckled and they exchanged a glance. “Double trouble,” she said.
“They’re good boys, Sarah. And I’ve got news.” His lips twisted into a smile. “Boys are trouble.”
Well, he should know.
“Just one cookie?” Nathan’s wheedling voice called from the front.
“It can’t hurt.” Ryan always took their side. “One cookie, Mo
m?”
“You’re no help at all.” Sarah got tired of saying no. That was her role now. Disciplinarian. Not a wife, just a mother. “Okay. Just one. Then you both get back here.” After a suspiciously long time, they burst through the swinging door, waving oatmeal cookies.
Going over to the butcher block table in the center of the room, Nathan ran a hand over the floury surface and munched. “Aren’t you cold in just your undershirt, Uncle Ryan?”
Embarrassment flooded Sarah’s face. “Nathan, don’t be rude.”
But the comment didn’t seem to bother Ryan. “I wear this because it’s hot in here. And I think you owe me a bite from your cookie.” But just as Ryan reached to snatch it, Nathan offered the cookie up. He gave his uncle a sweet smile that tugged at Sarah’s heart. Ryan was right. They were good boys. Taking a tiny bite, Ryan chewed with exaggerated lip movements.
“Nice. Real nice,” she said. He could be such a clown with the kids.
One hand smushed across his face, Justin giggled, peaking at his uncle from between his fingers.
“Are you laughing at me? I’ll sic the tickle bug on you.” Ryan made a move to scoop Justin up, but he ran around the end of the table. They adored Uncle Ryan. Sarah just didn’t want them turning out like him.
“You boys are getting cookie crumbs all over my workroom,” Ryan said.
“Now you sound like me.” Sarah chuckled. But Ryan’s comment brought the boys up short. Walking to the wastebasket, they dusted the crumbs off their hands.
“Man, it’s hot in here.” Ambling over, he shoved open a window. Muscles rippled as he moved, his limp hardly noticeable. She’d never noticed those etched biceps.
“You are hot,” she murmured. Oh mercy. “Warm. I mean warm. It’s so warm in here.” Sarah fanned herself. What was she saying?
“Yes. It is,” he said, turning slowly, the hint of a smile dancing across his lips.
Sarah clapped her hands. “Okay, time to check on Grandma.” She herded the boys toward the back stairs. “We’ll be right back. Have to check on my muscles. I mean, my mother.”
“I’ll be here.” Ryan adjusted his apron. “Still have lots of work to do.”
“Right. You just...get to work.” Why was she so rattled?
“You bet, boss lady.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” My, her nerves really were on edge.
“Sorry. I’m just teasing.” He didn’t look sorry at all.
Her heart was racing. Must be the heat. “I’ll be right back.”
Escaping to the stairs, Sarah led the boys up to the second-floor apartment over the shop. Her parents had lived up here from the very beginning. Sarah remembered her dad getting up in the dark to go down and set the bread dough to rise. Jamie had taken on the role after her dad passed away. Their own house wasn’t far away.
Sarah knocked on the door before cracking it open. “Mom? It’s me. Sarah and the boys.”
The TV was off. The living room, silent. The latest issues of The National Enquirer were neatly arranged on the coffee table. Her mother liked to stay current on her Hollywood news. Sarah sniffed. Usually Mom would be eating an early dinner. But no stew or a pork chop aroma hung in the air. She poked her head into the small kitchen. Nothing.
Sarah had planned to have grab bars installed in the bathroom. Her mother’s Christmas present would be a safety system with a button to wear. One touch and EMS would come screeching to her aid.
Cold fear skittered down her spine. “Boys, sit on the sofa. Not a peep out of you.” Eyes wide, they sat down.
“Mom?” As she walked down the long hall toward the bedrooms, a sweet smell drifted from the bathroom. Soap or perfume? Her mother was singing.
“Mom, are you in there?” She knocked on the door.
The singing stopped. Slowly the door cracked open. “Did you need me, sweetheart?”
Sarah stared. Green goop covered her mother’s face.
The door closed. “Just give me a second. I’ll be right out,” her mother said above the sound of splashing water.
A face mask? Her mother had never shown interest in that kind of thing. Maybelline lipstick once a week and that was for church. Walking briskly back to the living room, Sarah clicked on the TV and found Sesame Street.
“That’s for kids,” Nathan said with contempt, reaching for the remote.
“But I like the Count!” Justin whined. “Leave it, Mom. Please?”
Was there ever an end to this? “The two of you sit there and watch Big Bird. Period.” She meant business and they heard it. Slumping onto the sofa, Sarah enjoyed the silliness of the show. Laughing together with her boys felt good. After fifteen minutes or so, her mother appeared.
“What a surprise.” Mom’s salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back with a pink headband Sarah had never seen before.
“Don’t you look nice.” Jumping up, Sarah came closer. Was her mother wearing eye liner and mascara? And that wasn’t all. “Is that a new top, Mom?”
“Why, yes. Do you like it?” Mom fingered the white beaded snowflakes decorating the red knit sweater. “I got it at the Michigan City outlet.”
“Have you lost weight?” Sarah couldn’t help the faint note of jealousy in her voice.
“Maybe just a tad.” Mom patted her hips in the snug beige pants. “How did the babysitting go today?”
“We call it playschool. Fine. Not that I’d want to do it every day.” That was an understatement. She’d lose her mind, wiping noses and helping with puzzles for all those children.
Sarah’s mother had not been in favor of the co-op. She’d been Sarah’s main babysitter since the boys were born. But she was getting older. Now was time for her mother to relax––watch soap operas or read romance novels. “What was that stuff on your face?”
“An avocado mask.” Mom ran a veined hand over her cheeks. “Supposed to help the wrinkles. Mine are terrible. What do you think?”
Sarah leaned closer. “You’ve always had beautiful skin.”
“Has Ryan started on the Christmas cookies?” her mother asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“Maybe tomorrow.” Her mother had baked the Christmas cookies as long as Sarah could remember. The buttery rich thimbles, layered mint chocolate brownies, tangy lemon bars, spritz and the sand tarts – those were all her mother's making. The cookies took time and delicate shaping. Ryan had large capable hands, suitable for punching down bread dough and wrestling with Harleys. “I hope this works out.”
Pink lips pursed, Mom sank into the barcalounger that had been her father's favorite chair. “Ryan will be a big help. You can teach him.”
“Right.” Sarah hated to admit that she missed talking to the customers. Baking cookies with Ryan in the back room? That kitchen could feel mighty small. She plopped down on the sofa.
“Mom! You’re squishing me.” With a gentle shove, Justin moved over. Both boys were listening to this conversation with great interest.
“I guess so. Gull Harbor folks do love their Christmas cookies.” Today the holiday expectations of her home town made her weary.
“They do indeed.” Her mother nodded so hard, Sarah thought the pink headband might fall right off. “Soon all storefronts will be decorated with lights. The painted reindeer will sprint over Whittaker Street. We add to the Christmas cheer with our cookies.”
Eyes bright, Lila glanced at her daughter for agreement.
Well, at least someone had the Christmas spirit.
“But what does Ryan know about Christmas cookies?”
Lila’s eyes sparkled. “What he doesn’t know you can teach him. You taught Jamie. How about some hot dogs, boys?”
“Hot dogs!” When Nathan and Justin bounced on the sofa, it made Sarah’s head hurt. You’d think they never got hot dogs at home. Everything always tasted better at Grandma's.
The day was feeling longer by the minute. Sarah pushed herself up, trying to hide her stomach roll by tugging down her sweater. “Sounds like yo
u’ve got things covered. I’ll go down and talk to Ryan about the cookies.”
When Sarah reached for the door knob, she noticed a pile of books on a side table. “What’s this, Mom?” She picked one up. “The History of the Roman Empire.”
Her mother twirled a gray curl around one finger. “Just thought I’d read up on things.”
“Right.” The Roman Empire?
Making her way downstairs again, Sarah reached for the handrail. She felt as if she’d been transported to someone else’s life. Back in the work room, Ryan was standing in front of the big refrigerator. One muscled arm held the door open.
“What are you doing?” That open door was giving her a chill
Ryan turned. “Figuring out the butter. Your mother said you would take me through the recipes.”
She expelled a breath. “Okay. Let's start there.” Going over to her desk, she took the big blue binder from a shelf. Someday she had to organize this collection of slip sheets and clippings. Flipping through, she found the thimbles recipe. Ryan hovered nearby, smelling like a man who’d worked hard. Sarah had always liked that familiar scent. But Ryan hadn’t been the man.
“Thimbles?” Ryan read over her shoulder.
“Didn't your mother make them?” The jam-filled thimbles were one of her favorites.
“My mother always said that if God had wanted women to bake he wouldn’t have invented bakeries.”
“How awful!” The words were out before she could think. Ryan and Jamie's parents had moved back to Chicago about the time that Jamie and Sarah were married. Shortly after that, they’d divorced. Mrs. Pickard had remarried and their father had died in a traffic accident. Neither Jamie nor Ryan had taken to their mother’s new husband.
Bringing her attention back to the recipe, Sarah tried to focus. “Or we could do the mint-layered brownies.”
He looked offended. “Trust me. I can handle the thistles.”
“Thimbles. Okay then. Thimbles it is.” She drew herself up. “Let’s leave three pounds of butter out to soften tonight.”
Sarah watched him walk to the refrigerator. Ryan was a good-looking man and she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t dating someone. His limp was hardly noticeable.