Christmas Kisses (Romance on the Ranch Series #5) (6 page)

Cecelia watched Mac's brow crease when he glanced
at his cell phone. She could tell he'd had a rough day and she wished there was
more she could do to help him. Dr. Hillsborough had said the first month would
be rough, and so far the two weeks since Mac's return had proven the doc's
words accurate.

Mac answered his phone and his scowl turned to
surprise and then back to a scowl as he shouted, "What!"

Cecelia decided to leave the room. Obviously,
this was a private conversation. He didn't appear to even notice when she
lifted her tray and returned to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, she could
still hear snatches of his conversation when his voice rose in volume. "He
can't come here! — What do you mean he's going to run away? — Let me think
about it!"

When there was silence for several minutes, she
stepped back into the living room. Mac had his good hand pressed to his
forehead. When he glanced up, she saw a tortured expression that ripped her
heart to shreds. Rushing forward, she knelt beside his chair. "Mac, what's
wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?"

He blinked and stared at her for a long moment.
Then he said, "I have a fifteen year old son that I haven't seen since he
was a baby. He was adopted by a wonderful family and they've never kept the
fact of his adoption from him. But they have kept my identity a secret, even
leading him to believe I'm dead because that was something I required for the
adoption to take place." He reached his good hand and rubbed the shoulder
of the arm that had been operated on. Cecelia lifted her hand and said,
"Let me do that." She gently massaged the tense muscles.

Mac closed his eyes and continued speaking.
"I receive yearly updates and pictures of my child from his adoptive
parents. My response is always a polite thank you." He blew a breath.
"It seems the boy pried open the lock of a desk drawer holding copies of
all the letters sent to me over the years and my responses." He opened his
eyes. "He's furious that I've never contacted him and wants to know why he
was told I died in a car accident. Ruth, that's his adoptive mother, said he
still doesn't know my identity and is demanding to know. All my mail is addressed
to a trust and I sign my name only as Mac on my letters."

Cecelia moved her massaging hand slowly down to
Mac's elbow. When he didn't wince, she gently rubbed that area.

He continued, "The boy has threatened to
run away if I don't see him."

Softly, Cecelia asked, "Do you want to see
him?"

Mac's tortured eyes captured and held hers.
"Honestly, my answer would be yes and no."

Cecelia replied, "You may not believe this,
but I understand what you're saying. Although the circumstance was different,
after my brother's accident that laid him up in a hospital paralyzed, I wanted
to see him, but at the same time, I didn't." Cecelia moved her hand to Mac's
wrist and stroked it.

He took a deep breath. "That feels
good." After a few minutes he said, "I guess I'll have to see the
boy."

Cecelia asked, "What's his name?"

A pained expression crossed his features.
"I suppose it doesn't speak well of me to refer to my own son as 'the
boy'."

Cecelia responded, "You're too hard on
yourself."

"His name is Sean."

She entwined her fingers with Mac's and held his
hand. He said, "Ruth and James want to send him here for two weeks. Things
could get hairy. Would you please not leave?"

Increasing the pressure of her hand only
slightly so as to not hurt him, but wanting Mac to realize she was in this with
him, she said, "You can count on me for whatever you need."

*

A week later, Cecelia paced the Cortez Airport.
Nervousness had her twisting the fabric of her skirt.
How can a short
commuter flight from Denver be late? They do this every day.

She paused at a window in the lobby and watched
a new plane come into view. Within minutes it was taxiing to the debarking
area. A crackling voice came over the loudspeaker announcing the flight.

That's him!
Cecelia was amazed at her reaction.
You'd
think he was my child.
She walked to the door for debarking passengers and
held up the paper she'd scrawled the name "Sean" on.

There were only a handful of commuters and soon
a teenage boy entered. Cecelia sucked a breath. The boy was the image of his
father—tall, dark, and handsome. She almost smiled at the descriptive words
used by women throughout the ages.

The only negatives were his scowl and swagger.
He hoisted his backpack higher and then saw her. His scowl turned into a frown.
He approached and she tentatively said, "You must be Sean."

The boy glanced past her and said nastily,
"The old man couldn't be bothered to pick me up in person?"

Cecelia was taken aback by his attitude, but
reminded herself that he'd just discovered he had a living birthfather and was
hurting because he'd never been contacted. She smiled brightly, "It's so
good to meet you, Sean. Your father asked me to pick you up because he's
recovering from surgery."

Cecelia was rewarded when surprise crossed the
young man's features. They soon settled back into a scowl.

"The car isn't far away. Do you have
luggage to be collected."

"No."

"Okay. Follow me and I'll get you home."
Cecelia wished she could take her words back when Sean sent her a snarky look.
She sighed as they headed out of the airport.

Mac ran a comb through his hair again, and then
again. The damn cowlick that always gave him problems wouldn't stay down. He
turned the faucet on and doused it with water. On his next trip to Denver,
maybe he should have his shoulder length locks cropped military style.

Really looking at himself in the mirror, he knew
he looked like hell. That's what pain did—it made you want to shut yourself
away and never face anyone. He said a few choice words because he felt and
looked terrible, and he was about to meet his son after fifteen years…and the
kid hated him.

Scenarios of explanations danced across his
mind. He could tell Sean he'd wanted him to be raised in a loving home, free of
knowing the sadness of their past; he could tell the boy that he was riddled
with guilt over the car accident that killed his mother, always wishing he'd
been more vigilant while driving; he could tell him that he had suffered from
depression for years—and all of that would be true—but the real reason was
because he was a coward. He was a coward who hid from the world and only found
release in painting the images always appearing in his mind.

If it hadn't been for Cecelia, he didn't know
what he would have done. From the panic in Ruth's and James' voices, they truly
believed the boy would run away and that was something he couldn't allow. He
knew what happened to boys who ran—they ended up in foster homes. He'd never
wish that on his child.

The sound of the front door opening distracted
his melancholy thoughts and he inhaled deeply, gave a last pat to the cowlick,
and walked down the hall to the living room, leaving his cane behind. He knew
he shouldn't be up and around, but he damn well wouldn't have his son's first
impression of him be that of a handicapped man. Just as he entered the room, Cecelia
walked in and held the door open for Sean.

Time stopped as Mac froze, staring at his child.
Sean also froze. The two of them appraised each other for a long moment and Mac
felt his eyes grow moist. There was so much of Rose in the boy, but so much of
himself, too. He lifted his good hand and said, "Hello, Sean."

The boy glanced around the small room and then
back at Mac. With a disdainful look, he said, "You're fifteen years too late."

Mac blinked to keep the moisture in his eyes
from falling and glanced at Cecelia. "Why don't you show Sean to his
room?"

Cecelia stepped in front of the boy. "Ah,
there are stairs at the end of the hallway leading to the only room upstairs, a
bedroom under the dormer. Come on. Let's get you settled."

*

Sean glanced around the dormer room that was
spacious enough and walked to drop his backpack on the bed. He had a lump the
size of the moon in his throat. He'd imagined meeting his birthfather at least
a thousand times since reading the correspondence that had obviously been going
on all of Sean's life. Sure, he'd known he was adopted, and early on, when he'd
asked about his birth parents, his mom and dad had spoken of them in the past
tense and mentioned a car accident, so he'd just assumed they were dead. It was
only while he was looking for his iPod that he'd come across the locked desk
drawer in his father's office. It was like a light went on in his head and when
an inner voice whispered,
There are secrets in there,
he'd pried the
drawer open regardless of the consequences—he had to know what was in that
drawer. The contents had stunned him. His father was
living
and his
parents had corresponded yearly with him, sending pictures and updates, but his
father had
never once
asked questions about his son. He'd only sent
short thank you notes. And what of his mother?

After that, Sean's attitude had taken a dive
into the deep end of the ocean. When he'd approached his parents holding the
box of letters, he'd demanded, "Why didn't you tell me about him? And is
my mother alive?"

The mother who had raised him rushed to his
side, while his father said, "Your mother is dead. Your father is alive.
But breaking into someone's personal items is not acceptable, Sean."

Sean had replied, "Keeping the fact of a
living
birthfather from me is not acceptable,
Dad."
He'd tossed the box of
letters on the carpet and run from the house. He'd heard his father say,
"Let him go, Ruth"

Since the discovery his life had been hell and
he knew his parents were paying the price for deceiving him. He was angry and
he became more so each day. Finally, his parents had confronted him and told
him that his birthfather had agreed to meet with him, but they would give no
history as to why he had been put up for adoption.
Agreed to meet with me!
He'd wanted to throw the words back in their faces. He'd wanted to shout,
He
owes me,
but he'd remained silent and sullen and merely asked,
"When?"

A knock on the door brought his thoughts back to
the present. He opened the door to face the woman who had picked him up at the
airport. She seemed nice enough, but he hadn't been into
nice
for over a
week. She said, "I own a coffee shop in town and I need to check in. I'll
only be gone about an hour and then we can eat dinner. Do you like pizza? Your
father and I talked about ordering one. They make a great one at Pappy's Pizza
Palace. I can stop by on my way home and pick one up."

Sean shrugged. "Whatever."

She asked a little too cheerily, "Do you
like pepperoni or ham or combination or just cheese?"

He glanced at her. She looked nervous. "I
like it all."

"Oh, great. Then I'll order a combination.

"Sure."

She started to turn away, but paused and said,
"You should cut him some slack."

Before Sean could respond, she closed the door.

As soon as Cecelia entered Dixie's Cuppa Joe,
Justin pounced. "Well, can you tell us anything about Mystery Kid?"

Tilly was working today and rushed from behind
the counter. Angie was still there, too, and joined them.

The shop was empty except for a group of teenage
girls that often visited after school and never paid attention to anything but
the gossip they shared.

A few days before Sean's arrival, Cecelia had
confided to her employees that Mystery Man had a son arriving and she may need
to take time off during his two week stay. Since she'd made it clear early on
that they would never get information from her about Mystery Man, they didn't
prod her for particulars, although she could see curiosity sparkling their
eyes.

Cecelia responded to Justin. "He's a
teenage boy."

Justin slapped his head. "Now why couldn't
I figure that out?"

Cecelia grinned. "He's a sullen teenage boy
named Sean and that's all I'm going to say."

Justin grinned back. "You're a regular
encyclopedia, boss."

While Cecelia closed down the cash register, she
gave serious thought to an idea that kept popping up. She said to Justin, Tilly,
and Angie, "You know, I think I'll ask Sean to help us decorate the shop
this Sunday. Maybe being involved in Christmas cheer will help his
attitude."
And maybe pigs will fly.

Justin said, "Being a teenage boy once
myself, I can tell you it probably won't make a difference."

Cecelia sighed, "I know. But maybe there
will be a long-term affect."

Tilly laughed, "Yep, using that
terminology, you were a high-class business woman."

Cecelia grinned. "Perhaps I should have
said, 'Maybe down the line he'll get some smarts in that noggin' of his'?"

Justin winked, "Another six months and
you'll be speaking full-blooded cowboyanese."

Amidst jokes and laughter, Cecelia and her
employees finished closing shop for the day and called goodbyes. She drove the
short distance to the pizza parlor. Inside Pappy's Pizza Palace, she inhaled
the aroma of Italian spices, meats, sauces, and bread. Pappy was still there
and said, "I just pulled yer order outta the oven and if I say so meself,
it's pure perfection."

"I have no doubt about that," Cecelia
agreed.

"So, Fannie Levinworth said she saw you
bring a teenage boy to Mystery Man's house. Wanna share what's up?"

Cecelia sighed. What Mac couldn't seem to grasp
was that the more he remained hidden, the more the townsfolk focused on him and
wondered who he was. She responded, "There's nothing up except a night of
your pizza and television reruns."

Pappy guffawed, "Nothin' stays a secret
forever."

Cecelia reached into her purse to pay Pappy and
leave a nice tip. She grabbed the monstrosity of a pizza and said with a grin,
"Catch you later, Pappy."

*

Mac watched Cecelia set plates and utensils on
the coffee table and then open the huge box with Pappy's pizza. His son sat
across from him on the couch and Cecelia settled in beside him. He had to hand
it to her—she was a trouper. If he'd been treated as rudely as Sean treated
her, he'd have tossed the kid out on his ass. Hell, what was he thinking, he
had
been treated just as obnoxiously. The boy had stayed in his room all day and
only come out when Cecelia called him to eat. Mac figured the kid was either
doing his schoolwork online, surfing the net, listening to an iPod, or playing
video games on a fancy cell phone. After all, his parents were rich and Mac had
created a generous trust fund for him. Funny, how he thought about his own son
having parents.

Cecelia gave a few attempts at making
conversation and the boy just sort of grunted. Mac studied his son's face. He
reminded him of himself around that age—sullen, cocky, and rude. Of course, Mac
had been dealing with an alcoholic mother, and then, after her death, being
bounced from foster home to foster home, so he sort of figured he had reason.
His son had been raised in the lap of luxury with loving parents—his excuses
were limited. Except that Mac could only imagine the shock it had been for Sean
to discover his birthfather—and then realize said father had never attempted
contact.

Cecelia spread a napkin on her lap and then cut
her pizza into bite size pieces with a knife and fork. Mac almost grinned at
her politeness. When Sean stuffed a bite of pizza in his mouth, she glanced at Mac
and then back at Sean. She said, "Sean, I'm actually new to the community
myself. I've only been here a few months, but something I've learned is that
the residents of this lovely town are friendly and," she smiled and Mac's
heart thumped, "quirky."

Sean said, "So?"

Cecelia continued, ignoring his rude remark.
"Anyway, my coffee shop is closed on Sundays and there's a whole gang of
wonderful folks coming this Sunday to help decorate for Christmas. There's
going to be some teenagers and I thought you might like to meet them."

Sean took another bite of pizza and said with a
full mouth. "I'll pass."

Mac's arm hurt like hell and his musing suddenly
darkened. Staring at his rebellious son, he decided to step out on a limb,
believing the boy wasn't quite as creepy as the persona he was trying to
portray. He said, "I guess since we've finally met and you obviously don't
want to be here, I can call the airlines tomorrow and book you a flight back
home."

Both Cecelia and Sean gave him a surprised look.
A flicker of an expression crossed the boy's features that broke Mac's heart.
The kid's facade was a bunch of crap, just as he'd guessed. He was a boy
wanting to know the father who had rejected him. Softly, Mac said, "You
might actually find a friend in this hick town. I finally found one in Cecelia."

The boy swallowed the lump of pizza he'd been
chewing. He didn't look at his father, but responded, "Fine. But I'm not
decorating some Christmas tree."

Mac glanced at Cecelia and recognized the hint
of a smile in her eyes. She said seriously, "I promise I won't ask you to
decorate a tree."

Just as Mac was feeling pretty good about a
minor victory, the kid looked from him to Cecelia and asked, "So, are you
two, like, you know, boyfriend/girlfriend, sleeping together."