Christmas On Nutcracker Court (33 page)

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Authors: Judy Duarte

BOOK: Christmas On Nutcracker Court
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Goodness, it was cold out—gray and dreary, too.
What time was it? She had no way of knowing without looking at a clock.
As Max removed the tree from the car, her heart swelled to the bursting point. How sweet of him to do this for the boys, for her.
Realizing she should have included him as one of the blessings she'd counted last night, she whispered a follow-up thank-You for Max.
As he carried in the ugliest, scrawniest tree she'd ever seen before—a tree that might not even be a pine—into the house, she asked, “Where did you get this?”
“From my backyard. I cut it down last night.” His cheeks were flushed from the cold, his eyes twinkled with excitement. “I even strung the lights on it already. All we need is a plug and something to lean it against.”
Tears welled in her eyes, this time the happy kind that sprang forth when she laughed herself silly—something she couldn't remember doing in a long time. “This is so sweet of you.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I don't think my neighbors appreciated my grunts and groans at midnight. I came away with a couple of scrapes on my knuckles and a respect for loggers.” He smiled, revealing a pair of dimples that creased his cheeks. “So what do you have to put this in?”
“I'll get the stand out of the garage.”
“While you do that, I'll bring in the presents.”
“You got the boys gifts, too?”
“Well, nothing new. But I had some stuff around the house and garage that I figured would make them both happy. We'll see if I was right.”
There, in the center of the living room, with a rush of cold air still wafting in from the open front door, Carly went up on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around the sweetest man she'd ever met. “How can I ever thank you?”
“Well,” he said, chuckling. “This is a good start. But it would be nicer if you hugged me again when I have both arms free.”
“I'd be happy to.”
Then she took off to the garage, in search of a tree stand, and the angel that had been in her family for years.
When she returned, Max stood in the living room, with Hemingway at his side. The dog wore a big red bow on his collar, and Max held an armful of aluminum-foil-wrapped gifts. One was at least six feet long and skinny. “What in the world is that?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It's a fishing pole. I'm also giving Josh a gift certificate for a fishing trip.”
The tears struck again, blurring her vision. “He's going to love that.”
“I hope so.” He set the gifts down near the hearth. “I also wrapped a tackle box, which I've only used a couple of times.”
Max had outdone himself, and she was speechless.
“There's only one problem,” he said.
She certainly hadn't seen one yet. “What's that?”
“I hope you don't mind, but I'm giving Mikey the dog.”
Her lips parted, and even though she wanted to object, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her youngest son adored that dog.
“I know it's not cheap to have a pet,” Max said, “but we can share custody, and I'll foot the bills for food and the vet. Besides, Hemingway loves the kids, and he'll be happier living with them.”
It might be way too soon to ponder the possibility, but for this very moment in time, she loved Max Tolliver with all her heart.
Finally, she said, “I don't know what to say.”
“You don't have to say anything—especially any comments about the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. It really was the best I could do at the last minute.”
“The tree, the gifts . . . It's a miracle as far as I'm concerned.”
And last night, while she'd been crying and—yes, even blaming God for not answering her prayers in the way she'd wanted Him to—He'd been answering them all along.
And in a wonderful, unexpected way.
 
 
Lynette had been so worried about Rosa that she hadn't slept very well last night. She'd finally gotten up at a little after six, then put on a pot of coffee.
As the water began to gurgle in the carafe, and the aroma began to fill the room, the phone rang.
She had no idea who it could be, and the thought that it might be Carlos, calling with bad news, made her stomach knot. Still, she snatched the receiver from its cradle and answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lynnie. It's Helen. I called to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
Lynette blew out a ragged sigh of relief. “Where are you?”
“We just got into port in New York. We'll stay two days in Manhattan, then I'll fly home on the twenty-seventh.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“The best ever. Wait until you see all of my pictures.”
Lynette hated to have to be the one to tell her, but Helen needed to know about Rosa. So she relayed the bad news, trying to make a positive outcome a little more possible than it actually might be.
“Oh, no. That's terrible. Will you please keep me posted? I'll keep my cell phone charged and handy.”
“I'll let you know if there's any change. We sure missed you, Helen. But we enjoyed having a chance to meet Maggie.”
“Maggie?”
“Your cousin.”
There was a beat of silence, then Helen said, “I don't have a cousin named Maggie.”
Of course, Lynette had forgotten. Maggie was only a nickname. “I mean Mary-Margaret Di Angelo. You e-mailed us about her, saying she would house-sit for you while you were gone and asking us to introduce ourselves to her.”
“I didn't e-mail anyone,” Helen said. “And I don't know a woman by that name. In fact, I asked Grant and Max to look after my house for me.”
Lynette blinked several times, trying to sort through the information she'd been given.
“What are you saying?” Helen asked, her voice rising an octave. “Has someone been staying in my house?”
“Yes, I'm afraid so.”
“Oh, no. It must be a drifter . . . Or a homeless person trying to stay out of the cold. Or maybe a criminal hiding out from the law . . .”
“She's actually very nice, so I'm sure there's a mistake.” Lynette couldn't imagine what it would be, though. “Don't worry, Helen. I'll check on your house right now.”
“Thanks, Lynnie. Call me as soon as you know something.”
“I will.”
As Lynette hung up the telephone, she wondered what she was getting herself into.
And just who Mary-Margaret Di Angelo, aka Maggie, really was.
Chapter 21
Twenty minutes later, Lynette had showered, thrown on some clothes, as well as her jacket, and driven over to Helen's.
As difficult as it was for her to believe that Maggie, who was one of the sweetest, gentlest women she'd ever met, had lied or was up to no good, she had to admit that something wasn't right.
After parking at the curb, she surveyed the exterior of the old Victorian, as well as the yard. She couldn't see anything amiss. Even the sidewalk had been swept free of leaves, the lawn newly mowed.
Still, Helen said she didn't know Maggie and hadn't asked her to stay at the house. What if Maggie really had been hiding out from the law? And what if she had a partner in crime?
Okay, so Lynette's imagination was running amok, but either way, it probably wasn't a good idea for her to confront Maggie alone. For that reason, she would ask Grant to go with her.
As Lynette climbed from the car, she clicked on the key remote to lock the vehicle, then strode to Grant's front door and rang the bell.
When he answered, wearing a pair of black sweats, his hair tousled from sleep, her heart lurched.
What was it about the man that, even when he was hanging out at home or working in the yard, he had a way of turning her inside out?
He lit up when he spotted her on the porch. “Hey. Merry Christmas. You're sure out and about early.”
After she explained why, he said, “Wow. I always thought there was something weird about that woman. Hang on for a minute. I'll get the key to Helen's house—just in case Maggie's not there to answer.”
“Why wouldn't she be?”
“Yesterday, I saw her in the yard talking to a shaggy-haired man with a beard. When I approached them, she told me that Helen would be coming home soon, so she'd be leaving. She wasn't sure if she'd see me again, so she said good-bye.”
“Who was the guy with her?”
“She introduced him as Jesse. He was middle age, average height. Other than having shabby clothes and needing a shave, he seemed friendly.”
“I'm a little uneasy about confronting them,” she admitted.
“It's not like we have to bust in like a SWAT team. I have Helen's key. If Maggie doesn't answer, we'll let ourselves in. And if she's inside, sleeping or something, I'll tell her that I assumed she was already gone.” Grant reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don't worry. I'll be with you.”
His support meant the world to her, but she didn't comment. Instead, she waited for him to get the key.
Ten minutes later, they'd searched Helen's house from top to bottom, only to find no sign of anyone having been there. The furniture had been dusted, the kitchen sink scoured. The countertops were clean, too.
Upstairs, the beds had been made—no rumpled spreads or comforters, every pillow in its place. Even all the bathroom towels, which appeared to be freshly laundered, hung straight.
“I guess she's gone,” Lynette said. “But who was she? And why was she here?”
“I have no idea.”
Both clearly awed and bewildered, they stood in the center of the living room with more questions than ever.
“I'll have a locksmith come out tomorrow and change all the locks on the doors,” Grant said, “just to be sure Helen's secure. But I can't see that there was any harm done while Maggie was here.”
Lynette furrowed her brow, still at a loss.
Grant reached for her hand again. “Are you ready to go? I can't see any reason to stay here any longer. Why don't you come back to my place and have a cup of coffee? I just put on a fresh pot, and I've got a fire blazing in the hearth. It'll be a good place to stay warm and dry.”
It
was
really chilly this morning. And she didn't have anything else to do but to go back to an empty house. “Sure. That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
And it really did. It would also give her a chance to call Helen and let her know that everything was okay.
After locking Helen's door, they returned to Grant's house hand-in-hand. Lynette supposed she could have let go of him, but she kind of liked having a physical connection to someone, especially on Christmas.
“You never did tell me whether you'd go out with me or not,” Grant said, as they entered his living room.
Lynette still wasn't sure if she should, although she'd already come to the conclusion that he wasn't the kind of man who'd be abusive. But she had to admit being concerned about his job prospects and financial situation, which had her uneasy and reluctant to throw caution to the wind and trust her heart. As a result, she kept quiet for a couple of beats.
Finally, she asked, “What about Carly?”
“I told you before, neither of us even broached the subject of a commitment. We just went out to dinner—
once
. If I never call her again, I doubt she'll be disappointed.”
On the other hand, if Lynette didn't say yes, if she let Grant go without giving their friendship or whatever it was a chance, she might always wonder what she'd missed. And it might even be a whole lot.
She had half a notion to tug on his hand, to pull him closer, but some old habits were hard to break.
In an attempt to fight temptation, she slipped her hands into the empty pockets of her jacket, only to find a bit of lint and the coin Susan had given her the other day.
If you lose every bit of that inheritance Peter left you,
Susan had said,
there's enough love in that single penny to see you through anything life throws your way
.
Something told her that was true, so how could she not take a chance?
“Okay, Grant. I'll go out with you.”
A boyish grin spread across his face. “Then how about today?”
The suggestion took her aback. “But it's Christmas.”
“A lot of restaurants offer a brunch. Why don't we take a drive and see what we can find?”
As his eyes searched hers, as their gazes locked, her heart skipped a beat.
Why
not
today?
she thought.
Why
not
now?
For once in Lynette's adult life, she realized that she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
 
 
Carly's sons had yet to wake up, but the tree, which tilted a bit to the left, was up, the colorful lights blinking on and off.
Together, Max and Carly had placed the presents he'd brought beneath the bottom branches, then they'd perched the angel on the top.
Proud of a job well done, they'd gone into the kitchen to plan a Christmas breakfast.
“How about pancakes?” Max asked. “If you've got flour, eggs, and milk, we can whip up a batch.”
“That sounds great, and I've got everything that we need to make them, but I'm out of syrup.”
“Do you have jam or jelly?”
She smiled. “I'm afraid that's a staple around here, along with peanut butter.”
“Good, then we're set.” He tossed her a smile, surprised at how good it felt to be part of a team, especially on a day like this.
As they set about mixing the batter, Max said, “You know, I've been thinking. I'm going to call the county HR department tomorrow and tell them I want to go back to work.”
“But what about your book?”
“There's not much I can do now but wait to hear from the agent, which might be months. I could work on proposals for the next books in the series, I suppose. But I can do that on a part-time basis, too. I . . .” He paused, wondering why he found it so easy to share his thoughts and plans with Carly, when he hadn't opened up with Karen all that much.
There was no rhyme or reason for it, he supposed, other than it just felt right.
“After talking to Frank Shurlock at the park,” he continued, “I realized that my work at the probation department was more than a job. With the right attitude and a little faith, I might actually be able to help people, to make a difference in their lives.”
“You've certainly made a difference in mine.”
Max gazed at the woman who stood next to him, and all the walls he'd ever built to protect himself began to crack and tumble.
As he reached for Carly's cheek, running his knuckles along her soft skin, his heart pounded like crazy, racing to escape all the old scars and baggage, no doubt.
Would she pull away and let him know that he was way off base? That he'd taken her appreciation and made it something she'd never meant it to be?
When she turned to face him, her lips parted, and he knew they were on the same page. He was going to kiss her—and she was going to let him.
As their lips met, and Carly leaned into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him, their kiss blossomed with innocence and awe, with the promise of a future together.
How about that?
Max had been given an unexpected gift this Christmas, too—an incredible blessing he didn't deserve.
But one he would cherish from this day forward.
Josh couldn't believe how incredible Christmas had turned out to be—or what a surprise it had been to wake up and find Max and the dog at their house.
The guy had even given him a fishing pole and gear, which was cool by itself. But what made it even better was that Max planned to take Josh to Lake Jennings tomorrow.
How cool was that?
Then Max had given his dog to Mikey, something his little brother had gone nuts over.
“For
real?
” he'd asked, looking first at Max, then at Mom, and back again. “I get to
keep
him?”
They'd both assured him the dog was his. So now maybe Mikey wouldn't expect Josh to entertain him so much, which meant babysitting him wouldn't be such a chore. And the dog could even sleep with him, so Josh could have a room to himself again.
His mom had loved her scarf, too. She'd put it on as soon as she opened it up, even though she wasn't going anywhere.
Now, as the adults took a seat on the sofa, looking kind of lovey-dovey, Josh figured it would be best to let them have some privacy. Maybe, if he was lucky, they'd fall in love and Max would start coming around more often.
“Hey, Josh,” Mikey said. “Do you want to go with me and Hemingway?”
“Where to?”
“For a walk.”
Josh glanced at the adults one last time and saw that they still wore those goofy smiles. So he said, “Sure. I'll go with you.”
“Bundle up,” Mom said. “It's looking pretty cold and nasty outside.”
After putting on their jackets, they headed outdoors, then turned down the street toward the path that led to the canyon.
“Want to take Hemingway on the Bushman Trail?” Mikey asked.
“I guess so.”
They'd barely made it as far as the creek, when Mikey glanced up in the sky at some little white fluffs of nothing coming down like fairy dust. “What's that stuff?”
It wasn't rain. Or hail, either. It was too soft for that.
Oh, man. Was it
snow
? In
Fairbrook
?
“I could be wrong,” Josh said, “but I think it might be snowing.”
Mikey let out a wild
whoop-de-doo
that caused the dog to jump. “He
did
it. He
really
did it. I told you God could do anything. You just gotta believe that He can. Wait until Nick sees
this
.”
“Yeah, but it'll probably melt as soon as it hits the ground.”
“But it's still
snow,
” Mikey said. “You gotta admit that.”

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