Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (42 page)

Something fisted in his chest. A memory, most likely. Of the last person who'd championed him like that. Not that his family didn't, of course. Always had. But this...

“Feisty little thing, aren't you?”

“Not so little,” she muttered. “But...yeah. Because I want the best for these kids, too. All of them.” He heard her take a breath. “My parents... They may not have always understood me, but they were still one hundred percent behind whatever I wanted to do. Every kid deserves that. Right?”

The dog got down, clicked out of the room. Ethan leaned back in the padded rolling chair, idly looking at the bulletin board smothered with Merri's handwritten to-do lists and schedules and what-all he'd never bothered to take down. And, in front of the board, a dozen boxes packed up and ready to ship from Jules's little eBay business. He wasn't stupid; he could hear subtext as well as the next person. He could also choose to ignore it. “So this really isn't only a job for you?”

“I told you it wasn't. Oh, my gosh...if I'd only wanted ‘a job,' I could think of a dozen things easier than teaching. Like becoming one of those dudes who swallows knives.”

“Or trying to make it as an actress?”

A moment passed before she said, “I'm still an actress, Ethan. Just not one pounding the streets of New York, begging for scraps from any producer or director who'll give me ten seconds of his or her time—”

The boys burst into the office, demanding Ethan immediately arbitrate a heated disagreement about who chose the next video game to play. Underneath a galaxy of freckles nearly the same color as his hair, pink splotches bloomed across Finn's cheeks.

“You got to pick last time, it's not fair!”

“I did not! You did!” Harry glowered, his perpetually tousled dark blond hair even spikier than usual. “And Mario Kart's for little kids—”

“It is not! Is it, Dad?”

“Is, too—!”

“Guys!” Ethan pointed to his phone. “Trying to have a conversation here.”

“But—”

“We'll settle this later. And it's almost dinnertime, so go wash up.” He waited until, both grumbling, they slogged out of the room before saying to Claire, “Sorry. You were saying—?”

“That happen a lot?”

“What? The fighting or the interrupting?”

“Whichever.”

“Yes to both.” Leaning forward with his elbows on the desk, Ethan released a tired chuckle. “To be honest, I haven't had an uninterrupted phone call at home since... In a long time. Or a meal or night's sleep either, come to think of it.”

“Wow.”

“What can I say, it comes with the territory. But you know, one day they'll all be gone and...the silence will probably drive me insane. But where were we?” he said, sitting up again.

“Um, you're obviously busy—”

“The kids will all still be here, trust me. Unless I'm keeping you...?”

“No, no...not at all.”

“Then you were saying something about...giving up on New York?”

She paused, then said, “Not so sure I gave up on New York as I came to my senses, maybe? Which I wouldn't have done if circumstances hadn't brought me back here. Gave me some space to look more objectively at my life. Because sometimes I think we keep doing things out of habit instead of rethinking whether or not we're still moving in the right direction. Whether we're still
moving
at all. And after my mother died I realized whatever I did next was entirely up to me. That my options were pretty wide-open, actually.”

Then she chuckled. “Well, within reason. It's probably a pretty safe bet I'll never be a concert pianist. But I did, and do, have a lot more choices than I might've thought at one time. And right now, teaching... It really is filling something in me I didn't even know was empty—”

“Daddy?” Bella burst through the door, wearing a hoodie, a sparkly headband and a tutu. “Miss Louise says you have to watch me practice!”

“After dinner, sweetie, okay?”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he said, his chest tightening when she ran over to give him a hug, then dashed out again.
“Anyway,”
he said over Claire's chuckle. “Right now? Meaning your move back here isn't permanent?”

She snorted. “I think I've got a few minutes before I start thinking in terms of
this is it.
So who knows? Maybe I'll try New York again, find a new agent, start over. Or go out to the West Coast, see what's up out there. In the meantime, I'm happy with things as they are.”

“So...no regrets?”

“About not taking Broadway by storm, you mean? It was a shot, Ethan. And I wouldn't trade the experience for anything.” She paused. “No matter how many times I felt chewed up and spit out again.”

“Why?” he asked, thinking about Juliette, her wide-eyed enthusiasm, her innocence, and his chest cramped. “Why would you choose to put yourself through that?”

Claire was quiet for a long moment before she said, “The same reason you went into the military, I imagine.”

Ethan bristled. “Hardly the same thing.”

“And yet, oddly—” he could hear the smile in her voice “—we both use the term
theater
to describe where we do our jobs.”

“Okay, that's really pushing it—”

“And considering the work the USO has done for decades to boost soldiers' morale? To make them remember there's something worth fighting
for?
I don't mean to imply our choices are, or were, equal, only that they're equally valid.”

“I'm not sure—”

“I mean, when I look into those kids' eyes in my classes, I think, I've got something to share with them, something
real,
something that goes way beyond how to write an essay or analyze
Of Mice and Men.
Because when I see that painfully shy kid shuck off his or her fear—of being criticized, of feeling vulnerable—and take command of the stage, or even the front of the classroom, there's no better feeling in the world—”

Now it was Jules, her face flushed, her top splotched with various food stains. “Dinner's ready!”

“Be right there,” he answered. Then, to Claire, “
Now
I have go, but...okay. I'll admit, you make some good points.”

Her laugh was low. One might almost say...seductive. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And if they need a coach for the debate team? You would totally rock it.”

She chuckled again. “So. Still have issues about my giving my number to the guys?”

“Yes. But I get why you did it. And...thanks.”

“No problem. Oh, and I promised Roland I'd come to a game. See for myself what the fuss is all about. From a grown-up perspective, I mean. So you tell those two goofballs I expect them to play their asses off on Friday,” she said, then hung up as Ethan met his oldest daughter's very curious gaze. Stanching his smile, he pawed through the mail his mother-in-law had left on the desk earlier. Mostly junk, except for the electric bill, which he ripped open, trying not to wince. Old houses had charm, but they also had zilch energy efficiency—

“Who was that?”

“Miss Jacobs,” Ethan said as he stiffly got to his feet, lightly bopping the top of his firstborn's head with the mail destined for the recycle bin. “School stuff. So what's for dinner? It smells great....”

But as he followed his chatterbox firstborn back to the kitchen, he realized that, for those few minutes while he'd chatted with Claire Jacobs? He'd felt...almost good. And you know what? Sometimes, life was all about the moment.

Especially when that was all it was, or ever would be.

* * *

Claire peeled the cat off her lap to finally put her groceries away, the apartment's silence enveloping her like a hug. After a day of yammering kids and brain-jarring bells, the peace of her own space was a balm to her soul. Truly. Tossing her salad stuff in the fridge, she thought of how often Ethan's kids had interrupted him, what he'd said about never getting a full night's sleep, of the constant noise and drama he lived with, day in and day out, and she smiled. Because she did not envy him one bit, no, she didn't.

Although—she dug a microwave dinner out of her freezer, kneed shut the bottom drawer—he did seem to have it all in hand, didn't he? Sure, he sounded a little tired—what parent didn't?—but she heard patience and humor and love in his voice. So much love...

She forked the plastic overwrap, shoved the tray into the microwave and her eyes stung. What the frack?

Claire looked from her tidy little kitchen to her tidy little living room, silent except for the heat humming through the vents, the microwave's whirring. Wally's purr, as he rubbed against her legs, begging. This was the life she'd chosen, a life where no one touched the TV remote except her, where if she wanted to have popcorn for dinner, she could. A life where she didn't have to clean up after anyone else or fight for the bedclothes or argue about whether or not to leave the window open.

The microwave's beep pierced her skull. She wrenched open the door, swearing when she pulled out the steaming-hot dinner and plunked it on a plastic plate. Through the closed window, she heard muffled laughter. A couple passing by, she saw when she glanced out. Arm in arm, her head against his shoulder. And she saw their future, a wedding and babies, of teenagers learning to drive and graduations and more weddings and grandbabies—

“Jeez, what is
wrong
with you?” Claire muttered as she snatched her dinner off the counter and marched the whole ten feet to her sofa, where she curled up and grabbed the remote to watch something mindless and silly and borderline appalling in its mediocrity, because she
could.

And because anything was better than the silence.

Chapter Five

“M
iss Jacobs!”

Wearing everything she owned and still about to freeze her tushie off, Claire turned in the deafening crowd surging toward the stadium entrance to see Rosie waving over her head as if she were trying to signal a ship from the shore of a deserted island. Eventually Claire thumped and bumped her way through the bodies to Juliette's grinning friend, her earmuffs barely visible in her thick, windblown hair.

“At first I wasn't sure it was you. Because, you know, I've never seen you at a game before.” Her smile somehow grew brighter. “You here with anybody? 'Cause you could totally sit with us, if you want.”

“Actually, I'm not.” And she'd so not been looking forward to freezing to death all by her lonesome. Not that she didn't know anyone else, obviously—she was guessing at least ninety percent of the school was there—but it was clear they'd all come in groups. “So I'd love to sit with your family—”

“Oh, Dad works nights so Mom has to stay home with the younger ones. I meant with Juliette and them. Come on,” she said, tugging Claire through the crowd. “Jules just texted that they're already here.”

Since declining would be beyond rude, Claire meekly followed, breathing in a lungful of cold, crisp, popcorn-and-nachos-scented air when they emerged from the cement stairwell into the bleachers. Definitely not what she'd expected, let alone planned, for the evening, but she was instantly caught up in the spectacle of it all—the bright lights haloing against the almost black sky, the mouthwatering scent of junk food, the thrum of anticipation vibrating from the stands as she and Rosie threaded their way through heavy coats and blanketed knees to get to the others.

“Hey, guys, look who I found!”

Juliette looked around, her pretty face registering simultaneous surprise and delight when she spotted Claire. Squealing, the teen jumped up to give her a hug, then made her brothers scootch down to make room. The boys glanced up, gave her shy smiles, then returned to whatever they were playing on their phones. Phones! At twelve! In her day, she thought, then caught herself. Because
this
was her day—or night, whatever—and this was going to be fun, dammit. Then she realized Juliette was introducing her to an older man on the other side of her very bundled up baby sister.

“My grandfather on my dad's side,” she shouted, and the tall man unfolded himself from his seat to reach across Bella and shake Claire's gloved hand.

“Preston Noble,” he yelled.

“Claire Jacobs. One of the girls' teachers.”

Chuckling, the elder Noble sat back down, still leaning toward her. “I've heard a lot about you. You've made quite an impression.”

“A good one, I hope.”

Even in the semidarkness, she could see a twinkle in the man's almost silver eyes. “Oh, very good.”

A roar went up from the other side of the stadium as the visiting team was announced and their players ran out onto the field. “We'll chat later,” Ethan's father said with a short salute, then pulled his little granddaughter onto his lap.

“Okay,” Juliette said, having to practically sit in Claire's lap to be heard. “This is a play-off game—if Hoover wins tonight, we'll go on to the regional championship, which is played after Thanksgiving.”

“So what's the Thanksgiving game?”

“Against Edison High,” Rosie yelled in her other ear. “Hoover's rival.” She shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “It's this traditional thing that's been going on for decades.”

“More for bragging rights than anything else,” Preston Noble put in from several feet away. “Which doesn't mean it's not taken very seriously,” he said, and both girls nodded in agreement. Then he held up a thermos. “You warm enough, Miss Jacobs? I come prepared—hot chocolate or coffee. Name your poison.”

A shudder picked that moment to streak up her back with such violence she nearly fell off the bleacher. “Coffee would be terrific, thanks. And black's fine.”

Nodding, Ethan's dad poured out the steaming brew into a foam cup and handed it over.

“Bless you,” she said, and he gave her another salute.

“PopPop was a colonel,” Juliette whispered. “In the air force. So that's what everybody calls him. The Colonel.”

“Good to know,” Claire said, and took that first, wonderful sip, and her insides sang hallelujah. Then another roar—five times louder—went up as Hoover High's finest poured onto the field.

“You realize you guys will have to explain this to me.”

“We can do that,” both girls said, and between that, and the coffee, and the crowd's boundless energy, she decided,
Y'know, this could be fun after all.

At least she was hoping.

* * *

There was nothing like the energy pulsing through a locker room after a win, Ethan thought as he passed through the throng of bellowing, butt-slapping, high-fiving young men whose chops he'd been busting since August. One game closer to the championship. One game closer to several of his players being offered college scholarships, to further cementing his own career, maybe getting himself a raise for next year. Another change of plans he'd never seen coming, God knew. But seeing the joy on the guys' faces, feeling the pride surging through him—in both them and himself... Right now, there was nothing better and nowhere he'd rather be.

Once the locker room cleared, he headed out, the cold air a welcome relief from the hot, smelly stadium underbelly. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush, maybe it was the general atmosphere, but his knee wasn't even bothering him as he walked around to meet up with the others, then go on to their favorite place for dinner like they always did after an early game.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Bella called out, running up with outstretched arms. “PopPop said we won!”

“We sure did, sugarplum,” Ethan said, kissing his baby on her cold cheek and making her giggle. A moment later the twins were in his face as well, both talking at once about their favorite moments:

“Defense totally rocked tonight, didn't it, Dad?” Finn asked, bouncing as they walked back toward the others.

“They sure did—” Wait...who was that with them?

Harry stumbled over his suddenly size-twelve feet, knocking against Ethan's arm. Ethan caught the boy before he fell flat on his face even as the kid said, “And then White made that touchdown with five seconds left on the clock! Holy cow!”

Holy cow
was right, Ethan thought as he got close enough to see Claire. Clutching her coat collar as if she was about to freeze right on the spot, she grinned at him, her eyes bright. Although from what, he couldn't say.

“Look who Rosie found before the game!” Jules said, her breath puffing around her face. “So she sat with us and we taught her stuff.”

“Relating to the game, I hope,” Ethan said, and his oldest girl rolled her eyes.

“Da-ad, jeez...”

“And what did you think?” Ethan asked Claire, immediately sucked into her glittering brown gaze.

“I thought it was, to use a common parlance, awesome,” she said with a light laugh even as she shivered. “G-granted, I still had no clue what was going on half the time, but I haven't had that much fun in ages. Seriously, it was like being at a rock concert.” Ethan pushed a breath through his lips, and she grinned. “And Roland kicked serious
butt.
”

“She said a bad word, Daddy,” Bella said, and Claire clamped her hand over her mouth.

“I'm so sorry, sweetie,” she said, lowering it. “I won't say it again, I promise.”

“That's okay,” Bella said with a serious nod, and Ethan nearly choked with trying to keep a straight face. “Since it's not one of the
really
bad ones.”

With that, the laugh burst out anyway, mingling with Claire's under a starry sky in an empty high school parking lot, and Bella laughed, too, in his ear, even though she obviously had no idea what was so funny. Then Ethan glanced past Claire to see Juliette's wide eyes, his father giving him a thumbs-up. Brother.

“Your dad invited me to come with you guys to Murphy's,” Claire said. “Hope that's okay?”

“Of course.” Because he felt too damn good to let a little thing like a busybody father and a cute-as-hell brunette with sparkling brown eyes and a laugh that promised things she probably had no idea she was promising ruin the high he was riding. Something he didn't get too often these days, not like this—another one of those
moments—
and like hell was he gonna let it go just yet.

Even if Claire Jacobs and her sparkling eyes were part of that high.

* * *

Claire hadn't been inside Murphy's in... Hell. A million years. But as they all smushed inside the packed restaurant, it all came roaring back—the come-to-mama aroma of onion rings and charred beef, the dark-paneled walls choked with signed senior portraits dating back to the seventies, when the place first opened. The noise, easily rivaling that of a pair of subway trains passing each other through a tiled tunnel. The warmth.

Speaking of which... Holding his little girl again, Ethan was standing close enough to Claire that his arm pressed into her shoulder. Solid. Sturdy. Nice.

Sigh.

Oh, she was here entirely of her own volition. She'd driven herself to the game, and she could have easily refused the Colonel's invitation...despite Juliette's and Rosie's earnest pleas for her to accept. But you know what? One, she was absolutely starving, the kind of hunger that nothing short of some hideously caloric burger-and-fries combo was going to sate. And two, so sue her, despite being unable to feel her toes at times, she'd had a blast. And she wasn't ready for it to be over yet. Even if that meant being squished next to Ethan Noble for a minute or two or six while they waited for a table.

Sigh, redux.

Knowing she was close to endangering her hormones' immortal souls, she glanced up. Bella had nestled herself good and tight against her daddy's chest to lay her head on his shoulder, facing Claire, from which vantage point she gave Claire a sweet “life is good, huh?” smile. Claire smiled back and the little girl grinned more broadly and, okay, there might've been some heart tugging going on. And not only because the kid was so fricking cute, but because Claire remembered her own dad holding her like that. And how safe she'd felt in his arms. Safe, and loved.

“Sorry,” Ethan said over his baby's head. “It's always nuts here after a game.”

“I remember,” Claire said, having to seriously invade his space so he could hear her. And hence, nearly passing out from how terrific he smelled. “In fact, my friends and I usually avoided Friday nights at all costs. But that was then. This is now. And now is good.”

Ethan gave her a funny look, then nodded. “You're right. Now—this moment—
is
good. So—”

“Noble! Party of eight! This way, please!”

The harried little hostess hustled them over to their table—two tables, actually, pushed together—smack in the middle of everything. The Colonel anchored one end, Ethan the other, and in the mad scramble to get seated Claire found herself between one of the twins and the Colonel and across from the girls. Where, you know, she was safe from penetrating gazes and such from handsome widowers. As were her hormones.

Whew, close.

While they waited for their food, the Colonel grilled her about her New York days, allowing Claire to dredge up some almost forgotten and borderline hair-raising stories. Rosie looked horrified, the Colonel amused and Juliette enthralled, leaning forward with her chin in her hands.

“I cannot
wait,
” she finally said when two servers arrived to set sizzling platters of greasy yumminess in front of them. “It must be so boring being back here.”

“Not at all,” Claire said, chomping an onion ring large enough to encircle Saturn. “A lot quieter, maybe.” Grinning, she waved the ring to indicate their surroundings. “Most of the time, anyway. But there is nothing even remotely boring about working with you guys. And anyway, I've always felt it's my choice whether to be bored or not. There's always something to do, even if it's only listening to music. Or reading,” she said with a pointed look at the girls, who both rolled their eyes.

“What about being lonely?” Juliette asked, stuffing a fry in her mouth.

Claire didn't miss a beat, even if her heart did. “Same thing. Because honestly, if you enjoy your own company, how can you be lonely? Also, as you get older, you'll discover that solitude can be a very precious thing.”

Rosie laughed. “Clearly you haven't met my family. But it's all good, since I probably wouldn't know what to do with myself if I were ever really alone.”

“Yeah. Same here,” Juliette said, sighing, and Claire chuckled even as she caught the Colonel's pensive expression. For a moment she considered laying a hand on his wrist to let him know she understood what he was feeling. She remembered how hard the holidays had been on her mother after her dad's passing. On her, too, of course, but not the same way. After all, Claire's future still beckoned, full of promise. Not like—as her mother had said often enough—a big, dark void.

Then her attention drifted down the table to Ethan, as he calmly listened to the boys still going on about the game while trying to get Bella to eat at least one bite of the broccoli he'd ordered with her chicken tenders. Silly man, she thought, smiling, as his eyes lifted to hers, and he smiled back. But she could tell the earlier euphoria was already fading, swallowed up in reality.

It's okay,
Claire mouthed, although she had no idea what had possessed to say such a thing at all, let alone to him. Although with any luck he'd think she meant the broccoli debacle rather than anything deeper. And far more personal.

Looking away, she took another bite of the most bodacious burger in Jersey, wiping her chin as she glanced around at the restaurant's interior, familiar and strange all at once. Like Maple River itself had felt for weeks after she'd returned. Sure, there were changes out on the highway—new stores, new places to eat—but here, in the town's heart, so much was both eerily and comfortingly the same. Home, she thought with a bittersweet pang.