Читать книгу The Deputy's Holiday Family - Mindy Obenhaus - Страница 13

Chapter Three

Lacie pulled into a parking spot in front of her mother’s shop, mentally chastising herself. In all her gratitude, she’d almost let her guard down with Matt. Something she couldn’t afford to do with any man. She owed it to her niece to be that one constant in her life, instead of allowing herself to be distracted the way Marissa so often had.

Like the night her boyfriend crashed his car, robbing Kenzie of her mother and forever changing her life.

Still, Lacie appreciated Matt’s willingness to guide her through the process of installing her new battery. Not dismissing her or trying to take over the way Brandon would have. In the two years they’d dated, Brandon had insisted on doing everything for her. At first, she thought he was just being chivalrous, but later realized Mr. Know-It-All had a deep-seated need to feel superior to anyone and everyone. Including her.

Shaking off the unwanted thoughts, she exited her vehicle into the cold late-morning air. Judging by the gray clouds obscuring the tops of the mountains along the town’s western edge, they’d soon be in for some snow. Kenzie would love that. Good thing Lacie had scooped up a couple of coats and some snow pants on clearance for her back in the spring when she still had a job. She didn’t want to have to tap into her savings any more than necessary.

Turning, she glimpsed the beginnings of her mother’s window display at The Paisley Elk, a little clothing boutique that catered mostly to women. So far, it consisted of batting “snow” and white lights, but then the contest for best Christmas display didn’t start in earnest until next week, so there was likely plenty more to come.

Inside was another story, though. Lacie had to hand it to her mother. The boutique was definitely festive. Standing under a ceiling adorned with hundreds of twinkling LED lights, she realized just how adept her mother had become at feigning Christmas. Not a Christmas tree in sight. No nativity of any kind. Not even a hint of the traditional red and green, save for the occasional evergreen bough. No, this was commercialism at its best. And if there wasn’t a prize involved—even if it wasn’t anything more than bragging rights—she doubted Mom would do any decorations at all.

Still, The Paisley Elk had an undeniable appeal that would draw people in. Like the glistening purple and silver balls that appeared to float in midair just below the lights, adding a touch of color to the overhead charm. And, of course, everything was perfectly merchandised for maximum effect, with pops of glitz and glam everywhere you looked.

Now if Lacie could just convince her mother to decorate the house...

December 23 would mark twelve years since Lacie’s father’s death. She’d never forget coming home from the hospital and watching her mother take down every decoration in the house. They hadn’t even opened their presents. Mom said she’d never celebrate Christmas again. And, so far, she’d held true to her word.

However, this was Kenzie’s first Christmas without Marissa. They owed it to her to make it the best Christmas the kid could possibly have. That meant having a tree, presents and everything else Lacie and Marissa had enjoyed as kids.

“There you are.” Mom draped a glittering silver pashmina scarf around the neck of a dress form sporting a pine-bough skirt adorned with silver ribbon, purple and silver balls, and peacock feathers. “How’s the car?”

“Up and running again, I’m happy to say.” She spotted Kenzie off to one side playing with—“Mom, is that Marissa’s and my old dollhouse?”

“Sure is. I thought, since Kenzie will be here with us a lot and that old thing was just collecting dust in the basement, she might enjoy playing with it.” Moving beside Lacie, she lowered her voice. “And I was right. She’s been playing with it this entire time.”

Lacie’s heart grew hopeful. Perhaps Mom hadn’t lost all sentiment.

She crossed to the small table where Kenzie was carefully moving the tiny furniture pieces, her smile widening with each step. The kid must have been having fun because she hadn’t even noticed that Lacie was there.

Kneeling beside her niece, she said, “What are you doing?”

“Playing house.” Tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth, Kenzie placed the miniature baby into the tiny crib.

“Are you having fun?”

Kenzie nodded, her expression somewhere between determined and delighted.

“I know just how you feel, Kenzikins.” Lacie’s father had built the dollhouse when she and Marissa were little. Like Kenzie, Lacie would spend hours rearranging furniture and contemplating different wall colors. No wonder she’d gone into interior design.

“Would you mind helping me assemble these, dear?” At the counter beside the cash register, Mom shoved glitter-covered branches into one of five tall galvanized buckets.

“Sure.” She shrugged out of her coat, setting it beside the dollhouse before joining her mother.

Reaching for a trio of sparkling white branches, she mustered the courage to broach the topic of the holidays. “I noticed there wasn’t a turkey in the fridge or freezer. Would you like me to pick one up?” One at a time, she plunged the stems into the Epsom salt snow.

“That won’t be necessary.” After admiring her handiwork, Mom picked up a spool of wide purple ribbon and stretched a length around the first bucket. “I thought we’d just go to Bon Ton or The Outlaw. No point in spending our day off in the kitchen when for all intents and purposes, Thanksgiving is just another day.”

Had Mom’s heart really grown that hard?

“No, it’s not.” She stared at the woman in disbelief. “Thanksgiving is when family and friends come together to give thanks for their blessings.” Like we used to do when Daddy was alive.

Her mother smiled, seemingly unaffected by Lacie’s comments. “Okay, you pick where we should eat then.”

Passing the first bucket off to Mom for ribbon, Lacie reached for another cluster of branches. “Actually, I was kind of looking forward to some of your homemade dressing.”

No response. Barbara Collier had always been good at avoiding conflict.

But Lacie wasn’t willing to let it drop. “What if I cooked Thanksgiving dinner? Nothing fancy. Just some turkey, dressing—I’ll need your recipe—and maybe a pumpkin pie. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

“I don’t know.” Mom tied another swath of ribbon. “I hate for you to go to so much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I like to cook.” Especially when she had people to cook for. “Throw in those traditional recipes and I’m a goner.”

Mom was silent for a long moment. Finally, “Oh, all right. If you insist.”

She wasn’t aware she was insisting, but as long as they were on a roll... “And then, after dinner, maybe we could put up the Christmas tree.” Biting her lip, she held her breath and stabbed another twig in the bucket.

But her mother remained focused on the task at hand. Without so much as flinching, she said, “Lacie, you know I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore. If you want to take Kenzie to some of the festivities around town, that’s fine. But there is no Christmas at the house.”

She glared at her mother. “There used to be.”

How she used to love coming down the hallway Christmas morning to the glow of twinkling lights and the soft sound of Christmas carols playing in the background. So many memories. Memories she desperately wanted to recreate for Kenzie. God, please soften Mom’s heart.

“That was a long time ago.” Her mother moved her reading glasses to the top of her head and looked at Lacie. “People change.”

“And you won’t change for your granddaughter?”

Scooping up the two completed buckets, she whisked past Lacie to disperse them throughout the store. “We all have our beliefs and convictions. I have chosen not to celebrate Christmas.”

The bell over the door jangled then, ushering in a customer and effectively ending their conversation. Even though Lacie had so much more to say.

She glimpsed the little girl across the room. No, that wasn’t a discussion to be had while Kenzie was within earshot.

So she finished the other three buckets while Mom assisted her customer, then went to check on Kenzie. “Are you about ready to go pick out your birthday cake?”

The child beamed. “I want chocolate.”

Turning her gaze to the window, Lacie couldn’t help smiling. “Chocolate it is then.”

Maybe she’d even get the kid to take a nap this afternoon, allowing Lacie to work on that list for Matt.

Thoughts of the deputy had her wondering what he was doing for Thanksgiving. Perhaps they should invite him to join them. As a thank-you for helping her today.

She rubbed her arms, quickly dismissing the ridiculous notion. He had his own family. A rather large one, at that.

Besides, she had better things to do than worry about Matt Stephens’s Thanksgiving plans. Like figuring out how on earth she was going to have a Christmas for Kenzie when her mom was dead set against it.

* * *

An hour after Lacie pulled away, Matt sat at the counter at Granny’s Kitchen, a local diner, staring at his untouched burger. Seemed no matter how hard he tried to erase the memory, his mind kept rewinding to one February night nearly six years ago. Marissa’s last in Hawaii. A night that never should have happened.

His insides churned. The math added up. But still...

Marissa may have done him wrong, but she would have told him he had a child, wouldn’t she? Then again, she hadn’t told him she was dating someone else, either.

So why isn’t Kenzie’s dad raising her?

He picked up a fry and forced himself to take a bite. He didn’t want to believe it. But he couldn’t ignore it, either. Could Kenzie be his daughter?

“What’s up with the sad face?” A hand clamped on to Matt’s shoulder.

He looked up as his brother Andrew helped himself to one of his fries. “What are you doing here?”

Andrew plopped down in the seat beside him. “Carly’s putting up the Christmas decorations at Granger House, so I’m on my own for lunch.” For the past nineteen years, Andrew had lived in Denver, where he ran a multimillion-dollar commercial construction company. Until last spring when he sold it, came back to Ouray and married his high school sweetheart. Now they were stuck with him.

“Christmas decorations? It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

Andrew snagged another fry. “True, but we’ve got guests booked for this weekend, so the bed-and-breakfast portion of the house needs to be ready before then.” His gaze drifted to Matt’s plate. “Something wrong with your burger? You haven’t touched it.”

“Guess I’m not very hungry.”

His cell buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Gladys Bricker’s name on the screen. His favorite teacher must be baking again, because that was the only reason she ever called. A fiercely independent gal, Gladys had never married, but considered many of her former students her children. Himself included.

“Hello, Gladys.”

“Oh, Matt, I hate to bother you.”

Something in the eighty-one-year-old woman’s voice wasn’t quite right. “Gladys, you are never a bother. What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid I need some wood brought in. It’s already cut, but I just can’t seem to make it outside to get it.” His unease rose. That was definitely not like Gladys.

He stood. “Not to worry. I’m on my way.” He ended the call. “Looks like your timing is perfect, bro.” He slid his plate toward Andrew. “Duty calls.”

His older brother reached for the burger. “I’ll get the tab.”

“You do that,” said Matt as he made his way out the door into the brisk midday air. Honestly, he was grateful for Gladys’s call. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for a lengthy conversation with Andrew today. However, he was worried about the older woman.

He slid behind the wheel of his Tahoe and headed north, continuing outside of town. Gladys had always been faithful in keeping in touch with him over the years. He still had all the letters she’d sent him while he was in the navy.

A few minutes later, he pulled into her drive, gravel crunching beneath his tires. Exiting the vehicle, he spotted the large pile of wood near the barn at the back of the property. He made his way there first and filled his arms before heading to the small, white, single-story house with green trim.

He tugged open the screen door and knocked. “Gladys? It’s Matt.”

His anxiety heightened as the seconds dragged on. Reaching for the knob, he gave it a twist and inched the door open. “Gladys?”

“In—” coughing echoed from the living room that sat at the opposite end of the kitchen “—in here.”

He continued into the house, moving through the compact yet tidy kitchen and into the chilly living room. There, on the other side of the room, in front of the big picture window, the elderly woman lay in her recliner, buried under a stack of blankets, her short gray hair sticking up every which way. She looked frailer than he’d ever imagined.

Crossing to the wood-burning stove in the corner of the room, he dropped the wood before touching a hand to the side of the stove. “This thing is stone-cold.” He opened the door to see only ashes in the bottom.

He twisted around. “What’s going on, Gladys? Why don’t you have a fire going?”

Her face was pale, but she sent him weak smile. “I ran out of wood.”

This wasn’t good. “You’re sick, aren’t you?”

“Just a little cold.” One wrinkled hand clasped the blankets to her chest while the other held tightly to a handkerchief she used to cover her mouth when she coughed.

A few quick strides put him at her side. He touched her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Am I?” Clouded blue eyes met his. “Feels pretty chilly to me.”

He knelt beside her. “Have you been to see the doctor?”

“No.”

He knew what he had to do, but Gladys wasn’t going to like it. The best thing he could do was to make her a little more comfortable before bringing up the ambulance. A few more minutes wouldn’t make that much difference.

“Okay, let me get this fire started.” Back at the stove, he removed the ashes before adding a starter stick from the box he spotted on the shelf and a couple of thin logs.

After closing the doors, he went into the kitchen and set the four-cup coffeepot to brew. Probably not the best thing, but she needed something warm. A few minutes later, he filled an old green coffee cup halfway and took it to her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Thank you, Matt. You’re a good boy.”

No, a good boy would have checked on her more often.

After adding another log to the firebox, he pulled up a chair and sat beside her. “I wish you had called me earlier.”

“I know. But I—”

“Hate to bother me, I know.” Resting his forearms on his thighs, he leaned closer. “Gladys, I need to call an ambulance.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she passed him her cup.

“I’m afraid you have more than just a cold and I want the EMTs to come and check you out.”

“Can’t I just go to the doctor?” She coughed.

“And how are you going to get there? You’re in no condition to drive yourself.” Any other time he’d take her himself, but since he was the only deputy on duty... Besides, she’d likely be going to the hospital in Montrose anyway.

Her thin lips pursed as she turned her gaze to the conifer-dotted landscape outside the window. “If you think that would be best.”

He laid a hand atop hers. “I do. I want you to get better.”

He made the call, then monitored the fire and paced the beige carpet as he waited for the EMTs to arrive.

“When did you do this?” He pointed to two photos, one color, the other black-and-white, encased in a single frame on the wall near the opening to the kitchen.

“About a month ago. That’s my first graduating class—” more coughing “—and my last graduating class.” Forty years of teaching. Definitely impressive.

“Hey, there’s me.” He pointed to the newer photo.

“Bring it over here, please.”

He lifted the frame and took it to her.

She smiled as she touched the glass. “You and your brothers all had your father’s dark eyes.”

“Except Daniel,” he said. The baby of the family was the polar opposite with his blond hair and blue eyes.

“Oh, yes. He took after your mother. But the rest of you... Anyone could tell you were a Stephens.”

His gut clenched, images of Kenzie flashing through his mind. Her dark eyes. That sense of familiarity washed over him again. Could it be true?

Thirty minutes after the EMTs arrived, he watched as they loaded Gladys into the back of the ambulance. While bronchitis was a good bet, given her age, the doctors wanted to observe her to be certain there was nothing else going on.

He returned to the house to make sure everything was in order and the fire in the wood stove was put out. He’d have to touch base with the church and others in town so Gladys would have plenty of folks to check on her and bring her food once she returned home.

Before leaving, he picked up the framed photo and hung it back on the wall. Anyone could tell you were a Stephens.

His eyes closed. God, forgive me. I know I made a mistake all those years ago. How do I know if Kenzie is my child?

By the time his shift ended, he could hardly wait to get home. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but if what played across his brain was truly from God, he might have the answer he’d prayed for.

He pulled his Tahoe into the drive, ditched his gear at the back door and headed straight for the bookshelves surrounding the fireplace in the living room. Quickly locating the scrapbook his mother had compiled for him and his sister-in-law Carly had assembled, he flipped past the baby pictures and those of him as a toddler, his heart pounding when he came to a photo of him at age four and a half. Except the face staring back at him was Kenzie’s. The nose, the eyes—He touched a finger to his forehead—even that little widow’s peak had Stephens written all over it.

He dropped onto the couch, feeling as though the air had been sucked from his lungs.

Kenzie was his daughter.