A Christmas to Remember, page 24
part #8.50 of Lucky Harbor Series
“I’m not her father.”
Too bad that didn’t solve the problem.
And way too bad that saying the words didn’t ease the guilt still prickling at the back of his neck.
* * *
On the hour’s drive northwest to Tallgrass, Therese asked the kids if they wanted to stop for lunch. Jacob declined, and Abby ignored her. She asked if they’d taken lots of pictures. Jacob said no, and Abby ignored her. She asked how their mother was. Jacob grunted, and Abby ignored her.
Once they got home and she told Abby that she wouldn’t be wearing those clothes or that make-up for at least another few years, Abby would no longer pretend Therese didn’t exist. Therese half-wished she could do the ignoring and just close her eyes to what the girl did, but there was no way any child in her care was going to leave the house looking like that.
Tallgrass was a small and lovely old town, dating back to Oklahoma’s pre-statehood days. Its early purpose had been to provide for the area ranches and the settlers brought there by the land run. Later it had supported the oilfield workers as well, and for the last sixty years, it had been home to Fort Murphy, which tripled its population.
Paul had been transferred there four years ago, and she’d fallen in love with the place. They’d bought a house big enough for his kids and the babies they’d intended to have together, with a manicured front lawn and a big backyard for play and family cookouts. But there hadn’t been any babies, his kids weren’t interested in outdoor play, except for Jacob’s football and baseball teams, and Abby never missed a chance to remind her that they weren’t a family.
Someday the kids would be gone. Either their mother would take them back, or her parents, or maybe Paul’s parents. Or maybe Abby would miraculously start behaving like a human being, or Therese would find peace with the idea of putting her in foster care. Failing all that, if she could hold herself together for five more years of misery, then she could be free.
Freedom had never sounded so good… or seemed so impossible.
As she shut off the engine in the driveway, she said, “Abby, put the phone away, take your stuff inside, and unpack.”
Abby either didn’t think Therese saw the face she made or simply didn’t care, but she tucked the phone into her tiny purse before sliding to the ground and stalking to the back of the van. The high school boys sitting on the porch across the street came to sudden attention, eyes popping, mouths gaping.
Oh, Lord, please not that. Therese had enough worries without adding males to the list.
Abby dragged her pink bags into the house, leaving the door standing open, and the boys slowly sank back into lethargy. Therese wanted to yell at them, She’s thirteen! She wanted to go upstairs to her room and march back down with the .40 caliber handgun locked in Paul’s gun safe and warn them what would happen if they even thought about his baby in that way.
She settled for scowling at them, then jerking the black bag out, slamming the hatch, and following Jacob inside. He went to the laundry room off the kitchen, unzipped his back pack, and dumped the contents into the hamper there. After grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, he headed past her with a grunt on his way upstairs. Within minutes he would be on the computer, headset on, jumping with both feet into the game he’d last played six days ago. He wouldn’t make another appearance until hunger drove him to it.
Therese put her purse and keys in the kitchen, blew out a breath, and much more slowly climbed the stairs. Abby’s door was open, and she was reclining on the bed, one sandaled foot on the white spread, the other stretched high so she could admire the shoe. As usual, she was talking on the phone to Nicole, her BFF and, until very recently, the coolest kid in town. No doubt, Abby now felt that title belonged to her.
“—so much fun,” she was saying when Therese stopped in the doorway. “I can’t wait ’til you see my hair and all the clothes she bought me. And the shoes! They make me taller than you. We spent a whole day at the spa, and I’ve got the best tan ever, and the cutest outfits! It was the best week of my life.”
Therese waited, hands hanging limply at her sides. She really wanted to fold her arms across her chest and scowl as hard as she had at the boys outside, but there was no reason to start off openly aggressive. They would get there quickly enough.
Tiring of admiring her right foot, Abby lowered it to the mattress and raised the left one, twisting her ankle this way and that. It was a pretty ankle, a pretty leg, all bronzed and lean and leading to a compact lean body. She was more assured at thirteen than Therese had been at thirty, more aware of the attention she received from others. The teenage girl Therese had once been envied her; the woman charged with overseeing her welfare was cringing in the corner with her hands over her eyes.
Trying to feel more like the woman, she moved into the room and picked up the larger of the suitcases, set it on the foot of the bed, and unzipped it.
Frowning at her, Abby said, “Gotta go, Nicole. See you tomorrow.” She set the phone on the nightstand, then sat up, arms folded over her middle. “Those are my bags. They’re private.”
“You live in this house. Nothing is private beyond your journal, if you keep one, your purse and, to some extent, your room, so long as you don’t give me a reason to reconsider that.” She flipped open the suitcase and saw nothing but unfamiliar clothes inside. She shook out the top garment. “Is this a dress or a shirt?”
Abby rolled her eyes. “A dress. Duh.”
With a nod, Therese laid it to one side. Next came a pair of jeans so skinny that only through the miracle of stretch fibers could they possibly fit her stepdaughter. They were the start of a second pile. The tiny shorts that measured the width of Therese’s hand from waistband to crotch joined the dress, along with a couple of tops too fitted and too revealing for any child.
“What are you doing?” Abby finally demanded.
“Sorting out what you can wear and what’s going into storage.”
Abby surged from the bed and nearly lost her footing. She wasn’t quite as accustomed to those four-inch heels as she’d thought. “You can’t do that! They’re mine! My mother bought them for me.”
Therese reached the bottom of the suitcase and picked up a handful of undergarments. No, not undergarments. Lingerie. Matched sets. Bikinis. Thongs. Push-up bras. Black, royal blue, red, purple. They were prettier, sexier, and more revealing than anything she owned, including the lingerie she’d bought for her honeymoon.
Struggling to keep her hand steady, she began repacking them in the suitcase. Out of the twelve garments and the lingerie, she left only two or three pieces on the bed.
“You can’t do that!” Abby repeated, grabbing for the bra in Therese’s hand.
Therese shot her a look so hard that Abby should have fallen backward from the impact. Sullenly, she let her hand drop, then took a few steps away, her bottom lip poked out.
After a moment’s stare, Therese looked at the bra. Catherine hadn’t bothered with Victoria’s Secret, judging from the padded cups, red lace edging black satin, and breakaway front clasp. She’d gone straight to Frederick’s of Hollywood. For her thirteen-year-old daughter! She dropped it into the suitcase, closed the flap, and zipped it before reaching for the smaller bag.
Quivering with anger, Abby went to the closet. “You have to let me wear them.” She threw open both bi-fold doors, then clenched her fists. “I have nothing else. I left all my other clothes there because I knew you would do this. I told Mom so.”
She wasn’t exaggerating by much. Except for her school uniforms and the dresses she wore to church, her closet was practically empty. A few pairs of jeans, a couple of old T-shirts that had sentimental value but no fashion sense, two hoodies. There were gym shorts and underwear in her dresser, but she’d taken practically everything else with her.
“You’d better call your mom and ask her to ship them back, then, or you’re going to get awfully tired of wearing the same things all the time.” Therese sorted through the second bag, confiscating three more pairs of ridiculous heels, two more bags of cosmetics, and—she gulped silently—two of the skimpiest swimsuits she’d ever seen. She was surprised thunder didn’t roll across the plains from Paul’s roar of disapproval.
“I can’t do that because we threw them away.”
Therese hoped she was lying, but it sounded like exactly what she and Catherine would do. Catherine might be Abby’s mother, but she didn’t want to be. Occasional friendship without real responsibility better suited her nature, and conspiring with Abby to thwart Therese would be an easy way to cement that friendship.
“If that’s the case, you’ll have to buy new clothes from your allowance.”
She expected another roar, but the girl just stared at her. In that moment, there was nothing of Paul’s baby in her, just quiet fury. Malevolence. Sheer hatred. Her eyes were like chocolate ice, her rage unflinching, but when she spoke, her voice was far calmer than the shriek Therese was used to.
“You know, I don’t pray very much because I don’t think God really listens, but I do pray for one thing every night. I pray for you to die.”
About the Authors
New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis lives in a small town in the Sierras full of quirky characters. Any resemblance to the quirky characters in her books is, um, mostly coincidental. Look for Jill’s bestselling, award-winning books wherever romances are sold and visit her website for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventures.
You can learn more at:
JillShalvis.com
Twitter @jillshalvis
Facebook.com/jillshalvis
* * *
Kristen Ashley grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana, and has lived in Denver, Colorado, and the West Country of England. Thus she has been blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her posse is loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write.
Kristen was raised in a house with a large and multigenerational family. They lived on a very small farm in a small town in the heartland, and Kristen grew up listening to the strains of Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon, and Whitesnake.
Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music and love was a good way to grow up.
And as she keeps growing up, it keeps getting better.
You can learn more at:
KristenAshley.net
Twitter @KristenAshley68
Facebook.com
* * *
Hope Ramsay grew up on the North Shore of Long Island, but every summer Momma would pack her off under the care of Aunt Annie to go visiting with relatives in the midlands of South Carolina. Her extended family includes its share of colorful aunts and uncles, as well as cousins by the dozens, who provide the fodder for the characters you’ll find in Last Chance, South Carolina. She’s a two-time finalist in the Golden Heart and is married to a good ol’ Georgia boy who resembles every single one of her heroes. She lives in Fairfax, Virginia, where you can often find her on the back deck, picking on her thirty-five-year-old Martin guitar.
You can learn more at:
HopeRamsay.com
Facebook, www.facebook.com/Hope.Ramsay
Twitter, @HopeRamsay
* * *
Molly Cannon lives a charmed life in Texas with her nearly perfect husband and extremely large cat Nelson. When she’s not writing, she spends her days reading, taking dance classes with the hubby and watching all kinds of sports.
You can learn more at:
MollyCannon.com
Facebook.com/pages/Molly-Cannon
Twitter, @cannonmolly
* * *
Known for her intensely emotional stories, Marilyn Pappano is the USA Today bestselling author of nearly eighty books. She has made regular appearances on bestseller lists and has received recognition for her work in the form of numerous awards. Although her husband’s Navy career took them across the United States, he and Ms. Pappano now live in Oklahoma high on a hill that overlooks her hometown. They have one son and daughter-in-law, an adorable grandson, and a pack of mischievous dogs.
You can learn more at:
www.marilynpappano.net
Twitter, @MarilynPappano
Facebook.com/marilynpappanofanpage
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
“Dream a Little Dream” by Jill Shalvis
Excerpt from Once in a Lifetime by Jill Shalvis
“Every Year” by Kristen Ashley
Excerpt from Own the Wind by Kristen Ashley
“Silent Night” by Hope Ramsay
Excerpt from Last Chance Knit & Stitch by Hope Ramsay
“Have Yourself a Messy Little Christmas” by Molly Cannon
Excerpt from Flirting with Forever by Molly Cannon
“A Family for Christmas” by Marilyn Pappano
Excerpt from A Man to Hold On to by Marilyn Pappano
About the Authors
You Might Also Like…
Newsletters
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Jill Shalvis, Kristen Ashley, Hope Ramsay, Martha Tidwell, and Marilyn Pappano
Excerpt from Once in a Lifetime copyright © 2013 by Jill Shalvis
Excerpt from Own the Wind copyright © 2013 by Kristen Ashley
Excerpt from Last Chance Knit & Stitch copyright © 2013 by Hope Ramsay
Excerpt from Flirting with Forever copyright © 2013 by Martha Tidwell
Excerpt from A Man to Hold On to copyright © 2013 by Marilyn Pappano
Cover design and photo illustration by Oceana Gottlieb
Cover copyright © 2013 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the authors’ rights.
Forever Yours
Hachette Book Group
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First edition: December 2013
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ISBN 978-1-4555-4776-0
E3
Hope Ramsay, A Christmas to Remember
