I'll Be Home for Christmas Page 2

Timothy’s blue eyes lit up in a way she hadn’t seen in a while . . . in a way that she’d missed. “Are we going?”

  “How would you like to go there for Christmas?” she said, unable to form more words.

  Timothy hugged her close. “That’d be so cool, Mommy.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t it though.”

  Amy held her son tightly and willed the tears away. She couldn’t keep making excuses. It was time to face the past and meet it head-on. For old time’s sake, for her mother’s sake, and now for her son’s sake.

  Forgive, Amy. Forgive and forget.

  Two weeks later, Amy loaded up her old car and turned to wave to Amanda and Ricky. “Thank you for helping me finish up my Christmas orders,” she said to Amanda.

  Amanda laughed, her brown eyes the shade of fresh pecans. “Are you kidding? Ricky was so thrilled to be head sampler, I don’t think he’ll ever be the same.”

  Ricky, a brawny heavy-machinery operator, nodded and rubbed his stomach. “I think I gained ten pounds, but it was worth it.”

  Amanda motioned to Timothy. He ran to her and hugged her close. “You take care of your mama,” she said, her gaze meeting Amy’s. “And come back soon.”

  After they said their good-byes, Amy buckled Timothy into the back amid overnight bags and a trip bag full of books to read and coloring books and an electronic game to occupy him during the eleven-hour drive.

  “You’re coming. Really?”

  Sophie’s words came back to Amy as she headed toward the on-ramp to Interstate 10. Her sister sounded both relieved and choked up.

  “Yes, really. You can thank Timothy. Apparently, he has a hankering to see the old homestead. He found a picture in one of my photo albums after Jo-Jo sweet-talked him.”

  “You used to love taking pictures,” Sophie remarked, laughing. “I’m sure you have a lot of them.”

  “Yes, and God has a sense of timing that amazes me.”

  She’d cleared things with the café, promised to work double-time during Mardi Gras, and she’d finished up her pastry and pie orders in record time, setting a cut-off date for having to turn down any orders two weeks before Christmas.

  Her three sisters had not only returned home, but they were all involved in new relationships. Old flames and new developments. Amy didn’t get how finding love would help their situations when they all had to leave again. But then, she didn’t know the whole story either.

  “There’s something about this place,” Sophie said. “It’s home. We all tried to get away from it, but it’s drawing us back. Daddy is drawing us back.”

  “And you’re actually thinking of staying in Bluegrass Crossing?” she asked, surprised and feeling a bit betrayed.

  “I think so,” Sophie said. “Matt’s willing to stay here so . . . we might.”

  The farm couldn’t be home to Amy ever again. If she could remind her sisters of the albatross that had hung around their necks for most of their lives, they could all finally get on with their futures.

  “We have two weeks, kiddo,” she said to Timothy. “I hope you get your fill of the place by then.”

  “But Santa will find us, right?”

  “Of course,” she said, making a face in the rearview mirror. “Bluegrass Crossing is right on Santa’s route. No way he’d miss you there.”

  “Is the grass really blue?” Timothy asked with a curious squint.

  “No, but it does have some grass that has a bluish tint to it, so that’s how it got its name.”

  “Are there still horses there?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “A few retired racehorses and rescue horses—they need some tender care—that city slickers come out to ride. You’ll see when we get there.”

  “I don’t know my other aunts very well.”

  “No you don’t,” she said. Something else she needed to remedy. “I think you’ll like them.”

  And she really wanted to meet this hotshot developer and pick his brain about what he planned to do with the vast acreage. Building houses was good, but she wondered what kind of houses. Big? Little? Stacked together? Far apart? It seemed foreign to imagine the main house and the stable . . . gone.

  She told herself she should feel a sense of relief. But somehow, she only felt that old weight of regret.

  Before the day ended, they’d had their fill of gas station snacks and burgers and fries, and Timothy had grown bored with the whole adventure. Amy pulled the groaning car into the long lane leading up to the house with a mixture of relief and dread churning inside her. Timothy had fallen asleep an hour earlier, and Amy had used the silence to relive every moment of her life in Bluegrass Crossing.

  Dusk gathered in shades of gold and amber across the pastures where fences needed mending. The soft sun shimmered over the old house like a halo and hit the rambling front porch with all the flare of a welcoming beacon.

  The house, which frankly didn’t need too much light shining on it, looked the same . . . but more aged and wrinkled. An evergreen wreath swathed in red velvet ribbons hung on the front door like a shiny afterthought, and the twinkle of colorful strung lights winked at her from the railings and rafters. The once cream-colored house with the red shutters and cedar porch posts and railings came back to her in full focus, like that old black-and-white picture, but with peeling, faded colors now.

  And then she noticed the man standing in the yard looking up at the house. He was clean and polished . . . in a Kentucky kind of way. Nice boots and jeans, a tweed sports coat with suede patches at the elbows, and a head full of tawny strands of thick, unruly hair.

  When he heard her car rattling up the drive, he turned and waited for her to park.

  Amy shut down the creaking, sputtering motor and thanked the Lord that her car had made it there in one piece. Then she got out and glanced at the stranger who stood watching her with eyes as golden as the setting sun.

  And while he watched her, something happened to Amy. She turned warm and cold at the same time, and a new awareness flowed over her like honey on a biscuit.

  She was home. But what had she come back to?

  Chapter Three

  Dan Wentworth knew this woman, even though he’d never laid eyes on her before.

  The oldest sister, Amy. The three other Tucker beauties had seemingly changed their tune on unloading this amazing family horse farm. Now they wanted to stay and make the place shine again. Dan had it on good authority that this one might still be anxious to sell. If he couldn’t get the whole three-hundred acres, maybe he could buy a fourth of it at least. But seventy-five acres wouldn’t allow for much of a subdivision. Not the kind he needed to build anyway. Dan always went big. He needed the whole parcel.

  He’d need to put on his best face for this one and hope she had some sway with her sisters. But right now, he could see the attitude in her every movement. She stood with one hand on the car door in what looked like an attempt to turn around and leave. Her gaze moved over him with a keen awareness that held a bit of panic.

  Like the other Tucker women, she was pretty. Not as tall as Sophie . . . probably a lot more complicated than the composed Bella . . . and surely not as forthcoming and open as organized Joanna—Jo-Jo to her sisters. But they all came from a batch of pure stubborn, according to the housekeeper, Sarah Weatherly.

  Amy wasn’t too tall and her hair was a bright, shimmering golden blonde with a hint of red that the setting sun seemed to cling to for a while longer. She wore an old pair of jeans with a faded blue sweater and chunky, brown boots. No nonsense.

  “Hi,” he said, walking toward her. “I’m—”

  “Dan,” she said, her blue-green eyes widening. “Dan the Developer, right?”

  “How’d you know?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “I saw that gleam in your eyes.”

  He laughed and extended his hand, hoping the gesture didn’t seem cheesy. “I see my reputation has preceded me.”

  She almost smiled. “I’m Amy Tucker Brosseau. My sisters have preceded y
ou. They keep me up-to-date on everything around here, and since you’re the only prospective buyer we’ve had, it’s easy to figure out who you are and why you’re here.”

  Was that a warning? A challenge? A brush-off? Not a hint of boy-am-I-happy-to-see-you.

  Dan decided to jump right in with both feet. “Then you probably know that I really want to buy this place.”

  “So I hear.” She turned toward the car. “But since I just got here and I’m kind of tired, can we table this pitch until I feel more human?”

  Calling himself all kinds of stupid, Dan nodded. “I’m sorry. Absolutely, this can wait. I talked to Sophie, and she told me you were on your way.” He shrugged. “I was taking a look at the house. It sure looks pretty in this sunset.”

  “Yeah, until you wake up the next morning.”

  Surprised at the tinge of bitterness in that comment, he turned back to her. “It’s rough around the edges, but it’s got good bones.”

  She brushed past him and went around to the other side of the car. “Is that why you’re in such an all-fire hurry to tear it down?”

  Whoa. Her sisters claimed Amy wanted to sell and sell fast, but she didn’t sound all gung ho to him. Maybe she’d had second thoughts on that long drive there.

  “We can talk about that another time,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “It was good to meet you.”

  She didn’t really respond. Instead, she opened the door and leaned in. Dan heard her talking to someone and stopped to listen. When he saw her struggling to lift someone out of the car, Dan immediately hurried to help her.

  That’s when he saw the little boy curled up in the back seat, sleeping away.

  Amy tried again. “C’mon, buddy. We’re here.”

  Hearing the catch in her words, Dan touched her arm. “Let me.”

  She didn’t even look up. “Thanks, but I’ve got this.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said, maneuvering her out of the way with a gentle hand on her arm. Then he leaned in and lifted the sleeping boy and his blanket out of the cramped back seat.

  She tried to take the child into her arms.

  “I’ll carry him,” Dan said, holding tight to the dead weight of a tiny person. “Lead the way.”

  She didn’t move, but the look on her face said it all. She was weary. The kind of world-weary that ripped through a person and left them so tired they just gave up on a lot of things in life. Dan knew what weary looked like. He’d been that way at times and, having suffered and survived, he could understand her attitude.

  “I’m used to carrying him,” she said, her tone low and full of a huskiness that slipped inside his soul and burrowed deep.

  “I can see that,” Dan said. “C’mon. It’s cold. Let’s get you both inside.”

  She nodded, grabbed a few things out of the front seat, and followed him up to the house. Before they made it to the porch, the front door swung open and Sophie rushed out.

  “Amy!”

  When she saw the boy in Dan’s arms, her blue eyes went wide. “Dan? I thought you’d left. Is that Timothy? Amy, is he okay?”

  “He’s asleep,” Amy said on a winded whisper. “He sleeps like a log. I . . . I couldn’t get him up.”

  “Where to?” Dan asked when Bella came into the hallway, her sneakers squeaking on the old wooden floors.

  Bella took one look at everyone and pointed to the back of the house. “Second bedroom on the left.”

  Then she rubbed a hand over the kid’s dark-blond hair. “He’s grown so much.”

  “Is she here?” That would be Jo-Jo. Always bright and cheery, and a tad bossy. “Oh Amy. You’re here. We’re all here. At last.”

  He listened to the feminine chatter and figured hugs were taking place all around. He wondered about the shredded tear in the fabric of this interesting, conflicted family as he laid the little boy on the big bed. Dan reached for the old action-figure embossed blanket the child clung to and wrapped it around him. The kid moaned softly and rolled over.

  Dan ran a hand over his head and smiled. “Out like a light.”

  When he turned around, Amy stood at the door with a shell-shocked expression etching her pretty face. “Thank you,” she said. “You can go now.”

  Amy finished unloading the car and took the last bag, filled with her meager presents for her sisters and placed it in the room she’d be sharing with Timothy. For that night, at least.

  “Once he’s rested, we can show him the loft,” Sophie said when Amy came back into the great room. “I figured he’d love camping out up there the way we used to.”

  “Good idea,” Amy said, heading to the refrigerator for water. The essence of the house settled over her, as worn and familiar as her son’s tattered blanket, and it brought out all the memories she’d shoved into a dark corner. The scent of lavender merged with traces of leather and cherry tobacco, as if both of her parents had walked through the room. She remembered long nights of giggling up in the loft, or watching old movies and dancing to their favorite pop stars’ songs . . . Mama calling up that they needed to quiet down so a person could get some sleep . . . then sneaking up the stairs to scare them silly, and singing and dancing with them until they all tumbled onto their sleeping bags in elated exhaustion.

  And then… Mama sitting on the stairs to the loft, crying softly when she thought no one was listening.

  Amy finally made herself look toward the corner by the fireplace. Tuck’s old leather chair still sat where it had been for as long as she could remember. If she went and touched the aged leather, she’d probably feel his imprint still embedded in the buttery-soft grain.

  He’d returned after retiring, and he’d died right there in that chair. But they had all been gone by then. Even Mama. She’d thought he might have died sad and lonely, but, amazingly, Tuck had found faith late in life and he’d apparently embraced it.

  Thank you for that, Lord.

  Why didn’t I reach out to him?

  “Are you hungry?” her sister asked, jarring Amy out of her regret.

  She hadn’t taken the time to cry, and she didn’t have time for it now, either. After catching up for a few minutes, Jo-Jo and Bella went with Jed to check on the horses and shut things down for the night, leaving Amy and Sophie alone.

  “We ate on the road.”

  “We have cookies,” Sophie said, grinning. “Sarah made them. You remember Jed’s mom, right?”

  Amy nodded. “Yes, of course. She still lives around here?”

  “Yes, here,” Sophie said, pointing to the floor. “Here in this house. But she’s visiting a friend in town tonight. She’ll be back tomorrow. She moved in here after . . . we all left. To help out with feeding the few hands we have, and later to help with Daddy when he was so sick. Jed lives in the manager’s house now where he grew up when his dad ran the place. Jed’s cousin Matt Weatherly was Tuck’s nurse, but Sarah cooked and cleaned for both of them. We told her she didn’t have to leave, and since Joanna and Jed have gotten close again . . .”

  Amy let that hang in the air for a minute. “Is there something in the water here now? Everyone so cozy and coupling up? Jo-Jo and Jed, finally. Bella and David getting close here when they’ve been together-but-not-together in Chicago for so long. And you and Matt the Marine nurse. Really? Love all around?”

  “It’s catching,” Sophie said. “And it’s complicated. We’ll tell you all about it once you’re rested and not so ornery.”

  “I’m not ornery,” Amy snapped.

  Sophie sent her a steely-eyed glare. “You sure were rude to Dan.”

  “I wasn’t rude,” Amy retorted. “I was tired and not ready to hear his spiel.”

  “But isn’t he the nicest man? Loves horses but good at his job. We keep telling him we’re pretty sure we don’t want to sell.”

  “If he’s loves horses, why is he in real estate?”

  “His daddy owned Wentworth Properties and started grooming Dan and his sister Rachel to take over before he was a toddler, accor
ding to Dan’s mother, Bettye. Mr. Wentworth finally passed the crown to Dan about five years ago. Rachel works more on interior design, but Dan’s the man when it comes to the overall architectural details and subdivision designs. His first love, however, seems to be horses. And he’s been great about giving us advice.”

  “Right.” Amy couldn’t imagine why since he wanted to tear all of this down.

  After a dramatic pause, Sophie shrugged and pushed at her hair. “He volunteers here a lot, helping with the children who come for therapy, and he gives free lessons when he has the time. He’s good with kids.”

  Amy thought about how gentle Dan had been with Timothy. Gentle but sure. Confident and in control. After he’d tucked in her son, he’d quietly left.

  Yeah, and he did have that whole dressed-up cowboy thing going on.

  Amy went in search of one of Sarah’s cookies. “I reckon he’s been great about things since he wants to win y’all over. If he plans to tear this place down and build swank-o houses, why is he volunteering so much?”

  “He likes to help kids in need,” Sophie replied. “And he’s smart about renovating and staging and making things look better for buyers. The man knows his stuff.” Then she added, “And we think he’s lonely. He likes all the guys, so they hang out together a lot.”

  She opened the refrigerator, then whirled back to Amy. “I didn’t like Dan when I first met him. I wanted to buy the place myself but . . . I had to give up on that notion. The farm is a big investment. One I can’t afford . . . on my own anyway.”

  Amy didn’t miss the implications of that comment. Sophie couldn’t buy out her sisters, and she couldn’t manage the ranch without a large staff and a larger bank account. And since she worked as a veterinarian for someone else, taking on this place was almost impossible.

  So in had stepped Dan the Developer. Amy noted he hadn’t been wearing a white hat.

  “Again, if he’s the one buying, what does he care if we have fake flowers on the tables and candles burning when he comes to snoop around?”

  Sophie stared at Amy with a new determination and a too-keen interest. “And why are you so worried about what he’s doing? I thought you were all geared up on selling.”