PENNY AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING FEELING grumpy and out of sorts, more tired than when her head hit the pillow. Her dreams had left her unsettled, although in the light of day she couldn’t recall the particulars. The illuminated digits of the clock on the nightstand said it was nearly eight o’clock. It was a rare thing that she slept this late, even on her days off. She’d always been an early riser. Even as a toddler, according to her dad.
She sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. Warm air pumped through the floor vent to chase the chill of winter from the room, and the scent of coffee wafted under the door, making it impossible for her to linger any longer under the down comforter. After tossing aside the covers, she reached for her robe at the same time she put her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers. She knotted the belt around her waist as she headed out of the room.
“Dad?” she called when she reached the top of the stairs.
“In the kitchen.”
“Sorry I slept in. I hope you waited for me to feed the cows.”
Her dad appeared in the kitchen doorway and watched her descent. “No worries. They’re already taken care of.”
“Dad . . .” She drew out the word in a gentle scold.
“I didn’t do it alone. Trevor helped.”
She felt her heart skitter. “Trevor was here this morning?”
“Bright and early.” Her dad turned back into the kitchen. “I’m about to scramble some eggs. How many do you want?”
“Just one.” She stepped through the doorway and stopped.
Her dad stood at the stove, the eggs on the counter to his right, butter beginning to sizzle in the skillet before him. Trevor sat at the breakfast table, holding a mug of coffee while reading the weekly local newspaper. He looked totally at ease, totally at home. Wishing she’d taken a moment to brush her tousled hair, Penny pinched the top of her robe together.
Trevor looked up. “Good morning.” His jaw was dark with the stubble of a beard. A good look on him, as it so happened.
“Morning,” she mumbled as she headed for the coffee.
“You left awful fast last night. Tess looked all over for you.”
“I . . . I had a headache.” It wasn’t a total fabrication. “I thought it was better to slip out and not disturb the fun.”
“Sorry about the headache. It did get loud. But it quieted down after the games were over and people settled down a bit.”
Her dad whipped raw eggs in a bowl with a fork. “Sounds like everybody had a good time.”
“Turned out to be more fun than I expected,” Trevor answered. “I’m glad I went.” He met Penny’s gaze again. “What about you? Did you have fun, despite the headache?”
“Yes,” she said with reluctance, not wanting to admit it to herself, let alone to him. “I did.”
Trevor closed the newspaper, folded it in half, then in half again. “I’ve traveled a lot over the years. Been in a lot of cities and towns. Sometimes for long stretches, mostly for short. But I don’t think I’ve been anywhere that the folks have made me feel as welcome as I’ve felt here.”
With one exception. Guilt pierced her. Me. I’ve done my best to make you feel very unwelcome.
She tried to see that same accusation in his eyes. She wanted him to accuse her of being unfriendly—because it was true. But she couldn’t see it. He wasn’t accusing her of anything.
Her dad said, “Sit down, Pen. These eggs are just about ready.”
Obediently, she carried her mug of coffee to the table and sat opposite Trevor. The table had already been set for three, and she suspected Trevor had had a hand in that too. A minute later her dad set a platter of eggs and another of buttered toast in the middle of the table, followed soon after by a pitcher of orange juice. Her father joined them at the table, and after he said a brief blessing, he handed the platter of eggs to her and the platter of toast to Trevor. No one spoke as they put food on their plates.
Penny reached behind her neck and looped her long hair into a loose knot at the nape to keep it from falling forward as she ate. She tried not to think about her appearance—ancient bathrobe, disheveled hair, and more than likely smudges of the mascara that hadn’t been entirely washed away last night before going to bed. It wasn’t fair that she should be put at such a disadvantage here in her own kitchen. And Trevor Reynolds sitting there, all comfortable and relaxed and looking totally rested despite remaining at the party longer and getting up earlier to help her dad.
Focusing her eyes on her plate, she ate without tasting the breakfast she chewed and swallowed.
“We’re going to put up our Christmas tree and decorations today,” her dad said after a lengthy silence. “Care to join us, Trevor? You’re more than welcome. Unless you have other plans.”
Penny held her breath.
“No other plans. Thanks. It’s been years since I helped decorate a tree. I’d like to stay if you’re sure I won’t be in the way.”
She suspected Trevor glanced in her direction when he said the latter, but she refused to look up to see if she was right.
Her dad was quick to reply, “Of course you won’t be in the way. The more the merrier. And besides, this is the season when folks are supposed to be drawn together. No one should be alone at Christmas.”
It isn’t Christmas yet. The thought made her feel petty. Because it should. I am being petty.
She rose from her chair. “Thanks for the breakfast, Dad. I’m going to shower and get dressed.” Her gaze flicked to Trevor, then down to her empty plate. She picked it up, along with her table service and juice glass, and carried everything to the sink, where she left them before hurrying from the kitchen. She hoped against hope that a hot shower would put her life back into clear perspective once again.
Trevor leaned back in his chair. “I thought I was making some progress with her. I guess not. She really can’t stand being around me for long.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Rodney shook his head slowly. “You can’t always tell with Penny. Still waters run deep, as they say.”
Trevor didn’t argue with the older man, but he was convinced he knew better in this instance. Penny blamed him for her brother’s death—for becoming his friend, for enticing him away, for hiring him as his drummer, for taking him on the road, for allowing him to drive when he was tired—and she wasn’t ever going to forgive him, no matter how hard he tried to change her mind. Too bad, because the truth was he liked her. He couldn’t say why. It wasn’t as if she’d ever been warm and welcoming around him. But that didn’t seem to matter. He was drawn to her anyway.
Rodney pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll do the dishes, and then you and I can get the Christmas boxes from the garage.”
“No, sir.” Trevor stood. “Not this time. You cooked. I’ll clean up. You sit there and enjoy another cup of coffee.”
Rodney smiled. “If you insist.” Then he chuckled again. “I’m nobody’s fool.”
Trevor cleared the table in no time. After scraping food off the dishes into the trash can, he added dish soap to the sink before filling it with hot water.
“Good of you to do that for me,” Rodney said. “But we do have a dishwasher.” He pointed at the appliance.
“I’ve never minded washing dishes. Good thing since I live alone when I’m not on the road.”
“What was Brad’s place like in Nashville?”
“It was a big old house that one of the other band members inherited from his grandparents. Three of the guys in the band lived there, along with a couple of other roommates.”
Rodney was silent for a short while, then, softly, he said, “Wish I’d taken a trip down there to see it and meet all of the band and get to know Nashville. He really loved it there.” Another silence. “It would have been nice to have some memories of him there, I think.”
Trevor felt the older man’s pain as if it were his own, and his throat tightened with emotion.
Brad’s dad continued, “It’s not right, you know, your child dying first. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.”
Trevor turned, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I’m sure that’s true.”
“When a parent dies, there is pain and loss, but at least there’s a natural order to it. Losing a child . . .” Rodney’s voice drifted into silence as he shook his head.
“I wish I could change it, sir.”
“I know, my boy. I know. But you can’t. No one can. So I simply ask God for an extra portion of His grace to see me through each day.”
Trevor turned back to the sink, moistened a dishcloth, and then finished wiping the countertop. When he turned a second time, he found the older man rising from his chair, only a trace of melancholy remaining in his expression.
“Let’s get those decorations moved into the house,” he said.
“I’m ready.” Trevor tossed the damp dish towel onto the counter.
It was soon apparent that the Cartwright family didn’t do Christmas in a small way. There were six large plastic storage bins to be carried into the house, each of them filled to capacity with decorations.
“The tree’s outside next to the garage,” Rodney said after the last bin had been brought inside. “We can—”
“I’ll get it.” Trevor didn’t bother to put on his coat. He wouldn’t be outside all that long. He exited the house through the mudroom and made his way to the far side of the garage. Tall and thick, the tree lay on top of a pile of shoveled snow. Trevor could see that it would fill the corner in the living room where Rodney had indicated it would go.
He managed to carry the tree into the house without too much trouble, and together he and Rodney secured it into the tree stand. Then they stepped back to admire their handiwork.
“Beautiful tree,” Rodney said. “Even without ornaments. Our friends got it for us when they went to chop down their own tree.”
“This one isn’t from the lot in town, huh?”
Rodney shook his head. “When the kids were little, my wife and I always made a day of it for the family. Going into the forest in search of the perfect tree. Coming back home and drinking hot chocolate while we decorated it. Those were such good times.”
Trevor felt a sting of envy. His childhood memories were mostly of arguments, angry words, and slamming doors. Not that his mom hadn’t tried her best to make the season bright, but his father—
“This year,” Rodney continued, “well, this year neither Penny nor I had the energy to do it that way, but it still wouldn’t have felt right to buy one off the lot. So we were thankful when Tom and Janet volunteered to get a tree for us while they were getting theirs.”
Trevor’s father had never had much in the way of Christmas spirit. William Reynolds had been more of the bah-humbug type. He’d complained about the crass commercialization of the holiday, but he just hadn’t liked to shop for gifts. As for decorating a Christmas tree—they’d had an artificial one—the man had never hung so much as one ornament on a single branch in all of the years Trevor was at home.
“Ah, here’s Penny,” Rodney said, intruding once again on Trevor’s wandering thoughts. “Now we can get started.”
Penny walked to her father and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before looking at the tree in the corner. “It’s a beautiful tree, Dad.”
“That’s what I said. Wasn’t it, Trevor?”
“Yes, sir. It was.”
Rodney walked over to the entertainment center and fiddled with a few controls. Moments later, soft Christmas music came through speakers in opposite corners of the room.
“Hot chocolate now or wait awhile?” Penny asked.
Her dad answered, “Let’s wait.”
In unison, father and daughter popped lids off two of the bins. Trevor grinned as he watched them pull out strings of lights and all manner of other festive decorations. His mother would have called them doodads and whatnots, and she had a great fondness for the same, especially during the Christmas season. Where his dad had been a bah-humbug type, Dorothy Reynolds—her friends called her Dot—was of the deck-the-halls variety.
But she had nothing on the Cartwrights.
“What are you smiling about?” Rodney asked.
Trevor gave his head a slow shake, then answered, “My mom. She would love this.” A wave of his arm took in the tree and all of the bins.
Rodney stood a little straighter, his eyes widening. “Well, why not ask her to come to Kings Meadow for the holidays? You’re staying in town, you said, so why not have her join you?”
“There wouldn’t be much room for her in my little apartment. She’d likely go stir-crazy, especially when I was at work. I don’t even have a television to occupy her time.”
“Then she could stay with us.” Rodney looked toward Penny and back again. “We’ve got extra bedrooms, and she’d be more than welcome.”
Trevor shook his head again, even though the offer was tempting. More than tempting. His mom had sounded disappointed when they talked last night. Maybe she wouldn’t come, but it might help her to be asked. “That’s really nice of you, sir, but—”
“We insist. Don’t we, Penny? You and your mother shouldn’t be apart for Christmas.”
“She’ll probably decline.” As the words left his mouth, he doubted they were true.
“Ask her anyway. And if she comes, she can make her visit as long as she likes. You can show her a bit of Idaho while she’s here.”
His mom and snow. Would she enjoy being surrounded by so much white? Probably not for an extended period. His mom preferred the beach and soft, warm breezes. But she’d be okay for a few days or even a week.
“I imagine it’s too early in California to call now,” Rodney pressed, “but do it as soon as you think you can. She’ll have to make her flight reservations right away. Use our phone. We’ve got an unlimited long-distance plan.”
Trevor could see there was no point in arguing with Rodney Cartwright. He would call his mom and see what she said to the invitation.
Penny spent the good portion of the next hour wrestling with her feelings even as she worked side by side with her dad and Trevor. It was her opinion that her dad shouldn’t have invited Trevor’s mother to come stay with them. The woman was a complete stranger. And besides, it would cause her dad extra work—work that he didn’t need added to his days. Not to mention that if the woman stayed at the ranch, Trevor would be there even more hours than he was now.
Maybe she should have said something at the first mention of Mrs. Reynolds coming to stay over Christmas, but she’d swallowed the words, determined not to provide more evidence of her unfriendly nature. Her dad had always been Mr. Hospitality. Like Brad, their dad had a gift for welcoming people into his life. A gift Penny hadn’t inherited, that was for certain.
At ten o’clock, with the living room, entry hall, and banister all decorated, Trevor excused himself and went to make the phone call to his mother.
“Pray that she’ll agree to come,” her dad whispered as soon as Trevor was out of sight.
“Dad, wouldn’t it be better if—”
“This is important, Penny. My heart tells me she’s supposed to be here. Maybe Trevor needs to be with her more than he lets on.”
She pressed her lips together, swallowing further objections.
“Pen. Do it for me.”
“All right, Dad.” But I still don’t think it’s a good idea.
She prayed silently, as asked, but it was halfhearted at best. And if God had to choose between her prayer and her father’s, she knew whose prayer would get answered. At least she didn’t have to wait long. In less than ten minutes Trevor returned to the living room, wearing a soft smile.
“Well?” her dad asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.
Trevor raked the fingers of one hand through his hair. “She said she’d love to come.”
“Wonderful. How soon can we expect her?”
“She’ll check flights right away. If there’s a seat available, she’ll probably come next weekend.”
Her dad beamed with undeniable pleasure.
If it makes him that happy, I shouldn’t begrudge him. I won’t begrudge him. So help me, I won’t. I will welcome Mrs. Reynolds—and her son—into this home . . . even if it kills me.
That evening, Trevor sat on the sofa in his apartment, the only light in the room coming from above the stove. The hours he’d spent at the Cartwright ranch had been filled with good spirits and laughter. He’d felt a part of something he’d never been part of before. By comparison, his apartment was empty and silent.
He reached for his guitar. After a few moments, he strummed a few chords. Song titles drifted through his head, popular songs that he’d covered through the years, but none of them enticed him to play and sing the way they should have, the way they used to. Nothing until the title of his mom’s favorite hymn came to him. With barely a conscious thought, he changed chords and began to softly sing, “Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.”
A kind of hunger swelled in his heart in response to the words. Words he’d heard many times before. Words he’d memorized. And yet they felt new. Alive with a meaning he hadn’t understood before.
“’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved; how precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed.”
He remembered Brad, the way the young man’s faith had seemed to shine through him, like sunlight through a stained-glass window. Emotions choked his throat. His fingers lowered from the strings of the guitar, plunging the room into silence.
“God,” he whispered, “I want a faith like Brad’s. I don’t want to be the guy I’ve been for so long. I’m trying to straighten out my life, but I don’t think I can do it on my own. I want what You want for me. Not just a taste of it. Not just until I like myself better. Help me.”
The apartment was still as dark as it had been minutes ago. It was still silent. But now it didn’t feel as empty. He didn’t feel so alone.
He was a novice at this kind of stuff, but he believed he’d just received an answer to prayer.