James spent an uncomfortable night in his childhood bedroom where, until recently, his nephew had slept.
After Duncan’s mother died, a little over two years ago, Garret thought it best to move back into the family home with his son. Now that Lily had come into Garret’s life, and helped him conquer his remaining grief, James’ big brother and Duncan were happily ensconced in their own house again, located on the other side of the farm.
Unfortunately, not all of Dunc’s toys had gone with him. Partway through the night, a plastic dinosaur, hiding in the jungle of covers, tried to take a chunk out of James’ side.
His discomfort, however, had more to do with thoughts of April than prehistoric critters, and late night dreams about how their lives could have been different if they’d only stayed together.
Namely, Marcus would have been his son and not another man’s.
James scrubbed a hand over his face. Who was he fooling? He wouldn’t have been ready for parenthood a decade ago. Particularly, to a child who needed extra attention. He’d just grown up himself in the last few years.
Thanks to Stephen Harker.
They’d met when the CEO hired James as a private contractor to build an addition on his house. The two hit it off instantly and, after the work was done, James became Harker’s regular go-to guy. If Stephen wanted a second opinion on a parcel of land for a new Getalot store, he called James. Once the location was set, James became the supervisor on site, monitoring every aspect of the build. The big boss went so far as to provide James with a secretary, who did all the dull parts of the job, like type up schedules and contracts.
Who could ask for a better gig?
James yanked the baseball-themed comforter up to his chin and slipped out of bed, his trick to avoid the fuss of making it. He smoothed the wrinkles with one stroke of his hand and called the job done. He’d heard the sound of the shower running earlier but it was quiet now, so he grabbed his kit and trotted down the hall to the bathroom, where he washed and dressed.
Retrieving his cell phone and jacket from the bedroom, he paused to look out the window—his favorite spot in the house. He loved the view of the farm from this angle and his sports trophies were still displayed on a lone shelf above the curtain rod.
He liked the window for another reason. As a kid, he’d found a loose floorboard under the carpet just below it. The space between two joists formed a rectangular cubbyhole he used for stashing his treasures: an eagle feather, a silver dollar and a special collection of picks featuring his guitar heroes—Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, Neil Young and B. B. King.
During his first long trip away from home, his mother had inadvertently turned his secret compartment into a time capsule, when she’d brought in a contractor to rip up all the carpeting and replace it with hardwood. Her actions sealed in James’ keepsakes and marked the beginning of his interest in home repair and construction. He’d wanted to learn how to rip out that patch of flooring and replace it without his mom knowing.
The timing for the excavation never seemed right though, and he’d forgotten about his secret hiding place. Until he saw April again. She brought back all those memories. And regrets over what might have been.
If James hadn’t known his way to the kitchen, the smell of coffee would have led him there. He nixed using the banister on his way down the stairs because of the scratchy garland looped around it. He heard someone humming in the living room and spotted his mother’s housekeeper wiping the mantel, re-hanging the family’s Christmas stockings as she went. She wore loose-fitting, navy blue hospital scrubs, a standard uniform that had inspired James to privately dub her The Doctor of Dust.
“How’s it going, Mrs. Belmont?”
“Hi, Jimmy. Your mom is so excited you’re home.” Though Verna’s voice was upbeat, she looked tired, older than her forty-odd years.
“Your daughter, Ivy, is—what—fifteen now?”
“Sixteen. And such a help to me with the other children.”
If he remembered correctly, Mrs. Belmont and her husband had four or five. A big, happy family. “Clients must keep you hopping this time of year with all the Christmas parties.”
“I’ve been very lucky. Your mother’s given me extra hours, too...now that she’s busy with baby Holly.”
“And that’s just the little lady I want to meet. I only got a peek at her last night.”
“She’s in the kitchen with your mom.”
James thanked Verna and followed the wood-paneled hall to the rear of the house. Like practically every other room under this roof, he found his mother had decorated the kitchen for the holidays, too. There was a live poinsettia on the window ledge, and embroidered ones on the dish towel and oven mitts hanging near the stove.
The cooking area formed a U-shape along one end of the kitchen. Black countertops accented the light yellow walls and cabinets, and a host of preserves and spices graced the shelves. A snowman cookie jar stood sentinel, watching over his mother’s prized Blue Willow serving platters. These were safely out of Duncan’s reach, to prevent breakage and before-dinner-snacking. Opposite all this stood a large oak table, with the morning paper and baby paraphernalia strewn across its top.
His mom sat in one of the kitchen chairs, silvery waves framing her face. She had Holly cradled with one hand, a bottle poised for feeding in the other. She cooed at the tiny girl and received a yawn in return.
James reached over and stroked the dimpled skin along the infant’s knuckles and, for a moment, imagined himself as a father. Her tiny hand wrapped around his index finger and held on tight. “She’s beautiful. And strong. A little angel.”
“Not at night, she isn’t. You’re lucky your room is at the other end of the house.”
He hadn’t thought so as a kid. He’d assumed his family stuck him in that bedroom to keep him out of their way. Once he reached his teens, however, he’d loved the privacy, knowing he could stay up late and practice his guitar, a Christmas gift from his doting grandmother that he’d learned to play by ear.
That secluded room had come in handy again it seemed, this time to buffer him from the baby’s cries. In spite of his mom’s complaint, James had never seen her so energized, her eyes as bright and shiny as the copper kettle on the stove.
“If you hold Holly, I can fix you some eggs,” she offered.
James willingly took the little girl from his mom, but ixnayed the breakfast. “That’s okay. You’re busy and I should get a move on.” He rocked the child in his arms, the sweet smell of baby powder tickling his nose.
His mother frowned. “You’re not leaving already.”
James couldn’t fault her assumption. The last time he’d come to town, he’d stayed two nights, but only one under his parents’ roof. It was natural for her to think he’d bail so quickly.
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be around for a week, or so.”
“I’d hoped you’d stay for Christmas.”
Guilt niggled at him. He shrugged it away. “I’ve got things to do, Mom.”
“There’s lots to do right here, Jimmy. Garret could sure use your help with the farm.”
No thanks! James had no intention of letting his big brother boss him around. Any more than usual.
When their dad retired, Garret took over the family business. And rightly so. Garret loved the farm, had devoted himself to it. There was no room for James.
Oh sure, they would have made a spot for him. They were his folks, after all. But he’d spent enough time living in Garret’s shadow, and James couldn’t bear to see his parents’ disappointment every time he let them down.
“Farming’s not for me, Mom.”
“But, honey, you always had such a green thumb. When you weren’t using it to strum on your guitar.”
Was she thinking about the mess he’d made of his father’s birthday party in the spring?
“I’m going out for a while,” he announced, returning the baby to his mother. “On business.”
“What are you up to, Jimmy? And how did you come by that fancy car of yours?”
His chest swelled with pride. “Guess you saw it parked out front. Did Dad?”
“Yes, after we heard all about it from Garret. Did you win the lottery, or something?”
Not his mom, too. “No. I’ve got a steady client who pays me really well.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Soon. You’ll hear all about it, soon.” Once the new Getalot store opened in Vermont, everyone would know about his success. And, frankly, he’d rather they discovered it that way. He wasn’t keeping it a secret. Not exactly. He just found it difficult to talk about the job with his folks.
“After you tell me how you ended up with this little bundle,” he prompted, referring to baby Holly again.
“We found her in the manger of our nativity set the night of Frosty Frolics. I’m sure the mother, whoever she is, knew that we’ve taken in foster kids on occasion. It’s obvious the poor woman wanted the child cared for but, unfortunately, isn’t in a position to do that herself.”
“Maybe a teen who got in the family way and couldn’t tell anyone?”
“Very likely. Though she had the presence of mind to drop off supplies with the newborn—diapers and formula. The police contacted Helen Kirkwood at family services, who did the paperwork to arrange for temporary foster care, so the baby is able to stay here for now.”
“What about later?”
His mother sighed. “I really don’t know. We’re assuming Holly is from the community so we’d like to see her remain in Carol Falls. It’s not your sister’s case but maybe she can figure out a way to make it happen.”
As in pull some strings? That sounded about right when it came to Josephine. James didn’t have a whole lot in common with his younger sister, except for a tendency to bend the rules. Joey always seemed to get away with it, though. Maybe that was because with James, bending generally led to breaking.
“I’m going to head into town, Mom.”
“Your dad is cooking our usual Sunday dinner. You’ll be here for it, right?”
The weekend beef roast was a family tradition and one of James’ favorite meals. Generally, his dad cooked the meat and everyone else chipped in with the side dishes. James was an old hand at preparing vegetables, just not fussy about eating them. He was looking forward to some of his mom’s homemade horseradish, though. The talk around the table could get almost as heated as the potent condiment. James wondered who’d dig into him the most this evening, his father or Garret.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back to help you with the veggies, Mom.”
He took a step to leave but she clutched his hand. “It’s good to see you, Jimmy. I wish you’d visit more often. And stay for Christmas.”
He smiled at her and she nodded, as if she already realized that her wish was impossible. Parents have favorites. They try not to, but it happens. Maybe you’re closer to the kid who’s most like you. Maybe you can’t stand him for the same reason, because that child reminds you too much of yourself. However it worked, James knew he and his mom shared a special connection that stemmed from a mutual love of music and sports. His father, meanwhile, favored Garret. And Joey had always been Daddy’s little girl. So where did that leave James’ mother when he wasn’t around?
He gave her another kiss to help even the score, and headed out.
As he brushed the flakes from his car, he heard a rustling. He looked in the direction of the sound and spotted a large, black dog—its nose in the snow, foraging. It didn’t appear to have a collar but, at this distance, James couldn’t tell for sure. He whistled and the dog’s head jerked up, revealing a white patch of fur on its chest.
“Hey, pal. You lost?”
As much as James wanted to help the animal, he knew approaching it was a bad idea. The dog didn’t act sick, or wild, but either could be a possibility. He crouched down to its level and slapped his palm against his thigh. “Here, pal.”
Its tail waved back and forth—an enthusiastic hello—as the dog bounded toward James. Halfway across the yard, the animal slammed on its brakes, ears cocked. A second later, it veered off, engaged in the high speed pursuit of a squirrel.
“Good luck with that,” James hollered after the mutt, before it disappeared from sight. He poked his head back into the house long enough to warn his mother about the stray. He didn’t want to take any chances with his young nephew’s safety.
Satisfied he’d done all he could about the dog situation for the moment, he started his car and drove down Maple Farm Road, noting the mayor’s McMansion as he passed it. Even in the morning sun, the place was lit up with so many flashing lights you’d think the owner was advertising a Broadway premiere. James sure didn’t envy the cock-of-the-walk, Emerson Lincoln, his electric bill.
The covered bridge came up fast on his right. He could easily cross it and take the next turn to April’s house. He was considering land in the area, after all, but he might make trouble for her if he went knocking on her door. Especially if a guy answered.
She still went by her maiden name—Rochester—but that didn’t mean much these days. She could be married, divorced, or living common law. James doubted many men would appreciate their significant other’s old flame showing up unannounced. Or buy the explanation that James happened to be in the neighborhood. April’s farm was the only thing on that road.
So he turned left toward the main square, focused on another destination—Kate’s Kitchen. All the locals went there. If he wanted to get the vibe on public opinion, and find out if people were keen on having a Getalot store in northern Vermont, Kate’s was a great place to start.
He parked in front of the cafe—a two-story, red brick structure. Green shutters framed the apartment windows on the top floor while, at street level, two white bay windows jutted out toward the sidewalk, the entrance of the cafe sandwiched neatly between them. Like every other business in town, Christmas was energetically heralded at Kate’s. Huge festive wreaths hung in the windows and boughs of holly burst from the accompanying flowerboxes.
As James walked into the eating establishment, two things hit him—the familiar jingle of the bells on the door and the heavenly aroma of cinnamon and apples. He inhaled his fill as he scanned the eclectic selection of wooden tables and chairs that made up the decor. Instead of looking disorganized, the mismatched furnishings gave the place a homey feel, as if you were visiting a dear friend who’d managed to borrow an extra seat from a neighbor, just so you’d have a comfy place to roost.
On the walls were photos of Kate’s travels, shots of the places and people she’d met during her first career as a journalist. There was a photo of Kate at the Great Wall of China, large color prints of her shaking hands with celebrities, even one of her posing with members of the royal family in England. These were in marked contrast to the lighthearted Christmas decorations inside the cafe, the most whimsical of which was a hip-high toy moose presiding over the cash register, while wearing a pair of striped elf socks to warm his antlers.
James had, unfortunately, missed the morning rush. There were few people for him to question but, on the upside, he had his choice of tables. He sat in a big captain’s chair and picked up a discarded newspaper. His reading skills had improved since high school but it was still a slog. Small case Ds and Bs continued to trip him up and sounding out a long word was murder, but he kept at it, practicing when he had a chance.
Kate Wedge, herself, jogged over to him, pad and paper in hand, her thick ponytail swinging. “Well, well. Look what the snow blew in. Good to see you, Jimmy.”
He stood and returned her affectionate embrace. She was a striking woman—with big, green eyes and beautiful hair. But he’d never wanted to run his fingers through the auburn strands. He knew she was thirty-something—and he’d dated his share of older women—but there’d never been so much as a spark between him and Kate. Whereas, with April, he’d felt like a piece of dry kindling in the middle of a bonfire.
“You know I’d go out of my way for that honeyed smile of yours.”
“Flattery will get you everything, Prince Charming. Including a piece of pie on the house. Now, what’s your pleasure? Coffee? Cream, no sugar?”
She’d remembered. That warmed him more than her java ever could. “And I guess I’ll have pancakes with blueberries.”
A sigh and an eye roll followed his order. “You ask for that every time you come in. Try something different for a change. Menu’s right up there.” She gestured to the blackboard above the counter.
James squinted at the list, watching as the printed lines floated together. It always took him a while to decipher text and, under pressure, he generally bailed. The longer he kept someone waiting while he struggled, the more likely they’d be to discover his problem. And he’d spent his life coming up with clever ways to conceal it. Even from his family.
He gave Kate his winning smile and exercised one of his usual escapes. “What do you recommend?”
“My newest dish is a breakfast burrito. You can have it with sausage or bacon.”
“Sausage, please.”
She winked at him and scooted behind the counter, reappearing moments later with his coffee. As he sipped, he thumbed through the newspaper, while eavesdropping on the locals. Everyone was talking about the abandoned baby. More than a week had passed and no one knew who the kid’s parents were.
He also learned there’d been some public mischief in the area. The latest incident saw the town plastered with homemade posters depicting local officials sporting drawn-on mustaches and dunce caps. James remembered a time when nothing happened in sleepy Carol Falls.
A tall woman with long yellow hair, who looked vaguely familiar, brought him a refill along with his burrito, which came with buttery, sourdough toast and a pile of home fries. True to Kate’s word, a slice of cherry pie appeared, too.
After he thanked the waitress, she remained hovering at his side, until Kate slid into the empty chair across from him with her own cup of brew. The yellow-haired server gave him a weak smile and continued her rounds with the coffeepot.
“How goes the local economy, Kate?” She’d returned to town about a year ago and opened this business, which was doing gangbusters, judging from the overflowing tip jar at the till.
“For me? Great. I just hired a new server. She’s helping with the brunch crowds on Sundays and the weekday morning rush. But there are families hurting for work—like the Smiths, the Browns and the Belmonts. Verna cleans here...for your mom, too, I think.” Kate leaned in and whispered, “But her husband, Oliver, isn’t pulling his weight. He lost his position with the town a while back due to budget constraints and then started drinking. Your brother gave him a job but Ollie couldn’t manage to stay sober and Garret had to let him go. Hopefully soon, Belmont will stop drowning his sorrows and get off his butt.”
James hoped so, too. Verna was a good person. She deserved better. And so did their children.
The mound of food on his plate highlighted the inequity between the Haves and the Have-Nots. James held his fork suspended over his breakfast, shy about digging in after hearing the troubles faced by the less fortunate in the community. A Getalot store would create the jobs those people desperately needed. “Want to share?”
“Heavens, no. I had one of those about an hour ago and I’m still stuffed. You made a good choice...in spite of me having to twist your arm.”
James took a bite and agreed. “When I’m working, I usually grab something at Getalot. All the locations have a fast-food restaurant right inside the store, so it’s convenient.”
“It wouldn’t be for me. I’m sure I’d lose business to them if there were a location nearby. For some, a cheap meal wins out over a healthy choice.”
At least he knew where Kate stood on the Getalot issue. “So tell me all about this abandoned baby.”
“It’s still making the front page.” Kate patted the newspaper. “The entire story is recapped right here.”
And he’d know every detail, if he’d read that far. “I was looking for your personal take. Any idea who might have left their newborn in a manger?”
“None. Erik has been drilling for clues and coming up dry.” Kate’s younger sibling was a police officer in Carol Falls, something James and the cafe owner had in common.
“It’s quite the mystery,” she went on, while he ate. “And I used to love covering those kinds of stories back in my days as a reporter. I wish I were clairvoyant like that Long Island psychic on TV. I’d be able to find the parents in a New York minute. I just thank the stars above that the child was left in the care of your family. You hear about babies thrown in garbage cans, as if they’re trash. I don’t know what’s wrong with some people.”
“Ditto.”
An ahem interrupted their exchange. James glanced up to find the leggy waitress again, her lips quivering as she smiled, as if unsure of herself.
“Jimmy, this is my new hire, Heather Connolly.”
He stuck out his hand to shake hers. “James. James Frost.”
The skin around the blonde’s brows crinkled slightly, an almost imperceptible wince. Her smile grew more tremulous. “We’ve already met, James,” she murmured as she pumped his arm.
From her reaction, he could tell he’d hurt her feelings. He hadn’t remembered her and that had to sting. “I thought I recognized you but...from where?”
Usually, he was good with faces, but hers was like a cubist painting—broken up, fragmented. The deep blue of her eyes rang a bell, but the sadness in them didn’t. Her jaw line wasn’t quite the same as the girl he had in mind, either, and this one carried an extra twenty pounds, or so, around her middle.
“I waitress at Billy Boy’s, too. You came into the bar several months ago after...”
His father’s sixtieth birthday party.
So she was the girl he recalled. Man, you’d have thought he’d outgrown blushing. No chance. The heat spread through his cheeks and down his neck.
That day in March, his sister had this great plan that each of them would write their fondest memory of the old man and surprise him with their readings. Only James had no ability to fill up a page with words. He’d sat stewing while Garret and Joey recited their happy childhood stories, and then everyone looked at him.
He’d reached for his guitar and improvised a song. They seemed to enjoy it, but when he found out his mother had arranged to immortalize each tale in one of her scrapbooking projects, he’d choked on his slice of birthday cake.
He couldn’t put the song on paper. His penmanship wasn’t a hell of a lot better than Duncan’s. He’d watched as his mom merrily glued the other two essays into the book, leaving a couple of blank sheets in between for his contribution. But James knew his hasty input would be a garbled disaster.
Disgusted with himself, he’d made an excuse about needing to run out and buy music paper, but he’d gone to Billy Boy’s instead. He drank too much and ended up crashing on Heather’s couch. James woke the next morning, swallowed some aspirins to lessen the pounding in his head, and beat it out of town before his mother could ask for those pages again.
Damn. He was no different than Mr. Belmont.
At least he’d followed up and mailed the song to his mom later, after he’d had someone give it a thorough proofing.
“Nice to see you,” he said, cutting Heather off so she couldn’t elaborate. Though nice was hardly the right word. Meeting her again had him reliving a past he wanted to forget. It was like seeing a ghost.
She’d obviously been through some tough times since they’d last met, and he felt sorry for her but, after her reminder of that night, he had only one thought.
To flee.
He stood and reached for his jacket. “I should get going. But it was great seeing you both.” James pulled out his wallet. Kate motioned for him to put it back in his pocket.
“Take me out for a glass of wine sometime, and we’ll call it even.”
With thoughts of that March binge pinging around his head, alcohol was the last thing on his mind. “Thanks.”
He left a sizable tip for Heather and flipped up his collar in readiness to step into the cold. Footsteps followed him, and then Kate’s voice.
“Did you know April Rochester is back in town?”
“Yeah,” he said, buttoning his jacket. “I saw her last night at the tree trimming.”
“Any plans to stop by her place?”
“Nope.” Not really. Okay, maybe he’d thought about taking a gander when he drove by looking for real estate opportunities. The last thing he needed was to run into the guy who’d claimed her heart. And kept it.
“She’s up to her neck, Jimmy,” Kate told him, her voice low. “The farm’s in bad shape and she’s got a special needs child to take care of. She could really use a hand.”
His feet were already moving—the urge to run out and help April so strong his body was taking him there before his brain caught up. Fortunately, it remembered the exact moment when she’d ended their relationship, and the resulting ache in his chest.
He held his ground. “What’s that to me?”
“I’ve offered. Others have, too. But she’s stubborn. Says she’s used to taking care of herself.”
“Doesn’t she have a...” He swallowed, and forced himself to say the words. “A husband to help her?” When he’d last seen April, thick mittens encased her hands. He couldn’t check for a wedding ring—one she’d swapped for the band he’d given her.
“She’s all alone out there, Jimmy. And with how close the two of you were, I’m sure she’d accept help from you.
Close? He used to think so. Until it came to making their short-lived marriage work. Close hadn’t counted then. And it didn’t count now.