Their Christmas Carol (Big Sky Hathaways Book 2) Page 11

  Elsie reached out for the bag and handed it across to Nat who, with a flourish, drew out two pointed, wooden shoes, painted with dancing figures in traditional German costume. “These belonged to Mrs. Hoffmann’s son, he died many years ago, and she thought it was time they were used again.” He held them out to the girls, who took one each.

  “For us?” Elsie asked.

  “To put outside?” Betsy ran her hands lovingly over the varnished wood. “Look, Mommy, shoes made out of wood. Aren’t they funny?”

  “That is very kind of Mrs. Hoffmann, you girls need to write notes to say thank-you.” Linnea took one of the shoes from Elsie and examined it. “These look so old, so loved. I’m not sure we should accept them…”

  “Mommy! She gave them to us.”

  “She has no children of her own anymore, no grandchildren. She wants to know that they will be used tonight, the way they were when her son was still a boy. I promise you, Linnea, it made her very happy to give them to me to pass on. A lovely new Christmas tradition.”

  The words struck a chord. Hadn’t she resolved to fill this Christmas full of new traditions? St Nicholas’s Day was a new concept to Linnea, but if it made her girls smile, made Elsie’s eyes light up with anticipation, then who was she to say no?

  “In that case, we accept with grateful thanks,” Linnea said, handing the shoe back to Elsie. “What a lovely thoughtful gesture. I must find a way to thank her.”

  “The only thanks she’ll accept is a visit from the girls every now and then. I think she’s a lot less lonely than she was now she boards at Crooked Corner, but she still likes people to visit for afternoon tea. She used to live in the Summer House before Zac and Lacey bought it—the three of us rattle around in it, I can’t imagine how she managed there alone.”

  “Of course. Girls, make sure she’s on our Christmas card list and we must call in tomorrow so you can let her know if you found sweets—or if you found twigs!”

  “The only thing,” she whispered to Nat a little later as he helped her finish clearing the table, “is that I have nothing to put in the shoes. I’m not sure boxes of raisins and apples are quite the treats the girls are expecting.”

  “All taken care of.” He reassured her, handing her a plate.

  Linnea took it and the same sense of rightness that had assailed her during the stroll hit her again. Chores were much more pleasurable with adult help. Nat looked as effortlessly sexy as ever, the stubble darkening his chin, his hair disordered, the sleeves on his plaid shirt rolled up so she could see the blond hairs on his muscled forearms, the golden tan on his wrists.

  “Mrs. Hoffmann gave me strict instructions earlier and I have a packet for Elsie and one for Betsy. I’ll leave them with you, and all you need to do is fill the shoes before you go to bed.”

  “I can’t let you do that, let me pay you at least.”

  But he was shaking his head. “Mrs. Hoffmann’s treat—you don’t want to destroy a ninety year old woman’s happiness do you?”

  “When you put it like that…” Linnea hated to be beholden to anyone, she always had, but she couldn’t turn down this kindness.

  She stopped as the girls came into the kitchen, both freshly scrubbed and in their pajamas. How she had missed this, whispering festive secrets, planning surprises for the girls, picturing the look on their faces when they made the discovery. “Have you come to say goodnight to Nat?”

  They looked so young in their patterned onesie pajamas, their feet bare, hair down and tousled from the day no matter how much they brushed it, their faces bright from soap and breath minty-fresh. How she wished she could freeze time and keep them like this forever, small and dependent and safe.

  “Night, Nat.” Betsy had no reservations as she rushed forward and threw her arms around him.

  Nat paused, startled, but stooped and gently hugged Betsy back before stepping back to ruffle her hair. Linnea blinked, her eyes hot as she watched.

  “Night, Betsy, awesome singing today. Keep it up, champ.”

  “Okay, Betsy, I’ll be up in five, go read in bed, honey.”

  “Okay, Mommy.” Linnea watched her youngest bounce out of the room, hair flying up with every skip and once more she was overcome with gratitude at how happy and sweet-natured Betsy was despite everything.

  “And you, Elsie, say goodnight then run along.” Elsie stood by the door, clutching Nantucket, her teddy, to her chest.

  “Goodnight.”

  Nat reached out and touched Nantucket’s head.

  “What a handsome bear. Is he looking forward to Christmas?”

  “He is.” Elsie took a step forward, her face a little more animated. “He loves Christmas. We all do. Do you think we’ll be home in time to go skating, Mommy? He loves skating too,” she added to Nat.

  “Go home? Oh, Elsie.” Linnea was filled with a mixture of empathy and frustration. Every time she thought Elsie had come to terms with the situation she would throw another curveball. “This is our home now. We’ll be spending Christmas here. But when it snows and the lake freezes you can skate there, and not just once, but every week. Have lessons. You’ll like that?”

  She smiled hopefully at her daughter, but Elsie didn’t respond, standing still, an outraged expression on her face. “We’re not going home for Christmas? We won’t see Grandma and Grandpa? Or the cousins?”

  “Not this year. We’re going to spend it in our new home with Morfar and Mormor, but I promise you, it will be really special.”

  “I want to go home.” Elsie’s face crumpled and Linnea strode forward swinging her daughter into her arms, holding her as close as she could as her small shoulders shook with sobs.

  “I know it’s hard, darling. Come on. Let me take you to bed and in the morning we’ll see if St. Nicholas has come, okay?” She carried Elsie up the stairs, whispering comforting words all the way, tucking her into the pretty white wooden bed she’d slept in since leaving her crib, ensuring Nantucket was safely in beside her. Linnea sat beside Elsie stroking her hair until the sobs subsided and her breathing began to even out, her eyes fluttering closed and then, switching on the nightlight she made her way downstairs.

  “Damn it,” she muttered as she reached the bottom of the staircase, holding onto the rail for momentary support. Sometimes it was just so hard. There were so many demands on her emotions, on her time, so many people needed her. But who was there to support her? Who cared whether she was happy? Her mother was still preoccupied with her father’s health, her in-laws were on the other side of the country, and her husband…

  Her husband was dead. And on some days that made her angriest of all.

  Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Linnea walked back through the kitchen and into the living room. Nat was sat next to Biscuit, their school yearbook on his knee. She, of course, had been voted most likely to succeed. Right now, she felt more like most likely to need a long, hot bath and eat her weight in chocolate.

  He looked up as she came in. “Hey. I made you a drink. I wasn’t sure if you wanted coffee at this time of night, but there was a peppermint tea by the stove so I opted for that.”

  “That’s perfect, thank you.” Linnea was unexpectedly touched by the gesture. “I’m so sorry about Elsie.” She blinked, her eyes hot again. “She’s just…”

  “I know.” Nat reached over and took her hand, the light touch comforting her and Linnea absorbed the contact gratefully. “You really don’t have to explain. It’s been tough for all you. Especially you, shouldering their hurts as well as your own.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “It doesn’t make it easy.”

  “No. It doesn’t.”

  “Linnea, about Saturday…”

  She raised her hand to stop him before he went any further. “Please don’t apologize and please don’t ask me if I’m okay because Saturday night was the most alive I’ve felt in a really long time.”

  “In that case…” He paused. “How do you feel about having dinner with me? T
his Friday?”

  Linnea couldn’t answer, torn. That kiss was meant to be a moment out of time, a crazy seize the day, spontaneous thing, a stepping stone into moving on. Dinner? Dinner implied a date. Implied the start of something. But what could they start when Nat was moving on?

  Her gaze fell on a picture of Logan, in his wetsuit, surfboard under his arm on a winter’s day on the beach. Nothing had ever stopped him seizing every opportunity, big or small. Not the weather, not early parenthood and marriage, he’d always lived every day to the fullest, packing as much into his short life as he could. It hadn’t made for an easy relationship and when he died, she had almost blamed him for it. Blamed him for not being there. But what was the alternative? Wrapping herself in mothballs and never daring to risk anything?

  She could hear him now, telling her to stop being a martyr and to go out and have some fun. “Carpe diem, live a little, Linnea.” She bit her lip. It was just a date. No big deal. “Let me check and see if my parents are free to have the girls. I’ll let you know tomorrow.” It wasn’t a yes, but nor was it a no.

  “You do that.” It wasn’t until Nat released her hand that Linnea realized he had still been holding it.

  She curled her fingers over her palm, keeping his warmth alive as he stepped back and stooped down to scoop up a sleeping Biscuit.

  “Good night, Linnea.” He leaned over and dropped a light kiss on her cheek.

  Linnea stood staring after him, her cheek burning, resisting the urge to touch it. “I hope you’re satisfied.” She told the photo, but Logan only smiled.

  She stopped and looked at him for a long time. This was it. She’d moved out of the house they’d shared, she’d kissed another man, she was going to agree to go out for dinner with another man.

  “I guess this is me really moving on, huh?” she said. “I do still miss you, you know. Part of me always will.” She touched the photo briefly, then turned and left the room, scooping a bar of chocolate out the pantry as she went. She needed a little wallowing time and nothing helped a girl wallow like a bar of chocolate.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nat stepped onto the porch, knocked on the front door, and waited, shifting from foot to foot, bizarrely nervous. Maybe it was because Linnea had never allowed him to pick her up in the past. It was like stepping onto forbidden territory. Would her dad open the door and invite Nat in for the intimidating man-to-man chat they had never had the opportunity to have?

  He shifted again as the seconds ticked by. Nat took a step back, unzipping his jacket a little more despite the chill of a Montana December night.

  Maybe she hadn’t heard him. The sensible thing would be to knock again, not loiter outside like some kind of stalker from an eighties teen film. Mind made up, Nat stepped forward once again, only to come to a stop as the door opened and Linnea stood framed in the doorway, a shy smile on her lips. She was dressed casually in jeans, her puffy black jacket already zipped up against the cold, a cream hat covering her head.

  She was breathtaking and Nat swallowed, his mouth dry. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Biscuit says hi.”

  Her smile widened. “I missed seeing him today. How’s he doing?”

  “Good.” Nat waited until she closed the door and joined him on the porch steps. “We had yet another visit to the vet today, things are mending well. He’s a real trooper.”

  “He’s a great dog.” She slid him a glance from under long-lashed eyes. “And he adores you.”

  “He’d adore anyone who gave him a home and a good meal every day.” But Nat warmed under the approval in her dark eyes. He helped Linnea into the truck then swung himself in beside her. “How’s Elsie? She seemed a little subdued at rehearsal.”

  “Poor kid. She’s hurting. Every time I think she’s settled she flares up again. I really hoped the concert would do the trick, but now she’s fixated on wanting to head back to Milchester for Christmas.”

  “But you’re not going to?”

  “Not this year. Her counselor has said that we need to carry on as normal, not allow her to hold me back. It isn’t fair on either of us, not healthy to give her that kind of responsibility.”

  “That sounds reasonable if not easy.”

  “It isn’t,” she admitted. “But I’ve wrapped myself and the girls up in cotton wool for long enough. We needed it, for a time, but we have to move on. We have to start living, experience new things no matter how hard it seems sometimes. So where are we going?”

  “Have you been to the Flintworks? Lacey tells me I’ll like it—and an old train depot, good food, and a microbrewery does sounds pretty perfect to me. It’s amazing isn’t it how in some ways Marietta is exactly the same? The same quirky town with the same quirky traditions and the same families running most everything—the Sheehans and the Brambles and the Scotts still everywhere I turn. But I like how new blood has moved into town, new ideas, new places, new innovation.”

  “That’s how I feel. Marietta has changed. I wondered what it would be like coming back, if it would feel like a backward step, but actually enough has changed to make living here a new start.”

  It didn’t take long for Nat to park up close to the Flintworks. The old train depot had been turned into a welcoming and vibrant space and tonight, on a Friday, it was buzzing with a mixture of locals and tourists. The large room was a trendy mixture of steel and glass, decorated with huge abstract paintings which added color to the room and softened what could otherwise be a stark look. Big steel vats behind the bar housed the microbrewery’s famous beers.

  “This is definitely new,” Linnea said looking around. “Back when I was a kid it was always the diner or Rocco’s for meals out, both of which are great, but it’s nice to try somewhere new. This is lovely. It’s funny, I’ve been talking to them about apple-based beer, but this is the first time I’ve been inside. I don’t think it will be the last!”

  Nat had reserved a table on the small, airy balcony overlooking the rest of the bar and a cheery waitress handed them small chalkboards with the short but comprehensive menu written on. “Menus changes depending what’s fresh,” she informed them. “Everything is cooked to order, so let me know if you have any allergies or extra requirements. Can I get you folk drinks?”

  Linnea ordered a small beer, one of the ones brewed on the premises, flavored with grapefruit and Nat went for a golden ale. It didn’t take them long to agree to share a platter of Mediterranean-inspired antipasto and, once the waitress delivered their drinks, they sat back and soaked up the ambience.

  “Thanks again for the shoes and the little presents,” Linnea said. “Betsy loves her little doll, and Elsie adores the bracelet. She’s hardly taken it off.”

  “Mrs. Hoffmann told me exactly what to get, I can’t take any credit for it, but I’m glad they liked them.”

  “It did cheer Elsie up a little so I’m still hopeful my plans to introduce some more new customs will help her adjust. Next week is St. Lucia’s Day, which is a Swedish celebration and we’ll also have a proper Swedish Christmas Eve as well as a good old-fashioned all-American Christmas day. If I keep her busy maybe she’ll forget to brood.”

  “And the concert of course.”

  “How could I forget? I really think it’s going to be great, Nat. You’re good with the kids, inspirational.”

  He pulled a wry face. “I’m so far out of my comfort zone. This only ever happens around you—remember when you got me to play Glenn Miller in the old folks’ home? And the time you made me dress up for the kids’ ward?”

  “I didn’t make you do any of those things! Okay, maybe the Glenn Miller. But you wanted to dress up in that teddy bear costume!”

  “You told me I was going to be a superhero. I thought I was going to be living the spandex dream, not dressing up in a hundred pound furry costume. Between you and Lacey, it’s no wonder I try never to get involved in community projects. I was scarred for life at an impressionable age. But if I am involved then I am going to
make sure it’s the best it can be, even if that means taking dozens of kids through every song line by line.”

  “And then what? You have a new album out next year, does that mean a tour?”

  “Yes, not on the same scale as the last one, I’ll be headlining this time and I’m not quite at Madison Square Garden level yet. But I’d rather play smaller venues and have my name above the door, the crowd there to see me. Actually, I got this today, what do you think?” He fished his phone out of his pocket and found the email. “The cover of my new album.”

  Truth was he was a little unsure. Had been when it was taken, but understood the rationale behind it. That rationale just didn’t make quite the same sense here in Marietta.

  Linnea took the phone and studied the photo, her eyebrows high. “Wow.” She glanced over at him. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you seem to have forgotten to do your shirt up.”

  “You hate it?”

  “No, believe me, no red-blooded woman will hate it.” She examined it again.

  Nat didn’t need to. He knew every detail. The low slung jeans, his face in profile, cowboy hat low on his forehead, checked shirt open.

  “They’re making a very definite statement, aren’t they? Is it what you want?

  “Lowly artists like me don’t get much of a say. They’re creating a brand.”

  “And you’re happy to go along with that?” She didn’t sound judgmental and Nat felt compelled to be more honest than he had been with anyone else—even maybe himself.

  “I was. At first, it was a novelty, you know? After laying down tracks by myself, funding myself, playing on other people’s records and tours, it was pretty fun. But I found the interest in my friendship with Piper a little intrusive, a little degrading in a way and that’s the look, the publicity they want. They’re keen for me to head back onto the party scene and back into the gossip blogs sooner rather than later.”

  “The publicity has focused on your looks rather than your music.” Linnea caught his eye and blushed. “I saw some of the headlines.”