The Christmas Sisters Read online

  “You going to sit in the backseat and let me drive you home like a chauffeur?”

  “Hey, I don't want to ruin their special moment with the distraction of me getting out and in again.” He leaned back like a man of luxury. “Just take me home, driver.”

  “You mean take you to Aunt Bert's.” She backed the car out.

  “No, got to go back to get my things. Don't think even Aunt Bert could stand the scandal of the preacher moving into her guest room with nary a piece of luggage nor a stitch of nightclothes.”

  Nic laughed. “There'd be buzzing at Dewi's for sure.”

  “Besides, I'd like to tell Willa good night before I go. I kind of got used to our having breakfasts together.” Even though his banishment would not last forever, it tugged at Sam's heart to realize he would not see the child's bright face first thing in the morning. “Do you think she'll still be awake?”

  “I hope not, but given it's so close to Christmas and so much is going on, she might not have fallen asleep right away.” She pulled to a stop at an unlighted corner, then twisted her head around to speak to him. “Awake or asleep. No harm in both of us going in to check on her, if you don't mind my company.”

  “I'd like that, Nic. I'd like it very much.”

  “She's sleeping but we could sneak in just to take a peek if you want.” Nic left Willa's bedroom door open just a sliver behind her as she spoke to Sam, waiting in the hall.

  “We won't disturb her by going in?”

  “Oh no. If she's really deep in sleep, nothing bothers her. In fact, when she was younger and had to have so many tests run, I arranged for them to be done during her nap time, and she dreamed her way right through even the worst of it.” As soon as the mention of Willa's problems and the allusion to a childhood of tests rattled out of Nic's mouth, she wished she could take it back. Sam had enough on his mind without bringing that into the picture. “Anyway, she sleeps like an angel. I really love going in to watch her; I stand over her bed and say an extra little prayer just for her.”

  His expression softened. “I like that idea. Willa really is blessed to have a mom like you, Nic.”

  She turned toward the partially opened door and smoothed her hand down the painted wood. “Is she?”

  “Why do you even question it?”

  “Because...” She wet her lips and folded her fingers closed on the old glass doorknob. “Because believe it or not, at the end of each day I look back to what I might have done differently, done better. Was I patient enough? Was I strict without acting bull-headed or antagonistic? Did I let her know that no matter what I did, I did it because I love her?”

  “I can't imagine otherwise.”

  She huffed through a half smile. “More days than I care to count, I can't answer yes to most of those questions.”

  “We all fall short.” He reached out and lifted her chin with one finger. “I'm sure all good parents ask themselves the very things you're talking about. If it helps, I think the very fact that you do weigh those kinds of concerns says that you are striving to do the best you can for your sweet little girl.”

  In the shadows of the narrow hallway, she dared to voice her deepest fear. “But what if my best is only second best?”

  “Don't do that, Nic. Don't talk like that. You make it sound like you think you've failed Willa.”

  “Maybe I have.” Finally she forced herself to raise her gaze to meet his. “Failed her—and you all at the same time.”

  “Failed me?” He brushed her hair back from her cheek, his head shaking. “That's not possible.”

  “I never even tried to contact you about Willa, to let you know you might have a daughter.” Somewhere downstairs the voices of her family raised in disagreement.

  “You had your reasons.”

  “Yes.” Heat rose in her face just to think of those reasons, to know now that Sam knew what she had done that night he left her. “But I should have followed through for Willa's sake and yours. There are tests that can prove paternity, and that would have settled it once and for all. I should have demanded one even if asking that would have caused an even greater rift between Daddy and me.”

  “I can't stand here and honestly say that in the early years after she was born, I'd have submitted to a paternity test short of a court order for me to comply. I'm not proud to admit that, but it's the truth.”

  “But all these wasted years—”

  “We can't get them back. The waste is in worrying over them. Maybe we needed that time apart so we could lay the foundation for a better kind of family, together.”

  “Are we that? Together?”

  “Say the word, Nic.” He moved his feet, taking her hands in his, the old floors groaned and creaked. “I'll be down on one knee.”

  She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or to just take a leap of faith and tell him yes. In her indecision, she bowed her head. “Pretty bold claim for someone who hasn't even kissed me in nine years.”

  “That can be fixed.” He stepped close and tilted her head up. “If you—”

  She didn't wait but went up on her toes, wound her arms around his neck, and put her lips to his. His kiss was everything she remembered and so much more. This was Sam. Sam, the only man she had ever truly loved. The man she had always known had the capacity for love and goodness that she saw come to fruition in him now. Sam, who was Willa's—

  She pulled away from his kiss and laid her hand on his chest. “But we still don't know for sure if Willa is your child. I can't stand here and pretend there is no chance that that stranger at the party isn't her father.”

  “I can, Nic, I can stand here and tell you that no man but me is Willa's father. No one, no matter what the biological circumstances, could be to her what I want with all my heart to be—her daddy.”

  “Sam,” she whispered when all other words failed her.

  “I've thought it over, Nic. That's what I want if you and Willa agree. I want to be Willa's daddy. No matter what happened between you and me, I want to make that official and irrevocable.”

  “You don't know what you're asking. You cannot understand the ramifications of taking on a child like Willa.” She stepped away from and instantly felt the coolness of not being near him. “Your obligations to her won't end when she turns eighteen or twenty-one, maybe not even when she is forty-one. We just don't know for sure now.”

  “I know for sure, Nic.” He took both her hands in his again. “And I don't need a test to obligate me to her. I couldn't walk away from her now any more than I could or would when she is eighteen or twenty-one—or forty-one.”

  From the gentleness of his touch to the unwavering love in his eyes, she knew he meant it. Shutting her eyes, she laid her head on his chest, savoring the warmth of his arms closing around her.

  Sam leaned down to kiss her temple.

  She reached up and kissed his cheek.

  He smiled.

  She bit her lip to keep from grinning like a total idiot, turned, and pushed the door open just wide enough to cast the pale light from the hallway onto Willa's bed. Nic gasped. “How long have you been awake, young lady?”

  “You said she was a sound sleeper,” Sam whispered in Nic's ear. “You don't think she heard any of our conversation, do you?”

  Willa, all flannel pajamas, freshly scrubbed face, and shiny brown hair threw out her arms and cried, “Daddy!”

  “Does that answer your question?” Nic folded her arms.

  Sam's grin broadened like a searchlight going on high beam.

  Whether she felt secure about it or not, it seemed they had just become their own imperfect little family. And as much as she wanted to rejoice in it, two little things nagged at the back of Nic's brain: What if Sam was not Willa's biological father, and how would Sam's acceptance of Willa affect the goings-on at his church?

  Imagining the answers to both of those questions left Nic

  unsteady and anxious. Knowing they would probably have the answer about Sam and his church in the nex
t few days did not ease her angst one iota.

  Twenty-Three

  It had taken them a while to get Willa settled down again. Even after Sam had kissed his newly claimed daughter good night—not to mention the truly inspiring kiss he gave Nic on the back porch before he left—an air of excitement lingered in the house. Finally, Nic let Willa climb into bed with her, and they laughed and snuggled and talked about Christmas and snowbirds, but mostly about Sam.

  Nic had not gone into too much detail. Things like biological fatherhood and the events on the night of the party had no place in this first discussion, not that Willa would have understood. What she did understand was that Sam loved her and wanted to be a part of her life.

  Only once as they spoke of it did Willa go into one of her behaviors but had responded quickly to Nic's silent reminder to control her hands. Progress already. Day by day the awkward gestures, the leaping about, the strange little coping mechanisms Willa used to get through a life that was often overwhelmed by the smallest complications had faded. It was nothing phenomenal but just one small step forward and something neither she nor the special education teachers at Willa's school had been able to accomplish in a year and a half of trying. The counselors had said she would likely outgrow it, and she always got better when she felt safe and relaxed. But still, Nic saw it as a measure of how Willa might thrive in the environment of this home, this family, even a new daddy.

  Those thoughts stayed with her into the next day and lingered even as she watched her child playing with the salt and pepper pigs in the early evening light at the kitchen table, warming Nic to the center of her being.

  “When do you figure the men will be back?” Collier slid a steaming bowl of white beans with a slab of cornbread on the side in front of Willa.

  “I guess anytime now. Let's see, Sam came by around noon looking for a break from writing his Christmas Eve sermon—”

  “More like playing hooky from writing it.”

  Nic didn't know whether to laugh or fret over Collier's keen observation about Sam looking for anything to avoid working on the crucial sermon's text. “Playing hooky or taking a well-deserved break, either way Scott, Parker, and Sam can't stay gone much longer.”

  “I don't know. It's an hour's drive over to the mall in Gilbertville then they've got all that supposed shopping to get done.”

  “Shh.” Nic held her finger to her lips like a prissy school librarian demanding order in her domain. “Petie will be down here any minute. We do not want her to know I asked Sam to take Parker s-h-o-p-p-i-n-g.”

  “What are you spelling for? It's not—”

  Nic jerked her head toward Willa, who seemed enthralled in arranging the ceramic pigs just so at a little cornbread table.

  “Oh.” Collier nodded.

  “Anyway, the fact that it was my idea, not Parker's, and that Sam and Scott came in mighty handy in influencing him to go

  buy his wife a gift is something we don't want Petie to ever know.”

  “What don't you want Petie to know?” She waltzed into the room on a cloud of satisfaction that pretty much verified she had picked up nothing more of the conversation.

  “That I used bacon in the beans instead of ham hocks. I know how you hate that.”

  “You know where you go for lying, little sister.” Petie peeked over Collier's shoulder as if she might spy the truth in the bubbling pot of white beans simmering on the stove.

  “I'm not lying; I did use bacon instead of ham hocks.” She poked the ladle into the pot and drew it out again with a limp, almost colorless strip of bacon dangling from the heaping portion of beans. “I didn't want you to know because I know how both of you like to go on about the quality of my cooking.”

  “We'd never do such a thing, sugar.” Nic popped her napkin in the air then settled it on her lap. “We'd never use the word quality in the same sentence referring to your cooking.”

  “Very funny.” Collier slopped the beans into a bowl and thrust them toward Petie.

  “Why won't you tell me what you don't want me to know?”

  “Listen to yourself, Petie. You've started talking in likely titles of old country western songs.” Nic winked at Collier as the youngest sister sat down at the kitchen table. “Did Aunt Bert, Nan, and Fran say whether they planned to stay out past dinnertime delivering benevolence baskets?”

  “Jessica told me she wanted to talk The Duets into going all the way into Gilbertville to the mall after they did their charity work. And Parker let her take his car to do it.” Petie sprinkled vinegar over her beans, totally unaware of her sisters trading uneasy looks across the table. “Don't know where that man got off to. Probably down at Dewi s telling everyone for the umpteenth time about the season when he saved the day and won the game.”

  An endearing kind of pride shone in Petie's face that had not been there before when she spoke of her husband.

  “Everything's all right with you two then, isn't it?”

  “We still plan to go for some counseling when we get home, but, yes, everything is very much improved between us now.” She all but blushed like a dreamy teenager. “We talked half the night away in the stadium about so many things we let fall by the wayside and about what we want from each other in this new stage of our marriage.”

  “Sounds wonderful, sugar.” Collier stirred a spoon through the beans in front of her. “But what about that administrative assistant?”

  “Collier!” Nic made a violent slashing motion across her own throat.

  Petie let out a low and not particularly convincing chuckle. “Don't get on to her, Nicolette. You can't protect me from the reality of that girl.”

  “True.” Nic propped her elbows on the table and watched for any signs of pretense in her older sister. When she saw none, she managed a teasing smile. “Now tell me, who will protect that girl from the reality of you?”

  “Park is going to ask for a transfer. That's all he can do, really. It may mean a move for us down the line, but in the long run that could prove good for his career and is imperative for our marriage.”

  “Good for his career?”

  “You know Parker. He loves things same old, same old. Everything exactly as it should be. This little fiasco forces him to take some action, put himself on the line, and try something new.” Petie wiggled in her seat. “Shake things up a little.”

  “You talking at work or in your marriage?” Nic muttered to keep Willa from hearing.

  “I'm ignoring that remark, little sister.” Petie broke her piece of cornbread straight in two. “I do wonder if I should hightail it down to Dewi's after a bit to look for Parker. Not that I don't trust him, you understand, but I do wonder where he's gotten to.”

  “Someplace bad.” Willa raised her chin and batted her eyelashes like a person with all the answers. “So bad Mommy had to spell it out. H...o...p...g...g...”

  “Willa, your Uncle Park has not gone anyplace bad. Isn't that cute?” Collier stood abruptly and lifted her bowl up. “More beans anyone?”

  “I'll take a dab more,” Nic said a bit too quickly.

  “I'm done.” Willa patted her stomach.

  “Then why don't you go play in the living room?” Nic pulled her child's chair out. “You can even see if there is a Christmas special on TV if you want.”

  “Can I take the piggies?” She held up the salt and pepper shakers.

  “Yes, just run along now.” She urged Willa to hurry with a light pat on the behind.

  Willa scowled, her eyes stormy behind her little glasses. Then she tipped her nose up, gathered the pigs in both hands, and marched off.

  “Have I ever told you that you're doing a fine job with her, Nic?”

  “I don't think you've ever said it to me.” Nic sat back. “At least not as a compliment in and of itself. If you do say it, it's usually a prelude to some helpful hint or piece of sage wisdom you think I need to hear.”

  “You're doing a good job, but... “ Collier murmured. “There's always that long pau
se, long enough to make you think that might be all there is to it, just a simple offering of encouragement and praise. Then comes the big but. No one in this family seems capable of making a sincere remark without that big ol' but lurking around the corner like a bear ready to grab you and strangle all the joy out of the moment.”

  “Is she saying our family is a bunch of bear buts?” Petie put on an act of taking it all quite seriously. “Because that's what I heard.”

  “Me, too. Bare behinds!” Nic played right along. “Collier, are you accusing us of running around without our pants on?”

  “All right, all right.” Collier lifted her hands in surrender. “No serious discussion allowed. I get it.”

  “Actually only one serious discussion at a time.” Petie held up one finger, which she then aimed at Nic. “And right now we're telling Nic what a fine job she's done with our Willa, no buts or bears about it.”

  “It's true, Nic. And your deciding to stay here in Persuasion and let Sam take part in raising her is just perfect.” Collier sat down again and smiled at Nic.

  “Oh, for heaven's sake!” Nic slammed her open palms down on the tabletop. “Someone just get it over with and say it, will you?”

  “Say what?” Somehow Petie got the question out between her eerily taut smile.

  “But. The big but that lurks behind every piece of praise anyone in this family doles out. I know it is there. I can feel it breathing down my neck.” She put her hand under the thick waves of hair tumbling down her back, surprised to find a thin film of sweat at the nape of her neck. “I've done a good job, blah, blah, blah, allowing Sam to be involved with Willa, blah, blah, staying in Persuasion...but... but what?”

  “But...” Collier glanced at Petie who gave a very big sisterly you-got-yourself-into-this-so-don't-expect-me-to-save-your-hide-now shake of her head. Collier drew her shoulders up. “You never said anything about marrying him.”

  “Marriage? Marriage is a huge commitment.” Nic made big sweeping gestures with her hands as if that would help to explain it better.