“I guess so. At least I can hole up in a hotel somewhere until it’s over. You still have to make the holiday for Maddie and Shep, don’t you?”
“My wife—Valerie—pretty much handled Christmas for the family, and let me kind of hang around the edges. But since she was killed…I’m the main source of holiday happenings. Peggy and Harry help, but they’re not here every day for the countdown.”
“It must be tough.”
“I’m always really glad to see that ball fall in Times Square on New Year’s Eve.”
In the pause, a new voice came through the line. “Daddy? My head hurts.” Cait heard the rustle of clothes, a grunt from Ben, then somebody’s sigh. “Is that Maddie?”
“Yeah. The fever’s coming back. For all of us, I think.”
“I’ll let you go, then, and hope the three of you feel better tomorrow morning. Call if you need anything.”
“Sure.”
Ben punched off the phone and sat for a minute, cradling Maddie in his arms and thinking about the woman he was reluctantly coming to know. Caitlyn Gregory, singer and sexy, talented rising star, was someone he could easily keep at a distance.
He wasn’t so sure he’d be able to resist the simpler Cait’s innate charm and warmth, her willingness to give of herself.
Maddie stirred against him and he felt her forehead. “Time for more grape medicine,” he murmured against her curls. As he staggered to his feet, Shep made a small noise upstairs. The reminder brought him back to reality.
Attractive as getting involved with Cait might seem, this situation wasn’t about his wants, his choices. He had a responsibility to keep his children safe from any more pain, any more loss, than was absolutely necessary.
And he’d do whatever he had to in order to protect his kids. Even from a woman as agreeable as Cait Gregory was turning out to be.
“SO, CAIT, what are your plans for the Christmas pageant?” Soprano Ellen Morrow settled into her spot on the pew for Thursday night adult choir rehearsal. “We’re all anxious to get started—costumes take a few weeks, you know.”
Cait flipped the switch to turn on the electric organ. “Um…I don’t think—”
“My boys are bugging me to lend you some ewes for the stable,” Timothy Bellows added. Tall and thin, Timothy sang with a rich baritone voice on Sundays and ran a very successful farming operation during the week. “I’m thinking that would be a good idea. We never had live animals before.”
“Jimmy Martin’s got a donkey. And there are cows all over the place.” Ellen brushed back her long brown hair. “All we would need is a camel. Anybody have a camel?”
“Hugh Jones has a zebra. Will that do?” The banter continued, while Cait tried to decide how to redirect the rehearsal to music. Quickly, before someone asked a question she didn’t want to answer.
“Wait a minute, folks.” Timothy held up a hand and the choir quieted. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. We haven’t heard what Cait’s got to say.”
“I thought we’d start on some Christmas music,” Cait said. “But that’s as far as I’ve gone.”
Ellen nodded. “Music is good, but these kids need to learn their parts. Who have you picked for Mary and Joseph? And the announcing angel?”
“I haven’t chosen.”
“You had better get busy.” Regina Thorne, alto, gave her a stern look. “Anna always has these things worked out by now.”
“Anna lives here,” Timothy pointed out, with a grin at Cait. “Caitlyn isn’t quite so settled. But she’ll get into the swing of things. I’m sure her pageant will turn out just fine.”
The tension in the air relaxed, and the singers settled back into their chairs. Now they were all staring at her expectantly, waiting for some grand pronouncement.
“I don’t know that I’ll be directing the program,” Cait said, as confidently as she could manage. “I think the person who does should choose the parts and the costumes and—and all the rest.”
A stunned silence fell across the small choir.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Ellen said, finally.
“I—I expect Anna will have had her baby by then. So I’ll have to get back to work.”
Another lull in the conversation. “But she won’t be ready for all the work the pageant involves. Not with a new baby.” Regina shook her head. “You’ll just have to stay.”
Every member of the choir nodded, as if the issue were settled. Cait couldn’t fight them all, so she simply ignored the issue. “Open your hymn books to page 153. We’ll warm up with a few verses of ‘Silent Night.’”
The rehearsal proceeded smoothly after that, except for the suggestions that popped up with every new Christmas song—ideas about staging and casting and props, until Cait thought she would start pounding out a Bach fugue on the organ, just to keep everyone quiet.
Once they’d finished singing, Timothy joined Cait at the organ. “We’ve got money set aside in the church budget for the pageant, you know. You don’t have to put something together on a shoestring.” He winked at her. “As church treasurer, I might even be able to pad the expense account a little. Just tell me what you need to spend and I’ll see that the money’s there.”
“That’s good to hear,” she told him. “But—”
“No buts.” Timothy squeezed her shoulder and headed for the door. “You just leave it to me.”
Ellen was the last one to leave, standing by while Cait straightened her music. “You’re not really planning to leave Anna stranded on this pageant, are you?”
Cait slapped her notebook closed. “No, I don’t plan to leave her stranded. I plan to be sure there’s someone else to take on this project. You, for instance.” She gazed at the soprano as the obvious finally hit her. “You’d be perfect, and you already have some great ideas.”
“Oh, no. Not me.” Ellen backed away, shaking her head. She was a tall, heavy woman with an incredibly pure voice. “I’m no good at telling people what to do.”
“This won’t be like ordering them to—to clean up their rooms or take out the garbage. They’ll be glad to do whatever will make the pageant work.”
Again, Ellen shook her head. “I’ve got three kids under eight. My husband works up at the furniture factory and he’s not about to baby-sit when he comes home after a ten-hour day. My mama keeps the kids on Thursdays so I can come to choir, but she’d never stand for me putting in the kind of time this program will take. I just can’t.” Walking backward, she reached the door. “You’re the one to do it, Cait. You know that.” And then she was gone.
“No, I’m not,” Cait said to the empty church. Ben Tremaine would understand. Strange, how they were so completely different, and yet they shared this—this phobia,
