hoping to get one for Owen,” he confided. “To give him a reason to believe that Christmas doesn’t suck.”
“And because you feel guilty?” she guessed.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Well, it’s a really nice idea,” she said. “But I promise you, he’ll have a good Christmas even without a PKT-79 under his tree.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know his family, and yes, it’s going to suck that his best friend is leaving town after the holidays, but he’ll be okay.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” Bailey decided. “And since I’m apparently going to do this Santa thing again, I could use some pointers on how to interact with the kids.”
“Just try to remember what it was like when you were a kid yourself,” she suggested. “Remember the anticipation you felt in those days and weeks leading up to the holiday? All of it finally culminating in the thrill of Christmas morning and the discovery of what Santa left for you under the tree?”
But he didn’t want to think about the anticipation leading up to Christmas. He didn’t want to think about the holidays at all. Because thinking about the past inevitably brought to mind memories of his parents and all the ways that they’d made the holidays special for their family.
With seven kids to feed and clothe, Christmases were never extravagant, but there were always gifts under the tree—usually something that was needed, such as new work gloves or thermal underwear, and something that was wanted, such as a board game or favorite movie on DVD.
He was so lost in these thoughts—of what he was trying not to think about—that he almost forgot he wasn’t alone until Serena reached across the table to touch his hand.
The contact gave him a jolt, not just because it was unexpected but because it was somehow both gentle and strong—a woman’s touch. And it had been a long time since he’d been touched by a woman.
He deliberately drew his hand away to reach for his soda, sipped. “Remembering those Christmases only serves to remind me of everything I’ve lost,” he told her. “Not that I expect someone like you to understand.”
Serena sat back. “What do you mean...someone like me?”
There was a slight edge to her voice that he might have heard if he hadn’t been so caught up in his own misery. But because he was and he didn’t, he responded without thinking, “Someone who can’t know that happiness and joy can turn to grief and despair in an instant.”
She reached for her own glass, sipping her soda before she responded. “You should be careful about making assumptions about other people.” Then she meticulously folded her napkin and set it beside her plate. “Thanks for lunch, but I really do need to get home to my pets.”
And then, before he could figure out what he’d said or done to put her back up, she was gone.
By the time she got home, Serena had decided to skip the Presents for Patriots Dinner, Dance & Silent Auction. Though it was barely four o’clock, she’d had a full day already and had no desire to get dressed up and go out. Or it could be that she was looking for an excuse to stay home and avoid seeing Bailey Stockton again.
As she climbed the stairs to her apartment above an accountant’s office, the urge to put on a pair of warm fuzzy pajamas and snuggle on the sofa with her pets was strong. And made even stronger when she opened the door and was greeted with so much affection and enthusiasm from Marvin that she couldn’t imagine leaving him again.
After giving Marvin lots of ear scratches and an enthusiastic belly rub, she made her way to the bedroom—and found Molly curled up in the center of the bed. She sighed, the exasperated sound alerting the calico to her presence. The cat blinked sleepily.
Serena tried to establish boundaries for her pets—the primary one being that they weren’t allowed on her bed unless and until specifically invited. Marvin mostly respected her rules; Max was usually content in his cardboard castle; but Molly roamed freely over the premises.
“Off,” she said firmly, gesturing from Molly to the floor.
The calico slowly uncurled herself, yawning as she stretched out, unashamed to have been caught breaking the rules and unwilling to be hurried.
Marvin, having followed Serena into the room, finally noticed Molly on the bed and barked. Molly hissed, as if chastising him for being a tattletale. The dog plopped onto his butt beside Serena and looked up at her with adoring eyes.
“Yes, you’re a good boy,” she told him.
His tongue fell out of his mouth and he panted happily.
“And you—” She wagged her finger at Molly, then let her hand drop to her side, acknowledging that there was no point in reprimanding an animal who wasn’t motivated to do anything but whatever she wanted. As much as the attitude frustrated Serena at times, she couldn’t deny that she admired Molly’s spirit.
The cat, having made her point, nimbly jumped down off the bed and sauntered toward the door. Marvin started to follow, then turned back to Serena again, obviously torn.
She chuckled softly. “You can go with Molly. I’ll be out as soon as I put my jammies on.”
But when she opened the closet to put her sweater in the hamper, her gaze was snagged by the dress hanging in front of her.
The dress she’d planned to wear to the Presents for Patriots Dinner, Dance & Silent Auction tonight had been hanging in her closet for eleven months. She’d bought it on sale early in the new year—an after-holiday bargain that she’d been unable to resist—and she’d been excited for the opportunity to finally wear it. Because as much as she usually preferred the company of her animals over that of people, she also enjoyed getting dressed up every once in a while.
She lifted a hand to stroke the crushed velvet fabric. It was the color of rich red wine with a scoop neck, long sleeves and short skirt. She sighed, silently acknowledging that if she skipped the dinner and dance tonight, it might be another year—or more—before she had the opportunity to wear the dress.
Not to mention that Dr. Brooks Smith’s table would already be short two people, as Annie, the clinic receptionist, was at home caring for her sick husband. Which meant that if Serena didn’t show, a third meal would go to waste.
But while Annie and Dan would miss the event, Dan’s brother would be there—and she wasn’t sure if Bailey’s attendance was a factor in favor of going or staying home.
When Bailey Stockton left Rust Creek Falls thirteen years ago, he’d thought it was forever. His life and family were gone—torn apart by his actions—and he hadn’t imagined he would ever want to return. He’d tried to move on with his own life—first in various parts of Wyoming, then in New Mexico—certain he could find a new path. After a few years, he’d even let himself hope that he might make a new family.
That hadn’t worked out so well. Though he’d had the best of intentions when he’d exchanged
