Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday Family\Sugar Plum Season\Her Cowboy Hero\Small-Town Fireman (12 page)

Sweet memories of what had been? Or longing for what could be?

“Well.” She peeled off her apron, tossed it into the appropriate bin and stretched. “I'm heading out. This was fun, and if you need help the next few weeks, Laura, I'd be glad to step in. I'll be right across the street at the hardware store, and if the light show brings folks like it generally does, the extra help might come in handy.”

“You'd be over here every night?” Ryan's sharp surprise said he might look like his grandfather, but he had a measure of his father's rudeness.

“Ryan!”

“The busy ones, anyway.” Tina kept her voice level and met the boy's frustrated gaze.

“Hey, I'm not the one that called her names and shook his fist out the window for years,” Ryan defended himself. “Now Dad's gone and all of a sudden she's like our new best friend? What's up with that, Mom?”

Laura stared at him, mouth open. She started to speak, but he turned and rushed out of the kitchen. The slap of the back door said he was gone.

“Tina, I—”

Tina raised a hand to stop her. “Laura, it's time we all moved beyond the past. I'm sure Ryan heard a lot of stuff over the years. He's young. He'll sort things out in his head soon enough. But in the meantime, you have a business to run and I don't mind helping you. You're my father's sister. He loved you. My mother loved you. And I won't pretend it didn't feel nice—and weird—to be here again.” She shrugged. “Can't we just take it a day at a time? I'll come over and help as needed, and we'll all take a breath. Okay?”

“I'd like that, Tina. And if you want to use our ovens for anything—”

“Like pies tomorrow morning?” She'd noticed the empty dessert cooler, and the thought of opening a restaurant on Thanksgiving with no pie seemed alien.

Laura inhaled. “You'd do that?”

“I miss not doing it, so yes. I'll be here by six.”

“I'll meet you and make coffee,” Laura promised. Her eyes brightened. “Tina, thank you. I don't know what other words to use because
thank you
doesn't seem like enough.”

Tina jerked a thumb toward the window, where a side view of the church spire reached up into the trees. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. I forgot that for a while, Laura. But I won't forget again. I promise.”

“I'm so happy.” Han grinned but kept cleaning the grill, getting ready for closing time. “I will serve the best turkey tomorrow with the best pie. A true Thanksgiving meal!”

“And while I'd love to wash dishes nightly, I must bestow the honor on someone else, although I hate to miss all the fun,” Max teased as he took their jackets off the peg rack and held Tina's out. She started to reach for it, read his droll expression and slipped her arms into the sleeves, allowing him to help her.

And when he rested his hands on her shoulders as if they belonged there?

It felt like they did.

He grabbed his leather gloves and opened the kitchen door. “Laura, Han, it's been real.”

Han grinned her way. “Very real with Miss Tina here!”

“Thank you, Max. We're grateful.” Laura included Han in her statement, and the Vietnamese cook nodded.

“It is our pleasure to have you back here.”

Han's words touched Tina's heart because she felt exactly the same way. It had been a pleasure to jump in, work with Han, run the kitchen she'd known for years.

A thread of hope unfurled inside her.

She paused outside and looked back, studying the lakeside eatery from the sidewalk.

“You missed this place.”

“You think?” She turned his way and lifted her eyes to his.

“I
know
.” He stressed the verb purposely. “It was written all over you tonight. You jumped in like you belonged there, and watching you work, throwing those orders?” He shifted his attention to the restaurant, then brought it back to her. “You fit, Tina.”

“I do.” She shrugged, and started to move away. “Well. I did.”

He laid an arm around her shoulders, slowing her down. “Still do. You can pretend otherwise, but I know what I saw.”

He was right. She knew it the moment she took her place to Han's left, like a dance she'd practiced and performed for years.

Working with Han, hearing the hustle and bustle of the waitresses and Laura, the customers, the clang of dishes as Ryan bussed tables...

She'd missed all that by working alone. The downside of being a one-man band was that you were a one-man band. The flow of a busy, well-coordinated restaurant, like she'd experienced tonight?

That's what she'd been raised to do, and she hadn't realized how much she missed it until just now. “Well, I was raised there.”

“There's that,” Max mused. “And your inherent kitchen skills. All that baking I've heard so much about—”

“I love baking.”

“Can't prove it by me,” Max retorted. “We've worked together for over a week and I've seen two measly cookies. Kind of lame, Tina.”

She laughed, and it felt good to laugh. They got to her door, and she swung about, surprised. “That's the first time I've passed the café site without getting emotional. I didn't even realize we'd gone by.”

“The company, perhaps?” Max bumped shoulders with her, a friendly gesture.

“Indubitably,” she joked back, then looked up.

His eyes...

Dark and questing, smiling and wondering.

He glanced down at her mouth, then waited interminable seconds, for what? Her to move toward him?

She did.

Would he ask permission? Would he—

The warmth of his lips gave her the answer. His arms wrapped around her, tugging her close. The cool texture of his collar brushed her cheek, a contrast to the warmth of his mouth.

He smelled like leather, dish soap and fresh lemons, a delightful mingling of scents in the chill of a Christmas-lit night.

* * *

Perfect.

Max's singular thought fit the moment.

Holding Tina, working with Tina, kissing Tina?

Perfect.

He pulled her close when they ended the kiss and tried to level his breathing.

No use. Being with Tina meant a ramped-up heart rate and accelerated breathing, which meant being without her, even for a little while, would equate a new low. “Well.”

She pulled back, frowning, as if about to scold him, but then she smiled, put her hands up around his neck and whispered, “Do-over.”

Like the day they met.
Met again
, Max corrected himself as he languished in one more kiss. When he finally let her go, he dropped his forehead to hers and smiled. “I didn't think we could improve on the first one,” he whispered, his forehead warm while the cold air chilled his cheeks. “But amazingly, we did.”

Her smile curved her cheeks beneath his. He pulled her into a warm, long hug, the kind of embrace he wanted to enjoy forever. Here, in Kirkwood, with the past behind them and the future ripe with possibilities.

“Go in.” He palmed her cheeks with his gloves, smiled and gave her one last kiss. “I'll see you tomorrow. Mom said you're bringing pie for Thanksgiving.”

“I am if I can get my mind off kissing you. That might be my morning downfall, Max Campbell.”

He grinned wider. “Worth the risk. I can always buy a pie. Finding a Tina?” He raised his shoulders and his eyebrows, hands splayed. “Much more difficult.”

He watched her go in, waited for her lights to blink on, then strode to his car parked back at the hardware store.

He had one final coat of paint to apply to the café tables he'd rescued from the fire site before they cleared the mess away. The chairs were done, and the lustrous satin finish said summer in bright tones of yellow, green and blue. The alert from command meant he needed to be ready at a moment's notice. He didn't want anything left undone if he got called to duty.

He started the car, eased away from the building, then paused at the road, considering. He could go straight home and get ready for Thanksgiving when all the family would gather at the Campbell homestead. Or he could head to the far side of the lake and see the Sawyers.

Now? The day before Thanksgiving? Are you nuts?

He swallowed hard.

He'd been called worse. But hearing the reverend tonight, seeing his gaze sweep their families, the thought of possibly being called up and leaving things unsettled much longer gnawed at him.

He turned right and aimed the car for the western shore. He passed Tina's place and pictured her inside the vintage-style rooms.

She'd looked tired and energized tonight, a fun combination, deepened by facing the shadows of her past. Standing in the lighted doorway, kissing Tina, he knew he could do no less.

He pulled into the Sawyer driveway about five minutes later. He got out of the car, shut the door and walked onto their porch. He knocked lightly, hoping they weren't asleep, and when Mary Sawyer came to the door wearing an apron, he realized his foolishness.

No one hosting Thanksgiving got to bed early on Wednesday evening. She swung open the door. “Max! What a surprise, come in! What's happened? Is there something wrong with the light display in the park?”

He shook his head as Ray took his place alongside his wife. “You need help, Max?”

He paused, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat, while two of the nicest people in the world faced him, and said, “I came to apologize for Pete's death. I know it's too little, too late, but I can't see you guys all the time without you knowing the truth. Pete's death was my fault.”

Mary's face paled, then crumpled. She reached out a hand to him. “Max, no. It was an accident.”

Ray grabbed his arm and pulled him into the living room. “Sit down, Max. What's this all about?”

Altruistic, even at a moment like this, but that shouldn't surprise Max. The Sawyers had raised their children with strength, expectations and loving care. Warmth was their benchmark. He tried again as Mary and Ray sat, facing him. “Pete and I were together that night. Earlier in the evening. I'd come over and then Amy showed up. She'd gotten out of work early and wanted to surprise Pete.”

“Right.” Mary nodded. “And you went home before they took the boat out. Max, we knew that. Sherrie and Tina saw you before I took them to the amusement park for the reduced ride night.”

That wasn't a big surprise. Tina and Sherrie loved to spy on him and Pete back then, a pair of pesky tomboys, cute and annoying.

The thought of the tough kid Tina was then and the strong woman she'd become pushed him on. “I left because Pete had been drinking. He paid Cody Feltner to stop at the liquor store in Clearwater and hook him up. Cody dropped it off sometime that afternoon. By the time I left to go home, Pete and Amy were already pretty wasted.”

He stared down, twisting his hands, then brought his gaze up. “I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left. I should have called you guys. I should have taken the keys to the boat. I should have done something other than go home mad because my best friend was behaving like an idiot.” His throat went tight. Simple breathing was getting harder to do, facing these good people and telling them he could have saved their son and Amy and didn't do it. He hauled in a breath and manned up. Met their eyes. “I came to apologize for what I didn't do that night. If I'd made other choices, Pete and Amy might still be alive. I'm so sorry.” His voice cracked. His jaw hurt. “So terribly sorry. Please forgive me.”

Ray's face swam before him, an ill-defined image of sorrow and angst.

“Oh, Max.” Mary moved forward, knelt before him and took his hands. “Max Campbell, did you think we didn't know that Pete and Amy were drinking? Did you think we blamed you?”

“I—”

“Max, we'd pushed Pete into therapy a few weeks before the accident,” Ray told him. “We saw what was happening, and with college coming up, we knew Pete's drinking was out of control. We were scared to death to have him go off to college, with no rules or regulations. He was mad at us for interfering. For weeks we didn't leave him alone in the house. One of us was always here, making sure he didn't drink.”

“But that night we knew Amy was working, we knew you were coming over and we'd gotten tickets for the girls to go to Darien Lake,” Mary explained. “We'd promised them, and it felt wrong to keep breaking our promises to Sherrie because we had to stand guard with Pete.”

Ray rubbed a hand through his thinning hair. “I was on ambulance duty. I got a call for an emergency in Warrenton and Mary had the girls at Darien. Then that call was followed by a second call, and I was gone hours longer than I expected. When I got home, Pete, Amy and the boat were gone.”

“Max.” Mary wrapped her hands around his. “This wasn't your fault. And it took a long time for us to realize it wasn't our fault, either. Kids don't always make good decisions, and when you add addictions into the mix?” She frowned, her blue eyes clouded with sadness. “We loved our son. We still do. But Pete knew better than to drink like that, he knew better than to take the boat out under the influence, and those two choices led to tragedy. It wasn't your fault.”

“But—”

“If you pave life's roads with unanswered questions, you have a real hard time finding the answers, Max.” Ray crossed the space between them and sat down next to him. “You've carried this for a lot of years. Too many. And despite Pete's mistakes, I believe God forgives the foolishness of children. I believe I'll see my son in heaven, and that we'll be reunited. We'll gather at the throne of the Most High and be together. But Pete would be the last person to want you to feel guilty. He loved you, in spite of his behavior before he died. And that's the Pete we remember, the one who loved his friends and family before he became an alcoholic.”