One Special Christmas & Home for the Holidays (22 page)

He wanted to believe her. Desperately. But experience had been a harsh teacher. “I'd like to think that's true, Kate,” he said wearily. “And I know you believe it is—right now. But I'm afraid that in time you'll come to resent my work. Whether you realize it or not, you were upset the night of the accident because I wasn't there for you.”

“You're thinking about that stupid comment I made when you opened my door, aren't you?” she said quietly.

He looked surprised. “You remember what you said?”

“Yes. And obviously you do, too. Eric, I don't know where those words came from. I was distraught. And shaken up. And afraid Sarah was hurt. I wasn't even thinking straight. Do you know what my
thoughts
were when you appeared? ‘Thank God.' I can't even find
the words to describe the relief I felt when I saw you. I know my words didn't reflect that. But that was what was in my heart.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Believe it or not, Eric, I can handle the fact that you have a demanding career that sometimes requires you to make difficult choices. I may be disappointed sometimes if your duties take you away from us, but I'll never stop loving you. Because I know you'll always do your best to
give
your best. To us
and
your job. I would never ask for any more than that. And I truly believe that if we trust in the Lord, He'll show us the way to make this work.”

Eric gazed into the face that had become so precious and dear to him during these last few months. The sincerity in her eyes, and the love, were unquestionable. What had he ever done to deserve a woman with such an understanding heart, and an inner beauty that surpassed even her physical loveliness? he wondered, his throat tightening with emotion. She seemed so sure, so confident about their future. Why couldn't he put his own doubts and fears to rest, as well?

“You seem to have such faith,” he said quietly.

She looked at him steadily. “Enough to move mountains. I'm not Cindy, Eric. I love you for who you are—not in
spite
of who you are. And on this Christmas Eve, for the first time in years, I believe great, exciting things are about to happen. I believe that anything is possible. And I believe in you. And us.”

Eric looked at her, his heart so full of love that for a moment he couldn't speak. She was everything he'd always wanted, and he suddenly knew with absolute certainty that he'd be a fool to pass up this chance for happiness. As if to confirm his sudden lightness of heart, the distant voices of the carolers came once more through
the air, jubilantly proclaiming, “Joy to the World.” As he reached over and touched her face with infinite tenderness, his doubt was replaced by a gladness and peace that truly reflected this most joyous, holy season.

“When I got to Mom's tonight, Sarah said that this was the best Christmas ever,” Eric told Kate huskily. “And you know something? She's absolutely right.”

Kate studied him cautiously, trying not to infer too much from his tender tone of voice and the promise in his eyes. Yet she was unable to stop her hopes from soaring. “Is that a yes?” she ventured.

He chuckled as his own spirits suddenly took wing. “That is most definitely a yes. And even though this proposal wasn't exactly traditional, I think we should seal it in the traditional way. Don't you agree?”

The sudden flame of passion in his eyes made her tingle. “Most definitely,” she concurred.

He reached for her, and she went willingly, savoring the haven of his strong arms and the wondrous feeling of homecoming. And in the moment before his lips claimed hers, the words of the distant carol echoed in her ears, making her heart rejoice.

“Let heaven and nature sing. Let heaven and nature sing. Let heaven, and heaven, and nature sing.”

Amen,
she said silently.
And thank you.

Five months later

I
t was a perfect day for a wedding.

Kate gazed out the window of Amy's log cabin at the blue-hazed mountains, fresh with spring. New green shoots decorated the tips of the spruce trees, and the masses of rhododendrons and mountain laurel on the hillsides were heavy with pink-hued blossoms. A cloud of yellow swallowtail butterflies drifted by, undulating playfully in the warm morning sun, while classical flute music played a duet with the splashing water from a nearby stream.

Kate smiled and slowly drew in a deep breath. The peaceful setting, reflecting the beauty of God's creation and the rebirth of nature after a long, cold winter, seemed symbolic; within a few moments, she and Eric would start a new life together after their own long, cold winter of the heart.

“You look happy.”

Kate turned at the sound of Amy's voice. Her sister stood in the doorway with Sarah, holding two bouquets of mountain laurel still beaded with silver drops of dew.

“I am.”

“And beautiful.”

Kate flushed and turned to look in the full-length mirror beside her. The simple but elegant style of her A-line, tea-length gown enhanced her slender figure, and the overlay of delicate chiffon that flared out near the hem softly swirled as she moved. Long sleeves—sheer and full, cuffed at the wrist—emphasized her delicate bone structure, and the deep blue color was a perfect foil for her dark hair and flawless complexion. “I
feel
beautiful,” she admitted. And young. And breathless. And hopeful. And all the things every bride should feel on her special day, she thought with wonder.

“Do I look pretty, too, Mommy?” Sarah asked.

Kate turned to her daughter and smiled. In her white eyelet dress, with a basket of flowers in her hands, she would fit right in at a Victorian garden party.

“You look lovely,” Kate replied, kneeling down to hold her close. Without Sarah, she knew she would never have survived the months following Jack's death. Only her daughter's sunny disposition and innocent laughter had kept her sane and grounded in the present, prevented her from slipping into the abyss of total despair. She hugged Sarah fiercely, thanking God for His gift of the precious child who had filled her life with a special love during the difficult years when she'd felt so deserted and spiritually alone.

When Kate finally released her, Sarah lifted her basket and pointed to a bluebell. “I picked that flower for Dr. Eric. Aunt Amy says I can give it to him later.”

Kate smiled, deeply grateful that Sarah adored Eric. And equally grateful that the feeling was returned.

“I'm sure he'll like that. It's just the color of his eyes.”

“Well, if you two ladies are ready, I don't think we should keep the groom waiting any longer,” Amy announced.

Kate gave Sarah one more quick hug. “I love you, honey,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, Mommy.”

Kate rose and Amy handed her one of the bouquets. For a long moment their gazes met and held.

“You know how happy I am for you, don't you?” Amy said softly.

Kate nodded, and when she spoke her voice was choked with tears. “I know. And thank you, Amy. For everything. For your love and support and for always being there. You and Mom were my lifeline for so many years.”

Amy's own voice was none too steady when she replied, “I always will be, Kate. But I'm more than happy to share the job with someone else. Especially Eric.”

The flute music suddenly changed, and Kate recognized the melody of the hymn they'd chosen for the opening of the ceremony.

“It's time,” Amy said.

Kate nodded. Amy took Sarah's hand and they preceded Kate down the steps and out the door. She waited for a few moments, then stepped out into the sunshine and walked slowly toward the gazebo banked by blossoming rhododendrons and surrounded by the people she loved most in the world.

Anna was there, of course, beaming with joy. Cal smiled at her and winked, juggling Caitlin in one arm while the twins clung to his leg and stared wide-eyed
at the proceedings. Frank grinned and gave a subtle thumbs-up signal.

And Eric—her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at him. He looked incredibly handsome in a dove-gray suit that hugged his broad shoulders. The morning sun had turned his blond hair to gold, and as she gazed into his face—so fine and strong and compassionate and caring—tears of happiness pricked her eyes. His own eyes, so blue and tender, caught and held hers compellingly as she drew closer. They spoke more eloquently than words of the passion and love and commitment in his heart, and she trembled with wonder that God had blessed her with a second chance at love.

As the pure notes of “Amazing Grace” drifted through the mountain air, she was glad once again that they'd chosen this hymn to begin their wedding ceremony. For she had, indeed, once been lost. But now she was found. And today, as she prepared to start a new life with the man she loved, she felt filled with God's amazing grace.

Eric watched Kate approach, and his own heart overflowed with joy. The significance of the song wasn't lost on him, either. He knew that without the Lord's help, he wouldn't be standing here today. On his own, he would never have had the courage to take another chance on love. But God had sent him Kate, whose sweetness and understanding had broken through the barriers he'd erected around his heart and made him believe once again in endless possibilities. And as Kate stepped up into the gazebo and took his hand, her eyes shining with love and faith and trust, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that they would have a rich, full marriage. For the Lord would always help them, just as His grace had led their hearts home.

Dear Reader,

As I write this, the rustle of autumn is underfoot. Winter—that season of rest and renewal for a slumbering world—will soon be upon us. But like the beautiful scarlet cardinals twittering in the tree beside my bench, and the gloriously blooming impatiens oblivious to the inevitable frost that will soon make them only a memory, I am reluctant to let the warm weather go.

Yet sometimes letting go is the only way to move forward. For without winter, we would never appreciate the joys and promise of spring. And without saying goodbye to the past, we can never say hello to the future. Eric and Kate discovered that in this book. And they also discovered that life is filled with endless possibilities if we open our eyes—and hearts—to them.

This upcoming Christmas season, may each of you experience the joy that comes from believing in the endless possibilities that keep life always new.

Come to me, all you who labor and are overburdened, and I will give you rest. Shoulder my yoke and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

—
Matthew
11:28–29

To Tom

My Friend, My Hero, My Love

N
ick Sinclair felt his blood pressure begin to rise and his spirits crash. A few moments ago he'd been on a high, elated by the news that he'd won the commission to design a new headquarters building for the Midwest Regional Arts Center. It was a coup destined to move his architectural career into the limelight.

Then George Thompson dropped his bombshell. On behalf of the building committee, he had strongly suggested—more like mandated, Nick thought grimly—that the firm of Sinclair and Stevens use some unknown landscaping company to design the grounds.

“Taylor Landscaping?” Nick cleared his throat. “I don't believe I've heard of them,” he said in a pleasant, conversational tone that betrayed none of his turmoil.

“You will,” George replied with a decisive nod. “Great company. Small. Relatively new. But dynamic. Creative, yet practical. I like that.” George always spoke in clipped sentences, a habit that Nick suddenly found irritating.

“How do you know about them?”

“Several of the board members have used them. Did
the landscaping at my new house, in fact. Wonderful job! My wife said they were great to work with. Very professional. And stayed right on budget, too.”

Nick struggled to keep his face impassive as a wave of panic washed over him. On his own, he knew he could assemble a team of contractors that would do the firm of Sinclair and Stevens proud. But one weak link was all it took to ruin an otherwise great job. Or, at the very least, to make his life miserable.

Nick carefully smoothed down his tie. Not that there was anything out of order in his appearance. His navy blue pin-striped suit, starched white cotton shirt and maroon-and-gray paisley tie sat well on his just-over-six-foot frame. Broad shouldered, with dark hair and even darker eyes, he didn't particularly care about clothes one way or the other, but he'd invested a good number of his thirty-six years to reach this point in his career, and he was smart enough to know that appearances
did
count. Today he looked every bit the part of a rising young architect, and nothing was amiss—including his tie. But that little maneuver bought him a few seconds of time—all he needed to recover from his surprise at George's suggestion and to rapidly formulate his response.

“Well, I'm sure they're very competent, but commercial landscaping is on an entirely different scale than residential,” Nick said smoothly. “Now, I've worked with an established firm for several years that I think you'll find very—”

“Nick.” George held up his hand, cutting the younger man off. “Providing opportunities for young talent is in keeping with the philosophy of the Arts Center. And it's one of the reasons we chose
your
firm to design it.
I think it's only fair that we at least give this company a chance, don't you?”

Nick looked at the man across from him in silence. Checkmate, he thought grudgingly. George Thompson's years as a respected trial attorney served him well in the business world. You couldn't raise an objection that he hadn't already considered.

And, Nick had to admit, he was right. The Arts Center board could have chosen a well-established architectural firm for this project. Instead, the board members—all of whom were influential business people in St. Louis—were giving him a shot at it. He couldn't argue the point that this Taylor Landscaping deserved a chance, too. It was just that he didn't relish the idea of some wet-behind-the-ears firm getting its chance at his expense. However, it looked as if he didn't have a choice.

“I see what you mean,” he said, his even tone revealing nothing of his frustration.

“Good, good. Give them a look, get a bid…I think you'll be impressed.”

“I'll get in touch with them immediately,” Nick promised. “Now, about the schedule…”

By the time Nick left George's office, all of the details had been finalized. He should have been on top of the world. Instead, the sudden gust of cold March wind and the overcast, threatening sky that greeted him when he stepped through the glass doors better matched his mood, and he scowled at the dark clouds overhead.

There had to be a way around this, he reasoned as he climbed into a sleek red sports car parked in the visitors' lot. Obviously, the board wanted a first-class
job. The Arts Center would be a St. Louis showpiece, and anything less than the best would reflect poorly on the city. Just as obviously, the board members were convinced this landscaping firm could handle the job. And maybe they were right. But
Nick
wasn't convinced. Not yet, anyway. And before he agreed to work with this company, he had to feel confident in its abilities. George
had
given him an out. A slim one, true, but it was there. And he intended to use it unless Taylor Landscaping did one terrific sell job on him.

Suddenly Nick found himself walking through the door of his office, with no recollection of the drive from downtown. For a man who prided himself on his alertness and attention to detail, it was an unsettling experience. Frowning, he nodded distractedly to the receptionist, glanced at the two part-time draftsmen at work in a large, airy room and stuck his head into his partner's office.

Jack Stevens glanced up from his drafting table and grinned hopefully, his short-cropped sandy hair giving him a fresh-faced, all-American-boy look. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“How'd it go?”

“Fine.”

“You mean you got the job?”

“Yeah.”

Jack tilted his head quizzically. “Well, try to contain your enthusiasm,” he said dryly.

Nick shook his head impatiently and raked his fingers through his hair, jamming his other hand into the pocket of his slacks. “There's a complication.”

“What?”

“Have you ever heard of Taylor Landscaping?”

Jack frowned thoughtfully. “Taylor Landscaping… No, I don't think so. Why?”

“Because the board of the Arts Center
strongly
recommended them to do the landscape design.”

Jack leaned against the drafting table, propping his head on a fist. “Is that bad? What do
you
know about Taylor Landscaping?”

“Nothing. That's the point. It's some new outfit that's probably fairly inexperienced.”

“Sort of like Sinclair and Stevens?” Jack said with a mild grin.

Nick glared at him. “Don't you start, too. That's exactly what George implied.”

Jack shrugged. “Well, it's the truth. Why don't you keep cool until you check them out? Might be the proverbial diamond in the rough.”

“It also might be a lump of coal.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe not.”

Nick gave him a disgusted look. He was in no mood for humoring, not with the commission of his career facing potential disaster at the hands of an inept landscape designer. “Aren't you just a little worried about how this might affect the future of Sinclair and Stevens?” he said tersely. “Most people will only see the outside of the Arts Center, and a bad landscaping job could ruin the lines.”

“You're really worried about this, aren't you?”

“You better believe it.” Nick walked restlessly over to the large window on one wall and stared out unseeingly for a long moment before he turned back to his colleague. “You of all people know how hard we've worked to get this far. Fourteen-hour days for three long years, working in a cramped office with barely room
for two drafting tables. It's beyond me where you ever found the time or energy to have two kids along the way! We've done okay, but you know as well as I do that we've been waiting for our real break, the one job that will move us into the big leagues. This is it, Jack. It may sound dramatic, but our future could depend on this commission. This is what will make or break our reputation with the people who count in this town. We blow it—we might as well close up shop because we'll never get another chance.”

Jack stared at his partner thoughtfully for a few minutes, his demeanor now just as serious as his friend's. “I'm sorry, Nick. I didn't mean to make light of it. I realize how important this is. But if this landscaper doesn't cut it, we don't have to use them, do we? You said the board
recommended
them. So at least the door's open to other possibilities if they don't work out, isn't it?”

“Yeah. About half an inch.”

“Look, before we jump to any conclusions or panic unnecessarily, why don't you check out this Taylor Landscaping? I trust your judgment. If you're not satisfied with them, we just have to tell George. I'll back you up, but this project is really your baby, Nick. You went after it and you did the preliminary design that the committee selected. I know it's coming out of the Sinclair and Stevens shop and I'll help peripherally, but you're the one who needs to feel comfortable with this company because you're the one who'll have to work with them.”

“Yeah, I know. And you're right. I need to check them out. I'm condemning without a trial, and that's really not fair.” He glanced at his watch and gave an
exasperated sigh. “Six o'clock! Where did the day go?” He shook his head. “It's too late to do anything today, but I'll follow up on this first thing in the morning.”

 

At nine o'clock the next morning Nick punched in the number for Taylor Landscaping. He waited with an impatient frown as the phone rang once, twice, three times. By the sixth ring he was drumming his fingers on the desk. What kind of an outfit was this, anyway? Every business office he knew of was open by this hour. Hadn't anyone ever told this company that an unanswered phone meant lost business? Nick was just about to hang up when a slightly breathless voice answered.

“Taylor Landscaping.”

“This is Nick Sinclair from Sinclair and Stevens. I'd like to speak with Mr. Taylor.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Do you mean the owner?” There was a hint of amusement in the voice.

Nick bit back the sarcastic retort that sprang to his lips, confining his response to a single, curt syllable. “Yes.”

“Well, everyone's out at the job site right now.”

Nick debated. He could just leave a message. But it might not be a bad idea to see this outfit at work. “All right. Just give me the address,” he said in a clipped, authoritative tone.

“Well, I guess that would be okay.” The voice sounded uncertain. “Hang on a minute.” A sound of papers being shuffled came over the line, and after several interminable minutes the information was relayed. Nick jotted it down. A residential job, in a
nice area of large homes and expansive grounds. But not a commercial commission.

“Thanks,” he said.

“My pleasure.” The amused tone was back.

Nick frowned at the receiver, perplexed by the woman's attitude. But he wasn't about to waste time trying to figure it out. Instead, he glanced at his watch. If he hurried, there was time to pay a quick visit to Taylor Landscaping before his eleven o'clock meeting.

A half hour later Nick pulled up at the address provided by the woman on the phone. Four people, dressed in jeans and work shirts, were visible. Two wrestled with a large boulder. Next to them, a guy with a mustache fiddled with a jackhammer. Another slightly built worker, who appeared to be only a teenager, stood apart with a hose, watering some freshly planted azalea bushes.

Nick had no idea who the owner was, but the kid with the hose was closest to the street. Besides, he had no desire to approach the group with the jackhammer. It was now in use, and the bone-jarring noise was already giving him a headache.

Nick stepped onto the lawn and took a moment to look over the grounds. It was a new house, built on a vacant lot in an already established neighborhood. The ground had been cleared during construction, and it was obvious that a complete landscaping job was under way. The work appeared to be just beginning, and it was difficult to tell whether a cohesive plan had been developed. But a well-maintained pickup truck bearing the name Taylor Landscaping stood parked in the circular driveway, and the crew seemed energetic.

The jackhammer stopped momentarily, and Nick
opened his mouth to speak. But before he could make a sound the annoying noise started again. Shaking his head in irritation, he moved forward and tapped on the shoulder of the teenage boy who held the hose.

It happened so quickly Nick had no chance to step aside. The boy swung around in instinctive alarm, maintaining a death grip on the hose and drenching him in the most embarrassing possible place. Nick was stunned, but not too stunned to lunge for the hose and yank it in a different direction. He glanced down at his soggy gray wool slacks, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours he felt his blood pressure edge up.

“Just what exactly were you trying to do?” he demanded hotly. “Of all the stupid antics…”

“I'm…I'm really sorry,” the teenager stammered.

Nick removed his pocket handkerchief and tried to sop up the moisture, a task he quickly realized was futile. “Yeah, well, that really solves everything, doesn't it?” he said sarcastically. “I have an important meeting in less than forty-five minutes. How do you suggest I explain this?”

The teenager stared at him blankly.

“You could say you had an accident,” replied a mildly amused voice.

Nick glanced up. The worker who had offered the suggestion wore a baseball cap and dark sunglasses.

“Very funny,” he said icily. “Which one of you is Mr. Taylor?”

His question was met with silence, and he frowned in irritation. “I'm looking for the owner,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Well, why didn't you say so,” the worker in sun
glasses spoke again, the husky voice now even more amused. The baseball cap was flipped off, releasing a cascade of strawberry blond hair caught back in a ponytail. She removed the glasses to reveal two startlingly green eyes. “You're looking at her.”