The Christmas Sisters (8 page)

“That's right, sugar, not just for the kids.” Nic smoothed the girl's hair down.

Willa waved her hands and did a sudden jerky jumping movement like a startled baby unable to control its limbs.

Sam cleared his throat not sure how to respond.

Just that fast, Nic had quieted the girl's excited flailing with strong, sure hands.

“No one should be left out from finding Jesus. Not grownups... or kids...or...or...” Willa blinked slowly, her huge brown eyes magnified by the thick lenses.

He did not know if the girl had a sudden attack of shyness or just paused to size him up.

In the silence of waiting for Willa to go on, tension radiated from Nic like heat from glowing coal. She kept her child close and her eyes trained on Sam's face.

Protective.
That's all he could think.
A mama protecting her little one.
But from what?
Sam posed no danger to anyone here, least of all this extraordinary wisp of a child.

“Or even someone who isn't like everyone else. Looking for Jesus is something anyone can do, even me,” Willa finally said, a soft kind of sadness weighing down on her words.

“Even you,” Sam whispered, understanding at last. Something
was
different about cherub-faced Willa. No wonder Nic felt compelled to protect her so fiercely, even from a man who, under better circumstances, could have been the girl's father.

Overhead the hurried pounding of footsteps in the upstairs hallway did a fair impression of Sam's pulse as he studied the child then raised his discerning gaze to Nic’s.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her jaw clenched.

The footsteps came to the back stairway, a cramped passageway with tight turns and steep steps that no one liked to use unless she needed to get straight to the kitchen unseen or in a big hurry. The noise broke the spell of the hushed anticipation between them.

In a flash, Nic took the figure from Willa's open palm and plunked it on the table by the salt and pepper pigs. “I'll tend to
hiding
the baby, Willa. You better scoot now and see about helping The Duets set up the nativity. Otherwise they may get in an argument like last year, and someone's bound to end up with a camel in her coffee cup.”

Willa pressed both hands over her mouth, hunched up her thin shoulders, and giggled.

Sam held his hand out to the child. “Maybe I should take you back in there then. This sounds like a job for a wise man.”

“A wise man, yes.
Some wise guy?
No thanks.” Nic gave Willa the gentlest of pushes in the right direction. “You run along, sugar. I'll be there in a jiff.”

“I could have—”

“No.” Nic shook her head and her hair shimmied over her stiff shoulders. “I won't have you trying to get to me through my daughter.”

“Nic, I—”

“No. No.” She stood and walked the length of the kitchen, then turned and leaned against the back door.

He half expected her to fling it open and order him from the premises.

“Now, you and I are going to have to talk.”

“Okay.”

The clomping from the back stairway grew louder.

“Someplace private.
But not intimate.”

“Of course not.
In fact, you should probably include your husband in our meeting to avoid even the hint of impropriety.”

“I don't...that won't be possible.” Her expression darkened but did not give away any deeper meaning behind her response.

“This is between you and me. I want to keep it that way.”

“In other words, you don't want any witnesses.” He grinned.

“I don't want any funny business.”

“Regardless of whether you believe it or not, I am a changed man. The last thing I want is to give
so
much as the appearance of inappropriate behavior.”

“Good. Good.
Because I won't stand for any of that kind of nonsense.”

“The Dorsey name means something in this town. I understand that. I won’t allow it to become tainted by innuendo or speculation.”

She shut her eyes and turned her head, her mouth open to add something to his take on things, or to discount it, he wasn't sure which. She didn't get the chance to do either.

“Heavenly mercies, Nic, I am so glad it's you down here.”
Petie
came out of the stairwell like she'd been shot out
of a
cannon. She
landed
with her arms looped over Nic's neck, short of breath, but somehow able to go on raving. “I have a problem and I have got to tell someone. Now promise you won't fly into a panic about this?”

“We're not alone,
Petie
, sugar. Sam Moss is here.” Nic extricated herself from her sister's grip and waved a hand in Sam's direction. “The Reverend Sam Moss, that is.”

“Sam?
A reverend?”
She put both hands to her forehead like she had to shade her eyes just to gaze at him.

“Good to see you,
Petie
. If you want me to make myself scarce I can—”

“Oh no, no!
By all means stay. Stay. Before this is all said and done, I may need the services of a man of God.”

“Has something bad happened,
Petie
?” he asked even as Nic demanded to know, “What is it this time?”

Petie
straightened up and gave her sister a look that would frost a firecracker. “Bad? Well, I guess you could say something bad has happened. If you consider it bad that I have probably, without malice aforethought mind you,
killed
my husband.”

“What?” Nic's mouth hung open.

Sam scowled.

“I've killed Park. It's
his own
fault, of course, the fool.
If he had just listened to me.
But he doesn't listen, does he?”

“Can you blame him?” Nic muttered for Sam alone to hear.

“Why don't men listen to their wives?”
Petie
directed the question to Sam.

“Well, I can't speak from experience, not having a wife but—”

“Isn't there something in the Bible that says 'men listen to your wives and ye shall not be killed by doing something stupid'?”

“Not that I recall, but—” Given that the woman seemed more peeved than grieved by this turn of events, Sam had no idea whether to offer advice or comfort...or the phone number of a good Christian counselor.

“Well, there should be. Don't you think there should be?”

“I'm not big on second-guessing what should or should not be in the Bible,
Petie
.”

“Then just take my word for it. Somewhere there ought to be written down a set of guidelines for men, and the very first one should read—” she smacked the back of her hand into her open palm for emphasis as she rattled off the first rule of
Petie's
proclamation for men—”Husbands, pay attention to your wives when they tell you things for your own good. One day it
may save you from eating spoiled tuna casserole that was left on the counter, who knows how long, and was supposed to have been sent down the disposal weeks ago.”

“That's what this is about?” Nic rolled her eyes. “You think Park keeled over from eating bad casserole?”

“I can't reach him by phone. I called the neighbors, and they can't rouse him by knocking on the door.”

“Oh, well, call the undertaker and book the church basement for the post-funeral dinner.”

“Don't be smart with me, Nic.”

“If you really believe something that awful has happened to Park, why not go back home and check?” Sam stood back and waited humbly for the acknowledgment of his brilliant and logical solution.

Both women looked at him like he had that bowl of killer casserole under one arm, a spoonful of the deadly dish in his mouth, and had just said, “Hey, this don't taste all that bad to me.”

“Parker
Sipes
is a grown man, Sam Moss.”
Petie
huffed and rolled her eyes.

“But you just said—”

“If he has been sent to his heavenly reward by rancid mayo, stinky tuna, and slimy noodles, what good would my going back there do?” She put her hand to her practically sculpted hairdo. “Comes a point in every marriage when a woman may love and honor her husband and feel great concern if she thinks something is amiss with him. But she'll be switched if she'll hop in a car and drive the breadth of the entire country just to see if he has survived his own stubborn stupidity.”

“Gotcha.”
He nodded. “Then I guess the best I can offer is to put Parker on my prayer list.”

“Would you?” she asked, then without waiting for his affirmation added, “I appreciate that.”

“Anytime.”
In fact, Sam pretty much had already decided he
might ought
to grant
ol
' Park a permanent slot on the prayer list.

“
That made me feel
a whole lot better, Sam.” She gave his arm a squeeze as she passed by on her way toward the archway and the rooms beyond.

“Then that's the most productive thing I've done all afternoon.” He gave Nic a pointed glare. “But that could be about to change.”

“Absolutely, it could. There's still enough daylight left for you to get quite a lot done.”

He could not read her face, but her tone put him on guard. His goal, the only goal he had since he'd seen her car whiz past earlier, was to get her alone, to talk to her, to clear the air with her, and to listen to her. He could not do that in this house with most of her family around. To have this discussion, to give them the chance to begin to heal the rift between them, they had to get out of this house if only for a while.

“Here's an idea for something productive, Nic. Why don't we grab a couple of sodas at
Dewi's
, then walk over to the church and have that talk.”

“Fine by me.”
She laced her arms over her red sweater and leaned back against the door again. “I'll wait.”

“Wait? Wait for what?”

“For you to pack a bag.
No need for anything big, an overnight case will do. You can come back and get the rest of your things tomorrow.”

“Very funny.”

“Not joking. You cannot stay in this house another night, Sam Moss.”

Not stay? Judging from the determined look on her face, he did not dare
leave
, not even to go to the church office, for fear he'd return to find his belongings boxed up on the porch and the doors locked against him. “I can and I will stay here, Nic. Another night, another week, at least until my lease is up this spring. And you can't do a thing about it.”

“Don't be so sure.”

“But I am sure.”

“Fine, let's go have that talk in your office.”

“Actually, I've changed my mind. Think I'll stick around here this afternoon.”

“Stick around?
What for?”

“Put up Christmas decorations.”

“Christmas decorations?”

“That's what The Duets are doing, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“So, I think I'll join them.
A tinsel rope here, a lighted snow globe there.”

He lowered his gaze to hers, leaned in, and touched his finger to her quivering chin. “It’s the little touches really,
Nic, that bring on the holiday mood,
isn't it?
The little things that will make
your
house
my
home?”

He did not see the salt shaker pig as it flew by what had to be just inches from his back. But when it bounced safely on the carpet a few feet ahead of him, he laughed out loud. Neither of them had gotten what they wanted today, but these were the holidays and who knew what surprises lay in store?

Six

Nic laid her head on the kitchen table. She would have banged it on the table if she thought it would have cleared her mind and helped her see what to do regarding that awful man—who did not seem to be quite so awful after all.

Her chest tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut. Still, the memories flooded back of that December when she and Sam had made big plans for their future. She could see him as he was then, lean as a stray dog with the snarl to match. And a quick scowl that never really concealed the fear and longing underneath the facade of toughness. Even then there had been a presence about him, a sense that there was something more there, something good, almost golden under the hard exterior.

A boy, really, yet so fearless and bold.
Or was it reckless and foolhardy? Looking back through the filter of time, with the lessons learned and the supposed wisdom of growing older, Nic realized it was the second. He had been reckless with his life, with his actions, and with her heart. She had taken a long time to forgive him for that and now...