A Merry Little Christmas (4 page)

“
My
house,
my
visitors,
my
backyard,
my
landscaping,
my
guest cottage. Are those things really important to you, Mr. Maddox?” She set her hands on her hips. “Can you just tell me what matters most in your life?”

“That should be obvious. My sons are more important to me than anything else. I’ve spent my adult life taking care of them and raising them to be decent, productive young men.”

“And you’ve succeeded so well that they want to reach out and help others. It wouldn’t matter to Daniel and Benjamin if you stashed the odd guest or two in your house so the Murayas could live here.”

“I don’t have
odd
guests. I have
normal
guests and
normal
kids. And I don’t intend to raise my sons in any kind of unpredictable, potentially troublesome atmosphere. With a situation like this, who knows what could happen?” He glanced out of the alcove as Wisdom went tearing by, Daniel in hot pursuit. “These people are from another country, another culture. I don’t know how to handle them. I don’t have time to deal with problems that might crop up.”

“
These
people are a wonderful family who have been coping with very difficult circumstances. People are people, Mr. Maddox, no matter where they come from. Some are kindhearted, warm, generous and godly. Others are cold, selfish and mean-spirited. The Murayas would fall into the first category.”

“And I suppose you think I rank with the cruel despots of the world?”

“You’re not showing much heart.”

“I don’t have much heart, okay?” He turned away, staring out the window. When he spoke again, his voice was stilted. “I love my sons. Ten years ago almost to the day, their mother walked out on us. I won’t do anything—” he turned to her “—
anything
that might hurt them. I have built a family. A home. A world that is safe and right for those boys. Things are as whole as they can be for two kids without a mother. You have to understand. I won’t take risks with that. It’s too precious to me.”

Lara could hear the pain in his words. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “Jeremiah, your sons are almost grown, and you’ve done well. But Daniel and Benjamin are getting ready to step out into a world beyond the one you’ve created for them. It’s a place you can’t control. It’s huge and needy and filled with risk. They want to see that world, and the Murayas are part of it. Give this experience to your boys. Give a home to this family. It will be all right. I promise.”

When he looked back at her, Lara could see that her arguments had prevailed. But something in his eyes kept her from feeling victorious.

“I have an important meeting tomorrow morning,” he said. “My firm is designing the renovation of a factory in St. Louis. I’ll be out of town off and on until next summer, and I can’t keep tabs on all this. So, you will. You’ll come here twice a week to check on the Murayas. You’ll make sure they’re doing well. And you’ll see that my property is cared for, and my sons are having a good experience. Otherwise, the family is gone.”

Lara’s mouth dropped open. “Twice a week? I can’t do that! Do you realize how many students I supervise? I have an entire program to manage, and I can’t possibly—”

“You promised. You said it would be all right, and I’m holding you to that. Twice a week. Send me an e-mail update each time you check on the family. Agree to these conditions, and the rent is free. Peter can pay the utilities.” He started to step out of the alcove.

She caught his arm. “You are the most controlling, self-absorbed—”

“Trying to weasel out of your promise, Lara?” He swung around, blue eyes blazing. “Because I don’t deal well with people who break their vows.”

“I’m not your wife. Get over it.”

“Do we have a deal or not?”

She pursed her lips, biting back the words on the tip of her tongue. “Fine. Twice a week. And you need to ask the Murayas for a damage deposit and make them pay a nominal rent. People do best when they earn their way. I can think of only one freebie that was ever worth having.”

“What’s that?”

“Read your Bible,” she muttered, shouldering past him out of the alcove. “Peter, Tabitha? Mr. Maddox and I have reached an agreement. You can move in this weekend.”

If Lara Crane was a Christian, she was the prickliest one Jeremiah had ever met. Also, definitely the cutest. He wished he could stop thinking about the way her green eyes had sparked when she told him to
get over it.
As he drove home from his office in downtown Springfield that Friday evening, he pondered her words once again.

He had thought he
was
over it.

In the ten years since his wife left, Jeremiah had refocused his life. He had analyzed where he went wrong, and he had made every effort to correct his obvious failings. During his marriage, he had been extremely self-centered—choosing golf, his work, his old college buddies, over spending time with his family. He hadn’t helped his wife much with the boys. He had argued against her desire to start a home-based business selling toys online. He had resented the hours she spent on the computer, but he preferred watching television to talking with her. Certainly he hadn’t been interested in listening to every detail of her life at the end of a long day. She bored him, and he made little effort to conceal it.

Now he was a different man, Jeremiah told himself. Everything he did was for his sons. He listened to their ideas. Answered their questions. Went to their sporting events and school programs. Made dinner for them almost every night. He had stopped playing golf except on business trips, and he went on as few of those as possible. He made an all-out effort to take part in things that mattered to Daniel and Benjamin.

As he pulled into the garage, Jeremiah noted that once again both boys’ cars were in place. Odd for a Friday night, but he welcomed the thought of a house full of kids. He would be gone most of the following day. Electing to avoid the arrival of his new tenants, Jeremiah had scheduled an outing to an antiques mall and teahouse with a woman he had been dating for a few months. Melissa was a lovely lady, an interior designer. Like him, she was divorced with nearly grown kids. They had met on a job and found they enjoyed each other’s company. Though he hadn’t seen her so regularly that she would believe his intentions were serious, he looked forward to their time together. He had promised himself he would not remarry, at least until the boys were grown, and his relationships reflected that.

At the same time, Jeremiah thought he was pretty good with women. He knew how to be kind and generous and even romantic. He rarely dwelled on his ex-wife in conversation, and he considered himself a truly reformed man. A gentleman, if that wasn’t overstating it. After all, he was going to look at antiques and drink tea the next day—and if that didn’t say something about how he had changed, he wasn’t sure what would.

Climbing out of his car, Jeremiah heard the shout of a child as the garage door came down. The Muraya family wasn’t supposed to move in until the following morning, and his plan to spend the day with Melissa would conveniently remove him from that whole event. The cry outside hadn’t sounded like a teenager, though, and Jeremiah crossed to the back door. As he pulled back a curtain that covered the window, he spotted them.

Two small children raced around in circles in the yard. One of the ugliest mutts Jeremiah had ever seen ran after them, barking its fool head off. And two teenage boys tossed a football back and forth over the kids’ heads as they all trampled the recently seeded lawn.

A pang of trepidation shooting through his chest, Jeremiah glanced at the guest cottage. Through the front doorway stepped a woman with a shock of strawberry blonde curls. She spotted the kids and broke into a big grin.

“No,” he said out loud. “No, no, no. Not this. Not her.”

Even though he had ordered Lara Crane to visit the Murayas twice a week, Jeremiah had planned to be far from home when she showed up. He didn’t want to see those snapping green eyes. He didn’t want to hear her challenges and accusations. What he wanted was to stop thinking about her. But here she was again. Walking right toward him in a pair of jeans, a Reynolds University sweatshirt and a baseball cap—and looking positively fetching.

“Run, Wisdom!” she sang out. “You can catch the ball! Get in front of him!”

How could a grown woman—one whom he knew to be as prickly and stiff as a cactus—look so soft and sweet all of a sudden? As she clapped her hands together and jumped up and down on her tiptoes, Jeremiah realized she was downright striking. Her golden-red hair bounced around her shoulders. Her laugh echoed through oak trees still shedding the last of their leaves in the yard. Smaller than he remembered, today she looked like a college girl, and Jeremiah wondered if he had misjudged her age. On the other hand, she was
Dr.
Lara Crane, director of a university program. She couldn’t be that much younger than he.

Reaching for the doorknob, Jeremiah caught himself. He couldn’t go out there. He didn’t want to see her. Didn’t want any part of this whole tenant-landlord thing. This was for his sons, and he planned to stay as detached as he could.

Lara cheered and applauded wildly as Justice caught a ball that Daniel had purposely thrown short. Then Peter and Tabitha walked out of the guest cottage and studied their sons for a moment. The three adults headed toward a rusty station wagon with two mattresses protruding from the back end. Grabbing one of them, they began to wrestle the lumpy thing out onto the driveway.

“Whoa! Hold on, there!” Jeremiah called, pushing through the garage’s back door and out into the yard. “There are good mattresses inside. The guest cottage already has enough beds for everyone.”

The three beside the old car paused and turned to stare. As Peter recognized Jeremiah, his smile widened. “Mr. Maddox, you have come home at last! Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, sir,” Tabitha echoed.

Jeremiah noted a solid round bundle tied onto the petite woman’s back. Her burden rested inside a large cloth with a traditional African design, knotted over one shoulder. Wondering if this were some treasured family possession, he leaned closer. Two bright brown eyes peered at him over the edge of the fabric. Definitely a treasured possession. It was Tobias.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Muraya,” Jeremiah said. He pushed his hands into his pockets to keep from touching the baby’s small head with its soft curls. “Dr. Crane, we have plenty of beds. I ordered a crib for Tobias. The furniture store was supposed to deliver it and set it up two days ago.”

“I noticed that. Thank you.” Lara’s green eyes were soft. “But Peter and Tabitha told me they would prefer to use their own things. These two mattresses are all the furniture they own, and they’re concerned about keeping the house in good shape. We’ve moved your newer mattresses into the guest garage.”

“But I’m renting the house furnished.” He couldn’t fathom it. Why take off good mattresses and replace them with junk? “I expect the beds and all the furniture to be used.”

“These are not bad mattresses,” Peter said. “And you know, we have two small boys and a baby. Not to mention the dog, which my wife insisted must stay with us.”

A look of uneasiness came over Tabitha’s face. She glanced away shyly. “The dog is not allowed to stand on the beds or the chairs, sir. I believe I can train him.”

“But he is still a puppy, and he likes to chew things. Mr. Maddox, you have given us a good bargain on the rent for this house, and we are grateful. We believe that if we sleep on these mattresses, it will go well for us.”

“No, please.” Jeremiah placed a hand on the thread-bare old bedding. “I’m serious now. You can put these in the garage and use the others. Please, I want you to do that. It won’t matter about the dog and the children. I know how rough they can be on things.”

As he spoke, the puppy—a blur of wiry brown and gray hair—bounded through the open gate, tore across a swath of damp grass and leaped up on Jeremiah. Two streaks of mud followed the furry paws down his pant legs. Before he could react, the dog had moved to greet one adult after the other with a bounce and a kiss of wet pink tongue. Peter cried out in dismay at the brown smudges on their landlord’s trousers, and Tabitha gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Hey, Dad!” Daniel caught his father’s attention just in time to drill the muddy football into Jeremiah’s arms. “Good catch! Oh, yeah—the Murayas needed to move in a day early. I forgot to tell you. Dr. Crane e-mailed me the other day.”

Both boys came jogging over, followed closely by their smaller counterparts. Benjamin swung Justice onto his back as the puppy ran to meet them.

“This is
Mdogo,
” Daniel announced, scooping the dog up in his arms. “It means
small.
Cool, huh? They haven’t been here ten minutes, and I’m talking African.”

“There is no language known as
African,
” Peter Muraya said politely. “The national language of Kenya is Kiswahili. Sometimes we just say Swahili. Each country in Africa has a national language, and each tribe within the country has its own language. My family is of the Kikuyu tribe. So you see that Africans can have much trouble with communication.”