Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (50 page)

Claire tucked her chin to her chest and tried to look maternal. Or at least aunt...ernal. “Your room clean?”

Heads bounced. Vigorously.

“Really?”

“We can see the floor, does that count?”

She bit back a smile. “Beds?”

“Made.”

“Clothes?”

The boys exchanged a glance. Busted. But Harry said, “Put away. Swear. Come look if you don't believe us.”

So she tramped upstairs and did exactly that. And, indeed, the carpet was visible and the beds were made—after a fashion—and she could actually see the hamster cage. And the fish tank. And the other tank that held something...slithery. Shuddering slightly, her eyes cut to the closet. Behind her, the boys sucked in a collective breath.

Uh-huh. Intuition told her not to open the door. However, they had done what she'd asked with a minimum of groaning, and there was only an hour or so left of daylight, and if letting them go made her a big softie, so be it. So she said, “Just be back before it's fully dark, okay?”

They fled down the stairs, although Finn wheeled back long enough to give Claire a freckled grin and a thumbs-up, and, okay, she melted. Then she noticed, through Juliette's partially open door, the teen half sitting up.

“How're you doing?” she asked, pushing the door farther open.

“Better, actually.” Juliette sniffed. “Not even stuffy. Weird.” She squinted at the clock by her bed. “Was I really asleep that long?”

“You really were. Want anything?”

Juliette turned on her bedside lamp, then winced in the light. “Tea, maybe?”

“That, I can do. But why don't you take a hot shower first? Put on some clean jammies or sweats or something before you rejoin the land of the living?”

“That sounds awesome, yeah. Oh, shoot—I was going to make stew—”

“Don't worry about it, we'll have pizza.”

“From Luigi's?”

“From DiGiorno. I seriously doubt Luigi's is delivering tonight.” At the teen's frown, Claire said, “Look outside.”

Draping herself in her brightly flowered comforter, the kid got up and padded over to her window “Wow. Oh, snap—can Dad even get back tonight?”

“Actually, I talked to him a few minutes ago, but he wasn't sure yet. So you might be stuck with me.”

“Could be a lot worse. Wait...” Her head tilted. “Why is it so quiet?”

“Your brothers are out playing in the snow and your sister's asleep. Or she was when I came up here. So go take your shower, come downstairs whenever you're ready—”

“I'm so sorry for bailing on you—this wasn't how I saw things playing out it in my head.”

“It's okay, sweetie—”

“But you're not used to this. My brothers—”

“Do not know the meaning of inside voices and are overly fond of body noises and have more energy than the sun. And yet, I survived.”

Juliette softly snorted. “You sure?”

Leaning against the doorjamb, Claire crossed her arms. “I'm still here, aren't I?”

“By choice?”

She chuckled. “I'm here because your dad was obviously in a bind and I was only too glad to help. Especially since...since I'm guessing it takes a lot for him to ask for help.”

“Boy, you got that right,” Juliette muttered, and Claire smiled.

“Although he did tell me to call
his
dad if I got in over my head. And I'll admit there were a few times, especially early on, when I was tempted. Except then... I don't know. I got in the groove, I guess.” She leaned forward and whispered, “And don't tell Finn, but he makes
awesome
fart noises.”

Juliette giggled, then said, “Um, those probably weren't only noises.”

Claire thought of the boys' roars of laughter after one particularly musical episode and grinned. “I was being...discreet. But what can I say? I like them. The boys, I mean. Not the noises.” She paused. “I really like all of you.”

The girl watched her for a second, then shuffled over to give Claire a hug, letting the comforter whoosh to the floor behind her. After a startled moment, Claire hugged her back, her eyes burning for the girl's loss. For everyone's.

“Sorry,” Juliette mumbled, breaking away to wipe her eyes.

“No, it's okay—”

“Hey—could we make cookies later?”

Awkward moment over. Got it. “We?”

Juliette laughed. “Okay,
me.
”

“Fine by me, but are you sure you're up to it?”

“Mom always said cookies make everything better.”

“Can't argue with that,” Claire said, then went downstairs, where the little one was stirring as well, yawning and hugging the...thing. And looking so blamed cute Claire could hardly catch her breath.

“Hey, pumpkin,” she said, turning on a couple of lights in the darkening room. “Feeling better?”

Bella shrugged, swiped a shredded tissue across her red nose, then frowned at Claire. “That's what Daddy calls me.”

Claire held out the trash can for the used tissue, handed over a clean one. “That's probably where I got it from, then—”

“Gotta pee,” the child mumbled, then scrambled off the sofa and toddled off to the powder room. A minute later she toddled back, which was when Claire realized she was still in her pajamas, too. And barefoot.

“Need your slippers?” she asked, even as she thought, screw it about the pj's. Kid was six. And Claire sincerely doubted the queen was going to pop in.

Bella looked down at her feet, as though surprised to discover they were bare, then ran—good sign, Claire decided—upstairs, a minute later returning with puppies on her feet. By this time Claire had turned on several more lights and was in the kitchen, desperately trying to channel her inner domestic goddess, from whom she had not heard in years. If ever.

“Very cute,” she said, nodding at the puppy slippers.

“Thank you.” Bella climbed on a kitchen chair, tucking the slippers under her butt so she could sit on her knees, from which The Thing regally surveyed the goings on. “But they squish my toes. Could I have some more juice, please? Grape this time. If it's no bother.”

Claire bit back her laugh. “Coming right up.”

The kid chugged it all down, then released a very satisfied, and ridiculously adorable, sigh. And a burp. Then she said, “Thank you for taking such good care of me today,” and Claire flushed to the roots of her hair.

“You're very welcome, sweetie.” The microwave dinged.

“Whatcha making?”

“Tea. For your sister. Who, by the way, said she wanted to bake cookies after her shower.”

Bella lit up. Then sneezed. “Christmas coo—” she sneezed again “—kies?” Claire nudged the box of tissues on the breakfast bar toward the child, who grunted a little trying to free one from its prison. “Like in shapes and stuff?” She blew her nose. After a fashion. “With lots of colors and sprinkles and those little red things?”

“Um...I have no idea.... Where are you going?” she asked when the little girl climbed down and marched out of the room, her companion clutched under her armpit.

She stopped in front of the dark, bare, definitely lonely looking evergreen standing in the corner. The boys had said they'd bought it the night before, but by the time Ethan had set it up it'd been too late to trim it. “The tree looks sad.”

“It does, doesn't it?” Leaving the tea to steep, Claire joined Bella, crossing her arms. “Sad, and naked, and cold.”

“Yeah,” Bella said with a sharp nod. “It needs...” She waved her hand. “Lights. And stuff.”

“Magic,” Claire said.

“Yeah. Magic.”

Claire looked down at her little charge. “I suppose we could, you know, decorate it. If you know where the ornaments are.”

“Maybe in the garage? Jules knows. But...” More brow puckering. “But we always do that with Daddy.”

“Well...” Claire squatted beside Bella to wrap an arm around her waist, resisting the urge to kiss the creamy little cheek. “We could either wait for Daddy, or we could all do it tonight after dinner, so it's all finished when he gets home.” Claire thought of how tired Ethan sounded, how he'd had to cram this trip—and the emotional junk attendant thereto—into a life already full to the brim. “He might like that.”

“I don't know...”

“How's about I ask him? Make sure it's okay?”

After a moment, Bella nodded. So Claire dug her phone out of her pocket and sent Ethan a short text:
Bella wants to trim the tree tonight. OK by you?

Ten seconds later her phone dinged.
God, yes.

Laughing, she started to pocket the phone when it dinged again.
And bless you. For everything.

And heaven help her, she could
feel
Ethan's smile, that half-tilt of his lips that, until this very moment, Claire hadn't realized turned her inside out. Not
this
much, anyway. Longing shimmered through her, a tingling warmth that, under other, child-free, circumstances, might have provoked an actual gulp—

“Was that Daddy?”

Claire looked into Bella's sweet, impish face and felt another kind of tingling...another kind of longing. One she now realized she'd been denying for years, refusing to fall prey to the Self-Pity Monster she'd seen gobble up way too many other unmarried women over thirty.

“It was,” she said over the monster's munching. “And he said it's fine with him if we want to decorate the tree before he gets home.”

“Cool,” Bella said, bobbing her head. Then she suddenly wriggled around to frown into Claire's eyes. “You know, I think I like you.”

Claire nearly choked on another swallowed laugh, as Juliette appeared in a clean set of pajamas, her damp hair in a million ringlets around her shoulders. A child after Claire's own heart. Or hair, in any case. “I like you, too, baby,” she said, touching her forehead to Bella's. Then she turned to Juliette, on her way to the kitchen. “Your dad gave us the go-ahead to trim the tree. Bella says you know where the decorations are.”

“In the closet under the stairs,” Juliette said from kitchen. “We can get them out after dinner.”

Succumbing to the irresistible pull of sweet little girl in her arms, Claire gave the top of Bella's head a quick kiss, then pushed herself to her feet to join her sister, stirring raw sugar into her tea.

“Jules? Something wrong?”

She shook her head, then twisted up her mouth. “The tree was Mom's thing,” she said in a hushed voice. So Bella wouldn't hear, Claire presumed. Not that she could, since she was now playing tug-of-war with the dog and one of his toys. Between the growling and giggling, they were good. “Dad did all the decorating outside, Mom was in charge of inside the house—”

“Oh, sweetie, if you think I'm overstepping—”

“No! No, not all. In fact...” She pressed her lips together, her eyes glittering when she looked at Claire again. “Dad's tried so hard, you know? To keep things the same, making sure we still did all the stuff we used to with Mom. And maybe the others didn't notice, because they're younger, but I did, how much it was killing him. Mom... She got as excited as a little kid about Christmas. And the tree was her favorite thing....”

Juliette swiped at a tear trickling down her cheek, and Claire's throat got tight. “So if I can't help thinking about Mom when we pull out her favorite ornaments, hang 'em on the tree.... I can only imagine how Dad feels.” She gave Claire a watery smile. “Even though he acts all goofy and stuff so supposedly we won't notice.”

Her own eyes burning, Claire leaned across the breakfast bar to wrap her hand around the girl's, giving her a smile. “Goofy? Your dad?”

“Amazing, but true. The only thing he won't do...”

When the teen stopped, Claire gave her hand a squeeze. “What?”

“Mom loved music. All kinds—classical, show music, rock, everything. And she listened to it
all
the time. There's a ton of her CDs still in her office, Dad never got rid of them...but he never plays them, either.”

“Maybe he's not a music person?”

Juliette shook her head. “He'd play it plenty when Mom wasn't around. But since she died he won't listen to music at all. Any music. Isn't that sad?”

Squeezing Juliette's hand again, Claire went around to pull the pizzas out of the freezer, her own memories pinching her heart. “Sounds familiar. Both my parents adored opera, but after my father died my mother said it hurt too much to hear it, because she associated it so strongly with him. So I don't think what your dad's feeling is all that unusual.”

Juliette straddled one of the chairs at the kitchen table, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. “So your mom never listened to opera again?”

“I think she tried to once or twice. But after that... No. Not really.”

A huge sigh pushed from the girl's lungs. “It's like...they're broken.” Her eyes widened. “Is that what death does? Breaks people?”

“It can,” Claire said honestly. “
If
they let it. If
you
let it. Do you feel broken?”

After a moment, Juliette wagged her head. “Changed, maybe. And still sad. But not like I'll never feel whole again.”

“Then I think you're good.” They heard more giggling, then barking, as Bella and Barney raced up the stairs. Claire smiled. “To be honest, after my father died, I sometimes got the feeling Mom was only biding her time until she could join him. And that
is
sad. On the other hand, there's my landlord—he and his partner had worked and lived together for more than fifty years until Thomas died last year. But even though you can still hear the affection in Virgil's voice when he talks about him, he says he's got a list as long as his arm of things he still wants to do. That why should his journey come to a halt because Thomas is continuing his somewhere else?”