Home for Christmas (32 page)

“Are you sure you don't want to try it?” Andie asked her niece, and for the first time, Libby peered around Owen to see that Caitlin had cleaned her plate of everything except the small mound of spinach casserole in the middle. Caitlin had her lips pressed together, her brow wrinkled with worry, and Libby couldn't stand it.

“That's okay,” Libby said. “It doesn't have to be everyone's favorite thing.”

She smiled at Caitlin reassuringly, but instead of smiling back, Caitlin's mouth opened on a wail. “I can't eat it! I can't, I can't!”

“You don't have to,” Libby said at the same time Owen asked, “Why not?”

Caitlin sucked in a deep breath. “Because I stepped in it.”

Everyone at the table paused. Sam, whose fork had been halfway to his lips, dropped it with a clatter. In a flash, Libby saw exactly what had happened.

“I put the casserole on the back steps to stay cool,” she remembered aloud.

“And when I ran away, I didn't see it and I stepped in it,” Caitlin said, the confession building steam the longer she talked. “It was gross. I wiped off my foot in the snow but I didn't know what to do with the spinach stuff so I put it back in the refrigerator.”

“Where I found it and heated it up, and served it to all of you,” Libby finished faintly, staring around the table in shock.

“And we all ate it.” Owen stared down at his plate, probably considering throwing up.

“I'm sorry,” Caitlin cried, her lower lip starting to tremble. But before she could get going, a sharp snort had them all swiveling to stare at the head of the table.

Grandfather snorted again, then let out a cackling laugh so loud it woke Pippin from his doze beside his master's chair. “Ha! You must have the touch, little girl—you gave that casserole a special spice that made it everyone's favorite dish.”

His laughter was infectious. Pretty soon, everyone at the table was roaring. Sam defiantly picked up his fork and took another bite of the casserole, and that set everyone off again.

Libby leaned over and put her head on Owen's shoulder. “Well. I should have known better than to promise the perfect Christmas.”

“I don't know.” His depthless blue eyes crinkled at the corners with the warm, secret smile he gave her. “This feels pretty perfect to me. But if you're not happy with it, there's always next Christmas.”

Next Christmas. The words filled Libby with hope and happiness. There would be a next Christmas, and a Christmas after that, and another after that. “Plenty of time to get it right,” she murmured, nuzzling a kiss into the raspy stubbled underside of his jaw.

“As long as I have you and Caitlin with me,” Owen said, his deep voice resonating through Libby's entire being, “every Christmas will be perfect. I love you, Libby.”

And there it was. Libby's Christmas miracle. Through eyes brimming with tears and a heart brimming with love, Libby looked from face to happy face around her holiday table. Everyone who mattered most to her was gathered together under a single roof to celebrate and be together.

In the midst of the joyous chaos of conversation and laughter, Libby closed her eyes to say a prayer and remember the people who were missing. Her own, much-missed mother and father, her grandmother. Nash's mom, off somewhere doing her own thing, and Andie and Owen's estranged father and beloved, departed mother. If she concentrated, she could feel their spirits hovering over the table with a warm, loving light, enveloping everyone present in the kind of glow that only came around once a year.

“Merry Christmas,” Libby whispered, her throat aching with unshed tears. She opened her eyes and found Owen watching her, an understanding smile on his lips. Libby had to kiss that smile, and she could, so she did.

“Who needs the perfect Christmas when imperfection is so great?” Owen said against her mouth, and Libby laughed with delight.

Maybe perfect was overrated.

 

Epilogue

One Year Later …

“This is getting to be a tradition,” Libby said, laughing and plucking at the woolen cap pulled low over her eyes.

She wasn't trying to get a peek, not really, but Caitlin said, “Libby, no!” and grabbed for her hand. Libby laced their fingers together, taking a moment to enjoy the trusting curl of Caitlin's small digits in her clasp.

“Fine, fine. Lead the way.”

Libby let herself be drawn through the house, down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen she'd come to know so well. It smelled like the cinnamon toast she'd made for breakfast, spicy-sweet and warm.

Caitlin had instructed them both into their winter things, puffed up with the importance of her role in this Christmas surprise, so Libby wasn't startled when the back screen door banged open and Caitlin said, “Three steps down, now.”

The air outside was pleasantly brisk. It had been a mild winter with no snow yet, to Caitlin's daily dismay, but Libby liked the chill clarity of the winter sunlight brightening her vision even through the loose-knit wool of her blindfold.

“Where are we going?” she asked as Caitlin led her across the backyard with careful steps.

“You'll see.” Caitlin's voice pitched high with the glee of finally revealing the big gift she and her father had been conspiring over for ages. “You're going to love it.”

The confidence in the formerly anxious girl's tone was the best gift Libby could have asked for. It was amazing what a difference a year of stability and solid family love could make.

Caitlin still suffered setbacks. She had nightmares, and occasional bouts of mistrust and insecurity. She needed to be reminded often that she was loved, that she was important, that her needs would be met to the best of her family's abilities. She was sad sometimes, missing her mother, and angry at other times when she seemed more aware that the life she'd had with her mother before coming to Sanctuary Island had been lacking something fundamental. She wasn't over her early childhood neglect, or her loss, and it might take a while before she could sort out her complex emotions.

For now, all Libby and Owen could do was to prove to her over and over, through their words and actions, that they loved her.

“I'm sure it's going to be the best present ever,” Libby told Caitlin, putting out her free hand for balance when she stumbled over uneven ground. “Because you and your daddy are giving it to me. And no one in the world knows me better than you two.”

That was certainly true, now that Uncle Ray had slipped even more deeply into the arms of his disease. Grief twisted at Libby's heart when she thought of her uncle, but there was relief, too, because she knew that not only was he getting the very best care money could buy—he was getting the love and attention of the family he'd lost for so many years. With the help of a wonderful nurse, Ray was being cared for at home, where Grandfather, Libby, and Owen could all help.

“Everyone thinks they know you, though,” Caitlin groused. “Because of your columns.”

Caitlin could be possessive about the people she loved. Sharing was hard for her, after so many years of never having enough for herself—enough material things like food, but especially emotional things like love.

“It's not the same,” Libby reminded her patiently. “The people who read the magazine know a version of me, but it's not the real me. They don't mind, as long as they get my recipes.”

After the disaster with the TV crew last year, and all of Grandfather's threats about suing Rhonda Friend, Libby couldn't take the deceit any longer. With Hugo Downing's permission, she published an extremely personal letter of apology in place of her regular column, outlining her true identity, her motives for concealing it—and the extraordinary circumstances by which she'd started to finally live the life she'd always dreamed.

The response from readers was overwhelming. There were some who said they'd never read her again, but far more were caught up in the romance and magic of her story. Once she started adding her mother and grandmother's recipes to her columns, they were more popular than ever before.

It didn't hurt that the man she loved was an extremely handsome war hero who was currently serving as the U.S. Army liaison to The Hero Project. Owen's transition from combat to administrative duty hadn't been easy for him, but the work he was able to do with The Hero Project helped a lot of people. And the sight of him in uniform never failed to stir Libby's blood.

He looked just as good in jeans and a sweater, though, she thought dazedly when Caitlin tugged her down to remove the blindfold with a triumphant flourish. Libby blinked rapidly, and at first all she could see was Owen.

Tall, strongly muscled, wide smile and ocean blue eyes. A lock of dark copper hair, grown out past regulation length, fell over his forehead and made Libby's fingers twitch against the urge to smooth it back.

“Hi,” she said dumbly, struck stupid with lust and love and happiness all over again.

“Merry Christmas,” Owen returned, one side of his mouth quirking up like he knew exactly what Libby was thinking. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

His gaze was as warm as his smile, full of the love Libby had learned to count on and trust in the past year. It was hard to tear her eyes away from him, but when she did, she saw that they were standing in front of the ramshackle old barn behind the Leeds house. The barn had housed horses years before, but it had fallen into disrepair and Grandfather had it boarded up after Pippin escaped and injured himself on a fallen beam inside. Libby had been pondering what to do about the building for months, but she hadn't made any decisions.

It looked like the choice had been taken out of her hands. “What did you two do?”

Caitlin bounded over to her father and lifted her arms with the assurance of a child who knew she would be picked up. Swinging her onto his back where she clung like a monkey, Owen swept out an arm toward the open doorway and said, “Come and see.”

Libby didn't need to ask if it was safe. If it wasn't, Owen wouldn't let her or Caitlin anywhere near it. She slipped inside, blinking at the change of temperature. The last time she'd peered into the old wooden barn, wind had whistled through chinks in the walls. Now it was snug and cozy inside. A skylight had been cut into the roof, pouring in sunlight, and the hard-packed dirt floor was strewn with hay.

A few of the stall dividers remained, but the stalls were open. New wood gleamed at the back of each stall where a wide ledge had been built with a sturdy ramp running up to it. Each ledge held several square cubes, like cubbyholes.

“What is all this?” Libby asked, delight fizzing in her bloodstream as she peered into each stall, working her way toward the back of the barn where she noticed a heat lamp glowing in the last stall.

“Your Christmas present,” Owen replied teasingly. “Haven't figured it out yet? I'll give you a hint. Once you've got this, you know you've got a home.”

Realization flooded Libby at the same moment that she registered the tiny peeping she'd been hearing as background noise since they entered the barn. Only it wasn't a barn anymore.

“It's a chicken coop!” she cried, whirling to throw her arms around Owen. With Caitlin riding piggyback, Libby got a perfect two-in-one hug in before racing off to find the source of the peeping.

“Giddyup, Daddy, I want to see, too,” she heard Caitlin say behind her as she found the wide box sitting under the orange light of the heat lamp. On a flat cushion inside were six baby chicks, fluffy and dark yellow with brownish spots. They waddled and toppled over one another on their spindly little legs, stretching their necks and waggling their stubby, fluff-covered wings. Libby was instantly and irrevocably in love.

“They're beautiful,” she cooed, reaching into the box to stroke a downy back with one fingertip. “What kind are they?”

“I started with Rhode Island Reds,” Owen said, swinging Caitlin down from his back so she could get a closer look. “Good layers, supposedly. I know you want fresh eggs.”

“Don't worry, I'll share. Caitlin and I can learn how to make omelets!” Libby grinned at her best kitchen assistant, who beamed back a Jack-o'-lantern smile where she'd lost her front tooth before leaning over the box to watch the chicks play.

Taking advantage of Caitlin's distraction, Libby stepped up close to Owen and curled her hand around the nape of his neck to entice him down for a kiss. He came willingly, his big, warm hands shaping her waist and pulling her in close. “I can't believe you got me chickens for Christmas,” Libby said, feeling choked with emotion. “I've always dreamed of keeping chickens.”

“I know. But that's not all I got you.”

Libby tilted her head at the nerves in his deep voice, but Owen was already reaching past her and into the box of chicks. Gently and slowly, so as not to disturb the chicks too much, Owen slid his hand under the cushion and pulled out something small and shiny. Libby's heart shot into her throat and her lungs forgot how to work.

It was a ring.

Right there, in the real-life version of the fantasy chicken coop Libby had been dreaming of since she was a little girl, Owen knelt down in the fresh hay and looked up at her with hope and love shining from his eyes.

“Libby,” he said thickly. “I love you. My daughter loves you. We love your dreams and your stories and your huge, open heart that believes they'll come true. We want to help. Libby Leeds, will you marry me and let me make your dreams come true for the rest of our lives?”

Pure joy cascaded through Libby like a waterfall. She tore her stare from Owen to look across the box of baby chicks at Caitlin, who was biting her lip and trying not to look nervous. The love Libby felt in that moment overwhelmed her, as if she'd somehow let her heart escape from her chest to walk around outside, vulnerable and raw and full.