Kitabı oku: «Abby's Christmas»
A dropped pin would have sounded loud in the absolute silence
Noah felt half the room staring at his unprotected back. The other half stared at his heated face. He couldn’t leave the diner without paying for his breakfast, or he would have been gone.
“What are you talking about?” Abby pushed between the chairs and the tables, arriving at Officer Hayes’s side. “I think you’ve been drinking, Wade.”
The officer shook his head and gave her a righteous smile. “Nope. Haven’t touched a drop all week.”
Her face set in a skeptical frown, Abby crossed her arms and stared up at the big man. “So what are we talking about here? A speeding ticket in one of those traps you guys like to set up in small towns?”
“No, ma’am.” Hayes looked around, making sure he had everybody’s attention. “Noah Blake was paroled from a state of Georgia correctional facility in Atlanta on Monday morning after serving three years of a seven-year sentence.”
“For what?” Abby’s voice wobbled.
“Manslaughter,” Hayes announced. “Mr. Blake, here, killed a man in Georgia. And he went to prison for it.”
Dear Reader,
After “Where do you get your ideas,” the most frequent question an author hears is “How long does it take to write a book?” The idea for the AT THE CAROLINA DINER series came to me in 1999 as I was writing other stories. I got the go-ahead from my editors in the summer of 2000 and submitted the first completed book in January of 2001. So in one way or another, then, I’ve been working on Abby’s Christmas for more than five years.
All that time I’ve been visiting a diner of my own—a small “restaurant/deli” near my home, where they cook a good breakfast (including grits) and keep my iced-tea glass full. The waitresses know me by sight and can usually predict what I’ll order. (I change my mind occasionally, just to keep them on their toes.) They call me “honey” and sometimes “darlin’” and they remember I want unsweetened tea. During the thirty or forty minutes I spend with them, I feel cosseted and cared for. Mothered.
Abby Brannon mothers her customers at the Carolina Diner. She longs for adventure, but accepts the chains of friendship and love binding her to her hometown…until Noah Blake returns. Noah’s had enough adventure to fill several lifetimes. Now he’s looking for a connection to the places and people of his past. Abby is definitely a part of that past. But is he part of her future?
I hope you enjoy the time you spend with my friends in New Skye, especially Abby and Noah. I love to hear from readers through the regular mail and by e-mail. My personal Web site is in transition, but you can reach me—and other great Superromance authors—at www.superauthors.com.
All the best,
Lynnette Kent
PMB 304
Westwood Shopping Center
Fayetteville, NC 28314
Abby’s Christmas
Lynnette Kent
A friend who talks me through my fears and doubts and celebrates my successes without reservation.
A writer who pushes me—and my characters—in the right direction with one little word: “Why?”
A woman who blesses my life and my work.
For Pam, with love
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
THE BELL ON THE DINER’S front door jingled, and Abby Brannon glanced up from the miniature Christmas tree she’d just started to drape with a string of shiny red beads.
A man stepped out of the bright December sunshine, then halted for a moment just over the threshold, blinking his eyes against indoor shadows. His black hair had been cut short, without much skill or style. He looked a little sunburned across his arrogant nose and high cheekbones. His broad shoulders filled out a scarred leather jacket, while dusty biker boots and lean hips in faded jeans completed the bad-boy-drifter picture.
The beads slipped through Abby’s fingers to clatter on the counter. Noah Blake.
Only when the newcomer looked at her across the empty room did she realize she’d said his name aloud. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. “Is that you, Abby?”
At the sound of his husky voice, her heart jumped like a startled frog. She swallowed. “Who else would you expect to find at the Carolina Diner in the middle of the afternoon?”
She rounded the counter and confronted him where he stood, grabbing the lapels of his jacket to shake him a little. “You’ve been gone a long time, but things haven’t changed that much. Welcome back!”
His hands closed over her shoulders and he grinned down at her. If she hadn’t been stunned by his sudden arrival, she certainly was at that moment. Noah’s one-sided grin was a sugar high she’d never been able to resist.
“Thanks.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then let her go. “Kinda quiet in here, isn’t it?”
Abby fought to keep from touching the kissed cheek with her fingertips. “The usual lull between late lunch and early dinner. Come sit down. You look a little chilly—what can I do to warm you up?” Good thing she’d turned away before she asked that stupid question, so he couldn’t see her blush. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Got any hot chocolate?”
When she glanced at him in surprise, he shrugged. “I haven’t had some in…a long time. I just thought it would taste good.”
“Well, sure. I can make you hot chocolate. Give me a couple of minutes.” She stepped through the kitchen door, then poked her head out again. “The menu hasn’t changed since you left, but in case you don’t remember…”
Propping one hip on a stool, Noah pulled the plastic folder out of the clip on the counter. “Right here.”
“You got it.” Abby smiled, then went into the empty kitchen to hyperventilate.
I can’t believe he’s here. She drew hot water from the pot and blended in cocoa powder and sugar until they melted. I thought he’d have got himself killed by now. Or arrested. Adding vanilla, then milk, she heated her brew on the burner. Why has he come back? Should I ask him? There’s no way it could have anything to do with me. Right?
The suggestion left her too shaky to pick up the mugs of cocoa. She bought time by squirting whipped cream on the tops, then dishing up a couple of cherries for decoration. When she thought her hands could handle the strain, she grabbed a thick white mug in each hand, dragged in a deep breath and headed back to the counter.
“Here you go.” Setting his drink in front of him, she backed up against the service counter and took a sip from her own. “Enjoy.”
Noah toasted her with a lift of his cup. “Thanks.” After one taste, he looked at her in surprise. “How’d you make this?”
“Cocoa, sugar, water, vanilla and milk. A little salt. Is something wrong?”
“I just…expected the usual powder.” He shrugged. “Not many people make hot chocolate from scratch.”
“I’m an old-fashioned girl, I guess.” She felt her cheeks heat up. Again. “So, how long have you been in town?”
Noah squinted at the clock over the counter. “Almost thirty minutes now.”
“You came here first? You haven’t seen your mom?”
“Not yet.”
Surprised in her turn, she raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t know you’re coming, does she?” When he shook his head, she nodded. “I talked to her just yesterday, when I took her to the grocery store. No wonder she didn’t say anything.” Noah’s mother was not the kind of person to enjoy surprises. “Would you like to call her from here? Give her a little warning?”
Now he was the one with flushed cheeks, and a storm in his dark gaze. “You think she needs warning?”
“This will be a pretty big shock—you showing up after fifteen years away. And she’s been sick. Did you know that?”
“Uh, no.”
“She’s supposed to use her oxygen all the time.”
“I—”
“It’s not good for her to get upset.”
In a sudden hurry, Noah downed the last of his chocolate and stood up. “This was a bad idea, after all. I think I’ll just keep going. Don’t mention I was here.” His long strides quickly took him outside.
Abby rushed after him and found him standing beside a big Harley. “Noah, I didn’t mean… Noah!” She grabbed his arm as he jerked on a glove. “First of all, you owe me one-sixty for the hot chocolate.”
He shoved his bare hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“More important, you can’t run away like this.”
“Who says?” He crammed a couple of dollars into her fingers, still wrapped around his sleeve. The leather was cold, the bills warm from his body.
“You’ll hate yourself if you do.”
“So what’s new?” His mouth hardened into a straight line.
She squandered the only leverage she had left. “You can’t let your mother die without ever seeing her son again.”
He stared at her a long time. The resistance in his expression made her want to weep. “She’s…dying?”
“She’s got diabetes, heart and kidney problems. Her health has been precarious for several years now.”
They stood still, gazes locked, while the sharp wind whipped up dust in the gravel parking lot. A small, dirty dog trotted to the bike, sat by the rear wheel and lifted a paw to touch Noah’s leg.
“You’ve got a friend.” Abby let herself be diverted. “He wants a lift.”
“Yeah, I helped him out of some trouble back in South Carolina. Now he thinks he owns me.” Noah pulled out of her grasp. He bent to pick up the animal and stowed the dirty little guy in the backpack hanging from the bike’s seat.
“You brought him here with you?”
“Didn’t have much choice.” Swinging the backpack onto his shoulders, he threw his leg over the bike and pulled on the other glove. “If I’d left him, the kids would’ve shot him to death with BB guns.”
Abby shuddered. “Where are you going?”
He gave her a resigned look as he buckled his helmet. “Where do you think? One-fifty Boundary Street. I’ll ride slow, in case you want to call and announce me.”
She smiled, but before she could say anything, he revved the engine and left the parking lot with a spray of gravel. Abby watched as he waited for the traffic light at the corner to change, then saw him head up the hill across the highway, toward his mother’s house.
Her heart sang. Noah is home!
Back inside the diner, she punched in the familiar telephone number, then hung up before the first ring. Noah’s mother might need more than just a call to warn her. She’d been in the hospital last week with her insulin wildly out of control. Maybe somebody should be there when Noah got home in case something happened.
By the time she’d finished thinking things through, Abby had the diner doors locked, the Closed sign on the door and her keys in her hand. She would stay just long enough to be sure Mrs. Blake was all right, then rush back to her usual routine.
Come to think of it, though, with Noah Blake in town, her life might never be usual or routine again.
NOAH GLANCED ACROSS the street at New Skye High School as he waited through the traffic light over the intersection beside the Carolina Diner. Not much had changed since his time, except for a row of portable classrooms added along the side. Hard to believe he’d ever been confined inside those orange brick walls. With a shake of his head, he left the school behind, rolling through the intersection, accelerating up the hill toward Boundary Street.
The rough, run-down neighborhoods he passed through hadn’t changed all that much, either. Some of the beer joints bore different names, some were gone, and others had opened since his time. More of the advertisements in the store windows were in Spanish and most of the men loafing in the parking lots and on the street corners looked Latino.
Passing through a business district of bars, pawn-shops and gas stations, he caught a yellow light and rolled to a stop with time to spare before red. The driver in the truck behind him sat on the horn, but traffic stops threatened trouble. Noah preferred to avoid any unscheduled encounters with the police.
A glance to the right showed him a parking lot stretching down the side street, deserted but for a white Toyota parked next to an overflowing Dumpster. As Noah watched, a little kid stood up in the front passenger window, fingers curled through a space between the top of the glass panel and the door frame. The child put its face up to that crack of air.
In a second of relative quiet, Noah heard the kid’s cry. “Da-a-ade-e-e!”
He turned the bike down the side street and parked in the empty lot, a short distance from the car. With the Harley locked and the keys in his pocket, he approached the vehicle slowly, giving the child a chance to see him, hoping not to cause a panic.
But the little boy stopped crying as Noah got closer, and stared through the window with the tears still wet on his thin, dirty face. His hair was cut too short, his head practically shaved. He wore a cheap quilted vest, an orange T-shirt, jeans, mismatched socks, but no shoes. The afternoon was chilly, with a temperature somewhere in the fifties, but the windows of the car had steamed up, so the little guy probably wasn’t cold. Noah remembered how warm a car could get if you cried enough, jumped up and down on the seats, beat on the windows.
He tried the back door handle and swore when he found it unlocked. At least his dad had locked him in.
Noah poked his head inside. “Hi,” he said quietly. “My name’s Noah.”
The child hiccuped and sniffed but didn’t speak.
“What’s your name?” No answer. “Where’s your mommy?”
“Mama,” the little boy said, and shuffled sideways to lean against the back of the seat he stood on. “Mama.” His movement stirred up the air in the car, along with an aroma of sweat, onions and wet diaper. “Mama.” He smiled, showing new teeth.
“Are you here by yourself?” Noah didn’t expect an answer.
But the boy said, “Daddy. Da-a-ade-e-e.”
So maybe the dad was somewhere nearby. And maybe he should be punched for leaving his kid alone like this. Or maybe he could just suffer when he came back to the car and the kid wasn’t there. Then again, a kidnapping charge would spell disaster for Noah.
And when had he ever let something like that stop him?
On the thought, Noah straightened up and opened the front passenger door. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked the kid. “We can find your dad.”
Again that smile. “Daddy.” Without hesitation, the little boy held out his arms to be picked up.
Rolling his eyes, Noah did just that, settling the child easily on one arm. The dog in his backpack hadn’t so much as stirred.
“Right.” Noah shut the car door and turned toward the street. “Let’s see—”
“Hey! Hey, put him down!” The shout came from behind. “Leave my kid alone!” Noah pivoted to see a man running toward him from the alley behind the building across the street.
“Daddy,” the boy in his arms cried, laughing now. “Daddy!”
“Hurt him and I’ll kill you,” his dad yelled. Nothing about him seemed dangerous—he was just a guy in sneakers, jeans and a dark blue windbreaker.
“I’m worried,” Noah yelled back. “Real worried.”
The man slowed as he reached the back of the car. “Just put him down. Tyler, come to Daddy. Come on, Tyler.”
Noah didn’t doubt that Tyler recognized his father. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to leave a child with such an irresponsible jerk.
He walked back toward the car. “Are you crazy, leaving a little kid alone like that? You’re lucky he didn’t just get out and wander away. Or that some pervert didn’t steal him.”
“He was okay. I was only gone a minute.” The guy looked beyond Noah to the street, then over his shoulder in the direction he’d come from. “Put him down.”
“He was crying his eyes out. And the doors were unlocked, for God’s sake.”
“I thought I locked the door. Just give me my kid and butt out, damn it.”
Noah put Tyler on the ground, steadying the little body until he got his balance. Tyler took off across the broken, rocky pavement, straight for his dad. “Daddy!”
The guy scooped up his kid. “Let’s go home, Ty.” Without another word to Noah, he buckled the kid into the car seat in the back of the car, slammed himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Gray smoke belched from the tailpipe and the motor ran rough. But within five seconds, the car shot across the lot, turned into the street and disappeared.
Noah went back to his bike, put on his helmet and headed toward Boundary Street. Abby had wanted to warn his mother. He’d sure given her plenty of time.
Thinking about that meeting in the diner, he shook his head in wonder. Whatever kind of greeting he’d expected when he came home, Abby’s generous welcome had totally surprised him. Her gold-green eyes had sparkled like polished topaz, and her smile had been genuine, without a trace of malice. He recalled the smoothness of her skin against his lips. She wasn’t slender, but who wanted slender when he could have a woman with such wonderful curves? His hands clenched as he thought about playing with the thick, reddish brown hair curling softly on her shoulders.
Slow down, son. Noah shifted on his seat. His body reacted to just the hint of sex with more enthusiasm than the circumstances warranted. Then again, until this week he hadn’t even seen a woman for a long, long time, let alone been with one, so maybe he could be pardoned for an overactive imagination.
He laughed at himself. Pardoned. Now, there was a word. No pardon had come down for Noah Blake. Just early parole and time off for good behavior.
And, maybe, a chance to start over.
Just below the top of the biggest hill in town, Boundary Street performed the function for which it was named, cleanly separating the already-haves in New Skye from the wish-I-could-gets. The north side of the street was heavily wooded, sheltering the upper class from the harsh realities of life on the south—and poor—side.
Noah pulled the bike to the curb in front of a little house midway along the south side of Boundary. The white siding cried out for paint, the blue shutter on the right side of the living room window hung by one nail, and the roof needed replacing. But the chain-link fence, rusty and sagging though it was, still enclosed the well-tended flower beds that had always been Marian Blake’s pride and joy. Neatly raked and weed free, the garden displayed flowers even in December. Camellias bloomed pink, red and white. Pansy faces danced in pots on the steps, while ivy and periwinkle twined underneath the azaleas.
With his helmet braced under his arm, Noah stared at the garden he’d spent hundreds of hours on. He struggled for a deep breath, but a pair of giant hands seemed to have closed down on his windpipe.
Across the street behind him, a car door slammed. With quick steps, Abby joined him. “She loves her garden. There’s always something blooming, which is a miracle as far as I’m concerned.”
Noah cleared his throat. “I…I’m surprised she keeps it up.” He pulled himself together. “What are you doing here?”
“I wondered if even a call might be upsetting. So I thought I’d—”
“Introduce me? Like a butler or something?”
Abby put her hands on her hips. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need any help with my own mother, thanks.”
She returned his glare without flinching. “I didn’t for a minute think you did. But maybe she needs some help with you.”
Without waiting for his answer, she pushed open the lopsided gate and marched up the sidewalk to his mother’s front door. The bell hadn’t worked fifteen years ago. Judging by the fact that Abby used the knocker, it still didn’t.
After what seemed like a long time, the door creaked open. Noah heard his mother’s voice—high, a little hoarse—and Abby’s warm tone. Like it or not, he was being introduced.
In the pack on his back, the dog wiggled, fighting to get out. Noah shrugged out of the bag, stepped into the front yard and secured the gate, then let the dog run free.
The few steps he took along the front walk required more guts than Noah had expected. Finally, he came to a stop just behind Abby and looked up into his mother’s face. He might not have recognized her if he’d met her anywhere else. Her skin was pale, and not just from shock at his arrival. She’d gained forty or fifty pounds since the last time he’d seen her. Once a warm brown, her unkempt hair was now streaked with white and faded to almost beige.
She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth a circle of surprise. “Noah?”
He managed a smile. “Hi, Ma. How are you?”
“I can’t believe…” she said faintly. Then she looked beyond him. “Get that dog out of my flowers! What the hell is he doing in my yard? Get him out, get him out!” There was nothing at all faint about the order.
Noah turned at the same time as Abby, and they both went after the dog. The mutt, of course, decided the chase was all a game. He dashed from corner to corner, wagging his tail and panting, refusing all pleas to come, to be a good dog, to get the hell out of the flower bed.
Marian Blake stood on the porch step, yelling instructions. “There he is! He’s heading toward the back—don’t let him run over the irises! Don’t you step on my daylilies, Noah Blake!”
Vaulting over the fading lily leaves, Noah bent to crawl under the camellias next to the wall of the house. “Stupid dog. I’m gonna strangle you when I get my hands on you.”
“That’s not incentive.” Abby crawled in beside him. “I wouldn’t come if you talked to me in that voice.”
“Yeah, you’ve been real successful in getting hold of him so far.”
“I came closer than you did.” She eased farther down the house wall, peering under the bushes, crooning, “Come on, sweetie. It’s okay. Nobody will hurt you.”
The dog sat halfway between them, among the fallen camellia blossoms, feinting one way, then the other, every time one of them reached for him.
“I’ve had enough,” Noah growled.
“What are you going to do?”
She gasped as he lunged toward the house. He slammed his shoulder into the concrete block foundation, but he came up with an armful of dog. “Don’t hurt him,” she cautioned.
“I’m not going to hurt him,” he told her irritably. As proof, the dog proceeded to lick as much of his cheeks and chin as he could reach. “Stop it.” Noah pushed the scruffy head away. “Yuck.”
Abby started to laugh, then stopped suddenly. “You’re hurt.” Holding the dog’s head away, she pressed with her fingertips to turn Noah’s cheek toward her. “You must’ve scraped your face against the wall. Does it hurt?”
“No.” He pulled his head away from her scrutiny, from her touch. “This is nothing. I’ve been punched by some of the best.” He walked ahead of her, wondering how much worse the day could possibly get.
His mother had come down to the sidewalk and was surveying the garden anxiously. “I hope he didn’t dig something up. I bought some new daffodils this fall, just got them into the ground.”
“I don’t think he had time, Ma.” Noah moved up beside her. “He’s a pretty small dog.”
She turned toward him and glared at the dog. “What are you doing with a dog, anyway? You know I don’t like dogs.”
“Sorry. I forgot.”
“Like you forgot to call and tell me you were coming? Like you forgot to come home since you were eighteen? Like you forgot to let me know you were still alive for the last four years?” She snorted and turned toward the house. “You have a serious memory problem.”
Noah took one step in the same direction.
“And don’t think you’re bringing that dog into my house,” she said, without looking back. “I won’t have any filthy animal in my home.” The screen slapped shut, then the front door.
The dog squirmed in his arms, but Noah stood still. His first impulse was to run as far and as fast as the full tank on the bike would take him. His second impulse was to slam inside the house and tell the bitch exactly what he thought of her, then take off for the farthest corner of the country.
“Noah?” He’d forgotten Abby entirely. “Noah, I’ll take the dog.”
He looked over at her, not understanding. “What?”
“I’ll take the dog home with me. We’ve got a fenced yard and an enclosed porch where he can sleep.”
“I can just—” He didn’t really have another option. “I guess that’ll work for tonight.”
“What’s his name?” she asked, reaching around the dog so that she was practically in Noah’s arms. He got a whiff of the sweet flower scent in her hair. When she drew away, with the animal cuddled against her own chest, he missed her warmth.
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes widened. “You didn’t name him?”
“No. I didn’t—” This might not be the best time to confess that he hadn’t planned to keep the mutt. “I didn’t have time to think up a name.”
“I guess not.” Her smile was a flash of brightness in the darkening afternoon. “We’ll work on that tomorrow. See you then.”
“Sure.” She made tomorrow sound like something to look forward to. Noah watched her leave the yard and cross the street to her car, an old red Volvo, where she settled the dog on the passenger seat before getting in herself. The sound of the engine, when it finally started, called for a major tune-up, but Abby gave him a cheerful wave and another smile before she pulled away from the curb.
As she left, Noah realized his first impulses had weakened, letting a certain degree of reason take hold of his brain. He wasn’t going to run out on his mother again. Not before they’d had a chance to…settle things. Not before he made sure she would be taken care of for as long as she needed. He owed her that much.
So he opened the screen and pushed back the door into the house. A wave of heat hit him—the thermostat must be set at eighty degrees—along with the scent of onions and hot grease. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to walk to the kitchen.
His mother glanced at him. “I was beginning to think you’d just run off again.” With a tilt of her head, she directed him to the table by the window. “I was cooking when you showed up. Sit down. Go on, sit. This’ll be done in a minute.”
Noah eased out of his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. Even his sweatshirt was too hot. Since he wasn’t sure he was staying, though, he wouldn’t take it off.
“There.” A plate thumped onto the table. She still used the same dishes he remembered from fifteen years ago, made of unbreakable white glass, with blue flowers around the edges. Two hamburgers anchored the meal, framed by a pile of potato chips and a couple of pickles.
“Here’s some rolls.” A bowl of hamburger buns plopped onto the table. “I’ve got mustard and mayo. No ketchup.”
“This is good, Ma. Thanks.” He only hoped he could eat without choking.
She set a soda can by his plate, and then brought her own dinner plus a cola to the table and joined him. Her eyes closed. “Thank you, Lord, for this day and the blessings it has brought. Amen.”
Noah barely got his own eyes shut before she finished, and was a little slow in opening them. The first thing he saw was his mother’s fork, carrying a piece of dull gray hamburger, pointing into his face.
“So why don’t you tell me,” she suggested, “just where you’ve been for the last fifteen years?”
He took a deep breath.
“And why the hell,” Marian Blake continued, “you bothered to come home now?”
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