Carrie Weaver - Home For Christmas

“I guess you’ve got a point.” His voice was glum. “I’d rather be the fun parent.”

“Rachel’s been with you how long?”

“Three months.”

“If she weren’t there every day, for some reason, would you miss her?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Now that you’ve been the mean parent, do you think it would be worth it not to see her every day, even if you got to be the fun parent again? Would it be hard to stay away?”

“Yeah. I’ve gotten used to having her around. At least when the police aren’t calling to say she’s gotten into trouble.”

“Mama?” Ana stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her feet poking out from beneath her little flannel nightgown.

Nancy scooped her up. “I’m here, baby. What’s wrong.”

Ana pointed at Beau, her eyes wide. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing men at the house in the middle of the night and Nancy wanted to keep it that way.

“This is Beau. He’s Mommy’s friend. He came over for tea because he was sad.”

Ana nodded.

“Now, let me take you back up to bed.”

Beau watched Nancy’s expression soften when she looked at her daughter. The love shining in her eyes was enough to make a man want to lay down his life for her. He resisted the urge to follow her up the stairs and watch her tuck in her daughter.

Raising his mug, he took a big swallow and sputtered. He didn’t care what anyone said, chamomile tea sucked, big time.

Restless despite his fatigue, Beau wandered around the room. Nancy’s kitchen was large, one wall exposed red brick. Copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling. The professional-size stove led him to believe she liked to cook. Good, he liked to eat.

Heading into the family room, he admired the feeling of warmth and safety she’d created. The oversize couch and love seat were made of soft, dark-brown fabric. Throw pillows in solid red, purple and blue reminded him of Nancy—bright and fun, yet sensual.

Uh-oh. He looked at family-room furniture and thought sensual. Next he’d be wondering what Nancy’s bedroom looked like. No sooner had the suggestion risen than his imagination was off and running. He’d bet his bottom dollar Nancy had an antique four-poster canopy bed with a white eyelet comforter so dense you could get lost in it.

Redirecting his thoughts, he stopped in front of an oak sideboard, where family pictures were lovingly arranged. At least he assumed it was family, because the majority of the photos were of Nancy and Ana. One had been taken in a drab, old-fashioned room, with a stern-looking woman holding Ana. Then there was a photo of Nancy with an older version of herself, probably her mother. The woman’s eyes held a lingering sadness.

“There, I think she’s asleep again,” Nancy said from behind him.

“You’ve got some great pictures. I’d like to get a studio picture done with Rachel if I can ever catch her in a good mood.”

Nancy pointed to the drab photo. “That one’s at the orphanage in Pechory, Russia. Ana’s house mother was saying goodbye. The staff grows attached to the children and it’s hard for them to see the kids go. But they’re happy that the children are headed for a better life.”

“Ana’s adopted?” The realization helped connect a few of the seemingly unrelated dots Beau had found intriguing.

Nancy nodded, moving to the fireplace, as if she needed the additional warmth. “Sometimes I forget it’s not common knowledge like in McGuireville.”

Beau resisted the urge to follow her, to connect with her. He was afraid she’d quit confiding if he got too close. “I didn’t realize Ana came from Russia. She speaks English like any other kid her age. I have to admit, I was curious… You never said how long your husband was dead. But I figured it was none of my business who Ana’s father was.”

“Eric wasn’t in favor of adopting, otherwise I’d probably have two or three children by now. Most people around here probably assume Ana is Eric’s daughter.” She turned, raising her chin. “I guess I don’t go out of my way to correct that assumption until I know someone pretty well.”

The rebellious tilt to her chin and the hurt in her eyes touched Beau. Beau started to reach out to her but let his arm drop to his side. He couldn’t offer more than friendship.

“What made you decide on adopting after he died?”

Seeing Nancy frown, he realized he’d goofed. “Sorry, that’s none of my business, either.”

Nancy’s features relaxed. “Have a seat.” She gestured toward one end of the couch and sat at the other end. “I guess I’m a little defensive. Some of the folks back home in McGuireville were pretty disapproving of a single woman adopting a child. Unfortunately, my mother was one of them. And the fact that I adopted a ‘foreign’ child didn’t help any.”

“That’s too bad.” He sat where she’d indicated. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why?”

“Maybe because I wonder if I’ve been selfish. I adopted because I’ve wanted to be a mom for as long as I could remember. And I guess I felt I deserved to have a child after everything I went through with Eric. We never conceived, though he fathered a beautiful little boy with another woman. So, I guess, I figured he owed me in a way.”

“That’s not selfish. You needed a baby, Ana needed a home. It’s a win-win situation. You’re a wonderful mother and Ana’s obviously a happy, healthy kid.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to hear someone say that every once in a while. Even though I don’t have a clue what I’m doing at times, as you pointed out earlier.”

Beau stifled a groan. “Don’t listen to me. I’m just a dumb old country boy flapping my gums.” He pointed to the coffee table where several child-development books rested. “You’re learning all you can and you love Ana like crazy. That’s what matters.”

Nancy moved to perch on the front of the cushion. “Sometimes…when it’s been a really long day and everything has gone wrong and Ana’s been like the Energizer Bunny, I wonder if she’d be better off if I hadn’t adopted her.”

“Aw, darlin’, look at the pictures. No matter how much the staff cared about those kids, it’s not the same. You’re giving Ana a chance to live like a real kid, not in some institution.”

Nancy sighed. “That’s what I keep telling myself. But some days, there just doesn’t seem to be enough of me to go around.”

“Most days there doesn’t seem to be enough of me to go around. Staying one step ahead of Rachel is a full-time job. But I don’t know any different—Laurie and I were already separated when Rachel was born. I imagine it’s a little easier with two parents because you can tag-team. But I don’t seriously think having only one parent hurts as long as there’s plenty of love and dedication.”

Smiling, she said, “Did you hear yourself, Beau Stanton? You sounded like you could run for the Parent-Teacher Association.”

Beau flushed. “Well, as the song says, the times they are a-changin’.”

“Folk music, too? What is a good old Texas boy doing listening to anything but hard-core country?”

“I don’t want to scare you or anything—” he leaned closer, watching her sea-green eyes widen when their faces were merely inches apart “—but I like to listen to blues and Motown, too.”

“Beau Stanton, I do believe you’ve been holding out on me,” she breathed, her accent as thick and warm as sorghum on toast.

Lust nearly knocked him off the couch. It had been so long since he’d bedded a woman. Longer still since he’d spent the whole night with one, talking and laughing in the dark.

Nancy had a terrific laugh. And the thought of her seductive voice coming from the other side of the bed had him instantly aroused.