Carol Arens - A Texas Christmas Reunion

Glancing about, he didn’t wonder long. The stench of smoke in ruined furniture and black streaks coating scorched walls told him he’d be spending a lot more nights at the hotel.

Which was not such bad news as it might have been, even having insects for roommates. The woman who owned the hotel was leaving this afternoon and Juliette, he had been surprised and happy to discover, was the new owner.

When he’d left his room this morning a crew of young people was already coming in to clean the place.

“From attic to basement,” Juliette, standing in the lobby early this morning, had announced with a great smile.

In fact, she had been glowing, her blue eyes sparkling when she told him of the plan she had come up with during the night to bring the town together.

Her intention was to open on Christmas Eve and host a dinner for everyone in her new restaurant. She believed this was a grand way to introduce the place.

She might have given herself an impossible task. Christmas Eve was only three weeks away. A fact that he was not about to point out to someone who, he suspected, was floating an inch off the ground when she spun away from him to follow the cleaning crew upstairs.

Then again, his impression was that Juliette had grown to be a determined woman. Not only that, she was even more industrious than she was determined.

There was every chance she would accomplish the impossible.

Glancing about the ruins of his home, he decided to take her example to heart. He would fix this place up with a cheerful attitude, a positive frame of mind. He would not allow the hole in his finances to make a hole in his intentions.

While he waited for spring and the chance to rebuild his bank account and his house, he would win over the townsfolk and educate their children.

If it was within his power, he would stand in the way of his students taking the hard, twisted path he had followed.

“Heard you were back.”

Trea turned toward the voice coming from the burned side of the house. It still sounded as hard as grinding gravel.

He’d expected his father to look older, but he was surprised to see how dissipated he’d become. Hard living showed in his face and it was a disquieting thing to look at.

“Good to see you, Pa,” he said, even though it was more lie than truth.

“Heard a rumor that you’re the new schoolmarm.” His father dabbed his nose on his sleeve then coughed, the congestion sounding thick and sickly.

“You ailing, Pa?”

“Sick at heart, thanks to you. At least tell me you faked the education that got you the sissy job.”

Trea knew he shouldn’t let his father’s attitude cut him like it did. The man was who he was and nothing Trea did or did not do would change that.

He hadn’t come back to town thinking to impress his father, only—

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