Page 4 of The Blessings of Christmas
“I guess so. Gull Harbor folks do love their Christmas cookies.” Today the holiday expectations of her home town made her weary.
“They do indeed.” Her mother nodded so hard, Sarah thought the pink headband might fall right off. “Soon all storefronts will be decorated with lights. The painted reindeer will sprint over Whittaker Street. We add to the Christmas cheer with our cookies.”
Eyes bright, Lila glanced at her daughter for agreement.
Well, at least someone had the Christmas spirit.
“But what does Ryan know about Christmas cookies?”
Lila’s eyes sparkled. “What he doesn’t know you can teach him. You taught Jamie. How about some hot dogs, boys?”
“Hot dogs!” When Nathan and Justin bounced on the sofa, it made Sarah’s head hurt. You’d think they never got hot dogs at home. Everything always tasted better at Grandma's.
The day was feeling longer by the minute. Sarah pushed herself up, trying to hide her stomach roll by tugging down her sweater. “Sounds like you’ve got things covered. I’ll go down and talk to Ryan about the cookies.”
When Sarah reached for the door knob, she noticed a pile of books on a side table. “What’s this, Mom?” She picked one up. “The History of the Roman Empire.”
Her mother twirled a gray curl around one finger. “Just thought I’d read up on things.”
“Right.”The Roman Empire?
Making her way downstairs again, Sarah reached for the handrail. She felt as if she’d been transported to someone else’s life. Back in the work room, Ryan was standing in front of the big refrigerator. One muscled arm held the door open.
“What are you doing?” That open door was giving her a chill
Ryan turned. “Figuring out the butter. Your mother said you would take me through the recipes.”
She expelled a breath. “Okay. Let's start there.” Going over to her desk, she took the big blue binder from a shelf. Someday she had to organize this collection of slip sheets and clippings. Flipping through, she found the thimbles recipe. Ryan hovered nearby, smelling like a man who’d worked hard. Sarah had always liked that familiar scent. But Ryan hadn’t been the man.
“Thimbles?” Ryan read over her shoulder.
“Didn't your mother make them?” The jam-filled thimbles were one of her favorites.
“My mother always said that if God had wanted women to bake he wouldn’t have invented bakeries.”
“How awful!” The words were out before she could think. Ryan and Jamie's parents had moved back to Chicago about the time that Jamie and Sarah were married. Shortly after that, they’d divorced. Mrs. Pickard had remarried and their father had died in a traffic accident. Neither Jamie nor Ryan had taken to their mother’s new husband.
Bringing her attention back to the recipe, Sarah tried to focus. “Or we could do the mint-layered brownies.”
He looked offended. “Trust me. I can handle the thistles.”
“Thimbles. Okay then. Thimbles it is.” She drew herself up. “Let’s leave three pounds of butter out to soften tonight.”
Sarah watched him walk to the refrigerator. Ryan was a good-looking man and she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t dating someone. His limp was hardly noticeable.
Shortly after that, Sarah collected the boys and got them dressed for the weather. Then they left for home.
As usual, that night she told Jamie all about her day, his picture on her lap as she lay in bed. “Ryan’s pitching in, Jamie.” She finished up by reporting on his brother. “We’ll see how that goes. He is good with the boys.” Then she kissed the framed photo and set it back on her nightstand.
Settling under the covers, she tried to shake her misgivings. This Christmas felt all wrong. Somehow she would make it right.
“Christmas cookies.”Ryan was fuming when he got to Branson Motors that night. Evening came early in December. The sky was dark as he pulled into the back lot.
They’d probably get more snow tonight. The wind nipped his cheeks and rattled the bare branches overhead as he locked the truck. When he got inside, Ryder Branson and his father Stanley were jawing about something in the back. Their chuckles echoed through the open office door as Ryan headed back. He'd never seen a father and son that close. Sometimes it got to him.
When he walked in, both men looked up.
“Here comes our new tenant,” Stanley greeted him with his usual peppery tone.
