The Christmas Secret. Lee McKenzie
very generous of you. I’m mighty fond of a couple of your grandmother’s teapots.”
“Then I want you to have them.” It wasn’t as though there was any shortage of teapots in this house.
Will’s fork clattered to the table. “Going to park now?” he mumbled around his last mouthful of eggs.
“Remember your manners, William,” Annie said. “Good little boys don’t talk with their mouths full, do they?”
Will swallowed. “All gone.” To demonstrate, he opened his mouth wide.
Annie laughed and lifted him down from the table. “Come with me. We’ll wash your hands and face and get your jacket and mittens while your father finishes his breakfast.”
AJ watched them leave the kitchen, admiring her patience. He should be taking notes because it wouldn’t be long before he would be taking care of William on his own. He looked forward to it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have regrets.
Adopting his own son hadn’t been the first time he’d used the family fortune and status to get something he wanted, but it would be the last. His parents, make that his father, had issued an ultimatum the day he’d brought William home. He could keep his position in the business or he could keep his illegitimate son. One or the other. Not both.
His decision had been a no-brainer and he’d never regretted putting his son first. Grandmother Harris, horrified by her son’s hard-hearted stand, had opened her door to AJ and William. Her health was failing and he couldn’t turn his back on her, so although he had already purchased the house in Idaho, he’d moved in with his son and hired Annie Dobson to look after them. His grandmother was able to spend her final years getting to know her great-grandson in the home she loved. AJ had never regretted doing what he’d had to do to get his son, and he never would. He hadn’t regretted postponing the move to Idaho, either. Now, as long as he was careful, he wouldn’t regret letting Sam’s company sell this house. He hoped.
Chapter Four
Ready Set Sold’s downtown office was already open when Sam arrived, and Marlie, their office manager, was talking into her headset. Six months after opening the business they had advertised for an office manager and the decision to hire Marlie had been unanimous. Her name was short for Marline. She’d had impeccable references, a no-nonsense approach to dealing with clients, big hair and an even bigger heart. She referred to Sam, Kristi and Claire as “Marlie’s angels,” and they loved it.
Marlie’s wardrobe consisted of pencil skirts and matching stilettos in every color under the sun, and snug-fitting sweaters that made the most, and then some, of her generous proportions. In spite of the artificial nails, always painted to match her outfit, she could type like the wind. Today’s nail color was pistachio but the sweater was turquoise, which meant the polish probably went with the skirt. Sam couldn’t see it from where she was standing. Marlie greeted Sam with a shiny green-tipped finger wave and indicated she’d be off the phone in a minute, maybe two.
Sam slid two envelopes filled with receipts from under the clip on her clipboard and tossed them into the in-box on Marlie’s desk. Then she stepped into the tiny office.
Their office, on the second floor of an old building near Pioneer Square, consisted of a small reception area that served as Marlie’s domain and an even smaller office shared by the three business partners. Sam ran the construction end of the business out of her dilapidated old delivery-truck-slash-mobile-workshop she’d had since she worked on her own, and Kristi managed her design and home staging service out of her mommy-and-me minivan.
Claire used the office more than either Sam or Kristi did—often to meet with clients—and the space mostly reflected her style. She had arranged the stapler, tape dispenser and pencil holder on the sleek, dark espresso-colored desk with the same precision she did everything, which told Sam she’d been the last one to use the space. Kristi’s style was anything but exact. She liked to group unlikely things together and when she did, they were arranged for effect, not accuracy. On the rare occasions when Sam worked in here, she always put everything back the way she found it, regardless who had put it there.
Against the back wall behind the desk was a matching credenza, and above it hung three framed photographs of recent projects. This display was Kristi’s contribution and she changed the photos every month. In the current display was the house in Beacon Hill with Claire’s sold sign in the front yard, a before-and-after collage of a bathroom reno Sam had done in a house in Washington Park and one of Kristi’s clutter crew at work on an elderly woman’s Bellevue condominium.
Sam sighed. Next month the display would almost certainly include a photograph of AJ’s house—yet another reminder he’d made another brief, unwelcome appearance in her life. At least by then the house would be finished and he would be out of her life, again, this time forever.
Sam set her clipboard on the desk and scanned the schedule on the whiteboard while she shrugged out of her jacket and hooked it on the coat tree in the corner. Claire had obviously been here after they toured AJ’s house yesterday afternoon because the rough schedule they’d come up with during the inspection had already been added.
“G’morning, Sam.” An hourglass Marlie stood in the doorway, barely five foot five in spite of her spike-heeled shoes. “Did you get your messages?”
“Not yet. Anything important?”
“Darlin’, it’s all important. The movers called about fifteen minutes ago to say they’ve already emptied out the foyer at the Harris house. The building supply store called to say they’ll deliver the Hendricks’ new kitchen countertop by the end of the week. And …” She shuffled the message slips in her hand. “Oh, your mom called.”
Of course she had. She’d probably called Mrs. Stanton as well, and when Sam got back to her truck where she’d forgotten her phone, she’d probably find a message from her, too.
Marlie glanced up from her notepad. “She wants you to pick up milk on your way home.”
Sam sighed.
Marlie laughed. “Let me guess. You’re not out of milk.”
“We’re not. She’s having tea with … she’s having tea this afternoon and she probably didn’t think to check the fridge before she called.”
Instead of asking for more details, Marlie gave her a sympathetic hug. “How is she these days?”
“No change so far. The doctor said it could take several weeks before we’ll know if the new medication will make a difference.” Providing there’d be a difference. The doctor had warned there was no guarantee, but given how outrageously expensive these new meds were, Sam sincerely hoped there would be.
“You’re a good girl,” Marlie said. “It takes a special person to do what you do.”
“She’s my mom. I’d do anything for her.” Which was true, and she really did love her mother in spite of the almost-daily challenges. There were days, though, when she secretly wished their relationship was less of a dead-end one-way alley and more like a two-way street. Like today. Today it would have felt good to hear someone say “I love you, too.”
Marlie patted her arm and returned to the reception area. “I see you dropped off your receipts for the work on the Matheson house. Is this it or will you have more expenses?”
“No, I’m finished and Kristi should be, too. It’s in Claire’s hands now.”
As if on cue, the door flew open and Claire breezed in, quirking an eyebrow to indicate she’d heard her name. Good morning, she mouthed. With her briefcase slung over one shoulder and her Bluetooth in her ear, carrying on a one-sided conversation, she moved purposefully through reception and into the office and, in one fluid motion, slid her bag onto the desk, took out her iPad and started keying in information. The woman had more multitasking skills in her baby finger than all of Sam and Kristi put together.
“That’s