Family Of His Own. Catherine Lanigan
the stuffing into a pretty aqua serving dish. “Is Scott coming to dinner?”
Isabelle looked at her watch. “Yes, he said he’d bring ice. Nearly an hour ago...”
“Uh, oh,” Sadie teased. “You better watch it, Isabelle. Maybe he got a better offer.” She laughed and stole a Christmas cookie out of the white bakery box.
Isabelle sucked in a breath. Scott with another woman? Impossible. Wasn’t it? “No, he was at the shooting range with Trent and Luke.”
“Wow.” Violet was now placing parsley sprigs around the turkey.
“‘Wow’ what?”
“Trent Davis? He’s the talk of the academy right now. Before break, half the people in my class asked me to get a selfie with him. He’s a legend,” Violet said, respect and awe thrumming through her voice. “Hey, maybe Scott could introduce me. I’d love to talk to him. Pick his brain. Absorb.”
“I’ll ask Scott, if you want me to,” Isabelle offered.
“Absolutely!” Violet’s eyes filled with anticipation.
The sound of tires crunching against cold gravel and the slam of a car door signaled Scott’s arrival.
“That’s him!” Violet squealed and raced past Isabelle. “I’ll ask him myself.”
“Sure,” Isabelle said as the timer went off in the second oven. “The dinner rolls.”
Connie handed her a pair of oven mitts and then breezed past her. “Scott! How lovely to see you. And you brought the ice.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Isabelle saw her mother give Scott a big hug.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hawks.” Scott handed her a gold foil-wrapped box.
Isabelle suspected they were chocolate turtles made by the confectioner who had just opened in town. They were the best Isabelle had ever tasted.
She took the rolls out of the oven and placed them on top of the stove. She waved at Scott as she took off the mitts.
Sadie shouted, “Isabelle! The whipped cream! You forgot. It’s probably butter by now.”
Isabelle reached over to the mixer and turned it off, took off the towel and inspected the firm peaks. “It’s fine. I’ll add the sugar.”
“Give it extra for me,” Sadie said, taking two casseroles to the table.
“Oh, Sadie.”
“Hey, Scott!” Dylan, Christopher and Ross got up from the game to greet him.
Isabelle moved the ham to the pineapple-shaped wood carving board. Dylan was less than a year younger than Isabelle, and when she was very young she’d liked telling kids at school they were twins. Now, Dylan was as immersed in his career as she was in her art. He never talked about his cases until they were over, but she knew his stance against the drug dealers that had infiltrated his district consumed him. He was passionate about delivering justice and keeping schools and streets safe.
Though Chris didn’t live far from town, it was amazing how little he got out to the country to see his mother. He spent even less time in Indian Lake. Honestly, if it weren’t for holidays and special occasions, Isabelle didn’t think she would see him at all.
Ross was the most private of the bunch, even though he lived here. Everything about him was top secret. He didn’t talk about work, and none of them knew if he had a girlfriend—or any friends, for that matter. Ross was observant, quiet and pensive. Isabelle often worried about him, though he assured her he was fine.
She went up to Scott and took the two bags of ice from him. “I was hoping you’d be here sooner,” she said pointedly.
“I’m sorry. Trent had...well, I couldn’t get away earlier.”
“That’s so cool!” Violet said. “You were with Trent Davis. What’s he like?”
Isabelle took the ice to the kitchen. She filled the water glasses and put them on the table. Of all the days for Scott to be late, he had to pick this one.
Today was important to her. She’d been bursting with good news, and had wanted to tell Scott first. Not even her mother knew. She had planned to tell the whole family at dinner, but now that plan was flushed.
She was irritated with him, but also frustrated with everything about this holiday. She didn’t know why today’s party should bother her more than any other. She was always the one to put all the final pieces together at family gatherings. She surveyed the food waiting for her to put out on the table.
While everyone greeted Scott, teasing and joking about his lack of skills with a gun, Isabelle continued getting the dinner ready. She placed the turkey at one end of the table for Ross to carve, while the ham went to her mother’s place at the other end. Connie would say the blessing and serve the ham.
With the rolls, vegetables and stuffing steaming hot and two bottles of wine on the table, Isabelle called everyone to supper.
Isabelle sat opposite Scott. They bowed their heads, said a prayer, toasted Christmas and began the meal.
Everyone in the family asked Scott questions about his article and the drug bust, and Violet peppered him with questions about Trent until Scott told her he was buying Cate Sullivan an engagement ring. Isabelle stayed silent as Scott stole glances at her.
“I want to talk to you after dinner,” she said, when Violet was distracted by passing the stuffing to Dylan. “Alone.”
“Sure,” he replied and took a deep slug of wine.
* * *
SCOTT CARRIED TWO heavy wool serapes and followed Isabelle out to the patio where Ross had started a fire in the brass fire pit earlier. Isabelle had made hot buttered rum for everyone, another of their Christmas traditions.
Scott remembered last year when the whole family sat around the fire beneath falling snow, sharing stories. Laughing. Living.
He glanced inside. Everyone had pitched in to handle the cleanup. “I’m surprised we got out of doing the dishes,” he said. “As I remember, you and I are usually the last ones out here.”
“I told them I wanted to talk to you privately.”
“Oh,” he said, placing the red-and-white serape around Isabelle’s shoulders. She lifted her thick, caramel hair for him. Then settled back into the chair.
With the firelight dancing across her face and her green eyes glimmering like bits of emerald, she looked like one of the water sprites she painted. “You’re beautiful tonight,” he told her.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s probably because I’m so excited.”
“Excited?” He took a sip of his drink. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because of that clipped text you sent me. And then you didn’t even hug me when I came in. Frankly, I was a bit put off myself.”
“To be fair, you were late. And when you got here you were mobbed by my family and I was busy putting the meal together. My mother gave you a hug,” she added petulantly.
“Not the same thing.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He glanced at her, then at the fire. Then back at her. He felt his insides untwist just looking at her.
She smiled at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been mad at you,” she countered. “Anyway. I’m not now.”
“Good.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was wrong about the firelight. It was her own incandescence. She was glowing. “Tell me why you’re so excited.”
“I’ve had some good news. Fantastic