Home For Christmas. Carrie Weaver
she’d held her every day for the past fourteen months. Her breasts tingled as if responding to memories of breastfeeding this child. Nancy stared into the baby’s solemn brown eyes and time seemed to stand still. There was an instant connection, a peace she’d never known before. It was the overwhelming certainty of being in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. She’d waited all these years for this moment, this girl. Her daughter.
Brushing a silky brown lock of hair from the toddler’s forehead, she stumbled over the Russian greeting, “Zdravstvujte, Tatiana.”
Tatiana smiled shyly, then patted Nancy’s face. “Mama?” The word was heavily accented and probably coached, but it still brought a lump to Nancy’s throat. She’d nearly lost hope of ever hearing a child call her that.
“Yes, Mama’s here, baby. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Chapter 1
Tatiana was mid-temper-tantrum when the new guy entered the Parents Flying Solo meeting. Nancy McGuire didn’t pay much attention. Kneeling by her daughter, she was too busy trying to catch a flailing fist before it connected with her nose.
“Shh, Ana,” she whispered. The plea sounded ragged and desperate, even to her.
Two large, tanned hands grasped Ana beneath her arms and lifted her in the air. “Hey, there, little sweet pea, what’s the problem?”
Ana stilled, probably from the shock of a tall stranger holding her above his head.
Nancy paused, too. The man’s slow drawl brought a longing for home so intense she almost doubled over. And an idiotic longing for a man she couldn’t have. Ever.
Rising, she said, “Please put down my daughter. Now.”
The stranger set Ana on her feet. Tantrum apparently forgotten, Ana zipped off in search of playmates.
Frowning, Nancy wondered if Emily’s son, Jason, would keep as close an eye on the two-year-old as he’d promised.
“Little spitfire, isn’t she?”
“Ana has a mind of her own. I try to encourage her to be her own person.” So she wouldn’t grow up trying to please a man and lose herself in the process.
Tipping his head, he said, “Then you’ve succeeded.”
Nancy wasn’t sure whether his comment was tongue-in-cheek, so she decided to simply take it at face value. “Good. Because children, girls especially, should be encouraged to seek, explore, achieve.”
“I agree with you.” He looped his arm over the shoulder of the thin teenage girl beside him. “I’m Beau and this is my daughter, Rachel.”
The girl stiffened, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at him until he released her.
Nancy murmured an acknowledgment as she scanned the room for Ana. She exhaled in relief when she saw Jason helping Ana select a cookie from the refreshment table.
“I agree with you, but I want Rachel to be independent and use good manners.”
Nancy bristled. He was probably another one of those parents who thought she should be able to control her own child. That Nancy wasn’t doing her job properly if Ana didn’t mind her one hundred percent of the time.
Okay, maybe Nancy secretly wondered if she was doing her job properly. She’d be the first to admit to a certain feeling of ineptitude when Ana pitched a public fit. But she was not about to confide in some know-it-all redneck.
Her voice was icy when she said, “She is a normal twenty-one-month-old child, testing limits. I’d appreciate it if you would keep your opinions to yourself.”
“Whoa, lady, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just being friendly, tryin’ to make it to the refreshments without getting nailed in the family jewels. I remember when my daughter was about that height.” He shuddered, his eyes twinkling as he nudged Rachel.
“Daaad,” she whined, and slouched away, slipping into a crowd of kids.
The man’s smile was probably intended to charm, but it merely put Nancy on her guard. Surveying his lanky frame from the tips of his Roper boots to his mussed dark brown hair, she doubted his sincerity. “I think you might want to watch your knees instead. I, for one, am not interested in your family jewels and my daughter isn’t nearly tall enough to damage that area.” Otherwise, she’d be tempted to offer Ana a cookie if she’d make the cocky cowboy sing soprano.
The man shrugged, as if to say there were plenty of women who were downright fascinated by his anatomy. Then he turned and headed toward the refreshment table.
Emily Patterson came up to Nancy and whispered, “He’s a looker, isn’t he?”
“I guess.”
“You weren’t very friendly.”
“I’m here to network with other parents, not to pick up some lonesome cowboy.”
“Oh, I guarantee that one’s not lonesome. Maybe you need your eyes checked.”
“And maybe you need your head checked.” Nancy smiled to soften her words. “You’ve got four kids to feed already and he looks like he has wild oats to spare.”
Emily winked, her round face and dewy complexion giving the impression she was no more than a teen. A few strands of silver through her brown ponytail were the only signs she was approaching forty. “Well, he can sow those oats at my house any day.”
Nancy chuckled in spite of herself. “You’re an original, you know it?”
“Yes. And I know you need more fun in your life.”
Fun? The concept seemed foreign. Her life revolved around Ana and seeing that her every need was met. “Fun is highly overrated.”
“Just because you’ve been burned once doesn’t mean you have to give up on men completely.”
“I wasn’t just burned, I was roasted, toasted and annihilated.”
“Hmm. Are you sure that’s not just an excuse?”
Nancy shifted. “You sound like my mother. So what if it is an excuse? There are worse things than being single. At least this way I know there are no surprises.”
“Oh, but surprises can be wonderful. Two of my children were surprises.”
Nancy raised an eyebrow. “My point exactly.”
No, Nancy had lost her taste for surprises the day she’d found out there was another woman who claimed to be Eric McGuire’s wife. The same day, coincidentally, that Eric had turned up dead.
Rachel nibbled on a cookie, watching her dad work the room. The meeting was lame. The people were lame. And Rachel would rather have been anywhere else.
But since her dad didn’t trust her, she was stuck here with the little kids. Like that two-year-old drama queen who watched her with big, dark eyes.
Rachel turned her back on the kid.
Why couldn’t her dad have believed in her enough to let her stay home?
Home. Whatever that meant.
There had been a time when she’d felt like she’d had a home. Not like some kids had—a mom, a dad, brothers and sisters. Meals, picnics, movies, vacations together.
For as long as she could remember, it had just been her and Mom. Every once in a while Dad would blow into town. Laughing, fun Dad. He’d taken her to great places, stuffed her full of junk food, bought her a bunch of things, and then, poof, he was gone. She’d stare at his picture to convince herself that he was real—not just a fabulous dream.
And then two months ago, her mom had sat her down for one of those serious talks. The don’t-do-drugs or don’t-have-sex-till-you’re-thirty