1225 Christmas Tree Lane

She’d gotten busy at the college and Kent had his engineering company. They’d been like those ships in the old cliché, passing in the night, each drifting in a different direction. She had her life and he had his.

Kent claimed he found her friends stuffy and boring, and stopped attending social functions with her. Beth decided his friends were snobs. He didn’t seem to mind that she stayed home when he had an event, and after a while she wondered if he’d met someone else. It wouldn’t have surprised her. Although he’d never admitted it … They were so remote at that point, spending almost no time together. Oh, they slept in the same bed but rarely touched, rarely communicated about anything other than routine or functional things. Like who was picking up milk or paying the electricity bill.

She was the one who’d suggested divorce. At first Kent had seemed shocked. But he’d recovered quickly enough. He’d simply said that if she wanted a divorce, he wouldn’t stop her … and he hadn’t.

They’d divided everything as equitably as possible, sold the house and parted ways. It’d all been so civilized, so straightforward, as if twenty-three years as husband and wife meant nothing.

When the final decree came through, Beth decided to leave the academic world. She’d been seeking a geographical cure, she supposed, considering it now. The Christmas tree farm had been the solution she’d been looking for. She had her dogs and a menagerie of other pets, including two canaries, a guinea pig and now the puppies. Eight puppies. She also fed a number of feral cats. And she’d made new friends and found new purpose….

Kent—and, yes, it was Kent, as she’d expected—parked the car and turned off the engine. Beth pretended she was busy. Too busy to even glance in his direction. But despite herself, she was excited. Happy.

All she’d ever wanted from him was some indication that he still loved her, that he still cared. His insistence on spending Christmas with her and the girls, no matter how it had come about, was the first time either of them had made a move toward the other. Could this be the start of a reconciliation?

Her heart rate accelerated and she brushed her hair behind both ears. She wished now that she’d worn something other than her ever-present jeans. Dressing up a bit would’ve been a subtle way of letting Kent know how pleased she was that he’d extended an olive branch. She had on a long-sleeved shirt beneath her red V-neck sweater, which would have gone nicely with her black wool pants. Oh, how she wished she’d put on her black wool pants.

The car door closed, and Kent stood there, looking at her.

“Hello,” she said, surprised by how shaky her voice sounded. “Welcome to Christmas Tree Lane—and Cedar Cove Tree Farm.”

He zipped up his jacket and grinned. “The house is fabulous. The girls were right.”

“Thank you.” The porch railing was covered with swags of evergreen and twinkling white lights. More lights hung from the roofline, glittering brightly in the dull gray winter morning.

The passenger car door opened and Beth saw that Kent hadn’t come alone. A lovely, young—much younger than Beth—woman climbed out. She was tall, lithe and stylishly dressed in a full-length black coat and long, high-heeled black boots. She towered an inch or two above Kent, who stood at nearly six feet. Her blond, shoulder-length hair was perfect…. Actually, everything about her seemed perfect in an urban, sophisticated way that contrasted painfully with Beth’s farm clothes, disheveled hair and work-roughened hands.

Beth blinked and her heart almost stopped as reality hit her. Kent had brought another woman. They were together. A couple. He was seeing someone else now. This little fantasy she’d built around a reconciliation was only that—wishful thinking.

It took her a moment to recover and realize that every assumption she’d made was completely and totally off-base. Kent hadn’t come to spend Christmas with her and the girls. His sole purpose was to show off this … this model.

Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.

“Hello.” Beth greeted the other woman with a forced smile and an extended hand. “I’m Beth Morehouse. The ex-wife.”

“I know,” the woman said in a sultry voice that was sweet enough to caramelize sugar. “I’m Danielle.”

Just Danielle? No last name? Like Cher or Madonna or Beyoncé?

“Welcome to my Christmas tree farm,” she said, placing emphasis on her ownership.

The screen door flew open and Bailey raced onto the porch. “Dad!”

Sophie was directly behind her sister. They darted down the stairs like young fawns in their rush to hug Kent.

Her ex-husband opened his arms, and his daughters launched themselves into his wide embrace.

“How are my girls?” he asked, his voice warm with affection.

“Missing you, Daddy,” Sophie murmured.

“Who’s that?” Bailey asked starkly, frowning at Danielle. Apparently, she was as shocked as Beth.

“This is Danielle Martin,” he said, sliding his arms around each of their waists.

Oh, so there was a last name.

“What’s she doing here?” Sophie demanded.

“Sophie,” Beth snapped, appalled at her daughter’s lack of manners.

“Danielle’s a friend from work who traveled with me,” he said by way of introduction.

“Why don’t we all step inside, out of the cold,” Beth suggested, and marched into the house, assuming everyone else would follow.

The girls had obviously been playing with the puppies when Kent arrived because the second the door opened they swarmed onto the porch, eager as jailbirds to make an escape. Four were already out the door and racing down the porch steps.

“Don’t just stand there,” Beth cried to her daughters. “Help me.”

Laughing, Sophie and Bailey hurried in one direction while Beth went in the other. Even Kent got involved in the chase. The only one who didn’t move was Danielle. With her arms crossed, she remained immobile, as if moving a single inch would have dire consequences.

Once the puppies were all inside the house, Beth brought Kent and Danielle in. Danielle perched on the arm of a recliner with her feet off the carpet. She seemed to fear that all the puppies would rush toward her at one time.

Beth called out instructions. “Get the puppies into the laundry room,” she told the girls. “I’ll give them some treats.” This was not the way she’d planned to greet Kent, with puppies creating havoc.

In the momentary quiet of the laundry room, Beth pressed one hand to her chest, which felt as though it was knotted with pain. She would not, could not, yield to the icy tide of disappointment or to the surprising burst of white-hot anger. Not now. Not here. She’d rather be dipped in Christmas-tree sap and rolled in holly leaves before she made a fool of herself in front of the girls.

With a deep breath, Beth squared her shoulders and opened a bag of canine treats just as the girls herded in the last three pups. Whether it was the rustle of the bag or the distinctive aroma, Beth didn’t care, only that they all came on the run. On another calming breath, she promised to deal with her emotions later as she distributed the miniature bone-shaped biscuits.

She slowly and deliberately wiped her hands on her jeans while arranging her features in her best hostess smile. Returning to the living room, she motioned Sophie and Bailey to the couch and nodded at her guests. “Now, where were we?”

The girls exchanged a puzzled look and obeyed. At Beth’s question, they fixed their gazes on their father.

“Are all those dogs … yours?” Danielle asked incredulously.

“No, no. I’m finding homes for them.”

“Where are your dogs?” Kent asked. “Do you still have Lucy and Bixby?”

“Of course. They’re in the heated kennel in the back.”

“It’s huge. You should see it, Dad,” Sophie said, growing more animated as she spoke. “Mom’s got six dogs of her own, and she helps with the Reading with Rover program at the library and … and she trains dogs and she just got a puppy herself.” She was out of breath by the time she completed her list.

“He’s been sickly so she keeps him upstairs,” Bailey added.

“In your bedroom?” Danielle’s eyes widened with what appeared to be horror.

“You started to tell us about Danielle,” Bailey reminded her father, turning away from the other woman.

“Well, yes.” Kent looked at Danielle. “She’s a … friend.”

“A good friend,” Danielle murmured. “A very good friend.”

“I can’t believe this.” Bailey paced their bedroom with her hands locked behind her back. “This is all wrong! Nothing is working out like we planned.”

“When did Dad meet Danielle?” Sophie, the practical one, asked. “And where?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know any more than you do.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands in her hair—as if trying to pull out an answer—Sophie said, “Well, she wasn’t there when we visited him at Thanksgiving. And he didn’t say a word about her to me, but I thought he might’ve mentioned it to you.”

“I wish.” Bailey threw a scowl at her sister. “If he had, we never would’ve invited him for Christmas. That’s for sure. Besides, I’d have told you. What’s Dad thinking? Or is he thinking? Anyone with half a brain can see she’s all wrong for him.”

“She can’t be much older than we are.”

“Did you see how she reacted to the puppies?” Bailey cried. “Like they were diseased or something. Sitting with her feet in the air, as if they’d mistake her leg for a tree trunk. Too bad they didn’t.”

Sophie groaned. “And did you hear how she talked to me? Like I’m ten years old. For a minute I thought she was going to pinch my cheek and tell me how cute I was.”

“Dad and Danielle? It’s a joke,” Bailey muttered. “A terrible joke.”

“That’s what you said about the divorce—until it happened.”

“I know. I just don’t want to believe this … whatever it is.” But she’d seen the way Danielle had looked at their father. Clearly, he didn’t have a clue. This woman was set on getting a big diamond ring from him. Bailey was bound and determined that wasn’t going to happen. Not on her watch. If ever their father had needed help, it was now. They had to do something before he made the second-biggest mistake of his life. The first had been going through with the divorce.

“Well, you’d better come up with an idea fast, or you’ll be spending next Thanksgiving with Dad and your new stepmother. Just you and Danielle and Dad. ‘Cause I’m not going. I’ll be here with Mom.”

“Don’t say that,” Bailey moaned. “Besides, you’ll have to come.”

“Nope. I don’t like Danielle.”

“Me, neither.”

“There’s got to be something we can do,” Sophie said.

“What?” Bailey asked in frustration, which was immediately followed by discouragement. “We can’t let this happen. We just can’t.”

“I agree. Think, Bailey. You always come up with good plans.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.”

Sophie kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed. “First, we have to figure out what Danielle wants. No woman that young and perfect-looking would ever date our dad.”

Bailey nodded. As harsh as it sounded, Sophie wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t already considered.

“We could introduce her to a younger man.”

“Who?” Bailey asked.

“Jeff is cute.”

“Mom’s foreman? He’s married. I don’t want to be responsible for breaking up a marriage in order to get our parents back together.”

“Yeah, that’s bad,” Sophie agreed. “Okay, who else is there? It’s got to be somebody young. I mean, Dad’s way over forty.”

“So is Mom.”

“Oh, Mom,” Sophie said miserably, flopping back onto the bed. “She knew. She was so stoic when she introduced herself to Danielle, I wanted to scream.”

Bailey had been too shocked to tear her eyes from her father. When she did look at her mother, she couldn’t bear the return of the polite frozen smile. From the moment she and Sophie had mentioned that their father would be coming for Christmas, they’d both noticed a change in her.

In the beginning, when she’d heard the news, Beth had seemed confused and a bit panicky. Over dinner the night before, she’d peppered them with questions about their father. She was interested, all right. Interested and intrigued and, after a while, Bailey had sensed a definite excitement. She’d seemed happy, and for the first time since the divorce, they’d seen a brightness in her eyes.

It was exactly the reaction Bailey and Sophie had been looking for. Over the past three years, Mom had put on a great act. To all outward appearances, she was content;

she certainly claimed to be. Her new life suited her just fine, she said. What had frightened the girls into taking action was the fact that their mother had started to casually drop Ted Reynolds’s name into their conversations.

Beth’s eagerness about seeing their dad convinced both Bailey and Sophie that all this talk about contentment was false. They’d been up half the night whispering in the dark, so sure they were right—and now this.

“Have you got any ideas yet?” Sophie sounded worried.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Where she always goes when she’s upset. She’s with her dogs.”

“With her dogs,” Bailey echoed. The kennel was a place of comfort for Beth, a place of solace. The thought of her mom sitting on the ground with her precious animals gathered around her made Bailey want to weep.

“Where did Dad and Danielle go for lunch?”

“I don’t know….”

He’d invited Bailey and Sophie to join them, but of course they’d declined.

“We should’ve gone with him,” Bailey said.

“No way.” Sophie shook her head. “I am not socializing with her.”

Bailey reviewed various options that began occurring to her. Yes, it would work. She hopped onto the bed and tucked her legs underneath her.

Sophie stared at her. “What are you thinking?”

“We need to show Dad that Danielle’s completely wrong for him.”

“Well, duh. Just how are we going to do that?”

“There are ways.” Bailey gave a conspiratorial smile.

Immediately, Sophie straightened. “You think we can do it?”

“I don’t just think, I know. Watch out, Danielle. You’re in for it now.”

Chapter 4

Judge Olivia Griffin pulled into the parking lot at the Pancake Palace. She’d ordered two coconut cream pies for their Christmas Eve dinner at Justine’s. After the meal, they’d attend church services, then head over to Noelle’s birthday party. Picking up the pies was on the list of errands she needed to run before collecting Mom and Ben that evening.

The restaurant was packed, which surprised her. She hadn’t expected it to be this busy on Christmas Eve Day. But she should have, she mused, as she hunted for a parking space at the back of the lot. Based on last year’s experience, her daughter had warned her. With a firm conviction that family came first, Justine had decided to close the Tea Room for Christmas Eve as well as Christmas Day. Her staff was thrilled with the unexpected gift of this extra time off.

Inside the restaurant, Olivia stood in line at the counter waiting her turn. Wave upon wave of happy voices washed through the room. Looking around, she noticed the painted windows, decorated with a variety of holiday scenes. Holly on one window, a snowman on another. She gazed across the room and saw the Randall family in a booth with Cecilia’s father, Bobby Merrick. Holding fistfuls of crayons, the two Randall children were bent over their place mats, solving puzzles, connecting the dots or just coloring.

Remembering her conversation with Cecilia the day before, Olivia couldn’t help releasing a sigh. The young mother had asked about Jordan, Olivia’s son and Justine’s twin brother.

It seemed to Olivia that her entire life was divided by that summer. Life before Jordan died and life afterward. Her world had imploded that summer afternoon. No sooner had they buried their son than Stan, her husband, announced that he wanted a divorce. Within a matter of months, she’d lost her son and her marriage.

Watching Cecilia and Ian Randall now, sitting close together, so attuned to each other, so much in love, she didn’t regret denying their divorce. How could she? She would’ve given anything if someone had done the same for her and Stan. The pain of losing their son had been so horrific that, instead of bringing them together, it had driven a wedge between them.

When Stan remarried only months after their divorce, Olivia’s friends had speculated that he’d been involved with Marge long before Jordan’s death. It’d been easy to believe, especially then. Her mother, who was reluctant to say anything bad about anyone, felt Stan had acted irrationally in leaving his family.

Irrationally? Their son was dead. How could either of them remain rational? The grief had killed them, too.

It was all a moot point. Stan had married Marge, and some years later they’d divorced, as well. For a time it seemed that he wanted to get back together with Olivia and had done his best to thwart her budding romance with Jack Griffin. By then, however, Olivia had fallen for Jack, and her sights were set on the future instead of resurrecting the past. It was far too late for her and Stan. When it became apparent that she wasn’t interested, he’d found someone else. Justine had told her that Susan, the new woman in his life, was living with him now. Olivia assumed he wasn’t willing to try marriage a third time.

Yesterday, Cecilia had asked if she still cried over Jordan. Did a mother ever stop weeping over a lost child? Olivia doubted it. While going through cancer treatments a couple of years ago, Olivia had become desperately ill with an infection. From what others told her later, she knew she’d been close to death. It was while her fever raged that Jordan had come to her. For the briefest of moments she’d seen him as he was that summer, a skinny thirteen-year-old, full of life, eager to prove himself. He’d been a happy boy, smart and witty. Even now when she heard his favorite song by the group Air Supply, tears would prick her eyes. When she thought of her son, she remembered his ready smile, his ease with people, a natural charm that never failed to endear him to others.

Once again, Olivia wondered what would have become of her son had he lived. He had a variety of interests. He’d been good at math and loved to take things apart, then put them back together. He might have been an engineer. Then, too, he was often the go-between when Justine and James argued, helping his siblings settle their differences. Perhaps he would’ve followed in her footsteps and become an attorney.

Olivia felt a thickening in her throat and blinked back tears. This was silly. Christmas was supposed to be joyous, festive. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce about Jordan.

Cecilia glanced up and, seeing Olivia, she smiled. Their eyes connected—mother to mother. Heart to heart. Cecilia knew Olivia was remembering Jordan. And Olivia knew Cecilia was remembering the infant daughter she’d held so briefly in her arms.

Cecilia nodded and rested her head against Ian’s shoulder. For an instant Ian looked surprised, and then Olivia saw him reach for his wife’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

Tammy, the hostess, touched Olivia’s arm. “I have your pies, Judge Griffin.”

“Oh … oh, sorry, I got distracted.” Olivia pulled out her wallet, paid for the pies and carried them out to the car without looking back.

Olivia had just opened the driver’s-side door when her cell phone chirped. She dug it out of her purse, saw it was her husband and pushed the talk button.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she said.

“Where are you?” he asked, sounding rushed.

“The Pancake Palace, why?”

“Eric and Shelly arrived with the boys.”

“I didn’t think they were due until five.” Her stepson and his family were hours early. They’d driven from Reno to spend Christmas Eve with Jack and Olivia at Justine’s, and Christmas Day with Shelly’s family. “Can you feed them lunch or do you want me to come home?” she asked.

“Lunch isn’t a problem. I’m calling because I need to know if Beth Morehouse has any of those puppies left.” “I’m sure she does.”

“Great. Eric was saying he wanted to get Tedd and Todd each a dog after the first of the year, and he was hoping to find a couple of Labs. I told him about Beth’s situation and he’s interested.”

“Oh, Jack, Beth would be so grateful!”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll give her a call and take Eric and the boys out to her place later this afternoon. Do you want to meet us there?”

“If I have time …”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She ended the call and dropped her cell back in her purse. Beth would be thrilled to find homes for two more puppies.

Olivia’s next stop was the Sanford assisted-living complex, where her mother and stepfather had recently moved. The snow had been cleared from the parking lot and the sidewalk swept and salted. Hugging her coat around her, she hunched her shoulders against the wind and hurried inside.

A large, beautifully decorated Christmas tree sparkling with lights and classic ornaments graced the entry. Red bows were attached to a set of twin chandeliers. Six fresh wreaths festooned the second-floor railing and left a lingering scent of pine. The complex had a homey, welcoming appeal.

Olivia saw Ben first. He was in the card room set off to the side of the main room. He was apparently playing either pinochle or bridge, his two favorite games. Olivia knew Charlotte was waiting for her upstairs. Her mother insisted on reviewing their Christmas-dinner menu, although Olivia had already prepared most of the dishes in advance. Tonight and tomorrow were for family. She had no intention of spending Christmas Day in the kitchen, although she planned to put the turkey in the oven sometime Christmas morning.

The menu was the same one they had almost every year, many of the recipes directly from the cookbook Charlotte had compiled for Justine. Last Christmas, Justine had made copies of her grandmother Charlotte’s favorites for the extended family and it was a much-loved treasure.

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