With Christmas in His Heart

Chapter Two

Will stood inside the small stable and placed the saddle pad on the horse. She whinnied and stamped her foot as if to say she wanted to go and wanted to go now. The action reminded him of Grandma Ella’s granddaughter. She seemed to lack patience worse than the mare. And trust? She had less trust than a mother bird. He pictured her clinging to her carry-on at the ferry station, as if she had the crown jewels inside the little case.

He shifted to reach the saddle and lowered it on the horse’s back, adjusting it on the pad to make sure it didn’t rub the horse’s withers. He gave Daisy a pat. Women. He didn’t understand Christine at all, and rubbing? He must have rubbed her the wrong way. She didn’t like him, and since the moment he’d met her, he’d trudged through his thoughts trying to imagine how he’d offended her. He must have, because she obviously had an attitude toward him with a capital A.

Still, she was prettier than the baroque glass he worked with in some of his stained-glass artwork. Like the glass, she had texture and lines—very pretty lines, he had to admit. Working with his art, he could lay out his pattern and select the most unique whorls and designs in the glass created by the melding colors, but with Ella’s granddaughter, he had to deal with the whole of her. He couldn’t lop off the parts that weren’t as nice. Her attitude fell into that category.

Will bent down and buckled the cinch snug around the horse’s belly. He checked the tightness, then adjusted the stirrups. When he rose, he paused a moment while Christine’s image filled his mind. When he’d stood beside her near the taxi, he’d noticed she was only a couple inches shorter than his six feet, and she was as slender as a bead of solder. She was a work of art with a bad attitude.

He could still picture how her golden hair fell in waves and bounced against her shoulder. In the taxi, he couldn’t help but admire her glowing skin, her wide-set eyes that studied him so intently. Hazel eyes, he guessed, as changeable as she seemed to be.

Will reached for the bridle and moved to the horse’s left side. He placed his hand on the horse’s forelock and pressed gently. Daisy lowered her head, and he grabbed the headstall, separated the mouthpiece from the reins and held it to the horse’s mouth. She opened it, and he slipped the bit gently inside, then pulled the headstall over the horse’s ears. After he adjusted the chin strap, he gave Daisy’s shoulders a pat.

“You’re not bad-looking yourself, young lady.” He tucked his hand into his pocket and pulled out a sugar cube. Daisy sensed it and lifted her head to nibble the sweet from the palm of his hand.

An unexpected thought came to him. What treat could he use to have Christine nibbling out of his palm? He wiped his hand on his jeans and gathered the reins. He leaned against the stall as once again his thoughts filtered through the morning’s events. The woman had a message in her eye, warning that she didn’t trust him and didn’t want to try. He’d seen the same look of disdain on his father’s face more often than he wanted to remember.

Will pulled his back away from the boards and led Daisy to the stable doorway, then shifted his focus toward the house.

He needed a plan. If he had to spend a week with this woman hovering beside Ella—her granddaughter no less—he had to find a way to get along with her. Daisy’s sugar cube entered his mind again.

He kicked a stone with the toe of his boot and grunted. Get along? He got along fine with everyone else. The problem belonged to Christine.

Christine stepped into her guest bedroom and found her suitcase lying on the bed. Will had placed her small bag on a table beneath the window. Will again. He was like a woodpecker—irritating but intriguing.

Winter sunshine spread a spiderweb design on the table’s wooden top. She wandered to the window and pushed back the lacy curtain. Will stood below just inside the stable doorway with a horse, saddled and ready to ride. Knowing he couldn’t see her, she watched him staring into space as if his mind were faraway.

Seeing him with the horse, his hand on the reins, brought the same gentle cowboy to mind. She grinned at her imaginings. She’d daydreamed as a teenager but not as a woman with brains in her head.

A ragged sigh escaped her. What was it about the handsome man that she disliked? From the moment she’d laid eyes on him, he’d set her on edge, and it made no sense. She could only reason she was killing the messenger. He’d picked her up at the island ferry—a place she hadn’t wanted to come.

She let the curtain drop and reminded herself the visit was only a week—eight days at the most. She had her laptop and her cell phone. Though it wouldn’t be easy, business could be conducted that way, she hoped, for a short time.

She thought of her friend, Ellene, who’d had a similar gripe earlier in the year when she was stranded on Harsens Island in Lake St. Clair. She’d blown off Ellene’s concern about island life, and now her friend was married to Connor and lived there. Amazing what love could do.

Love. She didn’t really like the word. She’d been bitten too badly to trust. At thirty-nine, marriage seemed an unlikely prospect.

Christine returned to the window and peeked out. Will had vanished from the doorway. She could see the horse’s imprints in the mounting snow. Perhaps he’d gone to work. Good. He needn’t worry about her grandmother any longer now that she was there. He could spend the whole day at his job.

Stained glass. A businessman and a creative type. He seemed too—she couldn’t find the word—too lackadaisical for a man who had to make a living running a business. Why hadn’t he dropped her off and gone back to work instead of making them hot chocolate?

The delicate stained-glass angel filled her mind—a perfect gift for her grandmother, who’d always been a strong Christian. She could only deduce Will was a believer.

Sadness wove like tendrils into her conscience. She was a believer, but—but what? “Admit it,” she mumbled. “The Bible says faith and actions work together, and faith is made complete by a person’s good deeds.”

Letting the thought fetter away, Christine slipped back the curtain again and scanned the yard. She had an empty feeling, thinking about her lack of compassion for others. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She just didn’t take the time.

She backed away and turned her attention to her luggage, slipped her pants into a drawer and her sweaters into another, then hung up a few items. Easy when she knew how to travel light. She pulled up her shoulders and drew in a lengthy breath.

“Be nice,” she whispered to herself. The man had been kind to her grandmother. The next time she saw him she knew she should show her gratitude.

She left the bedroom and descended the staircase into the large foyer. She loved her grandmother’s house with all the nooks and crannies of an elegant Victorian home. So many lovely homes had been built on the island in the late 1800s.

The first floor greeted her with silence. She paused to listen. Still hearing nothing, she crossed the tiles to the living room doorway and saw her grandmother seated where she’d left her, her head resting against the wing of the chair. Her eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm.

She studied her grandmother’s face a moment, the classic lines—a well-sculpted nose, wide-set eyes as green as a new leaf, a full mouth that always curved upward into a pleasant grin, her mother’s features in her grandmother’s face.

Christine smiled at her grandmother’s quiet beauty. Even though the stroke had left its mark, she felt confident her grandmother would get well.

“Nice smile.”

Christine’s heart jolted, and she swung toward the window seat that looked out to the garden. She poked her index finger into her chest. “Me?” she whispered, not wanting to wake her grandmother.

He gave a quiet chuckle and tilted his head toward the sleeping form. “She’s not smiling so it must be you.” His voice was hushed, and he glanced toward her grandmother as if to make sure he hadn’t awakened her.

Christine tiptoed across the carpet and settled onto the next window seat. “Why are you sitting in here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Me?”

Will tilted his head. “She’s sleeping so I’m not—”

“Waiting for her, I know.” The man confounded her. “Why are you waiting, and where’s your horse?”

His eyebrows raised, and she realized she’d given herself away.

“You were watching me?”

“No. I happened to look out the window.”

He flashed her a teasing smile. “Daisy’s tied up outside ready to go. I thought you might need something in town.”

She frowned, looking for his motive.

Will rose, his grin fading to match her scowl. “I’m trying to be nice. I want you to feel welcome.”

“I always feel welcome at my grandmother’s.”

“But I’ve never seen you here in the past year and a half. Maybe since you’ve visited last, she’s moved the silverware to a different drawer.”

His barb added another notch to her guilt. “I can find the silverware. Thank you.”

He shook his head and strutted to the doorway. “Have a nice day.”

“You too,” she said, thinking hers would be nicer with him gone, but the thought gave her a kick. She was being so unfair. Jealousy? Was that it? Was she being that childish about ownership of her grandmother? The idea hounded her as she hurried from the room.

“Will,” she called, having distanced herself from the living room doorway. She headed in the direction she suspected he’d gone. “Will.”

He didn’t respond, and she dropped her arms to her sides.

“You called?”

Her neck jerked upward, and she looked at him near the back hallway. Now facing him, her apology knotted in her throat. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry. It’s not your fault that I’m here. It’s no one’s fault. My parents planned their trip, and my grandmother didn’t know she was having a stroke. I—” She stopped not knowing what else to say.

He looked at her questioningly. “It’s okay. Sometimes things happen that we don’t expect, and it’s difficult to adjust plans. My parents like planning everything to the letter. My father wishes I would, but I don’t. As he would say in the words of Shakespeare, ‘Ay, there’s the rub.’”

“You’re quoting Shakespeare?”

He laughed, and the look in his eyes unsettled her. His rich smile reflected in the sparkling blue of his iris. “Like everyone, I took English lit at university.”

“You were a college man?”

His smile faded. She studied him, curious why her question had triggered the negative look.

He seemed to regroup. “For nearly three years.”

No degree? “What was your major? Art?” she asked.

“Business.”

Business. She drew back, startled by the new information. “So where does the art come in?”

His eyes drifted, and she could see he was uncomfortable with the probing.

“I left U of M and went to Creative Studies in Detroit, then to Carnegie Mellon in Pittsburgh.”

Now that really knocked her off guard. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” he said.

His comment was so abrupt Christine didn’t understand what happened. “I don’t mean to keep you.”

“I’m on my way.” He took a step backward. “Drop by the studio sometime.”

“If I have time. My grandmother’s my priority.”

He gave a quick nod and headed out the front door. She followed and watched him through the Victorian glass window. He put his foot into the stirrup, flung his trim leg over the saddle and snapped the reins. The horse took off at a good gait and, before long, he’d vanished around the bend.

She let out a sigh. The conversation had been strange. Strange and strained. Something bothered Will, and she wondered if her grandmother knew his problem.

With her grandmother in mind, Christine returned to the living room, and when she came through the doorway, her grandmother opened her eyes. “I guess I caught a little catnap.”

“Naps are good for you. I unpacked and talked with Will a few minutes.”

Her grandmother straightened. “Why don’t you like Will, Christine?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“I can see you don’t like Will, and I can’t understand why. I’m sure Will sees it too.”

“I apologized to him before he left. I know I was a little abrupt.”

“But why, dear?”

Christine wandered deeper into the room and sank into a nearby chair. “I—I keep thinking he must have an ulterior motive.”

“Will? He’s as gentle as a lamb and so kindhearted.”

She ached watching her grandmother try to gesture again. “But why is he so thoughtful? You’re his landlady.”

Her grandmother straightened in the chair. “Because he follows God’s Word. He clothes himself with compassion and kindness. You’re a Christian. You should understand that.”

“I—” She felt her heel tapping against the carpet and tried to stop herself before her grandmother noticed. Christine knew she would disappoint her if she admitted her faith had paled from the actions of her youth.

“What motive do you think he has?” Her grandmother’s sentence came out disjointed.

“I don’t know.” She wanted to end the direction of the conversation. “I just think a mature male would have better things to do than to be a nursemaid to—”

“An old lady.”

Christine flinched. “I didn’t mean it that way, Grandma.” She wished she could just keep her mouth shut. Where was the tact she used in the business world?

“I know.” Her vivid green eyes captured Christine’s.

Christine could barely look in her eyes. “I’m—”

“You’re a career woman,” Ella said. “You make important deals and enjoy success. I’m proud of you, but you can also be kind and still be successful. God says, there will be a time for every activity, a time for every deed. In fact, success is even greater when it’s done with a humble heart and a desire to please the Lord.”

Christine fought her tears. She felt like a child being chastised by her parents for misbehaving, but this was Grandma Summers, and grandmothers were supposed to be supportive and forgiving.

Yet her grandmother was right. Christine had been unpleasant, but she’d thought she’d had good reason. “I did apologize.”

“I know. You told me.” She eased back and didn’t say any more.

Christine’s mind slid back to that moment. “What’s in the back hall off the foyer? Will came from that way.”

“It’s the back entry. He can come from the apartment that way or leave to go outside. I can lock that door, but it’s been convenient for me.”

“Is that how he found you after you had the stroke?”

“It was. He came in one morning to see if I wanted anything from the store in town. He found me confused and weak. At least that’s what he tells me. I tried to walk and couldn’t. That’s when he called for help. Fast thinking.”

“I’m glad he was here,” Christine said, and meant every word. She rose and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “So what can I do for you? Can I help you with your therapy?”

She glanced around the room and noticed dust on the table. “I can dust and run the vacuum.” She crossed the room and gathered shoes and a jacket from the floor. “What should I do with these?”

The shoes were definitely not her grandmother’s. They were men’s shoes, and so was the jacket. “Will’s?”

Her grandmother chuckled. “He drops his belongings like a teenager, but I don’t mind. It’s nice to have someone here.”

“Well, he shouldn’t cause you extra work. He has his own home. I’ll talk to him.”

Her grandmother shook her head. “Sometimes Will forgets. Don’t worry about cleaning. Will pitches in, and I should really hire a cleaning lady for a while.”

“Mom will be here. She won’t want a cleaning lady. You know Mom. You do it her way or no way.” She chuckled, then realized she’d almost described herself.

Her grandmother gave a nod, then gestured toward a table with a toss of her head. “See that little ball? Would you hand it to me? I’m supposed to squeeze it off and on during the day to strengthen my muscles.”

Christine handed her the ball and had turned to discard Will’s belongings when the telephone rang. “I’ll get it.” She headed toward the small secretary and picked up the receiver. “Summers residence.”

When she heard her father’s voice, her spirit lifted. “Daddy, where are you?”

She covered the mouthpiece and turned to her grandmother. “They’re in Jamaica. I can hear the steel drum band.” Christine longed to be on some exotic island with sunshine and balmy breezes. “Are you having fun?”

“A great time. Fantastic.” His voice boomed.

“I’m really happy for you, Dad.”

“How’s Grandma? And be honest, Christine.”

“Grandma’s fine.” She couldn’t believe he told her to be honest. “Really. We’re doing okay, and you’ll be here soon. We’ll see you on Monday, right?”

Her heart sank a little with his answer.

“Okay, Wednesday will work. I can leave on the afternoon ferry if you’re early enough. Love you both.”

She hung up and faced her grandmother. “It’s eighty-five degrees there.”

“I’m sure they’re having a wonderful time,” she said, her eyes searching Christine’s.

Guilt blanketed her again. She needed to fix her attitude. The problem was timing. Timing? Face it, she thought, no time was ever good for Christine. She liked to plan her course and sail away with no waves, but things didn’t always happen the way she wanted. She needed to learn to roll with the tide. Will’s comment about things not always going as planned echoed in her thoughts.

“I’d like to go to church tomorrow,” Ella said. “It’s difficult, but I have the wheelchair. Would you like to go?”

“Church?” She stood in the middle of the room and looked out the wide front window and across the porch to the splotches of white and tried to envision what good a wheelchair would do in the snow. “But how—”

“Will can handle it. We’ll get a taxi. It’s just a short ride down Fort Hill.”

Christine stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Will again. “Is it worth the trouble, Grandma?”

“Worth it? What has more worth than spending time with the Lord?”

She closed her mouth before she put her foot in it again. “I meant it’s so difficult for you.”

“My therapist said I should try to get out. I’ve been too embarrassed to have anyone see me so useless. My face is drooping. I can see that in the mirror.”

Christine knelt beside her grandmother. “You’re not useless. I’m sorry I said anything. I—”

Her grandmother patted her arm with a weak hand. “You didn’t make me feel that way, Christine. I’m just…” She paused and looked at her unaccommodating fingers. “Did I ever tell you about when I was a girl?”

Christine figured she’d heard every youthful tale of her grandmother’s, but she’d already hurt her feelings enough. “I don’t know, Grandma.”

Ella gave her a tender look and leaned back in her chair. “When I was a girl, my mother sent all of us to Bible school during the summer. It was like a summer camp but at the church. We learned so much about compassion and giving to others. We memorized Bible verses. One of my favorites was that whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus. Even as a girl, I realized that our deeds reflect our faith.”

Christine recalled thinking that same thing earlier that day, and she wondered if the Lord was pounding a lesson into her head. “I know, Grandma, but—”

“No buts. We had a project one year at the Bible camp. We visited a hospital to bring little gifts we made to some of the elderly patients. I saw a woman there unable to use her limbs. At the time I didn’t know anything about strokes, but I’m sure that’s what it was. She couldn’t speak well, either. That very day I promised the Lord I would always be kind to people in need. So being useless myself makes it doubly hard because of the promise I made to God.”

How could she argue with her grandmother’s way of looking at her vow. Christine figured God was the one who had allowed her grandmother to have a stroke. He knew she couldn’t continue to be helpful, so He’d have to forgive her breaking her vow. But she couldn’t verbalize that to her grandmother.

“Then, I think, it’s most important that you get better. Right, Grandma?”

“Right,” she said, a gentle look in her eyes. “And that’s why I want to go to church.”

“Then you and I will go to church,” Christine said.

“You and me and Will.”

Christine managed to smile. “You and me and Will.”

Chapter Three

“There, that wasn’t so bad.” Will stomped the snow from his shoes on the porch mat. Today when he’d awakened, he was surprised to see a heavy snow had fallen while he’d slept, leaving the island shrouded in white.