I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas
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An hour later, Nick looked at the place set for one in the formal dining room. In spite of the Christmas centerpiece sitting in the middle of the long, shining Queen Anne table, the room still seemed empty and vast. In spite of the plate of steaming vegetables and hot-buttered noodles, the baked chicken and delicate dinner rolls, he couldn’t seem to get excited about eating.
Too much cake, he reasoned, plopping down on an antique chair to try to enjoy Myla’s marvelous efforts. “At last, peace and quiet.”
With his first bite, he heard Myla’s soft voice lifted in prayer. She was blessing their food in the other room. Sheepishly, Nick closed his eyes and listened. Glad when she’d finished, he whispered his own animated “Amen,” then straightened his linen dinner napkin to get on with his meal.
Before he got a bite of succulent chicken between his teeth, he heard giggles from the kitchen, followed by voices all talking at once. They were a close trio, his little pack of strays. Myla seemed very protective of her children. Nick had to wonder what kind of man would leave her and her two children with nothing.
It’s not your problem, Nick, he reminded himself. Sit up straight and eat your dinner.
With his first bite of the flaky roll, he remembered holding Myla the night before. Somehow, he’d managed to lose all decorum right there in his own kitchen. Carolyn would just love to have the details of that.
Of course, he didn’t owe Carolyn or anyone else any explanations. He liked having no strings attached, and no obligations to anyone. Memories of his loving parents moved through the room like ghosts, haunting Nick with a poignancy he refused to acknowledge. He couldn’t deal with the responsibilities of that kind of devoted love. He had other obligations—to Lydia and Rudolph Oil. Wishing Lydia didn’t always work so late, he tried once again to eat his dinner.
By his third bite, Nick could stand it no longer. Used to his house being quiet, he hopped up on the pretense of telling them to keep it down so he could eat. Making a beeline for the swinging door, he opened it to find three sets of surprised eyes looking at him as if he were the abominable snowman.
“Are we bothering you?” Myla asked, jumping up to take the glass he had in his hand. “Can I get you anything?”
Nick threw up his hands. “Yeah, a chair. You all are having entirely too much fun in here. I decided I’d better eat in here with you, just so we could avoid anymore surprises like last night’s.”
“Sure!” Patrick patted the stool nearest him. “Come on in, Mr. Nick. We don’t mind him eating with us, do we, Mom?”
“Of course not,” Myla replied softly. “After all, this is his house. He can eat in any room he chooses.”
Nick’s smile spread across his face like cream over strawberries. “I’ll go get my food.”
In a few minutes, he was settled in, packing away Myla’s dinner like a man starved. Between bites, he regaled the children with tales of the adventures of Lydia and Nick as they were growing up.
“See this scar?” He showed Jesse a faint white dent right in the middle of his forehead. “Lydia gave me that with a roller skate. Had to have seven stitches. Mother made both of us go to bed early for a month.”
“Why’d she hit you with a roller skate?” Jesse asked, her hoarseness making her voice soft-pitched.
“I chased her with a granddaddy long-legs,” he explained, a grin encasing his face. “She hates spiders.”
“I’m not scared of bugs,” Jesse stated. “We lived in the country. I played with bugs all the time.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have that house no more, Jesse,” Patrick reminded his sister. “It was repo—repur—”
“Repossessed,” Myla finished, the flush on her cheeks indicating her discomfort. “Hush up now, and finish your dinner. We have to get up early tomorrow to get you both enrolled in school.”
Nick steered the conversation away from the house they’d lost. “School? You two are too smart for that, aren’t you?”
“Lydia’s helping me get them straightened out,” Myla said over the children’s giggles. “She’s been such a help—she’s even looking into low-cost housing in this district, in case I don’t get into Magnolia House.”
“Trust good ol’ Lydia,” Nick replied.
Wondering why he sounded so sarcastic, Myla said, “You don’t share the same strong faith as your sister, do you?”
Shocked by her directness, Nick became defensive. “I’ve learned to rely on myself. I don’t need to turn to a higher being to help me through life.”
Myla leaned forward on her stool, her voice quiet. “Being self-reliant is good. After all, the Lord gave us brains. But sometimes, Nick, we can’t do it all by ourselves. We need His help. And it’s all right to ask for it.”
She could see the anger sparking through his eyes.
“I don’t need His help.” Waving his arms, he spanned the room. “As you can see, I’m doing okay on my own.”
She nodded. “Oh, yes, you’re doing great material-wise. But what about spiritually? You don’t like Christmas. Why is that, Nick?”
“That’s none of your business,” he said, getting up to stomp to the sink. “Your job is to run this house efficiently, not delve into my personal life.”
She followed him. “Of course. You make perfect sense.” She started stacking the dishes he absently handed her. “But then, you’re in charge, right?”
“And what does that mean?” They stood shoulder to shoulder, heads up, eyes flashing.
“I know what’s expected of me here, Nick. I work for you and I intend to do a thorough job. But I can’t help but notice you don’t have a strong sense of faith. That bothers me.”
Wanting to turn the tables on her, he said, “Yeah, well, you need to be more concerned with your own problems. After all, you’re the one without a home!”
Hurt, she said, “I’ll find one. And I’ll find a good job, too.”
He groaned as she almost sliced his palm with a knife in her haste to load the dishwasher. “You’ll barely make ends meet, Myla. It’s going to be a struggle.”
“I’ll manage,” she retorted. “I have a higher help than you’ll ever know.”
“Oh, that’s right. Your faith. Well, faith won’t get you through a cold winter night, now will it?”
“It did,” she replied calmly. “I prayed for help and the Lord sent it.” She gave him a meaningful look.
“Fine,” he said, sighing in defeat. “So, why can’t you just do the job you were hired to do, instead of wasting your time trying to save me?”
“I just thought you could use a friend.”
“I don’t need a friend, and you need to concentrate on getting your own life back in order.”
“I will, but in the meantime, if you need to talk…”
“I don’t need anything, Myla.” Trying to change the focus back to her, he added, “I’m willing to help you in any way I can, though. And I’m worried about you moving into that homeless shelter too soon. Having faith is one thing, but surviving is quite another.”
“I would think you’d want me to move out,” she replied. “You spout all this encouragement, then hand me a few checks to cover your own embarrassment. I’m trying to start over—on my own, and while I appreciate everything you and Lydia and your friends are doing, I have to do this for myself. If that means giving myself over to blind faith, if that means putting my trust in the Lord, then I can do it. I won’t let anyone ever make me question my faith again.” She stopped loading dishes to stare across the room at her two suddenly quiet children.
“What do you mean?” Nick asked, his hand on her arm. “What happened between you and your husband, Myla?”
“I…we’ll talk later, maybe.” Pulling away, she called to the children. “Jesse, Patrick, time for bed.”
Patrick immediately followed Myla to Henny’s room, but Jesse held back. Running up to Nick, she tugged on his jeans. “Daddy wasn’t a bad man, Mr. Nick. Momma told us to always remember that. My Daddy wasn’t a bad man. He just had some problems, is all.”
“Jesse!” Myla’s voice echoed through the house.
The little girl ran away before Nick could question her further. What did all this mean? Up until now, he’d believed Myla to be a grieving widow, but there was obviously more to this.
“Who are you really protecting, Myla?” he whispered. “Yourself and your children? Or your dead husband?”
Chapter Four
The next week passed in a busy rush for Myla. After getting the children back in school, and finding a church nearby to attend while she was working for Nick, she fell into the daily routine of cleaning and cooking, and learning more about Nick’s life. Each detail drew her closer to the man who’d reluctantly saved her from the streets, and each detail showed her that Nick needed to find his own faith again. He’d refused her invitation to attend church.
“I send them a hefty check each month,” he informed her. “I catch up on paperwork on Sundays.”
“You should rest, and spend the day in worship,” she replied. And have some fun, she wanted to add.
He’d shot her one of his famous scowls, but his words hadn’t been as harsh as he’d have her believe. “You should mind your own business.”
“Yes, sir.” She certainly knew her place, and she needed the money. She’d have to be more cautious in her resolve to help him spiritually. And more cautious about her growing feelings for her employer.
But how could she resist being drawn to this intriguing man? She watched him leaving the house in a hurry each morning at the crack of dawn. He hardly bothered to stop and sip the coffee and orange juice she had waiting. She watched him come dragging in at night to wolf down the dinners she prepared before he went straight into his spacious office and clicked on the computer. Nick often worked long into the night. She knew, because she couldn’t sleep very well in her new surroundings and she’d seen the light on in his office many times.
Myla had had an instinctive urge to go and check on Nick in the middle of the night, the way she used to do with her late husband. But that wasn’t part of her official duties. And neither was being so attracted to him.
Her duties this morning involved cleaning the master bedroom. As she stood in the wide upper hallway, she prayed for guidance.
Dear Lord, give me the strength to get my work done, and not think about the man who’s helped me so much.
But the minute she entered the big masculine room decorated with tasteful plaids and subtle stripes, Nick’s presence shouted out at her. His suit from yesterday was draped across the standing valet. Out of habit, she brushed it out and hung it up, so he could wear it once more before she took it to the cleaners.
His shoes were shelved in the long, well-lit closet off the dressing room. He had several pairs, some black and brown leather, some gleaming white athletics, all expensive and classic in design, just like their owner. His shirt, impeccably white, was tossed on a chair, waiting to be laundered and pressed at the cleaners, along with all his other tailored shirts.
So much about Nick’s habits reminded her of Sonny. Sonny had been a perfectionist, almost fanatical in his demands. Nick wasn’t quite that bad, as far as she could tell. He demanded loyalty, hard work, and the best in everything—but he demanded those things in himself first and foremost.
Myla picked up the shirt, catching the scent of his spicy, crisp aftershave. The shirt spoke of the man. Solid, honest, clean. And lost. He was a good man, but he was a lonely, sad man. His quiet, aloof nature drew her to him, then his rare burst through smiles and dry humor held her.
She couldn’t fight her feelings, but she reminded herself she’d been on the bottom for so long, coming up for air was scary. She couldn’t read anything into Nick’s smiles and concerned gestures. He was just being kind. And he was used to having someone wait on him hand and foot. He was selfish and stubborn at times, and other times, he was caring and compassionate. Just his nature. She didn’t think she was ready to deal with another domineering male just yet, though.
“Come on, Myla,” she told herself as she hastily cleaned the large, elegant room. “You work for him. He gave you a job and a place to stay and food for your children. Nothing more. He owes you nothing.”
Since she was alone in a twenty-room mansion, she could talk out loud. “And I owe him everything.”
Silently, she thanked the Lord for giving her this reprieve and remembered that she’d promised to do things differently this time.
Moving into the bathroom, she cleaned the large garden tub with a new vigor, putting images of Nick Rudolph’s handsome face out of her mind. Then she hurried out of the room, determined to stick to business.
And ran right smack into the arms of the very man she was trying to escape.
Myla’s dust rag and cleaning supplies went in one direction and her armful of laundry went in the other as she plowed into Nick, sending him back against the sturdy oak railing on the second floor landing.
Catching her just as his back hit the banister, Nick gripped her shoulders to keep both of them from toppling down the stairs. “Goodness, is there a fire in there?”
She leaned against him in relief. “Nick, you scared me!”
“I’ll say. Are you all right?”
Myla glanced up at him, embarrassed and acutely aware of his arms holding her. She had to learn not to be so clumsy! “I’m fine. What are you doing home so early?”
Nick hesitated, his smile as wry as ever. Then she noticed with a mother’s keen eye, he looked flushed and his dark eyes were glazed over with a red-rimmed heat.
Concerned, she automatically put a palm to his forehead. “Why, you’re burning up with fever!”
He pushed her away with a gentle shove. “Tell me something I don’t know. Don’t get too close. According to my friend and racquetball partner, Dr. Loeffler, I’ve got the flu. That’s the only way he’d ever beat me and he knows it.”
Myla kicked her scattered cleaning supplies out of the way and steered him toward his room. “You went to work like this, and played racquetball! Honestly, don’t you ever know when to quit?”
He drew his brows together, amused at her righteous indignation and her bossy nature. “I felt kind of tired this morning, but things got progressively worse as the day wore on. Dr. Loeffler checked me over after our game and told me to get home. Guess he couldn’t believe he’d actually beaten me.”
Myla clucked over him with all the vigor of a mother hen. “Will you stop making jokes and get into bed? I’ll make you some chicken soup and get you some medicine for that fever. What did the doctor tell you to do?”
Nick gave her a lopsided grin. “He told me to let a beautiful woman serve me chicken soup and give me something for my fever.”
Laughter bubbled in her throat, but she managed to keep her tone stern. “You’re impossible. You’d better be all tucked in when I come back.”
“Yes, ma’am, Nurse Myla.”
She put both hands on her hips. “And don’t expect me to baby you. I’m busy and you need to rest. I know you must really feel horrible. You never come home early.”
He sent her a mock scowl. “No, I don’t, but I still intend to get some work done. So, hand me my briefcase before you head down to concoct your flu survival kit.”
Hissing her disapproval, she picked up the heavy leather satchel he’d left on a chair. Shoving it at his midsection, she said, “You do love your work, that’s for sure.”
Nick watched as she pranced out of the room, then he dropped like a lead weight onto the big bed. Holding his hands around the stuffed briefcase, he nodded to himself. He did love his work, but right now it was the last thing on his mind.
He fell back in a heap against the fluffy plaid pillows. Well, if a man’s gotta be sick, he reflected with a grin, at least it helps to have a spunky redheaded nurse waiting on him hand and foot. This might turn out to be a good thing. He could actually enjoy being here, that is, if his body would just stop hurting all over.
A few minutes later, Myla was back with the promised soup and medicine, glad to see he was dressed in a blue sweat suit. He sat propped against pillows with paperwork scattered all around him, and a laptop computer centered in front of him on the bed.
“Are you going to eat and then rest?” she questioned as she set the bed tray down in front of him, then pulled the laptop away.
Giving her a mock angry glare, he brought the laptop back beside him. “Can you spoon-feed me?” he teased, enjoying the way her denim skirt whirled around her boots as she fussed with his discarded clothes.
“I don’t think so,” she retorted, a smile creasing her lips in spite of her reprimanding look. “You don’t seem that weak to me.”
“Gee, such a caring nurse.”
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, taking his droll humor seriously. “I’m just not used to you being home during the day. You’ve thrown me completely off schedule.”
Nick knew his smile was awfully smug. He’d also brought a becoming blush to her apple cheeks. He liked knowing that his presence distracted her. That meant she was interested. Although, he reassured himself as he watched the winter sun dancing off her radiant auburn hair, he really didn’t have time to indulge in a relationship. And he had no earthly idea where this one was going.
He put the laptop aside, then sampled the soup before sitting back to stare up at her. “I think you’re just not used to me, period. But I’d say, all in all, this arrangement is working out okay. Other than that one unfortunate incident with Shredder and that overgrown puppy of Carolyn’s, you and the children haven’t been any trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not,” she said, backing away, memories of being in his arms in the middle of the kitchen floor reminding her that she needed to concentrate on her job. “I’d better get back to work.”
“Myla, wait.” He gave her a questioning look. “Tell me how you do it?”
A look of confusion colored her green eyes. “Do what?”
“Keep that serene expression on your face. After everything you’ve been through, including putting up with my demands, you seem so at peace.”
She looked up then, her not-so-serene gaze meeting his. “I found my strength again,” she said simply. “I found my faith again, after I thought I’d lost it forever.”
Uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation, he said, “How’d you manage a thing like that?”
She lifted her chin. “Prayer. You know, Nick, when you have nothing left, you always have prayer.”
No, he didn’t know that. It had been a very long time since he’d relied on prayer. “Why…how did you lose your strength?”
She backed farther away, like a frightened bird about to take flight. “I don’t want to discuss that.”
“I’d really like to know…and to understand.”
When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “Look, I’ll take my medicine, and I promise I’ll eat my soup. Sit down in that chair over there and talk to me.”
Myla hesitated only a minute. Wanting him to see that he, too, could find his strength in faith, she sat down and watched as he diligently took two pills with a glass of juice; then, his eyes on her, he dutifully ate his soup.
Satisfied that he’d finish the soup, she leaned back for a minute. “You see, at one time, I thought God had abandoned me.”
Surprised, he stopped eating. Funny, he’d thought that very thing himself, right after burying his father. “Why would you think that? You seem so sure about all this religious stuff.”
She lowered her head, her hands wringing together, her eyes misty with memories. “I wasn’t so sure for a while. Because of something I did, or rather, something I didn’t do—and I’d rather not talk about it. It took me a long time to see that God hadn’t abandoned me. It was the other way around.”
“You mean, you abandoned Him?”
She nodded. “I gave up on Him. I didn’t think I was worthy of His love.”
“Why would you think a thing like that?”
“I had it drummed into me enough,” she said, then gasped. “Oh, never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Well, you did. What do you mean?”
When she didn’t speak, Nick sat up to stare across at her. “Does this have something to do with your husband?”
Her silence told him everything he needed to know. And brought out all the protective instincts he’d tried so hard to ignore. “Myla, did your husband do something to hurt you?”
Myla didn’t want to cry. She’d learned not to cry. But now, after she’d heard Nick voice the truth, her worst secrets floated up to the surface of her consciousness, causing the tears to roll down her cheeks like a torrent of rain coming from a black cloud. Holding her eyes tightly shut, she tried to block out the painful memories. She couldn’t let him see her like this. Lifting out of the chair, she said, “I need to get back to work.”
Nick moved his tray away with a clatter and stood up. “Myla, did you and he…was it a good marriage?”
She bit her bottom lip, then gave him a soul-weary look. “In the beginning, yes. But, it turned ugly after a few years.”
Nick closed his eyes, then opened them to look at her with dread. “Did he…did he abuse you?”
She brought her hands up to her face and cried softly.
Nick pulled her hands away, his eyes searching her face. “Did he?”
“No, not physically,” she said, her hands automatically gripping his. “Nick, please don’t make me talk about this now.” She didn’t want the bond they had developed to be destroyed, not yet.
“I want…I need to know,” he said, his voice husky, his words gentle. “I won’t judge you, Myla.”
But she was afraid he would, just as so many others had. “I’m…not ready to tell you everything.”
The pain in her green eyes stopped Nick from pushing her any further. Instead, he said, “What can I do, to help you?”
She looked up at him, unable to ask for his help, unable to ask for his understanding.
But Nick knew instinctively that she needed both. So before she could bolt, he tugged her into his arms and rocked her gently, as if she were a child who needed reassuring. “No more questions,” he promised. “But if you want to cry, you go right ahead.”
Myla did cry. Shutting her eyes tightly closed, she let him hold her for a while, thankful that he didn’t press her any further about her marriage. Just to be held, unconditionally, that was comfort enough for now.
“All right,” he said after a while, letting go to pat her shoulder. “Feel better now?” At her silent nod, he added, “You can’t keep this inside. Lydia knows people, therapists and counselors, who can help you. And…I want to help, too.”
She lifted her head, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, resolve settling back over her like a protective winter cloak. With a shaky smile, she said, “You’re a fine one to be giving me advice. I am a lot better now, though, really.”
He looked doubtful. “How can you say that?”
“I told you, I found my faith again—alone, on a dark cold night. I was huddled in the car with the children, with nothing left…nothing. In the moonlight, I saw my worn Bible lying on the dashboard. I hadn’t read it in months. I did that night, though, with a flashlight. While my children slept in the cold, I found my faith again in that single beam of light, and I cried long and hard, and I prayed, really prayed, for the first time in a very long time.”
Nick swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. “What did you find there in that light, that helped you?”
She sniffed, then lifted her head. “He said He would not leave me comfortless, but I had forgotten that promise. In First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verse thirteen, the Bible says, ‘And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three: but the greatest of these is love’.”
Nick stood there, his heart trembling. Love. The one thing he’d been so afraid of since his father’s breakdown and death. “How did that verse sustain you?”
She smiled then. “I knew that no matter what, I had my children with me and I loved them above all else, except the Lord. They were my gift, and no matter what kind of life I’d had with their father, they were my responsibility. Love, Nick. Love is the greatest gift of all. It gives us our strength. It gives us a reason to go on living, even when we’d rather curl up and sleep. I realized that God gave us unconditional love when He sent His son to save us from our sins. I realized that God hadn’t abandoned me. He was reaching out to me on that dark night.”