A Holiday To Remember Read online

  He held the door and closed it after them, stiffly polite. “Go through that door. You’ll be more comfortable in there.”

  She imagined he’d feel more comfortable, too. She untied her scarf and snowflakes tumbled from the wool to the floor between them. Jonah said nothing, leaving silence to fill the space. She didn’t know what to say to this man who looked like he was made of steel on the inside, too. He certainly didn’t say much.

  Which was a change from most men she knew. She realized she was staring at him a little too openly and her face heated. Really, what was wrong with her? Was this a sign she was losing it completely? She’d been under a lot of strain lately, but she wasn’t one to openly study a man, as if she were interested….

  Really, she was not interested in another man who would only let her down. She turned to take Mia’s coat and realized the girl had wandered off toward a maze of machines in the middle of the shop, and some had sharp-looking blades. “Mia, don’t snoop. Come back here.”

  “But, Mom, you gotta see this! It’s awesome.”

  It was the wonder in Mia’s voice that drew Debra forward, to see over a huge angular and very technical-looking saw to a lone crib in the later stages of construction. Without stain or varnish, without polish or even all of its pieces, the crib was beautiful. It stood in the sift of light from a roof window directly overhead and looked like something out of a dream, diffused with light.

  As Debra stepped closer, she saw the careful scrollwork and the intricate hand carving that was sheer perfection. She ran her fingertip over the smooth-as-glass texture, feeling awe sift through her like the snowflakes outside.

  The time and patience it must take to do such beautiful work, she couldn’t imagine. It was delicate and fragile and storybook beautiful, but what really mystified her was the man who’d made it.

  The reticent, brawny Jonah Fraser had done this.

  Chapter Two

  Jonah Fraser stirred the contents of the last hot-chocolate package into the coffee cup, watching the tiny white marshmallows swirl in the whirlpool created by the spoon. He held his emotions still as he kept Debra Cunningham Watson, of the publishing empire, in his peripheral vision.

  Ben had talked about her and, since Ben was more than his employer but a close friend, he felt that he had some stake in this. Ben had been glad to learn the identity of his birth mother and that while she had sadly passed away, he had three other half siblings to get to know. Debra was the oldest of the Watson clan and she was about what he expected.

  Ben had glossed over the details, but Jonah could read between the lines. She had that tight-lipped reserve he’d seen before from old-money families. He knew she was a big executive, a vice president or something. Everything about her shouted privilege, from her sleek brown locks to her perfect skin and smile to the upscale designer clothes she wore. Conservative black wool and trendy winter boots. Yep, she definitely looked like the type of woman who had an MBA from Harvard.

  Jonah removed the spoon from the cup. He kept Debra Watson in his sight while he grabbed the two chipped mugs by the handles and headed their way. A few things about her puzzled him. One, her chin-up, lips-pursed attitude had softened as she studied the crib. That told him her manner was more facade and habit, it was easy to see she wasn’t as icy as she first seemed.

  The second thing that surprised him was the age of the daughter. Twelve or thirteen, he guessed. Ben had mentioned the girl, but not her age, not that Jonah could recall, and it made him wonder what had gone on there. Debra must have gotten married young and divorced. That was his guess, anyway.

  “Wow, this is so cool.” Mia was all cheerful exuberance as she circled the crib. “Are you, like, making this? I mean, you’re just making it all by yourself?”

  “Yep. With wood and tools and everything.”

  “It’s so cool!”

  “Thanks.” He took one look at the girl’s innocent excitement and suddenly the memory of other children in another country hit him like a flash flood. Stay in the present, bud, he told himself, fighting the flashback. He locked down the doors on his heart before his sorrow and guilt could overtake him and bolted those doors good.

  He set both cups down on the nearby worktable that stood between them. “Hot chocolate with minimarshmallows. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Thanks!” The kid lit up. She was easily thrilled. Anyone could see she’d been raised with care and love. And manners, because she grabbed both cups and took one to her mother. To the woman who was staring at him as if he’d sprouted antennae and turned martian green.

  Great. He often had that effect on women who didn’t know him. He’d experienced this before. The more dainty and proper and upper-crust the lady, the more likely she was to be put off by the sheer size of him.

  He was a big guy, and he’d been told he looked fairly fierce. He couldn’t argue with that—a recon marine was about as tough of a warrior as it was possible to be. He knew the stain of what he’d accomplished and failed to accomplish as a marine in Iraq clung to him like residue. He often wondered if it somehow put other people off.

  “Thank you.” The woman—Debra—had taken a step back as if she were intimidated and took a dainty sip of the hot chocolate. Somehow she was able to avoid the marshmallow fluff that stained her daughter’s mouth. The girl had come around the worktable to stare openly at him, while the woman—Debra—was studying the crib.

  So he took a moment to study her. Ben’s half sister. He couldn’t see it at first. But as she stepped into the softer daylight from the roof windows, it became more evident in the simple straight dignity of her nose, which wasn’t too small or big, and in the manner that she held her head just so while she thought. Snowflakes were melting in the silk of her hair and on the collar of her fancy fur-lined coat.

  “This is lovely.” She gave him a polite smile. “You are a very talented woodworker.”

  A blush heated his face. He shrugged one shoulder. “I try.”

  “And modest, too. That’s a change from the men I’ve been around lately.”

  “Can’t be much of a man if he isn’t humble.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled; it was an honest smile.

  For a moment he saw past the polite veneer and cool distance into something brighter. Maybe it was just a trick of the gray light from above or his falling blood sugar. He’d delayed his lunch hour so he could be here for Ben’s half sister. More importantly, he’d wanted to meet this woman. He was protective of his good friend.

  “I imagine it was hard finding out that you have an older brother,” he heard himself saying.

  “You have no idea.” She said it kindly but as if there was more to it. “I was just as shocked to learn of Ben, as Ben was to learn he was related to us. I’m still trying to adjust. It’s strange going from being the oldest to the second out of the blue.”

  There was pain there, Jonah realized, a pain she quickly battled down. Okay, he had sympathy for that. He understood inner pain—it haunted him every moment of every day, and he didn’t know what to say to her.

  She broke the silence, gesturing toward the crib. “Is this for Ben’s baby, Joseph?”

  “No, this is for some good friends of mine, and of Ben’s, too. Ross and Kelly Van Zandt’s baby boy. He arrived a little earlier than expected.”

  “Is that the same Kelly from the adoption agency? Ben mentioned her.” Debra glanced at her daughter, who was still staring at him. “Mia, where are your manners?”

  “It’s okay,” he added quickly, wondering if the waiflike girl was a little scared of him. She wouldn’t be the first. “Are you wondering why I’m so big? God made me this way so I could serve His purpose.”

  “What purpose?” Mia asked, wide-eyed. “Are you a Christian, too? Which church do you go to?”

  She looked up at him with curiosity in her big innocent eyes, her cupid’s face wreathed with expectation. Cute kid, obviously sheltered and privileged and well cared for, just as a child should be. He battle
d down images of the world he’d seen—not good images, where children were not so safe and protected. He noticed the gold chain and cross at her throat. “Yes, I’m a Christian. I belong to the Chestnut Grove Community Church.”

  “That pretty one with the big steeple that looks like it belongs in a storybook?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes, wow.” Debra squelched an inner groan. Irrepressible Mia felt that everyone should be saved. It was a nice sentiment, but unrealistic. She’d taken so many hard blows lately between her mom’s passing and then over the truth about her mom’s past, these days she was putting faith in God right up there on the shelf with her thoughts about Santa Claus. Nice, but not relevant to her life.

  That sounded harsh, but she was a grown woman who’d gotten where she was with hard work, determination and having to face adult responsibilities without a lot of help.

  Okay, there she went again when she had vowed to focus on Mia and the trip. Time for a change in subject. “Mia, come on. Let’s wait in the reception area and let Mr. Fraser get back to his work. I’m sure we’re inconveniencing him.”

  “But, Mom!” Mia’s jaw dropped in utter disbelief. “Can’t you see we’re talking about God?”

  “I thought you were about to pry into Mr. Fraser’s personal life and make sure he’s really a Christian, the way you did with the gas-station attendant this morning. The way you do with everyone you meet.”

  To her surprise, the big, stony Mr. Fraser smiled. He wasn’t quite as fearsome when he did. The granite line of his square jaw softened and his hard mouth that could have been sculpted from stone warmed into a handsome smile. He had straight, even white teeth and a sincerity that made him striking.

  She felt a frisson of interest as pure as the snowflakes fluttering down from the heavens. This man perplexed her. He was apparently part weightlifter and part legend with an artist’s soul.

  “Call me Jonah,” he said. “When I hear Mr. Fraser, I think my dad is standing behind me. Besides, the little lady isn’t inconveniencing me or prying.”

  “You truly are a kind man to say so,” Debra found herself saying. “Mia has better manners than that—”

  “Reverend Fraser is your dad?” Mia interrupted, in direct contradiction.

  What was a mother to do? Mia had a strong spirit and a stubborn streak, not unlike herself at that age. Debra caught Mr. Fraser’s—Jonah’s—gaze and watched his smile deepen until it warmed the cool depths of his eyes.

  He was definitely a different kind of man than she was used to being around, but suddenly she was no longer intimidated by the rugged strength of him. Whatever else Jonah Fraser may be, she bet he was a teddy bear at heart because he turned patiently to Mia and his manner was genuinely kind. “Why don’t you come to Sunday service and I’ll introduce you to him? At least, I’m guessing that you’ll be attending with Ben and his family.”

  “Ye-ah.” Mia rolled her eyes heavenward as if there couldn’t possibly be any other answer, so why did he bother asking?

  It seemed like everywhere she turned, there was the conflict over Mia’s faith—and Debra’s lack of conviction. But what could she say to such a kindly meant invitation? “We’ll talk about Sunday later, Mia.”

  “Mo-om!”

  “We were going to take this visit one day at a time, remember?” Time for another change in topic. The trouble was, why did her first thoughts turn to Jonah and finding out more about him? “How long have you been making such beautiful furniture?”

  “Oh, I’ve always been fairly handy.” He eased forward, his shoulder dipping slightly to compensate for his limp. “I’ve always worked with wood in one way or another—”

  Mia broke in. “You didn’t want to be a minister like your dad?”

  Debra inwardly cringed. Was Mia wound up today or what? “Mia, you know better than to interrupt.”

  “It’s all right.” Jonah’s baritone rang with patience and good humor as he drew up a metal stool and eased his big frame onto it. “I thought very seriously about joining the ministry, but I didn’t feel a real calling to do it. There’s another reason, too. I like to write, but I’m not so good with talking in front of a crowd. If I had to talk to a congregation, I’d stammer and forget my sermon, and my looking like a fool wouldn’t help anyone.”

  There was something innately noble about him. She could see it now, as his quiet tough-guy manner softened a bit. He radiated a subtle but unmistakable strength of character.

  Drawn to him, Debra came closer and rested the hot mug on the table. She did want to know more about this man. Something told her he was interesting. His combination of brawny toughness and shy woodworker intrigued her. “You look like a man who could never be a fool.”

  “Well, I suppose you mean that as a compliment and I thank you for it, but I’ve made mistakes like anyone else. Maybe more than most.” Sadness, or maybe it was regret, shadowed his expressive eyes. His face turned stony. “I wound up following a calling I was more suited to rather than following my dad’s path.”

  “You have more courage than I did at the time. Instead of following my dreams or my calling, I followed my mother’s path in life. Same college, graduate school and then I went to work for my family’s company.”

  “There’s no shame in that, none at all. Ben tells me that you’re in publishing?”

  “Yes.” Was it her imagination or was he intentionally changing the subject? Well, she could do that, too. “Do you regret not following your father’s path? Or are you content with your choices?”

  “Some days, yes. Some days, no.” His easiness vanished and he looked sad again. “Life never turns out the way you expect.”

  “Or want.” They apparently had that in common. She felt so many emotions begin to work their way into words; emotions she’d not really taken out to examine in a good long time. “We get caught up in what we should do. What we ought to be. What we mean to do. It never turns out the way you intend.”

  “That’s why I love my job here, working at building things. It’s nothing like real life with tragedy and things you can never reconcile. When I sit down to make a piece of furniture, there’s only the doing of it. The feel of the wood in my hands, rough at first, then the shaping of it, the sanding and carving and finishing. If it doesn’t come out as I intended, nine times out of ten it comes out better.”

  “I wish life could be that way.”

  “Me, too.”

  Jonah wondered if she had any idea how transparent she was at that moment. Her icy career woman’s veneer was down and the wintry daylight burnished her with a silver glow. He could see the longing in her eyes for something—he didn’t know her at all, so he couldn’t guess at what that might be—before her practical side won over and the moment was gone.

  It was a puzzle what a put-together woman like Debra, who looked like she had it going on, would have to regret in life. Ben hadn’t mentioned if Debra had a husband. Jonah didn’t see a wedding ring on her slender, manicured hands. Had she suffered through a divorce? A painful marriage?

  It still amazed him that she didn’t look old enough to have a teenage daughter. She looked so young herself. Her heart-shaped face was luminous, reminding him of the female leads in those black-and-white movies—so radiant and serene, peaceful and timeless. What could a woman with so much going for her have to regret?

  He thought of his own failures, of the men he’d failed. The remembrance settled like a weight on his soul. What would she think of him if she knew?

  “Mom! Mom!” The girl had moved to the far side of the crib, kneeling down to inspect the turned legs. “I’ve got the best idea ever.”

  Debra smiled and it only made her lovelier. “I live in fear of your best ideas.”

  “But this really is the best one! You gotta come look. Please?”

  Debra pushed away from the table. “I’m going to admire your handiwork again. How long does it take for you to build something like this, from st
art to finish?”

  “As long as it takes to do it right.”

  “You’re not a man who bills by the hour?”

  “Only by the job.” What else could he say to that? He supposed a woman with her business background had a clear understanding of profit margins and whatnot, but he didn’t care so much. How did he say it was the reward of the job well done and to the best of his ability? It was something no one could pay him for. It was something he didn’t know how to explain.

  Mia studied him over the top of the frame. “Do you make other stuff, too? Like beds?”

  “Sure. I finished a bedroom set before this.”

  “You mean, a bed and a dresser? Really?”

  “Unbelievable, but true.”

  Mia clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Could you make one for me? Can he, Mom? Please, please, please?”

  I should have seen this coming, Debra thought as she tugged at her jacket cuffs, straightening them, giving her a chance to think. Saying no was on the tip of her tongue—they’d talked about redoing Mia’s room, but that was before she went away to school. Lately, they’d had bigger topics to discuss, like meeting Ben for the first time, the changes in their family and the changes in what they knew to be true about her mother. All the issues that seemed to tear them apart even further. The bedroom remodel had been pushed onto the back burner.

  Mia’s radar apparently was sensing weakness because she abandoned the lovely crib to grab hold of Debra’s hand. “Please? You said you’d think about new stuff for my room and that was a long time ago. I’ve been patient and everything.”

  “I know, sweet pea. We did talk about new furniture—”

  Before she could say a single word more, Mia gave a squeal of delight. “Yes! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Across the scuffed worktable, Jonah was grinning at her. Grinning. As if he found this to be highly amusing. It was an all-out, full-scale smile that knocked her socks off, she believed the term went. She’d never quite experienced such a reaction before. She was certain that her toes were at least tingling as the big man met her gaze.