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“You stop that right now.” Mom straightens her spine, raising herself to her full five feet of height. She has the same fierce expression she wore when the Sunday school teacher tried to shame me for wearing a dress that would “lead boys to sin”. She put Mr. Chambers in his place right then and there. Never again was I shamed for what I wore to church. Or anywhere.
Her voice shakes with emotion when she says, “You are my daughter. You were my daughter long before the ink was dry on that adoption paperwork. It took us time to find each other, but you have always been mine.”
Her words touch some aching, broken place in my heart and it begins to stitch itself back together again. My eyes fill with tears, and I press a hand against my mouth.
“As for West, I warned him away. That’s true. It never had to do with being ashamed of you. Honey, how old were you when you came to live with us?”
“Fifteen,” I answer, sniffing.
“You were seen as a child in the eyes of the law,” she says. “And he was eighteen, a legal adult. Even if you’d been of age, you were just coming out of the foster system. You were still having nightmares and crying yourself to sleep. You weren’t in a place where it would have been healthy. Not for either of you.”
Her words make me see the situation differently. She wasn’t trying to protect West from some girl who was beneath him. She was trying to protect both of our hearts. I accept the tissue she passes me and dab at my eyes. “And what do you think now?”
“Now, I think my son has chosen well.” She gives me a soft smile, her own eyes filled with tears. “When he walked out of here, he warned me to be gentle. He called you his heartbeat. I always hoped you two would find your way to each other.”
I rush forward and wrap my arms around this woman who has been my mentor and my friend and my mom. She’s never hesitated to defend me from others or step into my messes or listen as I had a good cry. “Thank you.”
“And I forgive you,” she says as she pats my back.
“For what?” I sniff, mystified as to what I said earlier that could have hurt her feelings.
She chuckles. “For wrecking the Mustang all those years ago.”
I pull away to search her face. But there’s no anger in her expression, only amusement. “You knew?”
“Honey, a mother always knows,” she answers with a wink.
8
CASSIE
Why won’tthese people all just go home? Why do they insist on putting their sticky kids on Santa’s lap and taking a dozen photos with him? Alright, maybe I’m feeling a little grumpy because I want to knock the kids out of the way and sit on Santa’s lap instead. Only instead of telling him what I want for Christmas, I’ll tell him about my dirtiest fantasies.
It doesn’t help that West keeps glancing at me across the room. The look in his eyes is pure fire. He’s not bothering to hide his desire and every glance feels like a caress.
My phone dings and it’s a message from Micah. He’s the only one left that doesn’t know. Mom told Dad when he arrived. But he didn’t seem to care. He just gave me a big hug and told me I’d always be his girl. Ledger even knows if the smirk he was sending West tells me anything.
Sorry I couldn’t make it. Talk tomorrow.
West said he was sick. He had that funny hitch in his voice, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else. He said that Micah wasn’t as bad off as I was thinking and that I’d have to get the full story from him.
I send a message back.Try to get some extra sleep.
His little dots appear to show he’s typing. They disappear and reappear before another message comes through.You too.
I snort. That’s not likely if everything goes the way I’m hoping. But I can’t tell him that. Instead, I settle for telling Micah I love him and closing out of the messages. Tomorrow, we’ll talk, and I’ll get the chance to clear the air.
For now, the night belongs to me and my grumpy cowboy.
* * *
“Are we done here?”West asks. He’s changed out of his Santa costume and into his usual jeans and plaid button up. All of the families have gone home. We’re the last two people left in the community center since it’s my job to lock up tonight.
“Almost finished,” I answer, scooping up the last of the paper plates. I turn toward the kitchenette. Tonight was a smashing success. We gave out twice as many toys this year and helped a record fifty-five needy families. But the best part was seeing the pride on Mom and Dad’s faces as we pulled everything off. I have a feeling this might just become an annual tradition for me and West.
He slings an arm around my waist, stopping me. His lips are so close to my ear and his breath is so hot. “Are you running from me?”
“Would that put me on the naughty list?” I mean to ask the question to distract him, so I can slip away and finish straightening up the room. But the question comes out flirty and suggestive in a way I didn’t mean.
