Christmas With Sarah

/ CHRISTMAS WITH SARAH / 278

Christmas With Sarah

Janet Miller

Copyright ©2014 Janet Miller

Cover Art Dar Albert

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1940070049

Smashwords Electronic Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. This book was previously published by Cerridwen Press under the same title in 2008.

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www.janetmillerromance.com

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Gaian stories:

The Girl In The Box

Promises To Keep

Beloved Enemy

Beloved Stranger

A Promise Made

Other worlds:

Imperfect Judgment

Dedication

To my mother and sisters, the ladies of my family who have always known how to keep Christmas well.

Trademark Acknowledgment

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Beastie Boys: Beastie Boy Michael Diamond, Adam Horowitz, and Adam Yauch PARTNERSHIP

Disneyland: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Donald Duck: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Grinch: Dr. Seuss Enterprises

Harley-Davidson: H-D Michigan, Inc.

JC Penny: J. C. PENNEY CORPORATION, INC.

Jell-O: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.

Lone Ranger: Classic Media, Inc.

Mercedes: DaimlerChrysler AG CORPORATION

Newman’s Own: No Limit, LLC

Polaroid: Polaroid Corporation

Porsche: Dr. Ing. h.c. F. Porsche Aktiengesellschaft

Stanford: Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University

Star Wars: Lucasfilm Entertainment Company Ltd.

Star Tours: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

UCLA: Regents of the University of California

PROLOGUE

Christmas Eve, three years previous

Greg stared into the sleeping face of his daughter. She is so beautiful. Fine porcelain skin and pink-tinged cheeks and slightly parted lips. Her fair hair lay in curls on the pillow. He reached out to gently fondle one, letting it twist around his fingers. As he watched, a small smile played across the child’s lips.

It was Christmas Eve. Sarah was probably dreaming. There would be visions of sugarplums and images of what Santa would bring her. Before she’d gone to sleep she’d told him what she wanted most for Christmas. She wanted her mother to come home.

The call from the hospital had come an hour ago. Greg stilled, remembering the sympathetic but professionally detached voice on the other end of the line. Mr. Wilcox. I’m sorry, but your wife has passed away.

How do you tell your two-year-old daughter that Mommy wasn’t going to be coming home for Christmas? Or ever?

He dropped the curl and rubbed a weary hand across his face, felt the unaccustomed stubble of his beard. Between taking care of Sarah and running to the hospital to be with Laura, he’d really let himself go these last few weeks.

Greg.

His mother Karen stood in the doorway. After a last look at the sleeping child he left her side, closing the door on his way out. She opened her arms to him and with a small groan he allowed her to take him into her embrace so he could rest his head on her shoulder.

For a moment they stood like that, comfort given and comfort taken. Finally he pulled away and leaned against the wall outside Sarah’s bedroom, rubbing his hand through his untrimmed hair. Another thing left undone—he’d missed his last haircut appointment.

Karen stood near him, watched with concern. I came as soon as I could.

Thanks, Mom. He took a shuddering breath. There’s so much to do. I’m glad you can help out.

Karen smiled sadly. I’ll be here as long as you need me. She hesitated, put a gentle hand on his arm. Greg—you mustn’t blame yourself.

Anger mixed with sorrow swept through him. I wasn’t there for her, Mom. I was always working—and never there.

You have businesses that need you. What you do is important.

Important! He struggled to control his disdain. More important than my wife? I let money become the goal, Mom, not the means to anything. He stopped and his voice grew quieter. All I have, I’d have given in an instant to save her but it was too late for money to help her, we needed time. If I’d paid more attention—

Greg, nothing would have changed, the doctors told you that. It was too late when the tumor was discovered. Maybe if Laura had seen someone sooner…

His anger eased, leaving only a deep weariness. Perhaps you’re right…but that doesn’t change anything. I’m giving notice tomorrow—I can run some things from the house but from now on my family comes first. He stared at the door, his voice a harsh whisper. Sarah has to come first, Mom. She’s all I have left. Taking care of her is all I want.

Karen lowered her gaze and shook her head. Then that’s what you should do.

She hesitated for a moment before continuing.

That is what you should do…for now.

Christmas Eve, two years later

Molly steeled herself for her husband’s reaction.

What do you mean you turned it down? It was a big promotion, Molly. Your stepfather is practically doubling your salary. Adam scowled and struck his best belligerent pose, well-built arms crossing his muscular chest. How could you give up such a great opportunity?

It wasn’t an opportunity, Adam, it was a trap. I didn’t go to art school to take pictures of hairspray cans. I’ll never have the time to paint if I’m stuck all day doing ad work.

So what? It’s not like anyone will pay you to paint pictures of flowers and trees. He roamed their tiny Chicago apartment, pointing to the various finished works on the walls. You’ve been trying to sell these for months with no success. Let’s face it, babe, a great artist you aren’t. You’re just not being practical.

She closed her eyes, tried to keep the hurt from showing. No, she hadn’t sold anything, but at least she’d tried. She’d entered contests, won awards. What about you? You haven’t made any money as a musician in ages. You could get a real job if you wanted to.

His scowl turned ugly. Well, with all the money you’ve brought in, why should I take some half-assed job?

She stared at him in astonishment. Why should I keep mine then?

Why? I’ll tell you why, babe. Because if you don’t I’m walking, this marriage will be over. You’ve got this pipe dream of becoming a real artist and it’s going to take you down. Me, I’m not going with it.

He turned and headed for the door, grabbing his coat from the coat stand nearby.

Molly’s mouth dropped open. Where are you going? It’s Christmas Eve, we were going to my Mom’s. She’s making dinner…

Adam paused by the door. I’m going to the club. I don’t feel like celebrating anything right now. The walls shook as the door slammed shut.

One of the paintings near the door slid on its hook and hung crooked. She straightened it before turning to examine the rest of the apartment.

So empty. No tree with lights and balls in the corner, no decorations at all. Molly sank into the brown plaid upholstery of the couch and wrapped herself in the multi-colored afghan lying across the back.

No decorations. Adam hadn’t let her buy anything to brighten their holidays. After all, he’d argued, they were going to her folks’ place to spend the holiday. Why waste money on a tree?

A sob overcame her. Their first Christmas together, her first since her marriage, and she’d done nothing about it. Her husband controlled everything. He expected her to bring money in but wouldn’t let her do what she loved. Meanwhile he did nothing. He waited for his big break in the music business without doing anything to make it happen.

For a moment she let the tears gather and flow. Their first Christmas…and now, she realized, their last. If all Adam wanted from her was a paycheck and he was willing to divorce her if she didn’t have one, then their marriage was really over.

In any event, she wouldn’t let him or any other man take advantage of her again.

CHAPTER ONE

Greg Wilcox was a man who had everything he could ever want.

Except Molly.

At thirty-four he had a beautiful home, a loving daughter, the respect and admiration of his family, friends and peers. He had his fortune, enough wealth to keep him comfortable for as long as he was likely to live and then some. He was healthy, happy… well, sort of. Yes, he had everything…except a certain blonde-haired siren with emerald-green eyes.

Greg lifted his mug and gingerly sipped his coffee. Steam carried the rich aroma to his nose as the deep nutty flavor spread across his tongue. Ahh, yes, perfect. He studied the russet-colored brew remaining in the cup. He made coffee just as good as they did at the Redwood Diner down in Big Sur. So why didn’t this coffee taste as good as it did when Molly poured it?

He glanced around the kitchen, the golden hardwood cabinets, matching flooring and green granite countertops. The room could have come out of a Homes of the Elite magazine. He’d been told it was perfect. In one corner sat a top-of-the-line coffee maker, the warming plate keeping the brew at exactly the right temperature. For an instant he imagined Molly with the pot in hand, offering him a refill.

Now that would be perfect.

When had this obsession with Molly begun? He and Sarah had taken dozens of trips down to Big Sur over the past several years, stopping at the diner for meals on the way through. But eight months ago he’d noticed the new waitress Hannah had hired. More to the point, she’d noticed him, coming in with Sarah still wearing her miniature motorcycle helmet.

You take your daughter on a motorcycle? The blonde had stared at him in horror. Isn’t that dangerous?

Well, no. Not the way he rode when Sarah was with him. But her open-mouthed concern had thrown him for a loop. Then the way Molly had fussed over the child, making certain Sarah had plenty of chocolate milk to go with her grilled cheese sandwich and extra vanilla ice cream on her cherry pie, all the time eyeing him like he was some sort of child abuser. By the end of that meal Molly had won Sarah’s heart and made a definite impression on him.

Over the course of time—and many, many trips—that impression had migrated through attraction to admiration to something he hadn’t thought he’d feel again.

Greg took another sip and watched his daughter carefully pour milk over her cereal. At four—no wait, make that five—she could almost do it without making a mess.

Almost. Shaking his head, he handed her a paper napkin and watched her clean up the spill. So, Sarah, what shall we do today?

She narrowed her eyes in concern. Don’t you remember, Daddy? You said you’d take me to see Molly for my birthday. Don’t you want to go?

He grimaced at the reminder. Yes, he had said that, hadn’t he? If there was one person more enamored of the beautiful waitress than him, it was his daughter. Sarah, you know how much I enjoy visiting Molly. I just wish she loved our visits as much.

The child played with her cereal. Maybe Molly doesn’t know how much we like her, Daddy. We could take her to dinner and tell her.

Well, I’d love to do that but she won’t go out with us. I’ve asked before.

Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise. Why won’t she, Daddy? Doesn’t she like us?

Well, pumpkin, she likes you at least. Sarah always got the hugs and kisses he wanted for himself. Terrible thing, to be jealous of your own daughter.

She took several bites and chewed slowly, considering the problem, her face intent. Maybe she would if we asked just the right way. Molly might go with us if I asked as my birthday wish. A big spoonful of cereal went into her mouth. Wud dat be a gud idea?

It was all Greg could do to keep from laughing. His little girl was spending far too much time with him—she was getting as devious as he was. She needed a woman around to temper the bad habits he was teaching her. Unfortunately, with her mother gone these last three years he was all Sarah had. Molly was the first woman he’d felt serious about since Laura’s death. Don’t talk with your mouth full.

She took the correction in stride and swallowed before continuing. I said, would that be a good idea, to ask her for my birthday?

He rubbed his unshaved chin. Yes, pumpkin, I think that would be a great idea. It might even work. Finish eating and get dressed, we have a long ride ahead of us.

Okay! Sarah applied her spoon with zealous speed, gobbling up the remains of her breakfast. When she’d cleaned the bottom of her bowl she jumped off the stool. I’ll get ready!

The phone rang as he put their dishes into the dishwasher. Drying his hands, he grabbed the receiver.

Greg, I’m glad I caught you.

Greg inwardly groaned. Hi, Alan. Alan’s voice sounded stressed. Greg could remember a time when he’d felt a similar tension and he grimaced at the reminder. What can I do for you?

Well, Greg, you can take the job I’m offering. Here’s the deal. Alan launched into what had to be a carefully prepared pitch, all the right buzzwords and inducements, even a bit of guilt thrown in for good measure. Reluctantly, Greg had to admire the man’s skill. Patiently he waited until his old friend finished.

Listen, Alan. I understand. I really do. But you know how I stand on this. I’m out of the business now and I just can’t see myself coming back in.

Not even for an old friend? We really need you. Desperation tinged his friend’s voice.

Greg wouldn’t let that sway him. I know you think you do but there are a lot of others who can do this job. I’m semi-retired. I don’t have to work and frankly I don’t want to.

He heard the heartfelt sigh on the other end of the line. Okay, I guess I can’t very well force you into it. But if you change your mind let me know.

Greg promised, knowing he never would. Alan might need a good man but Sarah needed a dad. More to the point, Sarah needed a mother—and he needed a wife.

He had just the blonde in mind for the job.

* * * * *

Between the Monterey Peninsula and the city of Santa Barbara, the coastline consists of open grassland and narrow, sometimes heavily wooded valleys that run to the sea, giving the impression of fingers extending into the ocean. Running along the ends of these fingers is the Pacific Coast Highway, Highway 1 in the federal government numbering scheme.

On one side of the highway is the ocean, deep blue and mysterious, stretching to the horizon. On the other lies a medley of landscapes, fields of sand, open pastures complete with herds of cows and actual forests nestled in sheltering valleys. Sometimes there will be a stand of aromatic eucalyptus trees, dating back to the early twenties, sometimes a collection of tall coastal redwoods, hundreds of years old. At the base of each valley is a stream, water leaving the land to join the ocean.

Occasionally the highway leads inland for a while, where the land levels out and a more heavily wooded area can exist. One of these places is the town of Big Sur, about an hour south of Monterey. A small town, it gets much of its business from the daily and weekend flow of tourists who travel there to relax in the natural splendor of its surrounding forest. Over the years small hotels, art galleries and restaurants have sprung up along the highway to accommodate those wandering souls.

One such restaurant was the Redwood Diner, an unprepossessing structure of wood mixed with stone which had served local residents and tourists alike for the past fifty years. Its specialties were hamburgers, pancakes and what was purported to be the best coffee in the state.

Inside the restaurant, the front door opened, the bell on the door signaling a new customer. There was the quick patter of a child’s feet followed by the cry, Molly!

Sarah’s bright voice penetrated the clatter of dishes and the soft murmur of the noontime crowd. With a start, Molly Anders put down her coffeepot and watched the little girl dodge around the chairs and tables that cluttered the floor of the diner, the other patrons smiling indulgently at the child’s progress. Beaming her own welcome, Molly bent her jean and plaid shirt-clad frame as Sarah launched herself into her welcoming arms.

Sarah, what a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you today. You were just here last weekend.

I know, but Daddy said I could have anything I wanted for my birthday and I wanted to see you.

Molly smoothed the child’s silky hair from her face, exposing an infectious grin as well as a face full of dust. Your birthday. How old are you?

I’m five now. My birthday was yesterday. I had a cake and candles and everything.

Suddenly Molly wished she could have been there for Sarah’s birthday party. It was funny how a child could get into your heart so quickly. She’d fallen for Sarah the first time she’d seen her.

Well, congratulations, honey. It’s nice you wanted to visit me. She hoisted the child onto a stool at the counter. So let’s get the dirt off you. She pulled the washcloth she kept behind the counter just for Sarah’s face. She wet it at the sink and the child sat perfectly still as Molly carefully wiped the road grime away. There we go, good as new.

Sarah threw her arms around Molly’s neck and nuzzled her on the cheek. Thanks, Molly. As always, her heart melted under the little girl’s spell.

Hey, Molly. Greg’s deep voice announced his arrival. He smiled his lazy grin, his face as dirty as his daughter’s. I could use a clean-up. You want to do me too?

Molly managed to partially suppress the thrill he always gave her. As indifferently as she could manage she handed him the damp cloth, ignoring how much faster her heart was beating. Here, help yourself.

She watched him clean his face, still keeping that grin firmly in place. Even unshaven Greg was a gorgeous man. His blue eyes matched his daughter’s and when they sat side by side their eyes looked like four bright blue gems all in a row.

Sarah must’ve gotten her hair from her mother though. His dark hair hung straight past his shoulders while the little girl’s fell in soft cream-colored curls like a cloud around her face.

But if his face wasn’t enough to make a woman feel faint, the rest of him was worse. Tight black leather pants clung to his thighs and he wore his leather jacket open, revealing a form-fitting t-shirt.

Darn it, why does such a good-looking man have to be so useless?

So, beautiful, clean enough? The way you’re staring I must look pretty good. He winked and handed the cloth to her.

Her cheeks heated up. Greg always made her feel like a girl just out of convent school instead of a fully grown—and recently divorced—woman. Frustrated, Molly threw the cloth into the sink.

Sarah and I want to know when you’re going to take a ride with us?

Back to that, was he? Greg had been trying to coax her onto his bike since the first time the pair had come by Big Sur’s Redwood Diner. Greg rode a big bike, a Harley-Davidson in basic black. Only the presence of the sidecar Sarah rode in made it any different from the thousands of cycles running along Highway 1.

Greg, I’m never going to get on that thing with you. You know how much I hate motorcycles. I still can’t believe you take Sarah on it.

Now I’ve told you, it’s perfectly safe. The sidecar keeps us stable and we’re as safe as in a car. In fact, given the state of your death-mobile, I’d say we’re safer than you are.

Her cheeks began to blaze. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my van. Just because it’s a bit old—

It isn’t that your pitiful excuse for a vehicle is old. Old is fine, if it’s maintained. But with your van the brakes are shot, the engine leaks oil, you need new tires and I can hear it going putt-putt-putt every time you drive it. He did a commendable imitation of her van’s current noise, eliciting a giggle from his daughter. I’m surprised the poor thing hasn’t just died.

She sighed. Yes, her van wasn’t in the best condition but she didn’t have the money to fix it, not now. She watched Greg settle on the stool next to Sarah. Don’t you have a job or something? she asked. Why is it you don’t have to work during the week?

A lazy grin was her answer. Actually, I’m between jobs now.

And what do you do when you are working?

His grin widened. Oh, this and that. Boring stuff. He leaned over to his daughter. Sarah, you want to listen to boring stuff?

No, Daddy! the child chirped as if on cue. She grinned at Molly too. Two pairs of sapphire eyes gleamed in unison.

Since I was free, Greg continued, we decided to invite you to dinner, being that it’s Sarah’s birthday.

Her mood lit up like a Christmas tree. Dinner with Sarah? Oh sure, honey. I’ll be happy to eat with you.

Greg beamed. Thanks, Molly.

Molly rolled her eyes. I was speaking to Sarah.

The grin didn’t falter. Sure you were. Anyway, Sarah and I will check into the motel and meet you at the Pizza Palace around seven. Unless you want me to pick you up on the bike? One hopeful eyebrow rose.

She shook her head. I’ll meet you there.

Later, she watched through the diner window as Greg led Sarah to the bike, holding her hand in the busy parking lot. Before lifting her into the sidecar he held up one hand and she slapped it, a happy grin on the child’s face.

Hmm, wonder what they’re high-fiving each other about? The bike drove off in a cloud of dust, headed for the motel.

Hey, Molly-baby, if you’re through mooning after that motorcycle jockey I could use a refill, a male voice called.

She swallowed a groan. Turning, she found Jack Carter offering his coffee cup, an amused smirk on his face. Grabbing the pot, she filled the proffered cup.

Jack was one of the successful members in the intimate Big Sur artist community, something readily apparent from his sleek red Porsche parked in the diner parking lot. She envied his achievements, if not the car.

I was not ‘mooning’ after anyone.

Didn’t I hear you say you were meeting them for dinner? Jack looked annoyed. How many times have I asked you out, only to get shot down? What does that guy have that I don’t?

Other than a five-year-old and a gorgeous body? Actually, the latter wasn’t precisely fair, after all Jack was almost as good-looking as Greg in a blond, superstar kind of way.

He had artistic success too. While her paintings languished his pictures of fantasy sea mammals sold readily. On more than