The hall door squeaked.
The older blonde winced. “That hinge needs oil. Tucker, why don’t you see about it?”
The young man’s shrug was indifferent but appealing, as if he’d help if he could but that would take effort and the fire was too entrancing, the conversation too amusing. “I do enough oiling on the ranch, auntie.”
The middle-aged blonde wriggled unhappily. “Don’t call me auntie. It makes me sound like a hillbilly with missing teeth.”
He grinned. “Sorry, Jake. Forever young, that’s our revered aunt. I forgot myself in the emotion of the moment, confronting the possibility of a motored bed and the joys of staying in a glass igloo. Glass sounds more appealing than ice. Isn’t that how igloos are customarily made, with big chunks of ice?” His eyes gleamed with mirth. “Who would have thought as we gathered for Harrison’s birthday that he would share this amazing tidbit of knowledge with us. Obviously, Harrison, you are a connoisseur of Christmas lore. Tell us, what are the Christmas customs in Hawaii?”
Harrison grinned. “You pulled the wrong string, Tucker. I am a walking encyclopedia of Christmas trivia. I always try to learn something new for each birthday. In Hawaii, Santa Claus arrives on a bright red outrigger.”
“Man, that sounds like my idea of Christmas.” Tucker looked toward the door. “Hey, Peg, Gina. What fascinating tidbits about Santa can you share? Me, I like the idea of wassail and lots of it.” He reached out, gripped a poker, and jabbed at a log. Sparks whirled upward.
I am not a fan of apple cider laced with sweet juices, but I was very hungry. I hovered near the buffet. If I were adroit…I glanced around the room. Every eye was on Peg. Though it lacked manners, I decided to forgo a plate. I could easily carry several chunks of cheese and some strawberries and crackers in my hand. I moved fast and no one noticed the tidbits in the air. I dropped far enough behind the sofa that I could eat without notice but still see everyone.
Peg stood stiffly by the opened doors. “I have exciting news.” Her voice was brisk but her face looked strained. The calico cat walked purposefully toward the fireplace and settled on a green silk cushion and began to groom.
The strawberries were succulent. I glanced toward the small bowl of sour cream on the sideboard. That would have been nice, but I wasn’t trying to indulge myself. I was simply building up strength. The crackers snapped as I munched. Fortunately the fire crackled at the same time. Too soon my snack was gone. I was tempted to forage again for food, but instead settled on an empty settee.
Gina skirted around Peg, walked toward the buffet. “We have company.” Her tone was neutral. She took a plate, spread pate on several crackers.
Tucker looked eager. “A gorgeous redhead maybe?”
Startled, I looked down. Not a trace of my sweater or slacks was visible. I didn’t think I’d appeared. Not, of course, that I see myself as gorgeous. Absolutely not. Truly, I was thinking only in terms of being redheaded. I am definitely redheaded. Flaming copper, to be precise. I breathed a sigh of relief and brushed back a loose curl.
“No such luck for you, bud,” Gina muttered. She pulled an ottoman closer to the fire. She looked at Tucker, legs outstretched from the gilt chair. “Don’t hog the warmth, bro.” She balanced the plate on her lap.
Peg stood a few feet inside the door. She clasped her hands as she spoke. “A little boy arrived here tonight. There was a note with him. He’s Mitch’s son, Keith. Susan told us to put him in the blue room.”
The hiss and crackle of the fire was loud and distinct in sudden silence. No one moved or spoke.
I looked around the room.
Jake’s big blue eyes stared blankly at Peg. A shaky hand clasped at a strand of pearls. She looked like a good- natured pig confronted with an unfathomable reality, an alligator in the kitchen or a crevasse that yawned without warning.
The lanky young man still bent toward the fire, the poker gripped in his hand. The face turned toward Peg was immobile, dark eyebrows slashed over light brown eyes, bony features rigid.
Red-faced Harrison’s bonhomie drained away. He stared, sandy brows drawing down in a frown.
His wife pushed dark-rimmed glasses higher on her nose, looking as alert as a prairie dog poking out of a burrow and sighting a predatory badger.
Gina stared into the fire, her narrow face somber, her gaze mournful. The crackers on her plate remained untouched.
Peg’s smile was hopeful though her eyes were anxious. “Isn’t this great news? Christmas will be special this year.”
Jake’s head jerked toward the hallway. Her face was suddenly blanched. Her lips quivered. “Susan isn’t well.” Breathing heavily, she came to her feet. “I’ll go and see. This is absurd. Who brought this child? He can’t stay here. Whoever brought him must take him where he lives.”
Peg lifted a hand. “Susan’s gone to bed. She doesn’t want to see anyone now. We don’t know who brought him. He was left on the porch with a note that says Mitch is his father. There’s a birth certificate that lists Mitch as his father.”
Jake held to the back of a chair. “There has to be some mistake.”
Tucker’s face relaxed. He scratched at his bristly chin. “Don’t get in a swivet, Jake. He’s either Mitch’s boy or he isn’t. Susan will find out. Well”—his expression was bemused—“you can’t say we aren’t starting off the holidays with a bang.” He glanced at Gina. “What do you think, sis?”
“We didn’t know what happened to Mitch after he ran away.” Her voice was low and sorrowful. “I guess now we’ll find out.”
Harrison looked like a man whose boat had sprung a leak and there’s no land in sight. “If it’s true”—his words were reluctant—“it would be a great happiness for Susan. Still, this unannounced arrival seems suspicious to me. We may have to step in and protect Susan since she isn’t well.”
His wife lifted a hand as if warning him. “Susan can deal with anything, sick or well. And”—her eyes were
