intimidated by the gruffness.
“Would you keep it down, Phillip!” she hollered back as she hurried toward the kitchen, the dogs on her heels. “I swear you’re goin’ as deaf as Moses Tate.”
“I’m not deaf, woman,” her father said, “I’m starvin’. When will that turkey be done?” There was a creak of the oven door, followed by a sharp slap.
“Oh, no you don’t, Phillip James Henderson,” Laverne scolded. “You’re not gettin’ a taste until it’s finished.”
“Blame ornery woman,” her father huffed, but with more humor than anger. “Well, if I’m not gonna get any turkey, I might as well get me some sugar.”
In the silence that followed, Sam stared at the doorway and tried to reconcile the happy, loving man in the kitchen with the angry, bitter father of her youth.
It proved impossible.
Pulling off the bow, she tossed it to the coffee table and was halfway to the door when her father’s voice stopped her.
“Samantha?”
She turned. Unlike the house, Phillip Henderson had changed a great deal. His hair was completely gray, and he was almost as chubby as his wife. Sam had to admit that the added weight looked good on him. It softened his features and made him seem more approachable. Or maybe it was the smile on his face. A smile that had been missing for much of her childhood.
Not knowing what to do, Sam held up her hands. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
They stared at each other for a few moments until Laverne prodded.
“Well, go on, Phillip. Hug the girl.”
Her father hesitated only a moment before taking the three steps necessary to pull her into his arms. It was awkward. Sam didn’t pull away; nor did she sink into the broad chest that smelled like Old Spice and chewing tobacco. She just stiffened up and waited for it to be over so things could go back to normal. But when her father finally pulled back, he didn’t appear normal. He appeared to be crying.
And Laverne wasn’t far behind him.
“I’ll just let you two chat,” she sniffed before heading back to the kitchen.
Once she was gone, Sam moved over to the partially decorated tree so she wouldn’t have to look at the man she no longer recognized. She had just leaned closer to examine a clay horse ornament when he finally spoke.
“I wrote you some letters.”
Her hand stilled on the bumpy horse’s mane. “I didn’t get them.”
“Because I never mailed them. I never could get the words right.”
Sam turned to find him standing close behind her. His eyes still glittered with tears, but his voice was strong.
“You made that one in fifth grade.” He nodded at the horse ornament. “I always refer to that year as the year of the horse. Every drawing, every library book, and every gift you asked for-or gave-always had to do with horses.” He reached down and lifted another ornament from the box on the table. His callused fingers gently removed the cotton before lifting a red-glitter pinecone. “Now, this one you made in first grade. It started losing its glitter the second year, which was why your mama wrapped it in cotton from then on.”
Sam hadn’t remembered that, and she wondered how he had. He went on to describe every ornament she’d ever made, recounting the year and details that she’d long forgotten.
“This one you and Marcy made.” He pulled out a colorful beaded wreath. “First time you’d ever worked on something together without fightin’.”
Sam couldn’t help the words that spilled from her mouth. “Unlike you and mama, who could never do anything without fighting.”
A sad smile played around his mouth as he hung the ornament on the tree. When he didn’t say anything, she continued with the questions that had eaten her up over the years.
“I realize people get divorced when they discover they don’t love each other anymore, but what I don’t understand is why you waited so long. Why did you continue to put your children through that?”
A long sigh escaped his lips, and he walked to the recliner and sat down. The Lab came wandering back in, and her father ran a hand over the dog’s shiny coat. “Because, believe it or not, I love your mama. And will love her until the day I die. It just took us a while to figure out that sometimes you can love someone and still not be able to live with them.”
“Geez, Daddy.” Sam couldn’t keep the sarcasm, or pain, from her voice. “I wish you’d figured that out before you had kids.”
Her father’s gaze snapped up, and he pointed a finger. “Don’t you even think it, Sam Louise. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but havin’ you and Marcy aren’t among them. Now, I realize you aren’t goin’ to forgive me anytime soon, and I guess I’ll have to live with that. But remember that forgiveness is like a gift-the receiver’s not the only one who benefits. And if you can’t see fit to forgive me, I wish you’d forgive your mama. She’s been real upset about you not replyin’ to her letters.”
Sam stared at him. “You talk to Mama?”
“About every week.”
“Without fighting?”
He laughed. “As strange as it may seem, your mama and I are better friends than we ever were husband and wife.”
“Hey, you two.” Laverne came back into the room carrying a tray filled with eggnog and gingerbread cookies. She set it on the coffee table and handed Sam the Santa mug she’d used as a child. “Marcy should be here any minute. So let’s turn up the music and finish decoratin’ that tree. But first I thought we’d have ourselves a little toast.” After handing Sam’s daddy a mug, she lifted her own. “Here’s to new beginnin’s.”
A part of Sam didn’t want to toast, or decorate a tree, or eat turkey dinner in a house filled with memories of her dysfunctional family. But there was another part of her-the part that had been so lonely the last seven years- that wanted to believe that people could change. That no one was perfect. And time might actually heal all wounds. And maybe those were the truths she needed to embrace this Christmas Eve while standing next to a father she’d yet to forgive and a stepmother who looked like a redheaded Mrs. Claus.
Sam lifted her Santa mug. “To new beginnings.”
Chapter Three
“You want to what?” Ethan stared at his parents as if they had lost their minds. It was a possibility. Winter on a farm could make people a little stir-crazy. Ever since returning from town, Ethan had felt like he’d swallowed a bucket of bees. Of course, that had more to do with Sam Henderson than two hundred acres of farmland.
His mother reached out and patted his hand, which rested on the linen tablecloth his great-great-grandmother had brought over from Germany. “I know this is a shock, Ethan, but it’s not like we’re fallin’ off the face of the earth. We’re just moving to South Padre Island.”
“Just?” Ethan pulled his hand out from under hers and got up from the table, pacing back and forth. “What about the farm? The animals? The folks of Bramble?” He turned and stared at his parents. “Me?”
The weathered skin around his father’s green eyes scrunched up. “You’re thirty years old, boy. You still scared of the dark?”
His mother jumped back in. “Of course he’s not scared of the dark.” She shot Ethan a skeptical look before addressing her husband. “I told you we shouldn’t just drop the news on him, Jeb-especially on Christmas Eve.”
“Hell.” His father got up from his chair. “I thought the boy would be excited to finally get rid of us. I figured that was why he’d never married or brought a girl home besides that cute little Sam Henderson.” He studied Ethan again. “You ain’t one of them…”
“No!” The word came out louder than Ethan intended, and he quickly tacked on a “sir.”
