Miracle Under The Mistletoe (The Foster Brothers #1) Read online

  “You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “It won’t be nearly as horrible as you think.”

  Hopefully, anyway. She inhaled a quick breath and raised her fist to knock, but paused when her gaze landed on the cutout, cartoonlike turkey hanging in the window.

  In a split second, Cody’s voice whisked through her mind. Why is he wearing a pilgrim hat, Mommy? Turkeys can’t wear hats.

  “Because he’s only a pretend turkey, and pretend turkeys can wear anything they like,” she’d answered on that long-ago morning. Thanksgiving morning, she recalled now. The last holiday she’d spent with her child. Her stomach dipped again and bile coated her throat. This was going to be a hell of a lot harder than she’d thought. She hadn’t considered all the memories that being in this house would bring to the surface.

  Pressing her lips together tightly, as if that alone would keep her heartache at bay, she held herself firm and rapped on the door. Her mother-in-law swung it open less than a minute later with a wide smile. A smile that quickly disappeared under the mask of stunned surprise.

  Karen Foster was still a trim, petite woman whose face showed the signs of a well-lived life. Laugh lines crinkled around her mouth and eyes. Her shoulder-length, dark blond hair was tied away from her face, and other than a few extra strands of silver at her temples, she looked remarkably unchanged. That, along with the turkey hanging in the window, gave Olivia a strange sense of déjà vu.

  Karen’s brown eyes bore into Olivia. She wiped her hands on the dish towel she held, before tipping her head in greeting. “Olivia,” she said in a coolly modulated voice. A voice, by the way, that Olivia had never before heard coming from her mother-in-law. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Well, duh. Olivia fought the urge to fidget, and said, “I know. I should have called to…to warn you, but I was worried you might not want to see me.”

  Karen tucked the dish towel into the waistband of her pink-and-green-flowered apron. She twisted her fingers together, and a silent battle shone brightly in the depths of her eyes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she said, “You are always welcome in this home, Olivia Foster. Nothing that has happened will change that you remain a part of this family. But—” she exhaled a noisy sigh “—that doesn’t mean I’m entirely happy with you, either.”

  “I know.” The need to run back to her car came on strong, but she held her ground. “I—I understand. I was hoping we could talk.”

  “I was in the middle of rolling out pie dough.” Karen stepped backward and gestured for Olivia to come in. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

  With a nod, Olivia forced her shaky legs to move and entered the wood-floored foyer. At least her mother-in-law hadn’t slammed the door in her face. She kept her vision on Karen’s straight-as-an-arrow back as she followed her through the living and dining room, purposely avoiding looking at the family portraits dotting the shelves and walls. The kitchen sat in the rear of the house, overlooking the tree-filled back and side yards with long, narrow windows.

  Karen headed directly for the butcher-block island in the middle of the L-shaped room and picked up her flour-dusted rolling pin. Her gaze settling on her hands, she said, “There’s coffee made, and plenty of juice and sodas in the fridge if you’re thirsty. And if you’ve a mind to help, those apples could use chopping.”

  “On it,” Olivia said, slipping into her helpful daughter-in-law mode. She grabbed the bowl of peeled and cored apples, dumped the lemon-juice wash in the sink, and then positioned herself in front of the cutting board on the other side of Karen. Within a few minutes, the repetitive motion of slicing combined with the satisfying sound of the knife thunking against the wood-grained board relaxed the tension tightening her muscles.

  Silence enveloped the room, each woman involved in their task. That was okay. Olivia used the time to think. There were two conversations that needed to happen here, and she hadn’t found the words to begin either of them. Karen must have felt the same, as she seemed content to quietly roll and form dough, filling two pie tins before turning to wash her hands at the sink.

  “Those apples about ready?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Other than whatever magic you mix them with to make the filling, yes.” Olivia finished cutting the last apple and used the knife to swoop the chunks into the bowl. “How…how have you been? How’s John?”

  “The same as always, I expect.” Karen stood steady, her back to Olivia. “How are you?”

  “Fine…I’m fine. Where…uh…where is John? He’s retired now, right?” Olivia asked, knowing full well that her father-in-law had retired months earlier, but desperately trying to change the topic. “Is he here?” If at all possible, she’d prefer to say her apologies all at once.

  “Jace phoned Sunday night asking for help with his renovation. John’s been there all day.” Karen’s spine stiffened slightly. “He’ll be a few more hours, I’d guess.” She turned off the water, dried her hands, and then pivoted to face Olivia. “How are you, Olivia?” she asked again.

  “Fine,” Olivia repeated in a firm voice. “You…ah…must miss him. John, I mean.”

  “We love each other, but we’re not meant to spend every minute of every day together. No couple is. But he’ll be home tonight. Time apart is good, but we’re stronger when we come together again.” She leveraged her gaze with Olivia’s. “You could say the same for family.”

  Okay, then. Her tough-as-nails mother-in-law was not going to be derailed. Olivia pulled the frayed strands of her courage together and said, “I know I’ve avoided you and John. Jace, too. And Seth, the few times he’s been home. But I hope you can understand that I did what I had to do…the only thing I could do.”

  “Avoided us? Is that what you’re calling it?” Temper flashed, but Karen quickly masked it. “You didn’t only avoid us, Olivia. You ignored us. You cut us out of your life as if we didn’t exist. As if we didn’t matter.”

  Olivia swallowed past the thickness choking her windpipe. “One day I was Cody’s mother. The next day, I wasn’t. I— Knowing who I am if I’m not his mother hasn’t been easy to figure out. And being around people who were a part of that other life…it was just too hard.”

  Karen’s head reeled back as if she’d been struck, and unshed tears sparkled in her eyes. “It was hard for us, too. The day Cody was born was one of the happiest of my life. Of John’s. We loved that boy, Olivia. His death shredded our hearts.” A tear came loose and dripped down her cheek. “It nearly crippled Grady. And your…avoidance nearly destroyed him once and for all.”

  Okay, she was angry. Olivia hadn’t expected anything less. “I did what I had to do,” she repeated. What she still had to do. “But I never meant to cause more pain.”

  “You did wrong,” Karen said. “I understand that you were hurting, but we all were. Leaning on my family, letting them lean on me, is the only way I’ve gotten through. But you turned us all away, Olivia. Even your husband.”

  And that, Olivia knew, was what really bothered Karen. “I’m not like you.” Olivia’s chest tightened with grief, with the need to explain something that her mother-in-law would never understand. “He was my son. I’m not disputing your love for Cody, or your pain, but Karen…he was my son. My child. I’ve needed time—time alone—to heal. My needs are different than yours, than Grady’s. But no one seems to get that.”

  “Grady’s child, too. My grandson. All of us lost him, Olivia. You weren’t alone in that. You chose to be alone.” Karen’s mouth straightened into a thin line. She started to speak again, but instead, grabbed the canister of sugar and a measuring cup.

  Olivia clamped her mouth shut against the want to fill the uncomfortable silence. What else could she say, anyway? Karen dumped measured sugar into an empty bowl, her motions quick and efficient. Cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, flour, lemon juice and apple jelly swiftly followed. The tension in the air increased, pressing in around Olivia, making it difficult to breathe, to think.

  When the quiet became
too overpowering, she said, “I am sorry for hurting you. That was never my intention. I’ve mostly focused on getting through the days.”

  Karen gave a short, tight nod before saying, “I may not agree with the path you’ve chosen, but I accept your apology.” With a wooden spoon, she swirled the ingredients together to make a paste, and then dumped the apples into the mix.

  “Okay. Good. Thank you for hearing me out. I know it doesn’t change the past, but—”

  “Though, if you had tried, you might have found that we could have helped each other. You say that being with people who were a part of your life with Cody made things worse, but child, don’t you realize that our love for Cody—for you—might have given you strength? Comfort? Family is there through the good and the bad.” Karen pointed the wooden spoon at Olivia. “That’s what being a part of a family—this family—is all about. The same can be said about a marriage.”

  Ouch. “I haven’t broken my vows, Karen. I’ve done the best I can.” Even as she said the words, Olivia’s heart and soul knew they were a lie. When she’d promised for better or for worse, through sickness and through health, she’d meant it. Her love for Grady had been so wondrous, so shiny and new and huge, that she’d never thought anything bad would touch them. And really, who ever entered a marriage believing tragedy would strike?

  But it had, and as she’d said a million times already, everything had changed.

  “Have you, Olivia?” Karen asked, her voice just this side of sharp. But then, before Olivia could answer, Karen said, “Listen to me. I have all these pent-up emotions, and the words are spilling out of my mouth before I can think them through. But what I really want to say is that I’m happy to see you. The rest we can work out, bit by bit, now that you’re ready.”

  Oh, God. Guilt struck Olivia as fast as any lightning bolt could. Of course Karen would think Olivia’s sudden appearance meant a reconciliation. Or, at least, a return to some semblance of what used to be. “I’ve asked Grady for a divorce, Karen. You should know that.”

  Color drained from her mother-in-law’s face. “I see. Silly for me to think… Is that why you’re here? To tell me you’re divorcing my son?”

  “I wanted to apologize. But yes, I also wanted to… Well, stand here and explain myself. I assumed you knew, that Grady had already told you.”

  Again, Karen focused on her pies, filling one tin and then the other with the apple mixture. Apparently, Olivia wasn’t the only one who needed busywork to help clear her mind. After a few minutes, Karen said, “He hasn’t said a word. But then, he barely talks about you unless we ask.” She looked up, pain and sadness and pity in her expression. “Divorce is so final. Are you sure?”

  Well, that was the ten-million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “Yes.”

  “And what does my son have to say about this?”

  Olivia paced the kitchen, finding it impossible to stand still any longer. “He argued with me. But he eventually gave in and agreed. I thought the matter was settled.”

  A glimmer of humor-tinged relief, so slight that Olivia almost missed it, appeared in Karen’s eyes. “I take it he’s had a change of heart?”

  “Yes. He talked me into an agreement that has made me very uncomfortable.” Olivia stopped pacing and faced her mother-in-law. “He threatened to move back into the house if I didn’t agree!”

  “I see.” Karen’s lips twitched in an almost-grin. “And what would this agreement entail?”

  “Four dates and six weeks before moving ahead with the divorce.” Olivia approached her mother-in-law, but stopped just shy of arm reach. Mentally crossing her fingers, she asked, “Has he mentioned any of this to you?”

  “No, but Grady wouldn’t. As I said, he’s very private in what he shares about you.”

  Somehow, this surprised Olivia. She’d thought Grady would’ve spilled the beans on everything. And there went the hope of getting any info out of Karen. “Look, this whole thing makes me nervous. I don’t want to do this. He…tricked me. But I don’t plan on these dates changing anything.” And then, in a firmer voice, she said, “They won’t change anything.”

  This time, Karen didn’t bother to hide her smile. This time, the twinkle in her eyes was bright and true and had nothing to do with grief. “Well, then I expect you have nothing to worry about.”

  Yeah. Right.

  Grady parked his truck in the street in front of his parents’ house and whistled an upbeat tune. As the owner of Foster’s Auto Concepts, he spent his days reconstructing and refinishing high-end luxury cars, both new and vintage. He did a fair amount of work on classic muscle cars, as well. And when the opportunity arose, he bought and sold both varieties. Mostly, though, he loved getting his hands dirty to restore beautiful cars to their former glory.

  It was good work. It paid the bills, but more than that, his job fulfilled him on a bone-deep level. What else could a man want from his work? Exiting the truck, he walked around to the front and patted the hood, much like one might pat a beloved pet. His clients thought it odd that he chose to drive a standard pickup, rather than any one of the beauties he’d worked so hard to restore, but he preferred the simplicity of his truck for everyday life.

  Separate compartments, he thought, as he meandered up the driveway. Work offered an escape from the structure and emptiness of his day-to-day. Besides, to his way of thinking, it would be a disservice to a vintage Jaguar, a souped-up Charger or a top-of-the-line Corvette to haul him to the shop and back home every day. Or even stored and taken out a few months each year when the weather was good. He supposed he was just too practical, but he damn well appreciated his less-practical customers.

  The combination of convincing his wife to delay the divorce and spending the past few days working on a sweet ’59 Eldorado had left him in a fine mood. There were few things in life quite as satisfying as a solid eight hours of labor followed up by a well-cooked meal surrounded by family. These Tuesday dinners used to be the norm, but lately, he’d skipped more of them than he’d attended.

  Mostly because of Olivia. For once, he had something concrete to share when his folks asked about her. And while he figured they’d be pleased to hear they’d be seeing her soon, he also wanted to give them advance notice. There were far too many unresolved emotions involved to chance an unannounced visit. Especially on Thanksgiving Day, which was his plan for their second date.

  But yes, today felt like a good day. A day where anything could happen, and hell, how long had it been since he’d felt that way? His whistling stopped midnote when his eyes landed on the black Civic coupe parked neatly in the driveway. Olivia’s?

  He blinked. Yep, it was definitely his wife’s car. He barely had time to process the strangeness of that when the front door opened. The air carried his mother’s voice, and then Olivia’s, but not their actual words.

  Well, hell. The two most important women in his life had spent how many hours together? What was said? Making a split-second decision, he stepped to the side and took cover next to the car. Olivia choosing today to visit his folks didn’t bode well. Was she digging for ammunition to get herself out of their deal? It didn’t sound like something she’d do, but he’d pushed her hard. Maybe too hard.

  Smothering a curse, he dropped to a crouch and shuffled to the front of the car, intending to get within ear-shot of their conversation. He doubted his all-about-family mom would side with his wife, but stranger things had happened. And it never hurt to be sure.

  “It’s too bad John isn’t home yet,” Mom said to Olivia. “He’d be so pleased to see you.”

  Thank God she wasn’t tearing Olivia to shreds. Grady had worried about that, even knowing how much she loved his wife. Karen Foster had the protective streak of a mama bear when it came to her sons, and she had been quite clear in her disapproval of Olivia’s coping measures. The last thing he needed was for Mom’s good intentions to send his wife running back to her hidey-hole.

  “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” his mom asked, her
voice breaking into his thoughts. “I’ve made plenty.”

  He leaned in closer, hoping to hear Olivia’s response. Unfortunately, she spoke low enough that he couldn’t. Tightening his body against the side of the car, he shuffled forward a few more inches.

  “Idiot,” he whispered to himself.

  A smart man would walk right up to his mother and his wife and announce his presence. A smart man wouldn’t skulk around, hiding behind his wife’s car. A compact car, no less.

  But he didn’t know what had gone on between them in that house. If he still had to play dirty with Olivia, having his mother in hearing distance was a recipe for disaster. He had a healthy respect for his mother, and she wouldn’t approve of his coping methods any better than she did Olivia’s.

  So he waited them out. Soft words were spoken, some he heard and others he didn’t. His calves were starting to ache when the front door closed with a thud. He stood quickly and cleared his throat as Olivia came down the front steps. Waved his hand in greeting.

  She startled in surprise. For half of a glorious second, a flash of emotion crossed her features, flushing her cheeks pink and deepening the blue in her eyes to a dark sapphire. God, she was glorious. He wanted to walk forward and pull her into his arms. A heartbeat later, she’d assumed the cool facade she normally wore around him. He hated that…the way she’d close herself off and pretend he was a stranger.

  “Grady.” Stopping about five feet from him, she tightened her jacket belt and then slipped her hands into her pockets. “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “It’s Tuesday.”

  “Yes,” she fired back, the pink instantly returning to her cheeks. “And yesterday was Monday and tomorrow is Wednesday. Now that we’ve cleared that up, what are you doing here, as in hiding out next to my car?” Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Were you eavesdropping?”