Christmas Homecoming. Lenora Worth

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СКАЧАТЬ appreciate that, at least. And I hope to see you again.”

      She didn’t respond in words, but she did smile. It was a bittersweet smile, as if to say, “Sure, we’ll see each other again, but that’s about it.”

      It was obvious they were from two very different worlds. It was also obvious that Jeremy had too much baggage surrounding him to let a nice woman like Gabriela Valencia get involved in his problems. She’d told him everything he needed to know. She was a working mother and a widow. She was a faithful churchgoer who didn’t want a man like him in her life. She was nice, pretty, polite, and way out of the realm of possibilities, because Jeremy wasn’t ready for anything near serious with a woman, and because this particular woman’s whole attitude toward him had changed now that she knew he was a Hamilton, or rather, now that she had found out he was the Hamilton.

      The one everyone was talking about, the one everyone was feeling sorry for. He could certainly understand her hesitancy and her doubt. He had too much to get straight in his personal life before he plunged into any kind of relationship.

      That much was apparent.

      But something else was also apparent to Jeremy. Gabi Valencia represented the beautifully chaotic, homey existence he’d somehow lost out on, the kind of life he’d only dreamed about. But he’d always put that kind of life on hold, all for the sake of Hamilton Media. Those days were over, maybe for good.

      For the first time in months, Jeremy had something, someone, other than himself and his family to focus on. He liked Gabi. He was intrigued by her, he was interested in her. And he really did hope to see her again. Very soon.

      Chapter Three

      Bright and early Monday morning, Jeremy stood in front of the Hamilton Media building, memories floating through his mind with the same drifting rhythm as the puffy clouds moving through the sky over Main Street.

      Standing here now, he recalled in vivid detail the first time his father had brought him to this building. Jeremy must have been around five or so, and for months, he’d been begging Wallace to take him to the newspaper office. Wallace had always had an excuse.

      “You’ll get in the way, son.”

      “I’m too busy today, son. Maybe another time.”

      Finally, one morning at the breakfast table, her teacup in hand, his mother had gently pleaded with Wallace to take Jeremy to work.

      “Show our son what you do all day, darling. Show him the legacy of Hamilton Media. After all, it’ll all be his someday.”

      “His—and his brother’s and sister’s, too,” Wallace had replied, his eyes still on his paper.

      There had only been three Hamilton children then—Jeremy, Tim and tiny baby Amy. The twins and Melissa hadn’t even been born. But they’d all learned at very early ages about the Hamilton legacy, about how Jeremy’s namesake Jeremiah had started the Davis Landing Dispatch in the 1920s and had carried it through both the Depression and the Second World War. It was just assumed that every Hamilton child would be a part of this legacy.

      At such a young age, however, Jeremy hadn’t been sure just what a legacy was, but he’d been very sure that his father didn’t want to take him to the office that day. He could still remember the whispered words between his parents, his father seeming stubborn and defiant, his mother, as always, gentle and persuasive. Finally, Wallace had given in, perhaps because his father had one soft spot and that was his wife.

      Jeremy closed his eyes now, remembering the smells that had hit him when he’d entered the revolving doors to the lobby with his father. The aged, musty scents of antiques and old leather had mingled with the more modern smells of copier ink, new carpet and steel and plastic cubicles.

      Then he’d heard the sounds: The ringing of many different telephones, the click-click of typewriters, and the easy, chaotic banter of reporters and editors had all assaulted Jeremy at once. It was an adrenaline rush that he’d never forgotten.

      From the time he’d entered the building, the stain of printer’s ink had settled over Jeremy like a mantle. He’d figured out what the word legacy must mean. It meant power. He’d seen that as his father hurried to the old, rickety elevator and headed to his plush office on the third floor. He’d felt that when Wallace barked orders and had people scurrying to do his bidding, from his prim secretary bringing him fresh coffee and the Wall Street Journal, to the nervous staffers who knocked on his door bringing him many questions. Everything here flowed through Wallace Hamilton. Jeremy had been in awe of that.

      And he’d also clung to his father’s every word, since Wallace rarely had time to spend with his oldest son. But on this day, only for today, Wallace had given Jeremy his undivided attention, simply by letting Jeremy watch him work. Wallace hadn’t explained or lectured or hinted at what was required of Jeremy. But Jeremy had immediately understood. And, still in awe, he’d sat quietly, trying very hard not to bother his busy, powerful father. Jeremy watched and listened and learned, all the while being taken care of by his father’s willing staff. If Jeremy wanted something, it immediately materialized. If he whimpered or whined, he was instantly hushed and handled.

      But that day, as Jeremy had sat at his father’s feet playing with an old ink stamp, he’d been hooked. As he’d grown older and found any excuse to come to work with Wallace more and more, he became caught up in wanting to spend all of his time here in this powerful, exciting place. Jeremy became a part of Hamilton Media by showing up whenever he could to help out, to learn, to absorb every nuance of this place and the work that happened here. His father had noticed, had grudgingly approved, and…Jeremy had simply slipped into place as second in command.

      He loved the way the Dispatch brought news to people, and the way Nashville Living magazine informed and enlightened people. He loved the way the reporters worked day and night, getting their facts, gathering their information. He loved the way a deadline hit, all chaotic and full of stress, to be followed by a long, collective sigh of relief that filtered all the way down from his father’s office to the lobby at day’s end.

      Now he missed the fast-paced confusion of a work day, and the satisfied feeling of getting the job done.

      Now, he didn’t know his place in the overall scheme of day-to-day life here at Hamilton Media. So he just stood, remembering, afraid to step back, afraid to move forward.

      He stood and imagined Tim up there in the third-floor office that had once been Jeremy’s. Tim, so driven, so intense, was in love. Tim in love. Jeremy shook his head at that particular paradox. So many things had happened in a few short months. He thought about Amy and how focused she could be on any task, and how hard she must be working now that she was in charge of Nashville Living, even with her high-school sweetheart Bryan back in her life. He smiled at thoughts of sweet, shy Heather finding the man of her dreams, and her twin, police officer Chris, falling in love with an independent female reporter for the Dispatch. He worried about Melissa, hoped she was settled now that she had Richard as her husband-to-be. He’d missed out on so much with all his siblings. He’d come back for that reason. He loved his family, in spite of everything. He needed his family, in spite of everything.

      He lifted his head, the memories receding as the bright morning sun hurt his eyes. He knew he’d been standing here a full five minutes. He needed to go inside, visit with the Gordons. They’d be there to greet him, as they greeted everyone who entered this building. They’d be surprised, but polite and professional, as they’d been since the day Jeremy had met both of them.

      Back then, Herman had СКАЧАТЬ