Home For Christmas. Carrie Weaver

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СКАЧАТЬ toasted and annihilated.”

       “Hmm. Are you sure that’s not just an excuse?”

       Nancy shifted. “You sound like my mother. So what if it is an excuse? There are worse things than being single. At least this way I know there are no surprises.”

       “Oh, but surprises can be wonderful. Two of my children were surprises.”

       Nancy raised an eyebrow. “My point exactly.”

       No, Nancy had lost her taste for surprises the day she’d found out there was another woman who claimed to be Eric McGuire’s wife. The same day, coincidentally, that Eric had turned up dead.

       Rachel nibbled on a cookie, watching her dad work the room. The meeting was lame. The people were lame. And Rachel would rather have been anywhere else.

       But since her dad didn’t trust her, she was stuck here with the little kids. Like that two-year-old drama queen who watched her with big, dark eyes.

       Rachel turned her back on the kid.

       Why couldn’t her dad have believed in her enough to let her stay home?

       Home. Whatever that meant.

       There had been a time when she’d felt like she’d had a home. Not like some kids had—a mom, a dad, brothers and sisters. Meals, picnics, movies, vacations together.

       For as long as she could remember, it had just been her and Mom. Every once in a while Dad would blow into town. Laughing, fun Dad. He’d taken her to great places, stuffed her full of junk food, bought her a bunch of things, and then, poof, he was gone. She’d stare at his picture to convince herself that he was real—not just a fabulous dream.

       And then two months ago, her mom had sat her down for one of those serious talks. The don’t-do-drugs or don’t-have-sex-till-you’re-thirty kind. But her mom’s ultra serious tone should’ve warned her it was way worse than the don’t-do-drugs talk.

       This conversation had started out with her mom telling Rachel how much she loved her. Nothing too scary there. Until she said Rachel’s dad wanted her to go live with him. And Mom thought it was a good idea. Total shocker, but kinda nice to know Dad wanted her. Still, her friends were in Texas, and all she’d ever known was Texas. She’d asked her mom to tell her dad, “thanks but no thanks.”

       Mom had made it clear refusal wasn’t an option. A week later Rachel stood in front of a motel-room door, waiting for her dad to answer. And when he did, he’d gone completely pale, as if he’d seen an alien.

       Well, it hadn’t taken a brain surgeon, or even an honor student, to figure out Dad hadn’t had a clue she was coming. For the first time since the Easter Bunny, Mom had lied. Lied. And that could only mean one thing—Mom didn’t want her anymore. Nearly as bad, Dad didn’t want her, either.

       Rachel was distracted from her moping by a small hand patting her knee.

       The little girl with the big, brown eyes murmured, “Sad.”

       Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away with her sleeve. “Yeah. Sad.”

       Beau knocked on the bathroom door, trying not to lose patience. “Come on, sweet pea, you’re gonna be late for school.”

       “I look like a geek. Uniforms are stupid.”

       Sighing, he figured he’d have to endure another replay of Rachel’s fashion woes. “You look fine.”

       “No, I don’t. I look like some kind of preppy loser.”

       “Then you’ll blend in with the rest of the preppy losers.”

       “Daaad.”

       “If you want a ride, you better get out here in five minutes. Otherwise, you take the bus.”

       The bus. A fate worse than death to a high school freshman. Beau didn’t know much about raising a teenage girl, but he had a pretty good idea only the losers, preppy or otherwise, rode the bus.

       Sure enough, Rachel was waiting by the front door, backpack slung over her shoulder, expression sullen, when he was ready to leave.

       He complied with her request and dropped her off a block from school so he wouldn’t embarrass her. Beau hoped it was just the fact that she was a teen and he was a parent and not that she was ashamed of him. He might be a redneck son of a bitch at times, but he loved his daughter like crazy and would rather cut off his left arm than hurt her.

       When ex-wife number one, Laurie, had dumped Rachel and her suitcases three months ago, he hadn’t seriously noted his ex’s muttered threats about sacrifice. The only thing that really stood out in the whole surreal conversation was one sentence. “I raised her the past fourteen years, you can raise her the next four.”

       And that’s how he’d become a full-time father and certified lunatic.

       Nancy paced outside the dealership and glanced at her watch. Their ad said they opened at 8:00 a.m. It was now ten after eight. She pulled on the door handle one more time to make sure it was locked, despite the low lighting inside and lack of activity.

       “Sorry, I’m late, ma’am. I had to get my daughter to school.”

       She stifled a groan. The cowboy from Parents Flying Solo trotted in her direction, his boots replaced with athletic shoes.

       “You’re late.”

       “Are you always this observant?”

       Nancy opened her mouth to blister his thick hide, but noticed the twinkle in his eyes. That and his crooked smile defused her anger. “No, usually I require coffee first.”

       “Good thing I make a killer cup of coffee.” He stuck out his hand. “Beau Stanton, I believe we met at the Parents Flying Solo meeting?”

       She accepted his handshake. “Nancy McGuire.” For some reason, he didn’t seem quite as annoying today.

       “Nice to meet you.” He fished a large key ring out of his pocket and opened the glass door. “Let me turn off the alarm and then you can come on in. You can tell me what kind of car you’re looking for while I make coffee.”

       Following him into the showroom, she admired a convertible BMW, red of course. It looked like fun.

       There was that word again. She needed safety and stability for Ana, if not herself. Lord knew Eric had been fun. Faithful would have been nicer.

       Shaking her head, she wandered toward a minivan.

       “I never figured you for a minivan kind of woman.”

       Turning, she raised an eyebrow. “Oh. And what kind of woman do you think I am?” Damn, it came out almost flirtatious when that was the last thing she intended.

       He looked her up and down, much as she’d done to him the night before at the meeting.

       Nancy’s cheeks warmed. She was accustomed to male attention, even after she’d traded low-cut T-shirts and jeans СКАЧАТЬ