A Knights Bridge Christmas. Carla Neggers

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      Logan rolled his eyes, good-natured with his grandmother. “That’s not an excuse for being reckless.”

      “Reckless.” Daisy snorted and turned to Clare. “I fell doing the dishes. I’ve done the dishes every day for the past eighty years. Fortunately I didn’t break anything when I fell. All’s well that ends well.” She leaned forward. “You can tell that to Dr. Farrell.”

      Dr. Farrell? Clare glanced at him and decided she wasn’t surprised that he was a doctor.

      “Dr. Farrell is glad you didn’t break your hip,” he said.

      “I am, too. I’d have hated to have one of the Sloan brothers find me half-dead on the kitchen floor. I had them in to fix a leak in the cellar before winter set in.”

      Owen would be playing with the sons of one of the five Sloan brothers by now, Clare thought. Sloan & Sons was an established, respected construction firm in town. She hadn’t figured out all their stories yet, but she did know that the sixth Sloan sibling was a woman and a main player in her family’s company.

      Clare nodded to the sampler. “It’s lovely. Did you do the stitching yourself, Mrs. Farrell?”

      “My mother did. I hung it in the kitchen where I could see it every morning.” She sighed, staring at the simple stitches, then seemed to force herself out of her drifting thoughts. “Logan, don’t you have more boxes to bring in from the car?”

      “A couple more, Gran.”

      “I can help,” Clare said without thinking, already moving into the hall.

      “Thank you,” Logan said, catching up with her.

      His car, of course, was the expensive one parked next to hers. He opened the back door. “I have everything out of the trunk. I had a delivery service do most of the big stuff. Gran had everything set to go.”

      “She planned the move?”

      “It was her idea.” He lifted a cardboard box out of the backseat. “She said she wanted to make it easier on us by making the decision to move herself.”

      “That’s sweet.”

      “That’s my gran.” He nodded to the box in his arms. “It’s some linens she wants here with her. It’s not heavy.”

      “I’ll manage,” Clare said, taking the box. “I’m used to hauling books.”

      He took a bigger, bulkier box from the backseat—clothes, he said—and they went back inside. “Let’s hope she’s not back up on that chair,” he said as he and Clare came to his grandmother’s apartment.

      She was sitting in her chair, flipping through a small, obviously old photo album. “Here it is,” she said, lifting out a faded black-and-white photograph. “This is the house decorated for the first Christmas after the end of the war. World War II,” she added, as if Logan might not know. She handed the photograph to him. “I have one favor to ask, Logan. Can you decorate the house again, for one last Christmas before it’s sold?”

      “Gran...you know you don’t have to sell the place.”

      “We’ll talk about that later. You can decorate the house however you want, but if you look closely at the picture, you’ll see a candle in the front window.” She paused, touching the photograph. “Place a candle there, won’t you? In that same window?”

      “Of course,” Logan said, clearly mystified by his grandmother’s request.

      “A real candle. Then light it on Christmas Eve, or get someone to light it.”

      He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “I will, Gran, and we’ll light it together on Christmas Eve. They do let you out of here, you know.”

      “You’ll be in town for Christmas?”

      He smiled. “I will now.”

      “But your work...” She frowned at him. “There are always a lot of accidents in Boston at Christmas. I don’t want you to miss helping someone because you feel sorry for me.”

      “If I’m not at the hospital, Gran, another doctor will be. The emergency department has more than one qualified doctor.”

      “But you’re their best,” Daisy said.

      Logan stood straight. “That’s kind of you to say, Gran.”

      She shifted to Clare. “If I were in an accident, I would want Logan in the ER to stop the bleeding.”

      He changed the subject, asking her if she wanted him to unload the two boxes. Clare quickly set hers on a dresser. An ER. An accident. Winter...Christmas...

      She noticed Logan narrowing his eyes on her with obvious concern and realized she was breathing rapidly. It was as if the exchange between him and his grandmother had transported her into her own past.

      She’d had years of practice coping with such moments, and she pulled herself out of the spiral and forced herself to smile as she mumbled a goodbye and fled. As she got into her car, she told herself she could relax. She needn’t be embarrassed or concerned she would have to explain her reaction. She’d known men like Logan Farrell when she’d lived in Boston, and she doubted she would run into him again. He’d get his grandmother settled, hire someone to decorate her house for Christmas and put her out of his mind once he was back in the city.

      * * *

      Vera Galeski, in her early sixties, was explaining to Clare the long-standing Knights Bridge tradition of singing carols in the village on Christmas Eve when Logan Farrell entered the library. Clare couldn’t believe her eyes. He made no move to take off his black wool overcoat, a sign he didn’t plan to stay long. He walked straight to her desk—again the brisk, efficient ER doctor more than the sensitive, loving grandson.

      With raised eyebrows, Vera retreated to the children’s room in the front of the library.

      “I can’t decorate Gran’s house by myself,” Logan said. “I get hives thinking about it.”

      He didn’t look as if he were about to break out in anxiety-driven hives. Clare couldn’t hide her amusement. “Really, Dr. Farrell?”

      “Logan. Please. All right, hives is an exaggeration, but it’s close. I don’t want to disappoint my grandmother. This move...” He paused, grimacing. “You help me decorate her house for Christmas, and the library can have first crack at her collection of books. Take what you want and I’ll get rid of the rest. She’s a pack rat. She could have valuable first editions.”

      “And your grandmother has agreed to this arrangement?”

      “She proposed it.”

      Clare smiled. “Did you tell her about your hives?”

      An unexpected smile played at the corners of his mouth. “She said, ‘Logan, you look as if you’re about to break out in hives.’” But he glanced at the library entrance, as if he was in a hurry and already had stayed longer than he’d meant to. He looked back at Clare, again the СКАЧАТЬ