Her Best Christmas Ever

The kind of night that made a musician want to grab his guitar and sit up until dawn, trying to re-create a memory in song.

Chapter Three

The telephone rang shortly before daybreak, and Greg snatched it from its cradle so the noise wouldn’t wake Connie or the baby.

They were both resting now, and he wanted to keep it that way. Connie had been through hell the past couple of hours and a peaceful rest had been well earned.

“Hello?” he whispered into the receiver.

The age-worn voice boomed over the line. “It’s Doc Graham. How’s our patient doing?”

“Okay. She and the baby are both asleep.”

Of course, that in itself didn’t mean that everything was fine, which was why Greg kept checking in on them every few minutes. He wanted to make sure they were still breathing and that their coloring was good.

“But I’ll sure feel better when you get here,” he told the doctor. “Then you can validate my diagnosis.”

“Itwon’t be long,” Doc said. “I’ve just driven past that lowspot in the road and should be at the ranch in about five or ten minutes.”

“Good.” Knowing Doc the way he did, Greg figured he’d been parked near the flooded area and had driven through the moment he believed it was safe.

“By the way,” Doc added, “you did a great job.”

Greg didn’t know about that. Connie and the baby had done all the work, so he didn’t feel right taking credit for the minor role he played. “I didn’t do all that much. I’m just thankful there weren’t any complications.”

“Me, too. How are you holding up, son?”

“All right.” Especially now that it was all over.

“I’m sure it’s been a long night, so you’ve got to be tired. As soon as I get there, you can go to bed.”

Actually, Greg didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. Ever since the baby’s birth, he’d had a head-in-the-clouds buzz, one that didn’t appear to be fading in the least.

“Well,” Doc said over the slightly static telephone line, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“All right.” Greg hung up, but his hand remained on the receiver. For the first time since Connie’s water had broken, he finally felt a sense of relief, and it dogged him into the kitchen, where he put on a pot of coffee.

Yet instead of taking a seat or watching out the window for Doc to arrive, he returned to Connie’s bedroom and took another peek at her and the baby—just to make sure they were still breathing, that they were resting easy.

And they were.

Connie, her expression softened by something soft and maternal, continued to doze, her head on a fluffy pillow, her brown curls splayed on the white cotton case. She wore no makeup, no sexy clothing, yet Greg was still struck by her beauty.

He’d found her attractive the first day he’d met her, yet there was something even more appealing now.

Maybe it was the strength and bravery she’d shown during the terrible pain she’d endured last night. Or maybe it was something altogether different.

All he knew was that he was inexplicably drawn to her.

She still held the baby next to her, under her arm and close to her heart. They’d called the child Isabella for a while, but for some reason the name didn’t seem to fit, and Connie had decided to stick with Amanda, which seemed perfect now.

With tufts of downy black hair, Amanda was a precious little thing. Her head was a bit pointed and misshapen, though.

Greg had asked Doc about it—privately, of course. And he’d been told that it was normal, that it would even out in a few days. He sure hoped so. If it did, he suspected Amanda was going to be the prettiest little girl this side of cherubville.

He leaned against the doorjamb, watching them longer than was necessary. Finally, convinced that an unexpected complication hadn’t arisen, he headed to the living room to unlock the door for Doc Graham and to wait on the front porch for his arrival.

Moments later, as he leaned against the wooden railing, watching the pink and orange fingers of dawn stretch across the horizon, he relished the sights and smells of the raindrenched ranch. At times he missed this place, missed the people who’d become important to him. Yet whenever he came home, he missed the guys in his band, too. The rush of standing onstage. The thrill when he announced a new song he’d written, a song that was met with a roar of approval from the fans.

As Doc Graham’s pickup, a red Chevy S-10, pulled into the yard, the front tire struck one of the many puddles that speckled the yard and sent a splatter of dirty water flying.

Greg watched as the old man shut off the ignition, slid out of the driver’s seat then reached back for his medical bag.

“Good morning,” Greg said.

“It certainly is.”

As Greg opened the screen door, Doc wiped his feet on the welcome mat. Once inside the warmth of the house, he shucked off his damp raincoat and left it on the hat tree in the entry.

“So, tell me something,” Doc said. “Are you going to turn in your guitar for a stethoscope?”

“No way. But delivering a baby was definitely an experience I won’t ever forget.” Greg wasn’t sure if Doc would understand what he was feeling. After all, in the last half century, Dr. Graham had undoubtedly delivered thousands of babies. So the whole birthing miracle had probably become routine to him.

As Greg led Doc down the hall, he walked lightly so he wouldn’t wake Connie or the newborn.

“Well, look who couldn’t wait to have her first turkey dinner,” Doc said from the doorway of Connie’s room.

The new mother’s eyes fluttered open, and she blessed the doctor with a pretty smile. Then she gazed at the baby sleeping in the crook of her arm.

“You know,” Doc said, easing closer, “I do believe that’s just about the most beautiful newborn I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Greg watched from the doorway as the doctor examined Connie first. For a moment, Greg wondered whether he should slip out into the living room to allow them some privacy, but he just couldn’t seem to turn and walk away.

What if he’d messed up or had forgotten to do something he’d been told to do?

And even if he’d done as good of a job as Doc had told him, he still couldn’t help believing that he had some kind of vested interest in both mother and child, although he couldn’t quite figure out why.

He hadn’t asked for any of this—the storm, the birth—but he’d definitely been sucked in and made an integral, albeit temporary, part of it all. And he wasn’t sure when that role would end completely. But until it did, he couldn’t bring himself to leave their side for very long.

Nor could he shake the incredible sense of amazement he felt each time he looked at that tiny baby. He’d been part of a miracle tonight, and something told him that his life would never be the same again.

After an initial exam, Doc declared both mother and daughter healthy. “Years ago, I would have just sat down and had a cup of coffee, then promised to come back and check in on you later. But it never hurts to have a second opinion. So, as a precaution, I’m going to send you to the hospital in Wexler and have you both checked out.”

That was fine with Greg. He’d be glad for even further validation that everything was okay.

“Are you taking them?” he asked the doctor. “Or should I drive them in myself?”

“Nah,” Doc said. “I’ve lined up an ambulance service to do that. They’ll be here in a few minutes. But in the meantime, I could sure use that cup of coffee I was talking about.”

“No problem.” Greg nodded toward the kitchen. “I just put on a fresh pot.”

Moments later, the two men sat at the table with steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. There, Doc answered the questions Greg had about how to care for Connie and the baby once she was discharged from the hospital. He figured Granny would know just what to do, but it was hard to say when she’d get back.

Apparently, now that the hard part was over, there wasn’t much more for Greg to do, other than enjoy his coffee and another large serving of the apple-spice cake Connie had made. After cutting two pieces and grabbing a couple of forks, they each dug in.

Dang, that woman could cook.

It was enough to make a man look forward to Thanksgiving dinner—if Connie was the one who was cooking it. But maybe Greg ought to think about calling Caroline down at the diner and asking if he could purchase a take-out turkey dinner.

“Have you been following the news?” Doc asked, as he lifted his fork.

“No. I’m afraid I’ve been pretty busy the past few hours.” Greg took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the rich morning brew. “What’s going on?”

“There’s another storm coming on the heels of this last one. When it hits, you two might be stranded out here for a while.”

As long as Connie and the baby were all right, that didn’t bother Greg too much.

“So,” Doc added, “if you’ve got any supplies to stock up on, you’d better do it today. Now that the ground is saturated, the water that fills the low spot in the road won’t be as quick to recede.”

“I think we’re set,” Greg said. “Granny’s always had a full pantry. But I’ll take a look and make sure. When is the next rain supposed to hit?”

“Early tomorrow morning. So it ought to really play havoc with everyone’s Thanksgiving plans.”

“I wonder if the flights will be delayed,” Greg said. “Matt and Tori are supposed to arrive tomorrow from Wyoming. They’re on a horse-buying trip.”

“That’s hard to say.” Doc dug into his cake, then closed his eyes as though savoring each chew. “Mmm. This is delicious.”

“Connie’s a good cook, but since she’ll be taking it easy for a while, she’s going to be stuck eating whatever I can come up with for meals.” Greg chuckled. “I hope she likes canned soup and sandwiches.”

They ate in silence, and when they finished, Doc scooted the chair away from the table and got to his feet. “I have to stop by the Tidball place and check on Elmer’s big toe. According to Grace, it’s been hurting him something fierce.”

“What’d he do to it?” Greg asked.

“Elmer swears he didn’t do anything. So, if that’s the case, it might be gout. From what he said, it sure sounds like it.” Doc slid the chair back in place, then ambled across the kitchen and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’d better take off.”

“Before the ambulance gets here?” Greg asked.

“Yeah. It’ll be here any minute, I suspect. And for what it’s worth, it’s merely a formality. I doubt the hospital will keep Connie or the baby more than a few hours. They’re both doing very well.”

Greg hoped so.

He escorted Doc to the door, thanked him, then stood on the porch and watched the white-haired doctor climb into his pickup. When he drove off, Greg returned to Connie’s bedroom, where he found her propped up on an elbow and studying Amanda’s tiny fingers and toes. She looked up at him, her face glowing almost Madonna-like, and tossed him a smile that darn near squeezed the heart right out of him. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

Greg grinned. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, watching Connie and the baby intently. He’d never known his own mother, but his aunt had told him how much she’d looked forward to his birth and how she’d dreamed that he would make something of his life someday.

Would his mother have held him like Connie was holding Amanda? Would she have marveled at the sight of him, too?

Yeah. She would have.

He couldn’t help wishing that she would have lived to see him grow up. To know that he’d become someone people looked up to.

Not that Tia Guadalupe hadn’t been a good substitute. But she’d died when he was only six, a loss that had struck him hard and cruel. And with no other family to take him in, he’d been sent to live at the orphanage.

Greg shook off the images and thanked his lucky stars that he’d crossed paths with Granny eventually, that she’d adopted him and made him a part of the ever-growing Clayton family.

Still, while the Rocking C had been the only home he’d known in nearly twenty years, he would never want to live and work here. Not that he minded doing chores and helping out while he was visiting. But he loved the bright lights of the stage and thrived on the fame and the glamour. Whenever he strode out to face the cheering crowds, he knew that he’d finally made it. That he’d finally become the success that his Mama Maria had wanted him to be, that he was living the dream she’d had for him.

“I’d planned to make pies this morning,” Connie said, drawing him from his musing. “But that’ll have to wait. I might feel more up to baking in the afternoon.”

“There’s no way you’ll be doing anything in the kitchen for a while,” he said.

“But Thanksgiving is tomorrow.” Connie rose up on the bed. “And everyone is coming here to eat. So I planned—”

“Those plans were changed last night. So don’t give Thanksgiving another thought.”

“But it’s my job—”

“Not today. And not tomorrow, either.”

She opened her mouth as if to object one more time, and Greg pushed off from the wall, standing straight, his arms still crossed. “Don’t make me pull rank on you, ma’am.”

“All right.” Connie sank back on the bed. “But you might call Sabrina and ask her to help.”

“I’m not going to worry about that now.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, it’s supposed to rain again, which means Jared and Sabrina might not be able to get through and we might have to postpone the holiday for a day or two. But either way, I can handle it.” Of course, only as a last resort. He’d never been too handy in a kitchen. But when he’d been digging through the pantry, he found a bunch of stuff that was pretty easy to make, even for a novice like him.

Connie, who was undoubtedly a great cook, probably wouldn’t approve of the simple fare he’d be fixing. He figured that pulling off a major holiday meal probably meant a lot to her.

About the time he was resigning himself to a simple meal, he realized he’d better call the diner in Brighton Valley as soon as it opened and make Caroline, the proprietor, an offer she wouldn’t refuse. He’d pay her triple the cost to cook a take-out feast for the Claytons’Thanksgiving, even if he wasn’t sure how many of them would show up.

By hook or by crook, they’d have their holiday dinner.

If there was one thing he’d learned since running away from the orphanage and hitching a ride back to Texas when he was thirteen years old, it was that money could buy anything.

Doc had been right. The specialists at the hospital in Wexler had determined that both Connie and the baby were doing great. The resident obstetrician had said they could stay overnight, if she wanted to. But Connie had been eager to get home. With a new storm headed their way, they could get stranded in town, and she wanted to spend Thanksgiving at the ranch.

Greg had seemed a little uneasy about her checking out, but the doctor had assured him that an overnight stay was merely an option. So Greg had relented and brought them both home, using the car seat Connie had been storing in her closet, along with the other new baby things she’d purchased earlier.

Now, as she stood at the bedroom window on Thursday morning and surveyed the clearing skies, she realized that Doc and the weatherman had been wrong. The rain that followed the first storm hadn’t struck nearly as hard as predicted. At least, not in Brighton Valley.

Houston, on the other hand, had taken the brunt of the storm. According to Greg, who’d been watching the news as well as the Weather Channel, there were flight delays and travel warnings, so it seemed even more likely that the Clayton family Thanksgiving would be held on Friday or Saturday instead of today.

Connie had planned to go all out with the decorations this year, especially with the candles and the centerpiece, since it would have been her very first attempt to fuss over a holiday the way her mother always did.

But with Amanda’s birth and Greg’s insistence that she take it easy, she decided to go light this year and do things up big next time around. That is, if she was still living on the Rocking C.

And, of course, there was always Christmas.

Her mother made an even bigger production out of that particular holiday, even though she’d spent more time on the set of In the Kitchen with Dinah than she had at home. A habit that Connie had grown to resent.

To be honest, it was nice to use the baby as an excuse not to go home this year. Connie had grown tired of painting on a happy face and pretending that there was nothing she liked better than being in front of a camera for the holidays and pretending to be a member of one of the happiest families in America.

Once upon a time, before Connie’s father had died, she had been. Back then, her mother had baked a ton of cookies and goodies, trimmed the hearth and decorated the tree. Even on a shoestring, she’d been able to make their small, two-bedroom house in Houston the best place in the world to be.

But once her mother had taken that job at the television station, everything had changed.

Connie reminded herself that she had a daughter of her own now, a child for whom Connie would create their own family traditions. And if Amanda ever brought home little handmade ornaments and wall hangings and trimmings made out red-andgreen construction paper, they would be valued and given their rightful place of honor throughout the house—not set aside for the more lavish, store-bought trinkets.

Family ought to come first.

And now that Amanda was here, Connie vowed to make that a hard-and-fast rule.

When the baby made a gruntlike noise, Connie turned from her vantage point by the window and strode toward the small bassinette. Amanda had begun to squirm and root, a sign that undoubtedly meant she was hungry.

“Hey there, sweet baby.” Connie carefully picked up the newborn and placed a kiss upon her cheek. Then she carried her to the rocker, where she took a seat and unbuttoned her nightgown to offer her breast.

As Amanda began to nurse, Connie thought about all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

What would she have done the night before last if Greg hadn’t been here?

He’d been wonderful, both during the birth and afterward. In fact, he was always popping in to check on her and the baby.

“Hey.” His voice sounded from the doorway again. “Oops. Sorry.”

She glanced up, realizing he’d spotted her nursing. A flush on his cheeks let her know that he was either uneasy or embarrassed.

“It’s all right.” She offered him a smile. “After what we’ve been through together, I don’t think either of us should feel uncomfortable.”

“I guess you’re right.” His eyes zoomed in on Amanda.

Or was he noting the fullness of Connie’s breast?

Oh, for heaven’s sake. There wasn’t anything sexual about nursing a baby. And the fact that Connie had even let her thoughts stray in that direction was crazy.

“Look at her chow down,” Greg said.

Connie gazed at her daughter, saw her tiny jaws working to draw the colostrum into her mouth.

Greg was right. Amanda had certainly gotten the hang of nursing.

“By the way,” he said. “I’ve got Thanksgiving dinner all figured out.”

“How did you do that? Did you ask Sabrina or Tori for help?” She figured he might have when he called to tell them about the baby.

“I’m sure they would have. But the roads are a mess in certain areas, so Jared and Sabrina are playing it by ear. And I just talked to Matt an hour ago. He and Tori are at the airport, but their flight has been delayed due to weather.”

“What about Granny?”Connie asked. “Is she coming home?”

“No, she and Hilda are going to have dinner at the hotel this evening. But I hope they’ll all be able to make it home tomorrow. And when they do, I’ll have turkey and all the fixings in the oven.”

“You know how to bake a turkey?” she asked, suddenly feeling even more incompetent than she had while watching her mother buzz around the set of a mock kitchen, her makeup cover-model perfect and every hair in place.

“No, I have a better idea than that. Caroline, down at the diner, is going to whip up a feast for us whenever we need it.”

Connie smiled. At least he had the meal covered. And if truth be told, Caroline was going to do a much better job of it than Connie ever could have. After all, it was obvious that she hadn’t been blessed with the Martha Stewart/Julia Child genes.

Or rather, the Dinah Rawlings genes.

“So,” Greg said, “we’ll just have our own private Thanksgiving dinner tonight.”

“That sounds good. What’s on the menu?”

“Mac and cheese.” He grinned. “I found a box in the pantry. I hope you’re okay with that.”

When Joey, Sabrina’s young nephew, was living here, Granny had gone out and purchased a bunch of stuff that a kid would like. There was peanut butter and jelly, too.

If truth be told, Connie wasn’t a fan of processed foods, but she wouldn’t admit it. The fact that Greg was trying so hard to take care of her took precedence over a dish she’d never really liked.

“I’m not big on vegetables,” Greg said. “Would canned green beans be okay to go with that?”

“Sure.”

She expected him to turn and walk away, yet instead he continued to lean against the doorjamb, to watch her nurse the baby.

For some reason, it seemed as though he’d earned the right, so she didn’t let it bother her.

“You know,” Connie said, her heart going soft and warm, “you’ve really gone above and beyond the call of duty for a guy who came home for a much-needed vacation.”

He shrugged. “This hasn’t been the start of the holiday I’d been expecting, but I’m glad I was here two nights ago. It wouldn’t have been good for you to go through that alone.”

He was right about that. She didn’t even want to think about how much more scared she would have been.

“It’s amazing,” Greg said, his eyes still on the baby. “I can’t believe she was inside of you two days ago. Now look at her.”

Connie studied her daughter, still unable to believe she was now a mother.

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