I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas: I'll Be Home For Christmas / One Golden Christmas

Mentally shaking himself out of his curious stupor, Nick watched her closely, noticing the dreamy expression falling across her freckled face. Then it hit him. “You’re probably hungry.”

His statement changed Myla’s dreamy expression to a blushing halt. “I’m sorry…this is such a beautiful kitchen…I got carried away looking at it.” Nodding at the expectant faces of her children, she pushed them forward. “The children need something to eat. We had breakfast at a rest stop—donuts and milk.”

The implication that they hadn’t eaten since this morning caused Nick to lift his head, but he turned away before she could see the sympathy in his eyes. “Well, don’t worry. Our housekeeper, Henrietta Clark, has been with the family for most of my life. She always stays with a friend down the street when I’m away, so she’s not here tonight. But she cooks a lot, way too much for my sister and me. We usually wind up giving half of it away—”

“It’s all right, Mr. Rudolph,” Myla said to ease his discomfort. “We’ll be glad to take some of your leftovers off your hands, right, kids?”

She was being cheerful for the children’s sake, Nick realized. Relaxing a little, he dashed over to the gleaming refrigerator. “Let’s just see what we’ve got. We’ll have ourselves a feast.”

Patrick hopped up on a wooden stool, yanking his fleece jacket off with a flourish. “My mom’s the best cook, Mr. Nick. She can make just about anything, but her bestest is bread—and cookies.”

“Oh, really?” Nick glanced over at Myla. “Well, come on over here, Mom. I could use an expert hand. I’m not very good in the kitchen.”

Eyeing Jesse and unsure what to do with her, he lifted the quiet little girl up on the stool next to Patrick. With an unsteady smile, he registered that she felt warm, almost too warm, but then he wasn’t a doctor or a daddy. What did he know about little girls?

Myla stepped forward, then took off her threadbare wool coat. “Anything I can do to help?”

Nick watched as she hovered beside him, as if waiting for him to issue an order. Tired and unsure what to do himself, he unceremoniously loosened the red-patterned tie at his neck, then yanked off the tailored wool suit jacket he’d worn all day. Tossing the jacket across a chair, he watched as Myla straightened it and hung it over the back of the chair, her hands automatically smoothing the wrinkles out.

“Thank you,” he said.

He watched as a flush bathed her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Force of habit. My husband liked everything in its place.”

Nick nodded, then wondered about her marriage. Had it been a happy one? Not that it was any of his business, but the sad, almost evasive look in her eyes made him curious. Did she miss her husband? Of course, she probably did, especially now when she was struggling so much.

“How about a roast beef sandwich?” he asked as he lifted the heavy pan of meat out of the refrigerator. “Henny cooked this for Sunday supper, but I didn’t get back into town to enjoy it.”

“That’s a shame.”

“No, that’s the life of an oilman. Lots of trips, lots of leftovers.” Searching through a drawer, he found a large carving knife. “I say, let’s cut into this thing.”

“Yeah, let’s cut into that thing,” Patrick echoed, clapping his hands. “My mouth’s watering.”

Jesse smiled, then coughed.

“Are you hungry, Jesse?” Worry darkened Myla’s eyes. “She has allergies and she’s fighting a nasty cold.”

A spark of warmth curled in Nick’s heart. “Maybe some good food will perk her up.” He offered Jesse a glass of orange juice.

Nick found the bread, then poured huge glasses of milk for the children. Myla located the coffeemaker and started a fresh brew. She sliced tomato and lettuce, then made some thick roast beef sandwiches. Soon all four of them were sitting around the butcher block counter. Nick picked up his sandwich for a hefty bite, but held it in midair as Myla and her children clasped hands and bowed their heads.

Seeing his openmouthed pose, Myla said quietly, “We always say grace before our meals. I hope you don’t mind.”

Nick dropped his sandwich as if it were on fire. “No, of course not.”

When Myla extended her hand to his, something went all soft and quiet in his ninety-mile-an-hour mind. When was the last time he’d said a prayer of any kind? He listened now to Myla’s soft, caressing voice.

“Thank you, Lord, for this day and this food. Thank you for our safety and for the warmth you have provided. Thank you for sending us help when we needed it most. We ask that you bless each of us, and this house. Amen.”

Stunned, Nick wasn’t so sure he wanted his house blessed. He felt awkward as he lifted his hand away from the warmth of Myla’s. To hide his discomfort, he said, “Let’s eat.”

Patrick didn’t have to be told twice. He attacked one half of his sandwich with gusto. Nick flipped on a nearby television to entertain the children, but mostly to stifle the awkward tension permeating the room.

He watched them eat, hoping Lydia would call soon. Patrick wolfed his food down in record time, while Jesse nibbled at hers between fits of dry coughing. Their mother broke off little bits of her sandwich, as if forcing herself to eat, her eyes darting here and there in worry.

Finally, out of frustration more than anything else, Nick said, “That hit the spot. I was starved.”

“Me, too,” Jesse said, speaking up at last.

Nick’s eyes met her mother’s over her head. It didn’t help to know that Jesse probably had been really hungry, when to Nick the words were just a figure of speech. Myla only gave him a blank stare, though, so to hide his confusion he munched on a chocolate chip cookie while he watched the children, and their mother when she wasn’t looking.

The baggy teal sweater brought out the green in her expressive eyes. Worn jeans tugged over scuffed red Roper boots encased her slim hips and long legs. Couldn’t be more than thirty, just a few years younger than him, yet she carried a lot of responsibility on her slim shoulders.

“You’ve got a pretty name,” he said to stop the flow of his own erratic thoughts.

“I was named after my grandmother,” she said. “She hated her name because people would always call her Mi-lee. My mother named me after her to make her feel better about it.”

“Where’s your family?” he asked, hoping to learn more about her situation.

She shot him that luminous stare before answering. “My parents passed away several years ago—a year and a half apart. First my mother, from a stroke. Then Daddy. The doctors said his heart gave out, and I think that’s true. He died of loneliness. They’d been married forty years.”

Nick felt a coldness in the center of his heart, a coldness that reminded him of his firm commitment to keep that part of himself closed away. “Same with my parents. My mother died of cancer, and my father was never really the same after her death.” He looked down at his half-eaten sandwich. “He…he depended on his Ruthie, and her death destroyed him. It was as if he changed right before my eyes.” Not wanting to reveal more, he asked her, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

She nodded. “A brother in Texas—he’s got five kids. And a sister in Georgia. She just got married a few months ago.” She sat silent for a minute, then finished. “They don’t need me and my problems right now.”

“Do they know…about what’s happened to you?”

Her flushed face gave him his answer. She jumped up to clean away their dishes. “No, they don’t. Not yet.” Turning toward the sink, she added, “I really appreciate your help, but I don’t intend to live on handouts. If my job hunt pays off—”

“What sort of work are you looking for?”

“A waitress, maybe, for now. I love to cook. One day, I’d like to run my own restaurant.”

Nick wanted to touch her face for some strange reason. She had that dreamy look about her again, and it endeared her to him. He felt an overwhelming need to buy a building and turn it into a restaurant.

But he didn’t touch her, and he didn’t offer to fund her venture. Instead, he looked down, as embarrassed by being wealthy as she obviously was by being destitute.

Myla’s touch on his arm brought his head up. “I want to thank you, Mr. Rudolph, for helping us. All day, I prayed for help, and then you came along. You offered us shelter, and that’s something I’ll never forget. So thank you, for your kindness and your understanding.”

Nick looked in her eyes and felt himself falling, falling, as if in slow motion. Moving away abruptly, he said, “Call me Nick, please. And you don’t have to thank me.”

The confused look she gave him only added to his woes. He couldn’t tell her that he rarely let people get close enough to touch him, either physically or emotionally. He couldn’t erase the hurt look in her eyes.

When a special news bulletin interrupted the noisy cartoon on the nearby television, Nick was thankful for the distraction until he heard the report.

The familiar face of the local weatherman filled the screen, and after going over the progress of the ice storm covering the city, the newscaster suggested everyone stay put for the night. “The roads are becoming treacherous and travel may be hazardous until this storm passes. We should be able to resume normal activities by midmorning when higher temperatures and sunshine clear this system out.”

Nick eyed the television, willing the man to say it wasn’t so. When that didn’t happen, he looked toward the silent phone, all hopes of Lydia’s much-needed help freezing up like his winding driveway outside. With three pairs of questioning eyes centered on him, he could only give a gracious but shaky smile.

Thoroughly at odds, he wanted to ask Myla Howell why him? Why’d she have to pick him? And what was he supposed to do with her now? Instead, he took her hand. “Well, that settles it. You heard the man. You can stay here tonight.”

“What?” Myla gave him a stunned look. “But what about your sister? What about Magnolia House?”

“It can wait,” Nick stated firmly, silently wishing Lydia would call and rescue him before he drowned in those questioning green eyes. Or was he silently hoping she wouldn’t call? To counter his treacherous thoughts, he added, “It’s late and Magnolia House is downtown. It’s too dangerous a trip in these icy roads. You’ll have to stay here tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” His tone was firmer than his confidence. Right now, he wasn’t very sure of anything—except that he couldn’t send this family back out into that cold, dark night.

Chapter Two

“Henrietta, please don’t cry.”

Nick ran a hand through his tousled hair, then gratefully accepted the cup of coffee the whimpering housekeeper handed him before she burst into tears again.

“Ah, Henny, don’t do that. It’s too early in the morning for theatrics. I didn’t know my Christmas present would move you to tears.”

“But, Nicky,” the older woman began, her shimmering gray curls not moving a centimeter even though she bobbed her head with each word, “it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. God bless you. You’re a good man…a good one…” Her words trailed off as her watery eyes centered on something beyond Nick’s head.

Nick turned to find Myla Howell standing in the doorway, wearing the same clothes she’d had on the night before.

“I’m sorry,” Myla said, sensing she’d interrupted something important. “I heard voices….”

“Nicky?”

Myla looked from the old woman who stood with her hands on her hips to the man sitting like a king at the head of the long Queen Anne dining table. He was trying to read the newspaper, and judging from the frown marring his handsome face, he was losing patience with the woman standing before him.

“Who’s this?” the woman asked, smiling kindly over at Myla.

Nick looked up. Myla didn’t miss the surprise or the grimace on his face. “Oh, hello. Henny, this is Myla Howell. Due to the bad weather, Myla and her children were forced to spend the night in one of the guest rooms.” He extended a hand toward the woman. “Myla, this is Henrietta Clark, my housekeeper and best friend.”

Myla was thankful when the woman didn’t ask any questions. “Nice to meet you.”

Henny smiled and waved a hand. “Did I wake you up with my wailing, honey? I’m sorry, but I’m so excited. Nicky gave me the best Christmas present before he left for Dallas the other day—a trip to see my daughter and her children in Arkansas.”

“And she’s wailing because she’s so touched,” Nick added on a droll note. “She’s leaving today.”

“That’s wonderful,” Myla said. “I know you’ll have a great time.”

“I plan to,” Henrietta said, “if I don’t spend the whole time worrying about Nicky and Lydia.”

“We’ll be fine,” Nick said, his attention already back on his paper. Then he asked Myla, “Would you like some breakfast, a cup of coffee, maybe?”

Myla took the cup of coffee Henny pressed into her hand, but she didn’t sit down. “Actually, I came down to ask for some medicine. Jesse’s had a bad night. She’s running a fever.”

Nick scowled. “Is she all right?”

Afraid that he wasn’t pleased at this added problem, Myla nodded. “I think she’ll be okay. I just need to bring her fever down.”

“Your child?” Henny asked.

“Yes. My oldest. I’m not sure about her temperature, but she feels awfully hot.”

Henny whirled around. “There’s a thermometer around here somewhere. Nicky won’t let me use it on him anymore.”

A smile slipped across Myla’s face. In spite of her concern for Jesse, she couldn’t resist the mental image of the stout Henrietta chasing a snarling Nick around with a thermometer.

Nick’s scowl went a few grooves deeper. “She still thinks of Lydia and me as her babies.” He gestured for Myla to sit down. “Does Jesse need anything else?”

Myla appreciated the warmth in his words, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t think so. Just rest and good food. If you don’t mind, I’ll feed them breakfast before we leave.”

He looked down at the table. “I put in another call to my sister. You can’t take chances with this weather.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to Jesse. I appreciate your letting us stay here, Mr. Rudolph.”

“Call me Nick.”

“Okay.” Myla sensed, knew, he couldn’t wait to be rid of them. “I’m sorry we’ve disrupted your life.”

“It’s no problem,” he said. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Yes, we all did until Jesse started coughing.”

Myla wouldn’t tell him that she’d tossed and turned in spite of the warm, cozy room and the enormous bed. She felt so alone, so out of place in this grand old house. But she was certainly thankful that they hadn’t had to spend the night in the car.

When she looked up, Nick’s gaze softened. “Don’t worry about your daughter. If she’s sick, we’ll get her to a doctor.”

“Thank you.”

Henrietta burst through the swinging door from the kitchen, a bottle of pills in one hand and a thermometer in the other. “How old’s the child?”

“Eight.”

“Half a tablet, then. And I’ll fix her up some of my special hot lemonade with honey to help get that down. The lemons—good for a cold.” She turned to strut back to the kitchen, then whirled to face Nick. “Oh, Nicky, I almost forgot. Are you sure you and Lydia can handle things tonight?”

Nick looked confused, his gaze moving from Myla to his housekeeper. “Tonight? What’s going on tonight?”

“Your dinner party,” Henny said with arms akimbo. “Don’t tell me you forgot to call the temp service. You told me not to worry about a thing, that you and Lydia would take care of calling someone to fill in for me.”

Nick sat up, realization hitting him. “You mean my sister and I are in charge of…kitchen duty?”

Henrietta shook her head. “I knew you weren’t listening to me the other day.” She shot Myla a knowing look. “A one-track mind, that one. If it don’t have to do with oil, he don’t want to deal with it.”

“I guess I wasn’t listening,” Nick agreed. “And I think we’d better round up someone to take care of that. We both know Lydia’s as useless in the kitchen as I am.”

The housekeeper mumbled something about preoccupied executives, then explained, “It’s too late to call the temp service. They’re booked through Christmas, I imagine.” Looking disappointed, she asked, “You want me to stay?”

Myla listened, then squeaked, “I can do it.” When both Nick and Henrietta looked at her as if she’d gone daft, she wanted to drop through the tapestry rug underneath her feet. But this would be a good way to pay Nick back for his help, and it would make her feel a whole lot better about things. “I can cook. I can do whatever needs to be done.” When Nick kept staring at her, she rushed on. “Well, if I’m going to stay here all day anyway, I can’t just sit around twiddling my thumbs. I’d like to help, to pay you back for your kindness.”

Henny smiled from ear to ear. “Well, now, isn’t that a nice gesture on your part, honey.”

“I’ll pay her, of course.” Nick gave Henny a sharp look, then turned a questioning glance at Myla. “Do you have experience with this sort of thing?”

Myla didn’t tell him that she’d once been considered the best hostess in her neighborhood. That had been one of her husband’s demands, along with all his other demands. Instead she said, “I’ve been in charge of dinner parties before, yes. Henrietta can show me where everything is.” Lifting her chin, she added, “And I could use the money.”

She watched as Nick weighed his options, hoping for this reprieve, this time out of the cold. Finally, he spoke.

“Well, I certainly don’t have time to find anybody else. Okay, you’ve got the job. But I expect everything to run smoothly—and that means making sure your children—”

“They’ll stay out of your way,” Myla said. “I promise.”

“Good.” He turned to Henny. “After breakfast, you can get things settled up between you.”

“You’re the boss,” Henrietta said, smiling to herself as she ambled into the kitchen.

Nick watched her, and Myla saw the doubt clouding his features. Wanting to reassure him, she said, “Don’t worry. I can do whatever needs to be done. I want to help and I won’t let you down.”

“That’s good,” he contended, “since I’m trusting you alone in my house.”

Not liking his tone, she retorted, “I’m a Christian, Mr. Rudolph. I won’t steal anything if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I wasn’t implying anything. And I certainly didn’t mean to insult you.”

Seizing the opportunity, Myla rushed on. “Then you might consider letting me fill in for Henrietta. I could work for you until she gets back from her trip.”

That got his attention. “I hadn’t planned on a long-term replacement. I don’t go all out for the holidays.”

“That’s a shame,” she countered. “Christmas is such a beautiful, blessed time of year.”

“I don’t like Christmas,” he insisted. “In fact, this dinner party tonight is more of an obligation to my clients than a celebration.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to celebrate?” she had to wonder out loud. “The birth of the Savior is a joyous time.”

He didn’t give her the answer she wanted. Instead, he said, “Henny’s planning to be gone until the first of the year. Are you willing to work through Christmas?”

Myla was glad, but surprised that he wanted her to stay that long. She needed a job, but hadn’t counted on this becoming a long-term arrangement. This would give her some time, though, and a safe place for her children. “A month? That would help us get a good start on the new year.”

Nick’s next words were dusted with doubt. “And, it would solve both of our predicaments—you need a job, I need a good worker.”

“What about my children? You obviously don’t want them underfoot.”

“We’ll get them enrolled in school. You were planning on doing that, weren’t you?”

Resenting his superior attitude, she retorted, “I hadn’t thought past getting them to a warm bed.”

Nick countered. “Hey, it was your idea. After Christmas you can take the money you’ve earned here and do whatever you like. This is a sensible solution for everyone concerned.”

Myla had to agree. “So you’re asking me to stay here and work for you for the next few weeks?”

He almost grinned. “I don’t remember doing any asking, but yes, I guess I am.”

She held out her hand. “Deal, unless that other job I came here for is still open. Then, I’ll help you only until I can start there.”

“Deal,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’m glad you understand that this is only temporary.”

“Oh, I understand. And I’ll need to get my car. We’ve got a few belongings left in the trunk.”

“I’ll take care of that. You take care of your daughter, then get together with Henny so she can explain how everything’s run around here.” He started toward the long, central hallway, then turned. “We’ll put you in Henny’s apartment off the kitchen. It’s more private.”

“That’s fine,” Myla said. At least it would be a roof over her head for a while, and it would be much more suitable than the spare guest room, since this was a strictly business arrangement. “I’d better get back up to the children. Jesse needs this medicine.”

“Don’t forget Henny’s hot lemonade with honey,” he reminded her. “Works wonders. I’ve got to get to work. Oh, and one other thing. I always do a background check on my employees. Any problem with that?”

Hesitating, Myla stammered, embarrassed. “No, but I think you should know a few things. I haven’t held a job since high school. I was…I chose to stay at home after my children were born. And my credit is shot because…I had to file bankruptcy.”

He gave her a sympathetic look that hid his own doubts as to the wisdom of this arrangement. “Anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” she replied with a small smile. “I’ll do a good job, I promise,” she added sincerely.

Nick stared down at her a moment, nodded briefly, then turned to go.

She watched Nick walk away, then she sent up a silent prayer. Don’t let me mess this up, the way I’ve messed up my life.

She’d be so ashamed if he knew the whole truth.

“This is so exciting!”

Lydia Rudolph stood at the window of her brother’s downtown Shreveport office, gazing out at the Red River some twenty floors below. “I mean, I’m twenty-five years old, big brother, and this is one of the few times I’ve actually seen you do something almost human.” She fluffed her shining blond bob and beamed brighter than the lighted Christmas stars twinkling insistently on the building across from them. “This only goes to show what I’ve tried to tell you all along—doing something good for someone brings out the best in people, even an old Scrooge like you.”

“I am not a Scrooge,” Nick said in protest. “I can’t help it if I don’t feel the same strong sense of religion that you do, Lydia. I’m quite happy with my life the way it is, thank you. In fact, I’m just a happy-go-lucky kind of guy.”

Lydia snorted, causing her bright red hoop earrings to jingle. “Right. You’re a great faker, Nick, and we both know it. But this is a start. I’m glad to see you involved with something besides this oil company.”

“Yes,” Nick responded dryly from his perch on the massive teakwood desk. “Having two rambunctious children and their pretty mother in my house for the holidays is about the most exciting thing I can imagine. And here I was hoping you’d help me out of this mess.”

“They’re people, Nick, not a mess.” Lydia swung around, the fringe on her red suede jacket almost hitting her brother on the head. “I think you needed this. You couldn’t wait to tell me all about it when you got here this morning.”

“I told you all about it because what I need is your help, little sister. They need your help. This is a very temporary situation.”

Nick wished he’d just kept his mouth shut. This whole business was starting to get to him. Still amazed that he’d hired Myla to run his house, he had to wonder at his own sanity. He was reeling from the strange turn of events in his life. In the span of less than twelve hours, he’d committed himself to saving a homeless mother and her two waifs. Not involved? Hah! He was involved up to his eyeballs.