Navy Christmas (Whidbey Island) Page 8

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

  “Just as I don’t see how you can be comfortable taking a home that’s been in a family for over a century when you only knew Dottie for, what, half a year?”

  “Need I remind you that, technically, this home and the Forsyth family is more mine that yours? You have zero Forsyth blood pumping through your veins.”

  “Actually, right now it feels like I’ve got piss pumping through my heart.”

  “What?”

  Jonas grinned. “It’s my deployment mouth, sorry. The expression’s an old one, though. You’ve never heard of ‘my heart’s pumping piss for you’? Meaning, I have no sympathy for you whatsoever.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever had a need to learn Navy slang. And I’m not asking for your sympathy. I’m telling you that Dottie’s will was legal and just. I was as surprised as anyone that she’d leave the farmhouse to us, but the longer I’m in it, the more sense it makes. Pepé is the fifth generation Forsyth under this roof.”

  “Dottie was very generous. Maybe she thought you and Pepé needed a house, a home? Did you lead her to believe you were in financial difficulties?”

  “You know that line you shouldn’t cross?” At his blank expression Serena jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “It’s way back there, buddy. I’m happy to show you the house, and I’ve given your brothers any of Dottie’s possessions they’ve asked for. You can go through anything that’s still here and take what you want, too. But this house is mine now, and someday it’ll be Pepé’s. Besides, none of your brothers wanted the place—they didn’t want the responsibility of dealing with the renovations.”

  Renovations that were going to end up costing twice the worth of the house if she followed the specifications needed to keep the home on the state and national historic registry. But she wasn’t about to discuss that with Jonas Scott.

  “Why do you want this house so badly, Jonas?”

  “I wanted it. And yes, I still want it.” With his hands at his sides he looked relaxed. Except for his words, the taut tendons at the base of his neck and his narrowed eyes. “Like I said, I can help you with the repairs, and make sure you don’t inadvertently damage anything that will make the house lose its historical status.”

  What, was Jonas a mind reader, too?

  Anger flared, making her stomach hot and her throat dry. She took a step toward him.

  “You don’t save every patient who comes your way, do you?”

  He blinked, then frowned, highlighting his suspicion of her. “No. You don’t win every legal case, do you?”

  “No. Think of this house as one of your patients that didn’t make it—the patient who came in too far gone, where nothing you did could make a difference. It’s not your fault. It actually has nothing to do with you. It. Just. Is.”

  It was hard to tell in the upstairs light, dimmer than downstairs with its big picture windows, how red the skin over Jonas’s cheekbones had become.

  Their eyes locked and behind his anger Serena thought she recognized the same thing that she hadn’t been able to shake the entire time he’d been here.

  Awareness.

  She should be nicer to him. God only knew what he’d seen downrange, how many warriors he’d treated. Some might not have made it. And he’d offered to help her with the renovations—no matter his reason for wanting to help with the house, he could be exactly the contractor she needed.

  “Wait, that sounded a little harsh. It’s the lawyer in me.”

  “Save it.” He took one last look around the dormer room before he strode to the door, not sparing her a glance.

  “Thanks for the tour. I’ll see myself out.”

  Serena stayed in the room for a long time. Funny thing was, as angry as she’d made him, some crazy part of her thought that for a moment Jonas was going to kiss her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS HE DROVE HOME, anger tightened across Jonas’s chest like an unwanted bear hug from a creepy neighbor. His brothers had told him Serena was nice. They said she’d been apologetic about getting the house. Not enough to refuse it, however.

  He turned the bend at the end of the farmhouse’s driveway and eased onto the country highway toward town.

  “Sure she was sweet and sorry, six months ago.” When maybe he would’ve had a chance to get the place back, before she moved in.

  Before she and her son got so enamored with the farmhouse.

  A group of cows watched him drive by and for a brief second he wished he were able to live so fully in the moment with no worry for his future. That he could let himself lust after Serena, with no concern for tomorrow or what he wanted for his future.

  He’d blown whatever chance he’d had to make his case about how he was the guy to do her renovations by losing his temper. What was he, twelve? He’d been irritated at himself for reacting to her sensuality and her beauty.

  The kicker of it all was that she seemed to appreciate the house. She’d started in on some of the renovations and had done a good job with them. It was clear to him that she was in over her head regarding the bigger modifications that were needed. He was thrilled that she wanted to keep the original lines and character of the house intact; he’d feared she might already have removed any chance of the house staying on the national historic register.

  His plan A was shot. Now he’d have to go back and be even nicer to her. He wished he’d gotten out of the Navy ten years ago so that he’d already have the house.

  Liar.

  The Navy had been his life, still was his life. It was part of him.

  Dottie had left him more than enough to satisfy anyone else selling the farmhouse. Except Serena.

  Was this Dottie’s way of telling him she’d always hoped he’d come home sooner? Give up his Navy life?

  He wouldn’t give up his naval experience for anything. It was what had made him the man he was today. But damn it, it had also cost him the home of his dreams—the one place he felt like himself. If he’d stayed here and not transferred with the Navy, he might’ve been living in the house before Dottie died. She’d talked about moving to town, to something easier for her to get around in.

  Eight minutes after storming out of the farmhouse he pulled into his driveway and tried not to remember that he’d expected to be the one living in the family homestead by now. He laughed. He’d even planned to get a live Christmas tree and invite his family over—something he never did in the town house due to his deployment schedule and the fact that it was too crowded once all his brothers, their wives or significant others and their children piled in.

  What had Dottie been thinking?

  He’d known Uncle Todd drank—they all did. But he’d had long periods of sobriety, too. Not many, but enough that Jonas remembered one Christmas when Uncle Todd had come to the house with a sack full of gifts for Jonas and his brothers. Dottie had acted like he was crazy, spoiling her boys. She didn’t fool any of them; Jonas knew she’d been thrilled to see her brother sober and as happy as she was during the holidays.

  Only after he was older did Jonas come to understand that Dottie had often taken care of Uncle Todd. When he’d been at his worst, she’d always helped him back on his feet, finding him a job or, toward the end, good medical care.

  Dottie had taken Uncle Todd’s death hard. He’d lingered, survived far longer than his liver should have lasted. Jonas had been on deployment and, just like when Dottie died, unable to get back in time for Uncle Todd’s service. But he’d arrived home within a month of Todd’s passing and Dottie’s grief had shaken him. He thought he’d already seen her at her worst, when his father died unexpectedly of a heart attack years earlier. Jonas had been seventeen and looking forward to going to college on scholarship. Dottie had made him go, even though he’d thought he should stay back a year and help out around the h
ouse.

  She’d grieved deeply, but after a while she’d picked herself up and taken on more hours at her real estate office. She’d worked part-time while raising him and his brothers, and full-time after he’d left for college.

  Dottie was a giver and her entire life had been a testament to her generosity.

  Her generosity to a niece-in-DNA-only, however, bordered on insanity.

  “What were you thinking, Dottie?” He pushed open his front door and flicked on the hall light. It was only three in the afternoon but sunset wasn’t far off. Nightfall came early to Whidbey in the winter months.

  He walked into the kitchen and checked his phone—no messages. He usually relied on his cell to keep in touch with his friends and family, but sometimes they called his house.

  The lack of messages and the empty house was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the farmhouse.

  Warmth that had everything to do with Serena.

  Jonas looked in his pantry, then his refrigerator. Nothing but leftover pizza from two nights ago, a box of cereal, a pouch of coffee.

  Pathetic.

  He’d been back a couple of weeks and still hadn’t resumed his regular routine.

  From what he saw in his short time there, the farmhouse was filled with Serena’s touches. He wanted to hate what she’d done, find fault with her destruction of what had been the heart of his childhood.

  He couldn’t. She’d rubbed luster back into the wood trim, restoring it to the original cherry finish. All the rugs had been ripped up and the floors finished to a soft honey hue. Wherever she could, she’d breathed life back into the aging timber. Where she couldn’t, instead of replacing the wood like the kitchen cabinets, she’d painted them.

  Somehow Serena had made the farmhouse a home for her and Pepé, and still maintained the simple beauty of the place.

  He cast an assessing glance around his place. He’d bought it as an investment, assuming he’d rent it out once he moved into the farmhouse. As a result he hadn’t done much in the way of filling the rooms with furniture or decorating them. It looked plain when it should look like a palace after the conditions he’d endured on deployment.

  It’s not the house, or the furniture.

  He sank into his leather couch and put his feet on the battered coffee table he’d built years ago. It was in need of refinishing.

  No, it wasn’t the house. It was the emptiness, the lack of laughter. There wasn’t a little boy running around with his dog. And there wasn’t a beautiful brunette smiling at him from the kitchen.

  * * *

  “PEPÉ, THERE’S SOMEONE I want you to meet.”

  He looked up from his plastic building blocks.

  “Who, Mama?”

  Serena smiled at Pepé. She loved that he still sometimes called her “Mama” when he was in playing zone; it had been the first word he’d spoken.

  “Come out to the barn with me.”

  They made their way to the small structure and she grinned, knowing how fun Pepé’s afternoon was about to get. She was also grateful for the distraction from Jonas Scott’s anger that radiated off him when he’d left. As she replayed their conversation, there wasn’t anything she could have done—his emotions with the house were his.

  Yet she’d wanted to reach out to him, to soothe him.

  She watched Pepé as his eyes searched around the small barn before his gaze lit upon the two fuzzy, long-necked animals that stood inside the small paddock.

  “You got the alpacas! Yes!” He ran toward them, and the shy creatures backed away from the wooden railings.

  Ronald barked, his tail wagging, as he trotted next to Pepé.

  Serena caught up with him at the fence line. “Like this, mi hijo.” She held out her hands and cooed to the frightened alpacas.

  “Are they boys or girls, Mom?”

  “Two girls. Sisters.” The alpacas approached them and leaned their cute faces toward Serena and Pepé, their huge eyes blinking.

  Pepé held out his hands and the caramel-colored one spit on it.

  “Ewww, Mom!”

  Serena laughed. “They’re checking you out. It’ll take some time, but they’ll learn to trust us.” As she heard her own words, she realized maybe that was all it would take with Jonas. Time to let him learn to trust her, to understand that she hadn’t received the farmhouse from Dottie for any reason other than Dottie’s whim.

  “What are their names, Mom?”

  “They don’t really have any yet. I thought I’d let you pick the names, mi hijo.”

  “This one is Cami.” He pronounced it like a wizard casting a spell.

  “Why that name?”

  “Because her fur looks like Marine camouflage uniforms. You know, like my G.I. Joe.”

  Of course. Pepé might not even be making the connection with his dad’s uniform, but his heart was.

  “What about the white one?”

  Pepé looked at the second alpaca, who’d come up and was allowing Serena to stroke her side.

  “Snowball!”

  They both laughed. “They’re not like pets, not like Ronald, but they’re part of our family now. Their coats will grow out and then I’ll have someone give them a good haircut. Their fiber will be turned into yarn.”

  “Can you knit me a pair of socks from their yarn?”

  “You bet. And a sweater to match.” She hoped she’d be able to keep her promise. Owning farm animals was a big leap of faith for her, one more step toward making Whidbey their forever home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Whidbey Island

  First week of December

  “WINNIE, YOUR DECORATIONS are the absolute best!”

  Serena clinked her champagne glass against Winnie Ford’s and took a sip of the dry Washington State sparkling wine.

  Winnie was one of Serena’s closest confidantes. Last winter, when Serena had stopped in the shop for some heavier yarn than she was used to, she and Winnie had immediately struck up a rapport that wasn’t uncommon with knitters and crocheters.

  Pepé’s school schedule and Serena’s reluctance to get a babysitter so soon after moving to a new place had prevented her from joining the many knitting classes and groups offered at Winnie’s shop. But they’d managed to form a bond—especially once they’d ascertained that they shared a bond no two women would ever wish for. They were both military widows.

  Winnie’s first husband had died in a Navy plane crash several years ago. After that, Winnie had decided to open a yarn shop, which evolved into Whidbey’s fiber cooperative, a venture that allowed small-farm owners to participate in fiber production.

  Serena had met Winnie that day she’d wandered into Winnie’s yarn shop in Coupeville, a small seaside town in the center of Whidbey Island. They’d connected over skeins of alpaca lace yarn, leading to Serena’s decision to try raising alpacas at Dottie’s family farm. Winnie had told Serena how she’d fallen in love with Max Ford, her second husband.

  “I’m so glad you came this year. Last year you were still settling in. And now look at you—a new house and a new venture. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re going to be an official part of the fiber cooperative.”

  “Me, too. I finally took my friend Emily up on her offer to watch Pepé, and now I’m thinking I should do this more often. I feel like a real adult, not just a mom!”

  She needed a night out, and when Winnie had invited her to the Ford family holiday party she knew it was another sign—time to start a social life for herself. She was Pepé’s mother and that still came first, but her crazy attraction to Jonas had underscored her need to get out more. If she was around more available men, one guy wouldn’t be as likely to turn her head as Jonas had.

  “Have you dated since your husband died?” Winnie asked.

 
Winnie’s hand felt warm on her forearm and it didn’t occur to Serena to lie. “No. I haven’t given it a thought. But lately I’ve been thinking I should go out a little more.”

  Winnie smiled. “I understand. I waited an awfully long time myself.”

  Her gaze drifted to where a tall, handsome man stood with two daughters. “My first foray into a relationship ended up in marriage, as you know.”

  At Serena’s stunned silence, Winnie laughed.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not suggesting you do the same. Can I give you a piece of advice?”

  Serena nodded.

  “Relax. There isn’t a time limit on grief, or when you’ll be ready to be with someone again. But if someone shows up and you find yourself interested? Don’t hold back. No guilt.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” Serena watched as Winnie stared at her husband, Max, obviously in love.

  “Do you really think I’ll be able to handle the alpacas when I’m working full-time?”

  “Of course you will. And if you can’t, Marcy said she’d take them back.”

  Serena stifled her doubts. It was going to work; it had to. Pepé had already fallen in love with the two alpacas, sisters from Marcy’s herd. Marcy was a fiber friend of Winnie’s.

  Serena wondered if Jonas had noticed the fresh lumber piled outside the old barn. If he did, he hadn’t mentioned it, and besides, why should she care? But his eyes... Those eyes could convince her to do a lot more than she’d thought about doing with a man in a long while....

  “Dottie would be surprised that I’ve refurbished the barn, but I’m excited to take the house and land back to what it was originally. I’m not a farmer by any stretch, but as you know, fiber’s in my blood.”

  Winnie laughed. “Judging by how much yarn you’ve collected for your stash since you’ve moved here, yes, it’s in your blood.”

  At what must have been Serena’s guilty expression, Winnie giggled and put a comforting hand on Serena’s shoulder. “You’re not the only one who’s hoarding yarn, Serena—how do you think I keep the shop in the black?”