Jean C. Gordon here. I hope you all had a nice Christmas. My favorite part was having my whole immediate family come to Christmas Eve Service with me and returning home afterwards to each open one gift—a tradition my parents started once none of us kids still believed Santa brought our gifts.
To continue the giving spirit, I have an excerpt from my new Love Inspired Romance A Mom for His Daughter for everyone and a copy of the book for one reader who shares her or his favorite part of this Christmas in the comments. I'll randomly pick the winner tomorrow evening by 8 pm and post back here in the comments.
Chapter One
Everything
Marc Delacroix had always thought he wanted rode on decisions he and
his business partners would make in the next few hours. And he couldn’t
care less.
Oh,
he’d gone through the motions yesterday of meeting with Fiona Bryce,
the Cornell farm-to-table consultant. He owed his partners that much.
They’d been picking up slack for him even before Cate’s death. The lump
that formed in his throat when he thought about his wife didn’t choke
off his windpipe anymore, which he guessed was progress. This Lake
George restaurant launch his partners had sent him north for felt a lot
like a get-yourself-together or sell-out proposition. He curled his lip.
Maybe he should sell out.
His
cell phone jolted him from his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID.
Mom. Just what he didn’t need when he was rushing to get his daughter,
Stella, dressed and to her first morning at preschool in Schroon Lake.
But he couldn’t ignore her. She was his mother.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up? I only have a minute if I’m going to get Stella to school on time.”
“But she’s not quite three yet. So little for preschool,” his mother protested.
While
he listened to his mother’s opinion on Stella and preschool for the
third time, his thoughts drifted back to yesterday. Although he only had
a vague idea of what Fiona’s program could do, he’d forwarded her
presentation with his positive recommendation to his partners. He’d been
unexpectedly mesmerized by the woman—her features, her movements—and
had paid more attention to her than to what she’d said.
“Marc?”
“Yes, I’m here, Mom. I was thinking about my meeting at the research farm yesterday.”
“I’m glad you’re taking an interest in your work again,” she said.
More
like an interest in my potential business consultant. But it was
something. Better than the apathy that had paralyzed him for the past
months.
“You
know I don’t mind watching Stella,” his mother said. “I’m free today if
you want to get some work in. I usually don’t schedule any bookkeeping
on Wednesdays to have a day free for errands and other things.”
That
was the drawback and blessing of having moved Stella from New York City
to his hometown of Paradox Lake in the Adirondack Mountains. Lots of
people always ready to help. Mom with her offers to take care of Stella.
His twin sister pressing him to socialize, meet new people—Fiona, her
coworker at the Cornell Research Farm in Willsboro, popped into his mind
again—and encouraging him to get started on La Table Frais, his
restaurant project.
Cradling
the phone between his ear and shoulder, Marc picked up Stella’s shoes,
slipped them on her feet and pressed the Velcro fasteners. He was
inclined to agree with his mother, but his youngest sister, Renee, a
child sociologist, had convinced him that being with children her age
would help get Stella up to speed with the age-appropriate behavior
she’d fallen behind on.
“It’s
a play group for two- and three-year-olds. And Andie will be there.”
His older sister was one of the teachers at The Kids Place, the
childcare center at Hazardtown Community Church, where he and his family
attended services.
“Stella. Red,” Stella said, pointing at her belly and her red T-shirt in a basket of clothes he had folded, ready to put away.
“Okay.”
Marc hoped he wasn’t pushing Stella too hard. Her speech development
had stalled since Cate died. But referring to herself in a baby-like
third person was something new he’d noticed since they’d moved here last
month.
“Pardon?” his mother said.
Stella scampered over to the basket, pulled off the shirt he’d put on her and worked at putting on the red one.
“Stella wanted to wear her red shirt instead of the one I put on her.”
He
could imagine the expression on his mother’s face about letting Stella
have her way. Marc grabbed his phone from his shoulder. But the
counselor they’d seen downstate after Cate’s death had said to choose
his battles with Stella, and he wasn’t about to do anything to set her
off before he even got her to The Kids Place.
“I
don’t want to upset her, Mom. She had a meltdown yesterday at the
grocery store. Someone Stella didn’t know said hello to her, and Stella
went ballistic. You know how reluctant she can be about talking to new
people.” Or anyone other than him—even his family.
“That’s
what I mean. Stella may need more time with family to adjust to her new
home. School’s off today for a teacher’s workday or something. I could
have Robbie come and play with her.”
Yeah. A playdate with his toddler cousin wasn’t likely to be at the top of seven-year-old Robbie’s wish list.
“I
need to go, Mom. I’ve got work to do after I drop off Stella.” He
strained to hide the catch in his voice on work. How many times had he
said that to Cate, to Stella, thinking there would be time later? Then
Cate was dying, and there were no more laters.
“Daddy!”
He turned. Stella had her arm through the head of the shirt.
“And Stella needs help with her shirt.”
“Okay, and as I said, if you want to go work on the restaurant this afternoon, I’ll be here for Stella.”
“Thanks,
Mom.” But he was the one who ought to be there for his daughter. “I’ll
let you know. Bye. Hang on, sweetpea. I’ll give you a hand.” He pulled
Stella’s arm out of the head hole, and she slipped her arms in the
sleeves.
“Stella do it.”
“Yep. Good job.” Edginess fired through his veins. He could only hope he was doing as well.
“Church.
Singing,” Stella said a few minutes later when he pulled into the
church parking lot and stopped in a space near the church hall.
Marc hopped out and released Stella from her car seat. “I don’t know about singing today.”
His
wife’s beautiful voice singing “On Eagles’ Wings” with their church
choir floated through his head. Stella had loved Cate’s singing, so much
so that he’d avoided taking Stella to church after Cate’s death for
fear the music would set Stella off. Regret squeezed his chest. But he
couldn’t avoid church services here. Nor did he want to. And Stella had
been fine when they’d attended church with his parents last week.
The corners of Stella’s mouth turned down.
“But we’ll see. There might be singing.” He lifted her from the car.
“Stella walk.”
He set her down and took her hand. “Okay.” Slowly, they made their way to the hall door. Marc opened it.
“London Bridge is falling down, falling down…” A group of preschoolers was playing London Bridge in the hall.
“See, Daddy, singing.”
“You’re absolutely right.” His heart lightened. “Let’s go talk with Aunt Andie about school.”
“`Kay.” Stella’s voice lacked the enthusiasm of a minute ago.
Andie walked over to them. He held his breath when she crouched to Stella’s level.
“Hi,
Stella. We’re coloring our class banner.” Andie pointed across the room
to several kids Stella’s age sitting at a table with a long sheet of
white paper. “Want to help us?”
Stella looked up at him. “Daddy color?”
“Remember,
Daddy has to work this morning.” He planned on talking with his
partners. “You can color with Aunt Andie.” The counselor had told Marc
that the little girl might feel more secure with him telling her what to
do, rather than asking—at least for a while.
Stella stared at him silently for so long his heart stopped. Then she nodded and took Andie’s hand.
“She’ll be fine,” Andie said.
“Right.”
He resisted looking back at Stella as he left the hall. Stella knew
Andie. Andie was great with kids of all ages, and she had his number if
there was any problem.
Marc
dragged his feet walking out to the car. He needed to occupy his mind
with something more than concerns about Stella. That fixation wasn’t
good for her or him. He’d taken his first reluctant step yesterday
toward an opportunity he would have jumped at in a New York minute two
years ago. Marc wanted that excitement back. For too long, he’d been
plodding through life placing one foot in front of the other.le
He
made his decision. He needed to get in the race again, call Fiona and
let her know she could write up a consulting contract for La Table
Frais. His partners would probably celebrate his taking the initiative
to make the decision, rather than waiting for their approval.
Sitting
in the driver’s seat, he thumbed to the Cornell Research Farm’s number
on his phone, picturing Fiona, her coppery curls, wide-set hazel eyes
and vivacious mannerisms. She was a stunning woman, and the first woman
he’d noticed since Cate had died.
If
he were honest with himself, that scared him. He closed his eyes. His
main focus still had to be Stella, but to be what his daughter needed,
maybe he needed something for himself.
He
didn’t have to throw himself into the new restaurant twenty-four seven
as he had with his work in New York. And having an adult relationship, a
non-pressure business relationship that had nothing to do with his
daughter, might give him a balance between family and work.
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