Chapter 26
As I enter the main house on the Holcombe ranch, I glance around at the Christmas Eve preparations.
From the back door, the open plan allows a full view of the kitchen, dining room, and den.
Harlan told me the property was updated recently with dark wood floors that match the planks in the vaulted ceilings.
The swirling dark granite complements the stainless-steel accents.
After I hang my coat on one of the hooks, I nudge my boots off and make a mental note to sink into the den’s oversized couches for a nap later today.
Clark and Scott shove each other in an elbow war while they put place settings on the distressed-wood dining table.
William stands next to the grand Christmas tree and stokes the fire.
I don’t spot Gracie anywhere, but a sprite of a woman with shoulder-length gray hair and sparkling blue eyes walks toward me.
“Meredith. Merry Christmas Eve.” The lines in her face hint at a life of hard work, but her smile is breathtaking. “I’m Mama Lee.”
When she hugs me, I take in her soulful warmth. I lower my head to speak into her ear. “I’m so glad to meet you.” How did a person so tiny produce two brawny men?
“Word on the street is you turned down a serious triple-dog dare yesterday.” She pulls back to end the hug but keeps a grasp on my arms.
“She refused to go down an easy blue with us,” Clark calls across the room while pointing a handful of forks at me.
“I didn’t want to cramp your style.” Shrugging, I lean in for a conspiring whisper with Harlan’s mom. “I chose survival.”
With one final pat, she releases me. “I’m glad you did, otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you.”
She has no idea the truth of her statement.
Clark shakes his head as he haphazardly places a fork at the end of the table. “I think she fell down a lot on purpose so she wouldn’t have to go down a harder run.”
I think I fell down a lot on purpose so my hulk-of-a-man boyfriend would have to help me up again.
“Meredith, this is our ranch hand, Hank Browning. He’s been with us since the boys were little.” Mama Lee turns to a figure holding up the wall near William.
He doesn’t acknowledge her words. Instead, he stares into the blazing fire.
Harlan’s mother cups her hands and yells across the room, “Hank.” She turns to me. “Hank’s a little hard of hearing.”
Head to toe, he looks like he walked out of an old Western, complete with hat and pearl-snap chambray shirt. Peering around Mama Lee, I search for his holster. He may be older in years, but I wouldn’t want to cross him in a dark corral.
“This is Meredith.” Mrs. Holcombe’s declaration is loud enough for the neighboring ranch to hear. “She’s from Texas.”
Hank’s mouth hitches in a half smile. “What about the sexes?”
A short burst of laughter comes from Scott and Clark.
“I forgot to mention,” Harlan’s mom says out of the side of her mouth, “his misinterpretations aren’t always socially appropriate.”
Trying to mask my shocked face, I wave at Hank.
He nods in return.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Harlan’s husky voice comes from behind me, and he pulls me back to lean against his chest. “How are you?”
I squeeze his forearms, thankful for the distraction from my introduction to Hank. “You didn’t mention that I wouldn’t be able to function today. I have taken soreness to a new level.”
“I bet that stop sign feels the same way.” He kisses my cheek.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to say mean things to me on Christmas Eve.” I crank my head back and flash a fake glare at him.
“Just call him the Harlan Shake, Meredith.” Scott snickers. “He hates it.”
I spin in Harlan’s embrace to face him, pursing my lips to contain a giggle.
Harlan rolls his eyes. “Some people think my dancing is out of control like the Harlem Shake.”
Turning to his mom, I bug out my eyes. “Exactly. I mean, how he can be so good at something like skiing but is a lethal weapon during a waltz?”
Her lips twitch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I refer to him as Twinkle Toes.”
I offer an understanding nod. “You enable him to boost his low self-esteem. I get it.”
“Hello?” Harlan throws his hands in the air. “I’m standing right here.”
Mama Lee pats her son on the shoulder. “Go grab some Advil for your girl. She’ll need her muscles to recover before the New Year’s Eve square dance.”
“Thrown under the bus by my own mother.” He leads me down a short hallway to a half bath. As he pulls me into the tight room, he shuts the door behind us and scans my face. “How are you this morning? Really.”
My eyes mist, belying my happy facade. “I’m okay.”
“We can go back to the guesthouse and hang out if that’s what you need. Everyone knows what today means for you, and they want you to feel comfortable.” After grasping my hands, he rubs my wrists with his thumbs. “How can I help?”
I release a shaky breath. “Will you just stay by my side?”
“Done,” he says with an affirmative dip of his chin.
I snake my hands around his waist and burrow my head into his chest. “You okay without Alex here?”
“No. But she’ll be here in time for the square dance, and that’ll be fun.
” Harlan releases a frustrated sigh. “The daily parenting grind isn’t Olivia’s specialty.
She’s a better parent at big celebrations because it gives her tasks and she likes showing off.
I trade holidays because it’s best for my daughter. But I do miss Alex.”
I sidestep, giving him room to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “How did Alex sound this morning when you called?”
“Good. The whole family FaceTimed. William even played her favorite song on his guitar.” He grabs a plastic shoebox, stands, and sets it on the vanity.
While rummaging through the container, he inspects each label.
“I’m disappointed you didn’t get to talk to Alex, but I think it was best not to provoke an episode from Olivia.
I hate it, but until my lawyer figures out her game plan, I need to be careful. ”
“I agree,” I say through a stifled yawn.
Harlan pulls my hand up and glances at the top of it. “Nice cheat sheet.”
Smiling at the leftover permanent-marker R on my right hand, I nod. “My new best friend, Scott, helped me out yesterday.”
“The boys have really taken to you.” He opens the bottle of Advil and taps two pills into my palm.
I grin.
“Brunch is ready.” Mama Lee’s voice carries through the house.
Harlan nods at my hand. “Those will loosen up your muscles before I swing you around the dance floor next week.”
“Lord, help me.” With Harlan’s hand on the small of my back, I walk down the hall, muttering to myself, “Do I need to take out more insurance before the thirty-first?”
Entering the food line, I’m sandwiched between Gracie and Scott.
As I pick up my plate, I scan the choices.
Shoney’s buffet is for amateurs compared to this feast. No wonder Mama Lee stayed home yesterday.
Bacon, two kinds of sausage, eggs, three kinds of bread, pancakes, waffles, and an enormous platter of fruit cover every inch of the surface.
Syrup, whipped cream, four kinds of jelly, two kinds of buttery spread, orange juice, and coffee with all the fixings fill the end of the counter.
After the feast and the opening of the gifts, there will be an assortment of desserts to consume. I’m now thankful I burned off so many calories skiing down Mount Scary yesterday.
While making selections, I glance at Gracie’s plate. “I’m told I have to pace myself. Are you saving room for the dessert?” I offer her a friendly smile and nod at her lone piece of toast and slices of banana.
Her lips press together in a straight line. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
My eyes follow her as she rounds the smorgasbord to find her seat at the table.
Scott leans into my shoulder. “Don’t mind her. She hasn’t been feeling well.” His preteen voice cracks in the lowered tone.
“Oh, sure.” My eyes grow wide when I see what he’s holding. “Good news is you’re consuming enough to cover her.”
His plate is adorned with an obscene amount of meat covered in a pile of bread products. I gape as he adds a whipped cream smiley face. “The trick is, you put the fruit on top so Mom thinks you’re eating healthy.” He dumps strawberry pieces over the precarious dome of food.
“Son, did you just say something about a kiss that’s stealthy?” Hank reaches over Scott’s shoulder to grab a roll while the rest of us stifle guffaws and giggles.
“No, sir.” Scott’s recovery to answer the question is impressive.
But more shocking than Hank’s words, Scott eventually sits down and devours his entire plate. Then he goes back for seconds.
After brunch, we congregate around the tree and begin the festivities. Inside our stockings are small gifts. Mine holds a beautiful nail kit and some stationery made by a local artist.
With each passing tradition and gift, I manage deep breaths. Memories of precious Christmases past pop up, and I shove them down along with the tears threatening to spill. Staying emotionally and mentally present in this room requires focused energy.
Harlan sits next to me on the couch and offers constant affection and support, reaching to push my hair behind my ear or rubbing his hand on my knee.
Various gifts of sweaters, purses, books, and boots for the adults. Video games, hunting gear, and clothes for the kids.
Before I left Dallas, I shipped Texas-themed care packages for each family. The gift baskets are a hit with their bluebonnet napkins, giant pecans, hot sauce, chocolate oil rigs, and Texas-shaped chunks of soap.
“So much Texas.” Clark’s words are muffled around an armadillo praline.
I wink. “Wait until you see my boots at the square dance.”
Hank leans toward Harlan. “What did she say about her pants?”
My face flushes, and I bug out my eyes at Harlan. Thank goodness the group is too occupied with the Lone Star State paraphernalia to hear Hank’s latest listening faux pas.
After all the gifts are opened, Harlan catches my eye with a mischievous grin.