Page 8 of Christmas in His Arms

Something in my chest tightened when he mentioned her name, and I felt like punching him. "That's Walt's daughter, alright, and she's off limits." Sam was happily married, but a reminder to keep his eyes—and his comments—to himself never hurt. Just thinking of the men in this town ogling her had me ready to fight for her honor, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

I had promised Walt a long time ago that I'd always be there for him. That meant times like this, when his daughter and wife needed loving support. I'd heard my fair share of gossip floating around since Carrie started showing her face around town at Helen's behest. People weren't very kind at all. Any bit of news—confabulated or true—quickly turned to whispers on the tongues of every citizen.

"Sheesh, man, a guy can look. She sure is gorgeous, though. How the heck did Walter pull that off?" Sam chuckled at how I chastised him, and I felt a scowl brewing on my face. I shouldn't be so defensive because I couldn't stake a claim to her, not with her openly rejecting me, but I could still be the man I promised Walter I'd be.

"She's not even thirty, Sam. Think of your own daughter." Sam's daughter was twenty-one, and while I had never looked at her as if she were someone I'd consider dating, I had noticed she was quite pretty.

Walter would be livid if he knew men our age were looking at her like a slab of beef on the market ready for the auction block. I was only doing my duty as his friend by chasing away that unwanted and unsolicited attention.

Sam grew quiet as he took another bite of his hoagie, but Marge must've overheard us talking because she popped her head into my office without being invited to the conversation. My secretary was about as nosy and full of gossip as they came, and the instant I saw her face, I knew there was a pile of crap headed my way.

"Are you talking about Walter Bennett's daughter?" She leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and clung to the door jamb, bracing herself on it. "Because I heard she left town after that whole scandal."

I didn't get a chance to stop the conversation from spiraling out of control. Before I could speak, Sam did. "Is that right? I heard Ol' Walt paid off a judge when he was the mayor because of her underage drinking."

"She had a part," Marge said very matter-of-factly. "There were kids driving home drunk that night, and one girl died. It's such a shame. That girl has no business in this town. It's a wonder Walter and Helen stuck around."

"Marge, please stop talking." I stood and tucked my tie into my jacket and buttoned it, and Marge looked up at me with a glower. I usually just let the shit hit the fan and ignored it, but I wasn'tgoing to stand here while Walter was lying in a hospital bed and let people sling mud from his past. Neither he nor Carrie deserved that.

"Well, Mr. Hawthorne, I was just saying?—"

"Enough, Marge," I said firmly again, and she scowled. "We can handle things from here. You can take the rest of the day off." It felt evil giving her the afternoon off after being so snotty with her storytelling, but I knew if she stuck around, I'd say things I'd later regret. "And Marge," I said as she started to walk away, "make sure whoever starts spreading those lies about Walter knows they'll have me to answer to if his recovery is affected by them." I glared at her as she sashayed off.

Learning about Carrie's wild past only made me think more fondly of her. She had, like me, been a victim of this town's gossip circles. Mine was a storm surrounding Kate's motion for divorce and the way she died tragically only hours after signing the final papers. People still believed me capable of sabotaging her car, and whoever started that rumor was a horrible person.

This insight into Carrie's teen years didn't surprise me at all. I was a wild one when I was young too, throwing parties, sneaking out. We weren't all that different, and the things we had in common gave me sympathy for her situation. Not only did she hate how her mother and father tried to push her to do what they wanted without being as supportive of her choices as she thought they should, but she was also ashamed of her mistakes and probably carried guilt.

Now I felt even more protective of her. Where the line of propriety fell was another story because the knot tightening in my gut felt more like a jealous, possessive anger, not that of a protective big brother.

7

CARRIE

Pressing a kiss to my father's forehead, I breathed a sigh of relief that he was finally home. We had less than a week until Thanksgiving, and this year, I had more to be thankful for than ever. I sat on the side of his bed and held his hand knowing this would be a bumpy road to recovery, but I was glad he was finally home.

"Stop babying me," he grunted, and his speech was a little slurred. The right half of his face drooped a little, which the doctors said would resolve soon enough, and he would need help feeding himself and using the toilet too. He would be in a wheelchair until the physical therapist helped him relearn how to walk.

"It's not babying, Dad." I frowned at his grumpy mood, but I completely understood how he might feel suffocated. He'd lived his whole life independently, and now he had to rely on other people. The only thing keeping him in even a halfway positive headspace right now was Ryan, who hovered at the foot of the bed. Mom was downstairs getting all of Dad's medications ready. "We just want to take care of you."

Dad's scowl deepened, but Ryan's chipper mood softened the tension in the room as he said, "Don't be an old curmudgeon, Walt. We have a tee time set up in April, and you'll be back to normal before you know it."

Dad nodded and pursed his lips. He acted like he wanted to protest, but Mom walked in carrying a tray with all of Dad's medication bottles organized on it. She also had a cup of tea and a few packets of sugar next to it and she was beaming with happiness. My heart really went out to her even though we had our differences. She'd almost lost the love of her life.

"Well, here we are, dear." She walked closer, and I stood and got out of her way so she could be closer to Dad.

"Humph…" Dad grunted, and Mom set the tray down on his nightstand.

She turned to smile at Ryan and said, "Thank you for helping out. The nurses will be coming by every day to check on him, and the physical therapist comes twice a week. But we still need help around here. We'll need a tree and someone to put the lights up." Mom folded her hands in front of herself, and I couldn’t help but notice Dad looking a bit more frustrated. All those things she rattled off would've been things he did.

"It's really no problem. I'd do anything to help Walt out." Ryan had been a huge help, including getting the downstairs guest bedroom set up as Mom and Dad's room for the time being until Dad could do stairs again. There was little anyone could do to make the house wheelchair accessible, but Ryan managed to find one that would fit through the doorways, at least.

"Well, you've been a huge help." Mom's polite smile turned toward Dad, who grunted again.

"Thanks," he said, and he tried to smile too, but it looked painfully awkward with half of his face sagging. He'd probably need a counselor to handle all these negative emotions he was feeling on top of all the doctors he was seeing for his physical health.

"I'd better get out of here. They're setting up the Christmas decorations in the town square today, and I'm supposed to be supervising." Ryan clapped his hands together and then smiled at me. I felt my cheeks warm any time he looked at me, but when he turned the full force of that handsome smile my direction, I practically melted. This man had actually asked me whether I'd consider dating him, and my God, he was hot.

"Oh, that's so nice. You should take Carrie with you. She's only left this house to go to the hospital or the grocery store, and now that she's figured out the delivery system, she probably won't even leave the house again now that Walter is home."

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