Page 41 of The Sound of Sleighbells

“Let me fix that.” He was wearing a down vest over a heavy wool Pendleton shirt. Slipping off the vest, he held it so that she could slide it on over her jacket. It enfolded her in cozy warmth. She snuggled into the lingering heat from his body.

Most of the refreshment vendors were still setting up, but the heavenly fragrance of hot chocolate was drifting on the wintry air.

“I promised you coffee,” Judd said. “Would you settle for chocolate—maybe with a marshmallow or two?”

“That sounds even better than coffee this morning,” she said. “But no marshmallows. They’re too sweet.”

He chuckled. “I remembered that you didn’t like them. I was just wondering if you’d changed your mind. Have a seat by the tree. I’ll be right back.”

Benches were arranged in an open semicircle with a view of the Christmas tree. At this hour most of them were empty. Ruth chose one and sat down. She was aware that Judd wanted to talk, and she wasn’t looking forward to what he had to say. But for now, she allowed herself to enjoy the moment, gazing up at the tree with its traditional decorations, filling her senses with the aromas of spruce, cinnamon, bayberry candles, and freshly baked cookies.

The speakers had come on, playing a beautiful new song called “Candlelight Carol.” Ruth had heard it only a few times, but she loved it. Skip had mentioned that the school choir, of which he was a member, would be singing that song in their Christmas concert, here in the park, on the last day of classes. She could hardly wait to hear their performance.

She was feeling almost sentimental by the time Judd returned. His hands balanced two Styrofoam cups. “Sorry, I had to wait till it was ready,” he said, sitting. “Here’s your chocolate. Mine has marshmallows.”

Ruth took a cautious sip. It was hot and rich. But the moment of truth had arrived. “I know you made the offer on my property,” she said. “You know I don’t like to accept charity—”

“It isn’t charity, Ruth. I’ve needed more grazing land for my cattle, and your farm is in a good location. It just made sense to buy it.”

“But having the money will make all the difference for me and my children. Now we can buy a home of our own. We can even get a dog for the girls. I’d be ungrateful if I didn’t thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” he said. “I want to talk to you about something else. And I want you to listen until I’ve finished.”

The familiar knot in the pit of her stomach jerked tight. “It’s about Skip, isn’t it?”

“Yes. All I’m asking is for you to hear me out.” He took a deep breath. “I know that I have no right to claim Skip as my son. I accept that. If you want him to believe he’s the son of the good man who raised him, I accept that, too. And if you don’t want me to associate with him—or with you—after the Christmas parade, that’s something I’m prepared to live with. It’s no better than I deserve. But here’s the thing.”

Ruth forced herself to keep still, even though doing so was like waiting for a bomb to explode.

“My parents passed away while I was in prison,” he said. “I was a disappointment even before my arrest. I’ll never forgive myself for what my behavior must’ve done to them—that, and not being around when they needed me in their old age. I was a lousy son and an even worse father. But this isn’t about guilt. It’s about doing something for somebody besides myself.

“I’m setting up a trust fund for Skip’s education. You won’t need to tell him it’s there or where it came from. But it will be there, and it’ll be all he needs. I’ll give you the documents when the legal work is done.”

She stared at him, stunned, the empty cup dropping from her hand. “This is too much. I can’t let you do it.”

“You can’t stop me, Ruth. And you won’t, because you love your son, and you want the best for him.”

“Then I’ve no choice except to thank you. But Skip isn’t to know—not until I say so. I don’t want him to think he has a free ride. And I don’t want to belittle Abner’s gift of his wife’s Lladró figures, which we’re selling to start Skip’s college fund.”

“That sounds reasonable enough.”

“And he’s to go to college. No more encouraging him to follow your career path.”

“I never did encourage him, Ruth. I only showed him a few things.”

She stood, picked up the fallen cup, and tossed it into a nearby trash receptacle. “I need to get back to school.”

“Then let’s go.” His tone was slightly cool as they turned back toward the truck. They said little as he drove her to the school, but Ruth’s mind was swarming with questions.

How could he expect her to melt with gratitude, when she believed his generosity was a move to claim her son?

And how could she accept special treatment for Skip when her two girls—Ed’s daughters—were excluded? That alone was reason to keep Judd at a distance. She and her three children were a package deal. She’d seen no sign that he understood that.

She didn’t dare trust him—even though the yearning to be his was still there—to walk hand in hand with him, to lie in his arms and feel his kisses. Too late. She repeated the words to herself. Too late.

He let her off at the school and helped her out of the truck. She thanked him without any mention of meeting again. As she walked back to the building, she heard him drive away.

Inside, the older students were coming in from second recess. As she walked up the hall to check in at the office, a pretty sixth-grade girl greeted her with a smile and a thumbs-up. “I like your vest, Mrs. McCoy. Where did you buy it?”

---