'Tis The Season Page 2

  “That’s a great name.” Riley leans over the counter on her elbows.

  I smirk to hide the smile on my lips as she gazes at Warren with apparent interest.

  “What do you think, Monty? Do you like that name?” I pull him back to look up at me. He wags his tail wildly. I take it as his version of yes. “Monty it is.” I busy myself with getting all the essentials necessary, all included in Uncle Warren’s present.

  JAMES

  “Go home, Jen.”

  “Doctor Bailey, I can’t leave you with this mess.” She gestures toward the inventory we’ve yet to put up.

  “It’s okay. I can stay late. You’ve got a family to get home to, and a late night waiting for little ones to sleep so Father Christmas can arrive.” A pang of longing hits as I think of her children. I’d often thought I would have my own by now. Life doesn’t always work out the way we’d like it to, though. So here I am in my mid-thirties with a successful practice, but no wife or children in sight.

  The brunette cocks her hip and frowns. “You work too hard.”

  “The same could be said for you. Go on now. I have no one waiting at home for me. I’ll have this done and close the office in an hour.”

  “I’m going.” She points her finger at me. “But note I leave under protest.”

  “Noted, Jen.” I smile as she walks toward the office to retrieve her coat. Hitting the remote start, she begins the process of thawing out her car during December in Annapolis, Maryland.

  “I can help until my car is warm,” Jen says.

  “I appreciate it.”

  She nods. Jen is my veteran vet assistant. In her mid-thirties, she’s been at enough offices to know her way around a practice. With love for both animals and their owners, she’s got a real knack for calming anxious owners. She’s been a godsend from the moment she set foot in my practice for an interview. I leaned on her plenty over the years to keep the younger, less experienced vet techs on the right path.

  I’d focused all my attention and energy on succeeding in the business. Now I had a list of loyal, local clients, a decent reputation, and a growing practice. I’m at the point where I can hand over some of the control, but I don’t because there’s nothing else for me to do with my time. Most of my friends are coupled and settled down with kids. Which makes our get-togethers few and far between, or uncomfortable as I play the third wheel, or poor sod they’ve decided to pair up again.

  The time passes swiftly, and I walk Jen to the door, locking the main entrance behind her. With the supplies replenished, I sanitize the room and turn off the lights. My phone chimes, and I smile at the name appearing on my screen. My brother, Thomas, must be at my mother’s with his family. I try not to feel bitter about my parents’ decision to relocate to the motherland. After all, Thomas was the one to give them not only one grandchild but three with his wife, Angelina.

  I answer the duo ap and smile at the face so similar to my own. Thomas’ wheat-colored hair is cropped close to his head, and his wide-set, green eyes identical to our mother’s gleam with mischief and joy. Fatherhood suits him more than I ever could’ve imagined. He’d been a bit of a rolling stone, never settling down or showing an inclination toward wanting the family life until he met Angelina. The sounds of rustling paper and jubilant, tiny voices make my heart swell.

  “Jamison, wait for Charlotte,” Angelina fusses in the background. I hear my father’s robust laughter and shake my head.

  “Merry Christmas, mate,” Thomas says.

  “Merry Christmas. Is the gang all there?”

  Thomas’ smile wavers slightly. “Except you.”

  “Next year.”

  “You said that the year before.”

  “Ahh, but this time I mean it. I’ve got the practice settled enough to leave during the holidays without fearing it’ll all come crashing down around my head.”

  Thomas chuckles. “I’m going to hold you to that. Wait.” He frowns. “Are you still at the office?”

  “I’m actually closed for the day. We got a delayed shipment of supplies in, so I stayed to store them.”

  “You work too much, James.” His voice is soft and kind, and I hate it.

  “Is that my boy on the line?” my mother asks, saving me from ruining Christmas by spewing the vitriol gathered on my tongue. Seeing the brother who never had an interest in domestication live the life I’ve always dreamt of can be soul-sucking. I swallow down the bitterness and smile as my mother’s face enters the screen.

  “Mum.”

  “There’s my boy. Happy Christmas.”

  “Happy Christmas, Mum.” I see the additional lines around her smile and curse time for moving so fast. When I was younger, my parents seemed eternal. Now I see them aging with every year.

  “Can you hear the hubbub these three little monsters are causing?”

  “And you love every moment of it, don’t you, Nan?”

  She laughs. “I do. It’s like seeing you and your brother again. But that little Charlotte is something.”

  “Charlotte’s the oldest. She has to keep Jamison and Graham in line.” I sink into the chair behind my desk in my office and click on my green banker’s lamp.

  “Indeed.” My father’s face appears on the screen.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hello, son. How’s life across the pond treating you?”

  “Good. I was just about to leave to start my holiday.”

  “That’s good. I worry about you and all those hours you put in.”

  “It takes a lot to get a practice up and running. Now I can ease off a bit.”

  He nods. “I understand the ins and outs of the business. But I want you to know that time can’t be regained. Make sure you’re living life outside of work, yeah?”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “Good. Now how are you spending the holidays?”

  “Doing a lot of nothing. Catching up on the tele, visiting friends. That sort of thing.”

  “Any dates?” Mom calls.

  I roll my eyes. “No.”

  “What? Three grandchildren aren’t enough for you, Mum?” Thomas calls.

  “No,” Mum responds without missing a beat, and I laugh.

  “See what I’ve been putting up with for all these years?” my father asks.

  “It keeps you young, Reginald.” Mum’s sassy response reminds me of why I’m still single. If I can’t grow into that, I’m wasting my time. My last relationship failed because she didn’t want to wait for the white dress and babies. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could do all of that and focus on my practice. I want to be a present parent. She’s happily married now, and I don’t begrudge her the life she’s built for herself. I just want to find my happy ending, too.

  “Guys, come say hello to your Uncle James.”

  The pitter-patter of feet over the carpet makes me laugh. Cherub faces press together as they battle for screen time. The chorus of, “Hi, Uncle James,” melts my heart. Not seeing them is the biggest drawback to remaining in America. Dad relocated us when we were in our teens for a once in a lifetime promotion and remained until he retired.

  “Hello, my favorite nieces and nephews. Are you keeping everyone on their toes?”

  The resounding, “Yes!” is accompanied by snickers and groans from the adults. I spend thirty minutes talking to them before saying good-bye, and I leave the office, feeling lighter and slightly melancholy.

  AS I PULL INTO THE drugstore for last-minute snacks, the snow is coming down in large flakes that are sticking. Raising my hood, I lean into the wind, whipping and moaning like the ghost of Christmas past, and enter the blessedly warm safety of the store. Stomping my boots on the rubber mat at the entrance, I take down my hood and walk to the alcohol section. Tonight, I’ll make mulled wine, light the fireplace, and indulge in the biscuits and Jammie Dodgers my mother frequently sends me. A little taste of home will chase away the holiday blues in no time. Grabbing a mini cart, I take my time perusing the shelves. I’m not opposed
to a little retail therapy, and drug stores have surprisingly thoughtful and useful gifts.

  I place a few bottles of red wine into the cart. It’s important to start with the essentials.

  “Stop.” A hushed whisper draws my attention from the cornucopia of crisp bags I’d been trying to decide between

  “No. You’re being ridiculous. We need to go home.”

  “And leave Monty to fend for himself? No. This is all your fault anyway.”

  The male voice guffaws. It’s embarrassing to hear the spat. I try to tune them out, but their volume increases.

  “How? You were the one who was distracted.”

  “Yes, by you showing up, uninvited might I add, and arguing with me.”

  “I’m sorry if the thought of my pregnant fiancée sitting alone on Christmas Eve bothered me.”

  “Ex ... and I was exactly where I wanted to be.”

  The sound of feet scuffling against the ground makes me tense. Is he putting his hands on her? I tense. I’ve seen the effects of domestic violence on friends. When we turn a blind eye, we’re all to blame. I push my cart forward, positioning myself in an aisle where I can see them from a distance. The blond brute towers over the smaller woman with inky black hair spilling out from underneath her pale pink cap. The white and pink pom-pom on the top makes me smile.

  “Stop this.” The man grabs her wrist and spins her to face them.

  She places her hands on his chest and steps back. “Let go of me.”

  “Not until you stop this foolishness. The storm is kicking up, and you need to be at home.”

  “With you, right?”

  “Clearly, you can’t take care of yourself. I mean, look at where we are now. How are you going to raise a baby alone if you can’t even handle—”

  Her hand moves so fast I can barely track it. Smack. Her bare palm meets his cheek. His head snaps back, and he blinks. His eyes darken, and he tightens his grip. She winces, and I make my move.

  “Is there a problem here?” I force my way in between the two of them, and she twists her wrist and stiffens her hand, causing his hold to break.

  “Excuse me?” the man asks.

  “The lady made it clear she didn’t want to leave with you, and you’ve pushed the issue.”

  “Listen, mate,” he mocks my accent, “you should mind your business. We’re fine.”

  I glance at the woman watching me with her large, doe-shaped, hazel-colored eyes. “Is that true, miss?”

  “No.” She shakes her head.

  “Are you serious?” he hisses, stepping forward.

  I hold my hand up, forcing him back.

  “I want you to leave. You’ve done enough,” the woman whispers, looking down at the ground.

  “This isn’t over.”

  “It is tonight,” I say.

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store.” A manager appears to the right of the bickering couple.

  “Do you know who I am?” Preston asks, standing taller.

  “A man harassing a pregnant woman in the middle of the store on Christmas Eve,” the manager says in an unimpressed tone.

  The tow-haired man’s face reddens. “Fine.” Stepping back, he spins on his heel and stalks away.

  The woman covers her face and exhales. “I am so sorry.”

  “You should never apologize for his bad behavior,” I say.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, ma’am?” the manager asks, stepping forward.

  “Yes.” She places her hand over the small swell of her belly. “I just came here for tape.”

  “We can get you that,” the manager assures her.

  Smiling, she shakes her head. “Thank you both. His bark is worse than his bite, I swear.”

  “Do you need to file a report?” I ask.

  “There’s nothing illegal about being an asshole, or I would.” She shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

  I hesitate. If I had a woman like this one expecting my child, I wouldn’t dream of treating her that way. She squeezes my arm, and the blood rushes straight down. I swallow and think of the cold waiting for me outside. What kind of pervert gets a hard-on for a pregnant woman he just rescued from an asshole ex? Apparently, me.

  “Well, Happy Christmas then.” I nod and push my cart away before I embarrass myself. Maybe I need something more substantial than wine tonight. I whittle down time, placing things I don’t need in my cart until the woman leaves. When her black SUV pulls out of the parking lot, I head to the front, assured the asshole blond wasn’t lurking outside in wait.

  “Well, it’s a Christmas Eve to remember, that’s for sure,” the dark-haired cashier says. The white ball on the tip of her Santa hat sways as she shakes her head.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever had one like it before.”

  “You’re lucky then. The holidays always bring the crazy out in people.” She continues to ring up and bag my items with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “It was nice of you to step in.”

  “I was just doing what any decent bloke would do.”

  “You’d think that. But I know better. That’ll be $56.78.”

  I hand over my credit card and glance at the snow falling faster outside. Gathering my bags, I offer the tired cashier a smile.

  “Happy Christmas.”

  “Same to you.”

  I crank the heat inside of the car, letting it warm up before I pull out of the parking space and ease onto the slick streets. I’m nearly home when a tiny shape darts out into the road.

  “Damn it.” I can’t leave any animal out there. Pulling to the side of the road, I park and step out, scanning the quickly growing snowdrifts. A flash of brown and black catches my eyes. I follow the prints illuminated by my headlights. They step under a bench. I duck down cautiously, unsure of the animal’s state of mind. The tiny beagle peers up at me warily.

  “What are you doing out here, bud?” I kneel down, ignoring the cold seeping into my trousers.

  “Can you come here?” The pup cranes its neck and scoots forward. “That’s it. You don’t want to stay out here in the cold, do you? No.” I keep my tone even as I hold out my hand. The pup sniffs my fingers a few times before he licks them. “I’m taking that as personal approval. Let’s get you warm.” Scooping him up into my arms, I move back to my car. I don’t have anything for a puppy.

  “Looks like we’re headed back to another store, but you’re worth it.” I lift him up before wrapping him with the blanket I keep in the backseat. “Huh, boy? I wonder who you belong to.” He has a collar but no tag to identify him. “I bet someone is worried about you.” Unless he’s an abandoned Christmas gift. It happens more than people would imagine, but not until a little after the holidays usually.

  “Neither of us will be alone for Christmas now.”

  Chapter Two

  Faye

  I lower my head and ignore the flurries hitting the small sliver of skin left bare around my eyes. They’re melted as soon as they land by the heat of my skin and the tears I can’t stop shedding. I’ve had Monty for less than twenty-four hours, and I’ve already lost him. My chest aches as another sob builds. I’d been plastering the streets with lost posters for the past two hours, pausing only to thaw out in my car. I could call Warren, but the shame stops me. I don’t want to pull him away from the family or admit how incapable I am. One minute, Monty was chasing his tail, circling around my ankles, and the next, he streaked out of the gap in the door Preston created as he tried to shoulder his way in.

  I might’ve caught him if Preston hadn’t blocked me with his massive frame. I’d never felt so powerless in my life. By the time I shoved him out of my way, my new puppy was long gone. The precious time I wasted going back to get my jacket and boots allowed him to run even farther. I couldn’t blame him for fleeing when Preston had been yelling like a maniac. Just thinking about the infuriating man had me seeing red. Taking a deep breath, I staple another poster onto a telephone pole and move back toward my car.

  The mu
scles in my lower back throb and I feel chilled to the bone. I can’t keep this up much longer. It’s not healthy for the baby or me. But the thought of Monty out there alone is a physical ache I can’t ignore. Trudging back through inches of snow, I slide into my car and peel the gloves from my stiff fingers. Rubbing my palms together, I hold them up to the hot air shooting from the vents. I could try driving around, but visibility against the white snow still coming down was poor at best. I have to do something.

  Sufficiently warmed, I pull out of the parking lot and onto the street, driving slowly as I circle the neighborhood watching for any signs of Monty. My phone rings, and I frown at the unfamiliar number. Answering via Bluetooth, I know I’m going to lose it if it’s a telemarketer.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Faye?”

  What is it with delicious-sounding British men tonight?

  “You called me. Shouldn’t you know?”

  “Right. My name is James, and I think I found your dog, Monty.”

  “Oh my God.” My voice catches in my throat. “Is he okay?”

  “Scared, cold, and hungry, but I’ve warmed him up and given him some food.”

  “He’s just a puppy. You didn’t give him regular dog food, did you?”

  He chuckles. “It just so happens that I’m a veterinarian, so I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing.”

  “Jesus. You must think I’m a horrible dog mom.”

  “I’m not here to judge. I’m just happy he’s safe.” He clears his throat. “Though I have to ask why he’s got no identification.”

  “I just got him today. The person who came over wasn’t aware I had a dog, and once he was startled, he was off like a flash.”

  “Beagles are faster than they look.”

  “Yeah. I’ve learned that.”

  “Well, I know it’s Christmas Eve. So, if you want to arrange to pick him up tomorrow sometime—”

  “No.” I clear my throat. “It was just going to be the two of us this evening, and I really need to see him.”

  “Okay.” His voice softens. “I can give you my address.”