Christmas Kisses with My Cowboy - Diana Palmer Page 0,68
and Merry Christmas, Molly-Mae.”
“Merry Christmas.” Molly-Mae disconnected the call, but not before Faith heard someone on the other end say, “How prestigious can it be? They let a Loren in.”
Faith’s tender spots took a direct hit and that old humiliation and insecurity resurfaced from the pit of her stomach to spill over.
She’d become accustomed to the looks and whispers about her infamous family. Developed thicker skin to soften the blow. Worked tirelessly to atone for her parents’ selfish decisions and insulate Pax from any of the fallout.
He was a sweet kid and at an age when other people’s opinions could influence the direction of his life. And, like Faith, he hadn’t had a say in who his parents were or how they behaved.
So as quickly as she disconnected, she dialed another number. She didn’t think about her long hours at the hospital, her after hours waitressing and baking, or the wrapping party with chocolate and wine. She focused on what mattered—a way to change the town’s opinion about what it meant to be a Loren.
Set things straight because, while Faith and Pax shared their mom’s last name, that was where the similarities ended.
This new generation of Lorens didn’t lie and they didn’t cheat—and they sure as heck didn’t run when things got tough.
So when Ester answered on the other end, Faith asked, “Do you still need help? If so, count me in.”
Chapter Five
Thanks to a hailstorm and vicious winds, Faith didn’t get home from her shift at the hospital until after 8:00 P.M. The house was freezing, Pax was staying at JT’s, and all she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sleep until New Year’s. And it was only Monday.
But since launching Operation Cookie Monster, she’d spent every night of the past week in her kitchen, baking and freezing ginger bear cookies.
Tonight was her last night of baking, and tomorrow she’d begin the painful process of frosting fifty-dozen ginger bear cookies.
The idea of fifty-dozen cookies was far different than the reality of how much dough it took to bake fifty-dozen cookies in her stamp-sized kitchen.
After cranking the heater to Oahu-in-summer, she slipped on her apron and got to work. With the oven preheating, she pulled out the dough, which had been chilling since last night, and sprinkled flour on the cutting board. Then, one by one, she cut out each little bear face, placing it on the cookie sheet, then topped it with a dough Santa hat. The layering would give her cookies depth and make them stand out from the cookies of the past.
“You are so cute,” she cooed to the first batch of the night, then slid them into the oven.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. And what better late night snack than leftover apple pie? Which she popped into the microwave.
Never having much downtime, Faith didn’t know what to do with leisure, so she decided to watch the plate spin around and around. Afraid she might be standing too close, she took a small step back, then watched the seconds count down.
Anticipating the ding, she’d just touched the handle when an ear-piercing crack shot through the night, filling the air with charged static. Suddenly, everything plunged into complete blackness.
Faith’s stomach hollowed out as her body dropped straight to the floor, knocking over the mixing bowl, sending a cloud of flour exploding on impact. Old instincts kicked in and she covered her head with her hands, curling herself into a tight ball.
Her heart ricocheting off her ribs, her eyes tightly shut, she remained completely still, except for the involuntary chattering of her teeth. Her lungs burned to release the trapped oxygen and her pulse thundered so loudly she was certain it was audible.
And in that split second of time, Faith was a six-year-old girl again, huddled behind the couch, feeling so helpless and afraid, she was dizzy with dread.
Still unmoving, she strained to listen through the roar in her ears, waiting for glass to shatter or the sound of footsteps pounding toward her, but all she heard was a thick, suffocating silence.
Out of nowhere, a low rumble started overhead, shaking the house and rattling the windows.
Relief seeped into her tightened muscles and she opened one eye, then the other, right as another bright flash lit up her kitchen like Rockefeller Center at Christmas. It wasn’t until the thunder rolled again that Faith allowed herself to breathe, to believe that it was only a storm and her life wasn’t in danger.