For the Girls' Sake - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,49

exclaimed, when he’d identified himself. "Did Santa visit?"

Thinking about his living room, he said ruefully, "Big time. Did he touch down there, too?"

"Oh, yeah. Did you want to talk to Shelly?"

"Actually..." Unconsciously he squared his shoulders. "I was wondering. Do you have anything special planned for today?"

Stupid question. It was Christmas. But he didn’t retract it.

"No," Lynn said quietly. "Except, my parents are here."

"Um, what I was thinking is..." Good thing he didn’t stumble and fumble like this all the time. He finished more strongly, "That maybe Rose and I could drive over today. She wants to play with Shelly, and your parents could meet her."

"Today." Lynn sounded dazed.

"If it’s not convenient—"

"No," she said quickly. "No, I’d love to have you. I just thought...aren’t you getting together with your parents? Or Jennifer’s?"

"We did that last night."

"Oh." He could hear a dawning smile in her voice. "Please. Come. We’d love to have you. Can you stay the night?"

"Your parents..."

"Have a room at an inn." She laughed.

“Rose and I’ll pack up and be on our way as soon as we can."

"I’m so glad you called."

He was, too. Suddenly Christmas Day had become joyous.

* * *

LYNN CHANAK’S HOME at Christmas was everything he’d imagined it would be. Everything, despite the poverty of her possessions, that his wasn’t.

Her mother and stepfather were warm, uncritical and present not just in a corporeal way, like his own parents. The Millers seemed delighted to meet him and they swept Rose into an affectionate circle of games and stories that soon had her chattering as naturally as she did with him.

Carols played in the background, the delicious smell of turkey and stuffing in the oven drifted from the kitchen, the decorations were more affecting for being modest and homemade. If Shelly hadn’t gotten as many gifts as Rose, she hadn’t suffered. She and Rose would have plenty to do today.

A cold rain fell outside, but the early darkness pressing at the windows suited the season and made him all the gladder for the golden glow of life and liking in here. With four adults and two children, there were hardly enough places to sit; except for the girls and Grandma, who insisted on joining them at the kitchen table, they ate with plates on their laps and drinks carefully set on the floor at their feet. He and Hal Miller, Lynn’s stepfather, talked about the economy and the stock market. Miller had enough investments to be interested and to have some intelligent questions and observations.

"I’ve bought shares in several of the more solid Internet companies,” he commented. "It’s got to be the future."

Lynn made a face. "Don’t tell me you’ve invested in my competition?"

"’Fraid so." He grinned. "Figured we’d better have a cushion just in case."

She rolled her eyes, but grinned. "Oh, thank you. I’ll have you know we had a fabulous Christmas season!"

"Weather was good this fall," Adam said. "Did that keep tourists coming?"

"It didn’t hurt, but tourism is booming over here no matter what the weather," she answered. "Off-season rates entice people to get away for a few days. I guess an ocean storm sounds exotic and wonderful compared to a Portland or Seattle drizzle. Everyone hopes to find a treasure washed up on the beach afterward. In the meantime, they get here and it’s rainy and cold and they didn’t bring enough to do in their hotel rooms." She sounded smug. "They come and see me."

"Ah." Her stepfather nodded seriously. "Not hard to find something to read in your place. I browsed yesterday." He glanced at Adam. "Good section on money and investing."

"I noticed." Adam had browsed, too. Wanting—well admit it, he thought—to find out how smart Lynn Chanak was.

Very, he had concluded. She knew her business, which a surprising number of people who hung out a shingle didn’t.

Lynn excused herself to dish up apple pie, à la mode, for those who wanted it. The pie was warm and obviously homemade. Flaky crust, the apples spicy, tart and melt-on-the-tongue soft.

Taking a sip of coffee followed by a mouthful of pie, Adam almost groaned in pleasure.

In one corner of the living room, Rosebud and Shelly squealed happily over a game that seemed to involve contorting their bodies into absurd positions to put hand or foot on big bright colored circles on a mat. Grandma Miller spun a dial and announced, "Right hand, blue!" and the girls both collapsed in an attempt to move their hands.

The next round, they spun the dial while Grandma and Mom played.