God's Gift - By Dee Henderson Page 0,60

he was not one to limit anyone’s dreams—certainly not Rae’s. It mattered to her, so it mattered to him.

He had been about a week premature in his decision to celebrate. By the end of the dinner, he was reluctantly ready to admit it was time to go home and rest. The pain was back, strong and fierce, ugly.

“Come on in, Rae. The door is open.”

It was easier to call than to walk. His ankles were protesting even this journey to the kitchen. The hint of a recovery had been more of a wisp of hope than reality. Six weeks, and the pain in his joints was still severe.

The room vibrated to life with her entrance. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were pink. “James, I got the contract. I’m going to be managing the Hamilton estate, and all its various trust funds.”

“Rae, that’s great,” James said, pleased for her. He handed her one of the sodas he had retrieved. She accepted it from him with a thank-you and spontaneously reached forward to hug him.

She pulled back. “What kind of pizza…?”

He hadn’t been able to mask the pain in time.

She took a hesitant step back and her eyes suddenly widened.

“It hurts when I hug you,” she said, the appalling realization shaking her voice. “Oh, James. I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

He saw the look of horror fill her face, and then she turned abruptly and hurried from the room. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to hurry after her. By the time he reached the door she had fled through, her car was already pulling from the drive.

Rae opened the door for him, her eyes red, her face pale. She looked at him and he looked just as seriously back at her. “Can we talk?” he finally asked.

She swung open the door and walked toward the living room.

James set his wallet and car keys down on the end table. She had moved to stand by the window, her arms wrapped around her middle. He stopped by the end of the couch and looked at her. It was better if she spoke first. It was a long wait.

“I wish you would just say when something causes you pain.”

She was trying so hard not to cry….

With a deep sigh, James crossed over to her side. He had never intended this.

She didn’t want to look at him.

He tipped her chin up. “It hurts when you hug me, but I’m not going to let a little pain rob me of the pleasure. I love it when you hug me. I don’t want you stopping to think before you hug me. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

He wiped away her tears. “Rae, I like your hugs.”

It took several moments before she replied. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She carefully wrapped her arms around him. “It feels so awful to realize I was hurting you.”

He gently brushed her hair back from her face, settled his arms firmly around her waist. “Rae, it would hurt me worse to have you stop.”

He held her for a long time, relieved to have her back.

He leaned down and gently kissed her. “Are we okay now?”

She sniffed a final time and nodded.

“Good. Then how about going out for that pizza?”

It made her laugh.

“Uncle James, I helped make the rolls. They are really good.” His niece met him at the door, sliding her hand in his, smiling. James propped the cane in the umbrella stand. He thought he could get by without it today.

“That’s great, Emily. You’re going to become a great cook like your grandmother.”

“She made clam chowder. Do you like it?”

“Love it.”

Emily’s grin widened. “So do I. We’ve got turkey and dressing, and my rolls, scalloped potatoes—my mom made those—that green stuff I like, homemade noodles, and for dessert there’s pumpkin pie, apple pie and chocolate pudding. I can’t wait for lunch.”

James laughed and tickled her tummy. “Where are you going to put all that food?” He wished he could pick her up. He knew better than to try.

“In my hollow leg,” Emily replied, giggling.

James loved Thanksgiving Day. It was something they didn’t celebrate in Africa.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Getting the card tables from the basement.”

The kitchen was busy, both his mom and sister fixing snack and relish trays. “Do you think we have enough to eat?” James asked, looking over the loaded counters.

His mom grinned and gently hugged him. “Even with nine people at the table, we’re going to be sending lots of leftovers home with people. It’s one of the things that makes