Christmas Miracle Page 3

  “Not much to tell. Working a little.”

  “Meghan said you were a volunteer at the Vet’s Hospital. That’s pretty cool. I’m looking for a new place to work. You like it there?”

  He liked it just fine, but he didn’t want some snotty-nosed blonde bombshell with her thumb stuck up her ass, working there as well. “Yeah, it’s fine. Pain in the butt to get to, though. Probably some better places for you closer by.”

  She smiled, and he could see the menace in her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always had an interest in working with the vets—or the Wounded Warriors. There’s so many new facilities opening up and it’s a great career opportunity for me.” She gave a little shrug. “After all the soldiers have done for our country, I’d like to give back.”

  Mick made an exaggerated grimace and rubbed his lower back. “Speaking of backs, mine is worse today. Must be the cold.”

  Sarah made a snorting noise and looked away.

  “I never knew you were interested in a career change, Sarah,” Meghan said. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” She glanced at Mick. “If Sarah starts working there, you’d be able to get a ride with her. How you can go all that way on a train and bus, I don’t know.”

  “It’s not a bother,” he said quickly, giving Sarah a roll of the eye. “I kind of like it. Get a window seat and enjoy the scenery.”

  “Yeah, well I’m sure that Sarah would be happy to drive you if things work out for her.” Meghan was carving the pork tenderloin and shot her sister a look. “Right, sis?”

  Sarah’s eyes danced with mischief. “Oh, I sure would.”

  A trickle of sweat popped out on the back of his neck and brow. Wasn’t sure if it was the heat from the stove, or the idea of being alone in a car for hours with the bad seed every day. “Well, you haven’t got the job yet, so let’s not worry about it. I’m sure you’ll find something that suits you better. Can’t see you taking care of all those half-dead men. It takes a special kind of person to do that.”

  Sarah tilted her head and put a hand on her hip. “And you don’t think I’m special enough?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think. You seem to have a pretty good opinion of yourself. Right?”

  Meghan straightened and looked from Mick to Sarah. “I have a feeling that Byron and I are missing something.” She put the carving knife and fork on the side of the platter. “What’s going on with you two?”

  “You want to tell them, Sarah, or shall I?”

  She folded her arms under her breasts, and gave a mighty huff. Her breasts rose and fell, and his eyes slowly lifted from her chest to her face. She glared at him in defiance.

  He folded his arms too, staring right back. “Your sister decided to have me arrested today.”

  “She what?” Byron nearly dropped the bottle of wine he was uncorking.

  “Ask her.” He jutted his chin in Sarah’s direction. “Called the sheriff on me.”

  “What?” Meghan turned the oven off, and left the meat and vegetables inside to keep warm while they had their soup. “Sarah, you called Ian? Why?”

  Byron poured the wine, handing them each a glass—except for Meghan, who had sparkling water instead. “We better take a seat at the table to hear this story. You two go on in. I’ll get the bowls, Meg. Come on, Liam.”

  When they were all seated with their steaming bowls of onion soup in front of them, Byron had them hold hands to say grace. Touching Sarah’s hand, Mick dared a quick glance at her face. She kept her eyes closed, a sour expression on her turned-down mouth. Her light perfume made his nose tingle.

  “Amen,” they all said together. Meghan cut up the slice of pork tenderloin on her son’s small dish, and handed him his fork. He was too young for onion soup, Mick figured. Probably didn’t eat much anyway. Keats sat under his chair; his furry head nestled in his paws.

  “Okay, back to the story,” Byron said. “I feel like I’m watching a Shakespearian play.” He chuckled, “Come on you two. Out with it.”

  Mick used his spoon to dip into his bowl, breaking up the heap of melted mozzarella and allowing the soup to cool. He glanced at Meghan and saw compassion in her eyes. “I had a basket, not a cart. You saw what I brought here today. My basket was full so I put a few personal items in my coat pocket, and Sarah saw me. Accused me of shoplifting and insisted I put it back. Others around us heard her and they took photos. Sheriff Brown showed up right away.”

  He felt the mortification all over again and kept his face down, concentrating on his soup. He tasted it slowly, feeling the burn as it went down. He reached for his ice water and took a swallow.

  “Sarah?” Meghan asked softly, “Why would you think that? He didn’t try to walk out of the store with it in his pocket, right?”

  Sarah shot him an angry look. “He was wearing a hoodie under his parka and I hate those damn things. Makes me think the person is hiding his face for a reason.” Her cheeks flamed, but she gave a little shiver. “It’s sinister. Maybe not to the three of you, but it is to me! Living in the city, working nights—Philadelphia has a lot of crime.” She dropped her eyes and her voice hitched. “Someone followed me a few months ago, and I was almost mugged.”

  “Sarah, hon. That’s terrible. I didn’t know that.” Meghan reached across the table to take her sister’s hand. “I understand feeling vulnerable on the streets at night, but every person you see with a hoodie is not out to harm you.”

  Sarah, face crimson, sipped her water and swallowed hard. Mick’s gut tightened. Maybe he should have accepted her apology after all—her distress didn’t make anything better.

  “Thanks Meg. It doesn’t really excuse what I did.” She looked at Mick. “I misjudged you.” She twisted the napkin in her hands. “I’ve apologized twice. I can’t undo what I did, but I’m going through a difficult time. My emotions are all over the place. Not that that’s a proper excuse.”

  “How did Ian handle it?” Byron asked, drinking his wine.

  “He told the onlookers that it was all a mistake. He didn’t find my appearance offensive.” He couldn’t look at Sarah. “Good thing I cleaned up tonight, or who knows what you might accuse me of now. A hoodie, of all damn things.”

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Meghan raised her brow reprovingly, sliding a hand over Mick’s. “I’m sure Sarah feels bad, and since she’s apologized, let’s please move on.”

  “They remind me of us when we first met,” Byron said with a wink at his wife.

  Meg laughed. “Yes, you’re right.” Tapping Mick with her toe, Meg teased, “You two should kiss and make up.”

  He choked on his wine and sputtered. “Hell, no.”

  “Fine. I’ll be happy if you both eat your soup. We have a big meal ahead of us, and then Sarah brought Dutch apple pie.”

  Mick took another bite of soup, which had to be the best he’d ever tasted. “Damn, this is good. You’re a lucky man, Byron.”

  “Don’t I know it,” he gave Meghan a loving glance.

  “Well, thank you both.” Meghan turned to her sister, “Sarah, how’s yours?”

  “I haven’t got much of an appetite, but it is very good.” Sarah’s eyes teared up—either from the heat of the soup or regret from being a jerk today. Mick was almost willing to forgive her.

  “Just eat what you can. I know you’ve got a lot of decisions to make, and right at Christmas time too.” She shifted her gaze from Sarah to Mick. “She had her heartbroken by her jerk boyfriend, so go easy on her, okay? When you get to know her better, you’ll discover she’s a real softie at heart.”

  “Meg! He doesn’t need to know my personal business!” Sarah put her spoon down, and ran her hand through her mane of hair in frustration. “Can’t a girl have some secrets?”

  Byron shook his head. “Not around here. Besides, he was the ass, not you.” He shot Mick a look. “Not you, Mick. The jerk boyfriend.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” Mick murmured, staring at Sarah with a grim smile.

  Sarah closed her eye
s, hung her head, and strawberry blonde waves shielded her face.

  Mick watched her for a minute and felt something stir inside. He didn’t know a lot about heart-break but he didn’t like to think of her suffering. He’d seen enough of that in his lifetime.

  She sighed and brushed her hair back. “I’m sorry that my run-in with Mick almost ruined your dinner tonight. But to make up for it, I have something interesting to share later. It’s cool stuff.”

  Byron drained the last of his soup. “What’s it about, kiddo? Now that you’ve brought it up, you can’t keep us in suspense.”

  “Is it a private matter?” Meg asked, reaching a hand out for her sister’s. “Should it wait?”

  “No, not really. Just let’s eat first, okay?”

  “I could leave if you want.” Mick stood up, intending to take his empty bowl into the kitchen. “Soup was great. Thanks.”

  “Sit right down, Mick Johnson. You aren’t going anywhere.” Meghan pointed to his chair.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He returned to his seat with a sheepish smile. “Can I help you bring in the plates, at least?”

  “No. I have my husband to do that. You two can converse like normal adults for a few minutes while Byron and I get dinner on the table.”

  “Yes, boss, I mean, Meghan.”

  She gave his head a light slap as she gathered the dishes for the kitchen. Byron followed, throwing them both an amused look.

  “Not the kit, I hope?” Mick kept his voice low and courteous. “You’ll have plenty of time to tell them about that since you’re staying.”

  “What!” Her mouth fell open. “Shush!”

  “It’s not that?”

  “No!” She grabbed her glass of wine like a lifeline and took a sip.

  “Should you be having that?” he whispered.

  She put a hand over her mouth. “No….please…don’t say a word. Hopefully it’s nothing.”

  “Not my news to tell,” he answered. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  An awkward silence was broken when Byron returned to the dining room, carrying a platter of sliced pork tenderloin that was crispy on the outside, and looked pink and juicy on the inside.

  “I can’t wait for you to try this.” Meghan moved the candles to a side table so there would be room for the food. “I found this new recipe and it had rave reviews. No marinating time, just seasonings, and a drizzle of lemon, lime and OJ over the top. Put it in the oven and voila!”

  Meghan rushed back into the kitchen for another large platter with roasted potatoes, carrots, onions and green beans that looked equally as wonderful. Byron served up the juicy slices of meat and offered the plate of vegetables for their own choosing.

  Liam had eaten his dinner while they had their soup, and was excused to go watch TV. Keats got a few scraps from the outside of the roast, and then happily escorted Liam to the sofa. Byron had put on SpongeBob and Liam sat with his eyes glued on the strange looking creatures that lived under the sea, Keats at his side.

  Byron refilled the three glasses of wine, and Mick made a toast. “To Meghan, for creating this wonderful meal, to Byron for his great taste in wine, and to Sarah, may she find happiness in Heaven. This Heaven, not the one above,” he chuckled. “Cheers, and best wishes in your new home.”

  “Cheers, Mick. Thank you.” They all clinked glasses and then without further ado, they turned their attention to the delicious meal.

  As promised, the pork was succulent and sweet, the vegetables were firm and crispy, seasoned with garlic and rosemary. Not since his early childhood, when his father had still been alive, could Mick remember a dinner such as this.

  “You outdid yourself.” He touched his mouth with his napkin. “I can’t eat another bite but I’m not unhappy that I’m stuffed. Beats my frozen meals anytime.”

  Meghan laughed. “Thank heavens. I’m so glad everyone enjoyed their dinner. At the beginning of the meal, it seemed we were off to a rough start.” She eyed her sister and Mick with a curve of a smile. “You two breaking the ice a little?”

  Mick leaned back in his chair and watched Sarah blush. If she cared, he’d decided to forgive her, so he gave an affirmative nod.

  “We’re good,” Sarah answered. “Now do you want to know my big surprise?”

  “Of course. Whatever is it?” Meg asked, blue eyes sparkling. “You won the lotto or something?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I should check my ticket later,” she joked.

  “Okay,” Byron cocked a brow. “Out with it then.”

  “Well, when I cleaned out my apartment before coming here I took some things down to Mom and Dad’s storage unit. When I was there I found an old trunk that I hadn’t noticed before. To make a long story short, I opened it up, and it was filled with photos and memorabilia that dated back from the 70s.” She surveyed the table, then settled on Meg. “Guess what?”

  “What? Tell me!” Meghan looked apprehensive.

  “The weirdest thing. Dad was in Vietnam. There were photos of him in uniform, a journal, letters—a dozen at least. I didn’t open them. Figured we could go through everything together.”

  “Dad? In Vietnam? How is that possible?” Meghan whispered, a frown creasing her brow.

  Sarah explained to Byron and Mick, “Our parents never said anything about Dad being in the war.”

  “Why wouldn’t they have told us? Do you think Dad got into trouble over there?” Meg leaned toward Sarah. “It’s like some deep, dark, scary secret.”

  “I don’t see it that way. Come on, Meg. You know Dad.” Sarah’s smile was confident and Mick was reminded that the two sisters, though they looked alike, were very different. “In trouble? Not a chance.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sarah’s attempt to erase her sister’s fears didn’t seem to work. Meg was clearly shocked, just as she had been when she opened the trunk. But once Sarah had gotten over the initial disbelief, she’d been eager to read the journal and learn about his time in Vietnam—with her sister. She wanted Meghan to share in the excitement too.

  “That’s so unlike Mom and Dad, they were always so open with us.” Meghan reached for her water glass. “I don’t understand why they’d never have told us. We saw some of the old war movies growing up and learned about it in school, but neither of them said a word.”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said, with a casual shrug. “Obviously they had their reasons, but at this point we’ll never know. All we can do is speculate. Maybe he was ashamed?” She fingered the stem of her wine glass. “I have to admit it did bother me at first, but I’m past that now. I’m proud he was a soldier.”

  “I don’t know how I feel,” Meghan said, a troubled knot between her brows. “More confused than anything.”

  Byron got up from his seat and massaged his wife’s shoulders. Sarah wasn’t sure how he felt about this whole thing, but Meghan should know in her heart that their dad had been a fine man, loving, gentle, possibly even a great man.

  “Vietnam wasn’t a popular war, Meg. We all know that. The men who returned were not given a warm welcome. I’ve read articles on how they were made to feel guilty, and even spit upon. I think he was incredibly brave to go. He could have run off to Canada.”

  “That’s true,” Mick said quietly, his eyes on Meghan. “It took courage.”

  Sarah silently thanked him for his support.

  Byron nodded. “It sure did. This was a painfully difficult choice for the boys—and for their parents. Especially toward the end,” Byron stopped with the massage to look into his wife’s face. “He must have been there during the final years.”

  “The fall of Saigon,” Mick muttered. He lifted his head to stare at Sarah—she couldn’t read his expression. “The Vietnam war was considered one of America’s biggest mistakes. Although, that could probably be said for any war.”

  “I’m not going to debate politics!” Sarah’s face heated and she stubbornly lifted her chin. “Our dad chose to go and serve his country. The war had been going
on for such a long, long time and he’d have grown up with the protests and demonstrations. Who knows? He might have even participated in a few. But with all the hatred and bad feelings ripping apart America, he went anyway. Did his civic duty. That makes him incredibly brave, in my opinion.”

  Mick folded his linen napkin into little squares, his focus on the salt and pepper shaker. “It was an unwinnable war,” he said softly. “A slaughter in the jungle. Enough movies have been made to see it for what it was. A political game. Killing people is not particularly brave—it’s survival. Nothing to be proud of. Trust me, I know.”

  “Killing for your country certainly is,” she answered hotly, willing to defend her dad and his choice. “I’m sure you’ve done your share, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of!” She put a hand over her mouth. What was it about Mick that made her lose control? “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

  He looked at her, the corner of his mouth turned up in a cynical smile. “What do you know? You patch people up. You don’t fire a gun at them.”

  Her entire body flushed with emotion and she wished she hadn’t brought this up in front of him. Clearly he had issues. She’d seen it often enough. The inner demons that men fought were much worse than their enemies. “Just because I’m a nurse, doesn’t mean that I don’t understand our country’s need to have a military.”

  “You seem to have a romantic notion that all veterans of war are God-given heroes.” His eyes danced and she realized he was teasing her but it just made her angry. “Admit it—when one of your war heroes comes into the ER on a gurney, masculine chest bared, you get all dewy-eyed while you patch them up. Isn’t that right?”

  “I do not.” She jumped out of her seat and tossed her napkin down. “I don’t get dewy-eyed, or go all ape-shit when I see a naked man’s chest. I’ve seen plenty, and when they come into the ER, I’m only concerned with saving their lives and sending them home, not taking them to bed.”

  “Here they go again. Remind you of anyone?” Byron asked her sister cheerfully.