The Christmas She Always Wanted. Stella Bagwell
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“What’s your name?” she asked bluntly.
“My name is Jubal. And yours is Melanie?”
She nodded vigorously. “Melanie Jane Malone.”
The last name must have caught his attention because he tossed a questioning glance up at Angela. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Seeing Melanie for the first time with her father had choked her with unshed tears.
Thankfully, instead of pressing Angela for explanations, he turned his attention back to Melanie. “That’s a very pretty name,” he told her.
“My mommy calls me Mel. Specially when she’s mad.”
Angela tried to smile, but tears were welling up in her heart, making her whole chest ache. Dear God, don’t let me cry in front of my daughter, she prayed.
“I’ll bet your mommy doesn’t get mad too often, does she?” Jubal asked.
Melanie giggled, then shook her head. The movement sent her brown hair flying and she tucked it behind her ears as though she was a teenager instead of a four-and-a-half year-old.
“No. She’s good! Really good!” To emphasize her point, Melanie flung her arms around Angela’s thigh and hugged herself closer to her mother.
“I’ll bet,” Jubal said softly, then slowly rose to his feet.
Angela swallowed hard as he turned his green eyes on her. He was looking at her as though he were seeing her for the first time and the close inspection was shaking the floor beneath her feet.
Forcing herself to be mannerly, she gestured to the couch. “Uh—would you like to have a seat?”
He thrust the poinsettia at her. “Since Christmas is coming I thought you might like this.”
The plant was full and lush, the velvety leaves a bright red. She’d never had a poinsettia before. There had always been too many necessities to buy at this time of year to splurge on plants. To think that Jubal had thought of her in this way sent soft emotions tumbling through her.
“It’s very beautiful. Thank you.” She took the flower from him and carried it over to a low coffee table in front of the couch.
“Here’s something else, too,” he said. “If Melanie has a sweet tooth, she might like these.”
Angela placed the plant on the table, then turned to see him holding out a large box of fancy chocolates. Her questions about the reason for the two gifts must have shown on her face because he gave her a sheepish smile as she accepted the box.
“Thank you again, Jubal,” she murmured.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I had planned to see you yesterday, but an emergency came up with a foaling mare and I couldn’t leave her. I wanted to apologize for upsetting you when you came to my house the other day.”
Upsetting her! She was still reeling from everything he’d told her. Evette hadn’t given birth to Jubal’s baby. She hadn’t been pregnant with his child at all!
“What’s in the box, Mommy? Can I have some, please?”
Shaking away her swirling thoughts, Angela guided her daughter over to the coffee table and selected three of the chocolates for Melanie. “It’s candy,” Angela told her. “And you may eat some after you thank Jubal.”
Melanie promptly thanked their guest for the candy then sat on the floor to enjoy the treats. Angela turned to see that Jubal had taken off his jacket and hat and seated himself on the couch. He was making himself at home and that notion disturbed Angela. A part of her was terrified to have him around Melanie, worried that he’d recognize her as his daughter. Yet having him here felt oddly right somehow, as though he was filling an empty place in the house. Or was it an empty spot in her heart? Oh God, don’t let me think like that, she prayed. Don’t let me fall in love with the man again.
Extending the box toward him, she asked, “Would you like a piece?”
Smiling faintly, he leaned forward and picked out a square filled with caramel. “Sure. It’s the time of year for eating.”
She recalled his big appetite and thousands of other little things about him. Yet she realized they’d not spent a Christmas together and she wondered how much he threw himself into the holiday.
“Cook says Christmas has to be celebrated with your stomach, along with your spirit,” she told him.
Angela placed the candy on the opposite end of the coffee table from Melanie, then took a seat two cushions down from Jubal.
“Smart lady,” he agreed, then gestured toward the candy box. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
Angela shook her head. “No. I had a big supper. Cook made pot roast and insisted I bring a bunch of it home with me.”
“Cook,” he repeated curiously. “I’ve met her. And I’ve been meaning to ask Lex if that is the woman’s real name or just what everyone calls her.”
“Her real name is Hattie Thibodeaux. I hear Miss Geraldine call her Hattie sometimes, but not often. She’s quite a lady. I love her.”
His green eyes studied her with quiet regard. “You say that as though you really mean it.”
The light from a nearby table lamp shed a golden hue over his face and hair. Angela tried not to notice the light and dark streaks in his wavy hair, the rich amber flecks in his green eyes. Had he always been this handsome? Had just looking at him years ago made her heart beat as fast as it was beating now? Oh my, she wasn’t supposed to be feeling like this. But she couldn’t seem to make it stop.
Clearing her throat, she replied, “Cook has made coming here to the Sandbur extra special for me and Melanie.”
Apparently Melanie was listening to the subject of their conversation, because she looked up and talked around the gooey lump of candy in her mouth. “Cook is my granny. She says she’ll always be my granny. And she’s pretty, too.”
Jubal’s expression softened as he glanced over at Melanie and Angela couldn’t help but wonder how he’d dealt with Evette’s miscarriage. She knew he’d wanted the best for the child. And she suspected that even if he’d known he wasn’t the father, he would have raised him or her with just as much love. That much she did believe about Jubal.
To Angela he said, “I’m sure your parents are very proud of their granddaughter. Are you going to spend Christmas with them this year?”
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