October 1, 2024
Standalone Women's Fiction
Please don’t come home for Christmas. . .
Julie Parker’s kids are her greatest gift. Still, she’s not exactly heartbroken when they ask to skip a big Christmas. Her son Nick is taking a belated honeymoon with his bride Blair while her daughter Dana will purge every reminder of the guy who dumped her. Again. Julie feels practically giddy for one-on-one holiday time with Heath, the (much) younger man she’s secretly dating.
But her plans go from cozy to chaotic when Nick and Dana plead for Christmas at the family cabin in memory of their late father, Julie’s ex. She can’t refuse, even though she dreads their reactions to her new man when they realize she’s been hiding him for months.
As the guest list grows in surprising ways, from Blair’s estranged mom to Heath’s precocious children, Julie’s secret is one of many to be unwrapped. Over this delightfully complicated and very funny Christmas, she’ll discover that more really is merrier, and that a big, happy family can become bigger and happier, if they let go of old hurts and open their hearts to love.
Chapter One
“But you’re a woman.”
“Does that matter?”
“I don’t know. Do you know how to tow cars?”
Julie Parker did her best not to roll her eyes. At her age, it was a much less charming look. But still.
“Your car is fine,” she said, trying for patience, but failing to hit the mark and landing on snark instead. “You ran out of gas on the 405 freeway. If we should be questioning someone’s ability to exist in the world, we should probably start with you.”
“Hey!” The young twentysomething finally looked up from her phone and frowned. “You have attitude.”
“I do, and a busy schedule. Do you want help or not? It’s twenty bucks for the gas and seventy-five for the service visit.”
“Ninety-five dollars for a few gallons of gas? That’s robbery.”
“It’s also the price you were quoted when you called the company.”
Cars and trucks sped by on the busy freeway. It was a cold, rainy December afternoon, and Julie had a date with her very handsome boyfriend in a few hours. The last thing she wanted to do was waste time arguing with someone younger than either of her adult children.
The young woman shook her head. “I’m not paying that.”
“Fine by me.”
Julie started back to her tow truck, gas can in hand. The woman hurried after her.
“Wait. I’ll do it. So ninety-five dollars?”
“Yes. Tax is included in the price.” She fished her credit card reader from her overalls. “You pay, I pour.”
The woman gave her the stink eye, then reluctantly pushed a credit card into the machine. Less than five minutes later Julie had her money and the unhappy motorist had enough gas to get her on her way.
“Is this your car?” Julie asked, telling herself to walk away but unable to do so.
“It’s my boyfriend’s. He said I could drive it.”
Julie pointed to the instrument panel. “You probably always know how much gas is in your own car. It’s something we keep track of without thinking. But when you get into someone else’s car, check the gauge. When the weather’s like this, you can wait a long time for a tow truck, and the side of the freeway is a dangerous place.”
“Oh.” The other woman looked at the rushing traffic, then slid into the driver’s seat. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Have a nice day,” Julie called as the twentysomething pulled away, sending gravel up in a spray.
She made her way to her truck, telling herself she’d gotten her good deed for the day out of the way early, so that was something. Thirty minutes after that, she pulled into the tow yard, driving under the big Parker Towing sign her grandfather had installed nearly fifty years ago. She parked the small tow truck she’d used for the call, then ran through the pelting rain to the safety of the main office where Mariah Carey’s version of “Santa Baby” played over the speakers. She hung the keys on the pegboard in the locking cabinet and put the credit card reader on the docking station where it would automatically download and tally the transaction.
Huxley, the office manager slash driver whisperer slash mother hen, looked at her over his reading glasses.
“Why do you do that? Why do you take a call like that? I go to lunch and when I come back, you’ve taken one of the trucks and gone out to face God knows what in this kind of weather. I don’t like to worry. When I worry, I get hives, and then I have to go see the doctor and that costs our insurance company money. Do you want the premiums to go up? I don’t think so. But you do this. Every six months or so you think it’s twenty-five years ago and you’re still driving a damned tow truck. You’re the boss. You’ve been the boss for a long time. It’d be really nice if you remembered it.”
“I was delivering gas, not doing a repo. I was fine. Besides, it’s fun to take one of the trucks out every now and then. I want to keep my hand in. The men need to respect me, and for that I need to prove my skills.”
“A chicken could drag gas out to some fool who forgot to fill up his car. What skills are you going on about?”
She laughed. “I had a good time. I’m allowed. Leave me alone.”
“I can feel those hives popping out all over my body,” he said as she started for her office. “And Axel’s waiting to talk to you. He has today’s list.”
Julie’s good mood instantly faded. She walked purposefully toward her office, not breaking stride as she crossed the threshold and headed for her desk. She ignored the tall, fit man standing by the window, a folder in his hands. As she took her seat, she allowed her gaze to linger on the baseball bat leaning casually against the corner.
From the time she was eight until she was thirteen, her father had insisted on weekly batting practice at the cages up by the park. After all those sessions, she had a hell of a swing, and she wasn’t afraid to connect with a ball or anything else that needed hitting.
Not that she went around beating people with a baseball bat, but it had been a deterrence on more than one call and keeping it nearby in certain situations gave her a sense of security. The world was a better place, at least from her perspective, when she knew she could handle whatever came at her. She never asked for help—instead she took care of the problem herself.
She drew in a breath, then raised her head and looked at the man watching her. “Axel.”
He moved toward her desk and set down the folder. “I have five for tonight.”
“Five’s a lot.”
She glanced at the papers. Sure enough, there were five cars the bank wanted back. They were all high end, late models with appropriately high repo fees.
After taking 25 percent off the top to cover expenses, including the lookout car, the company and repo guy split the fee fifty-fifty. It was dangerous work for not much reward and a part of the business she’d never understood. But repo guys lived on adrenaline, and she supposed someone had to go out and take back that which had not been paid for.
She closed the folder and pushed it toward him. “Try not to get shot.”
Axel flashed her a smile. “Me getting shot would solve a lot of your problems.”
“Why would you say that? You’re my repo guy. I have no interest in finding another one.”
“You’re still mad at me. Any chance you could see your way past that?”
Mad didn’t come close to describing what she was feeling, she thought grimly, taking in his handsome face and dark eyes. He was the kind of man women noticed. A little dangerous, a little sexy, a lot of trouble.
“How long did you go out with my daughter?”
His smile faded and he took a step back. “About two years.”
“How many times did she foolishly let you back in her life so you could break her heart yet again?”
His eyes became unreadable. “Three.”
“My count is four, but I’m not sure that matters. I’ll see my way past what you did to her when I’m good and ready. I’m thinking about thirty years, give or take.”
He hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t apologize to me. I only hate you by association. And if you really care about her, then stop screwing with her life. Leave her alone.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“The heart wants what the heart wants.”
“I’m pretty sure your heart isn’t the body part creating all the trouble.”
He looked at her. “You want me to quit?”
Some days she did, mostly when she was holding Dana as her daughter cried because Axel had once again dumped her. Because he’d been right—when it came to him, Dana’s heart did want what it wanted and, unfortunately, that was him. But on the rest of the days, she liked having Axel around. He was dependable, he understood the business and he had a habit of taking new hires under his wing, so to speak, and teaching them the tricks of the trade.
“You’re good at what you do,” Julie said reluctantly, staring out the window. “Stay away from her and we’ll be fine.”
“You’re a good mom.”
Words that should have pleased her but instead sent a quiver of guilt trickling through her. While she usually fell firmly in the “good mother” category, lately she’d been keeping secrets. Well, one secret. One big, tall, boyfriend-size secret.
At some point she was going to have to come clean about him, just not today, she thought. It was three weeks until Christmas. Her kids had plans that didn’t include her, Heath—the boyfriend, though she didn’t say that word aloud—didn’t have his kids for the holidays, so the two of them were going to hole up at her place and enjoy a little one-on-one time with nowhere else to be. She honestly couldn’t wait.
She carefully put the happy image out of her head, then returned her attention to Axel.
“Go get the cars,” she told him. “The weather’s going to get worse. Remember that and don’t try any fancy moves. Those big trucks you’re driving belong to me.”
The smile returned. “Yes, ma’am.”
He took the paperwork and left. When Julie was sure he was out of earshot, she murmured, “And don’t get dead.” Because while she was pissed as hell at Axel, she wasn’t heartless. Besides, except for when he crapped on her daughter, he was a good guy and secretly she liked him. Well, at least when it came to Parker Towing.
As for Dana and her devotion to the man, well, her daughter was thirty-one years old. At some point she was going to have to figure out how to move on. Because that was how life worked. You tried something and if it didn’t go well, you moved on. Julie’s father had taught her that, along with how to swing a bat, and she’d learned both lessons very, very well.
*
“They’re a little thick and chewy for a cookie,” Peggy murmured doubtfully.
“It’s a brownie,” Fred told her. “Not a cookie. A brownie.”
“I don’t care if it’s popcorn, it’s too chewy.” Peggy looked up at Blair. “Are there nuts? You know I can’t have nuts.”
“No nuts,” Blair said cheerfully. “Just organic ingredients and a lot less sugar.”
“That’s why it’s so chewy.” Peggy shook her head. “I hate to be blunt, dear, but it’s a no from me.”
“I like it.” Fred swiped another brownie from the holiday-patterned plate. “You put in prunes, didn’t you? It’s your tell. You know what they say about prunes and old people is a myth.”
“It’s not a myth.” Cordella smiled at Blair. “I love prunes.”
“The first cookies weren’t chewy at all,” Peggy murmured. “I liked those better.”
“Now those were cookies.” Fred grinned at Blair. “I like them both.”
“Thanks for the feedback.” Blair rose from the table and collected the sheets the residents had filled out. “I’m determined to get in a better selection of low sugar desserts. We can’t keep relying on fruit, gelatin and whatever we can buy from our supplier. Would anyone be interested in a cooking class? Maybe we could all bake a couple of days a week.”
Fred stared at her blankly. “I don’t know how to bake.”
“You could learn.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, Blair. My wife baked for me for fifty-two years. I’m too old to learn something that complicated now. Besides, my dance card’s pretty full these days. But you ask the ladies if they’re interested.”
With that he rose, picked up his cane and scurried as quickly as his bad leg would let him. Blair grinned.
“So that was a no?”
“I bake,” Cordella offered. “Although my days are pretty full, too.” She patted Blair’s hand. “I’m afraid you’re on your own, my dear. But the cookies were delicious. You should talk to the kitchen staff about adding those to the menu. They’ll be a hit.”
Cordella smiled, then rose and waited while Peggy carefully backed her motorized scooter out of the room. Just before she left, she paused.
“If I don’t see you before the holiday, Merry Christmas, my dear. We all love that you try.”
Blair waved at her, then began to clean up the plates and napkins from the dessert sampling. Today’s tasting was her third with the new batch of cookies and brownies, and at each of her get-togethers the comments had been the same. Everyone loved the cookies, but the brownies were less popular. Still, a 50 percent success rate was great considering she was doing her best to develop healthy, tasty desserts for her residents.
She dropped off the last of the samples in the staff break room, then started toward her office. Through the big windows in the hallway she could see it was still raining. It was barely three and already getting dark, typical of Seattle in December. She had two more weekly menus she wanted to review before her four o’clock meeting with the head chef. As the gerontologist nutritionist for the retirement community, what everyone did or didn’t eat was her responsibility. While the holiday menus had already been approved, she wanted to go over snack options for the various parties the residents would be attending.
She’d almost reached her office when one of the receptionists texted on her cell phone.
There’s a really handsome guy with a tow truck out front. Any interest or should I let the single ladies know he’s up for grabs?
