Courage by Kristen Proby

Chapter 11

~Natasha~

“Why do we celebrate Thanksgiving?” Kelsey asks. We’re all in the kitchen together, all four of us baking pies for the holiday dinner we’ve been invited to attend up at Ellie and Liam’s home on Whitetail Mountain.

I was grateful when Ellie called. Being around friends to keep my mind off the fact that this is our first holiday season without Monica and Rich is exactly what I think we all need.

“It’s a day to count our blessings,” Sam says and kisses Kelsey on the head. “And to be grateful for all of the good things in our lives.”

“Oh.” Kelsey frowns as if giving it a lot of thought. “I’m thankful for Mrs. Delgado. Because she’s nice and reads good stories.”

“There you go,” I say with a grin and slip the last pie, a huckleberry-cherry, in the oven. “I think our work here is done for now. I have these little tables set up for the pies to cool, so be careful, okay?”

No one acknowledges that I’ve said a word.

“Guys, I need you to be careful around the pies so you don’t knock them over. Got it?”

Not even a glance my way.

“Yo!”

Three heads jerk up and stare at me like I’m crazy.

“I’m speaking, and you need to listen. No funny business around the pies so they can cool and not end up on the floor. Okay?”

“Okay,” they—even Sam—say in unison.

“Can we have pizza now?” Kevin asks. I told the kids earlier that if they helped with the pies, we could have pizza because my oven would be in use all day, and I wouldn’t want to cook dinner.

“I know I’m hungry,” I say with a wink and reach for my cell. “Let’s order some goodies from Ciao, shall we?”

“You’re speaking my love language,” Sam says solemnly.

“What, food?”

“Ciao,” he replies, making me laugh.

I place the order for two pizzas, extra bread, and some tiramisu to share for dessert.

And when we’ve consumed every morsel of pizza, every sweet bite of dessert, Sam and I crash on the couch in remorse, our bellies full as we watch Kelsey and Kevin dancing around the living room from the sugar rush.

They make faces, making us laugh. Kevin starts to run circles around the living room, and Sam plays like he’s trying to catch the little boy.

Then Kelsey joins in the fun, running to and away from Sam, giggling.

But then, they start running laps through the kitchen and the living room, laughing and tagging each other.

“Okay, guys, that’s enough.”

But, of course, they don’t hear me.

“Hey, Tash says that’s enough,” Sam says, but they’re laughing and in the crazy zone now, where they no longer speak English as a first language.

They only speak silly.

I get up to stop them, and then everything happens in slow motion.

Kevin, laughing, takes off again through the kitchen. Kelsey reaches out to tag him, and he jerks away, knocking himself right into the table set up for the pies.

He stops so abruptly that Kelsey crashes into him, and then, to my absolute horror, all six pies go crashing down to the floor.

The twins don’t fall. They just look around, confused.

I cover my mouth with my hands. Sam jumps up off the couch.

And if I’m going to keep myself from lashing out at the kids, I know that I need to leave this room, pronto.

I run for the bedroom and close the door, and then let myself cry.

Damn it!

I told them, over and over again, to watch out for the tables. I told them to stop running around.

I’m so sick to death of not being heard. Is this what Monica went through? If she did, she never told me. I know she was tired, and there were days she was just flat-out exhausted.

I tried to help her when I could, but it wasn’t much. All I did was pick the kids up from school now and then and take them overnight once in a blue moon.

I should have paid more attention. I should have helped more, but I didn’t know.

I don’t know if anyone can understand completely until they’ve had children.

And now these two are mine. I love them so much, but they also frustrate the hell out of me, and all I want to do is cry.

“Tash?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m not okay.” I blow my nose on a tissue as he opens the door and steps inside. “We worked on those all day. It took twice as long as it would have if I’d done it myself because we did it as a family. And now they’re ruined, Thanksgiving is tomorrow. If I’m going to replace those pies, I have to go to the grocery store. Except this is tiny Cunningham Falls, and literally nothing is open this late. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Take a breath.” He steps toward me and rubs his hands up and down my arms. “Seriously, breathe.”

“They don’t listen to me. It’s as if I speak at a decibel they can’t hear or something.”

“We’re going to have a talk with them,” he says. Sam’s face is set in grim lines. “And you’re going to take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Trust me.” He tips my chin up and frowns at what he sees. “God, I hate it when you cry, Natasha. It just about brings me to my knees.”

“Don’t be charming. I want to be mad for a few minutes longer.”

“No, you don’t.” He kisses my forehead. “Let’s go figure this out.”

I blow my nose once more, then walk behind him to the kitchen. The kids are quiet now, sitting at the kitchen island as if they’re about to be given a death sentence.

“I’m weally sowwy,” Kelsey says. “I was an accident.”

I can’t look at the pile of dough and fruit lying on my kitchen floor. “I know you didn’t ruin the pies on purpose, but I have told you both all day to watch what you’re doing. You just don’t listen to me, and I’m very frustrated.”

“Are you going to make us leave?” Kevin asks.

I stop short and frown at the little boy. “What? Why would I do that?”

“Charlie at school said that we’re just foster kids now, and if we’re bad, you can make us go away somewhere else.”

“Charlie’s an idiot,” Sam says with disgust.

“Sam.”

“Well, anyone who would say that is a damn idiot,” he insists.

“No, honey.” The fear in Kevin’s eyes calms me faster than anything else could. “You guys aren’t going anywhere. You’re not foster kids, you’re our kids, and you’re stuck with me forever. But I really need you to listen to me. To hear me when I speak to you, and to stop ignoring me.”

Sam starts to clean up the mess, but I hold my hand up to stop him.

“They need to help with that.”

He gives me a look that says, yeah, that’ll go well.

But I shrug. “They need to learn that when they make a mess, even if it’s a mistake, they have to help clean it up.”

What started as a family baking day ends as a family clean-up day. By the time we find all the goop on the walls and cabinets and under the kitchen table, we’re covered in as much of the pies as was on the floor.

After lots of hugs and reassurance that it’s all going to be okay, Sam takes the kids back to bathe them and put them to bed, and I stand in the middle of my now-spotless kitchen and wonder what in the hell to do.

I have enough supplies for maybe two pies. I could probably do one cherry and one apple. I can make crust all day, but I don’t have the filling here.

It’s all in the garbage.

Or in the closed grocery store.

I’m supposed to bring five pies. There will be roughly twelve people there, including the kids.

Two pies aren’t enough.

I could bake a cake.

“Who eats cake for Thanksgiving?”

“I would.”

I whirl at Sam’s voice and cover my chest. “You startled me.”

“Sorry, you were deep in thought. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

I sigh and lean on the counter.

“Talk to me,” he says gently.

“I don’t know what to do. Nothing’s open, so I can’t just go buy pie. I can’t even buy the ingredients to make more. This is what happens when you live in a tiny town. No grocery stores are open twenty-four-seven.”

“What do you have?”

“I think I can make one cherry and an apple pie. Huckleberry is out altogether because I used the last of my frozen berries from the summer. That’ll teach me to not pick more than I need.”

“Yes, obviously, you’re a horrible person for not having more frozen berries on hand.”

I narrow my eyes at him, and he grins.

“What would you need to make more?”

I run down a list of ingredients that I’m missing.

“That’s it?”

“That’s a lot when nothing’s open, Sam.”

“You get started on those two pies. I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just trust me, okay?” He leans in, caging me against the kitchen counter, and kisses me hard, then pulls away and saunters out the front door.

I hear his truck start, see the beam of the headlights as he pulls out of the driveway, and then he’s gone.

“I have no idea what he’s up to,” I mutter and begin pulling out the baking supplies all over again.

I put one earbud in my ear so I can listen to my book on audio while I get to work on the pie crusts.

I’m freaking exhausted, and I’d hoped that I’d be curled up with Sam on the couch by this time, catching up on one of the several shows we’ve been watching whenever he isn’t off saving the world. It’s nearly nine in the evening.

At least, I’ll be able to sleep in. That’s one of the perks of not cooking a big holiday meal.

I’ve just put the first pie in the oven when Sam walks through the front door, loaded down with two paper bags.

“I pulled some strings,” he announces. “You know the new bakery downtown, La Fleur?”

I blink at him as he starts unpacking the bags.

“I haven’t been in there yet.”

“Really?” He frowns at me. “Oh, you have to. It’s awesome. When she first opened, she brought a bunch of stuff to the fire hall for all the guys. Anyway, her name is Beth Dansbury. Nice girl. I called her, and she had some pies and other things that people ordered but didn’t pick up today.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” He grins like the cat who ate the canary, opens a to-go container, and then bites into a lemon bar.

“So, what all are we taking tomorrow? Obviously, not that lemon bar.”

“This was just an extra.” He takes another bite, then offers me some. I’ll never pass up a lemon bar. “I have two more pies, one huckleberry, and one key-lime, some gluten-free cobbler, and a carrot cake. Yes, I know, cake is weird for Thanksgiving, but Beth tells me that it’s considered an autumnal cake, so it fits.”

“Autumnal.” I nod and press my lips together, willing myself not to cry.

“Whoa.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “What did I do wrong? I thought I was helping. This way, you don’t have to bake as much tonight. You’re exhausted. I can see the circles under your eyes. And you looked so defeated earlier, I thought this would be good.”

“It’s so good.” I wipe a tear off my cheek and laugh when Sam continues looking lost.

Tears make him nervous.

“Seriously, so good. Thank you. I can’t believe she let you in this late.”

“She was happy to do it.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “Hmm. I’m sure she was.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sam, she probably did it for you because she has a crush on you.”

“Whatever.” He scoffs and sets the bags of goodies in the pantry where they’re safe. “She was being neighborly.”

“She left her house at almost nine in the evening after what was most certainly a busy day at work, out of the goodness of her heart?” I laugh and get to work building the second pie. “Right.”

“You’re cynical.”

He cozies up behind me and buries his nose in my neck.

“You’re just oblivious when women think you’re hot.”

His hands roam from my hips, over my stomach, and then up to cup my breasts.

“You think I’m hot.”

“How do you know?”

He chuckles and licks the tender skin behind my ear. “Because I know. I’m not oblivious to you, and you’re the only one who matters. Who cares if Beth flirts now and then?”

“Wait, she flirts?”

“That’s not the point. I don’t care if she flirts. Or anyone else, for that matter.” He drags his nose down my neck and nibbles on the top of my shoulder. “Except maybe Jennifer Aniston. I would care if she flirted.”

“In your dreams, fireman.”

“Nah. My dreams have been full of a dark-haired beauty with the body of a goddess, who watches me with gorgeous brown eyes.”

I turn and grin up at him. “Okay, now you’re flirting with me.”

“Thank God you finally noticed.”

I chuckle and cup his face. “I have to finish this pie. But then, I’m all yours.”

“Good.” He kisses my lips and nibbles his way to the corner of my mouth. “Because I’d like to make love to you tonight. Lazy,”—he kisses my cheek—“sleepy,”—kisses my nose—“sexy,”—kisses my lips—“love to you.”

“Okay.” I sigh and allow myself a moment to breathe him in. “That sounds like a plan. After we finish these pies.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Sit right there and talk to me.”

I point to the other side of the island and watch as he does as I ask. He sits, props his chin on his hand, and watches me work.

“Who taught you to bake like that?”

“Your mama.” I mix the apples with the sugar and cinnamon. “Monica and I were always in the kitchen with her. She taught us how to bake, to cook steaks, all the things.”

“Wait, you can cook a steak?”

“A very good one, at that.”

“You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I’ll make steak for dinner later this week.” I pop the second pie in the oven and take the first one out, setting it on the burner closest to the wall to cool. “Your parents were always good to me. I learned a lot from them.”

“They were good eggs.” He nods. “I’m glad you and Gage are starting to mend things.”

“He’s not coming to Thanksgiving tomorrow,” I inform him. “He’d already been invited to Cara and Josh’s with Seth, which is fine. But I invited him here for Christmas.”

“Good. You should.”

I nod and sit on a stool next to him. “I’m glad he’s moving back home. I don’t know what happened to make him want to get out of the Army early. He hasn’t said. But he’ll tell me eventually.”

“Have you talked to your parents?” Sam asks.

“No, why would I?”

He shakes his head. “I just wondered if you’d heard from them with Gage being here.”

“I probably won’t. I know you think that’s weird.”

“Honestly, it makes me sad for all of you,” Sam says. “Your parents are alive. You should at least be in touch with them. I know it’s a two-way street, and if they don’t reach back, that’s on them. But, damn, Tash, I’d give just about everything to be able to call my dad or have lunch with my sister.”

“I’m having lunch with Gage later this week.”

He stares down at me. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” I sigh, dreading the thought of that phone call. “I do. I’ll try. If they don’t try in return, that’s on them.”

“Absolutely. How much longer on the pie?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Oh, that gives us plenty of time for part one.”

“Part one of what?”

He smiles as he reaches for me. “The fast lane.”