A Merry Little Christmas: 1225 Christmas Tree Lane / 5-B Poppy Lane

The car door closed, and Kent stood there, looking at her.

“Hello,” she said, surprised by how shaky her voice sounded. “Welcome to Christmas Tree Lane—and Cedar Cove Tree Farm.”

He zipped up his jacket and grinned. “The house is fabulous. The girls were right.”

“Thank you.” The porch railing was covered with swags of evergreen and twinkling white lights. More lights hung from the roofline, glittering brightly in the dull gray winter morning.

The passenger car door opened and Beth saw that Kent hadn’t come alone. A lovely, young—much younger than Beth—woman climbed out. She was tall, lithe and stylishly dressed in a full-length black coat and long, high-heeled black boots. She towered an inch or two above Kent, who stood at nearly six feet. Her blond, shoulder-length hair was perfect…. Actually, everything about her seemed perfect in an urban, sophisticated way that contrasted painfully with Beth’s farm clothes, disheveled hair and work-roughened hands.

Beth blinked and her heart almost stopped as reality hit her. Kent had brought another woman. They were together. A couple. He was seeing someone else now. This little fantasy she’d built around a reconciliation was only that—wishful thinking.

It took her a moment to recover and realize that every assumption she’d made was completely and totally off-base. Kent hadn’t come to spend Christmas with her and the girls. His sole purpose was to show off this…this model.

Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.

“Hello.” Beth greeted the other woman with a forced smile and an extended hand. “I’m Beth Morehouse. The ex-wife.”

“I know,” the woman said in a sultry voice that was sweet enough to caramelize sugar. “I’m Danielle.”

Just Danielle? No last name? Like Cher or Madonna or Beyoncé?

“Welcome to my Christmas tree farm,” she said, placing emphasis on her ownership.

The screen door flew open and Bailey raced onto the porch. “Dad!”

Sophie was directly behind her sister. They darted down the stairs like young fawns in their rush to hug Kent.

Her ex-husband opened his arms, and his daughters launched themselves into his wide embrace.

“How are my girls?” he asked, his voice warm with affection.

“Missing you, Daddy,” Sophie murmured.

“Who’s that?” Bailey asked starkly, frowning at Danielle. Apparently, she was as shocked as Beth.

“This is Danielle Martin,” he said, sliding his arms around each of their waists.

Oh, so there was a last name.

“What’s she doing here?” Sophie demanded.

“Sophie,” Beth snapped, appalled at her daughter’s lack of manners.

“Danielle’s a friend from work who traveled with me,” he said by way of introduction.

“Why don’t we all step inside, out of the cold,” Beth suggested, and marched into the house, assuming everyone else would follow.

The girls had obviously been playing with the puppies when Kent arrived because the second the door opened they swarmed onto the porch, eager as jailbirds to make an escape. Four were already out the door and racing down the porch steps.

“Don’t just stand there,” Beth cried to her daughters. “Help me.”

Laughing, Sophie and Bailey hurried in one direction while Beth went in the other. Even Kent got involved in the chase. The only one who didn’t move was Danielle. With her arms crossed, she remained immobile, as if moving a single inch would have dire consequences.

Once the puppies were all inside the house, Beth brought Kent and Danielle in. Danielle perched on the arm of a recliner with her feet off the carpet. She seemed to fear that all the puppies would rush toward her at one time.

Beth called out instructions. “Get the puppies into the laundry room,” she told the girls. “I’ll give them some treats.” This was not the way she’d planned to greet Kent, with puppies creating havoc.

In the momentary quiet of the laundry room, Beth pressed one hand to her chest, which felt as though it was knotted with pain. She would not, could not, yield to the icy tide of disappointment or to the surprising burst of white-hot anger. Not now. Not here. She’d rather be dipped in Christmas-tree sap and rolled in holly leaves before she made a fool of herself in front of the girls.

With a deep breath, Beth squared her shoulders and opened a bag of canine treats just as the girls herded in the last three pups. Whether it was the rustle of the bag or the distinctive aroma, Beth didn’t care, only that they all came on the run. On another calming breath, she promised to deal with her emotions later as she distributed the miniature bone-shaped biscuits.

She slowly and deliberately wiped her hands on her jeans while arranging her features in her best hostess smile. Returning to the living room, she motioned Sophie and Bailey to the couch and nodded at her guests. “Now, where were we?”

The girls exchanged a puzzled look and obeyed. At Beth’s question, they fixed their gazes on their father.

“Are all those dogs…yours?” Danielle asked incredulously.

“No, no. I’m finding homes for them.”

“Where are your dogs?” Kent asked. “Do you still have Lucy and Bixby?”

“Of course. They’re in the heated kennel in the back.”

“It’s huge. You should see it, Dad,” Sophie said, growing more animated as she spoke. “Mom’s got six dogs of her own, and she helps with the Reading with Rover program at the library and…and she trains dogs and she just got a puppy herself.” She was out of breath by the time she completed her list.

“He’s been sickly so she keeps him upstairs,” Bailey added.

“In your bedroom?” Danielle’s eyes widened with what appeared to be horror.

“You started to tell us about Danielle,” Bailey reminded her father, turning away from the other woman.

“Well, yes.” Kent looked at Danielle. “She’s a…friend.”

“A good friend,” Danielle murmured. “A very good friend.”

“I can’t believe this.” Bailey paced their bedroom with her hands locked behind her back. “This is all wrong! Nothing is working out like we planned.”

“When did Dad meet Danielle?” Sophie, the practical one, asked. “And where?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know any more than you do.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands in her hair—as if trying to pull out an answer—Sophie said, “Well, she wasn’t there when we visited him at Thanksgiving. And he didn’t say a word about her to me, but I thought he might’ve mentioned it to you.”

“I wish.” Bailey threw a scowl at her sister. “If he had, we never would’ve invited him for Christmas. That’s for sure. Besides, I’d have told you. What’s Dad thinking? Or is he thinking? Anyone with half a brain can see she’s all wrong for him.”

“She can’t be much older than we are.”

“Did you see how she reacted to the puppies?” Bailey cried. “Like they were diseased or something. Sitting with her feet in the air, as if they’d mistake her leg for a tree trunk. Too bad they didn’t.”