That was why she’d come home. To find that joy she’d lost, the joy she believed in her heart Milo needed.
What did she want?
And where did Joe Carpenter and his son fit into the new life she was shaping?
She wanted the best Christmas she could make, and being around Joe made her sparkle and feel alive. Made her look forward to the next hour or day, when she hadn’t looked forward to anything since her mother’s death.
Being around Joe made her feel like the Christmas cactus, all tight pink buds waiting to burst forth.
If he decided to take a pass on an impulsively issued invitation, she couldn’t blame him.
But as her attention focused on the cactus buds, the truth slapped her in the face.
She wanted him and Oliver to ring her doorbell. She wanted them in this old house, sharing the tradition of arranging ornaments to hide the bare spots on the tree. She wanted to see them spoon out heaping bowls of jambalaya and hear them sing carols around the ancient upright piano.
She wanted all the corny, traditional trappings of the holiday, all the gaudy color and glitter and sound. She longed to surround herself with heaps of packages wrapped in shiny red-and-gold paper and elaborately tied bows.
For whatever reason, she wanted Joe and Oliver to be part of that richness, not left by themselves to celebrate Christmas in a hotel on the highway.
“Hope these damn shrimp taste as good as they look.” Milo held a glistening shrimp up to the light and examined it critically before adding so casually that Gabrielle was immediately alerted, “Didn’t know you know Joe Carpenter?”
She knew what he was doing. Joe Carpenter wasn’t the real issue. Her dad wanted to talk. Like a cat stalking a bird, he’d sneak up on what he really wanted to talk about and, sooner or later, pounce.
That’s when the feathers would fly.
She could wait.
Because Milo wasn’t happy with her. She was pretty sure he was ready to launch into a lecture about her return to Bayou Bend, and she was in no hurry to tangle over this particular subject with a stubborn Irishman.
Double dose of hardheaded, is what she called him.
“So how do you happen to know Carpenter?” He plopped a shrimp back onto the heap.
“It’s a small town, Pa. Why wouldn’t I know him?”
“Bayou Bend’s small, all right. Folks know everybody’s business more than they should. Seems funny, though, you knowing Joe. He’s older than you, and he left town before you were in high school.”
“No, he left his senior year. I was in tenth grade. I used to see him around town. That’s all.” She wasn’t about to tell her dad about that long-ago night. Harmless as it had been, it felt private. Special.
“That’s right. You were only a sophomore. I’d forgotten.” His frown disappeared. “So you saw him at Tibo’s and invited him? That’s all?”
Puzzled, Gabrielle glanced at her dad. “Sure. Why? Is inviting him a problem?”
“No.” Milo poked at the shrimp, cleared his throat. “Just—oh, Joe Carpenter’s had a hard life, least that’s what I’ve heard. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.”
Gabrielle avoided addressing the implied question. “It was a friendly invitation to new neighbors, nothing more. Is there a problem?”
“Nope. Not at all. Joe’s welcome in my house.”
“Maybe not in other houses?”
“Probably not in a lot of houses,” Milo agreed.
Joe’s tough, don’t-give-a-damn exterior made it difficult to see him as vulnerable to the town’s opinion, but her heart ached as she imagined Joe with his son, seeking shelter from Bayou Bend’s coldness. He needed a friend.
She could be a friend.
“Here, Pa. Your scalpel.” Gabrielle handed him the deveining knife. Poking her father lightly on the shoulder, she studied him surreptitiously.
Usually thin, he’d lost even more weight since she’d last visited.
“Thanks, honey.” He ran the knife down the back spine of the shrimp, discarding the vein on a paper.
“Want help?”
“Nope.”
Thinking of the conversation the day before at the tree lot, Gabrielle added, “Didn’t know you’d had Joe Carpenter to dinner.”
“Not recently.” Milo pitched the shrimp into the colander, picked up another. “And it wasn’t exactly a dinner party, for your information, missy.”
“You’re making me curious, Pa.”
“Well, we know what curiosity did to the cat.”
Gabrielle opened the refrigerator and found the mushrooms and red onions she’d sliced earlier. Digging around the overloaded interior, she plucked out bags of lettuces and endive. “I can’t help being interested.”
“Be interested. That’s fine.” He ignored her whuff of exasperation.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Gabby tilted her head.
“Not my place to. If you’re so interested, ask Joe. It’s his business. If he wants you to know, he can tell you. I already told you Joe and his son were welcome here.” Holding up the knife and using it as a pointer, he stopped her midsyllable. “And that’s all I’m going to say about that, Gabrielle, so don’t go poking around trying to make me tell you, hear?”
“We’ll see.” From under lowered lashes, she glanced at her dad.
He groaned. “I know what that means. You’re going to pester me until you winkle out what you want to know, aren’t you?”
“Probably. After all, I learned from the master. I didn’t grow up a lawyer’s daughter without picking up a few tricks.”
He shook his head, grinning back at her. “My sins are coming back to haunt me. And speaking of coming back—”
Interrupting him, a tiger-striped cat thudded onto the counter.
“Down, Cletis!” Flapping her hand, Gabrielle made frantic shoo-shoo motions at him. “Take your greedy self off this counter this instant. If you know what’s good for you.”
Cocking a hind leg and licking it, Cletis mewed inquisitively, “Mrrrr?”
“Yes, you, mister. I mean it. Down. Now.”