A Mom For Christmas

Chloe shrugged. “I wish I had a big family. It’s just me and my dad. Oh, and my gram.”

“I’ve noticed you’re limping. Did you hurt yourself?”

She glanced down at her knee and shrugged. “I have Alls Goods Ladder.”

“She means Osgood-Schlatter.”

Beth’s pulse throbbed at the sound of Noah’s rich voice. She hadn’t heard him come in, nor had she expected to see him again so soon. He barely gave her a glance now.

“Chloe, what are you doing here? I told you to stay in my office.”

“Hi, Daddy. I wanted to see the pictures, and I got to meet the ballerina. I mean Miss Beth. Isn’t she beautiful?”

An awkward silence fell over the room like a suffocating blanket. Beth kept her gaze averted as Noah placed his hands on his daughter’s shoulders in a protective gesture. Noah was a father? She hadn’t considered that. She’d heard he’d gotten married not long after he’d moved to California, which had added another spear to her punctured heart. Noah had never thought of her as anything other than a friend. His buddy.

She swallowed and grasped for control. “Osgood’s. That’s a knee problem, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “She injured her knee playing soccer and then had a growth spurt, which complicated things.” He squeezed Chloe’s shoulder. “She’s supposed to do her physical therapy exercises every day, but it’s like pulling teeth.”

“I hate them. They hurt and they’re boring.”

Beth could sympathize. “I know exactly how you feel. I had surgery on my knee, and I have to do PT exercises every day, too. It’s not fun, but if you’re going to get stronger and play soccer, you have to do them faithfully.”

Chloe screwed up her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest. “Great. I was hoping you’d be on my side.”

Beth chuckled softly. “The exercises don’t have to be boring. You can listen to music—that usually helps.”

“Is that what you do?”

She nodded. “I put on my favorite ballet warm-up music and pretend I’m dancing. You know dancing can help strengthen the other muscles in your legs and knees and speed your recovery.”

“Really? Dad, can Miss Beth teach me to dance? I’ll do my exercises if I can dance. Please?”

The deep scowl on Noah’s face made it clear he was unhappy with her suggestion. “Chloe, go on back to my office and collect your things. We’re going home.”

“Okay. ’Bye Miss Beth.”

The minute Chloe was gone, Noah approached her, his eyes narrowed and dark. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t encourage her to come over here.”

“Why? Apparently she visits my mother frequently.”

“That’s different. Your mother will always be here. You won’t. You said yourself you’ll be leaving as soon as you’re fully recovered.”

She had told him that even though she knew it wasn’t true. “And what does that have to do with Chloe visiting me?”

“I don’t want you filling her head full of ideas about your dancing career.”

Now she understood, sort of. “Is that why you don’t want her to take dancing lessons? Because of me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I want her to grow up with a practical, realistic view of the world, and I don’t want her sidetracked by pointless dreams of being a dancer or an actress or any of those careers that lead to disappointment.”

“Little girls need to dream, Noah. You had a few dreams, as I recall.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, but his gaze still held condemnation. “But I grew up and realized that dreams don’t come true.”

“You’re wrong. Dreams are what gives us hope and joy.”

“Hope and joy?” He shook his head. “Disappointment and heartbreak. Look where your dream has left you. I want better for Chloe.”

The hurt in his light blue eyes and the pain that pulled at the corner of his mouth stabbed like an ice pick to her heart. What had happened to turn the sweet, understanding boy she’d loved into an angry, closed-off man?

He held up his hands as if to ward off further discussion. “Just stop telling her dancing can help with her recovery.”

“It can. In fact, ballet is being used as therapy for people with Parkinson’s and a variety of other medical conditions. At the very least, it’ll encourage her to do her exercises. I’ve been through countless physical therapy sessions over the years, and the only way to get through much of it is to make it fun. What harm can it do?”

“Harm? Next she’ll want to be a dancer like you, and look where that leads.”

“Where does it lead, Noah? I had a wonderful career. I achieved everything I set out to accomplish. I fulfilled my dream.”

“But what did it cost you along the way? What did you give up to capture that dream, Beth? Was it really worth it?” He yanked open the door and left.

Beth clenched her teeth. She wanted to shout at him that yes, it had been worth it, but the words wouldn’t come. Why? She’d always been so sure of her direction, her purpose. She’d been blessed with a gift, and she’d used it to the fullest. Until the injury had derailed her future. But she’d make a comeback. She was still working out in her old studio at her mom’s house each morning. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? To dance even if it wasn’t as the lead?

A small voice whispered in her ear. Is that what she wanted? Or was it what she was doing because there was nothing else? The last two years had taken a toll not only on her body, but also on her passion. She was still trying to sort out the shifts in her emotions from the accident. Now she was trying to swim through gelatin and figure out who she was and where she wanted to go.

Beth watched Noah walk away. Twelve years ago she’d handed him her heart, the bravest thing she’d ever done, and he’d tossed it aside. He’d gone on with his life, gotten married and had a child. He hadn’t bothered to contact her, so why was she the bad guy?

She looked across the entryway to Noah’s office as he and Chloe walked out. Chloe waved over her shoulder, a mischievous smile on her face. Dad may have laid down the law, but she had a feeling Chloe would find a way to come and visit her again. And she would make sure to invite her, despite what Noah had said.

Chapter Two (#u35a27ed3-f15b-5e8a-b194-db29ad8017f4)

Noah parked the car behind the historic mansion and shut off the engine. The twelve-room Victorian home was one of the oldest in Dover. His great-great-grandparents had founded Dover, then known as Junction City, in the mid-1800s. After the great fire that destroyed many of the wooden structures, the town was rebuilt and renamed Do Over, which had evolved into Dover. The town’s most prominent citizens built their homes to the east of town, along Peace Street. Only half of the dozen original opulent dwellings remained. His grandmother refused to live anywhere else, despite the home being too large for her to care for and having more room than one woman needed.

Chloe darted ahead of him onto the broad back porch and into the house. Gram was one of the reasons he’d come home to Dover. He’d been fourteen when his dad’s small plane had crashed, killing him and Noah’s mother. He’d come here to live with Gram and Gramps. Now that Gram was alone and getting older, he’d moved in to help her out and give his daughter a chance to know her family.

Dover would hopefully provide a new beginning for him and Chloe. Dissatisfied with the hectic pace of life in San Francisco, he’d resigned from the large engineering firm he’d worked for and decided to start his own structural engineering company in Dover. His hometown would also be a more conservative place to raise Chloe, who was growing up too quickly for his liking.

His grandmother, Evelyn Carlisle, was in the kitchen listening to Chloe recount her day. He noticed Gram was using her cane today—a sign her arthritis was flaring up again.

“I wish I could be like her.” Chloe sighed loudly, a dreamy look on her face.

“Like who?”

“Miss Beth.”

Noah shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the chair. “No. You don’t.” He turned and saw a scowl on his gram’s face. He probably shouldn’t have said that, but he didn’t want his daughter’s head filled with notions of chasing fame.

“Yes, I do. She’s beautiful. I wish I could see her dance. I’ve only seen pictures.”