Home for Christmas (30 page)

The quicker she finished her salad, the quicker she could escape to the kitchen and let herself have a short, silent sobfest while she got the main course together.

Around the table, people were trying valiantly to move on from the floor show Rhonda Friend instigated by bringing in the head of The Hero Project to tell Owen he had a real hope of becoming combat-ready. Nash was doing his level best to engage Andie's boyfriend, Sam, and Ivy in a debate about whether or not there was a Mrs. Claus. They played along gamely, obviously hoping to cheer up Caitlin, but the little girl never looked up from her untouched plate.

Seeing her like this, so wan and withdrawn, Libby was viscerally struck by how much Caitlin had changed in the last few weeks. Libby had gotten accustomed to a lively, chattering Caitlin who was intensely curious about the world around her. Watching her retreat into herself now sent a piercing dart of sadness through Libby's heart.

Beside Caitlin, Owen wasn't much more engaged in the conversation than his daughter was. He picked at his food, his thoughts obviously distracted and distant.

Libby was in the midst of choking down her last bit of avocado when the dining room door swung open and Hannah Swift poked her head in, looking flustered for the first time. “Excuse me,” she said apologetically, “but would one of you mind moving the black SUV out there? I'm not sure how it happened, but I seem to have gotten blocked in while I was here.”

Libby glanced at the confused frowns around the table. Andie started to push her chair back, saying, “We were here early and we parked right next to the house, so I don't see how we can be blocking anyone in, but…” when the front door opened behind Hannah.

From upstairs came the now familiar rapid clickety clack of bulldog paws coming to investigate the newcomer, but instead of a despondent sigh and a slower clickety clack as a disappointed Pippin saw that his master hadn't returned, a series of deep, throaty barks had Libby jumping to her feet.

Sure enough, the next thing she heard was her grandfather's rusty voice saying, “Where the hell is everyone? And who the hell are you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Dabney Leeds swept past Hannah Swift and into the dining room as dramatically as his walking stick and the seventy-pound bulldog cavorting around his feet would allow.

“You're home!” Libby cried, coming around the table to crush her errant grandfather in as gentle a hug as she could manage. He felt frail and birdlike in her arms, but he returned the hug with reassuring vigor.

“This must be your grandfather,” Rhonda purred, frantically signaling the nearest cameraman with her eyes. “What a touching reunion. And he brought … a friend?”

Libby lifted her eyes from her grandfather's shoulder to peer at the open doorway. She couldn't believe what she saw.

“Uncle Ray?”

The man who'd raised her since she was eight years old beamed across the table and said, “Emily! It's been too long. How are Phil and Libby?”

It wasn't the first time Uncle Ray had mistaken Libby for her own mother, his beloved sister-in-law, Emily, but somehow, it hit Libby especially hard out of the blue like this. When she visited Ray in the nursing home, she was able to brace herself, to be ready for it to be either a good day or a bad one.

Her throat closed up, but she didn't have to try to speak. Grandfather said calmly, “Libby's perfect, Ray. In fact, she's right here and I know she'd like a hug.”

Confusion beetled Ray's brows, but it was a good day, because he obligingly shuffled over to enfold Libby in a hug that smelled like her childhood: spearmint gum and dusty library books. She couldn't hold back a sob, but there was no time for tears.

“What are you doing here, Uncle Ray? I'm so, so glad to see you, but you should be home in Queens. How did you get here?”

“Pop came and got me,” Ray said. “He told me it's Christmas, and all he wants this year is forgiveness and a second chance to be a good father.”

Another sob choked off Libby's airway, but she found the breath to croak, “So you forgave him? As easy as that?”

Ray blinked and, for a moment, something wise and aware surfaced in his faded blue eyes. For that moment, Libby saw the man she'd loved and relied on for so many years take possession of himself once more. He smiled at her, then glanced behind her to his father. “It wasn't easy. That fight we had the day I took off—it left scars on both of us. The one I could never get over was Pop telling me he was glad Mama was dead and didn't have to see the mess her children were making of their lives. I decided if he didn't want to see it, he didn't have to, and I never came home. But the older I get, the more I lose, the more I understand how life sends us things we can't bear sometimes.”

“I was wrong to say that,” Dabney said, his jaw hard with regret. “Your mother would've loved you no matter what you did or how you lived your life. Me too—but without her to remind me, I lost track of what mattered for a while.”

“Family.” Libby blinked away tears and tried to summon a smile. “Family is what matters.”

Ray nodded, squeezing Libby close. “We forgave each other. It was time. Besides, I figured if he was going to all this trouble to help my best girl, he couldn't be as bad as I thought all those years.”

The mischievous grin was one Libby hadn't seen in a long time, but it was as infectious as ever. She laughed and hugged Uncle Ray again while Grandfather harrumphed and scowled and tried to pretend not to be absolutely thrilled with himself and his family.

Until the exact moment when he noticed the cameras and the bleached-blonde talk show host crowded around his family's table. “Vultures,” he snarled, shaking his brass-topped cane at Rhonda. “Get out.”

“Excuse me”” She drew herself up haughtily. “My crew and I have every right to be here—”

“Is that so?” Grandfather rapped his cane on the floor, eyes snapping with the light of battle. He appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. “I didn't sign any release, and this property is in my name. I'm pretty sure that entitles me to throw you the hell off it, if I so choose. Sheriff, correct me if I'm wrong.”

Libby darted a glance at Andie, whose brows were climbing toward her hairline, but before Andie could weigh in, Hugo Downing said, “Now, now, there's no need for that. I arranged this visit and the filming with my employee, Elizabeth Leeds. All aboveboard. I'm sure you wouldn't want to do anything that might jeopardize my agreement with your granddaughter.”

“Oh, wouldn't I.” It wasn't a question, and as Dabney Leeds turned his attention to Hugo Downing, Libby had the uncanny feeling that they were about to witness a Godzilla versus Mothra–type smackdown. “The fact of the matter is that your agreement with Libby has been … superseded, shall we say? She doesn't need you or your money—she has family. She has me. And I intend to do whatever it takes to make her happy, including throwing your bloated, blackmailing carcass out of my house, along with your so-called journalist friend and her crew. So get out, before I call in my flesh-eating lawyers and have them sue you all back to the crappy Rust Belt towns you were spawned in.”

Purple with rage, Mr. Downing stood up from the table so fast, his chair scooted across the hardwood floor and toppled over with a crash.

“I'll fire her,” he said, pointing at Libby. “Don't think I won't!”

Libby stood up too, her heart pounding hard enough to shake her whole body. “You can fire me if you want, Mr. Downing. I can understand why you would want to. But I don't think you should.”

“Why is she getting fired?” Rhonda asked the room at large, her platinum bob quivering with curiosity.

“Because she's a fraud.” Downing threw his napkin down in disgust. “There's your scoop, Ms. Friend. Elizabeth Leeds is a fake.”

Rhonda made a gasp that sounded more delighted than scandalized, but Libby ignored her to focus on her soon-to-be ex-boss. “It's true that when I wrote those blog posts, and then the articles for
Savor
—the ones that brought in thousands of fan letters every month—I wasn't married. I didn't live on Sanctuary Island. I didn't have much in the way of family. And I didn't know how to cook. But take a look around, Mr. Downing.”

Libby gazed at the people gathered around her holiday table and felt her chest swell with brand-new confidence. “That's not true anymore. I have a home here, and family. And as you tasted for yourself, I can cook. So fire me if you want, but you'd be getting rid of your top columnist right when I'm about to be able to write better columns than ever before.”

Downing locked eyes with her across the table. He was still furious at being thwarted, Libby could see, but she could also see the wheels turning in his head. Hugo Downing hadn't become the publisher of the industry's leading food magazine by letting his emotions lead him astray. “It's not up to me to out you or not. The damage is done,” he said, gesturing to Rhonda and her still-recording cameras.

A chill shivered down Libby's spine, but she didn't back down. “I'm ready to tell the world the truth. Let Ms. Friend do her piece on me. I'm done with lying.”

“She won't use a single second of this footage unless she wants a lawsuit on her hands,” Grandfather reminded them. “And I still want you all to get the hell out of my house.”

“What about my job?”

Libby waited, heart in her throat, while Hugo Downing paused. “I'll think about it,” he said grudgingly. “Come on, Rhonda. We're leaving.”

“But it's Christmas,” she protested. “And we're stranded on this hick island with no way off it!”

“Wait,” Nash shouted, standing up. At this point, there were as many people standing as there were sitting around the table. “Don't turn the cameras off yet. I have something to say.”

And in front of everyone, with the cameras rolling and a fiery red blush crawling up his neck, Nash knelt down by Ivy's chair. She put her hand to her chest as if she was about to faint, but her eyes were shining with something much more powerful than surprise.

“Ivy Dawson.” Nash's voice cracked, and he winced but kept going. “You are beautiful and amazing. You are the best thing that ever happened to me twice. I've spent a lot of time in my life being watched and judged—the subject of gossip. When I first met you, everything I felt for you was so big and new, I got selfish. I wanted to keep it to myself, to have one thing in my life that was just mine. But that made you think I was ashamed of you, when there couldn't be anything further from the truth. If you could love me again, I'd spend the rest of my life bragging about you to anyone who'll listen. Will you marry me?”

“At least these two did sign releases,” Rhonda muttered, frantically gesturing her cameras to keep recording.

“I can't believe you're proposing on national television,” Ivy chortled reaching down to run her hands through Nash's perfect dark blond hair. “Yes, yes, yes, I'll marry you! Get up, you idiot.”

They kissed, and Libby clapped. Rhonda looked as if her Christmas was starting to look up.

“I don't see you all packing your bags,” Dabney barked at the camera guys, who jumped and started gathering their equipment.

“But this is gold,” Rhonda wailed.

“Gold you won't ever be airing,” Dabney said stoutly. “I'll expect you to hand over what you're filmed before you leave the premises.”

“Damn it,” Nash said, tearing away from his kiss with Ivy, looking mussed and flushed with triumph now instead of embarrassment. “I thought I was proposing on national television! It still counts, doesn't it?”

In answer, Ivy pulled his head down for another kiss, this one sultry enough to make Libby's eyes sting. Clearing her throat, she trained her eyes determinedly on her grandfather and her uncle.

“How did you get back here, anyway, Grandfather?” she asked. “Is the ferry running again?”

“Yes, the ferry has been reinstated for a single run this evening, but that's not how we got home.”

“We flew!” Uncle Ray said, in such happy, wondering tones that for a brief moment, Libby pictured her grandfather and Ray in the old-fashioned sleigh they'd found in the shed, flying through the air towed by eight magical reindeer.

“We hitched a ride on Miles Harrington's helicopter,” Dabney explained, shooting a triumphant glance at Hugo Downing. The mere mention of one of the most powerful billionaires in New York had Rhonda Friend practically drooling, but Downing hustled her along. He knew when it was time to retreat.

“Head down to the docks, the ferry building has a small waiting room,” Grandfather was saying jovially, magnanimous in victory, with the whole dining room in chaos. Libby tried to get her uncle to sit down, but after so many years apart he wanted to stick close to his father and she couldn't blame him. Andie and Sam had hopped up to help the camera guys get their things together while Grandfather gloated. Nash and Ivy were and still making out, and when Libby looked around the room to find Owen, he was in a corner, deep in conversation with Hannah Swift.

Probably discussing how to go about getting his Permanent Disability status revoked so he could be reinstated for active duty, Libby realized with a pang.

But one person was missing from the hubbub. Libby whirled in place, searching the room wildly, but it was no use.

“Caitlin is gone!” she cried.

*   *   *

Owen felt as if he'd been poked with a cattle prod. He swung into action immediately, his gaze locking with Libby's panic-stricken eyes. They turned as one and ran for the back door while Andie shouted, “I'll look around front. Nash, Ivy, can you check upstairs?”

Owen was through the kitchen and down the back steps in the blink of an eye, numb to the cold air until he wondered if Caitlin had bothered to grab her coat when she snuck off. That thought made him put on an extra burst of speed as he spotted the trail of small footprints in the snow.