A Christmas Homecoming Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  A Note from the Author

  Sunriver Series Book Three Sneak Peek

  Books by Kimberly Rose Johnson

  A CHRISTMAS HOMECOMING

  Sunriver Dreams Book Two

  By Kimberly Rose Johnson

  A Christmas Homecoming

  Published by Mountain Brook Ink

  White Salmon, WA U.S.A.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  The website addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource. These websites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of Mountain Brook Ink, nor do we vouch for their content.

  This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public domain.

  © 2016 Kimberly R. Johnson

  The Team: Miralee Ferrell, Kathryn Davis, Nikki Wright, Cindy Jackson

  Cover Design: Indie Cover Design, Lynnette Bonner Designer

  Mountain Brook Ink is an inspirational publisher offering fiction you can believe in.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my beta readers, Janice, Tina, and Sherry for their insightful input. You ladies rock! I would also like to thank my editor Kathryn Davis for her suggestions as well. Without all of you this story would not be what it is.

  Thank you!

  Chapter One

  Bailey Calderwood pulled the knit hat her mother had given her last Christmas lower on her head as freezing wind whipped her long hair, tossing it into her face. Wind whistled between the tall ponderosa pines that surrounded her employer’s house near Sunriver, Oregon.

  Why had she agreed to move to Mona Belafonte’s home? On a good day her employer was difficult to please, but now that she’d had a stroke, most of the time she was impossible. Not that Bailey blamed the woman for being difficult. She had to be frustrated and angry at her situation and slow recovery.

  Bailey needed to take care of her task quickly and get back to the house. Mona didn’t like to be alone. Thankfully the youngest of the Belafonte brothers was returning from France next week in time for the holidays. From what she’d been told, he worked with the design side of the business as well as the construction side, and she was hoping having him here would brighten Mona’s mood and speed her recovery. The task of freshening his cabin should go fast. But since it had been closed up for the past two-and-a-half-years, there’d probably be a good deal of dust to contend with.

  Crunching metal and shattering glass punctuated the early afternoon air. Bailey’s stomach clenched, and her pulse jumped. Oh no! The noise had come from the direction of the road. Snow nipped at her ankles as she jogged along the driveway that wove through the woods to the road.

  A small pickup with steam rising from under the crumpled hood had wrapped around a huge pine. The driver slumped behind the wheel. She bounded through the snow and yanked open the door. Blood streamed down the man’s face. She fought rising panic. What if he was dead? She nudged the man’s shoulder, noting his expensive suit and tie. “Sir, wake up.” Please be alive.

  “Don’t.” He pushed at her. “Leave . . . me . . . alone.” His head rolled to the side.

  She yanked her hand away. Was he drunk? She sniffed but didn’t smell alcohol. What should she do? She’d left her cell phone at the house. He may not want her help, but he definitely needed it. She patted his face. “Hey, wake up. We need to get you out of here.”

  No response.

  Maybe if she shook him—no. What if he had a head injury? She bit down on her bottom lip. A glance at the steaming hood caused her panic to rise.

  She didn’t think the pickup would catch fire, but she’d seen enough vehicle explosions on TV to prompt fear. He was too large for her to get him out on her own. She needed him conscious. What do I do, Lord? Looking around for anything that could help, her gaze rested on the snow. It was worth a try.

  She balled clean snow in her hands and applied it to his head. The cold ought to wake him, and it would help with the nasty gash too.

  A minute later, he groaned and slowly his lids opened. “What happened?”

  Maybe he had a brain injury.

  “You crashed. Other than the gash on your head, are you okay?” She wanted to shout at him to hurry and get out but forced herself to at least appear calm. No flames were coming from the hood—yet.

  He shifted and winced. “I think so, but I hurt in places I didn’t know existed.” He barked a laugh.

  Fear gripped her. Was this man gravely hurt, or had he miraculously escaped serious injury? What if he had internal injuries? She straightened and looked around at the scene. There was no evidence of another vehicle being involved—probably a deer or a patch of black ice had caused him to lose control. At least the engine had stopped smoking or steaming or whatever it’d been doing. “I imagine you’re going to be sore for a few days. By the look of your eye, I’m guessing you’ll have a shiner too.”

  He brought his hand to his face and flinched when he made contact with the area around his eye.

  “Your pickup is a mess and won’t be going anywhere without a tow.”

  Blood oozed from the gash on his forehead. Suddenly woozy, she rested a hand on the pickup. This man needed her help, and she was the only able-bodied person around for miles. A tissue box on the floor at his feet caught her attention. “Hold on a second. We need to get you out of here, but first . . .” she slid her arm beneath his legs and grabbed a wad of tissues, then pressed them to his forehead. “We should stop this bleeding.”

  He jerked away. “Hey!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He laid his hand over hers. “It’s okay.” His voice gentled. “I’ve got it. Thanks.” He released his seatbelt and gingerly stepped out of the Ford Ranger 4x4. He swayed.

  She slipped an arm around his waist. “Easy there. Don’t want you falling or passing out.” She chuckled nervously. “I’ve already got one invalid to take care of.” She shot him a smile, hoping to ease the tension that hung between them.

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “How is my mother doing?”

  She loosened her hold on the man and looked at him more closely. He had the Belafonte blue eyes and broad shoulders. “You’re Stephen?”

  He nodded, then gasped.

  Her insides knotted. Though obviously in pain, he put up a strong front. She admired his strength. Maybe keeping things casual would help get his mind off his discomfort. “We weren’t expecting you until next week. Your mom will be thrilled to see you.” She shot him a grin.

  “Mother made it sound like she needed me, so I came back early. Are you her assistant?”

  “Yes. I’m Bailey.”

  “Good to meet y
ou. However, I wish I’d made it to the house first. Let me grab my bag.” He gingerly moved away from her supporting arm.

  The man, who towered over her five-foot-seven-inch frame, slowly ducked his head and reached across the seat.

  He twisted back around, holding a small duffle bag. Pain etched on his face.

  She pushed her glasses up higher onto her nose and stuffed her gloved hands into her jacket pockets. “Is that all you have?”

  “I like to travel light.”

  “But you’ve been out of the country for a long time. How could you only have one small carry-on?” She’d heard of traveling light, but one bag was extreme.

  He quirked a grin. “Sorry, I was trying to be funny. The airline lost my luggage.”

  “Figures. You’re really having a bad day.”

  “I’ve had worse.” A haunted look darkened his eyes as he limped along the snow-covered driveway toward the house.

  Her heart tripped. From what she’d been told, he had experienced much worse. She matched his slower pace. “I’m sure Mona will be thrilled that you came home early. Should I take you to the hospital? Or would you like to come to the main house and let me bandage the cut on your head, and wait and see how you feel?”

  “I’m fine. Let’s go to the house. I’m anxious to see my mother.”

  Stephen glanced at the woman beside him, still trying to understand what his mother had been complaining about in her emails. Bailey seemed pleasant enough, even sweet. Her tender concern for him touched him deeply. It’d been a long time since someone showed that kind of care toward him.

  Mom tended to get caught up in appearances so that was probably where Bailey failed. Her attire didn’t meet his mother’s standards. The red and hot pink knit cap on her long, kinky hair looked homemade, and the too large jacket she wore over her jeans didn’t do her any favors. His teeth chattered. If he didn’t pick up the pace, they’d both end up with hypothermia. He lengthened his stride even though every step hurt. He should have thought to have his brother, John, leave an extra pair of boots in his pickup. At least then, he wouldn’t have soaking cold feet. No one besides John knew he was coming home a week early. His brother had been a huge help by dropping his pickup off at the airport. He still couldn’t believe Mom had had a stroke.

  He glanced toward Bailey and caught her watching him closely. Compassion lingered in her hazel eyes. She pushed her large, dark-rimmed glasses higher on her nose and shot him a look of concern—or was it unease? “Are you okay?”

  “I was wondering the same thing about you.” She rested a hand on his arm. “You’re injured, just totaled your pickup, and I’m not sure, but you probably have a concussion. Who knows what else is wrong—and you’re worried about me? At least let me carry your duffle bag.”

  He started to shake his head then thought better of it. What he needed was a hot shower, a painkiller, and an espresso. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it. So tell me, how is my mother really doing?”

  “Are you sure you want to hear this right now? It’s not good.”

  “Positive.” The worried look in her eyes unnerved him. Were things worse than he’d been told?

  “Okay, but if you want me to stop, please say so.”

  “You’re kind of freaking me out. Please tell me.”

  “Sorry. I suppose she’s doing as well as can be expected, but she’s not a young woman, and from what I understand, her road to recovery will be long. She can’t be alone for any length of time because she has anxiety attacks, which has made keeping the business running smoothly a challenge. I can’t do the job I’m being paid to do and take care of your mother. Sooner or later our clients are going to start complaining. I’m an interior designer, not a nurse, or a good cook or housekeeper.” She pressed her lips together and looked away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I said too much.”

  “Yet, I sense there’s more.” He stopped and waited for her to look at him. He gave her the look that usually made grown men squirm. “I appreciate that you are being brutally honest with me, and even though I don’t know you and my head is pounding, I insist you tell me what you left out.”

  “Okay, but for the record, dumping this all on you right now may be more than you want to hear.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” he said drily. Bailey had spunk. He liked that.

  She crossed her arms. “I’m really worried about her. I take her to therapy sessions, and she doesn’t seem to be improving. On top of that, she was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, and she refuses to eat right. Granted, I’m not used to cooking for a diabetic, and I’ve been struggling with how to feed her, but she is such a picky eater. It’s been a challenge.”

  “I hadn’t heard about her diabetes.” Worry gripped him. Mom tended to be a drama queen, so keeping something big like that quiet must mean her health was far worse than she’d let on.

  “She’s a private woman, so I’m not surprised.”

  “Seriously? My mother loves attention.”

  “Not all attention is desirable.”

  “True.” He still remembered the looks of pity he’d received after his wife died. Their pity was one reason he’d fled to France.

  “I doubt anyone besides her doctor and I know. Unfortunately, her mood has been less than happy, and she doesn’t want to be told what she can and can’t eat. I’m at a loss for how to help her.” She snapped her mouth closed.

  “I see.” Although the diagnosis surprised him it shouldn’t, since the disease ran in the family, but why hadn’t Mom told his brothers? Surely one of them would have hired a cook for her. “I wish someone had told me the extent of her problem. Had I realized how bad things were, I would’ve come home as soon as I learned of her stroke. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with this on your own. I take it my family has been of little help?”

  “They do the best they can.”

  What was going on here? It wasn’t like his brothers to neglect family. Stephen’s stomach knotted. If his mom was doing so poorly, why hadn’t anyone told him, and why was an employee of their construction and design company taking care of her and not family? What had happened to everyone while he was away? “Thank you for being honest. Now that I’m here, your responsibilities will shift to your actual job. My mom has always been tight with money and refused to hire out for work she can do herself. Considering the circumstances, though, maybe I can talk her into allowing me to hire a cook. But I make no promises. She is a stubborn woman.”

  Bailey nodded. “Are you planning to stay in the main house?”

  “No, but I will spend several hours each day there so you can slip out and deal with your actual job.”

  The worry in her eyes made him wonder, but right now he’d talked all he could. The house came into view, and he stopped. The snow set off the mountain-like lodge as if welcoming him home. “Wow, it still looks amazing.”

  She chuckled. “I’d have thought you’d be immune to its beauty.”

  “Never,” he breathed softly and continued forward. Decorative greenery and pinecones hung from the cedar pillars that supported the wrap-around porch, giving it a festive feel. “Nice touch. Did you do that?” He motioned with his free hand toward the porch.

  She nodded. “I started decorating last week. Mona plans to host Thanksgiving and Christmas here and wants everything to be perfect.”

  “I thought she was stuck in bed.”

  “Not anymore.” She shrugged. “I guess she’s improved, but not as much as I’d hoped. She gets around, but slowly and with the help of a walker. Some tasks are harder than others for her.”

  Bailey led the way up the porch steps and pushed into the house. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. Take a seat, and I’ll be right back.” She scurried from the massive entryway and disappeared around the corner.

  He settled into the nearest chair. Nothing had changed in the two-and-a-half years he’d been gone. It even smelled the same—like vanilla. Not even the furniture had
been moved, or the picture of him and his late wife Rebecca that rested on the mantle. He swallowed the lump in his throat and averted his eyes.

  “Here we go.” Bailey popped the top off the kit and tore the wrapper off an alcohol swab. “This will probably sting.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath—she wasn’t kidding. “How bad is it?” He studied her face for a hint at the condition of his wound. Her hazel eyes with speckles of gold gave nothing away.

  “It’s actually not nearly as bad as I expected, considering how much it bled.”

  Her tender touch didn’t surprise him. Bailey had an air of gentleness about her—she radiated quiet. No wonder Mother was going nuts. She liked constant action and noise. Rebecca and Mother had gotten on very well. She was like the daughter Mom never had. Those two together had been a force of nature. He chuckled.

  “Something funny?” A beautiful smile lit Bailey’s face. Her eyes sparkled in the dancing light from the picture windows.

  “Being here brings back memories.”

  “Good ones I hope.” She applied a couple of bandages to his forehead.

  A whisper of pine scent wafted the air around her. She must have been working with the branches before she’d discovered his wreck. Her leg brushed against his.

  “Mostly.” Awareness shot through him. He reached up and gently grasped her wrist, drawing her hand away from his head. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

  She stepped back, slipping from his grasp. “Okay. If you start to feel like you need to go to the hospital, let me know.”

  He started to tell her he could take care of himself, but the concern in her eyes stopped him. “Thank you.”

  “Will you be okay for a bit by yourself with your mom? There’s something I need to do.”

  “Sure.”

  She still wore her outdoor clothes, and her tennis shoes were squeaking as she stepped past him toward the door.