Spencer Nation's Christmas Miracle

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Also By The Author

  Copyright ©2017 by Tammy Blackwell

  All rights held by the author. All rights reserved. This material may not be reproduced, displayed, modified or distributed without the express prior written permission of the copyright holder. For permission, please contact Miss_Tammy@misstammywrites.com

  Editor: Lynda Short

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or real, is coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  "I'm going back home."

  Spencer Nation’s mother wasn't the kind of woman people would normally describe as imposing. She stood about 5'5" when you took into account her hair, and it was impossible to not take her hair into account. It was a platinum blond feat of architectural ingenuity that would have done any of Dolly Patron's wigs proud. Her breasts also resembled her idol's, but on Rita the squishy round softness wasn't contained to her bra. Despite trying every fad diet to ever hit the market, her body was closer to that of the Pilsbury Dough Boy than Barbie. Most people took one look at her and assumed she was the kind of sweet Southern mama who peppered every sentence with "Darlin'" and "Sweetie.”

  They were right, of course. The woman was so sweet she would melt in the rain. Or at least she was to everyone but her only child. Only Spencer got to see the tyrant beneath the Mary Kay and Aquanet.

  "You said you would come and stay with us for Christmas, Spencer Anne Nation. You made me a promise," Rita said in a tone more appropriate for a misbehaving toddler than a woman of twenty-seven. "Mack's girls are looking forward to meeting you. Are you going to be rude and just run back to Nashville? Can you imagine how disappointed they’re going to be?"

  Spencer rubbed the back of her neck where her muscles tightened more and more with every word out of her mother’s mouth. "I'll be back for Christmas, Mama. I just don't see the point in staying here the whole week leading up to it."

  "The point is getting to know your new family and spending some time with your mama. I barely see you anymore. You skipped out on Thanksgiving to be with him, and then all that other unfortunate business took place. I miss you. I know things are different now, but you're still my baby." Blue eyes, almost identical to Spencer's own, filled with tears. "Please stay.”

  "There isn't a place for me here, Mama. Did you even ask Mack before inviting me to come stay?"

  "It was Mack's idea. He wanted to have all of our kids together for the holidays. And of course you have a place." She swept her arms out to indicate the small basement in which they were standing. "I realize it's not the Hilton, but it's clean and the bed is comfortable. And you'll have a bathroom to yourself."

  "Don't you mean I'll have a bathroom I'll have to share with one of Mack's kids?"

  And here was the crux of her problem. It wasn't that she was being put down in the basement like an unused piece of exercise equipment, but that she was sharing the space -- the one-roomed space -- with a step-sibling she'd never met.

  "Kit is sweet," Rita insisted. "Would you rather be sharing a bathroom with the married girls and their families? You do remember the part where they have five children between the two of them, right? At least down here you will have some privacy."

  Privacy. With a stranger sleeping on a futon fifteen feet away. Right.

  "How about we make a deal? I'll stay through tomorrow for that little festival thing you've been so excited about, and then I'll come back on Christmas Eve and stay the night."

  Rita crossed her arms over her chest, which was no easy task. "Or how about you stay right here until Christmas like you promised."

  “Mama—"

  "What are you going to do when you get back down to Nashville, anyway? Curl up on your couch, watch Netflix, read books, and eat out of delivery containers? The exact same thing you've been doing every day since Thanksgiving?"

  "That's not fair, Mama." And not even entirely accurate. It wasn't as if she was able to skip out on work. Students didn't stop needing an education just because she'd broken up with her boyfriend of five years. "I don't know if I can do this," she admitted. "When I agreed to come here, I thought it was just going to be you and Mack. I don't know if I can handle all these extra people right now."

  Rita reached up and brushed a lock of caramel hair behind Spencer's ear. "Sweetie, you've let that man take up too much space in your life as it is. It's time to reconnect with the world. And this is your family now. Let them be here to support you."

  "They're Mack’s family, not mine. To me, they're strangers." Her mother had met Mack at a church retreat two summers ago. At first they just exchanged Facebook likes and emails, but then he started finding excuses to drive down to Nashville and take Rita to dinner while he was in the city. Spencer had met him several times and could see the obvious affection the two had for one another, but she'd been shocked when they announced they were running off to elope in Gatlinburg. Before Spencer knew what was happening, her childhood home was being sold and her mom was moving to the middle-of-nowhere town of Timber, Kentucky.

  That was in July. There had been talk of a big family meet-and-greet since then, but as was normally the way of the world, life got in the way. One of Mack's daughters was on vacation, and then the other had a child with the flu. After that, it was Spencer crying off due to school being back in session. She had intentions of driving up the weekend after Thanksgiving, but then she'd come home to find Travis buried balls-deep in the pink-haired barista from the hipster cafe on their block. After that, she hadn't felt much like making the two hour drive to make small talk over turkey and dressing. She'd only managed to placate her mother, who threatened to drive down to Nashville and make certain Travis would never be able to "fornicate with some cotton candy-haired floozie again" by promising to spend the first part of her winter break in Kentucky under the loving care of her mother.

  It was an ill-informed decision made in a moment of weakness. What kind of family spent a week together for Christmas? Who thought cramming thirteen people in a 1970's ranch-style house was a good idea? Crazy people, that's who.

  "I know me remarrying has been hard on you," her mother began, but Spencer cut her off.

  “Mama, how many times do I have to say that I'm happy for you before you start believing it? Dad has been dead for ten years now. It was well past time for you to move on."

  "I don't care if it has been fifty years, he was still your father. You can be be happy for me and still have difficulty seeing me with someone else. The two aren't mutually exclusive."

  Damn it. She hated when her mother was right.

  "He's a good man," Spencer conceded. "I like him. I really do. But I don't want to call him dad, and I don't want to call his kids my sisters. I've been an only child my whole life. It's too late for me to start collecting siblings now."

  "Fair enough, but it's entirely too soon for you to become a bitter old hermit."

  "A what?"

  "Part of this is my fault. I never did like that asshole Travis --"

  "Did you just say asshole?" Rita was a devout Chr
istian woman who used to threaten to wash her daughter's mouth out with soap for saying "shoot." Spencer had never heard her utter an actual cuss word before.

  "I was trying to stay out of your way and let you live your own life. But he was no good for you. He was immature and selfish, and I don't like the person he's turned you into."

  "You don't like me? Jesus, are you trying for Mother of the Year here or what?"

  "Don't use the lord's name in vain, and I said I didn't like the person he's turned you into. This sad little mouse of a woman isn't my daughter. My daughter is a force to be reckoned with. I miss her. I want her back."

  That hurt. A lot more than Spencer wanted to admit.

  "And you think I will magically turn into the paragon of a daughter you imagine me to be if I spend a week sleeping on a twin bed in your basement and being the thirteenth wheel in this Griswold-ish Christmas gathering?"

  "I think you will remember how to start living instead of merely existing." Rita heaved a deep sigh, her own special way of saying the discussion was over. "I cleared out the top two drawers for you," she said, indicating the chest of drawers that was serving double-duty as an entertainment center. "Unpack your stuff and then come upstairs and help me with supper. Everyone is supposed to be here by six."

  “Mama—"

  "We're having lasagna."

  Spencer wasn't sure which was more remarkable, her mother's ability to manipulate her with food or Spencer's own ability to be manipulated with the promise of noodles and cheesy goodness. In the end, it didn't matter. Spencer's fate was sealed. She could only hope Christmas would be quick in coming this year.

  Chapter 2

  Part of the gravel had washed away during last month's heavy rains, causing Kit's truck to bounce all over the driveway that led up to the old barn. He knew he'd secured the lumber to the trailer he was pulling before he pulled out of Clarksville, but still he watched it in the rear view mirror the whole way up the hill. He would have to get Matt to bring over a load of rock sometime this week. His truck could handle the abuse, but Mack's Kia would probably rattle completely apart if he tried to make the same trek in the spring when he started hauling up plants for his garden.

  Kit wasn't at all surprised to see the barn doors open and someone waiting for him when he reached the top. Mack stood to the side, guiding Kit as he backed the trailer into the barn. The relief of finally being home filled Kit as he stopped the truck and hopped out.

  "How did you know when I was getting here?" He asked, pulling the older man into a hug. Mack's hair, which had once been coal black but was now as silver and white as the decorations hanging along Main Street, tickled Kit's cheek. There had been a time when he had to crane his neck to look up at the man who had been the closest thing to a real father he ever had, but then puberty hit. Kit grew a foot in less than a year. It had hurt like hell, he could still remember the way his bones would ache at night, but now he rarely had to look up to anyone.

  "Parental intuition," Mack said. "You driving back down?"

  "Nah, I'll leave the truck up here." That way the girls could still park in the main driveway and not have to lug the kids up and down the hill. "Just let me grab my bag." Mack tried to take the oversized duffle bag from him as he grabbed it out of the back of the truck, but Kit just narrowed his eyes and hefted it over his shoulder. It wasn't that Mack was old and feeble. For a man in his sixties he was still pretty spry, but Kit was a thirty year old man. No one carried his luggage for him.

  "Betty Jenkins," he said as they made their way down the hill.

  Mack chuckled and and shook his head. “Rebecca Donovan. She saw you drive through town and sent me a text asking if you would mind talking to her son-in-law while you're in. She wants him to build her a gazebo like the one you made Rita."

  "One of these days I'm going to drive all the way through Lake County without someone tracking my every move."

  "Ah, the blind optimism of youth."

  "You know if they put the women of this town on it, they would have found Osama Bin Laden in half the time. The intelligence network around here puts the CIA to shame."

  Mack smiled up at him. "Miss it, don't you?"

  Only when he was here. He was pretty content in his life, and rarely thought about this town that had been his home for a few short years while he was in high school, but he always felt a type of relief once he crossed over the county line. And once he was here, he hated the idea of leaving, even though he knew it would drive him crazy to stay.

  Nostalgia was weird.

  They made it to the bottom of the hill, and Kit turned to go through the garage to the basement on the other side. Mack stopped him with a hand on his arm, which was strange enough. Kit hadn't used the front door since...

  Well, to be quite honest, he couldn't remember ever using the front door.

  Stranger still was the way Mack hesitated before saying anything. If ever there was a man more sure of his path in life, Kit had yet to meet him. The last time he saw Mack's eyes with shadows of guilt was the day his mother announced she was getting a divorce and they were moving to Nevada.

  He'd hated Nevada. He'd even hated his mother a little those first few months after they moved.

  "You know Rita?" Mack asked, which made Kit laugh.

  "The wife you talk about nonstop? The one who tries to fatten me up with her cooking? Nope. Never heard of her."

  "Well, this lady you never heard of has a daughter."

  "The teacher." He'd never met her, but he remembered that she had a man's name. Samuel or Sawyer or something like that.

  "Yes, Spencer. She's going to spend Christmas with us."

  For other families, Christmas meant a big meal, presents, and a few hours of family togetherness. Not this family. Every year Mack's kids gathered in Timber for several days of cookie baking, parade watching, and general holiday merriment. The only problem was, the family kept growing, but the house did not.

  "Are you saying you need me to check into a hotel?" He didn't mind. Not really. But he wished the old man had got up enough nerve to tell him before he lugged his bag down the hill.

  "Of course I don't need you to check into a hotel. Don't be ridiculous. This is your house as much as anyone else's." That wasn't exactly true, but Kit let it slide. "I just wanted to let you know before you barge in there that I told her she could have the bed. I may have even implied that you preferred to sleep on the futon."

  Kit was 6'2". He would have to fold himself up like a pretzel to fit on that futon, but he supposed it was better than the couch.

  "I would have insisted she take the bed anyway." He did have some manners.

  "I knew you would, which is why I didn't mind fibbing a little." Mack tugged on his ear, and Kit knew it wasn't just the sleeping situation weighing on the other man's mind. He waited patiently, letting him gather his thoughts.

  "She's a sweet girl," Mack finally said. "A little quiet and bookish, but sweet. And she's had a hard time of it recently. She's going through a bad breakup, and it's really doing a number on her."

  He was going to spend his holidays with a depressed nerd. Fantastic.

  "And you want me to try to cheer her up a little," Kit guessed.

  Mack's smile caused deep creases to bracket his mouth and fan out from his eyes. "I knew you would understand. You've always had a good heart. You don't have to go overboard. Just a bit of flirting should do it. You don't want to lead her on or anything."

  A bit of flirting? Kit had thought they were talking about having an A Christmas Story marathon and turning off the radio anytime that damn "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" song came on.

  "Listen, Mack, I'm sure she's a nice girl and all, but I don't think--"

  "She's a lovely young woman, and she's in need of a confidence boost. And I know your reputation, even though I would rather I didn't."

  Kit was a full grown man, and yet he felt the back of his neck turn red as he dropped hi
s eyes, unable to meet Mack's stare. "Just because I enjoy the company of women, it doesn't mean I know how to butter up some little school teacher and make her forget her ex."

  "But you could try."

  The whole concept felt a bit sleezy to him. If it had been anyone else asking, he would have said no. But it was Mack, and because he would do anything for Mack, including pretend to be interested in some heartbroken girl, he said, "I can try."

  Chapter 3

  Spencer considered herself very self aware. She took every personality test ever invented and met with a therapist at least once a month to reevaluate her self image. As such, she knew she was not particularly observant of her surroundings at times. When she got caught up in her own head she could bump into a naked, guitar-playing cowboy and never even notice.

  In her defense, it had been really crowded downtown that day and she had bumped into a lot of people. Why her friends found it hysterical that one of them happened to be wearing nothing more than a vintage Gibson and a pair of Fryes was beyond her.

  She'd been in Mack's basement for at least a half hour, yet thanks to her inability to fully notice the world around her, she hadn't realized there was a second entrance. That was why when the door swung open, she screamed and jumped around, her arms outstretched to fend off an attack.

  Not that she was exactly certain how the bra she was holding was supposed to protect her from the man standing across from her.

  "Spencer?" He asked the garment in question.

  "Yes?" She hid the bra behind her back. If she reached back just a little she could drop it into the drawer...

  The bra hit the ground between her feet.

  "If you'll excuse me," she said, which was ridiculous. What the hell was wrong with her? It was a bra. A bit of material, and a small bit at that. She had her mother's eyes and smile, but not her breasts. Which this guy, whoever he was, now knew despite the bulky sweatshirt she was wearing.