The Perfect Present Page 5

  “My grandfather had to drop out of school in the eleventh grade when his daddy died and he had to step up and take over running the farm. He was close to seventy when he went back to night school to earn his high school diploma. He’d proven himself a successful businessman when he sold his hogs to local restaurants, but claimed earning that piece of paper was a personal achievement.”

  “He sounds as if he was a remarkable man,” Sierra said.

  Noah ran his fingers through her short hair. “That he was. What time do you plan to get up in the morning?” Soft snores answered his query and he realized Sierra had fallen asleep. Under another set of circumstances, he would have welcomed the soft crush of her breasts and the subtle scent of the perfume on her silky skin, but he found Sierra too much of a temptation for them to share a bed.

  Untangling their limbs, he slipped off the bed and carried her to the alcove. She stirred slightly when he placed her on the bed, but she did not wake up. Noah smiled as he pulled the blankets over the slender figure. He could not have imagined her fear when she had had to deal with a stalker ex-boyfriend. However, she was lucky that her brother was able to defuse the situation, or it could have ended tragically. He’d watched too many television crime shows featuring women who had become victims of stalkers and jealous lovers. Leaning over, he kissed her forehead.

  “Sweet dreams, beautiful.” He flicked off the table lamp and returned to his bed.

  When he’d boarded the plane he never would’ve anticipated sitting next to a petite slip of a woman with whom he would bond enough for her to invite him to stay with her family for a Christmas layover. Noah knew without a doubt he would spend Christmas Eve with the Nelsons, because all flights in and out of O’Hare were cancelled because of the storm. At first he’d believed the weather had conspired against him when he couldn’t get to Boston to celebrate the holiday with his family, but if he had to be stranded, then he was fortunate to spend it with Sierra’s family.

  They had welcomed him like a long-lost relative. He instantly connected with her father and brothers. It helped that they all shared a military background, but that was only a small part of why he felt so comfortable with them. They epitomized to Noah what it meant to be a family unit: They loved and protected their wives, children, siblings, and parents.

  He closed his eyes and within minutes he succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Sierra woke Christmas Eve morning, got out of bed, and peered through the blinds to find it was still snowing, though not as heavily as it had been the night before. She managed to gather a change of clothes and slip down to the hallway bathroom to shower and dress without waking Noah.

  Her sock-covered feet were silent as she descended the staircase that led to the kitchen. The distinctive aromas of brewing coffee and grilling bacon wafted to her nostrils. Her mother, Naomi, and Pilar were busy seasoning and prepping a large turkey, a fresh ham, and two beef rib roasts.

  “Good morning!”

  Three heads popped up at her greeting.

  Evelyn smiled. “I thought you’d still be asleep because of jet lag.”

  Sierra walked into the kitchen and sat on a stool at the cooking island. “If I feel myself crashing, I’ll take a nap later this afternoon. Is there anything you want me to do?”

  “You can finish grilling the bacon,” Pilar suggested, “while I slice up a few melons.”

  Picking up a pair of tongs, Sierra tested the doneness of several strips. A platter of sliced ham steaks sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar, and sausage links, muffins, toast, and eggs cooked to order would be put out for breakfast, along with bowls of fresh fruit, juice, coffee, and tea.

  Whenever she returned to Chicago, Sierra did not feel as if she really was home unless she heard the childish voices of her nieces and nephews and/or joined her mother and grandmother in the kitchen. She rarely cooked for herself, although she enjoyed it when she did, because she usually called her favorite gourmet shop to place an order for enough food to last her for several days.

  She placed the cooked slices in an aluminum tray lined with paper towels. “Mom, do you think we have enough bacon?”

  Evelyn peered into the tray. “Four pounds should be enough, because we’ll also have ham and sausage.”

  She gave her mother a sidelong glance. “Now you know the Nelson men are carnivores.”

  “I think a lot of them are hungover from last night. Philip admitted he had at least three beers, while Luke, Mark, Daniel, and Noah had twice that much.”

  Naomi rested her hands at her waist over a bibbed apron. “Now I know why Daniel didn’t wake up when I got out of bed, because he’s always up before me.”

  Pilar grunted under her breath. “I hope they get up in time to take care of the kids, because we’re going to be busy cooking most of the day.”

  Evelyn nodded. “They’ll have to babysit and shovel snow once it stops.”

  Over the next two hours, Sierra busied herself scrambling and frying eggs as, one by one, family members strolled into the kitchen declaring they were ravenous. They retreated into the enclosed back porch, where a variety of breakfast foods were on display.

  She sang and hummed along with traditional and contemporary Christmas music coming from the radio on the countertop next to a small television with a built-in DVD, and managed to fix a plate for herself of scrambled eggs with several strips of ham, and a mini blueberry muffin.

  Her father, Mark, and Noah still hadn’t appeared, and she wondered if they were hungover or just exhausted.

  * * *

  Noah reached for the phone when he recognized his mother’s ringtone. He peered at the screen and groaned. It was nearly ten. It was close to midnight when he finally went to sleep, but he rarely slept more than six or seven hours.

  He tapped the phone icon. “Hello.” His eyes went to the alcove and the daybed. It was empty. Sierra had gotten up without waking him.

  “Did I wake you?”

  Pushing to sit, he adjusted several pillows around his shoulders. He’d lied so much over the past twenty-four hours that he couldn’t continue with his mother. “Yes.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Noah registered the concern in his mother’s voice. “I’m good. I was up late last night and I’m still a little jet lagged.”

  “You’re lucky you got a hotel room, because I saw news footage of people sleeping on cots and on the floor at O’Hare. Logan International is no better.”

  “I didn’t get a hotel room.” When he called to tell his mother he would lay over in Chicago until he could get a flight, she had assumed he had checked into a hotel.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m staying with friends,” he admitted. At least he now considered the Nelsons friends, since they’d put him up.

  “You never said anything to me about knowing folks in Chicago. But then, you really don’t tell me much about who you know, or where you go. The only time you call is when you come back from wherever it is you disappear to.”

  Noah closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten. “Mother, please don’t start with me. You know what I do, and you also know what I can’t talk about.”

  Sylvia’s sigh came through the earpiece. “You can’t fault me for worrying. As a mother am I not entitled to worry about my children?”

  He smiled. “Yes, you are. How much snow did you guys get?” Noah asked, segueing to a safer topic of conversation.

  “They’ve estimated about twenty-eight inches, with four-foot drifts. Folks who were talking about a white Christmas will get their wish.”

  Noah ran a hand over his head. “It’s the same here.”

  “When do you think you’ll be able to get a flight out?”

  “I don’t know. The carrier will text me once my flight is rescheduled.”

  Sylvia sighed again. “I was really looking forward to celebrating Christmas with you.”

  “So was I.”

  “By the time you arrive
, I’ll have to go back to work.”

  It was Noah’s turn to exhale an audible sigh. He’d agonized whether to tell his mother that he was a Navy SEAL, because it gave her reason to heap on the guilt, and he didn’t do well with guilt. The first time he revealed his military status, she cried for days. Even when he had attempted to reassure her that as a member of the military every time he put on his uniform he did not become a target either for the enemy in a combat mission or a psycho with a grudge against the military.

  “I promise to get up early and make breakfast for you, and take you to all your favorite restaurants for dinner.”

  “What if I cook for you and take you out to dinner?”

  A bright smile flittered over his features. “That will work.”

  “Is this friend you’re staying with a man or a woman?”

  Again, he was faced with whether to lie or tell the truth, and decided on the latter. “My friend is a woman.”

  There came a pause on the other end of the connection. “Are you serious about her?”

  “No, Mother. She’s just a friend. I’m staying with her extended family.”

  “I’m not going to bring up you not wanting to get married because—”

  “Please don’t,” he said, cutting her off.

  There were times when his mother was like a dog with a bone. Once she latched on, she refused to let go. Once he turned thirty, Sylvia began a campaign to set him up with women she felt he would like. Every time he came back to Boston, Sylvia would accidently on purpose invite a young woman over to the house, hoping they would hit it off. Even after admonishing Sylvia for her attempts to play matchmaker, she continued to do it, until his homecomings grew more infrequent. When she questioned him about it, Noah was forthcoming when he demanded she stop setting him up with women or he would limit his visits to no more than one or two a year. Sylvia, knowing he was serious, abandoned her crusade to find him a wife.

  He chatted with his mother for another two minutes, and then rang off. He heard voices in the hallway through the bedroom door and knew people were up. Noah got out of bed and went into the en suite bath to shower. He emerged twenty minutes later in jeans, a sweatshirt, and thick cotton socks.

  * * *

  Sierra was still at the stove when Noah walked into the kitchen. He hadn’t shaved and the stubble on his lean jaw enhanced his blatant masculinity. “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Over easy, please.”

  He kissed her cheek, the minty scent of mouthwash wafting to her nostrils. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a baby. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “I figured you needed your sleep.” There was a slight puffiness under his eyes. “Do you feel okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “You look a little tired.”

  “I’m good. By the way, have you eaten?”

  Sierra oiled the grill, and then gently cracked two eggs onto the heated surface. “Yes. I managed to eat before everyone came down. You’ll find meat, breads, fruit, and juice on the porch.”

  “You’re pretty good at this,” Noah said when she deftly turned the eggs over without breaking the yolks.

  “I must admit that I don’t cook enough.”

  “Don’t you cook for yourself ?”

  Picking up a plate, she ladled the eggs onto it. “Not too often. It’s no fun cooking for one person.”

  “I know what you mean. Has everyone else eaten?”

  She nodded. “Yes. You’re my last customer, so I’ll grab a cup of coffee and sit with you.”

  Noah waited for her to fill a cup from the coffee urn and they walked into the porch amid raised voices and angry shouts. Daniel was reading his sons the riot act for throwing food at each other.

  “But, he started it first!” Caleb shouted.

  “I did not!” Isaiah countered.

  Daniel wagged a finger at both boys. “I don’t care who started it, but it’s going to end now! Understand?” The boys nodded. “I can’t hear nods.”

  Caleb dropped his eyes. “I understand, Dad.”

  “Me too,” Isaiah whispered.

  “Is it me too or I understand ?” Daniel was relentless.

  Isaiah’s lower lip quivered as he struggled not to break down. “I understand, Dad.”

  “That’s better. Now empty your plates and go sit in the living room and think about what you’ve done.”

  “Can we go downstairs?” Caleb asked.

  “No.”

  Waiting until her sons left the room, Naomi rested a hand on her husband’s arm. “Danny, don’t—”

  Daniel rounded on his wife. “Stay out of this, Nay. Aren’t you the one who complains they don’t listen to you when you tell them to do something?”

  A flush suffused Naomi’s pale complexion, the color nearly matching her red hair. “Only sometimes.”

  “It should be no time, Naomi. They’re getting older and in a few years they’ll be teenagers, and I’ll be damned if I’ll have my sons disrespect an adult.” Naomi glared at Daniel, and then got up from the table and stalked out.

  “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Sierra whispered to Noah.

  “There’s no need to apologize. I don’t want to take sides, but your brother is right. If parents aren’t on the same page and establish boundaries for their children, then once they become adolescents it will be too late. As a teacher I’m sure you hear this all the time.”

  Sierra took a sip of coffee. “I do. I cringe whenever I hear kids curse at their parents as if they’re talking to their peers.”

  “I wasn’t willing to test Sylvia, because I wasn’t certain whether I’d have to pick up my teeth with a rake.”

  Throwing back her head, Sierra laughed until tears filled her eyes. “I don’t think it would’ve been my mother, but Nana would’ve taken a wooden spoon to my behind. She used to say in her day grown folks didn’t tolerate nonsense from kids. She claims her father would take her brothers out to the woodshed and light them up.”

  Noah nodded. “I remember a boy who lived on the farm next to my grandfather’s who practically lived in the woodshed. It appeared that whippings didn’t do him any good because he was mandated to a juvenile detention facility before taking up permanent residence in a state prison.”

  “Hitting a child doesn’t always work. Abusing a child turns them into abusers.”

  Noah pushed several blueberries around a dish with his fork. “I’ve always wondered what type of father I’d be like if I had kids.”

  Sierra stared at his profile. “Probably a badass like my brothers.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, right,” she drawled. “Instead of hitting your kids you’d put them in a headlock until they cried uncle.”

  He smiled, the dimple in his left cheek deepening. “I’d never touch my girls.”

  “You’d rough up your sons, but not your daughters?”

  “You’re pregnant?”

  Sierra looked up to find her father standing behind Noah. “No!”

  “Who else is pregnant?” Evelyn asked.

  Within seconds the word was repeated by those sitting at the table. Sierra had had enough. “Good people, I’d like everyone to know that I am not pregnant.”

  “I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Evelyn announced.

  Philip shook his head. “Let it go, Evie. The more pressure you put on Sierra to get married and have a baby, the more she balks.”

  “What’s the harm in wanting to see my only daughter married and a mother?”

  In the past Sierra would get up and walk out whenever her mother would go on and on about her unmarried daughter being too picky, that no man would ever be good enough for her, but not this morning. “Don’t you have enough grandbabies, Mama?”

  Evelyn gave her a haughty look. “A grandmother can never have too many grandbabies. I’m certain Noah’s mother would agree with me.”

  “I’m afraid she woul
d.”

  Sierra elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re not supposed to agree with her,” she said sotto voce.

  Noah, resting an arm over her shoulders, pressed his mouth to her ear. “Humor her, babe. I go through the same thing with my mother. There were times when I came home on leave, she would have a woman waiting for me to meet. She finally got the message once I didn’t come to see her as often.”

  Turning her head, Sierra met his eyes. His moist breath feathered over her mouth. “If you’re my boyfriend, then I expect you to take my side.”

  “And if you’re my girlfriend, then you should be a little more tolerant.”

  Her eyes lowered to his mouth. “You like tolerant women?”

  His firm lips parted. “I love easygoing, open-minded women.”

  Sierra felt heat in her cheeks under his gaze. “In other words, you want a submissive, dutiful, obedient woman who will not challenge you even if she’s not in agreement.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, babe. A submissive woman is a boring woman.”

  “Why don’t you two get a room!” shouted Luke from the other end of the table.

  “We have one,” Sierra countered, smiling from ear to ear. She stood up, Noah also coming to his feet. “Excuse me, but I have to get a head start on my dishes for tonight’s dinner.” She had volunteered to make macaroni and cheese and collard greens.

  Noah caught her arm, stopping her retreat before she could reach the kitchen. “You should stop fighting with your mother.”

  “What makes you think I’m fighting with her?”

  He pulled her against his body, and laid his chin on her head. “Your mother is no different from millions, maybe even billions, of women who want the best for their daughters. And the best is seeing them married to a man willing to love and protect them.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk, Noah. Didn’t you just tell me about your mother playing matchmaker?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Why isn’t it the same? Are you saying women aren’t equal to men? Or that we need you more than you need us?”