1225 Christmas Tree Lane - Debbie Macomber [13]
Beth blinked and her heart almost stopped as reality hit her. Kent had brought another woman. They were together. A couple. He was seeing someone else now. This little fantasy she’d built around a reconciliation was only that—wishful thinking.
It took her a moment to recover and realize that every assumption she’d made was completely and totally off-base. Kent hadn’t come to spend Christmas with her and the girls. His sole purpose was to show off this…this model.
Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.
“Hello.” Beth greeted the other woman with a forced smile and an extended hand. “I’m Beth Morehouse. The ex-wife.”
“I know,” the woman said in a sultry voice that was sweet enough to caramelize sugar. “I’m Danielle.”
Just Danielle? No last name? Like Cher or Madonna or Beyoncé?
“Welcome to my Christmas tree farm,” she said, placing emphasis on her ownership.
The screen door flew open and Bailey raced onto the porch. “Dad!”
Sophie was directly behind her sister. They darted down the stairs like young fawns in their rush to hug Kent.
Her ex-husband opened his arms, and his daughters launched themselves into his wide embrace.
“How are my girls?” he asked, his voice warm with affection.
“Missing you, Daddy,” Sophie murmured.
“Who’s that?” Bailey asked starkly, frowning at Danielle. Apparently, she was as shocked as Beth.
“This is Danielle Martin,” he said, sliding his arms around each of their waists.
Oh, so there was a last name.
“What’s she doing here?” Sophie demanded.
“Sophie,” Beth snapped, appalled at her daughter’s lack of manners.
“Danielle’s a friend from work who traveled with me,” he said by way of introduction.
“Why don’t we all step inside, out of the cold,” Beth suggested, and marched into the house, assuming everyone else would follow.
The girls had obviously been playing with the puppies when Kent arrived because the second the door opened they swarmed onto the porch, eager as jailbirds to make an escape. Four were already out the door and racing down the porch steps.
“Don’t just stand there,” Beth cried to her daughters. “Help me.”
Laughing, Sophie and Bailey hurried in one direction while Beth went in the other. Even Kent got involved in the chase. The only one who didn’t move was Danielle. With her arms crossed, she remained immobile, as if moving a single inch would have dire consequences.
Once the puppies were all inside the house, Beth brought Kent and Danielle in. Danielle perched on the arm of a recliner with her feet off the carpet. She seemed to fear that all the puppies would rush toward her at one time.
Beth called out instructions. “Get the puppies into the laundry room,” she told the girls. “I’ll give them some treats.” This was not the way she’d planned to greet Kent, with puppies creating havoc.
In the momentary quiet of the laundry room, Beth pressed one hand to her chest, which felt as though it was knotted with pain. She would not, could not, yield to the icy tide of disappointment or to the surprising burst of white-hot anger. Not now. Not here. She’d rather be dipped in Christmas-tree sap and rolled in holly leaves before she made a fool of herself in front of the girls.
With a deep breath, Beth squared her shoulders and opened a bag of canine treats just as the girls herded in the last three pups. Whether it was the rustle of the bag or the distinctive aroma, Beth didn’t care, only that they all came on the run. On another calming breath, she promised to deal with her emotions later as she distributed the miniature bone-shaped biscuits.
She slowly and deliberately wiped her