Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [30]
He pulled into the driveway and paused, watching Lily. She stared at the house and her sharp features softened.
Transferring her from car to wheelchair went smoothly. Earlier he’d rigged a platform to get her up the stairs.
When they reached the porch, the front door opened, and Rachel’s son, Mark, stood waiting. The scents of turkey and sage dressing and pumpkin pie were instantly recognizable. Rachel was one fine cook, and dinner promised to be everything he remembered from his childhood.
“Who are you?” Lily demanded of the boy.
Heath admired Mark for not flinching in the face of his grandmother’s brusque manner.
“Mark Fischer,” Mark returned politely.
“My son,” Rachel said, coming to stand behind him, her hands on his shoulders.
Lily turned to look at Heath. “What’s going on here?” she asked, but the question was hopeful, quite unlike her previous demands.
“Please, let me help you get comfortable first,” Rachel said, “then Heath and I’ll explain.”
“All right.” All the fire and irritation seemed to be gone.
Ten minutes later, they’d all gathered in the living room. Heath brought out a bottle of champagne and one of sparkling cider, along with four tall flutes. He sat next to Rachel and placed his arm around her shoulders.
Mark sat on Rachel’s other side. “Can I tell her?” he asked Heath.
Heath nodded.
“My mom and Heath are going to be married!”
Lily didn’t say anything for a moment. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”
“No, Grandma,” Heath explained, “last week Rachel agreed to become my wife.”
Lily nodded, and tears shone in her eyes. “I suspect I don’t have time left to hold a great-grandchild, but it’d do my heart good if God allowed me that.” She looked away and sniffled, then dug inside her pocket for a fresh tissue.
“Why’s she crying?” Mark asked his mother in a loud whisper.
“These aren’t tears,” Lily said imperiously. “I’m feeling sorry for your mother, that’s all. She’s going to have her hands full with this grandson of mine.”
“I like Heath,” Mark told her, leaning forward.
“Now that your mother’s agreed to take him on, there’s hope for him,” Lily said and smiled at the boy through her tears. “This calls for champagne.”
“I’ve already seen to that.” Heath held up the bottle.
Lily held Rachel’s look, then stretched her hand toward the woman Heath loved.
Rachel grasped Lily’s fragile hand with her own.
“I’m so very pleased,” she whispered.
“I’m happy, too.”
“He loves you, you know.”
“I do, and I love him.”
“Hey, Grandma, I thought you said you didn’t like surprises,” Heath said.
“I’m flexible.” Her smile was warm and full of love.
Five
Sarah and Dennis’s house was brimming with activity Thanksgiving Day. This was exactly how Sarah had always dreamed the holidays would be. The turkey, browned to a golden hue, stuffed and fragrant, sat on the counter, ready to be placed in the center of the table. While she finished mashing the potatoes, her mother-in-law, Irene, arranged serving bowls on the large dining-room table, set with fine china, a pink linen tablecloth and matching napkins. Small ceramic pots filled with mauve and gold chrysanthemums were situated at intervals, to pleasing effect.
Maddy sat in a corner of the kitchen, nursing Julianne, an attentive Jeb at his wife’s side. Sarah had never seen her brother happier or more content. Everything she’d ever hoped for him had come to pass.
The swinging door, which led from one room to the other, was tossed open every few seconds as Dennis’s mother carried Thanksgiving dishes to the table, an embarrassing array of them. Sarah had been cooking for days, burying her disappointment at Calla’s rejection in the meal preparation and in setting a table to rival Martha Stewart’s. She’d hoped that if she didn’t have time to think, it might be possible to forget. Unfortunately that tactic didn’t work. Calla’s absence left a giant hole in her heart, as impossible to ignore as it was to fill.
“Everything’s on the table,” Irene announced as Sarah brought the large bowl of creamy mashed potatoes into