Christmas Homecoming

“Isn’t life always tough for the working man—or in my case, the working woman?”

Jeremy caught a hint of some deep sadness in her eyes as she voiced those words. Did this pretty woman in the flowing skirt and warm green sweater have problems, too?

He couldn’t imagine that. Gabi’s smile was too bright, her walk too proud. She obviously had a strong faith, since she taught Sunday school here at the church. But he supposed a lot of people put on a happy face over their worries, faithful or not. His parents had certainly been doing that for years. For all of his life.

“Thanks for helping me out. Maybe I’ll see you in church.”

Jeremy couldn’t muster up another smile. “Maybe.”

He watched as Gabriela Valencia disappeared into the room down the hall. And took all the light with her.

DAVIS LANDING:

Nothing is stronger than a family’s love.

LENORA WORTH

grew up in a small Georgia town and decided in the fourth grade that she wanted to be a writer. But first she married her high school sweetheart, then moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Taking care of their baby daughter at home while her husband worked at night, Lenora discovered the world of romance novels and knew that’s what she wanted to write. And so she began.

A few years later, the family settled in Shreveport, Louisiana, where Lenora continued to write while working as a marketing assistant. After the birth of her second child, a boy, she decided to pursue her dream full-time. In 1993, Lenora’s hard work and determination finally paid off with that first sale. “I never gave up, and I believe my faith in God helped get me through the rough times when I doubted myself,” Lenora says. “Each time I start a new book, I say a prayer, asking God to give me the strength and direction to put the words to paper. That’s why I’m so thrilled to be a part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, where I can combine my faith in God with my love of romance. It’s the best combination.”

Christmas Homecoming

Lenora Worth

To anyone who has ever been away from home at Christmas. I hope this story helps you find your way back.

I will lift up my eyes to the hills—from whence comes my help? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.

—Psalms 121:1–2

Contents

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Swish. Swish. Swish. Jeremy Hamilton lifted the paint brush over his head, thinking his neck would be permanently damaged if he didn’t get this room finished soon. The cream-colored paint refused to stick to the wall. Most of it was all over him—in his hair, on his old shirt and splattered across the aged, spotted drop cloth underneath the rickety ladder. Groaning out loud, he almost threw down the brush in defeat.

But Jeremy had never been a quitter.

Well, not until a few months ago, at least.

He stopped painting and held the dripping brush over the bucket perched precariously on the ladder, memories swirling through his mind just like the paint pooling under his soggy brush. Outside the wide double windows, a December wind howled and fussed, causing leftover fallen leaves to dance across the parking lot.

How had December come so quickly? And how had his life taken such a turn that even now, all these months later, he was still spinning in the wind just like those leaves?

With just a few words from his powerful father, Wallace Hamilton, Jeremy’s whole life here in Davis Landing, Tennessee, had been turned upside-down. He’d gone from firstborn heir and vice president of a vast publishing conglomerate to being someone he didn’t even know himself.

He wasn’t really a Hamilton. His biological father, Paul Anderson, had died in a motorcycle accident before Jeremy was born, before his mother Nora could even tell her fiancé she was pregnant with his child. So for thirty-five years, Jeremy had been living a lie.

Worse, his parents, Wallace and Nora Hamilton, had also been living with that lie, even though they’d done their best to make a good life for their family. They’d worked hard to become pillars of the community, they’d been faithful to their church, and they’d done everything in their power to love and protect their six children, including him. Especially him, Jeremy reminded himself now.

Wallace Hamilton, once a wild playboy with a string of conquests, had fallen in love with delicate Nora McCarthy, and he’d married her knowing she was carrying another man’s child. That endearing act and the devastating secret behind it had been the foundation of their marriage—a good, solid union in spite of its beginnings. But finding out the truth had rocked Jeremy’s safe, secure world and shaken his own faith to its very foundations.

Wallace had been so ill with leukemia, and so unreasonable because of his helplessness, that he’d turned on Jeremy, taking out all his frustrations from his sickbed. How long has he secretly resented me? Jeremy wondered now, and not for the first time. That had been the burning question in Jeremy’s mind since he’d learned the truth. How long had his adoptive father wanted to tell Jeremy that he shouldn’t be a part of Hamilton Media? That he didn’t really belong, after all?

Probably since the day I was born.

Which was why Jeremy had left Davis Landing a few months ago to do some soul-searching, and to find out more about his biological father’s family. That long journey hadn’t brought him any answers, just more questions and more doubts. So many doubts. His paternal grandparents down in Florida had welcomed him, but they’d obviously had mixed feelings regarding his existence. After all, they’d been estranged from their only son when he’d died. Jeremy felt the parallels of that clear truth as he now thought about his estranged relationship with Wallace.

Did he really want to stay away, knowing his father might not make it? He’d never forgive himself if that happened, and yet, he hadn’t been able to go and see Wallace since coming home a few days ago.

Knowing that Paul Anderson had died away from his family made Jeremy feel petty and small. Especially after he’d tracked his grandparents down. It had been an awkward reunion, but Jeremy was glad he’d made the effort. At least it had brought the Andersons some sort of comfort and closure. And maybe, a new beginning.

“You come back anytime,” his grandmother Thelma had told Jeremy the morning he decided to leave Florida. She hugged him tight. “You don’t know how much it means to me, to see you, to know I have a grandson. Your father…well, he was a rebel, a real handful. I wish I could have told him how much I loved him.”

Jeremy had seen pictures. He looked just like Paul Anderson—dark-haired, blue-eyed, tall and angular. It must have been hard on his grandmother, seeing the image of her son in the flesh after all these years.

It seemed to be even harder on Chester Anderson. His grandfather had resented Jeremy, maybe because he’d been denied ever knowing he had a grandson. Chester had tried, but in the end, his silence and his condemnations of Thelma’s quiet faith, had only caused the gap between Jeremy and him to widen.

“We’ll go fishing next time,” he’d said to Jeremy. “Maybe on a Sunday. I fish while Thelma does her church thing.”

Jeremy had figured that was Chester’s way of saying he’d like to see him again. And it had also been his ornery grandfather’s way of telling Jeremy that he wasn’t a believer like his wife.

So Jeremy had left, his doubt and his confusion scattering out into the balmy Florida breezes. Not even a vast ocean had helped him find the answers he’d needed.

And here he stood, different but hoping to be the same. He’d come full circle, and yet he was still very lost. He’d come home to find all his siblings either getting married or falling in love. Hoping to find some strength in his family, Jeremy had discovered that he was as alone as ever. That feeling of isolation echoed through his mind over and over, causing him to stay away from his ailing father’s bedside. He wasn’t ready for another confrontation, and he certainly couldn’t take any more revelations.

He could see now what he hadn’t been able to pinpoint growing up—he’d always had a feeling of being set apart from his brothers and sisters, a feeling of somehow being different, of not quite measuring up. Maybe because he wasn’t really their flesh and blood. He even looked different, more like his real father, based on the pictures his grandmother had shown him. He was the half brother. He had no claims to the Hamilton empire. Except those he felt deep inside his heart.

Alone, aloof and isolated, he’d come home, hoping to find solace with his family, but he’d never felt more lonely. He shouldn’t have come back, and yet, he’d needed to do that very thing. In spite of his doubts and frustrations, the road, and maybe God’s gentle voice, had brought Jeremy home.

He had to wonder at the irony of being here now, inside the Northside Community Church, since he hadn’t been very faithful lately. Maybe the Lord was trying to remind Jeremy of his real roots right here in this church and this town. Roots that ran deeper than blood or birthrights.

“By allowing me to waste paint and ruin my favorite old shirt?” Jeremy asked, his hushed words echoing out over the empty room. “You sure do have a strange sense of humor, Lord.”

Jeremy slapped paint onto the wall, thinking he wasn’t being entirely fair in thinking the worst of his parents. Wallace had married Jeremy’s mother, first to protect her, but mostly because he loved her. And Wallace still loved Nora. Jeremy knew this in his heart, but that fact didn’t soften the feelings of betrayal and distrust he’d experienced the day Wallace had called Jeremy into his hospital room to tell him the truth. He could still hear his father’s weak, harsh words.

You have no right, Jeremy. No right to go against my word on how things should be run at Hamilton Media. Do you understand me?

No, Dad, I’m afraid I don’t understand.

Jeremy remembered his mother’s pale face, her shaking hands. Her pleas. “Wallace, now is not the time—”

But Wallace had found the strength to come up off his pillows. “It’s the perfect time. I might not make it, Nora. Things might change for good. And I won’t have someone who isn’t even my own blood ruining what I’ve worked so hard to build.”

The shocked silence that had followed still haunted Jeremy’s mind, silence that stretched out with only the beeping of machines to keep it from seeming like a bad dream.

“What did you say?”

Wallace had looked stunned himself, then embarrassed, his eyes went to his wife’s face. “I’m sorry, son. We should have told you years ago—”

“We only wanted to protect you,” his mother had interrupted, tears in her eyes.

“Protect me from what, Mother? What’s going on?”

“You’re not my son,” Wallace had blurted, his words turning into a wheezing cough.

Nora had urged her husband back on the pillows. “Your biological father was a man named Paul Anderson. He died in a motorcycle accident, before I could—” She glanced at Wallace. “I was pregnant when your father—when Wallace married me.”

You’re not my son.

Those words had echoed over and over in Jeremy’s mind, screaming to him until he’d lashed out at his parents. “How could you? How could you do this to me?”

The scene that had followed hadn’t been Jeremy’s finest hour. He’d told Wallace in no uncertain terms that he quit; he wouldn’t work for a man who’d lied to him all his life.

Jeremy had walked out of the hospital and, other than a few short conversations with his siblings and his mother, hadn’t made any effort to be a part of the Hamilton family since. Until Thanksgiving. The holiday traditions had pulled at him, bringing him home.

Now, as he stood painting over the old, battered wall of the daycare room, Jeremy couldn’t help but feel as if he were painting over all the flaws in his own life, too. Maybe there was something to be said for a fresh canvas.

“You know, the paint is actually supposed to go on the wall.”

Jeremy turned at the soft, feminine tone, and managed to sling paint out in an arc all over his blue broadcloth shirt. Holding the dripping paintbrush, he smiled sheepishly. His smile felt strained and out of practice, but he tried to keep his voice light. “Really?”

The woman stepped into the room, careful to avoid the corner where Jeremy was working, her dark eyes inquisitive and full of mirth. “Really.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as he slowly lowered the brush over the bucket. Then he waved a hand toward the wall. “Does it look that bad?”

She gazed up, looking around the room. “No, it actually looks pretty good, considering all the crayon marks and dents and pings we’ve had to endure. We’re going to paint a mural of Noah’s Ark over most of it anyway, so I think it’ll be just fine.”

Jeremy held up his hands. “I’m certainly not going to sign up for that particular job, so don’t even ask.”

She laughed at that, the sound as soft as a melody. “I heard you talking to yourself,” she said, advancing another step. “Thought you might need some company.”

Jeremy grinned, some of the tension leaving his body. “Thanks, I think. That makes me feel much better about things. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t disturb you with my groans and rantings.”

“Not at all. I just came by to gather some papers— I teach Sunday School here.” Then she smiled again. “I heard all this noise, and thought maybe someone had unleashed an old bear in the nursery, so I came to inspect. I’m the nosy type.”

Her vivid smile brought a ray of light into the open, airy room, immediately pushing away the winter chill. She was petite and olive-skinned with big hazel eyes and long brown hair that reminded Jeremy of an antique doll his sister Heather had received for Christmas long ago. He caught a whiff of a light, exotic scent that had somehow gotten past the paint fumes.

“I’m not a bear,” he said, his hands braced on the ladder. “Just a frustrated artist, I think.”

“I’m Gabriela Valencia,” the woman said, her smile still intact as she stared up at him. “Gabi. And we do appreciate your efforts, believe me. We’ve been hoping to remodel this part of the building for months now. We need all the help we can get if we want to have it done by Christmas.”

“Well, Gabi, I’m just a volunteer,” Jeremy said, not ready to tell her who he really was, even though she had an expectant look on her pretty face. He didn’t want to see her smile vanish just yet. And he figured it would the minute she heard his name.

“We like volunteers,” she replied. “They work cheap.”

He laughed at that, surprised that he remembered how to laugh. “It is kind of nice to be alone and busy. No clocks ticking, no deadlines to fight.”

“You sound like a man who speaks from experience.”

He looked out the window. The sky looked gray and cold. “You could say that.”

He didn’t want to elaborate. He’d reluctantly agreed to help out here at the insistence of Dawn Leroux. The woman who’d once been his brother Tim’s administrative assistant was now the woman Tim loved and planned to marry. She could be very persuasive when she set her mind on something. No wonder Tim had fallen so hard for her.

And no wonder Tim seemed more mellow and relaxed. His brother was in love…and happy. Jeremy envied that, and he was going to try very hard to mend fences, not tear down his brother’s newfound contentment.

When Jeremy had arrived home just in time for Thanksgiving dinner at the Hamilton estate, he’d been surprised by two things. First, his brother Tim had apologized to Jeremy and welcomed him back home and back to Hamilton Media, when he was ready. And second, Tim introduced Jeremy to his fiancée, Dawn Leroux, and explained that because of Dawn, he was now a changed man. After some quiet conversation around the fireplace later, Dawn had gently suggested Jeremy might enjoy doing some volunteer work at the church to get his mind off his problems.

Painting had certainly done that, he thought now as he gave up and came down off the ladder, his manners kicking in, in spite of his discomfort at being here. “I’m kind of new to this type of work.”

“I can see that,” the woman said, circling the long room with a critical eye. She pointed to the wall he’d just finished. “You missed a spot there.”

Jeremy looked up, then laughed. “Or two. I guess it’s true you get what you pay for. I painted the ceiling, too, but I think I got most of the paint on me and the drop cloth.”

She nodded. “It’ll turn out just fine, I think. This old building has seen a lot of children come and go, my two girls included. We want to give it a fresh start for all the other babies we hope to bring into the church.”

“A fresh start.” Jeremy wiped his hands on an old rag. “I like the sound of that.”

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked as she started toward the door. “We have some coffee in the office and there might even be a pastry from Betty’s left in the break room.”

Jeremy closed his eyes for just a minute. “Ah, Betty’s Bake Shoppe and Bookstore. Fuel and knowledge all in one place—what an unbeatable combination.”

“You’ve eaten there?”

He liked the slightly accented sound of her question. And he really liked the beautiful flash of fire in her eyes.

“Many times,” he said, not bothering to explain. “But I don’t need anything, thanks.” Then, since he wasn’t quite comfortable being back home, let alone working at the church, he looked at his watch and started putting his brushes in the soak bucket in the corner. “I have to go. I’ll clean up here and try to hide the mess I made.”

She looked confused and a bit disappointed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

Jeremy regretted being so standoffish, but he was still uneasy with his new identity, or lack thereof. “No, no. It’s just that I only had a couple of hours and I’ve already worked past my time here. I’ll be back to finish the job, I promise.”

“Okay, then.” She pointed to his hair. “You…uh…have a big glob of paint right in the middle of your head.”

Jeremy reached up to rub his fingers over the sticky matted spot of cream in his dark hair. “I don’t think I’ll give up my regular job just yet.” Whatever that job might be.

“Turpentine,” she said, nodding. “It smells terrible, but it’ll take the paint out. Just be careful, or you might wind up with a bald spot.”

“Right.” Jeremy wondered how such a dainty little woman could possibly know anything about remodeling and repair. But then, she obviously was a married woman. She’d mentioned two kids. Probably helped her husband around the house on weekends. That image brought Jeremy a pang of regret, to be quickly replaced with a resolved indifference. “I’ll have to get a shower before I go—”

He’d almost said before I go to Hamilton Media, but Jeremy remembered he didn’t really have a place there anymore, in spite of his brother Tim’s efforts to bring him back into the family business. “Before I go to work,” he finished, uncomfortable with the way her big eyes watched him.

“You must keep long hours,” she said as she led the way out the door. “It’s close to five now.”

“I have odd hours, true,” he replied. And lately, those hours had tumbled over each other with a never ending frequency that seemed as long and winding as the nearby Cumberland River.

She tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder as she headed back down the church hallway. “Tell me about it,” she said turning to give him a direct gaze. “Isn’t life always tough for the working man, or in my case, the working woman?”

Jeremy caught a hint of some deep sadness in her eyes as she voiced those words. Did this pretty woman in the flowing skirt and warm green sweater have problems, too?

He couldn’t imagine that. Her smile was too bright and sure, her walk too proud and precise. She obviously had a strong faith, since she taught Sunday School here at the church. But he supposed a lot of people put on a happy face over their worries, faithful or not. His parents had certainly been doing that for years. For all his life.

She lowered her head, looking shy for just a minute. “Thanks for helping out. Maybe I’ll see you in church.”

Jeremy held her gaze, but he couldn’t muster up another smile. “Maybe.”

He watched as Gabriela Valencia disappeared into the room down the hall. And took all the light with her.

He never told me his name.

Gabi hurried inside the house, intent on getting the girls a quick supper while they finished their homework. As she opened the door, she was bombarded by voices and barks and the blare of the television, all coming at her at once.

“Mommy, can Lauren spend the night with us Friday?” This came from her youngest, Talia. The eight-year-old jumped and bounced around as Gabi dropped her groceries on the tiny kitchen counter.

“I told her it’s my turn to have a friend over,” Veronica, her oldest, ten and going on twenty, said before Gabi could take a breath. Pushing her younger sister out of the way, Veronica stomped her purple-sequined sneakers on the tile floor. “It’s my turn, Mommy.”

“I can’t sit with the girls tomorrow, Aunt Gabi. I have to stay after school and work on a project for my English class.”

Gabi turned, almost tripping over the barking mutt they’d picked from one of her brother Arturo’s many litters. “Down, Tramp. I’ll get you a treat in just a minute.” Letting out a long sigh, she stared at her sixteen-year-old niece, Sonia, oldest child of her brother Juan Carlos. “That’s okay, Sonia. I’ll just have to ask Mama to come sit with the girls tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Sonia asked, heading out the door. “I have to do this project to bring my grade up.”

“Not a problem,” Gabi responded. “School comes first, even if it means these two have to occasionally get spoiled by their grandmother.”

Sonia grinned, then left to walk the short distance to her own house. “See you later.”

“Yes,” Talia said, pumping her little fist. “Maybe Nana will help me make cookies for my class party.”

“I’m sure she’d love to do that, honey,” Gabi said as she put away milk and eggs, ignoring Talia’s obvious frustration that Gabi hadn’t had time to help with cookies at the last class party. “And about this weekend, Talia, let’s let Roni have a friend over Friday, since she and her friends stay up later. You can have someone over Saturday night—and take your friend to church with us Sunday, okay?”

The girls eyed each other, each trying to decide who’d gotten the better deal.

“I can live with that,” Veronica, or Roni as everyone called her, said, nodding her head. Her long brown ponytail bobbed as she strolled away, her whole stance reminding Gabi of the girls’ deceased father, Octavio.

“Works for me,” Talia said, launching her tiny body against Gabi’s skirt. “I’m glad you’re home, Mommy.”

“Me, too, baby,” Gabi said, her thoughts still on the handsome stranger she’d found painting the daycare room at church. “Now do me a big favor and turn off that television. You need to finish your school work before you watch any more TV.”