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As she was busy getting dressed, the phone rang, flashing her mother’s number on the caller ID. Even though it would compound her lateness, Mary Paige knew she couldn’t keep avoiding talking to Freda. They’d played phone tag long enough.
“Hello,” she huffed into the phone, pulling off her shoes and wiggling her toes in the rug.
“About time you answered,” her mother said in a voice that took Mary Paige back to Crosshatch, back to being the obedient daughter. “I thought I was going to have to send Lars down to find you.”
“Sorry, Mama. I’ve been so busy—”
“Too busy to call your mama and tell her about two million dollars?”
“Yeah, that.”
“Yeah, that,” her mother said, irritation as thick as the strawberry-blond hair she still wore past her shoulders. “When were you going to tell me about this whole deal? I had to read about it in the paper. My own daughter, and I get the news from theAlexandria Journal.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know how to tell you. What I mean is—”
“You’re in over your head?”
Mary Paige rolled her eyes. “Well, if you’ll stop finishing my sentences, I’ll explain.”
The silence on the line gave her permission.
“I guess you saw the whole story about how I came to be chosen as this Spirit of Christmas person, but that’s not the problem so much. I like doing charity work.”
“Of course. It’s what we do as a family, so I couldn’t see you having an issue with doing what is right.” Her mother’s voice had softened, and Mary Paige knew the anger ebbed. Her mother always understood her, so she didn’t know why she’d waited so long to call the one person who always had her back. Maybe because saying it to her mother meant everything, including that check still in her jewelry box, would be real.
“But I haven’t cashed the check because it feels…I don’t know…scary.”
“It’s a lot of money.”
“Yeah, and if I put it in the bank, then it becomes mine with all the complications and problems. I’m not prepared to be a millionaire. I’m not prepared to change who I am.”
“Why would it change you?”
“Money always changes people. Suddenly, that person’s very popular, expected to pick up the check, wear clothes that don’t come from discount stores, and invest in an art show.”
“Simon?”
“Yeah, he’s left me three messages.” Mary Paige pulled out the sparkly bobby pins holding her hair back. “But I’m not loaning him a dime. He took enough from me.”
“Good girl. I’m glad you’re finished with him once and for all. I didn’t agree with you loaning him your couch—I’ve known slime like him, and they keep taking until there’s nothing left. So good riddance.” Her mom paused then, and Mary Paige suspected she was in for an interrogation. “But this kiss? Who is this Henry guy?”
“That was nothing,” Mary Paige lied.
“Your voice says otherwise,” her mother said, using the decoding device all mothers seemed to possess. “You’re a sweet girl, Mary Paige, and I’ve had qualms about you moving down to that city alone. You—”
“I’m sweet, but I’m your daughter.”
And that was something. Freda Gentry was as strong as those redwood trees she’d once protested against being cut down. Resilient as the weeds she yanked out every day on her organic farm. And as stubborn as the waters of the Mississippi River flowing not far from that same farm. Sweet was one thing. Being her mother’s daughter quite another.
“You are,” her mother conceded. “Just be careful, my baby girl, playing with a man like that.”
Mary Paige wasn’t playing anything with Brennan. No way would she admit that her dreams had been filled with being with him. Naked, clothed, and everything in between “with” him.
Which was nuts.
“I’m not playing with him. It was promo, and we got a little carried away. No harm in that.”
“But he’s the kind of guy who’ll eviscerate you with a smile. Like playing with a lion—he looks regal and you wanna touch him, but you’ll draw back a bloody stump.”
