Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(39)

“Having him watch me with those crazy eyes makes me want to get a vaccination.”

“That’s how Renfield always looks at people, Uncle Alex,” Holly said. “It means he likes you.”

Taking Holly by the hand, Maggie left the house and speed-dialed a number on her cell phone on the way to her car. It was picked up immediately.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she heard her father say.

Maggie grinned as she heard the familiar background sounds of barking dogs, crying babies, rattling dishes and pots, and an undertone of Perry Como crooning “Home for the Holidays.”

“Hey, Dad. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”

“You on the way to Bellingham now?”

“Well, actually no. I was wondering…do you think you could do without the mac and cheese this year?”

“That depends. Why am I having to do without it?”

“I was thinking about spending Thanksgiving here with some friends.”

“Would one of them happen to be Mr. Ferry Ride?”

Maggie smiled ruefully. “Why do I always tell you too much?”

Her father chuckled. “You have a good day and call me later. And as for my mac and cheese, just put it in the freezer and bring it on your next visit.”

“I can’t, I have to serve it today. My friend…his name is Mark…incinerated the side dishes and blew up the turkey.”

“So that’s how he got you to stay? Smart man.”

“I don’t think it was on purpose,” Maggie said, laughing. “Love you, Dad. Give Mom a kiss for me. And thanks for being so understanding.”

“You sound happy, sweetheart,” he said. “That makes me more thankful than anything.”

I am happy, Maggie realized as she closed her cell phone. She felt…buoyant. She guided Holly into the backseat of her car and leaned in to buckle the seat belt across the girl’s chest and lap. As she adjusted the straps, her mind replayed the vision of the fire and smoke through the back-door window, and she couldn’t help chuckling.

“Are you laughing because my uncles blew up the turkey?” Holly asked.

Maggie nodded, trying without success to stifle another chuckle.

Holly began to giggle. Her gaze met Maggie’s, and she said innocently, “I didn’t know turkeys could fly.”

That cracked them both up, and they held on to each other, laughing, until Maggie had to dab at the corners of her eyes.

By the time Maggie and Holly returned to the house, Mark and Sam had cleaned up the disaster in the backyard and were in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Seeing Maggie, Mark came immediately to take the heavy parcel in her arms: a large foil pan weighted with enough sliced turkey to feed a dozen people. Holly followed with a large container of gravy. The scents of turkey roasted with sage, garlic, and basil wafted enticingly through the foil vents.

“Where did this come from?” Mark asked, setting the pan on one of the counters.

Maggie grinned at him. “It pays to have connections. Elizabeth’s son-in-law has a restaurant on Roche Harbor Road, and they’re serving Thanksgiving dinner all day. So I called and ordered some turkey to go.”

Bracing one hand on the counter, Mark looked down at her. Freshly showered and clean-shaven, he possessed a rough-and-ready handsomeness that stirred her senses.

The soft gruffness of his voice made her toes curl reflexively inside her boots. “Why aren’t you on the ferry?”

“I changed my mind about going.”

His mouth lowered to hers, offering a soft, searing pressure that brought hectic color to her face and took all the starch out of her knees. Blinking, Maggie realized that Mark had kissed her in front of his family. She frowned at him and glanced around his shoulder to see if they were watching, but Sam seemed absorbed in peeling potatoes, and Alex had taken it upon himself to start fluffing mixed greens in a large teak salad bowl. Holly was on the floor with Renfield, letting him lick the gravy lid.

“Holly,” Maggie said, “make sure you throw that lid away after Renfield finishes. Do not put it back on the gravy.”

“Okay. But my friend Christian says a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s.”

“Ask your uncle Mark,” Sam said, “if he’d rather kiss Maggie or Renfield.”

“Sam,” Mark said in warning, but his younger brother grinned at him.

Snickering, Holly took the lid from Renfield and ceremoniously dropped it into the trash can.

Under Maggie’s direction, the group managed to assemble a respectable Thanksgiving dinner, including the replacement dish of mac and cheese, sweet potato casserole, green beans, salad, turkey, and a simple dressing made with French bread crumbs, walnuts, and sage.

Sam opened a bottle of red wine and poured glasses for all the adults. Ceremoniously he gave Holly a wine-glass filled with grape juice. “I’ll make the first toast,” he said. “To Maggie, for saving Thanksgiving.” They all clinked glasses.

Maggie happened to glance at Holly, who was swirling and sniffing her grape juice in an exact imitation of Sam, who was sampling his wine. She saw that Mark had also noticed, and was biting back a grin. The sight had even brought a smile to Alex’s brooding countenance.

“We can’t just toast me,” Maggie protested. “We need a toast for everyone.”