Touched by Angels (Angels Everywhere #3)(25)

Christmas with her mom and dad and little brother. A lump formed in her throat.

Christmas on the range. Snow glistening in the moonlight, sleigh rides every December. Decorating the tree together had long been a family tradition. Her father would set a pot of wassail to warm over the fireplace, and they’d sing carols while they strung the lights and added the tinsel. The ranch hands and neighbors would stop over for a cup of her father’s special brew. Trey came every year.

“Jenny?”

Her eyes popped open. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away there for a moment.”

“Why hasn’t your family come to see you?”

“Mom and Dad?” Jenny supposed she should have considered that a long time ago, but try as she might she couldn’t picture her parents in New York. To the best of her knowledge they’d never been more than three hundred miles away from the ranch. Their lives revolved around the care and feeding of a thousand head of cattle. It would be unheard-of for her father to leave the ranch unattended.

There’d been a time when Jenny hated the mere mention of the word beef. How eager she’d been to escape to the big city and find her way in the world. How eager she’d been to disassociate herself from the Flying L Ranch.

“Did you hear anything from Peterman?” she asked Michelle, needing to change the subject before she became downright maudlin.

“Not a word. Rumor has it he’s looking for a particular kind of girl.”

“Oh?” Jenny feigned interest. It went without saying that whatever character type the famous director sought wasn’t likely to be Jenny. She had lost count of the number of times she’d auditioned for John Peterman. He hadn’t chosen her yet, and she doubted he would this time.

She didn’t know when she’d started all this stinking thinking. About the time she’d told the first lie to her parents. Negative thoughts had crowded her mind ever since.

“I can’t shake the feeling you’re going to be offered one of the major roles,” Michelle said. “Mark my words, Jenny Lancaster. We’re both headed for Broadway.”

“This is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” Mercy told her two friends. “Jenny wants nothing more than to go home for the holidays, and can’t.”

“Surely there’s a way we can help her.”

“I’m convinced there is.” Goodness spoke with utter confidence. “All we may need to do is pull a few strings. That shouldn’t be so difficult.”

Mercy smiled. “We’ve been doing that for years, haven’t we?”

“Maybe we should make it impossible for Jenny to refuse her mother.”

Mercy looked to the former guardian angel. “What do you mean?”

Shirley pointed to the Thanksgiving card tucked in Jenny’s bedroom mirror. “Perhaps all we really need to do is give her a good enough excuse to head home.”

Six

Jenny didn’t want to do it. Her heart ached every time she thought about refusing her mother’s plea. The list of fabricated excuses was as long as her arm.

She waited until she had the apartment to herself and then sat down at the table. She bolstered herself with a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of butter cookies. With pen in hand, she wrote.

Dearest Mom and Dad,

You don’t know how it pains me to tell you I won’t make it home for the holidays. I love you both more than words can say. I think of you every day. Know that my heart will be with you, but this is the price of success. . . .

Jenny wadded up the letter and unceremoniously tossed it into the garbage. She tried again, and after six or seven lines the second sheet followed the path of the first.

A half hour later, the table was nearly obliterated with discarded attempts. It hadn’t been this difficult to answer Trey’s card. Her brief note to her former neighbor had been cheerful and witty when she’d sent along her regrets.

Anyone who knew her well might have been able to read between the lines of her lighthearted message. But not Trey, she decided. Her witty note would amuse him.

In the end, Jenny penned three short lines to her parents and left it at that. She couldn’t come. She was sorry, and she’d miss them terribly.

Not once did she mention the Off Broadway production she’d told them she was in. Jenny refused to perpetrate the lie any further than she had already.

By the time Michelle returned from her errands, Jenny was in a real funk. Depressed and miserable, she battled off a case of the blues, determined not to get caught in the trap of feeling sorry for herself.

“You know what we need?” her friend said.

“What?”

“A little fun. It’s the season of joy, and yet here we are, moping around waiting for the phone to ring.” Their agent hadn’t called, and Jenny didn’t care what people said. No news was not good news. No news was no news. And this time the waiting had never seemed more interminable.

“What if we had a party?” Michelle asked.

“A Christmas party,” Jenny added, warming to the idea. “That’s perfect.” Then reality set in. “But how would we possibly feed all our friends?” It was difficult enough to scrounge up meals for the two of them.

“We’ll make it a potluck,” Michelle suggested. “All we need supply are the drinks, plus plates and silverware. Between us we could manage that, couldn’t we?”