NATHAN
THE FORECAST WAS SCARY.
“The Refuge Bay Honker says the worst winter storm is brewing since the freeze of 1977.” Nathan Gentael grabbed a box from his best friend Zachary, who stood on a kitchen chair, hauling stuff out of the tall cupboards in the spacious country kitchen. “Remember, Zach?”
“Seeing as neither you nor I were actually born at that time, hmm. Let me see.” Zach stopped, tucked a finger under his chin and gazed o into the distance. “Oh, yeah. Right.”
He shook his head and leveled a look at Nathan. “Nope.” A little girl, tucked into a big green chair in the dining room portion of the kitchen, under a fluy old quilt with toys scattered on top, giggled. Her laughter rang in the largely vacant area where the chair took up residence. “Uncle Zach, you’re funny.” Uncle Zach very deliberately lifted a brow. “That’s Uncle Weirdo to you, Missy.” He gave her a mock glare. “Don’t forget, honey. That’s my name.” His eyes warmed as he continued, despite his attempt to look tough. “You gave it to me.”
Nathan watched as Trasher, his recently adopted daughter, not quite seven, gazed up at Zach, and his heart melted. She’d been so moody and gloomy the last few weeks, any and all smiles stuck out. Her mood though, turned, once again, as she frowned. “I want to see Billy. And Nellie. And I miss Molly.” Missing a huge mass of white fur, with beady, black eyes? Actually, he could totally see it. Molly, Nellie and Will’s lovable Australian shepherd dog made the rounds of everyone in Refuge Bay routinely, and was a welcome visitor in most households, especially theirs. Though she hadn’t made an appearance since the storm had blown up, and they all missed her. The entire family was, no doubt, hunkered down in their hobby farm by the water. Billy, too. He was seven years old, and lived with his aunt Livvy, a middle-aged woman, a short distance away on the property next door. He was a frequent play companion.
“Pet, it’s snowing, and it hasn’t stopped. They say it’s only going to get worse. I think we’re housebound for the moment.” Nathan placed the box on the table. “Can’t I just see FireStar? He’s lonely without me, I know Or Emmett? I want fries.” FireStar, the stallion he and Og, his partner, had managed to buy her last month, lived at Briarhedge Stables, and Trasher spent a lot of time there. Everyone could see those two had a thing. The stable itself was owned by old friends of Nathan’s, Jonas Briarhedge and his wife, Courtney, who also had a cute little girl, not quite at the toddler stage yet, Ammie. They’d taken Jonas’s family’s working farm and made it into a bit of a tourist attraction. Emmett, one of the Refuge Bay seniors, worked alongside his son and daughter-in-law, Gary and Sandy, at McDoodles, the local diner they owned that was attached to the side of the gas station. Trasher was one of the crusty server’s favorites. The feeling between the two of them was mutual.
“Sorry, honey.” Nathan gestured to the window where the scene was a mass of flakes battling each other, swirling and colliding in the cold. “Weather. Though if it moderates a bit, we can still get our tree on Christmas Eve. That’s just a couple of days away.” He smiled. “Remember? You get to pick our tree, the Hope House tree, all by yourself, your very first Christmas with us. We’ll go to the special spot my family went to every Christmas, as soon as your Dad gets back. Tons of trees, incredibly crisp air. That’ll be fun, right?”
Her face wrinkled, and her mouth set in a tight line. An unhappy sigh shot from her. “I’m gonna get my book.” She tossed of the quilt, and toys flew. She stomped out of the room, up the stairs to her bedroom on the second floor in the century home. Nathan stared after her with a worried look on his face.
“She’s not as happy as a little girl should be, before Christmas.” Zach handed Nathan a figurine. “Or excited.” “I know. Not sure what’s going on with her, but when I try to find out, she shuts down.” He gazed at the small figurine, that of a tiny ice-skater, scarf gaily wrapped around her, hair billowing behind her. “Remember this one?” “How could I forget?” Zach chuckled. “Your Aunt Edna always made us put it on top of the fireplace mantel in the front room for Christmas.” Nathan grinned. “What would I have done without my best friend hanging around and making things normal?”
“Now I hang around full time, and you actually own this ancient mansion. The up and coming artist. Finally. Who’d have thought it? Lucky you.” “Mansion is a stretch, with all the repair bills we can’t afford. Too small, too. Manse? Maybe. As to artist… ” Nathan sighed. He was desperate to get back to his art. One of the local galleries wanted pieces, as did another in Baltimore.
How was he supposed to fit all that in, along with bringing the Hope House mission to life? Who bloody well knew. He had more important things on his mind, right now. Namely, his daughter’s first Christmas. He took the next item from Zach, this time, three snowmen with their arms around each other, caroling, though one of the songbooks was half broken off. “I bet she’ll love this one. She seems to brighten at all the cartoon stuff.”
“Yeah.” Zach stopped, high atop the chair. “Maybe it’s… well she’s never belonged anywhere before, right? From what you know, Christmas was nonexistent in her foster, and then, with all the abuse…” Zach winced. “No wonder she chose the name Trasher. For such a smart and cute kid to pick a name like that for herself, she can’t have a ton of selfesteem. She doesn’t know what it’s like to belong, and worse, she sees herself as bad.” He shook his head slowly. “Something made her run at such an early age. The kid actually survived for weeks on her own. She was tough when she had to be. Thank God she ended up in your barn. Here, with us.” “I know. Og and I thank our lucky stars every day. That little girl was the making of us.”
“You know, something else I’ve been wondering about. I think she knows you, and all of us, are her forever family, but maybe she doesn’t know what to expect? It’s her first holiday. There’s a lot of hype around Christmas. It’s a pretty big deal.” He paused. “It can be scary for a kid. Especially the first one.” Nathan considered. “Maybe that’s it. Weren’t you two talking about baking an insane amount of cookies together?” Zach seemed proud of his role in helping Trasher. “Well, she likes milk and cookies for her breaks, when we’re homeschooling. She loves those damn animal cookies you always have around, but I thought I’d broaden her horizons, and do a lesson on it, for my bit. Then, we’ll bake together.” “I saw her looking up recipes. She actually seemed interested.” “Maybe that’s the answer, then. Trasher’s Infamous Cookie List, we’re calling it. Something to get her involved with the fun of it all, and oh, yeah. Lots of sugar.” Zack grinned.
“We have all the ingredients?” “I laid in extra flour. Right there,” Zack pointed to a large, twenty pound bag of flour, resting against the kitchen counter. “And another big bag downstairs. We’re good. Don’t worry. We got a plan, right? The cookies, the Christmas tree thing, then…” The noise of footsteps pounding on the old staircase ended the conversation abruptly. Trasher flounced back into the kitchen, dropped into the chair, yanked the comforter back on top of her, and whipped her book open. She glared at the pages. Nathan and Zach exchanged a look. “More stuff coming out of these old cupboards,” Zach called out. “Give me a few minutes to rifle through this junkin the back.” “Sure thing.” Nathan propped his butt against the counter, picked up his still warm coffee, and aimed his gaze out the window, watched the snowflakes still warring with each other. It was such a pretty, rustic spot, where Hope House stood, and had, for centuries. He never tired of it. Refuge Bay, just off Chesapeake Bay. The wintery Atlantic waves were a stone’s throw from them, after an immense, unkempt area they loosely called their backyard. It was here generations of Gentaels had lived, and eked out a pleasant enough existence. Nathan had visited most summers and some holidays, often with his best friend since kindergarten, Zachary Lees, accompanying him. When the old house, known as Manor House in the past, had fallen out of the family earlier this year, it had devastated Nathan. It was the same time he’d found the saving grace of his life, the mission that had yanked him out of the self-imposed prison he’d cloistered himself in.
Helping gay men, whose lives had been shredded, like his had been. Giving them a spot to catch their breath, for as long as they needed it. He’d known this old house he loved was the spot to start, and build. Tall, ancient yellow brick, with the motif of the flying pig on the chimney. Always in need of repairs, yet curiously, to any and all who entered its doors—usually the back one, that led directly to the large kitchen—a welcoming, stalwart haven. It wasn’t fancy, but somehow every bit of the old house whispered—enter.
Here you’ll find solace and peace. A helping hand, and time, when you need it. Then when you’re done? A kick in the pants to move you forward into the next phase of your life. With the knowledge that whenever you need to come back—there’s a spot for you. Always.
Susan is a new author for me! I love exploring worlds and the lives of people through the eyes of others. This sounds perfect.
This story sounds so good.
Susan Saxx is a favorite author of mine. I love everything she writes.
Good luck with the release!