Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tuesday was up early the next morning, dressed in jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and her baby-blue bedroom slippers. Until last night, she’d slept in Grissom’s guest room. But after he put the boys to bed, then waited until well after midnight to make sure they were sound asleep, she’d helped assemble the bunk beds in the empty room between the guest room and master suite. Bunk beds with wagon wheels for the head and footboards, as well as two sturdy wooden footlockers with the boys’ names burned into each lid.

Setting their new bedroom up hadn’t taken long. After that, she and Grissom had brought several bags of toys and stuff in from the garage. A big yellow dump truck for Luke, plus other small cars, racing tracks, and trucks. A set of pastels, an easel, and more drawing paper for Tanner. As well as new clothes, boots, jackets, and, of all things, cartoon underwear for both.

“Hey, don’t knock underwear,” Grissom warned. “Santa’s a smart guy. They’ll get what they asked for, but they’re also going to get what they need.”

Tuesday nearly laughed at the Santa’s Toy Shop now spread under the tree in the loft. Grissom was up there, setting a timer for the festive lights. The boys were still asleep, though Tuesday doubted that would last much longer. Not with music wafting down from on high while their father was feverishly making sure this first McCoy Christmas was perfect. How could it not be? Tanner and Luke were too young to be jaded by the noisy yammering of the commercial world. They’d be thrilled with whatever Santa brought.

She only wished she’d had time to run and buy a few presents. The only thing she had to give was the spinach and bacon quiche she’d thrown together. Nutritious, sure, but nothing fancy. Not even special. And the bacon was Grissom bought. But a few spontaneous family photos? That she could do.

But she’d better hurry. The boys would be up soon. By the time the bacon finished, she’d set up a tripod with one of her digital video cameras in the loft. The memories captured today would be priceless.

Back in the kitchen, she set the quiche on the built-in warming plate on the kitchen nook table. Clever idea, that. Then she’d set the table, including glasses of cold orange juice all around, and had just enough time to wash her hands when—

“It’s Christmas!” Tanner exclaimed, as he ran through the kitchen to the back hall leading to the loft where Grissom was still tinkering away. Making sure the oven and stove were turned off, she followed the boys with another camera, intent on capturing this, the first of many happy McCoy Christmases to come, for posterity. He’d changed into jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched deliciously over all those glorious muscles in the very best ways.

Never had she seen such sweet, smiling, goofy faces. And the toys! By the end of the mad dash through wrapping paper, which was a surprise all by itself. Really, a man who wrapped presents? Yet there they were, every last pencil set and mini-truck set, wrapped perfectly and tied with ribbons, bows, and hand-written name tags.

Tuesday had set up her video camera near the tree, but it was the personal up-close, once-in-a-lifetime still-shots that tore at her heart. Like the moment shy little Tanner offered Grissom the gift of his drawing, a portrait of his dad in his cowboy hat. That one choked up Grissom as much as it did Tuesday.

Spurred on by his rowdy, competitive nature, Luke ran downstairs to his dad’s bedroom and all the way back up to the loft again with his gift to his dad: a brightly decorated piece of red construction paper full of a three-year-old’s tiny green finger-painted handprints and…

Oh my, is that a footprint? Sure is. Tuesday kept snapping up every last memory. She stopped long enough to swipe a quick hand over her eyes, though, when Luke told his father in his loud little inside voice, “I made this pitcher just for you, and Tanner helped!”

“Luke made a frame for it, too,” Tanner whisper-hinted. Which sent Luke running back downstairs and into his father’s bedroom again with a frantic “Oh, yeah!”

By the time he returned, his face was red, and his blond hair was sweaty and stuck to his forehead. Making him look all the more angelic, the little scamp. “Here, Daddy,” he huffed, his chest pumping hard under his green footie pajamas, both hands clutching a limp, black construction paper frame. “It…” Deep breath. “Goes…” Another great big breath. “Around my… my fingers pitcher I made just for you.”

“Handprint picture,” Tanner corrected quietly.

Which earned him a spiked strawberry-blond eyebrow and a glare, but oddly, not a single cross word. Only a breathy, “Yeah, Daddy. Tanner helped me make it last night. It’s for you.”

Grissom was cross-legged near the tree, the perfect backdrop for this magnificent teary-eyed father fighting his emotions. “For me?” he growled in his tough-as-nails way. What a sight, the love shining in those hazel eyes. Wordless. Fighting to contain his feelings and losing the battle. His dark hair tousled. His beard was somehow darker and thicker this morning. This man was so breathtakingly sexy, she ached to touch him, hold him close, and comfort him. But not now. The pain he was feeling was the good kind, and those tiny crystals beaded on his lashes were diamonds of the purest happiness.

Tuesday caught it all in her viewfinder, her fingertip recording one spectacular shot after another, as her digital CCD and CMOS image sensors perfected the resolution of every last pixel. She mentally cataloged which shots would make the best portraits for the walls of this, the McCoy boys’ Christmas room. She was in her element, finally giving back for all Grissom’s kindnesses. Finally feeling like she just might belong somewhere again. That she really should stay. Not afraid to celebrate Christmas for the first time in years.

Grissom pulled both of his tired, pajama-clad boys onto his lap and kissed their heads. “Thanks, Scooter. Thanks, Short Stack. You two are the best.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Did Santa bring you guys everything you wanted?”

Both nodded, but darned if Luke didn’t yell, “Wait! I got something for Miss Tuesday, too!” And away he went. Back downstairs. In minutes, the poor kid returned huffing, puffing, and sweaty with another finger-painted masterpiece of their very glittery tree.

The moment he handed it to Tuesday, his eyes bright and innocent, full of childish love, Tanner lifted to his feet. “I didn’t forget,” he whispered. Pulling a silver locket out of his pajama pocket, he handed it to her. “Dad helped me buy this on our way home from South America. It’s for you.”

Aww. What a sweetheart. A falling star was inscribed on the face of the tiny locket, and she had a feeling there was a story behind the symbol. But she’d wait for the day Tanner was ready to share that story. For now, Tuesday knelt and gathered both boys into her arms. Her heart was breaking. Overflowing. Bursting out of her eyes. There was no sense holding back, so why try? She let her emotions run down her face while she held two of the most important people in her life. “Guys,” she breathed, swallowing hard. “Thank you both. You’ve made this my best Christmas ever.”

“We did?” Luke asked with enough enthusiasm to power a small town.

“You both sure did,” she replied, pressing kisses to their heads while bawling her eyes out. This was what she’d been missing, intangible, inexpressible childish wonder, acceptance, and love. It’d been a long time since she’d felt like she belonged.

Tanner didn’t move. Neither did Luke. Grissom leaned over and wrapped his arms around all three of them. “Best. Christmas. Ever.”

Closing her eyes, Tuesday gave him her weight, just leaned back and decided to stay where she’d landed.

Grissom asked again, “Guys, did Santa bring everything you asked for?”

“Almost,” Tanner answered evenly, snuggling deeper into Tuesday’s arm. “But I got what I wanted most. I got Tuesday.”

“No, I got Tuesday,” Luke grumped, digging his elbow into Tanner.

“Yeah, Luke, you got Tuesday, too,” Tanner replied easily, not arguing. “We’re both really lucky, huh?”

That did the trick. Luke stopped shoving and instead, grabbed Tanner’s arm and pulled him in close again. “Yeah. We’re lucky bastards, huh, Daddy?”

Grissom sputtered, “Luke! We don’t say things like that.”

Tuesday grinned. Yup, these boys were definitely his.

“But you say bastard all the time,” Luke replied without guile.

“Yeah, Dad. You even say the F-word a lot, and it ain’t fart,” Tanner added.

“Boy! Boys! Okay. Enough already.” Tuesday could tell Grissom was laughing inside. “And you’re right. I’ve got a potty mouth, but that doesn’t mean you should. How about we all clean up our acts? I’ll stop dropping F-bombs—”

“And saying shit and gawddamn and all that other stuff,” Tanner murmured.

“And yelling,” Luke shrieked, his voice loud enough to wake the dead.

“What will you boys do?” Tuesday asked quietly.

“Well, I won’t never say bastard again,” Luke declared, crossing his heart with his index finger as he added, “unless I’m really, really pissed.”

Tuesday looked up at the ceiling, fighting hard not to laugh out loud. These boys. “While you guys decide on family rules, I’ll take the garbage bag out. Where are your trash cans?”

Grissom looked up at her from where he sat with one boy straddling each thigh, both facing him like they were prepared for high-stakes bargaining. “Leave it. I’ll take it out later.”

“It’s no big deal. Meet you in the breakfast nook, guys.” She breezed out, the over-sized garbage bag filled with paper and bows over her shoulder.

“You’ll need the code or you’ll set off the alarm,” Grissom called after her.

“So what is it?”

“Texting you right now. Got your phone?”

“Nope,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Give me a hint.”

That brought him to the stairway, and Grissom told her the code to silence his alarm. “Don’t be long.”

“Don’t eat breakfast without me.”

“Then hurry,” he ordered.

So Tuesday did. He hadn’t told her where the cans were, but how hard could they be to find? She ran downstairs and into the garage, planning to be back in time to hear Grissom tell his boys about their beds. That was why he’d kept asking if they’d gotten everything they wanted. Wouldn’t they be tickled when they saw those bunk beds?

Tuesday couldn’t help whistling a corny Christmas jingle from some commercial, as she walked through the garage to the outside door. She’d be back inside before those handsome guys made it downstairs. She wished she hadn’t left her cell phone charging in her bedroom, though. That wasn’t like her. Living alone most of her adult life had made her very aware of how important that one link could be.

But again, no big deal. Tuesday didn’t plan to stay outside long enough to need it. She stepped into a crisp, cloudy day that smelled like winter. There was snow inside those fluffy, dark gray clouds barreling in from the east. Brrr.

Tossing the bag into the industrial-size green trash receptacle next to the garage door, she turned on her heel, ready to get back inside where it was warm, as quickly as she could. Until—

She ran face-first into a brick. The sharp-edged blow dropped her to her knees. For one blinding, head-throbbing moment, she saw stars whirling over the tips of two round-toed boots. She shook the hit off, ready to get back on her feet, at least on her knees. But the hit was too hard. Too mean. The world shook, turning her around and around until she wanted to vomit. Vicious buzzing swarmed up her spine. Her head turned into a noisy beehive. The last thing she heard before everything went dark was, “You bitch!”