Free The Kid Who Stole Christmas by Linda Stevens Page B

sigh. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t have any cause to be snippy with you. It’s just that hearing you talk about what happened to you has brought back some bad memories of those times.”
    They were both quiet for a moment. It was then that they appreciated their surroundings, for the way other conversations filled in the awkward silence in their own.
    “Did you listen?” Rick finally asked.
    “To the stories my mother used to tell about my father, you mean?” Shannon guessed.
    He nodded.
    “Well, I didn’t have much choice, really. After all, she is my mother, and I was something of a captive audience.”
    “And did you tell any stories about him, yourself?”
    Rick said this so quietly that Shannon wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She looked at him, but he was staring into his glass of stout, as if he might find some kind of answer in its black, velvety depths.
    “I didn’t repeat anything I heard her say,” Shannon told him. “But I...I did believe her about some things. When I grew up, I found out what a liar she had been. But when I was little, and I saw how angry she was, I couldn’t help blaming Daddy. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life that he died before I made up with him.”
    Rick looked into her eyes again, and saw that regret clearly in them. He reached across the table and took her hand. “Maybe you’re right about us helping each other.”
    “Do you think so?”
    “Just talking about it with someone who really understands is making me feel better,” he said. “So let me ease your pain a little if I can. You may have blamed your father, but I’d bet my life he never blamed you in return.”
    “No?”
    “No,” Rick assured her. “I don’t blame Chelsea. I may not understand the things she’s done and said, but deep down inside, I know she doesn’t mean to hurt me. I still love her and I always will. I’m sure your father felt the same way.”
    “Thanks, Rick,” she told him.
    “Anytime.” He touched his glass to hers and they both had another warming sip of stout. “How’s your relationship with your mother now?” he asked.
    “Strained,” Shannon admitted. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever really gotten to know her. She just never has had all that much time for me.”
    “Why not?”
    “Business, mostly,” Shannon replied with a sigh. “When we first moved here, she was in retail sales, but she worked her way up the ladder. She recently retired from a position as the main clothing buyer for a chain down in Florida. I got my start at Lyon’s through one of her contacts, in fact.” She smiled wryly. “Mom had a lot of contacts.”
    Rick had a pretty good idea what she meant. “Was one of them responsible for her moving here and divorcing your dad?”
    “Exactly. I’m pretty sure she’d been seeing him for some time before the divorce. I don’t know him very well, either,” Shannon said. “Like Leo, I was basically raised by nannies. My mother and stepfather were both too busy with traveling and their careers.”
    “Not too busy to jerk your father around concerning his visitation rights, though, I’ll bet,” Rick said. “I think that’s the worst part. I lived for Chelsea. To Angela, I think she’s a possession to be controlled, a big doll she can dress up and teach to be just like her.” He scowled. “And she’s doing a pretty good job of it.”
    “The truth will out, Rick,” Shannon said, trying to reassure him in turn. “Someday, Chelsea will find out what a liar her mother is, too.”
    His expression remained bleak. If only she knew just how far along Angela’s conversion of their daughter really was. But there were things he could barely stand to think about, let alone speak of, even to this warm, lovely woman. Besides, it was too dangerous. In a few more days, maybe there would be blue sky above him again. But right now, there were still storm clouds hovering.
    “I haven’t really had much contact with the