A Randall Thanksgiving by Judy Christenberry Read Free Book Online Page A

to do things.”
    “And if I’m wrong?”
    “It’s just possible your father made some mistakes in his time, too,” Harry pointed out.
    “If Granddad were alive, he could probably tell you,” Melissa added.
    “You’ve got to be kidding, Melissa. You know he thought Dad could do no wrong.”
    “He didn’t think you could, either!” Melissa said with a grin.
    “Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten that.”
    “That’s a nice memory,” Harry said with a smile.
    “Didn’t you have a grandfather who believed in you?” Melissa asked.
    “Nope.” He took a bite of his steak and chewed, showing no inclination to add to his statement.
    “Did you not have a grandfather?” Melissa asked, leaning toward him, sympathy on her face.
    “I had two of them,” Harry said. “They were pretty ornery and we didn’t see them often. Don’t start feeling sorry for me, Melissa. I’m just fine.”
     
    H ARRY MAY HAVE TOLD HER not to feel sorry for him, but Melissa couldn’t help it.
    She’d tossed and turned for the last hour since coming to bed, but she couldn’t shake the thoughts of Harry that had taken hold in her mind.
    Not only had his grandfathers been difficult, but hisparents had divorced, and now he had little contact with his only sibling. Poor man.
    Everyone thought Harry Gowan was wonderful. Her cousins certainly did. And her father. He wanted her to marry him!
    Not that she was even considering such a crazy thing. But her mother’s surgery did make her stop and think for the first time. Her entire family was here in Rawhide, and she’d spent the last six years in Europe. Six years that she’d missed being a part of her mother’s life.
    Not that she didn’t have a life of her own to lead in Paris. She had friends and, until a week ago, she’d had Pierre.
    But what else?
    Your work, said a voice inside her head. But as much as she enjoyed jewelry designing, she wasn’t so enamored of Monsieur Jalbert. For the past six months she’d been having doubts about remaining with him, whether she’d actually agree to the contract up for renewal. Or maybe strike out on her own.
    Were they dreams? she asked herself. Or pipe dreams?
    A master jeweler and shrewd business man, Monsieur Jalbert wielded a lot of power, not only in Paris, but throughout western Europe. With one decree he could make it difficult for her to sell her designs, even downright impossible.
    Could she come back to America?
    There were certainly cosmopolitan locales that couldrival Paris—New York, San Francisco, maybe. And she’d certainly be closer to her parents.
    In her line of work, she could set up shop anywhere in a major city where she could market her jewelery.
    Wait a minute! said that inner voice. She was going back to Paris. She had the return ticket to prove it!
    Outside her window, the wind knocked bare tree branches against the house. Earlier she’d found their rhythmic tapping somewhat soothing, but now the noise made her anxious.
    She needed a drink to settle herself down. Back in Paris she usually had wine with dinner, or sherry afterward with some friends. She found it helped her sleep, especially when she was jittery or stressed.
    She doubted her parents had any on hand. Then she remembered the bottle of French wine she’d brought them from the vineyard in Bordeaux she’d visited a couple months ago.
    It had been a wonderful afternoon, strolling through the winery, sampling different wines until she found the one she liked best. Too bad the memory included Pierre. It was supposed to have been a romantic getaway weekend; it turned out to be nothing of the kind.
    Banishing the recollection, she grabbed her robe and went in search of the wine. Her parents wouldn’t mind if she opened the bottle.
    The orange embers in the living room fireplace were keeping the house warm, and she didn’t bother puttingon the robe, instead throwing it over a chair on the way to the kitchen. In no time she found the bottle and poured herself a glass,