Sweet Yuletide

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Instrumental Christmas music played in the Berry Lake Art Gallery, but Sheridan DeMarco wasn’t in the mood for hearing holiday tunes. The tasteful décor—white lights and a miniature tree with gold and silver bell ornaments—was bad enough. She hadn’t meant to get her Grinch on or channel Ebenezer Scrooge, but it had happened anyway.

That was a bummer because she loved Christmas. Rather, she used to love it. But after leaving in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner two days ago, the thought of all the family gatherings associated with December twenty-fifth made her want to break out in hives, especially not knowing what her future held.

Don’t think about it.

She focused on dusting a large Bigfoot sculpture. The fierce-looking Sasquatch stood on a pedestal in an alcove. The out-of-the-way spot kept tourists from blocking the artwork for sale. Her small town—okay, the local business association her father belonged to—touted the figurine as one of the top-ten photo ops in Berry Lake, Washington. That brought in plenty of customers, but poor Squatchy—as nicknamed by locals—needed constant cleaning from the people touching it.

Job security, her dad had once joked.

If only that were still true.

A weight pressed down on her shoulders, joining the imaginary band that had been tightening inch by inch around her chest since Thanksgiving night.

She shook it off.

Well, she tried to shake it off.

Sheridan polished the thumbprints from Bigfoot’s eyes. “At least my dad won’t fire you.”

No matter how many times she’d told herself not to obsess about her job, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. If not consciously, then subconsciously, because a boulder occupied the pit of her stomach. Worry, fear, and disbelief had kept her awake for the past two nights. Would tonight be any different?

Part of her didn’t want to know the answer.

The Berry Lake Gallery was Sal DeMarco’s pride and joy, and where Sheridan had grown up. This shop on Main Street was the only home she had left since her parents’ divorce. She knew every inch of the building, including her apartment upstairs, and loved art as much as her dad did. He’d said—promised—she would take over when he retired. But now…

A bone-chilling cold prickled her skin.

Perhaps what happened at Thanksgiving dinner had been a big misunderstanding. And maybe Santa would bring her the perfect boyfriend for Christmas, too.

Who am I kidding?

Thursday night with her dad and his new family had been a living nightmare. The only question was how badly the fallout would affect her.

The bell over the door jingled, and her father stepped inside. His hair used to be gray at the temples, which made him look distinguished and more handsome, but her stepmother, Deena, demanded he dye his hair for their wedding last month. He wore slacks and a leather jacket—his going-out-to-dinner clothes—something he did regularly since he’d remarried.

He flipped the Open sign to Closed.

Uh-oh.

As Sheridan’s muscles tightened, she gripped the dust cloth.

He never closed the gallery early unless it was an emergency. “Emergency” defined as going to the hospital or needing the fire department. Then again, her father hadn’t acted like himself since Deena entered his life. Sheridan wanted to tell herself this wasn’t a big deal, but everything inside her said one thing…

It’s time.

After Sheridan walked out in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner, she’d been waiting to hear from him, but he hadn’t called, texted, or stopped by the gallery yesterday—Black Friday, one of their busiest days of the year.

Is life as I know it over with?

She shivered.

When her once-stable life was ripped apart by the two people she loved most in the world, the gallery became Sheridan’s sanctuary and salvation. She’d believed nothing worse could ever happen to her than her parents’ divorce. But both of them remarrying within weeks of each other had proven otherwise. She’d gone from being an only child to having four stepsiblings with her dad’s new family and three with her mom’s. Growing pains didn’t come close to describing the issues with the two blended families this past month. But surely, Deena and her kids hadn’t replaced Sheridan in her father’s heart.

He went behind the counter, sat on the stool, and typed on the computer’s keyboard. “You sold more than I thought you would yesterday.”

With a pat on Bigfoot’s belly for luck, she joined her father in the central area of the gallery.

“Profits are up twenty-five percent this month because I’ve been doing my job.” Which was why she had to ask, “Is it still mine, or is Remy replacing me?”

During dinner the other night, her stepsister had begged to work full-time at the gallery. Deena had praised her daughter and dissed Sheridan. So had Ian, Deena’s youngest son. Then, Owen, Remy’s twin, had offered his small-business experience to take the gallery to the next level, as if Sheridan had no idea what she was doing. Thank goodness the oldest son, Dalton, hadn’t been there or she might have taken more verbal abuse.

Her dad had said nothing, but Sheridan hadn’t been able to take the insults from his new family, so she’d risen from the table, grabbed her jacket and purse, and left. But his silence wouldn’t do now.

“You can’t afford to pay both of us.” She wouldn’t go another hour without an answer. “And what experience does Owen offer when he’s clueless about art and how galleries operate?”

Her father dragged his hand through his hair. “Please understand. I’m in a tough spot.”

“Answer the question.” She wouldn’t let him play the victim. “Are you replacing me with Remy?”

Her dad didn’t meet Sheridan’s gaze. “Yes.”

The word sliced her heart in half. She struggled to breathe.

“Why?” Sheridan hated how weak she sounded, but she’d hoped—prayed—her father would stand up to Deena this time and put his daughter first. Something he hadn’t done since he’d fallen in love. “The gallery means everything to me. All I’ve ever wanted to do is work with you here. I’ve put my heart and soul into making it a success. You’ve never once complained about my work.”

“This is important to my wife.”

Sheridan nearly laughed. “I’m your daughter. You promised the gallery would be mine someday.”

Guilt flashed across his face. “Deena thinks Owen is better suited to run it.”

Sheridan’s breath hitched. “You promised, Dad.”

“Deena thinks Remy will thrive here.”

One more “Deena thinks,” and I’ll scream. She also noticed he hadn’t mentioned his promise.

Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Ever since the wedding last month, his new family had treated her as if she belonged in the recycle bin. She’d kept waiting for her dad to stand up for her. Now, she realized that had been a pipe dream. “So, your daughter is out, and your stepdaughter is in.”

Her father’s mouth thinned. “That’s not fair.”

“Don’t talk to me about fair. You’re taking away the only thing that matters to me because someone who wasn’t a part of your life four months ago says it’s a good idea. When you told me you were marrying Deena, I supported you because she seemed to make you happy. When she wanted her kids to be the only wedding party members, I didn’t say a word, even though there was space for another bridesmaid to even out the numbers. But Deena’s turned into a caricature of an evil stepmother, and you’re playing right along. She’s been widowed once and divorced twice. With each marriage, she adds to her net worth. Have you considered she wants her kids to work here so they can run the gallery once it belongs to her?”

As his expression hardened, the lines on his face deepened. “What a horrible, spiteful thing to say. I’m so disappointed in you. Deena was right when she called you a spoiled brat, an only child who’s been handed everything. It’s time you see how easy you’ve had it all these years.”

His words struck with the force of cannonballs. It was all Sheridan could do not to take a step backward and retreat. He sounded nothing like the man who’d wiped her tears, bandaged her knees, taught her everything about art, and taken her on trips to museums around the world. The man in front of her had become unrecognizable. All that mattered to him now was Deena and her children.

“Remy wants to live in the apartment upstairs,” he said. “You need to be out by December first.”

Sheridan’s jaw dropped. “That’s only three days away.”

“Then you’d better start packing. Deena said—”

“Forget your wife.” Sheridan balled her fist. “Your daughter is standing right in front of you. Your only daughter, who is now jobless and will be homeless in three days. Your daughter, who has worked at your side for years to make this gallery what it is today. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Don’t I mean anything?”

“Deena said this would be good for you. Starting Monday, you’ll train Remy. It shouldn’t take long. She’s a smart young woman. Then you can find another job.”

Unbelievable. Sheridan hadn’t gained two families with her parents’ marriages. She’d lost her father.

His choice.

The wrong one, which she hoped he realized before he lost everything because of Deena.

That didn’t make Sheridan feel any better, but something else would. While her father remained seated, she grabbed her purse and coat from the back room before removing the keys to the gallery. She handed them to her dad. “Here you go.”

“Keys?”

“I quit.”

“I need you to train—”

“I won’t.” Sheridan shrugged on her coat. “You’ve made it clear your new family is more important than your old one. You want Remy here. You train her.”

“Don’t do this, Sheridan. I’m your father.”

“Not any longer.” She half laughed. That was better than crying. “A father who loves his daughter would never do this to her. I’ll be out of the apartment on the thirtieth. The keys will be on the kitchen counter, Sal.”

He flinched. “You’re so much like your mother.”

“Since it appears I only have one parent who cares about me, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

With her shoulders pushed back and her head held high, Sheridan walked out the front entrance, wondering if she would ever step foot in the gallery again. She went around the building and climbed the stairs to her apartment. At least it was hers for three more days.

Hand trembling, she inserted the key in the lock and opened the door.

The smell of home—vanilla and sandalwood leftover from candles she’d lit last night—wrapped around her like a fleece blanket, soft and warm. As soon as she placed her purse on a hook, her phone rang. The ringtone of dog barks belonged to her mom.

“Hey.” Sheridan didn’t try to sound anything other than defeated.

“Please tell me your father didn’t fire and evict you.” Her mother’s words tumbled out like one of the spring-fed waterfalls that flowed into Berry Lake.

In a small town, news traveled like wildfire, but this was speed-of-light fast. Sheridan gripped her phone. “Who told you?”

“I bumped into Deena at the cupcake shop. She suggested I clear out a bedroom and have a job for you at the rescue because Sal was hiring Remy to take your place and giving her the apartment. Then she really gloated, saying Owen would be the new gallery manager.” If eye-rolling had a voice, it would sound like Sabine Culpepper. “That woman must rub dollar bills all over her body to keep from smelling like a wannabe. Her children aren’t any better.”

Maybe worse. “I only know Owen, Remy, and Ian. Dalton didn’t attend the wedding or come home for Thanksgiving.”

“He’s older than you, so you probably don’t remember him. He’s more like his father Paul than the other three kids, who take after their mother. I haven’t seen him since he graduated high school and left Berry Lake. But enough about the Dwyer family.” Her mom’s voice softened. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know how much the gallery means to you.”

Sheridan struggled to breathe. “I don’t understand how a father could do this to his daughter.”

“Deena has him wrapped around her little finger.”

“But I’m his daughter.” Sheridan thought he loved her. She blinked back tears. “I’ve lost my job, my apartment, and my father because of her. They hardly know each other.”

“It sucks, baby. And the worst part, Deena has done this same thing before, but men assume they’ll be different until they aren’t. I’m dumbfounded your dad fell for it.”

“He expected me to train Remy.”

Her mother swore under her breath. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I quit, handed over my keys to the gallery, and walked out.”

“That’s my girl.”

She sniffled. “He said I was like you.”

“You’re the best parts of us both. Your father will wake up one day and realize his mistakes, but the damage is done, and I have no doubt the gallery will eventually belong to Deena and her minions. I’m just sorry he’s hurt you so badly.”

Sheridan was sorry, too. She plopped onto her overstuffed couch. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Move in here. Max won’t mind. I can’t pay you, but you can volunteer at the rescue. Oh, the cupcake shop has a Help Wanted sign in the window. You’ve worked with Missy Hanford at cat adoption events. She’ll put in a good word for you with Elise Landon.”

“Thanks. I won’t get a recommendation from the gallery.” Which was Sheridan’s only work experience unless she counted the volunteer hours at the animal rescue. “I’ll make a résumé tonight and take it to the cupcake shop on Monday morning.”

“I’ll be over tomorrow with boxes to help you pack. It might take a few trips with Max’s truck, but we’ll get it done.”

Sheridan glanced around her apartment, imagining her Christmas tree in its usual corner. That wouldn’t happen this year. No lights would hang in the window, either. As her chest tightened, she blew out a breath. “Okay.”

“It’ll work out. Trust your mama.”

“I’m trying.” But first, Sheridan needed to have a good cry. “I love you, Mom.”