Coming Home for Christmas

Coming Home for Christmas by Marie Ferrarella Page A

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Authors: Marie Ferrarella
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a good hair stylist and learning how to use makeup.”
    â€œLearning?” he echoed. “I think you graduated,” he murmured, looking back at the person captured on her mobile phone.
    The difference between that teenager and the woman standing in front of him was like night and day—and, in his opinion, nothing short of a miracle.

Chapter Five
    K eith wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea that he knew the person handling the so-called “estate” sale of the furnishings and other items within his mother’s house.
    In recent years he’d come to feel that there was something to be said for anonymity. Since he and Kenzie had, in a manner of speaking, a vague sort of history together, he had an uneasy feeling that he was leaving himself open to an invasion of privacy somewhere down the road. He had little doubt that Kenzie would believe their having attended the same high school entitled her to ask questions and be on a familiar footing with him, whereas if they were actually strangers, he would be able to keep her at a distance more easily.
    He was overthinking this, he told himself. After all, MacKenzie Bradshaw was a professional, and he sincerely doubted that his agent would have suggested her for the job if Kenzie wasn’t up to getting the job done—and more than just adequately.
    Besides, he wouldn’t have to put up with any of this for long. He was flying back to San Francisco the second the funeral was over. His presence here certainly wasn’t necessary for the sale of either the house or the things that were in it. That was why he’d come to Maizie Sommers to begin with.
    Sanctuary would be his very shortly, Keith promised himself—provided, of course, that he survived the next few days. There were times that he wasn’t sure of the inevitability of that outcome.
    In a bid for simplicity and moving things along at an acceptable pace, Keith had reconsidered checking into a hotel as he’d planned after the first night. He’d grown up in this house, he reasoned, so he could endure staying here for a few more days rather than commuting back and forth from the hotel, braving traffic and steep hotel rates.
    Ever practical, he saw no reason to complicate matters and have to pay premium prices just for a place to sleep, which was all that his stay at a hotel would have amounted to. The rest of his time while he was in Bedford would be spent either fielding Kenzie’s free-flowing questions or being involved in myriad details connected to his mother’s funeral.
    He discovered that he didn’t have to tackle them alone if he didn’t want to. Kenzie proved to be good at not just her job but also a whole host of other things. Like deciphering what amounted to illegible handwriting in his opinion.
    When she found him in the living room less than an hour after they returned to the house, he was frowning over the unreadable entries in his mother’s worn little red address book. Kenzie was
not
shy about asking him what was wrong.
    Kenzie was not shy about
anything
.
    He didn’t bother hiding that he was less than happy about whatever needed doing next. “I’m going to have to call my mother’s friends to let them know where and when the funeral service will be held.”
    Kenzie apparently picked up on his reluctance. “Would you like me to call them for you?”
    For just a moment, he allowed himself to savor the wave of relief that washed over him. He was more than willing to have her take over this tedious, not to mention uncomfortable, chore.
    But the next moment, reality set in, as it always did. “And say what?” he asked. “That you’re my administrative assistant and you’re making these calls about Dorothy O’Connell’s passing on the behalf of the only family she has left?”
    Kenzie inclined her head, indicating her basic agreement with his assessment. “That would be the gist

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