Her Naughty Holiday (Men at Work 2)

“She’s so smart and driven,” Clover said. “You just have to channel that energy into something positive.”

“Your daughter is a miracle worker,” Erick said to Val, hoping to counter some of the digs her family had taken at Clover with a few compliments. “Ruthie came back from the interview and said Clover was the coolest woman she’d ever met. I asked her why and she said, ‘Clover says there’s two ways of making the world a better place—you can destroy the bad or you can create the good. I think I want to focus on creating the good.’ She’s been a great kid ever since. All thanks to Clover.”

“And you,” Clover said, wearing a bright blush and the first genuine smile he’d seen on her face all day. “She’s very lucky to have you in her life. So am I.”

“She is,” Erick said. “I tell her that all the time. Eventually she’ll believe me.”

“She believes it now.” Clover gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she walked past him to pick up her wineglass. Maybe they could make it through this day, after all.

“That’s very sweet,” Val said. “David, we might get to have a neo-pagan ecoterrorist for a stepgranddaughter.”

“Hey,” David said, lifting his glass in a toast. “Better than nothing, which is what we’ve got now.”

“I don’t know about that,” Val said with a brittle smile.

Erick flinched as the wineglass in Clover’s hand hit the floor and shattered into a million pieces.

“Shit,” Clover said.

“Stay right there,” Erick said. “I’ll get the broom and the towel.”

“You go check on the turkey, Erick,” Val said. “I’ll help Clover clean it up. Our little dropout is a bit dropsy today. Too much wine?”

“That was my first glass,” she said. Clover was ghost white in the face. Had dropping the glass scared her that much? Erick looked at her but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’ll just, um, check on the turkey, then,” he said. “Should be done.”

He was alone on the deck for all of two minutes before Clover came outside.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said, looking like she was about to burst into tears. “I can’t believe my mother said that about Ruthie. I can’t—”

“Clover, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m fine. Ruthie didn’t hear it. She’s fine.”

“I’m not fine,” Clover said.

“I know, sweetheart. Look, I’m going to bring in the turkey. Everyone will eat and that’ll keep them busy. We’re going to make it. Just hang in there.”

“Mom said something in the kitchen.”

“What did she say?” Erick asked, keeping his voice calm. Clover was on the verge of losing it, he could tell. He didn’t blame her. He was about ready to throw her over his shoulder, carry her out to his truck, drive off into the sunset, and never let her family within a hundred miles of her ever again.

“I told her she shouldn’t say stuff about Ruthie like that and that you and I just started going out so even joking about Ruthie being her granddaughter made me uncomfortable. And she said, ‘I just want the best for you, dear. Stepchildren are second-best and we want you to have the very best.’”

“Ouch,” Erick said, wincing. “Wish Ruthie were here. She’d put your whole family in their place.”

“Ruthie is not second-best,” Clover said. “She’s the best. Your daughter is the absolute very best.”

“I know that and you know that, and God knows, Ruthie knows that. Who cares if your parents don’t know that?”

“I care,” she said. “I care, Erick.”

He tried to say something else to comfort her, but it was too late. She had already gone back into the house.

Erick brought in the turkey on the platter and got out the carving knife and fork.

“You want me to do that?” Hunter asked.

“My turkey,” Erick said. “My knife.”