Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. With the release of my latest novel, That Hollister Man, I’ve now written three books that include a Thanksgiving scene. It’s such a beautiful day that celebrates our countless blessings without the stress of gift-giving.
Here’s one of my favorite Thanksgiving scenes. This is from the third book in the King’s Valley Romance series, The Return of Devin Wakefield. Enjoy. And Happy Thanksgiving!
“Is it time to make the crescent rolls?” Sam asked, hopping up from the table.
His aunt said yes and instructed him to get the tray. The boy was more interested in popping open the cardboard canisters of dough than anything else. While he occupied himself, Lindy cut up the potatoes and scooped them into a large pot. She filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil. Then she retrieved the salad fixings from the fridge.
Devin returned a few minutes later. From that point, all of them were occupied with putting together all of the dinner items that had to wait until the last minute. Bert made the gravy while the peas were cooking, Sam kept an eye on the crescent rolls in the lower oven, Devin set the finished turkey on a platter and scooped the turkey stuffing into a porcelain bowl, and Lindy mixed the salad dressing. Then, one by one, Devin and Sam brought everything into the dining room.
“It’s time,” Bert said, when they were all gathered in the messy kitchen once more. She beamed at all of them, especially Lindy. “Thank you for helping, Lindy. You are just so kind and giving, isn’t she, Devin?”
“That she is,” he agreed affably. And then he placed one arm around his aunt’s shoulders, the other around Lindy’s, and nodded at Sam. “Lead the way to the drawing room, young man. Let’s go tell everyone it’s time to eat.”
Lindy savored the scent of him as he tucked her close to his side, spice and cedar and clean, male skin. He was so warm and solid. She said nothing as they strolled down the hall and into the drawing room. He still had his arm around her as he paused in the arched doorway.
Mr. Atkinson and Jo were sitting cozily together on the sofa in front of the fire. Janelle lounged on a leather recliner in the corner, leafing through a magazine and looking bored.
“Everyone come to the table,” Devin invited. “The turkey’s waiting.”
“Just in time,” Mr. Atkinson said. He rose from the sofa and held his hand out to Jo. “I could eat a horse.”
Jo tittered.
“I’m not that hungry,” Janelle informed everyone in a dulcet tone. “I shouldn’t eat too much, or I won’t fit into the dress I’m wearing to the gala tomorrow night.”
Everyone ignored her.
Devin released Lindy and Bert as they came to the narrower hallway that led to the dining room. Mr. Atkinson caught Lindy by the elbow, holding her back. “Have you asked him?” he asked in a cagey whisper while the others went ahead.
“Not yet. There hasn’t been a chance.”
“We’ll have to think of a way to get you alone with him after dinner.” He wiggled his bushy eyebrows at her.
She gave him a gently scolding look. “Don’t make it too obvious.”
He chortled. “Don’t worry. Besides, sometimes these things have a way of just working out.”
Lindy paused at the dining room entrance to admire the scene before her. The room was beautiful on its own with burgundy velvet curtains framing the floor-to-ceiling windows and a gorgeous crystal chandelier above the wide mahogany table, its lights dimmed. Seven high-backed brocade cushioned chairs surrounded the table which was dressed with a beautiful tasseled table runner in autumn colors. Autumn leaves were spread across the runner. Several small pumpkins and low centerpieces of red, orange, yellow and purple mums enhanced the décor. Scented harvest candles stood at each end of the table. A pilgrim hat sat waiting at each place setting.
“Sam, this is amazing!” Lindy enthused, catching the boy’s earnest look.
He gave her a bashful smile.
“He’s been working on it all week,” Jo said. “He wouldn’t let us take a peek.”
Devin squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Great job, Sam.”
From The Return of Devin Wakefield
Copyright © 2018 Margaret Desmond
Margaret Desmond 