The McRae Series 01 - Twelve Days Sam and Rachel

it seemed she and Sam were about to lose everything.
    "I don't think I have done the best I could." It wasn't easy for her to admit that, but surely at some point, she could have been stronger, done more. "I look at Emma and I feel ashamed. She's been abandoned by her mother, maybe by the only person in the world who cares about her. And instead of falling apart, she's taking care of her little brother and sister. I haven't even seen her cry about it. She just goes right on...."
    "Rachel—"
    "She's only eleven, and here she is, so much stronger than I am."
    "Did something else happen?" Ellen asked.
    "No," she lied. She wasn't ready to let the family in on this. Not yet. It was too new, too raw. Besides, this wasn't about Sam. This part was about her. She was ashamed of what she'd done. "I've just been thinking... about me and my life. I think I've messed it all up, Elle."
    "It's been hard," her sister began.
    "I know, but it doesn't really matter, does it? It's my life. It's what I've got, what I have to deal with. I have to do better than this."
    Ellen hugged her and then stood there looking at her with a worried expression on her face. "We've all wanted to help," she said. "We just didn't know what to do anymore."
    Rachel felt tears filling her eyes, knowing it was true. All she'd ever had to do was reach out her hand and someone would help her. She was truly blessed in that.
    "Thanks. It's just hard sometimes." To let anyone into her world, so filled with pain and maybe with self-pity. She was shamed to let her sister know how bad it had been, how badly she'd dealt with it. "And I'm going to do better."
    "Good," Ellen said, then started looking around the store. "Now, what does this beautiful baby need?"
    "Everything."
    * * *
    When they got back home, the car loaded down with packages, Sam was outside on a ladder hanging Christmas decorations.
    Rachel sat there and stared up at the house. It was always colorful, with its dove gray paint with bright white and blue accents and multiple stained-glass windows she'd painstakingly restored over the years. It had porches upstairs and down and an octagon-shaped turret room in the corner, which she absolutely loved. There were arched doorways and three fireplaces, hardwood floors and wide wood trim, even the original, old-fashioned cut glass doorknobs. She absolutely loved it, especially at Christmas.
    She put butter-colored candles in every window that could be seen from the street. Not real ones. The fire risk was too great. But very nice electric ones, to set the windows aglow with warmth and light. They used only soft white lights on the house, along all the rooflines, windows, and porches, wreaths strung with the same white lights in the biggest windows and on the doors, even on the white picket fence out front. And there was a giant fir tree in the front yard they decorated in the same white lights and big, red velvet ribbons.
    It was a sight to behold when it was all done. It was also a big job and, at one time, one of her favorite days of the year.
    "Miss Rachel?" Zach asked, pulling her back to the present. "Are we goin' somewhere else or can we get out now?"
    She realized she'd pulled into the driveway and neglected to turn off the car, and Zach had obviously been taught not to climb out of a car still running.
    "We're staying, Zach," she said, cutting the engine and setting the emergency brake. She'd lock the car, too, and hide the keys, just in case. She couldn't stand it if anything happened to these children while they were here.
    Zach scrambled out of the car and gazed up at the house in awe, babbling about all that Sam had done, which was to finish stringing the lights along all three stories. Emma got Grace, and Rachel got out and stood there, staring at the house.
    She remembered one Christmas so long ago when, as they were nearly finished decorating, Sam had made her his present, wrapping her in a long strand of red ribbon and carrying her inside. He lay her down on the rug beneath the tree. They'd already turned off all the lights in the house except for the candles and the lights on the tree.
    There in the Christmas glow of it all, he'd slowly unwrapped her, kissing every inch of her as he went and telling her that she was the best present he'd ever received. All he'd ever wanted, all he'd ever need.
    They never made it to bed that night, had slept on the rug, wrapped in an afghan, Sam's big, muscular body so beautiful in that light.
    It had been