Thanksgiving morning dawned bright and clear. Remington had set the turkey in the oven to slow roast overnight, so the scent of turkey and stuffing filled the air. The day prior had been spent preparing for this day, at least for the most part. Remington happily preparing the side dishes to the meal, creating elaborate garnishes, and, yes, baking pies: apple, mincemeat, sweet potato and the traditional pumpkin. That he baked was a new discovery for Laura, but somehow she wasn't surprised. If there was something the man couldn't accomplish in the kitchen, she'd yet to discover what it was.

On her part, despite Remington's reservations, Laura had managed to sneak out of the house for several hours with Jocelyn, ostensibly to purchase napkins for the dining tables, vehemently insisting white linen napkins would not suit the holiday at all. After all, everyone knew the napkins should be reflective of the colors of the fall centerpieces that would now grace the dining tables, she argued. The statement had left him flummoxed as he searched his knowledge bank for any information pertaining to Thanksgiving décor etiquette. He came up blank. Sensing her victory, she swiped her lips against his cheek and bid him adieu.

While she and Joceyln did, indeed, find those fall colored napkins and napkin holders etched with autumn leaves, they had been nothing more than an excuse. In truth, it was a long-standing Holt tradition, handed down by her beloved grandmother, that the day after Thanksgiving found a Christmas tree being put up and trimmed, and during the weekend after the proverbial halls decked. Even while single she had never dishonored the tradition and had no intention of doing so now. She never even questioned if Remington would mind them carrying the tradition into their lives, because as he'd pointed out, he neither had an idea how to deck the halls nor much knowledge at all regarding Christmas traditions.

Thus, she and Jocelyn had gone to Laura's favored tree lot and picked out a twelve foot spruce that would look stunning standing in the foyer nook open to the living room, created by the curve of the wood and wrought iron railing. A large wreath for their front door and several spruce bows to decorate the house with completed their purchase. A delivery fee and a generous tip provided the assurance all her purchases would be delivered Friday morning at eleven. Additional stops at Kirklands, Pier One, Bloomingdales and Saks Off Fifth left trunk and backseat packed with decorations for the tree. Only after she and Remington sat down and planned out the decorations for the remainder of the house, much as they had for Thanksgiving, would Jocelyn's shopping skills be put to the test again.

Wednesday evening, she tried, and failed, to tempt her husband into joining her in a hot bath. Shaking her head, she could only laugh when he departed the bathroom, yelling after him, "Remember this, Mr. Steele. You're not the only one to get turned down for food!" She'd heard him chuckling as he left their room.

He'd plucked her soggy, relaxed body out of the tub and hour later, and after bringing her downstairs, plopped her down on the kitchen counter so they could talk while he worked. That Laura wore not a stitch under her silk robe provided a constant source of distraction, as she meant it to. She knows I know she knows what she's about, so perhaps it's time to up the ante a bit, he mused to himself. Over the course of the following hour, he fed her bits of the food he was creating, then would sample the taste himself with a brief, yet scorching kiss. Only when those kisses had begun to leave her squirming in their aftermath, her eyes dazed with unrequited lust, did he grasp her lovely bottom, pulling her towards the edge of the counter whilst giving a firm tug on the belt of her robe, allowing it to flow open. The passion he'd generated between them had him more than ready to take her, and take her did, hard and fast as she'd planned for the evening before, leaving her arching her back while she lay prone across the island, her hands slapping at the countertops as she cried out. He leaned over her where she lay still quivering and whispered in her ear.

"Be certain, Mrs. Steele, that you not recall every moment of this delightful interlude whenever you are in the kitchen amongst mixed company tomorrow." He stole a kiss from her lips even as her lovely brown eyes flew open, recognizing he'd assured she'd do just that with his warning.

"Paybacks, Mr. Steele, paybacks," she panted the warning, as he helped her sit up, chuckling all the while.

"I assure you, watching you tomorrow, our time here tonight, will be worth whatever your magnificent mind comes up with, love," he smiled, as he tucked his shirt tails back in and tied the apron around his waist again. He eyed her flushed skin, the chest that still rose and fell faster than normal, her swollen lips, and sultry brown eyes. Unable to resist, he stole another kiss then bussed her on the neck before turning to the sink to wash his hands.

Laura climbed into bed after midnight, leaving Remington to prepare the turkey to slow roast and to finish his cranberry sauce. She felt the bed dip when he climbed into bed, hair still damp from his shower, at a little after two-thirty. He needed only to stroke a hand over her shoulder and down her arm to draw her to him. Still sleep dazed, she settled her head in that place beneath his shoulder made for her alone, and wrapped a slender leg over his hips. Her fingertips burrowed themselves in the hair of his chest before her palm settled over his heart, drawing a contented sigh from him. With the familiar thrum of his heartbeat beneath her hand, she drifted back into her dreams.

Remington buried a hand in her hair, while the other continued to stroke her arm from shoulder to fingertips. As much as he cherished their love making, it was their nightly routine – which once again had gone missing these last days – of lying, her head in his lap, talking before bed and this… the physical contact they both sought as they slept that meant the most to him. Tomorrow would be difficult for the woman sleeping in his arms, he knew. Despite the festive air of the occasion, whenever she spent any time of significance with her mother and sister, more particularly the former these days, she was left tense, jumpy and her self-confidence somewhere in the vicinity of non-existent. He'd have his hands full on the morrow, and was already planning how to go about soothing his wife's tattered nerves as he drifted off to sleep.

Now, outside, they were doing one last spot check on the arrangements. The widescreen television from Remington's viewing room had been wheeled outside and set up near the fireplace. Donald, who'd grown up in New London, Wisconsin, had been lamenting 'the big game' against the Detroit Lions would be on that night and he'd miss it. In a nod to his plight, the couple made sure he'd be able to enjoy the game while spending time with family. The children's table had been set up to accommodate Danny, Mindy and Laurie Beth, complete with turkey printed paper plates, to counter any possible accidents with the couple's fine china being used by the adults. The centerpieces for the adult's table had arrived as scheduled the day before, and their bright colors paid homage to the fall season in which they holiday fell. A fire burned in the fireplace and the speakers installed throughout the outdoor area, softly played instrumental jazz, as Laura wouldn't even consider allowing Christmas music to be played until Thanksgiving's day of honor had passed.

Stepping up behind her, Remington lay a hand on each of her shoulders, surveying the completed product.

"You've done an outstanding job, love," he complimented. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, although that smile never reached her eyes. The doorbell pealed at that instant. Feeling her shoulders tense under his hands, he lifted back her heavy hair and pressed his lips to the side of her neck while rubbing a hand briskly up and down her arm. "Have a little faith, love. All will be fine." The bell rang again as she looked at him doubtfully. Grasping her hand, he tugged her towards the house.

He laced her fingers with his hers, receiving a grateful smile, then swung open the front door.

"Abigail," he sung out in that way of his. Abigail's face lit up at both the greeting and the buss on her cheek.

"Remington, I can't tell you how much we're looking forward to this evening," she all but gushed, then turned an eye on her younger daughter.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mother," Laura greeted stiffly, pressing a kiss to the older woman's cheek as well.

"I had to ring the bell twice, Laura," Abigail sniffed, making sure it was clear she'd felt put out by the wait. "A good hostess makes sure she is available to answer the door immediately after the first ring. Had you cared to spend time learning good etiquette instead of running around with those street urchins you spent all your time with, you'd know that."

Behind his wife, Remington grimaced as he watched his wife's shoulder sag. Thanksgiving evening had begun…

(TBC)