A Barker Family Christmas (2 page)

He leaned against the doorframe, his long legs crossed, his arms loose at his sides, though one hand clutched a small bag.

“That had to be the longest trip to the pharmacy, ever,” Bobbi said before she could stop herself, hating that she sounded like the person she swore she’d never become. A whiner. A shrew.

Shane’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he straightened up, handing the bag over to Herschel.

“Sorry about that,” Shane replied. “I swung by the house to grab Pia because I didn’t want her there alone overnight.”

“Oh,” Bobbi murmured, hands dug into the little dog’s body so tightly, Pia yelped. Bobbi loosened her grip and exhaled.

She’d been staying with her gramps in the evenings ever since their father had gone to the Rest Acres Long Term Care Facility. No way was she chancing anything happening to her grandfather, and with Billie busy with her baby it made sense for Bobbi to stay with Gramps. That she’d been using it as an excuse to avoid Shane wasn’t something she was proud of, but there you have it.

“You’re staying here then? With us?” she asked softly, stomach dipping again.

Shane studied her for a few moments. He rubbed his hands along the stubble on his chin and nodded “The storm is going to get worse overnight. They’re calling for a couple more feet of snow and with that ice, I don’t want you two alone in case anything happens.”

“Shane, I can look after myself.”

He didn’t answer, though his mouth tightened. Instead he tossed his leather jacket onto the sofa and rolled up the sleeves of his blue plaid shirt.

“Can I get you a beer, son?” Gramps asked, hands going for the controls of his wheelchair.

“Nah, I’m good, Herschel.”

“Bobbi can you throw some of that there, Uncle Ben’s in the microwave?” her gramps said, as he maneuvered his chair toward the sofa.

What?

Bobbi turned to her grandfather and frowned. “Rice? You want rice?”

Herschel scratched under his ball cap. “Rice? Who said anything about rice? There’s a Criminal Minds marathon on and we should settle in before we lose power. I’d like some of that there popcorn.”

Popcorn.
Right.

She let Pia down and kissed her gramps, a small smile on her face. “Anything else you need?”

Herschel raised an eyebrow. “Some of my homemade red wine would be good.”

“No.”

“Maybe the last bit of that scotch, neat?”

“No.”

“Whiskey?”

“Water is the only thing on the menu tonight,” Bobbi said, shaking her head. “Or maybe some hot cocoa?”

“Can we add a dash of rum to that?”

“You’re impossible,” she replied. Bobbi glanced up at Shane, mouth dry at the look in his eyes. Something in their depths touched that scared place inside her and for one moment, Bobbi wished she were anywhere other than trapped here with the man that she loved.

How screwed up was that?

She cleared her throat and moved toward the hallway, breath catching when Shane leaned close to her as she passed by him.

“I’m done waiting, Bobbi. Done with you pushing me away. Done with you avoiding the one thing we can’t avoid. The one thing we need to figure out if we’re going to have half a chance. The way I figure it, this storm is our chance to get all this bullshit sorted out once and for all. There’s no place to hide anymore. I’m not letting you hide.”

She froze.

“And even if you did find somewhere to disappear,” Shane continued, his voice dangerous, his warmth scorching the skin beneath her ear. “It wouldn’t matter, because I’d find you.”

Her heart stopped.

“I’d find you,” he repeated softly.

Bobbi swallowed the biggest lump ever and squeaked out a response. It wasn’t eloquent or well thought out, but it was all she had.

“Okay.”

Okay,
she thought, moving past him and heading toward the kitchen. This is good. We’ll get everything out. We’ll fix this.

Thing will get back to the way they were.

So why did she feel so damn scared?

Shane Gallagher was pissed that things had gone so wrong between him and Bobbi. Especially after they’d fought so hard to get to a place of balance. A place of calm. A place where all the crap they’d done to each other in the past didn’t matter.

He thought that they’d made it through. Why would he think otherwise? Things had been good. Hell, things had been better than good. But then something had changed. Something had shifted.

They were good until they weren’t.

Until the ring he’d put on Bobbi’s finger had begun to weigh on her. Until that ring had her remembering and thinking about things that she should just let be. Things that were going to come between the two of them unless they could fix this.

He clenched his hands together, frowning darkly. They were going to fix this because there sure as hell wasn’t any other option. Shane Gallagher wasn’t going to lose Bobbi again.

Slowly his fingers relaxed. and he glanced across the room at the only woman who had ever managed to take his breath away. Damn, but she was beautiful. All that dark hair, ivory skin, and eyes that he could drown in. She was curled up in the loveseat, her grandfather’s wheelchair parked beside her, the television throwing shadows across her face. Shane, on the other hand, was stretched out on the sofa, pretending to watch an episode about a serial killer dressed as a clown.

Not his thing.

He didn’t like clowns and he sure as hell didn’t like the fact that his woman was five feet from him instead of nestled against his chest.

Bobbi glanced up as if she knew his eyes were on her. and he held her gaze until she looked away. Saw her bottom lip tremble. Watched her fingers worry the worn fabric of one of the throw pillows, over and over again.

Screw this, he thought.
I’m done waiting.

Pia whined in disapproval as Shane slowly unfurled from the sofa and climbed to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, eyes nailed to Bobbi who was now looking his way once more. There was heat.
Always the heat.
But there was also fear. Anxiety. Uncertainty.

Anger rolled over him in a fresh wave that left his skin hot and tight—as if stretched way too thin. He’d never been the guy to let things be or avoid a fight. So why the hell had he let this go on for so long?

“It’s getting late,” he said, his meaning real clear. “Might be a good time to go to bed.” It wasn’t a question.

The shadows that hid half of Bobbi’s face flickered as another wall of snow slammed against the window. She was scared. He got that. He also knew that he didn’t care to ever see that look in her eyes again, and he was willing to do whatever it took to chase it away.

Bobbi exhaled and nodded, sliding her palms across the tops of her thighs, before turning to her grandfather. “All right. Gramps you ready for bed?” Her voice was overly bright.

Herschel cleared his throat and reached for the remote control that sat in his lap, nodding as he did so.

“I’ve seen this episode more than once,” the old man said, gaze sliding to Shane. “Want to help an old guy out?”

“No,” Bobbi replied quickly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Herschel grimaced and patted his granddaughter’s hand. “I love you darlin’, you know that, and I appreciate everything you’re doing here which is why I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”

“But Gramps—“

“No, Bobbi.” The old man’s tone brooked no argument. “Trust me when I say that there’re things I don’t particularly care for you to see. A man shouldn’t have his granddaughter help him to bed, and he sure as hell doesn’t need her helping him to the bathroom.”

“Gramps—”

But the old man wasn’t having any of it. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather Shane help me out in this, here, particular situation.”

“I’ve got this Bobbi. I’ll be up in a few minutes,” Shane said, moving a few inches to the right so that Herschel’s wheelchair didn’t clip him on his way out. He followed Bobbi’s grandfather down the hallway and into the dining room where they’d set up a temporary bedroom.

Herschel pulled up alongside his bed, which was where the dining room table used to be and pulled off his John Deere cap. He gave his scalp a quick scratch and glanced up at Shane.

“You wouldn’t mind getting this old goat a shot of whiskey, now would ya?”

Shane arched an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure Bobbi would have a problem with that.”

“That would be why I’m asking you.”

Hard to argue with that logic. Shane chuckled. “One shot. That’s it.”

Herschel’s grin was sly. “That’s all I need.”

Shane grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard above the fridge and returned with two shot glasses. He filled them both. Handed one to Herschel—who’d managed to crawl from his chair to the bed—and with a nod they both tipped their heads back. The burn felt good going down, and Shane let it settle a bit before eyeing Herschel.

Bobbi’s grandfather was quiet for a few moments, rolling the empty shot glass through his fingers.

“You and Bobbi are having a bit of a tough go lately,” Herschel said.

Shane wasn’t surprised. The elder Barker had always been intuitive.

“Yeah,” Shane replied. He set his shot glass down on the windowsill and leaned back. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to,” Herschel said, shaking his head. “When that girl is upset, she likes to clean. And when she cleans, she mutters.” Herschel grunted. “She’s been cleaning and muttering a lot these last few days.”

Huh. Shane wondered what it was she’d been muttering, but he wasn’t about to ask.

“Christmas is always a little emotional around these parts.” Herschel tossed his shot glass onto the end of the bed and ran his fingers through the thick white waves atop his head. “Their mother, Chantal, passed away two weeks before Christmas.”

Shane cocked his head, studying the man. Shit. Of course he’d known the girls mother had passed away when they were five, but until this moment he’d never known it was so close to the holidays. Chantal Barker wasn’t a subject that Bobbi ever brought up. None of the girls did. Not that he knew of anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Shane offered. “I didn’t know.”

Herschel’s eyes softened. “She’s been gone a long time and yet, sometimes I hear her voice.” He glanced up sharply. “Maybe I’m crazy, but some mornings it’s Chantal’s voice I hear calling me out for breakfast.” He smiled sadly. “She loved when the family was together at her kitchen table. She loved to bake and she loved her girls. She was the best part of my son. When she got sick, something in Trent withered and died. He was never the same, and raising three girls on his own was hard. I helped. I helped as much as I could, but when someone as important as a mother passes, she leaves behind a hole. Sometimes that hole gets filled and sometimes it doesn’t.”

Shane was silent. He’d lost his mother to cancer when he was a teen and the pain of that loss was still inside him. But the hole was plugged. Bobbi had filled it.

Herschel settled back against the headboard, shaking his head. “My twins are so different from each other.”

Shane smiled at that. How and when triplets became twins he’d never know, but Herschel Barker had always called them that. His twins.

“Billie was always so fierce, so passionate about hockey. Her talent was undeniable and Trent kind of locked into that. Maybe he spent more time on her than he should have, but it made him forget, at least for a little while, the pain in his heart. Betty never seemed to care, she always had Matt and her friends to keep her busy, but Bobbi…”

Shane pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Herschel’s eyes were bright and watery with unshed tears.

“Did you know that Bobbi didn’t talk for an entire month after her mother died?”

Something twisted inside him, and Shane shook his head. Again, he had no words. He had nothing but the sharp stab of pain that rifled through him at the thought of a small, sad little girl, missing her mother so badly that she couldn’t speak. A little girl who’d grown into the woman he loved.

Herschel’s voice was low and Shane heard a tremble.

“She didn’t say one word. She wouldn’t speak to any of her sisters, nor to her father or myself. She spoke to no one. She buried herself somehow. I can’t explain it. At the time we were at our wits end. Dealing with the loss of Chantal and then our little Bobbi going mute. The doctors said she’d come around eventually and if she didn’t, well, they’d treat her. One day— a cold, clear day in January—she walked down those stairs and came into the kitchen and asked for a bowl of hot porridge. I can still see her pale face and those big eyes lookin’ up at me over the top of the kitchen table.”

“Did she…” Shane cleared his tight throat and took a moment. “Was she okay?”

“She seemed right as rain. She never mentioned her mother again. Not once.”

Shane frowned. “That’s not a normal reaction for a child.”

“No.” Herschel shook his head. “It’s not. But at the time, it seemed easier to let it go. Right or wrong, we were two men with three little girls in our charge, and we carried on. Trent enveloped himself in Billie’s world of hockey and I tried my best to keep the other two in line.”