A Merry Little Christmas (13 page)

No bunny.

A vision of the limp-eared pink bunny flashed into her mind. Last seen on Trusty Rusty’s backseat. And just how had she forgotten Jessie’s toy? Absolute proof that she was losing it. That she was beyond hope of holding it together.

“Let me guess. The car.” Colt took an anxious step toward the door.

Not that she blamed him. She was surprised he’d stayed this long. For a bachelor who lived a much faster, more glamorous urban life far from here, he’d done pretty good. Jessie’s father had left so fast that he’d been a blur through the back door.

Oops, she’d moved from hopeless to bitter. How had that happened? She definitely needed chocolate. The sooner, the better. “Thanks for the ride, Colt. I—”

“I’ll be back.” Chocolate-rich, that voice of his.

That just proved she was out on that metaphorical ledge again. Deep down, she so wished for someone strong to lean on—no, that was the wrong word—to lean
against.
A strong, good man who would shelter her while she closed her eyes and leaned against his chest and gathered enough strength from his love to go on.

Fairy-tale wishes, she figured, because the man she’d needed had vanished like smoke.

Now, it wasn’t Todd she wanted. It wasn’t any man, not even Colt. She closed the door with a final sound that was like a vault’s lock clicking shut on her heart.

She was utterly alone. And all out of dreams, too.

Call him temporarily insane. Call it a multiple personality. Call him ashamed. That had to be the reason he had ventured back out into the blizzard. The radio had announced the weather and road advisory—only emergency driving allowed. He’d never seen a blizzard before, much less driven in one.

The truth was, that little girl had gotten to him. And, even more, Amanda. Her sorrow clung to him like the shadows beneath the cedars lining the country road. Not even the gusts battering the side of the truck seemed strong enough to dislodge that sorrow.

Her sweet vanilla fragrance of hand lotion and shampoo faintly circulated with the heater’s current in the cab. Maybe that’s why she was hard to forget, he reasoned, avoiding thinking of any other possibilities.

He pulled up to the cozy log home mantled in snow and nestled beneath the snow-draped limbs of cedars and fir. Why did his gaze search for her in the window? It was impossible to see anything, except for the blurry haze of light through the torrential snow. Not until he was much closer, standing in the relative shelter of the narrow front porch, could he see her, cuddled on the couch with a child tucked on either side, reading aloud out of a book held open on her lap.

Lamplight haloed them, ringing them with pure golden light, but it was the lovely woman who captivated him. Who made his soul still. He liked how she looked, so genuine and bright.

When she glanced up from her book and their gazes locked, unexplained tenderness came out of nowhere and lit him up from the inside out.

If he were smart, he’d listen to his gut instincts. Get in, leave the stuff and keep going. No involvement necessary. He’d learned the hard way that getting too close to most people only brought you trouble. And nine times out of ten that led straight to grief.

He apparently wasn’t that smart, because he couldn’t seem to make his feet move or stop the thrum of anticipation as Amanda set aside the book, slipped off the couch and strolled his way.

There was no pretense in her simple appearance, hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She was a slim beauty in wash-worn Levi’s, a dark green cable-knit sweater over a turtleneck. And fuzzy yellow slippers on her feet. The whimsical green and red reindeer on the white background of the turtleneck matched her tiny post earrings. A silver charm bracelet full and tinkling swung from her wrist as she strode toward him. It was curious how he noted so many details, since he was never going to see her again, right?

The door swung open. “What are you doing out here, looking like Bigfoot stalking us?”

“Did I startle you?”

“Only a little bit. I’m not really used to strange, muscle-bound men staring in the window at me.”

“Hey, I’m not
that
strange.”

No, Amanda thought, there was nothing odd about this one. He had honest eyes and an easy, comfortable smile. She had to like him. Who wouldn’t? “Is that Brittany Bunny?”

“Affirmative. The rescue mission was successful.”

Cold air whirled around her but she hardly noticed it. No, she was too fascinated by this man who towered over her, seeming like everything good in the world. Who’d gone after Jessie’s beloved bunny in a worsening storm.

Kindness. The strength of his kindness touched her deeply.

“And when I got in my truck, guess what I found?”

Was she still staring at him? Yes, apparently she was temporarily incapable of speech, too. Embarrassment scorched her face, despite the below zero windchill.
Now
what did she say to the man? He had to think she was a few bulbs short of a full pack. He was holding out her handbag by one strap as if he were afraid her mental condition was contagious.

Not that she blamed him. It had been a long difficult day. And it wasn’t over yet. “I apparently left behind something more important than my purse. Somewhere between here and my car, I lost my mind. Let me take that from you and you’ll be free of us. Thank God, you’re thinking, huh?”

“Not even close.”

She took the leather bag by its dangling strap and Brittany Bunny by one lopping ear, and their fingers brushed. She startled at the contact. The strength of it rocked through the insulated layer of his glove. Peace moved into her heart. Even into the hopeless places.

Yep, she was definitely a few bulbs short. And with the door partly open, she was seriously contributing to global warming. The rush of heat slipping by her ankles was in equal proportion to the cold air blowing in. The baseboard heaters clicked on. “You want to come in and warm up?”

“Your back door’s unlocked, like everything else around here, right?”

“Yes, but—”

Colt tore himself away, choosing the relative safety of the blizzard. Jumbled up inside, he felt as if the painful tundra that was his heart had taken another mortal crack. Every gut instinct told him to get in his truck and keep going. He was done. Mission accomplished. Time to get back on the road.

But did he listen? No.

Wind-driven snow scoured against his back as he looked over his shoulder. Amanda was gone from the window, gone from his sight. He couldn’t say why, but the brightness of her touch remained, calming and terrifying all at once.

He didn’t know what he wanted, only that he couldn’t walk away.

Yet.

O
kay, so why hadn’t he left? Amanda squinted through the glass window in the back door. The six-foot-plus shadow standing on the back porch could only be one man bearing a serious armload of wood, twice what she could usually carry.

She opened the door and was hit by a lightbulb moment. With his forty-thousand-dollar truck and his million-dollar house on the north shore, upscale Mr. Colt had a motive. Charity. Pity. Maybe he was a nice guy, but he was crossing the line.

Either that, or the bitterness was taking on a life of its own.

That’s not good, Amanda. Maybe when hope and faith left you, that’s what came to fill the void.

“You can close the door now,” Colt commented from halfway into the living room.

Great. No wonder he was feeling charitable toward her. She was acting like a space cadet. Pull it together, Amanda, she thought as she closed the door and slipped through the kitchen to turn on the oven. The trouble was that she wasn’t used to having a great-looking, rich, nice, all-around good guy just lend a hand for no good reason.

The phone rang, the cheerful trill rising above the thump as Colt dumped his armload into the bin. The phone rang a second time. A third.

She melted onto the nearby bench, shoved aside the stuff piled there and studied the cordless receiver. She wasn’t ready to handle who might be on the other end—not that that was rational. It could be the doctor. Or the doctor’s nurse. Or the insurance company with the bad news that they wouldn’t cover some of the medical expenses. Her head sank forward into her hands.

Boots tromped to a halt in front of her. She could see those polished, brand-new boots between her fingers.

“Want me to get that for you?”

Her hands began to shake. Or maybe it was her shoulders. She didn’t know which. Only that she felt sick with fear down to her soul.
Please, Lord, don’t let that be bad news. I’m over my limit for one day.

Colt grabbed the cordless and squinted at the screen. “It’s Edwin Larkin.”

“My uncle. I’ve had a really hard day, that’s all,” she explained, taking the phone from him. He disappeared back into the storm without comment.

At least she didn’t have to worry about him falling desperately in love with her, she thought. One huge worry off her shoulders—not.

“I got your message.” It was Ed’s wife, Vi, her caring concern a welcome relief. “Shouldn’t she be in the hospital right now? What are the doctors thinking?”

“She was borderline, you know that, and we’re hoping she still is. They’re waiting on a few test results to see if she needs to be hospitalized.” Amanda glanced at the kids, entranced by a children’s TV show on the PBS station, and lowered her voice. “I know it’s a long shot, but has Uncle Ed heard anything from his friend?”

“Only that Todd’s trail in New Mexico has gone cold. He would have called if he’d found something new.”

In other words, still a dead end. Amanda leaned her forehead against the cool glass, and tried to summon the wintry temperature into her heart. If she were frozen enough inside, maybe she wouldn’t feel the despair filling her up.

“You can’t be without a car, dear. Ed’s still at the store, but we’ve agreed to leave you my station wagon.”

“No, you do too much already.”

“For you and those precious kids, nothing’s too much. You know that. And don’t think I won’t give Dustin at the garage a call. He just serviced that car. He knows little Jessie can’t be stranded, as ill as she is.”

“He flushed the radiator. Sometimes, even under the best of circumstances, a leak can develop. I keep a close eye on Trusty Rusty’s fluid levels.”

“I hate to think of you three walking home in this storm. Do you need me to come over? You’ll want to warm her up good, with her immune system so compromised.”

“She’s fine. Trust me.” She felt the vibration of approaching footsteps through the glass, opened her eyes and saw the hulking shape of Colt in front of the door. She turned the knob.

“I’m ready to leave. Do you need me to bring anything? Do you have enough groceries to last through the storm?”

“I’ve got it covered, Aunt Vi.”

“See you in two shakes.”

Amanda hung up to find Colt on his knees, feeding wood into the fire. Jeremy was at his side, talking animatedly. Probably about Wonder Boy. Colt had made that comment about knowing him, and Jeremy wasn’t likely to forget it.

That had to be a good sign the call wasn’t bad news, right? Amanda took a shaky breath. It was nearly four-thirty. The doctor had probably gone for the day since it was one of the last few Fridays before Christmas. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to face the lab results for her little girl until Monday.

A whole weekend of reprieve. Maybe avoidance wasn’t the greatest way to cope, but the doc had been pessimistic. He’d predicted bad news. It was hard to hold on to hope. And she feared it would be bad news—just how bad was the question. The weekend. She would make the most of those days for her kids’ sake.

The oven beeped to announce it was preheated. Perfect. Cooking was always a good way to forget her troubles for a bit. She flipped on the faucet and scrubbed her hands.

“Anything else I can do?” The running water had drowned out the sound of Colt’s steps.

“Oh, I don’t know. Leap a building in a single bound?” She ripped a paper towel from the roll and watched him smile.

Nice smile. Wait, she’d already noticed that.

He leaned against the counter, a life-size superhero in civilian clothes shrinking the limited space in her small kitchen. One brow arched as he studied her. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Sure. As long as that phone doesn’t ring with horrible news, I’m good.”

“I could unplug it.”

“That would only keep it from ringing.”

“There’s nothing I can do about the news being good or horrible, either way. Would if I could.”

Okay, her opinion of him just went up even more. She dug a half-dozen potatoes from the sack beneath the sink. “I’ve got supper simmering in the Crock-Pot. There’s plenty if you’d like to stay—”

“No.”

“That was a pretty quick no. I only meant as a thank-you. As a neighborly thing. For all you did today. C’mon. You’ve got to eat.”

“Ah—I’ve got things to do at home.”

“I understand.” She scrubbed the potatoes, head bowed, golden tangles of her hair falling forward to hide her face and shimmer in the overhead light.

Colt doubted she had any clue about what was troubling him and why he had to go. Any more cracks to his heart, and it was going to start splintering away. “I’m going to ask again. Are you okay? How about the real truth?”

“That’s personal and not pretty.”

“Try me.”

She glanced over her shoulder to check on her daughter, pulled out a cutting board and loaded the glistening potatoes on it. “You might not have guessed it, but I’m not at my best today.”

“I had a hunch.” Unexpected tenderness lit him up from the inside out.

“I think I’ve blown my secret identity. I try to be a very calm mother who can handle everything. But the truth is that I’m not managing that well. I’m a borderline disaster. Your turn.”

One brow quirked. “My turn? Oh no, I don’t have any secrets. I’m an open book.”

“You, sir, are a mystery. I know nothing about you.”

“You know everything that matters.” He rocked back on his heels. “I’d better go. If it snows any more I’ll have to whistle for my reindeer.”

Jeremy popped over the other side of the counter, jumping up like a jack-in-the-box. “Know what, Colt? You could stay. Then you could whistle for the reindeer. And they’d fly through the sky and land on our roof.”

Colt sighed. He’d only been kidding, but see what he’d inadvertently started?

Amanda shook her head. “Jeremy, stop, please. There will be no reindeer on our roof.”

“Aw, Mom.”

“Colt, I’d be happy to pack you a dinner to go. That way you get a home-cooked meal and you won’t have Jeremy trying to uncover your secret identity.”

“I’ll pass on the meal, as good as it smells.” He spotted a notepad by the phone on the counter. He snatched up the pen resting beside it and scribbled down his cell number. “I’m five driveways down the road, less than half a mile. Call if you need something for your little girl.”

“Colt, you don’t have to run off.”

“Not running. Just want to let you get to your dinner fixing.” Panic pounded like laser fire behind his sternum. The scent of a roast and vegetables cooking in a Crock-Pot, the toys in the corner of the living room floor and the woodstove radiating heat, the boy staring up at him with unblinking eyes and the little girl’s pale face all knotted him up inside.

A home and a family. Not his comfort zone.

The last thing he saw as he stepped out the door was Amanda, with the dark circles harsh beneath her beautiful eyes and looking like hope lost, waving goodbye.

The emotion that flared to life within him wasn’t like anything he’d known before. Like spring’s warmth, and as soothing as prayer.

Vicious needles of ice drilled him as he struggled down the walkway bordered by dormant shrubs hunched and draped with snow. The wide lemony squares of windows faded with each step he took. By the time he’d climbed into his truck, the lights had vanished. He was alone in the dark.

He couldn’t say if it was longing or relief that haunted him. He’d gotten so used to pushing people away, firmly keeping them at a distance, he wasn’t sure if he knew how to trust at all anymore.

When the defrosters had melted holes through the fog and ice on the windshield, he took off, driving as fast as he could, putting distance between him and the little log house and the emotions Amanda and her kids had stirred up. But it was slow going, trying to see through the porthole-sized spot in the windshield like a sailor lost at sea.

By the time he’d reached the snow-covered moose mailbox at the end of the long driveway, he felt safe. He turned onto the main road, inching along, lost in the dark and snow.

“I can see plain as day why you didn’t give me a call on that cell phone of yours.” There was mischief in Vi’s grandmotherly smile as she wiped the newly cleared supper table. The dishwasher rumbled and swished as she swiped down the counters, too. “You can’t trust rumors, you know, but I heard the young man who bought the O’Ryan place was single. Handsome. He asked Mabel’s granddaughter, the real estate agent handling the sale, about the churches in the area.”

Amanda didn’t comment as she fetched Brittany Bunny from the couch. “I didn’t call you because I’d broken down in the dead zone at the bottom of Rose Hill. I was going to call you when I got reception, but by the time we walked the ten feet, the new neighbor drove up.”

“Providential, don’t you think?”

“Not that I’d admit it to you.” Amanda couldn’t help teasing as she crossed to the smallest of the three small bedrooms, thankful for the short hallway that cut off her vision of Vi. That meant the subject of their new neighbor was closed, right? Even if he was a really nice man.

Of course, a lot of men were nice and funny and wonderful and seemingly strong and good-hearted—until you really needed them.

“Here’s your bunny.” She handed Jessie her beloved toy and smoothed the plump goose-down comforter.

The little girl wrapped her arms around her rabbit, gave it a hug and sighed. Watery tears stayed in her eyes. Tears of misery.

“My poor baby, not feeling well.” She brushed those thin, straggling curls. “Would a story help?”

“The donkey one.” She blinked hard against the tears.

Such a good girl. Amanda treasured the sweetness as she chose the picture book with the donkey and the manger and snuggled under the covers with her little girl. She cherished this routine of theirs, cuddling side by side over a storybook, even if Jessie felt too weak to study the colorful pictures carefully. She lay quietly. Gone were the days of bouncing forward to study the illustrations, chatting happily about them. Amanda’s heart wrenched so tight, she didn’t know how it continued beating.

Please, Lord, stop time from turning. Don’t let this end.
Amanda knew it was an impossible prayer, but it was what rose up from her soul. She wanted to stay right here, in this precious minute. Where she still had her baby girl.

Just savor this moment, she told herself as she kept reading. Memorize the beloved feeling of holding her child in her arms, the silk of her hair and the sweetness of the way she gave soft, watery sighs at the good parts of the story.

Even as she fought it, the story came to an end. Jessie’s heavy eyelids fell and she relaxed into the pillows, lost in sleep. Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes she could not hold on to and freeze-frame so that time stood still.

And in standing still…keep her little girl just like this forever.

An impossible prayer, after all.

Amanda moved with care, tucked the covers snugly around her child, returned the book to its shelf and stood at the foot of the bed, watching Jessie sleep. Holding back all the grief she knew had to come.