Any Given Christmas (21 page)

He turned his head to look at her again. When she gave him the smile she’d given him the first time he’d made love to her, the fist surrounding his heart constricted.

If he should be excited to get back to his life, why did he feel so fucking sad?

A
s Valentine’s Days went, this one wasn’t so bad. It wouldn’t go down in the history books as the greatest ever, but it didn’t suck.

Jesse had asked her out, but Emma knew it wouldn’t be fair to lead him on, so she’d been honest and declined. She decided if she wouldn’t have a date for the evening, then she would at least give the parents in her community a chance to share the love by arranging a party for her students at the Grange. Her kids had made construction-paper hearts in class and they’d decorated the white cinder block walls. They’d had red punch and heart-shaped cookies. They’d danced and played games. And every time her mind wandered in the direction of a certain quarterback, she’d find another method of entertainment. Karaoke had become the hit of the night. Even after several chipmunk-sounding renditions of Justin Bieber’s
Baby
. By the time their parents had come to pick them up, Emma was exhausted. Happy, but definitely stick-a-fork-in-her done.

When she went into her house and locked the door, she leaned back against it with a sigh. Her kids had made the dreaded Valentine’s Day bearable. She was a busy woman with goals stacked one on top of another, but that didn’t mean she wanted to spend every Valentine’s Day alone.

“Merrrrooowww.”

Emma looked down as Oscar began his figure-eight rub around her ankles. “Hello, man of my life.” She reached down, picked up his chubby body, and snuggled him close.

Oscar turned on his motor and rubbed the top of his head beneath her chin. “Looks like you’re the only guy I can rely on these days.” She gave him a little squeeze, then transferred him to the sofa as she reached behind to unzip her sweater. Her boot heels tap-tapped across the hardwood floor as she walked into her bedroom to pull on the cartoon pajamas Dean always joked about. She washed her face, smoothed her hair back into a ponytail, and went back into the living room to watch the remainder of
Runaway Bride
.

She settled onto the sofa with her fuzzy monkey slippers propped up on the antique trunk she used as a coffee table and pulled Oscar onto her lap to stroke his soft fur. “Hard to be a runaway bride if no one will even ask you to marry them.”

Oscar licked her fingers with his rough tongue.

“Are you trying to comfort me? Or just looking for leftover cookie crumbs?”

He looked up at her with his mismatched eyes. “Merrrooowww.”

She laughed. “That’s what I thought.” Then she gathered him up and kissed the top of his head. “I know I can always count on you. I love you, old friend.”

As Julia Roberts lifted the hem of her wedding dress, crawled out the window, and jumped into a FedEx truck, Oscar’s purr vibrated against Emma’s chest. “Silly woman. Who would run from Richard Gere? Hmmm? Sure, he’s no Dean Silverthorne, but still.” She nuzzled her chin on top of the cat’s head. “Maybe it will always just be you and me, old boy. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

H
e was a damn stalker. No doubt about it.

And pathetic, too.

Dean sat outside Emma’s little bungalow in his mother’s heap of a car with the engine running, trying to decide whether to knock on her door or go home where he belonged. But the constant reminders on TV of Valentine’s Day diamonds and chocolates and lingerie had been driving him crazy. Not that he minded spending a hokey holiday alone. He’d done so dozens of times. And he’d never given a rat’s behind. Half the time he was on the road when one of the greeting card industry’s top money-makers would come along, and he’d be glad he didn’t have to worry about sending candy and flowers to anyone except his mother and sisters.

He glanced at the seat next to him and the beribboned pastry box that held six perfect red velvet cupcakes topped with a decadent cream cheese frosting. He doubted he’d get brownie points for having made them himself. But just in case there were favors of gratitude being handed out, he’d added red fondant hearts topped with sugar sprinkles. When trying to get back in a lady’s good graces, his father always said, go for over-the-top.

He needed all the help he could get.

Emma had come to mean something to him. He hadn’t wanted or expected it, but she’d crawled inside him when he hadn’t been looking. He didn’t know what, if anything, he could offer her. And if he were thinking of her needs instead of his own, he’d leave her alone. He just wasn’t that unselfish.

He glanced at the small house and from behind the closed curtain he could see the flicker of the television. Hopefully she was alone. If not, he’d find out what Jesse Hamilton was really made of.

A cool breeze swirled through the interior of the car and Tom Jones came on the radio to tell him it wasn’t unusual.

Right.

“Mmmmm. What’s in the box?”

Dean smiled. “Your favorite.”

“Oh, I love red velvet. It’s what your daddy used to make for me when he needed to apologize.”

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping that will work for me too.”

“You think cupcakes are enough?”

Dean shook his head. “I doubt it. She’s been pretty clear about what she wants. And I don’t know if I can give it to her.”

“Then why are you sitting outside her house with a box of apology?”

Dean turned in his seat. His mother’s glow was tinged with a shade of blue tonight. “Because I’m not a hundred percent sure?”

“Are you asking me?” His mother gave a low chuckle. “Or telling me?”

He leaned back against the door and slid his arm along the back of the seat, made a fist, and tapped the duck tape covering a wide slit in the artificial leather. “Do you remember when I played Pop Warner and I was just a scrawny little geek who didn’t know the difference between a Hail Mary and a Statue of Liberty play? But oh, how I loved to throw that football?”

“You were a
cute
scrawny little geek. And I remember that you loved being the quarterback because you didn’t like ending up on the bottom of the dog-pile.”

“I still don’t.” He lowered his head and chuckled. “But I remember what you always use to tell me.”

“Oh, Lord, Son. I had a million things I used to tell you. Mostly a bunch of BS just to keep you out of trouble.”

“Maybe. But you were consistent on this one. You used to say that if I wanted something bad enough, I had to be ready to work hard for it because it wouldn’t just fall in my lap.”

“And I was right.” She gave a little jerk of her head that wiggled her gray bun. “You put everything you had into an already God-given talent and look where it got you.”

“That might be the problem. I’m not used to being told I can’t have something without it becoming a huge challenge.”

“And you’re afraid that because Emma told you no, you see her as just a mission you need to overcome to prove her wrong?”

“Something like that.”

“What if she’s more?”

“How do I know?”

“You won’t unless you give it your best effort, will you?”

“I think she’s pretty done with me.”

“I…” His mother paused, looked heavenward, then back at him. “Oh… Son, I think you’ll be surprised at how receptive she’ll be. In fact, if I were you, I’d quit all this hemming and hawing and get in there in a hurry.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Right
now
, Dean,” she said and disappeared, taking her blue-tinted glow with her.

Yes, ma’am.
Dean grabbed the pastry box, stepped out into the icy air, and knocked on Emma’s door. He waited several heartbeats, raised his hand to knock again, and the door opened.

Emma stood there in her usual cartoon PJs. Her face red and blotchy. Her eyes swollen. She trembled and a huge sob wracked her chest.

Dean looked down.

In her arms she cradled her very limp and very lifeless cat.

D
ean had been hit by thousands of pounds of flesh. He’d been pile-driven into the ground. And he’d sat silent as a doctor told him his injury could be a career-ender. But he’d never felt as helpless as he did at that moment.

Emma’s face crumpled. Her beautiful mouth wobbled. “He licked my hand,” she whispered between sobs. “Closed his eyes and just… quit purring.”

“I’m so sorry, honey.” Dean stepped through the doorway, set the pastry box on the table by the door, and drew her into his arms. The weight of her dead cat pushed against his abdomen while he tucked Emma’s head beneath his chin. She sobbed into his shirt with her broken heart and he rocked her until her tears subsided to sniffs and dribbles. Then he kissed her on her forehead and took the burden of her heartache from her arms. “Let me hold him for you, honey.”

The cat was heavy and limp, and as much as Dean hated cats, this one in particular, he wished the furry beast would just open his mismatched eyes, put on his evil cat scowl, and meow, “Just kidding,” for Emma’s sake.

Dean moved to the sofa and sat down, gingerly holding her beloved pet as she sat down beside him and stroked the cat’s smooth white fur with her trembling fingers.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without him, Dean.”

“I know, honey. You loved him. He knew you loved him.”

She nodded and her barely controlled tears broke free. “He and I have been together for so long.” She sniffed. “I found him that night, you know. After the bonfire. I realized I couldn’t let my Memaw know what had happened. I didn’t want to worry her or upset her.”

“But you needed her, Em.”

Her long, delicate fingers continued to stroke the cat’s fur. “I couldn’t think straight. So I went to the school. That’s when I found Oscar. He was hiding behind a trash dumpster. When I tried to lure him out, he hissed and spat at me like some big ferocious lion. But he was just a little kitten with a big attitude.” Her lips tilted into an unsteady smile. “So I named him Oscar the Grouch and I tucked him inside my shirt and held him close to my heart all the way home. We’ve been together ever since.”

She leaned down and kissed the cat between his ears.

Something inside Dean broke. He realized that when Emma loved, she loved with her whole heart and soul. And any man she loved had better be damned deserving.

He looked down at the motionless cat in his arms. “What do you want to do with him, honey?”

“It’s late.” She glanced across the room at the white iron clock on the wall. Her chin quivered. “I guess I’ll have to wait until morning to take him into the vet to have him… cremated. I guess I can just… wrap him in a blanket until then.”

She stood on shaky legs and Dean reached out and took her by the hand. “I have a better idea. Go get his favorite blanket.”

Without hesitation she disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned she handed him an old fuzzy blue blanket with shredded edges. “I used to fold this up so he could sit on the windowsill and watch the birds fly by.”

Dean spread the blanket out on the sofa and gently laid the cat on top. “Those are all the great things you’re going to remember about him.”

“I know.” Emma dropped to her knees and curled her fingers in his fur. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. I didn’t know you were sick.”

“He was just old, honey.” Dean reached down, brought her to her feet, and wrapped her in his arms. “He knows you wouldn’t ignore him. You took great care of him.”

“When he licked my hand,” she said, her watery gaze seeking solace, “he was really saying goodbye. Wasn’t he?”

Dean’s heart gave a hard twist. “I’m sure in his own cat way he was letting you know how much he loved you.”

She nodded against his shirt and he felt the warm wet from her tears. He stroked her soft hair and wished there was something he could do to bring the cat back. “I think Oscar deserves a really nice place to rest.”

“Where?”

“If you can hold him close to your heart for one more ride, I have a place in mind I’m sure Oscar will love.”

I
t had taken a ride on a snowmobile up Deer Lick Trail to the widest pine tree Dean could find in the moonlight. At the top of a rise he’d found a soft spot beneath the umbrella of a huge pine and a bed of needles. There he dug a hole for Emma’s beloved cat. Emma had given her pet a last kiss on his head, then together they’d wrapped him tight in his favorite blanket and buried him. They’d covered his grave with a pile of rocks to protect him and so Emma could always find her way back to visit.

Together they stood beneath the pine. Dean wrapped her shivering body in his arms and he held her close. “He’ll like it here. He can watch the birds fly all over the place. Maybe even chase a few.”

She nodded against his chest. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

When she looked up at him beneath the glow of the moon, he could almost read her mind.

“Why don’t you stay with me tonight, Em? You don’t need to go home to that empty house.” He tucked a lock of her silky hair behind her ear. “You can have my bed. I’ll sleep down the hall.”

Silently she nodded. He helped her back through the snow to the snowmobile, where she climbed on the back. He’d barely gotten the engine started before he felt her lean into him and wrap her arms around him. Her body trembled all the way back to his house.

They parked the snowmobile in the garage and he led her upstairs. He removed her coat and boots, pulled back the covers, and tucked her into his bed. While he stacked some logs in the fireplace and struck the match he could feel her quiet gaze on him.

“Dean?”

He turned. Beneath the comforter she looked so small and sad his heart broke.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispered and reached out her hand.

“Then I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone, honey.” He pulled off his boots, stripped down to his boxer-briefs and T-shirt, took her hand in his, and crawled in beside her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her back against his chest. Her breath caught on a silent sob. Dean stroked her hair until finally the tension left her body and he knew she’d fallen asleep.

In his arms she felt warm and wonderful, and he hoped that somehow he’d given her a little peace of mind in taking care of her beloved pet in a dignified manner. But the way she’d turned into his arms at the grave and sobbed against his chest might haunt him forever. All he could think at that moment was how she must have cried the night she’d mistakenly given herself to a selfish boy who didn’t value her. She’d been so young and innocent. And so all alone. Yet her only thought at the time had been to protect her aging grandmother and a small helpless kitten.

Close to midnight he pressed his lips against her soft hair and didn’t find it at all unusual that the pillow was wet with tears.

Hers.

And his.

M
orning light filtered through the bedroom drapes when Emma woke surrounded by Dean’s warmth and comfort. Judging by the stiffness in her right side, she guessed they hadn’t moved all night.

Before she’d met Dean she’d never woken in a man’s bed. He was the last man she’d ever have imagined waking next to. This morning, even with the sad ache weighing heavy in her heart, she was glad to be there. Glad to know when she’d opened the door with her dead cat in her arms, Dean had cared enough not to run. Even though she’d previously pushed him away. She’d be forever grateful that he’d helped her when she’d been sad and didn’t know what to do. Dean Silverthorne had offered a safe haven from her sorrow.

Behind her he came awake slowly, his breathing less languid, his heartbeat picking up its pace. Instead of stretching and slipping away, he held her close, leaned over, and kissed her cheek.

“You awake?” His voice was rough with sleep.

She nodded.

“You okay?”

“I’m sad.”

“I know, honey.” His fingers stroked her hair. “What can I do to help?”

She sighed. He’d given her so much last night. She missed her cat, but she knew she had to move forward without him. “Do you have eggs?”

“Yes.” He smiled against her shoulder. “And I can make a mean Denver Omelet.”

She rolled to her back and looked up into his green eyes. “Do I look like total crap?” she asked, knowing her eyes were swollen and red.

Slowly he shook his head, his gaze dropped to her lips, then back up to her eyes. “You look beautiful to me.”

“My no-makeup, bed-head, slept-in-my-clothes appearance doesn’t gross you out?”

He chuckled. “It’ll take a hell of a lot more than that to make me squeamish.”

“Then I’ll take you up on that omelet.”

“Perfect.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Something moved and shifted like a swarm of butterflies in her chest.

Without warning or pageantry, Emma fell heart over heels in love.

A
week later Emma stood in front of her class and tried to convince the group of five-year-olds to settle down. At the same time she also tried to convince her heart not to put any more thought into Dean’s constant yet very unusual and distant attention.

He’d taken her home the morning after Oscar died and told her to call him if she needed him for anything. She’d been tempted to pick up the phone several times to tell him
exactly
what she needed. Each night he’d call before she’d gone to bed to check and see that she was okay.

On Wednesday night he’d asked her to dinner and convinced her to stay on the board of directors. The late-night cookie-baking session at the Sugar Shack was strictly for discussing a fundraiser idea he’s come up with. The invitation for lunch at the lodge house? Merely a means to review the renderings the designer had come up with for the guest cabins.

Dean Silverthorne, player both on and off the football field, had not given one single indication that he was interested in her in any way other than as a friend and a member of the organization he’d created.

He’d kept his hands
and
lips to himself, and he’d not uttered one suggestive word. In the past week, she’d learned that for such a solid man he had soft spots all over the place. Especially if it had anything to do with family or the children he intended to help. He’d been relentless in his pursuit of information and guidance in both the planning and design of the new organization.

The sweat effort he’d put into regaining the strength in his shoulder? Amazing. On several occasions he’d asked her over to help with some paperwork while he worked out his shoulder. On those same occasions she’d found herself using any lame excuse she could to enter his exercise room. Any excuse to see his big rugged shirtless body and defined abs in a pair of workout pants that hung low on lean hips over muscular thighs. She could spend all day watching his muscles bulge and contract as he lifted the free weights. When he’d finish his workout, he’d wrap a towel around his neck and shoot water from a plastic bottle into his mouth. If she was lucky some of that water would drip from his bottom lip and slide down the smooth contours of his chest and hard stomach. Her mouth would water and her hands would tingle as she’d look at that perfect physique and remember how it had felt against her, pressed into her, bringing her more pleasure than she’d ever thought possible.

He’d spend hours working all those muscles, relentlessly advancing his workout though he’d yet to throw a pass.

Especially not at her.

So when the door to her classroom opened and he stood there in his Kodiak parka with a big grin, she had to wonder why.

“Can I help you, Mr. Silverthorne?” she asked, keeping it light and professional.

He gave her a nod, then slid his gaze out over the classroom of kids who wondered why he hadn’t come bearing cupcakes like last time.

“Who’s up for a field trip?” he asked.

All little hands raised, except Brenden Jones. So intent on his sketch of a field of flowers was Brenden that he didn’t acknowledge anyone new had even entered the room. Dean strolled to the table where Emma’s blossoming student sat bent over his work. Dean tapped on the table and Brenden’s head came up.

“How about you, Brenden? Would you like to go on a field trip?” Brenden gave an enthusiastic nod and Dean’s grin grew even wider. “Great, then everybody grab your coats and let’s go.”

Twenty-four chairs scooted against the tile floor and made a huge racket as the kids jumped up and scrambled for the alphabet coat rack on the wall.

“Whoa,” Emma said. “You can’t just take a group of kids out of school, Dean. You have to let the office know. Permission slips have to go home for their parents to sign and—”

Dean lifted his hand. “Already taken care of. All papers have been signed and Mrs. Mayberry has already filed them. The bus is outside.”

“Why didn’t you discuss this with me ahead of time?”

“It was a surprise.”

Emma tilted her head as pure excitement danced in his eyes. “What have you got up your sleeve?”

“It’s not what I have up my sleeve.” He grabbed her coat off the hook and settled it over her shoulders with a gentle squeeze. “It’s what I have in my barn.”

A
rocky bus ride and several renditions of
John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt
later, the Deer Lick kindergarten class clamored out of the big yellow bus door and dashed toward the big red barn behind the Clear River Lodge.