Home for Christmas (11 page)

“You're supposed to try and recreate your own home, in gingerbread form.” Libby hurried to the head of the long table covered with white butcher's paper. On top of the paper sat bowl after bowl of brightly colored gumdrops and jellybeans, and stacks of pastel wafers and chocolate nonpareils interspersed with the jewel tones of fruity hard candies. There were bowls of red, white, and green frosting set beside slabs of dark, spicy-smelling gingerbread.

“I've got the pieces all patterned out,” Libby was saying as she lifted her slender arms to tie back her tumble of blonde hair. “And I was hoping I could convince you to help me build the replica of the Leeds house. I promise I'll put all our names on the contest entry!”

“I don't understand,” Andie said, shaking her head slowly at the overwhelming bounty laid out before them. “Did you already have plans to enter the contest on your own?”

Sam looked up from the platter of black licorice whips he'd been inspecting with interest. “She must have. How else could she have gotten all of this done?!”

Libby's gaze slid sideways before she clapped her hands together. “We should get started! Oh, good job, Caitlin. I was hoping you'd sample the peanut brittle for me. You know, the only rule of the contest is that everything on and around the house has to be yummy.”

Caitlin hunched her shoulders guiltily while Owen gave Libby a sharp look. She was as beautiful as ever with her rosy cheeks and sparkling hazel eyes, but now that he looked, Owen saw purple smudges beneath those pretty eyes, and her skin was looking more pale than fair.

As Andie bent her head close to Caitlin's and Sam started constructing the main gingerbread structure, Owen limped to Libby's side and murmured, “You came up with this plan on the spot, talking to Caitlin after the pageant. You must have been working all night to get this stuff together.”

She shrugged a little, avoiding his eyes. “It was nothing. I don't sleep much, anyway. With my deadlines, I'm used to being awake at all hours.”

Something in Owen's chest swelled painfully, cracking his ribs open. He wanted to put his arms around her and draw her head down to his shoulder to let her sleep … and at the same time, he wanted to be the thing keeping Libby awake at all hours with kisses and touches. Throttling back his own needs, he took in her uncomfortable stance and the nervous way she was fumbling the silver tip onto a pastry bag.

She didn't want him to make a fuss. Owen got that, and he respected it. “Well, we appreciate this very much,” he said, then paused. “I appreciate it. Thank you.” And Libby finally met his gaze with a smile.

“If I have to stop apologizing to you, then you have to stop thanking me. I want to help. I'll do anything I can to help you.”

The moment caught and held, as fragile as a blown-glass Christmas tree ornament. Libby's lashes fluttered as she blinked. “And Caitlin, too, of course. I know what it's like to struggle to make a new home for myself, far from everything I've loved and lost.”

Owen frowned. He didn't like to think of Libby going through loss and hurt. “When was this?”

“Oh, a long time ago.” She laughed a little, but sadness hid in the corners of her mouth. “Both of my parents were killed in a car crash when I was … well, about Caitlin's age, actually. I was lucky, like her. I had family willing to take me in and love me like I was their own. But even though I know it could have been so much worse—I also know that it was a struggle. I got through it, and so will Caitlin.”

Owen's breath caught in his lungs. He stared down at his daughter's squirming impatience as she waited for the icing between the gingerbread pieces to dry enough to start sticking candies to the walls.

“My mom died when I was a kid, too,” he muttered. “And the only way I could deal with the person my dad turned into afterward was to run away. I left that house the minute I was of age and joined the army, and I've never looked back. But I don't want that for Caitlin. I want her to have the things I never had. Security. I want her to have fun just being a kid. I want her to have a home.”

“Love?” Libby asked softly.

For some dumb reason Owen's throat had closed up, so he nodded.

“That's easy, then.” Libby leaned into him, just enough to bump their shoulders together, and Owen felt the contact in every part of his body. “All you have to do is love her.”

It was more complicated than that, and Owen knew it. The questions of his future in the armed forces, who would take care of Caitlin and where, were all still very much unanswered. And there was also the question of Owen's capacity for love—he'd lived without it for so long, he worried that maybe he'd lost the hang of it.

But as he turned his head far enough to brush Libby's temple with his lips, Owen could only smile. “You make me want to believe anything is possible.”

 

Chapter Ten

Libby kept Owen's words cuddled close to her heart, locking them away to be taken out later and treasured. All through the afternoon of constructing their gingerbread creation, Libby was achingly aware of Owen's closeness. Her heart throbbed when their fingers brushed while reaching for the same bowl of frosting, when his leg nudged hers under the table as he turned to consult with Caitlin on the best candy to line the sidewalk they'd made out of sticks of chewing gum.

Those stolen moments, along with Caitlin's wide smile and frequent laughter, made the sleepless night so worth it. Libby was glad Owen hadn't pressed her too much about what it had taken her to pull this impromptu gingerbread treat together. The patterns for the pieces based on her grandfather's house were in the attic, but it had taken her four screw-ups to get the actual gingerbread to come out right.

Nash had been in a funk all evening and had dragged himself upstairs to bed the minute they got home, and Grandfather's version of helping had been to offer to have his driver buy pre-made gingerbread in the morning.

Libby was determined to do it herself, though, so she was on her own in the kitchen all night. She didn't mind, really—everything she'd told Owen about her nocturnal habits was the truth.

But the lack of sleep was making it harder to remember all the reasons she wasn't supposed to stare at Owen's mouth or close her fingers around his wrist to feel his strong, steady pulse.

She managed to hold herself back until the gingerbread house was done. It was slightly lopsided and in danger of caving in under the weight of all the jelly fruit slices Caitlin had decided would make good roof tiles, but Libby was unreasonably proud of it.

Caitlin beamed under the appreciative noises and congratulations of all the adults, almost seeming to unfurl like a flower facing the sun. “Do you think Miss Jo wants to do a gingerbread barn? I could make it for her. I'm good at making gingerbread barns, I think.”

“I'm sure you would be,” Andie told her, helping Caitlin stuff her skinny arms into her coat.

While Sam carefully carried the heavy tray holding their gingerbread house over to the sideboard to harden, Libby started folding up the butcher paper with the mess of broken candies, crumbled pretzel sticks, and smeared frosting still inside. “What's on the agenda for the rest of the day?” she asked Owen, who was getting to his feet with a slight grimace of pain creasing his handsome features.

“A nap for you, I hope,” he said, arching his brows commandingly.

Libby fought down a shiver of pleasure and emphatically did not reply that she'd be happy to nap as long as Owen napped with her. She thought she probably deserved a medal for that.

“Sounds nice,” she agreed vaguely, her mind already jumping ahead to the rest of her plans for decorating the house and getting ready for Christmas. “What about you?”

Before Owen could answer, they were both jolted out of their conversation by Andie's sharp, distressed voice. “Caitlin, what is this?”

In the act of pulling the mittens out of Caitlin's coat pockets, Andie had unearthed a hoard of candies. Some were wrapped, but most weren't, and they stuck together in a sad multicolored mass in the palm of Andie's hand.

“I wasn't stealing,” Caitlin cried, panic flaring in her eyes. “I didn't mean to!”

Libby's stomach cramped in sympathy with the little girl's obvious distress. “It's okay,” she said quickly. “Caitlin is welcome to as much of the candy as she wants.”

But Andie was shaking her head, her concerned gaze never leaving her niece.

“You took that candy without asking,” Andie pointed out, firm but gentle. “I know you know better. What's going on?”

“It was just in case,” Caitlin said, almost pleading. “For later.”

Andie closed her eyes, a look of terrible comprehension settling over her. “Oh sweetie. I thought we were past this.”

Caitlin's tiny bow of a mouth trembled, then opened on a high, thin wail that shattered Libby's heart like glass. Beside her, Owen sprang into motion, heading toward his daughter as fast as his injured leg would take him. But Caitlin only sobbed harder and turned away, lifting her arms to Sam in a mute appeal that the big man answered by swinging her up and carrying her swiftly out of the room.

Owen started after them, but his sister put out a hand to stop him. “Let Sam get her calmed down,” Andie said, her mouth drawn thin and tight with worry. “He's got a way with the wild ones—he'll get her settled.”

Owen's reluctance was visible in every tense line of his rangy, muscular body, but he allowed his sister to hold him back so he could spear her with a glare. “What the hell is going on? What do you mean, you thought she was past this? Has Caitlin been in trouble for stealing?”

“Not exactly.” Andie ran a shaking hand through her red-gold hair, obviously distraught, and Libby shifted her weight uncomfortably. She didn't want to intrude into what was clearly a painful family matter. She edged toward the door, about to offer to leave them alone to talk, but Andie startled her into pausing.

“I don't know all the details,” Andie said baldly. “But we're pretty sure Caitlin was neglected by her mother, to the point where Child Protective Services was involved.”

Owen's face … he looked as if his world had just been blown to pieces. His cane stuttered against the floor as his balance wavered, and Libby rushed to grab his elbow and steady him. He lifted his chin and firmed his stance, but instead of jerking away from her help the way he had before, Owen reached up with his free hand and covered her gripping fingers.

“Tell me what you know,” he ordered, every inch the commanding officer, and Andie complied.

“Caitlin hasn't told me much—she doesn't like to talk about her mother or what it was like for her before she came to live here. But from the bits and pieces she's dropped over time, I believe that her mother was extremely self-involved and had a tendency to conveniently forget she had a child, especially when there was a boyfriend in the picture.”

A grimace crossed Owen's face. “That sounds like Jenna.”

“Specifically, I know there were frequent occasions when Caitlin climbed up on the counter to get cereal to feed herself, because there was nothing else in the house and no one to cook for her. She was hungry a lot of the time,” Andie said, her voice low with suppressed emotion. “And I'm pretty sure she got into the habit of squirreling away food when it was offered, so she'd have something to eat the next time her mom forgot to feed her.”

The muscles behind Owen's locked jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. Libby only realized she was still holding his hand when his fingers tightened on hers, squeezing as if he were holding on for dear life.

“Okay.” Owen's voice came out clipped and emotionless, no trace of the anger Libby read in the tense lines of his body next to hers. “There's nothing I can do to change the past, and, luckily for her, Jenna is permanently out of my reach. So we focus on Caitlin. You said she'd given up her habit of hiding food since she came here. What does it mean that she's picking it up again now?”

Andie looked away, her brows furrowed. “I can't say for sure. It could be any number of—”

“Andie,” Owen interrupted softly but firmly. “Your best guess, as the adult who knows her better than anyone else.”

Pulling her shoulders back, Andie met her brother's gaze and didn't sugarcoat it. “I would guess that she's feeling a decrease in the stability and security of her world, and she's reacting the only way she knows how.”

“Because of me,” Owen said. “She feels less safe with me around. She's afraid of me.”

Libby couldn't help the noise she made in the back of her throat, an instinctive denial that had both Andie and Owen glancing her way. She wished she could duck under the table and hide, but Owen was raising his brows in that expectant way, and Libby found herself saying, “She's not afraid of you. I mean, I know I just met her, but I know that's not it.”

“I agree,” Andie said, surprisingly. “She lived in an unstable and chaotic environment for the first eight years of her life. It's going to take us more than eight months to counteract that—and in the meantime, variations to her routine are going to affect her in big ways.”

“Variations to her routine, like having her absentee father sleeping on the couch in the middle of her home,” Owen pointed out, his eyes flat and resigned. “She's had it so rough already, and here I come along, making things worse for her. That's the last thing I wanted to do.”

“Maybe, but Caitlin has to learn how to deal with change,” Andie argued. “Especially when it's a good change. She needs her father in her life, Owen.”

“There has to be a better way for me to figure out where I fit in my daughter's life. Something that doesn't involve unbalancing and unsettling her so much that she backslides into unhealthy coping mechanisms.” He sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I should leave Sanctuary Island for a while. Give her some space.”