Home for Christmas (16 page)

They were still married, after all. And lots of marriages foundered on rocky shores but managed to keep afloat.

But the knowledge that Libby wasn't as far out of his reach as he'd thought gave Owen a heated sense of promise that followed him into sleep and infused his dreams.

*   *   *

Nash typed out a quick text to Libby—
That went well!
—and plugged his phone in on the nightstand. It was a little stupid to text, since she was right next door, but he'd wanted to make the point that they had separate bedrooms.

His phone dinged, and he grinned down at Libby's reply.
I could kill you. Can't believe you sprang that on me.
There was a short pause, then another text popped up.
Thank you.

Nash wondered if she was thanking him for unraveling their fake marriage, or for reminding her that she couldn't come clean completely.
Thanks for going along w/ it
, he texted back.
Especially after you'd just defended me to Owen.

I couldn't let him think that about you,
was Libby's immediate response.
You've done so much for me. You're not the villain of this story. You're the hero.

Amused and touched, Nash unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it while contemplating what to say.
I wish someone would tell Ivy that,
he finally wrote back.

Happy to,
Libby texted.
But it would work better if you showed her.

Nash finished getting ready for bed and slid between the sheets of the queen-sized four-poster that had seemed so enormous when he was a kid. He didn't know what it said about him that he was thirty years old and had never managed to find anyplace that felt more like home than the house he'd lived in as a child. Even when he'd sworn never to return to Sanctuary Island, this house, this room, this bed had been the standard against which he'd judged every other place he'd laid his head.

The closest he'd come to making a new home had been in Atlanta, with Ivy—and of course, he'd screwed that up. But Libby was right. He could still fix this. He could show Ivy he was a good guy, not a bad guy. Maybe if he rescued some kids from a burning building, or cured cancer, or …

His phone dinged, alerting him to a new text. Nash propped himself up on an elbow and squinted at the lit screen.

And I don't mean you should come up with some elaborate scheme,
Libby had sent.
I mean talk to her honestly about whatever went wrong before. Then tell her you love her and let her make up her own mind.

Nash thumbed the phone to silent and lay back down, staring up at his darkened ceiling and thinking about what Libby had said. It would never work.

Would it?

 

Chapter Fourteen

“Thanks for the ride to the barn,” Owen said, giving Libby another one of those careful smiles.

She'd seen a lot of those in the week since she and Nash had let Owen in on the cracks in their so-called marriage. A lot of careful smiles, distant nods, and polite conversation while they took turns volunteering at the Holiday Village, hung stockings and mistletoe, and hiked into the woods to find the perfect Christmas tree.

She'd kept them so busy that there honestly hadn't been time to cook, other than cereal for breakfast. They'd eaten at the Firefly Café every single day. At this point, Libby could recite the menu by heart.

It was all fun—about the most fun Christmas Libby could remember having. But she missed the man she'd met on the ferry. The man who had opened up to a stranger. The man who had made that stranger feel closer to another person than she had in years. But Libby didn't know how to reach him, now that Nash's plan had somehow had the opposite effect from what they'd intended.

“No problem,” she said helplessly, clenching her fingers around the steering wheel to keep from grabbing at Owen's wrist and begging him to please talk to her for real. “Have a good time at physical therapy. If that's not weird to say. Sorry, it's probably not a lot of fun, is it? My uncle's rehab after he fell and broke his hip was pretty brutal.”

Stop babbling,
she ordered herself, but Owen actually grinned at her for the first time in days.

“You know what? This particular rehab is the most fun one I've ever been involved with. Not that it isn't hard work, because it is.” He opened the car door and levered himself out. She noticed he was already using his cane more for balance than support.

“It seems to be doing you some good,” Libby observed. “You'll be back on your feet in no time, at this rate.”

“I look forward to every session, to the progress I can see and feel.” Owen's left hand dropped to his injured hip and rubbed at the muscle as if unconsciously. “I can't wait to get rid of this stupid cane. And then I can get out of your hair, and head back overseas.”

Libby's throat tightened. “No rush,” she managed to choke out. “You're welcome here for as long as you'd like to stay.”

Forever would suit me fine,
she added silently.

Owen glanced to the side, as if he'd heard her thoughts and wanted to spare her the embarrassment of acknowledging it. “You're too good to me,” he said quietly.

Libby pressed her lips together, then pulled up a determinedly pleasant expression. “So! What time should I come back to pick you up?”

Before he could answer, Libby was distracted by a small fist knocking on her closed car window. She looked down to see Caitlin's breath fogging up the glass. The girl stepped back far enough to draw a heart in the fog, smiling proudly, then she waved.

Absurdly pleased, Libby cracked the door open so she wouldn't have to roll the window down and erase Caitlin's heart. “Hey there, Caitlin! I haven't seen you for a while, but your dad told me you've been showing him around the island.”

Every afternoon, Owen disappeared for a few hours to spend time with his daughter and sister. His mood when Andie would drop him back at the Leeds' house was usually quiet, reserved … but Libby thought it must be going fairly well, since he kept with it.

“What are you doing here?” Owen demanded, rounding the front of the car to frown down at Caitlin. “You should be in school.”

“School is out.” Caitlin didn't roll her eyes, but the “duh” was heavily implied in her tone. “It's winter break. I don't have to go back for a whole year!”

Libby grinned at Owen's bewildered face. “I think you mean, you don't have to go back until
next
year. Because by the time school starts up again, it'll be next year instead of this year.”

“That's what I said,” Caitlin claimed, her brows beetling in an expression that matched Owen's perplexed scowl perfectly. Libby swallowed her laughter into a quiet cough.

“Winter break, huh?” Owen stroked his chin. “We'll have to come up with some fun things to do, won't we?”

He was still a little stiff with the child, hesitant in a way Libby was unaccustomed to seeing him, but the warmth in his face when he looked down at Caitlin was real and sincere.

“I have a riding lesson today,” Caitlin informed them. “You should come watch.”

“I'd love to”—Owen's mouth pulled down at the corners regretfully—“but I've got physical therapy right now.”

Caitlin shrugged, short and sharp, as if she didn't want to admit she was disappointed. “Miss Libby can watch me, then. Please, Miss Libby?”

Melting a little, Libby said, “I'd love to!” at the exact same moment that Owen said, “She can't.”

Ouch. Owen didn't want her here?

Caitlin looked back and forth between the adults like a spectator at a tennis match. Shaking his head, Owen said, “We can't take up so much of Miss Libby's time. She's got other things to do than drive me around and hang out at Windy Corner.”

“But nothing I'd like to do more,” Libby declared stoutly, unable to stand it when Caitlin shrugged again, clearly hurt and trying not to show it. If Owen didn't like it, well, he could yell at her later, Libby decided as she climbed out of the car. “Come on, Caitlin, lead the way! Can I say hello to Peony before your lesson starts?”

“Yes. I have to groom her now.” Caitlin raced off, her scuffed brown leather paddock boots skidding on the gravel driveway. “Hurry up!”

“You don't have to do this,” Owen started, but Libby cut him off by starting after Caitlin.

“I want to. Your sister is probably at work. Caitlin is obviously proud of what she's learning at Windy Corner, and I'm curious to see how she's doing. Besides, it's good for kids to have someone to show off for, every now and then.”

Owen's grip on his cane went tight and white-knuckled for a moment as he stared after his daughter, and Libby debated whether to say anything. Maybe it wasn't her place, but in the end—did that matter? All that really mattered was Caitlin and Owen, and their slow, cautious progress toward a relationship.

“The person Caitlin truly wants to impress is her father,” Libby said, keeping her tone carefully light and nonjudgmental. “But I'm happy to step in as a poor substitute, since you'll be busy with your physical therapy.”

She knew what Owen was struggling with as he walked silently at her side toward the barn. He was a man of honor who felt he had a duty to finish what he and his brothers-in-arms had started, and every day he spent hovering around the fringes of civilian life, he felt like he was shirking that duty. Libby understood that, and she respected it. All she wanted was to remind Owen that he had another duty, to his family and especially to his daughter. She trusted that same sense of honor to tell Owen the right thing to do here.

They entered the barn in silence, broken only by the cheerful welcoming whicker of the horse in the first stall, who stuck his chestnut head over the low half-gate to give them a curious look. The whole place smelled like sweet oats and clean hay, woodsy with sawdust and the evergreen boughs that hung along the main corridor of stalls. Some stalls were decorated with silver tinsel and multicolored twinkle lights, and Libby noticed that each stall had a hand-lettered sign out front with the horse's name and notes about medications and special feeding instructions.

“I'm going to look for Peony's stall,” she told Owen, hiding a smile when he fell into step beside her.

“It's at the other end of the barn. I'll meet you down there in a sec—just let me ask if we can push my appointment back so I can watch Caitlin's riding lesson.”

“Great idea,” Libby said cheerfully, tucking her hands in her pockets and sauntering down the wide corridor. It was nice to be right.

It was even nicer to settle her elbows on the rough wooden crossbeam of Peony's stall door and watch as Caitlin rubbed an oval handleless brush over the mare's dappled coat with an expression of deep concentration. Red dirt and sawdust particles puffed off the horse with every swipe of the bristles.

“Looks like she really needed that brushing,” Libby commented, smiling when Caitlin lit up like a candle.

“She gets very dirty out in the pasture,” Caitlin said disapprovingly. “Sometimes she rolls around on her back like a dog. Right after we wash her, even! But she doesn't do it to be bad. She can't help it. She's a horse. And she's a good girl. Aren't you, Peony?”

Something about the way the little girl spoke to the horse, tender and nurturing, tugged at Libby's heart. “She
is
a good girl.”

“And so are you,” Owen said, stepping up behind Libby to lean one shoulder on the wall beside the stall. “I'm going to watch your lesson, too, if that's okay.”

All but vibrating with excitement, Caitlin nevertheless shrugged. Her small features were carefully blank when she said, “Sure. If you want.”

“I do.” Owen was firm, and Libby was glad he wasn't fooled by Caitlin's elaborate nonchalance.

Caitlin might not be the type of kid who bounced around and waved her arms when she was happy, but from the way she started talking a mile a minute, filling them in on every detail of her grooming routine and what she was learning with Peony, Libby could tell her spirits were high. Cheeks flushed and eyes bright, Caitlin led the pony out of the stall with one small hand conscientiously clutching the reins and keeping them from dragging on the ground so Peony wouldn't trip on them.

Following her out of the barn and down the hill behind it, Libby saw the covered ring for the first time. “This is a nice facility,” she commented, impressed with the scope of the sawdust-floored arena with its sets of bleachers so viewers could see over the white oval fence.

“From what I understand, they've put a lot into fixing the place up to accommodate the therapeutic riding program.” Owen shaded his eyes and pointed to the left. “There's an open ring over there, smaller and a little less fancy. That's where we've done most of my exercises so far.”

“Has it been as touchy-feely as you were worried about?”

“Actually, no.” Owen looked thoughtfully down at the cane he was barely leaning on anymore. “We haven't talked about feelings at all, except physical feelings. The exercises work my muscles for real—I'm sore after every session, but I know I'm getting stronger.”

A complex rush of emotion squeezed Libby's heart, but “That's wonderful” was all she allowed herself to say.

So you'll be leaving us soon,
was all she could think.

At least we still have Christmas,
she told herself.
Focus on that. It's the only future you have with this man, who deserves so much more than a woman who's been lying to him since before they even met.

*   *   *

The sound of Caitlin's paddock boots was muffled on the mixture of sand and loam that carpeted the arena. Owen breathed in the now familiar smells of dust and horse, overlaid with Libby's sweet vanilla scent and the new addition of evergreen boughs bundled into a giant wreath hanging over the arena doors.