Authors: Janet Dailey
“Huh?” Hunter glanced up, then shrugged. “Whatever.”
Muriel laid her knitting on the arm of the rocker and pushed herself to her feet. “Well, if you youngsters will excuse me, it’s been a long day, and there’s only so much I can get done in the dark. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Will you be all right in the dark? I can walk you to your room,” Shane offered.
“Thanks, Cowboy, but I’ve spent seventy-five years in this house and I know my way around. When I get old enough to need your help, I’ll let you know.” Carrying one of the candles, she tottered down the hallway toward her bedroom.
“Well, there’s nothing to do down here except be bored,” Hunter said. “I might as well go, too.”
“Go on, then. Tomorrow will be better. You’ll see.”
“That’s what you always say. And it’s never true, so you might as well stop lying about it.” Hunter scuffed his way toward the stairs, dragging his feet.
Torn, Kylie gazed after him. She’d just sent both her children to bed angry tonight. After all they’d been through, how could she blame them for feeling the way they did?
She stood. “I hope you won’t mind,” she apologized to Shane. “I think I’d better go upstairs and do some peacemaking.”
“Go ahead. If you decide to come back down, you’ll find me right here by the fire.”
Kylie picked up the Mason jar that held the candle and trudged up the stairs. Moving to Texas had been their only option after losing the house; and Muriel had been wonderfully welcoming. But how could she justify staying here when her children were so miserable?
What would she do if things didn’t get better for them?
On the landing, the sound of blowing wind and snow pelting the roof was even louder. The candle flame cast dancing shadows on the wall as she moved down the hall. Hunter wouldn’t be afraid, or at least he wouldn’t show it. But Amy might be terrified.
The door to Amy’s room stood open. Kylie stepped inside. Snowflakes spattered the panes of the single window. From the mound of blankets on the bed came the sound of muffled sobs.
“Amy?” She set the candle on the nightstand, sank onto the edge of the mattress and slowly pulled back the covers. Amy’s face was buried in the pillow. “Are you okay, honey?”
Amy turned over, her face was wet, her eyes swollen. “Why do so many bad things have to happen to us? I didn’t ask for Daddy to die. And I didn’t ask to leave our house and come to this place. It’s awful here. Aunt Muriel is nice, but Hunter and I don’t have any friends or anyplace to go. We don’t even have a Christmas tree or any presents to put under it.” She sat up in bed, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her pajama top. “When I try to be honest and tell you how I feel, all you do is get mad at me.”
Kylie hugged the small, trembling body. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she murmured. “And I wasn’t mad because you were being honest. I was upset at you for hurting Aunt Muriel’s feelings, after she’s been so good to us.”
“I know that now. I’m sorry.” Amy started to cry again.
Kylie smoothed her daughter’s damp, tangled hair. “I’d do anything to give you all the things you want, Amy. But for now, all we can do is hang on, make the best of things, and wait for better times. Things will get better, I promise. Someday you’ll be a grown woman. You’ll tell your children about this Christmas and the things you learned from it.”
Amy sighed. “Maybe. But right now. I feel so bad my stomach hurts.”
“You’re not sick, are you?”
“No. Just sad.”
“Well, go to sleep now.” Kylie kissed her, eased her back onto the pillow and tucked the covers around her. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
“You always say that. . .” Amy’s voice trailed off as she closed her eyes. Taking the candle, Kylie tiptoed into the hall and down to Hunter’s room. She found her son fast asleep. Hunter’s way of coping was to act as if he didn’t care. But she knew he was hurting, too.
As the candle burned lower, she made her way back down the stairs to the living room. She’d done her best to keep her children close after their father’s death, and to give them a good life. But tonight she felt like a failure. Somehow she had to find a way to lighten their crushed spirits.
Exhausted, Kylie sank onto the sofa. Even keeping her eyes open took more strength than she had left. Outside, the storm was unrelenting, battering the house as if to tear it apart.
“Are you all right?” Shane’s voice startled her. After the stress of dealing with her children, she’d almost forgotten he was there, sitting at the other end of the sofa with his arm along the back.
“I will be as soon as I take a few breaths. I love my children, but trying to make them happy can be like banging my head against a wall.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard.”
“Listen to you, Shane Taggart.” She opened her eyes and turned on the couch to face him. “As I remember, you were an only child growing up, and you told me today that you never had children of your own. So what makes you a child-raising expert?”
The firelight glowed bronze on the planes of his sculpted face. “I may not be an expert, Kylie, but I’ve got eyes and ears. Your kids have been through a rough time, losing their dad and their home. They have every reason to be unhappy. Maybe you should just step back and let them work through it.”
“Fat lot you know.” Leaning forward, Kylie watched the crimson glow of the fire through the iron insert’s mica panes.
“I may not know much,” he said, “but I know what I see—a beautiful woman beating herself up because she can’t protect her children from the bad things that happen in life—a woman taking care of everybody but herself.”
“So now you’re Sigmund Freud—or is it Dr. Phil? You don’t know me, Shane. You don’t know anything about me.” Kylie meant to sound defiant, but she could feel herself crumbling inside. The man was getting to her.
“Not true. I’ve known you since you were five years old. For little Kylie Summerfield, anything short of an A-plus was a failure. Something tells me you haven’t changed that much.”
“Well, I wouldn’t give myself an A-plus for today. I burned a batch of cookies, couldn’t find a Christmas tree, wrecked your precious bike, and came close to having meltdowns with both my children.”
He shook his head. “I’m surprised you’re not blaming yourself for the storm and the power outage. Take it easy on yourself, Kylie. You can’t hit a home run every time.”
“But don’t you see? I can’t give up. I have to keep trying. And now it’s almost . . . Christmas.” Her voice broke. She was trembling, on the verge of tears.
“Come here, lady.” His arm, which had rested along the back of the couch, reached down to circle her shoulder and pull her toward him. “You need a buddy hug. Don’t worry, I’m not out to take advantage of you. Just relax. Let it go.”
If she resisted, it was only for an instant. The solid warmth of his arm around her shoulders felt like something she needed. His subtle scent, a blend of snow and motor oil and fresh hay, stirred memories of the old days, growing up happy and secure in Branding Iron. She remembered the Christmas holidays, the stockings by the fireplace, the glittering tree, and the excitement of opening her gifts.
His hand moved to the back of her neck. Strong fingers massaged the aching muscles. A little purring sound rose in her throat. “That feels wonderful. Where did you learn to do that?”
“I learned massage to help my father after his stroke,” he said. “You’re all knotted up. Just close your eyes and breathe.”
Kylie exhaled, feeling the tension drain out of her shoulders. “I’m really, really sorry I wrecked your bike,” she said.
The sound of blowing snow filled the brief silence. “Accidents happen. If it can be fixed, I’ll fix it. If not . . .” His voice trailed off. He paused as if weighing what he was about to say next. “When we were in high school, I thought about asking you out. I wanted to, but I knew I wasn’t the kind of boy you’d want to be seen with. I couldn’t handle being turned down by Little Miss Perfect.”
Jolted by his revelation, Kylie pressed her lips together to keep from confessing her own secret crush. If she were to tell Shane the truth, he might take it as an invitation—and she wasn’t ready for that. She twisted the simple gold band on her finger—the wedding ring she’d worn for the past fourteen years. His eyes took in the gesture. His hand returned to the back of the couch.
“I take it you haven’t started dating again,” he said.
Kylie shook her head. “I’ve got better things to do than beat the bushes for single men. And even if I did meet someone, how could I do that to my children? They’re already dealing with so much. A new man, or men, in their lives—it wouldn’t be right.”
“Hearing that doesn’t surprise me. And knowing you wouldn’t have settled for less, I imagine your husband was a fine man.”
“He was.” Kylie’s throat tightened, as it did whenever she spoke about Brad. “But we had to share him with the army. He spent more time away than he did with his family. While he was gone, I had to manage on my own—not so different from now, except that now we know he’s not coming back. He’s buried in Arlington National Cemetery—that was what he always wanted.” She gazed down at her hands in the firelight, wondering if she’d revealed too much. “But that’s enough about me. Tell me what you’ve been doing all these years.”
He stretched his long legs, resting his stocking-clad feet on the raised brick hearth. One wool sock had a dime-sized hole in the toe. “Not much to tell. My plan after graduation was to head for the Gulf Coast and work for a while, maybe on an oil rig or a shrimp trawler, till I could save enough money to travel. I was packing up to leave when my dad had a stroke. It turned out to be bad. There was no way I could leave him, especially since my mother had passed away years before. Now that he’s gone, too . . .” Shane shook his head. “It seems like all I’ve ever done in my life is run that ranch. If I don’t cut loose now, I never will.”
“Is that why you never got married? I remember how the girls used to chase you. You must’ve had plenty of offers.”
“Maybe. But only from the desperate ones. Face it, chasing a boy is one thing. Choosing a life partner is something else. And I’m not what you’d call great husband material, am I?”
“No comment.”
He laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a deep, masculine belly laugh that Kylie could feel where she sat next to him. “Now that’s what I call honesty! I always did like that about you. You never tried to butter me up like other girls did by saying things you didn’t mean.”
“Maybe I should’ve tried harder,” she said. “Maybe if I had, you’d have taken me for a ride on your motorcycle. Maybe you’d have taken me down by the riverbank with a six-pack of beer, like you did those other girls.”
He stopped laughing.
Heaven help her, what did she just say?
“I wouldn’t have taken you down by the riverbank, Kylie. You were too good for that. If I’d taken you for a ride, it would have been down the middle of Main Street, so the whole town could see the classy girl that worthless bum Shane Taggart had on the back of his bike.”
Something tightened in Kylie’s chest, quickening her pulse. His face was dangerously close—so close that she felt an aching urge to tempt fate. Her eyes closed. Her chin tilted toward him. She was dimly conscious of the storm swirling outside.
Her heart thundered as she felt his warm breath and the first nibbling brush of his lips on hers. His hands didn’t move to pull her close. Only their mouths touched. She tasted cocoa and marshmallow foam as he kissed her with a gentle hunger that awakened a deep throbbing need.
Her conscience shrilled that this was wrong for so many reasons—her children, upstairs in their rooms, the ring on her finger, the grave in Arlington, and the wrecked motorcycle outside in the shed. But right now, all she could think of was wanting more.
She leaned into his kiss, responding in spite of herself. For an instant, his breath caught. He stiffened, then eased her away from him. His dark eyes burned in the firelight.
“This isn’t helping either of us, Kylie. If you know me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get up this minute, climb those stairs to your room, and stay there till daylight.”
She drew back, her cheeks blazing. “Shane, I didn’t mean to—”
“Neither did I.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Go.”
“This never happened!” She flung the words back at him as she fled, stumbling up the stairs to her room, feeling her way in the dark.
Chapter Five
December 23
G
ray light, filtering through Muriel’s lace curtains, woke Shane to a leaden dawn. The room was cold, the house quiet, with no sign that the power had come back on.
After spending most of the night trying to get comfortable on the too-short couch, he ached in every muscle. It was a relief for him to fling off the quilt, stand up, and stretch his legs. The stillness outside told him the storm had passed. His truck would be buried in snow. He would dig it out, of course, but if the drifts were too deep on the road, driving it anywhere could be another story.
Meanwhile, there’d be paths to shovel and the generator to get working. Henry was going to need his help. But the first order of the day would be to get some heat into the house for the women and kids.
The fire had gone cold, but he found some logs, along with kindling and newspaper, in the bucket next to the hearth. Shane gave silent thanks to Henry’s foresight as he laid a new fire and lit it with a match. The old man really did take good care of Muriel and her property.
With the fire going, Shane wandered into the kitchen to find his coat and boots. The well-worn cowboy boots, which weren’t made for snow, were still damp, but they’d have to do. At least the socks on his feet were dry, and the sheepskin coat would be warm.
Slipping his boots and coat on, he glanced around the kitchen. No power would mean no hot water for coffee. Too bad. But never mind, he wanted to be gone from the house when Kylie came downstairs. After last night, facing her would be awkward.
He couldn’t say he regretted kissing her—she’d clearly needed kissing, and her lips had been as delicious as ripe strawberries. But he had a rule against kissing any woman who wore a wedding ring—even a widow. And last night he’d broken it. Kylie might be legally free. But that band of gold around her finger was a clear signal that her heart belonged to another man.