Christmas In Snowflake Canyon (20 page)

Andrew looked startled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I like Genevieve. It took guts to stand up to her father the way she did.”

She had guts. She just couldn’t seem to see it.

“She needs a lift home. I’m giving her a lift home. That’s all.”

“Okay, we get it. Go, already.” “I will.”

Genevieve joined him at the billiards table with a hesitant smile for his family. He was glad she was oblivious to the currents zinging around.

He wasn’t sure what to think when she kissed Dermot on the cheek. “Thank you for the pie the other night,” she said. “It was just what I needed.”

“Good. When you’ve got a hankering for another, just let my boy know and I’ll be sure to bake one special for you.”

“Thank you.”

She looked as touched as if Dermot had just offered her keys to a new BMW.

Dermot could see how sweet she was. If his father could be so astute, Dylan had to wonder why everybody else only saw the prickles—including Genevieve herself.

T
hey walked outsIde to more snowfall, big plump flakes that had added at least a few inches to the sidewalk.

“I’m parked the next block over,” he said. “Sorry for a bit of a walk.”

“I don’t mind.”

The Christmas lights hanging on just about every downtown business glimmered against the snow, cheery and festive. Hope’s Crossing really was a pretty town this time of year. Most times of year, if he were honest. The restaurants and stores still open seemed to be doing a good business. A little foot traffic spilled out onto the sidewalks and everybody seemed to be in a good mood.

It was a far cry from the dust and grit and bleakness of Afghanistan.

With the sidewalks a bit slick, Genevieve slipped her hand into the crook of his arm for support—his good one, as he was always careful to position himself so the left arm was on the other side.

He could feel the heat of her, even through their layers of clothes and outerwear, and he wanted to soak it in. “Your family is really close, aren’t you?” she asked after a moment.
“Yeah. We were always pretty tight-knit, you know?

A lot of camping trips, vacations to the coast when Pop could get away from the café. That kind of thing. After our mom died, I think Pop worked extra hard to make sure we didn’t drift apart. The older brothers were in college or in the military, but Pop tried to get us all in one place at least a couple times a year. He was an early adopter of technology and even has a private family blog. He used to post at least once a week with information about what everybody was doing. With social media, that’s even easier now.”

“Your dad is wonderful. You’re so lucky. I mean, I know my parents love me and everything, but it’s not the same.”

He thought about her own family—stiff and pompous William, picky, perfectionist Laura. Compared to what she came from, he
did
feel fortunate. Damn lucky. He had never spent a moment on the earth without knowing he was loved.

“Big families can be good in a lot of ways, but they can be a pain in the ass, too. Everybody thinks he has the right to stick his nose in your life. And try having five older brothers to follow in every sporting activity you ever wanted to participate in. I can’t tell you how many times I had to sit and listen to coaches rave about Patrick’s three-point percentage or Bren’s rushing stats or Jamie’s RBIs. It was enough to give a guy a complex.”

She smiled a little. “I doubt that. I seem to recall seeing your name on a few awards in the trophy case at school.”

That cocky kid who thought the world was his to conquer seemed a lifetime away now.

“Here’s my truck,” he said. He never bothered to lock the doors, so he reached and opened the passenger side for her. It was a climb up, so he supported her elbow as she stepped in, wishing for the first time since he returned that he had bothered to drive something that wasn’t twenty years old, run-down and smelling like dog.

The engine turned over immediately—one of the reasons he still drove this one and not some shiny new thing he’d be afraid to take up the gravel drive to his place.

“I’ll just be a second,” he said, reaching for the scraper behind the seats. Because the snow was soft, light as cotton puffs, he only needed to brush off what had accumulated on the side and rear windows for visibility. The wipers would take care of the front.

By the time he climbed in, the heater was already blowing out warm air. Yeah, it might not look or smell like much, but he did love this truck. It got the job done.

They encountered little traffic as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the mouth of the canyon and her grandmother’s house.

Just about every house was decorated for the holidays. Everybody seemed to be in on the effort to punch up the pretty: little sparkly lights along roof lines or in shrubbery, a big Christmas tree in the window, a family of cheerful snowmen in one yard.

Everything looked magical, especially in the midst of a snowfall that seemed to mute all the colors and merge them together.

They were nearly to her grandmother’s house when Genevieve’s phone rang. Her ring tone sounded like a jazzy number from
A Charlie Brown Christmas,
which he found inordinately sweet.

She pulled it out of the pocket of her coat and looked at the caller ID.

“Unknown,” she said but answered it anyway.

“Hello?” After a moment of silence, she frowned and said the word louder.

“Must have been a wrong number,” he said. “Maybe. I could swear someone was there. Weird.” She shoved the phone back in her pocket as he pulled up in front of her grandmother’s house. For some reason, it didn’t seem as ugly as he’d first thought. The porch lights were on, and he could see some little twinkly Christmas lights in the front window.

“I finished painting the dining room last night,” she said. “Come see.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He wasn’t so certain that was a good idea. The more he was with her, the more he was struggling to keep his hands—
hand—off
her. But he knew she would see his refusal as another rejection, on top of an already-painful night.

“For a minute,” he finally said. “And then I’d better pick up Tucker. He’s been over at Brendan’s house all day and is probably ready to go home.”

“Why has he been at your brother’s place?”

“It’s stupid, but when I’m going to be gone all day, I don’t like leaving him alone up at the house by himself.” “Will he cause trouble? Chew the cabinets or rip apart all your pillows?”
“Nothing like that. He’s a good dog. I just don’t like thinking about him being lonely up there by himself.” He also didn’t like thinking about her being here in this dark house by herself, alone and unhappy, but, again, didn’t think she would appreciate being compared to his dog.

“You’re a very sweet man, Dylan Caine,” she said.

Any argument he made to that would sound as ridiculous as her statement, so he just glowered at her and climbed out of his pickup to open her door.

Genevieve led the way up the snowy sidewalk, aware of Dylan walking beside her with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to a torture chamber in the desert somewhere.

She sighed, wishing she had simply thanked him for the ride and said good-night. She did not understand this man. Sometimes he acted as if he enjoyed her company, savored it, even. The next minute, he would back off so quickly it made her head spin.

Tonight was a prime example. He had been extraordinarily kind to her at The Speckled Lizard, though. She would never forget the vast, aching relief that had swept over her when she walked in and saw him sitting at the bar, big and strong and comforting, as if fate had led her exactly where she needed to be.

He had offered just what she needed—a listening ear, a little wise counsel and a big heaping plate of perspective.

She couldn’t believe she had rushed out of the bookstore in such a huff. Dylan was right. Ruth Tatum was a cranky bitch. What did Genevieve care what she thought? The truth was, she really didn’t—but she did care what the others thought. Charlotte and Claire McKnight and Maura. She had wanted them to like her, to see that she was trying to change.

Ruth’s words had only reinforced how fruitless that effort was. She had a well-earned reputation around town. In Hope’s Crossing—like any community, she imagined—becoming something different, something
more,
than what people perceived her to be was a Herculean task.

Her hands trembled with the cold as she tried to unlock the door.

“Need some help?” Dylan asked.

“No. I’ve got it. It can be sticky.” She wiggled the key just right and the door swung open into her house. She flipped on the light and held the door open for him. As he moved inside, she wondered how he had become so dear to her in such a short time.

Until a few weeks ago, she hadn’t given the man more than a second’s thought. Someone—her father, perhaps—had mentioned the gravity of his injuries in passing during one of their phone calls. She remembered a little pang of sadness for kind Dermot, but that had been about the extent of the attention she paid Dylan in years.

What would her parents think if they knew a gruff wounded army ranger had become her dearest friend in Hope’s Crossing?

Forget her parents. What would
Dylan
say if he knew?

“You put up some Christmas decorations. I thought you weren’t going to.”

“No Christmas tree, you’ll notice. My brain hit treeoverload the other day decorating the one at the recreationcenter meeting room.”

He smiled a little and looked around the living room at the various crèches she had set out—a few above the mantel, a handful more along the big front windowsill, more spilling across the ugly round oak side tables.

“It looks nice.”

She had to admit, the Nativity scenes were lovely, especially with the strings of fairy lights she’d scattered around them.

“I suppose I found a little Christmas spirit after all. It seemed a shame not to have anything. I found these in boxes in the crawl space the other night.”

“That’s a few Nativity sets.”

“You don’t know the half of them. There’s probably a hundred in boxes up there. Grandma Pearl loved them. She collected them from all over, the kitschier the better. I tried to pick the best of the lot to bring down.”

She touched a finger to Mary’s robe on one of her favorites, a finely wrought porcelain set where the figures each had realistic faces. “From the time I was a little girl, each year she would give me another Nativity set. When I was little, I used to love setting them around in my room. After I turned about twelve, I stopped doing anything with them, but she kept giving them. Every year, without fail. They’re probably boxed up somewhere at the house or else Mother threw them out.”

She was sorry now that she hadn’t truly appreciated the tradition. Living in this house was giving her a new perspective on her grandmother—as well as a deep sorrow that she hadn’t made more of an effort to forge a better relationship with Pearl as an adult.

“Come on. Let’s go see the dining room,” she said, tired of her maudlin mood.

She led the way, flipped on the lights and stood back to enjoy the way the new sage green around three of the walls brightened the room. She also particularly liked the accent wall, which Dylan commented on, too.

“You did paint that wall brown. It’s nice. Comforting. Amazing, how a little paint can make such a change.”

“Thanks. I agree. It makes me want to hurry and finish the other rooms. I definitely think it will help the house’s resale value, even if the prospective buyers end up tearing it down.”

He gave her a long look, but she couldn’t read the expression in his eye. Not for the first time, she wondered if his thoughts might be easier to read if not for the patch.

“Why are you in such a hurry to leave town?” he asked. “I mean, why couldn’t you start an interior-design business here? I would think Hope’s Crossing has as much need for your services as anybody in Paris. More, even.”

Was his mouth tight like that because he disliked the idea of her leaving? she wondered. Or was he just annoyed at having to bring her home?

“You’re right. I’m sure I could stay busy here, especially with all the second homes in town and the new construction. But think about it. How could I even contemplate staying? I told you what happened at the party tonight.”

“You really want to build your life around one old crank’s opinion?”

“What does it matter to you where I end up starting a business? I would have thought you would be happy to see the last of me. Will you miss me?”

It had been a daring question, only half-teasing. She was tired of not being able to figure out what he was thinking, where she stood with him.

He faced her, a stark expression on his still-handsome features that made her catch her breath.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice gruff. “I’ll miss you. More than I should.”

She swallowed, her face heating. Before she could respond—or even react, beyond initial shock, he quickly changed the subject.

“You could be happy here, Gen. Not everyone is like Ruth. You know that. Anybody who thinks you’re spoiled and selfish doesn’t know you. You haven’t given them the
chance
to know you. You get all stiff and bristly and people mistake that for arrogance and disdain.”

Yes, there was truth to that. She had come into town with her defenses raised, in part because of her parents’ ultimatum but also because she hated being the subject of whispers and stares, as she had been after her engagement ended.

“Maybe they won’t like what they find,” she whispered.

“Maybe not,” he said, just as quietly. “But you should at least give them a chance to discover the Genevieve that I see.”

She gazed at him, standing inside her dining room with the scent of fresh paint swirling around them. He was extraordinarily compelling, even more gorgeous, perhaps, than he would have been without his injuries.

The eye patch, the prosthetic on his arm—she remembered how she had been slightly afraid of those things when she first met him that night at the bar, but now they were badges of honor to her. Signs of his courage and his strength, of the great sacrifices he had made and the challenges he would endure the rest of his life.

Something profound inside her shifted, slid away, revealing absolute, unadorned truth.

She was falling in love with him.

The sweetness of it rushed over her, fierce and strong. Yes. Of course. She should have realized. She was falling in love with Dylan Caine.

The emotions fluttered in her chest, so powerfully real she couldn’t believe she had missed them all this time.

She didn’t give a thought to how crazy this was or think about the dangers in risking another rejection that night. She only stepped forward, lifted up on her toes and kissed the edge of that unsmiling mouth.