by Julia London
She’d bundled up in her father’s old canvas barn jacket, pulled on her Ugg boots, and padded down there to see what was going on. Milo loped up to her, pushing his snout into her hand. “What on earth are you doing?” she’d said as she walked into their midst, petting Milo’s head.
“Repairing it,” Jesse had said cheerfully. “Apparently, it needs to be repaired right away. Before we drop hay for the cattle, even.”
Wyatt was standing in the middle of the windmill structure with a pair of pliers. “Oil this gear box and that will put an end to the squeak.”
“See?” Jesse had said, grinning at Holly. “Right away.”
“Wow. Thanks, Wyatt,” Holly had said.
He’d looked down, the brim of his hat hiding his face. “We didn’t mean to bother you. We’ll get in and get out.”
“Are you kidding?” Jesse had laughed. “We’ll be lucky if we’re finished by noon.”
“Perfect,” Holly had said. “That gives me enough time to make some homemade cinnamon rolls.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Wyatt had said.
“Yes I do.” Holly had started back to the house before he could argue, and as she walked, she heard Jesse say to Wyatt, “Dude, do you have to do that? I mean, really, what’s wrong with a homemade cinnamon roll?”
Around noon, while Mason tortured Milo on the porch, Holly had waved at Jesse and held up a plate of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Jesse had instantly started toward her, the two Russell boys following him.
Wyatt had reluctantly followed. By the time he reached the porch, Jesse and the two boys had helped themselves. “Sorry, Holly,” he’d said apologetically as he’d walked up the porch steps and stooped down to tousle Mason’s hair. “You didn’t need to go to any trouble. I know you’ve got work to do.”
“Well, for pity’s sake, Wyatt, if you didn’t want to bother her, why would you come over at eight in the damn morning?” Jesse had complained, and had reached for a second helping.
Wyatt had grinned sheepishly, and Holly, unable to resist him when he was embarrassed like that, kissed him.
“Come on, boys, we’ve got work to do,” Jesse had said, and hustled the two boys off the porch and back to the windmill while Wyatt kissed Holly back.
Holly couldn’t ask for anything more in a relationship, and the fact that Mason and Grace were happy playmates—as happy as a pair of toddlers could be, anyway—made this relationship a dream. She smiled as she thought of them rolling their little trains back and forth on the coffee table. It felt almost as if she had been destined to come here, as if some celestial force had guided her here, where she’d found the support she needed for her and Mason in this difficult period of their lives.
In the last few weeks, Holly had tried not to think about Hannah. Thoughts of her sister only upset her and filled her head with questions and, surprisingly, a fair amount of guilt. Holly felt dumb—how could she have seen Hannah with their mother and not known her sister was stoned? And the questions of how and why haunted her. No matter what had happened between them, Holly loved Hannah, and she worried about her. Especially after Mason stuffed the socks into the toilet and broke the handle. Holly tried to fix the handle and, in doing so, had opened the tank. There she found a baby food jar with the pills weighted down in the water. Twelve pills, she counted, white oblong tablets. Hannah was so sick she was hiding pills in jars in toilet tanks.
She burned the pills along with the trash that afternoon.
But inevitably, when Holly thought about Hannah, she thought of Mason, and her stomach would clench. She didn’t know what she would do when Hannah came back for him. Holly loved Mason so much. She couldn’t believe how much she loved him. It was as if some primal, maternal bond had bloomed in her, and in some ways she believed she loved him every bit as much as if she had given birth to him. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to love him until one afternoon when she took him for a nature walk around the house. She watched him squat down, the sunlight gleaming in his dark hair, the air filled with his baby chattering. He picked up a leaf, pressed it to Holly’s lips. She pretended to eat it, and Mason laughed with delight and did it again.
Her heart felt so full that day. She hugged him tight, kissed him. She was aware that day how much she wanted to protect him, to guide him. She couldn’t imagine not seeing him every day. She couldn’t imagine ever walking away from him, and if she had—if that had been her instead of Hannah—she would be clawing her way back to him now.
When would Hannah show herself? She had said she was in a ninety-day treatment program, but it had been more than ninety days since she left Mason with Holly. Yet, the days continued to slide by, and there was no sign of Hannah, no word from her.
In the meantime, Holly’s love for Mason grew, as did her desire to shield him from any harm. How she would finesse that with Hannah was the question that burned in her heart. Holly had almost finished her work on Quincy’s third song. Jillian, her attorney, said the will would be probated in a couple of months. Holly could feel change bearing down on her. Yet if she allowed herself to worry about the future and all that she would not be able to control—like Hannah’s return—she would make herself crazy.
Even her feelings for Wyatt were not simple. She didn’t know exactly where their relationship would go. It was too soon, the feelings she was experiencing too fresh and new and exciting. Holly was a strong believer in fate and, moreover, in tempting fate, and she worried that if she tried to define what was happening between them—to put words or emotions to it or to project too far into the future—she would jinx one of the best things that had happened to her in a very long time.
All of these doubts seemed to hover around Holly, waiting to drag her down, so she took each day as it came.
It was Holly’s idea to go the Holiday Festival of Lights in Cedar Springs. Everything they did was Holly’s idea. If Wyatt had his druthers, they’d live in bed, on his patio, and in the kitchen. Throw in an occasional Dallas Cowboys game, and he would be a very happy man.
But Holly thought the kids needed stimulation and social interaction, and even though he’d argued and decried the holiday pageantry as too commercial, before he knew what had happened, he’d set up the double stroller and strapped in Mason and Grace and marched out to Main Street. But he didn’t like it.
Wyatt knew he was a reticent ass about some things. Holly was unfailingly cheerful in the face of it. He supposed she recognized that he was having a hard time adjusting from being the guy who’d gone off to lick his wounds to being the guy who was part of a couple and all that entailed. Like compromise.
What was bothering Wyatt was the feeling of exposure. Maybe he was perceiving things that weren’t entirely rational; that was not outside the realm of possibility. Nevertheless, he felt like every time he showed up in Cedar Springs, people were looking at him, looking for the cracks that he’d suffered when he’d broken apart after Macy left. Cracks he’d tried to patch and paint over.
He didn’t think he was entirely wrong—he got a vibe from Linda Gail that a lot of folks were holding their breath, hoping and waiting to see if this thing with Holly took. He could not begin to express, even to himself, how that galled him. He’d been a mover and a shaker in this town and, before Macy, a sought-after ladies’ man. He’d been a confident, well-dressed, drinks-on-the-house kind of guy. He did not like being thought of as a broken man, no matter how broken he’d become. That’s what made him reluctant to come to Cedar Springs. He didn’t want speculation about his life, and he damn sure didn’t want people thinking he was somehow deserving of their pity.
But he had to admit, as he and Holly and the babies strolled across the square, he was glad they had come. The night was crisp but not too cold, and Christmas lights adorned every storefront and every tree around the courthouse. There were Christmas trees and candy canes, blow-up Santas, snow globes, snowmen. He marveled at the industry that produced these enormous inflated Christmas figures.
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sp; Holly had dressed Mason in a red sweater with Rudolph on the front, complete with a blinking red light for his nose. Wyatt had dressed Grace in jeans and a pink sweater. The idea of holiday-themed wear had never crossed his mind.
With the kids tucked into the stroller under a blanket, they neared a real estate office. A Christmas tree with gifts at its base and falling snow had been painted on the windows, and a sign announced that they were serving hot apple cider. “Cider!” Holly said excitedly. “I can’t remember the last time I had that. Let’s get some!”
In they had gone, maneuvering the stroller inside, standing in line with everyone else in Cedar Springs who couldn’t remember the last time they’d had cider.
With their ciders, they continued their tour, Wyatt pushing the stroller, Holly’s arm linked in his. She was in a very happy mood and looked brilliant in a knit cap and a funky-looking cape that reminded Wyatt of his college days, her jeans tucked into the Ugg boots she liked to wear. She chatted about how many people were out tonight, and how much work must have gone into putting up the decorations. She reminisced about the Christmases of her youth, the carols she had loved. She hummed along to the carols that were blasting across the square.
They stopped to look at a display in a storefront that had automated Santa’s helpers. When they turned to go, Wyatt wheeled the stroller around, coming abruptly face-to-face with Macy and Emma.
“Hello, Wyatt,” Macy said, and smiled at Holly. “Hi again.”
“Hello, Macy,” Holly said.
“Do you know my sister Emma?” Macy asked.
“No.” Holly introduced herself.
“Your son is beautiful,” Emma said. “What’s his name?”
For a moment Holly froze, her smile too bright. “Mason,” she said after a moment, and smiled down at Mason.
Macy smiled slyly at Wyatt. She rested her hand on her belly; her pregnancy was really showing now. As much as it pained Wyatt to see that, he was aware that it wasn’t as painful as it had been in weeks past.
Grace started whining and holding her hands out for her mother, which, fortunately, drew Macy’s attention from Wyatt. She dropped down on one knee in front of the stroller. “Hi, sweetie,” she cooed.
“So, do you and Mason live in town?” Emma asked Holly.
“No, in the country. We’re living out at my family’s homestead. My mom died a few months ago, and I’m … I’m taking care of the place.”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” Emma said. She let a moment pass, then asked, “Where were you before you came here?”
“Austin,” Holly said obligingly. Mason started to fuss, and Holly squatted down beside him to ease whatever was bothering him. She and Macy were now side by side. It was so surreal that Wyatt began to wonder if the cider had been spiked.
“I guess we better think about wrapping this up,” he said stiffly. “The babies are tired.”
“It’s only seven, Wyatt,” Macy said, and stood up. “And if you haven’t walked down Pecan Street, you’ve missed the whole reason for coming out tonight. The lights are fantastic this year.”
“I’d like to see that,” Holly said, and stood up too.
“So, what do you do, Holly?” Emma asked.
“I’m a songwriter.”
“A songwriter!” Emma said excitedly.
Wyatt didn’t hear what else Emma said to that, because Macy was peering up at him like she used to do when she knew something was on his mind. There was a time he’d thought it was a special thing that she could read him so completely, but tonight he merely found it annoying.
“You look happy,” Macy said softly.
Wyatt sighed.
“I know what you’re thinking—”
“I don’t think you do.”
“That’s all I am going to say,” she said, lifting her hand as if to swear to it and glancing sidelong at Emma and Holly, who were engaged in conversation. “You just look happy, Wyatt. Happier than I have seen you in a very long time.”
She meant since she had left him, of course, because he’d been as happy as a clam up until then. Well, he was happier. He just didn’t need his ex-wife validating it for him.
“Wyatt, we should go,” Holly said a moment later. “The kids are getting restless.”
“Right.”
“Mamma,” Grace said, and kicked the stroller. Macy leaned down and grabbed her daughter’s hand, giving it a playful shake. “Holly, I am so glad Gracie has your son to play with.”
Holly blinked. “He is … he loves Gracie,” she said.
Macy smiled. “We’ll let you two go. Bye-bye, sweetie,” Macy said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Bye-bye. You’re going with Daddy now.”
“See you, Wyatt! And, Holly, it was very nice to meet you!” Emma said.
Wyatt said good night and walked on. When they’d put a little distance between them and the Bobbsey Twins, Holly puffed out her cheeks, then released her breath in one long woosh. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she said. “I had no idea what to say, especially about Mason.”
“Why didn’t you tell them that he was your nephew?” Wyatt asked.
Holly looked startled. “Well, he’s obviously more than that,” she said shortly.
“I know he is. But he is your nephew, and I think you can say that without feeling like you need to explain it,” he said, and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close as they walked toward Pecan Street.
But Holly’s mood had changed. She was looking down instead of at the lights, her brow creased.
“Don’t let them ruin the evening,” he said.
“It’s not them. Honestly, they seem very nice. It’s just … it’s just that before we met them, we were walking around the square and I was feeling like … like this was real,” she said gesturing at the babies. “You know, like we were this little family—”
“In a way, we are,” he agreed. He did not want to sour the evening. Dammit, this was exactly the reason he didn’t like to come to town.
“But not really,” Holly said, and looked up at him. “He’s not mine, Wyatt. He will never be mine. I can pretend all day long, but he’s not—”
“Yes he is,” Wyatt said, and pulled her closer. “Part of him will always be yours. Do you think because you didn’t give birth to him that he’s not yours in some way? Giving birth is not what makes a mother, Holly. A mother is someone who puts her child first, above all else. You’ve done that far better than anyone else. He will always be in your heart, and you in his.”
Holly shook her head. “I have no legal right to him. If they came back for him tomorrow, what would I do?”
He wished he could help her, but Wyatt didn’t know what would or could happen. “If those two cared about their son, they would have come back long before now,” he groused. “But maybe you should talk to Jillian about it and see what your rights are.”
Holly suddenly looked at him with an expression of hope. “What are you thinking? That maybe I can keep him?”
The question, so earnestly asked, startled Wyatt. “I wasn’t thinking that,” he said carefully. “But neither do I think they can walk in after four months and take him away from you. I think you need to talk to Jillian.”
Holly seemed disappointed in his answer.
“Holly?” Wyatt asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Do you want to keep him?”
“Of course I do. I love him,” she said. “I’d have to be really coldhearted not to want him.”
Wyatt frowned a little. “Wanting him and keeping him are two different things. I know you love him, baby, but are you being realistic?”
“I didn’t say I was going to keep him,” she said curtly. “But is it realistic to give a baby to someone who is just out of rehab?”
Wyatt studied her expression. She impatiently returned his gaze. “Talk to Jillian,” he urged her again.
Holly looked away. “Macy and Emma seem nice,” she said, obviously changing the subject.
Wyatt said nothing to t
hat. He didn’t want to discuss his ex-wife with Holly. He wanted it to be just like this, the four of them, strolling around under Christmas lights. “Look, Gracie, there’s Santa,” he said, and dipped down, pointed to the big inflatable Santa tethered to a croquet bracket in the ground. Mason and Grace stared at it with wide eyes.
When Wyatt straightened up again, Holly was studying him. “What?” he asked self-consciously.
“Do you still have feelings for Macy?” she asked bluntly.
The question startled Wyatt. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because you will not discuss her. Come on, Wyatt, I’m a big girl. I can take it. Do you still have feelings for her?”
Did he still have feelings for Macy? He’d tried for so long to bury whatever he felt for her that he didn’t think about it. But he thought about it now, and he was privately surprised that he felt only disappointment. No regret. No pangs of love. No feelings of a loss so deep that the gashes of it festered inside him like a rotten wound. He stroked Holly’s cheek with the back of his hand; her skin was cool to the touch. “No. I don’t.”
But Holly’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Really? Because she is beautiful, Wyatt. And it wasn’t as if anything went wrong between you two. I think it must have been worse for you because there wasn’t anything wrong.”
“Holly … don’t analyze it,” he said, and smiled as he tugged her hat down a little. “You asked me a question. I answered it truthfully. I can honestly say that for the first time in four years … I don’t have any feelings for Macy. Not those types of feelings, anyway. The only person I have those feelings for is you.”
Holly’s eyes widened. And then a slow smile shaped her lips. She cocked her head to one side. “Really?”
He touched her chin, lifting her face. People were moving past them, stepping around them, and he didn’t care. “Really.”
Her smile deepened. “You’re not the only one, you know.”
“Meaning?”