Compatible interests? Was that what they had?
"I'd move back up here, of course," Deke told her. "I wouldn't expect you to come down to New Mexico. I know you came back from Paris because you want to be here near your folks. And—" he shrugged "—I think it might be a good thing if I was closer, too, now that my folks are getting older." He ran out of breath, apparently, because he stopped then and looked at her expectantly. Hopefully.
And Erin just stood there, stunned. Because even though they were all very good reasons, very logical, sensible reasons—none of them was the right reason. He never said he loved her.
Because, of course, Erin realized at that moment, he didn't love her.
Had never loved her. Except, as always, as his "good friend"—his "buddy."
But she loved him. Desperately. Terribly. And the knowledge that he still didn't reciprocate crushed her. And all she could think to do was say, "That's all?"
"All?" Deke stared at her, equally stunned. Then he fidgeted, looking uncomfortable. He hesitated, fumbled, shrugged, raked a hand through his hair.
"I can't be—" he began, then stopped and shook his head.
And the words she wanted never came.
"Fine," he said, voice taut, body stiff now. "Never mind. Sorry I asked. I didn't mean to offend you." A muscle was ticking in his jaw.
"You didn't—" She started to protest, but tears pricked her eyes and her voice broke and she couldn't lie and say he hadn't.
Deke jammed his hands in his pockets. "There's no point in staying then. Merry Christmas. We'll leave in the morning."
In the morning they did just that.
He had the truck packed and Zack dressed by the time the kids came downstairs.
"You're what? You're leaving?" Sophie was distraught. "You can't!" She started to cry.
"You can't go," Nico said. "We need you here!"
"I thought you were going to teach me how to shoot," Gabe said, looking mutinous.
Deke took it all stoically and Erin didn't help in the slightest. She couldn't. Simply couldn't say a word. He was leaving. And taking Zack!
"I have to go," was all Deke said. He shook hands with Gabriel. He kissed Sophie. He gave Nicolas a hug.
"Bye?" Zack said, waving and looking bewildered as Deke carried him out of the house.
Gabe gave Erin a mutinous look as if to ask, What did you do to drive him away?
And Erin wiped her palms on her jeans and said, "We always knew Deke had a life back in New Mexico and that he wasn't going to stay here forever."
She prayed Deke wouldn't contradict her—and traitorously her heart almost wished he would.
Of course he didn't. He bundled Zack into his car seat and gave her one long last unreadable look. Then he got into his truck and headed out.
Erin got through the day without breaking. She was brisk and efficient and she managed to be cheery and capable and competent, getting through the day minute by minute with the same resilience that she had after Jean-Yves had died.
As with Jean-Yves, she only cracked after she went to bed that night.
She tossed and turned. She couldn't sleep. She paced the floor. Had she been wrong to say no? Should she have taken the half loaf of his regard and their "compatible interests" instead of holding out for love?
Oh, God, this was terrible! It hurt. She hurt! She ended up in the room where Deke had slept. She sat on the bed. She hugged the pillow to her.
It smelled of Deke.
Tears started to fall.
It had been this way with Jean-Yves. She had got through that. She would get through this.
But somehow this was harder. You couldn't change death. But Deke wasn't dead. And she would go through her life without him—knowing she could have had him, and that he was alive and well and in New Mexico.
Zack had learned a lot of words in the past month. He said them over and over on the way south. "Gabe," he said. "So-fee! Nico! Where's Nico? Sammy? Gran'pa! Want Gran'pa!" But mostly he said, "Go home. Want Mama! Where Mama?"
Mama. Of course he meant Erin.
Past Billings, past Hardin, past Sheridan and Kaycee, he babbled on about Gabe and Nico and Sofee and Mama.
Always Mama. Mama. Mama.
Erin. Erin. Erin.
Zack didn't remember Violet. If she'd ever been Mama to him, it wasn't Violet he called for now. He wanted the woman that Gabe and Sophie and Nicolas called Mama. The woman he called Mama. The woman he loved like a mother.
The woman Deke loved, period.
The woman who didn't love him.
If she'd loved him at all she'd have said yes, wouldn't she?
If she'd thought there was even a possibility that she might have eventually been able to feel for him what she'd felt for Jean-Yves, surely she would have given them that chance.
But she hadn't.
She'd just listened to his reasons, had stood there in the living room staring at him as if he were some sort of lunatic while he'd tried to think of all the reasons he could to convince her to marry him, to give them a chance. And then she'd said, "That's all?"
All? Hell no, it wasn't all.
He loved her.
He hadn't said that, though. Hadn't dared. Had been afraid to admit it.
And yet now, every mile farther south he drove, he felt more clearly the ache that turning away from that love brought. He couldn't get away from it. He was carrying it with him.
He should have said it then. He couldn't.
He shifted uncomfortably against the seat. His gaze met their mirrored image in the rearview mirror and he remembered the last time his eyes had locked onto a pair just like them—his father's eyes. And he was struck once more how very like his father he was.
Not just in looks, either.
On Christmas Eve John had given him the easel. He'd said at last, "You take good pictures."
He hadn't been able to say, "I love you." He'd expected Deke to understand. And for the first time Deke had. But he had longed to hear the words just the same.
Had Erin longed to hear the words from him? Was that what she'd meant when she'd asked, "That's all?" Stunned, Deke hit the brakes. Oh, God.
It was, Erin thought, as she dragged herself downstairs the next morning feeling like she'd been run over by a truck, déjà vu all over again.
The hollow, aching feeling she'd felt after Jean-Yves's death was back. It would get better, she reminded herself as she started breakfast. Got down the oatmeal. Got out the pot. Turned on the water.
Time healed. But time didn't hurry.
And until it did, she would hurt.
It didn't help that the kitchen was like a funeral parlor. The boys were going skating with friends, and Sophie was spending the day in Bozeman with Felicity and Becky at her grandma's. But none of them seemed eager. They poked at their toast in silence.
"Maybe you can take that high chair back to Felicity when they pick you up," Erin said to Sophie.
Sophie just looked at her reproachfully. And Erin could read her expression perfectly clearly. That high chair is Zack's.
Zack's not coming back, she wanted to say. She felt she had to say it about a hundred times a day at least in her head to come to terms with it. She just wasn't sure she had the energy to say it aloud this morning and then deal with Sophie's pain.
But before she could decide whether she did or not, there were sudden quick steps on the porch and the back door opened.
They all stared. Then the kids whooped joyously.
"Deke!"
"Yea, Deke!"
"An' Zack! You're back!"
For he was. They were—man and boy—big as life and twice as beautiful, right there in her kitchen. Deke smiled at them all. He ruffled Gabriel's and Nicolas's hair and gave Sophie a squeeze. But his eyes went straight to Erin.
"Forget something?" she asked, holding on to her composure with every ounce of determination she had.
He was stubble-jawed and bloodshot-eyed and he looked as if he'd been dri
ving for twenty-four hours straight. But his eyes never wavered as he nodded. "I did," he told her. He handed Zack to Gabe and crossed the room to face her squarely. "I forgot to tell you that I love you."
Erin dropped the spoon in the oatmeal pot. She stared, astonished and transfixed, disbelieving at the same time her heart was leaping for joy. In all the scenarios she'd conjured in the month they'd been together, she'd never conjured this one.
"You do?" she said. She felt faint.
"I do." It was as much a marriage vow as any he would ever make. He gave her the words at last—and the truth. "That's the only important reason for asking you to marry me."
Erin had always prized her composure, but she lost it then. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
The kids gaped.
"Mama?" Sophie said worriedly.
"Es tu bien?" Nicolas demanded.
"Are you okay?" Gabe asked.
And Erin, smiling through her tears as she let the oatmeal burn, put her arms around the man she loved and told her children, "I've never been better in my life."
"Me, neither," Deke whispered against her hair. He held her tight, kissed her desperately, then opened his arms to the rest of them and drew them into a family hug.
"Mama," Zack said, patting her, and she looked up to find him beaming at her. One by one he touched them all. "Mama. Gabe. So-fee. Nico. Dad."
And then he stretched out his arms and smiled, satisfied. "We're home."
* * *
Epilogue
« ^
They were alone.
"Hard to imagine," Erin said, looking around the empty kitchen.
"Hard to believe," Deke agreed gruffly. They'd been married a month and he'd barely had a chance to be alone with his wife. He was still running the grocery store though his dad was back two mornings a week. But this morning Deke was letting Leo and Evelyn handle the store, so he didn't have to go in until noon. A half hour ago the big kids had gone off to school, and his mother had just driven off with Zack in tow, intending to take him to their place. Deke was going to pick him up this afternoon.
"So he and Grandpa can color together," Carol had said when she'd called to request Zack's visit.
Something else that was hard to believe—that his father wanted to bond with his son. Deke was glad. Coming home had been the right thing to do.
And not just for Zack and the old man.
"So," Erin said briskly, "what shall we tackle first? The wallpaper? Painting Zack's room?"
"I was thinking about our room," Deke said.
She frowned as she put the dishes in the dishwasher. "Our room? I know you aren't crazy about the wallpaper in our room. It is a little girly looking with all those tiny flowers. But there is a stripe, Deke."
"I can live with the wallpaper," he assured her. "I have a different project in mind."
Erin grimaced. "You don't want to refinish the floor do you? Bare floors are pretty but they're so much colder than carpets."
"I don't want to refinish the floor," Deke said. He took her hand. "Come on. I'll show you."
"What?" she said as he drew her with him up the stairs and into the bedroom.
The wallpaper was too girly as far as he was concerned. Tiny sprigs of violets were not really his style—even if they came with the occasional purple stripe. But he could live with violets. He could live with ruffles here and there. There were ruffles on the pillow shams. Hell, he could even live with pillow shams. And lace curtains.
As long as he could live with Erin.
"What?" she said again as he steered her into the bedroom and turned her to face him.
"This," he said, and touched his lips to hers. "I have been waiting and waiting and waiting for this." He punctuated each waiting with a kiss. He tagged her shirttails out of her jeans and slid his fingers beneath, reveling in the warm silky smoothness of her skin.
"Oh!" she said.
"Ah," she said.
"Mmm," she said. And she was kissing him back then, doing a very thorough job of removing his shirt. She was so much better at buttons than he was.
"Wait," he muttered. "Slow down." But when she did, he found he didn't want to. He wanted her—now. And when he said, "Never mind slowing down," she laughed and unfastened his jeans and yanked them down.
They tumbled onto the bed, shedding clothes, stroking skin, stoking flames of need and desire. They made love quickly and urgently. Then, because they really did have time, for once, they made love again. And this time they took it slow, enjoying a leisurely thoroughness that left them both limp and temporarily sated.
And afterward they lay wrapped in each other's arms, Erin's head on Deke's shoulder, her legs tangling with his, her hand playing with a line of hair on his chest. "Well, now," she murmured. "That was nice."
Deke raised a brow. "Nice?"
"Mmm. Well, you know…" She yawned, then tipped her head to grin up at him.
He nuzzled his nose in her soft hair. "I know." He sighed, then smiled. "It sure beats going in to the store this morning."
"Your father would be shocked to hear you say that."
"Maybe not. The old man is all for duty. But to him duty to wife and family was always paramount. He might even give me the John Malone seal of approval."
"Don't get carried away," Erin cautioned. "Just because you're in his good books for a change." She rolled over and looked up at him. "He is very pleased you're moving back here."
"Told you that, did he?"
He certainly hadn't said so to Deke. Not that Deke had been expecting him to. He and his father were at peace at the moment, but they weren't sharing their deepest secrets and probably never would. Their one encounter in the attic on Christmas Eve was probably as close and as deep as they would ever get.
"It's obvious," Erin told him. "He's making plans for things to do with Zack and C.J. He's going to take them fishing. He's going to play catch with them. Paint with them."
"Sort brussels sprouts with them."
"Maybe. It could be worse. You survived."
"After a fashion."
"He's very proud of you."
"Right."
"He bought your arroyo photos."
Deke stared at her. "He did what?"
His four-part series of photos of an arroyo during a flash flood last year were quite different from his usual focus on space and horizon. The narrow confines of the arroyo in the first shot had been quiet, spare, peaceful, empty. The second shot showed a sudden summer storm building, lightning crackling, rain pounding. The third was of the arroyo filled with a deluge of rushing churning water that tumbled branches, rolled rocks, wreaked havoc, sweeping aside everything in its path. The fourth shot, taken only hours later, showed the arroyo quiet again, but different—spotted now with pools of water reflecting the beauty of the clouds in the sky, a coyote lapping at it and a tiny desert flower lifting its head, the water from the storm bringing it to life.
"Said they reminded him of you," Erin told him. She leaned toward him and kissed his jaw. "He's right."
Deke tried to digest that. It took some doing. He had a hard time imagining his father thinking symbolically—until he remembered the portfolio in the attic. He needed to keep remembering that portfolio. He needed to stop putting limits on his father, just as his father had had to stop putting limits on him.
He thought he might be able to do that, given time and the opportunity—and Erin.
Thank God he had Erin.
She'd awakened in him the man he knew he could be—the son, the father, the lover, the husband. She'd taken the raw material that was Deke Malone—with all his flaws and all his dreams and all his pain and all his hope—and with her love, she had made him whole.
He had been too young and stupid and immature and shallow to appreciate her the first time he'd had her in his life. He'd never fully valued her then. He wasn't making that mistake again.
He rolled her over and pinned her to the bed. He framed her beautiful loving face with his hands and lo
oked deep into her eyes. "I love you," he told her in a voice hoarse with sudden emotion. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me."
She looked surprised, as if she didn't expect that kind of declaration from him. Then she smiled, too.
Her gaze softened. She opened herself to him and drew him in. She gave him strength. She gave him courage. She gave him power. She gave him love.
And after he kissed her, nuzzled her and told her with utter confidence, "Together we can do anything."
Erin chuckled. "You think so?"
"I know so."
"Well, I hope you're right, because we're going to have our hands full."
Deke lifted his head and looked down at her. She was grinning at him. "Why?" he said warily.
Erin stretched and smiled. "Because in October, my darling, yours and mine are going to be joined by ours."
He gaped at her, stunned, amazed. Delighted.
"And," she went on cheerfully, "I promised Celie you'd direct the Christmas pageant this year."
* * * * *
The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle Page 19