Quilted by Christmas (9781426796142)

by Bailey, Jodie

  Problem was, Jemma was nowhere in the house. A quick peek out the back door in the laundry room showed the old gray Chevy Blazer stood in its usual place under the pecan tree at the corner of the house, but Jemma seemed to have vanished from the planet.

  So she was avoiding an inevitable conversation with her granddaughter. Or she’d hopped up on the roof after all, helping Justin for all she was worth. Either way, she was in trouble.

  Taryn was halfway across the kitchen when two sharp raps sounded at the back door and the hinges squeaked. “Hey, Jemma? We’ve got a problem.”

  Taryn whipped around, trapped in plain sight in front of the man from whom she was trying to hide.

  Justin’s brown eyes widened at the sight of her in the kitchen, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. His hair was closer cropped than the floppy look he’d worn in high school. Twelve years hadn’t dulled the brown in it.

  She shouldn’t be noticing.

  “Hey.” His greeting was hesitant, but he stepped through the door and into the mudroom, eyes still on her. This Justin was different, leaner, his work jacket tight over broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist. The army had been good to Justin Callahan. “I was wondering if that was your car out in the driveway.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s practical. Good for snowy roads around here and all.” Justin leaned a hip against the washing machine by the door and nodded his approval.

  Taryn crossed her arms over her chest and tried to hold herself together. What exactly was going on here? The last time she’d talked to him, it had been a shouting match that brought his parents out of the house to try to intervene. Now he wanted their first conversation to be about the practicality of her vehicle?

  Before she could ask him what he needed, he shifted and looked away from her, out the window on the back door. “It sure is a far cry from Fred, though.”

  Fred. Just the sound of the name unraveled some of the tension in her shoulders and tugged at the corner of her lips. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Fred was one of a kind.”

  Justin grinned. “Now Fred, he was a truck. The truck. To end all trucks.”

  Fred was an old, beat-up 1986 Ford pickup, the truck her grandfather had driven all over the orchard from Taryn’s toddlerhood up until the day he died. There hadn’t been a need for Jemma to call anyone to dinner in this house. The sound of Fred bouncing and rattling up the small road through the middle of the orchard was enough to let everyone know Grampa was home and dinner ought to be on the table. When Taryn’s grandfather died, the old truck was relegated to the back barn for several months, until Taryn’s heart ached for the abandoned vehicle in need of someone to love it. Her wounded daughter heart couldn’t stand the thought of anything, even a truck, without someone to care for it. She’d found the keys and, with Justin’s help, got the truck polished and running again.

  Justin broke her memories. “We rattled all over this mountain in Fred senior year.”

  “Cassette deck blaring.”

  “Bouncing in time to Nitty Gritty Dirt Band singing . . .”

  “ ‘Fishin’ in the Dark.’” Taryn finished in harmony with him. In spite of everything that had happened in the meantime, the memory she hadn’t allowed herself to take out and play with warmed her.

  She wasn’t ready for warmth. It had been too long.

  “So, what ever happened to Fred?”

  “I sold him.” In a fit of knowing too much, the same day she’d faced her father, Taryn had needed to do something drastic, to cut away something as punishment for what she’d done. “Sold him to Bob O’Sullivan the day before I left for college. He’d had his eye on Fred for a long time.” She crossed her arms again, building a barrier between them. “So, what’s the problem you needed to talk to Jemma about? Was she not up on the roof with you?”

  His smile slipped, his expression moving to one she recognized from marching band in high school. All business. “Haven’t seen her. Her Blazer’s in the driveway though.”

  “Maybe she’s out in the barn.” Taryn took two steps toward the door, then hesitated. To go out would mean to brush past Justin, and the last time she’d touched him, there had been a world of trouble to pay, at least for her.

  Glancing at his watch, Justin jerked his head toward the door. “I’ve got to be somewhere in half an hour. Got to look at the Duncans’ fence around the back of their orchard. I’ll show you, then you can fill Jemma in. Get your coat. I’ll meet you outside. Ladder’s around by your old window.”

  Of course it was. Where else would it be?

  4

  The wind was kicking up pretty hard by the time Taryn found Justin on the back side of the house, sitting with his legs dangling into space over the window of Jemma’s sewing room. To the southwest, clouds piled on top of one another, angry and dark. They might have had Jemma’s graupel earlier, but Taryn had smelled wind like this before and watched clouds like those. It was not snow building this time.

  Justin slid back on the shingles and stood, brushing off his pants. “There’s a nasty mess of rain headed our way. Temperature’s gone up about twenty degrees since this morning.”

  They’d talked about cars. Why not throw the weather in there too? Seemed like a right and natural progression. “Yeah. Rain.” If she could do it without him seeing, Taryn would plant a palm right in the middle of her forehead. Around him, her brain jumbled, past folding onto present, truth intertwining with secrets.

  Justin looked at her, cocking his head to one side before he grinned. “I missed you, Tar.” Without pausing to let her react, he slapped his hands against his thighs. “Okay, let me show you what I found.” He knelt about three feet back from the edge of the roof and motioned for her to join him.

  He missed her? She had to have heard him the wrong way. Taryn shoved her hands into her pockets and dug her fingers into her thighs. How could he even look at her without thinking about how she’d tried to manipulate him into giving up all of his dreams? How she’d used everything in her power to get him to go back on a promise made to one another—and to God—long before they ever started dating?

  Justin was blessed he wasn’t privy to her screaming internal questions. “I came up to hang Jemma’s lights, but when I got over here, the wood beneath the shingles felt soft, so I checked.” He peeled back a few shingles. The wood he exposed was dark and damp and swollen, almost the consistency of thick wheat bread. “She’s got a major leak here. Much more and she’ll have a nice sunroof in her sewing room.”

  All other thoughts fled. Damage like this could mean tricky emergency repairs, even if it hadn’t spread from this one point. “Why hasn’t it spotted the ceiling yet?”

  Justin shrugged. “I have no idea. It should have, because this is mighty damp.” He poked at the soft wood. “This part of the roof goes straight through to the rooms beneath, so the water has to be going somewhere. There’s no attic over this section of the house because it juts out, probably an addition made after the original house was built.”

  Taryn knelt beside Justin and poked a finger at the soft wood. “My great-grandfather. He had more kids than the previous generations.” Children. She could not think about children around him. Some heavy-duty vibes probably shot off her every time she did.

  “Well,” Justin dropped the shingles back into place. “I took a look around the rest of the roof while I had a few minutes. She’s got a few more soft spots. Not as bad as this one, but the house needs a new roof. The sooner the better. The actual reroofing can wait until spring, but there will be some serious problems if she doesn’t jump on some of these patches quickly.” He stood and reached down a hand to help her up, though she acted like she didn’t notice. “Call around. Get some estimates. I’ll throw one in if you want. Go with who’ll do the work the best for the least amount of money, and if we get a good stretch of weather, get it done fast.” He glanced at the sky. “Until then, I’ll run over to Dad’s house and get a tarp to put up here and co
ver this before we get dumped on.”

  “Jemma’s got some tarps in the barn.” Taryn pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “And it sounds like we’ve already been dumped on.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You didn’t Swiss cheese the roof.”

  “Sarcasm. Some things never change, do they?” He bent and retrieved a hammer near the edge of the roof. “That was always one of the best things about you. I’d almost forgotten.” He swept his arm toward the ladder and waited for her to step in front of him.

  Instead, she stood firm, gripped by the sudden need to keep him talking. For a few minutes, talking about something as mundane as roof repair, it had felt like she was young again, like she’d never pushed him away with her seriously screwed-up behavior. “So why was it a mistake to come by Jemma’s booth at the craft fair and see me last night?” Taryn fought not to shut her eyes against the embarrassment. Those were not the words she was thinking in her head. Those words sounded more like how’ve you been and how’s the family. Not, let’s psychoanalyze all of our previous actions.

  The question didn’t seem to unnerve Justin. “Because I wanted to talk, say hello. See if we couldn’t bury the past and be friends again.” He held out his hands. “Friends. Just friends. Seems like twelve years is a long enough time to get over . . . things.”

  Yeah. If “things” were so simple. Still, even though the words sounded like they’d been rehearsed more than a few times, they struck something deep. “So you changed your mind? When you saw me?” Was I not good enough? No, she couldn’t say it out loud. It sounded too much like her neediness that drove him away in the first place.

  “No, it wasn’t you. The timing was all wrong. Too many people crowded around.” He tapped the hammer against the palm of his hand, watching it press his skin. “Felt like it needed more privacy.”

  “Privacy?”

  “Look, let’s just say,” he exhaled loudly and looked over her shoulder toward Jennings Road and the thick woods on the other side, “I’ve spent a whole lot of time thinking and probably more time chewing on some pretty tough pride. I owe you an apology, okay?”

  Taryn took a step back, then leaned forward. “What?” Surely she’d heard him wrong. He didn’t owe her anything.

  “The day we split up?” He slipped the hammer’s handle into the back pocket of his blue jeans and walked past her to the ladder. “Know what? Let’s just say I’m sorry. For everything.” He jerked his thumb at the ladder. “I need to get a tarp out of the barn and get it up here before the rain starts.” Without any further explanation, he disappeared over the side of the house.

  What did he mean by everything? If anybody should be throwing apologies around, it was her. She was the one who’d clung to him like a lost puppy. She was the one who’d begged him to give up everything to stay with her. Worse, she was the one who’d thought sex would get him to stay. One time was all it took.

  No. If apologies were being handed out, they were all on her.

  Maybe I’ve been silent too long. Jemma’s words came back to her. Maybe they’d all been silent too long. If nothing else, he deserved to hear her say, “I’m sorry,” even if she never told him how she’d saved him. Maybe then she could accept what he was offering, because suddenly, his friendship was everything she wanted.

  Her foot found a firm toehold on the grass just as Justin’s voice flew over the house. “Taryn! I found Jemma! Call 911!”

  * * *

  The wet floor of the waiting room nearly landed Taryn in a hospital bed herself. Her shoes skidded on the rain-slicked tile, and only Justin’s quick reflexes and rapid arm around her waist stopped her from landing flat on her rear end in front of God and half of the small county hospital.

  She didn’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed. Jemma’s ambulance stood empty outside, having beaten them to the hospital by several minutes. Several minutes they’d wasted in the driveway while Justin almost forcibly put her in his truck, insisting she was in no condition to drive. She refused to admit he was right, even though her shaking hands told her with every tremor she should have given in instead of wasting precious time arguing with him.

  “You okay?” Justin slipped his arm from her waist and gripped her elbow lightly, guiding her to a chair in the corner.

  What was he thinking making her sit down? Jemma was somewhere in this hospital, in pain. If Justin Callahan thought she was just going to take a seat and thumb through a magazine like some southern belle debutante, then—

  “Taryn.” He stopped in front of her, laid his hands on her shoulders, and leaned down just enough to put him smack in the middle of her field of vision. “Look at me. You’re wound tighter than my great-granddaddy’s pocket watch. Keep this up and you’ll be in the bed right next to Jemma.”

  At least she’d know where Jemma was.

  He eased her down to the chair, then took a step back. “Sit. Breathe. I’m going to go find out what’s going on.” Before she could come up with an argument, he was halfway to the receptionist’s desk in the small ER waiting room, his rain-soaked boots leaving a damp trail on the floor.

  Taryn closed her eyes and sat back in the chair. He was right. She had to calm down, or she’d be no good to anybody. But how could God throw so much at her in the space of ninety minutes and expect her to bear up? What next? Her grandfather rising like Lazarus?

  Justin’s footsteps drew closer, and he’d dropped into the seat beside her before she opened her eyes, afraid to ask. “How is she?”

  “They just got her in. The receptionist couldn’t tell me anything other than the doctor would be out soon.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Did you call Rachel?”

  “She’s coming as soon as she drops Ethan off at her parents’ house.” Quick, Rachel, before I lean on Justin too much and drive him screaming into the rapidly darkening evening.

  “I’ll hang out until she gets here.”

  No, he couldn’t. It was too much like before, when he’d always had her back. When, in their last conversation, he’d told her the truth. She was too clingy. Too needy. She’d used him. Every word he’d said back then she’d deserved, and there was no way she’d sit here now, the first time she’d seen him in a dozen years, and let him think she was still the same girl. He might never know the depths of her strength or what she’d done to protect him, but he wouldn’t ever again think she couldn’t take care of herself. “I’m good. Rachel will be here in a minute.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone, so stop trying to fight me.” He sat back and looked at her sideways, the smallest of grins tipping the corner of his mouth. “As I recall, you get your stubbornness right from your grandmother, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. This branch of the tree grew straight as an arrow.” Taryn crossed her arms over her chest and tried to hold herself together. “What was she thinking climbing the rickety old stepladder in the barn? I thought she got rid of it two years ago when I gave her a new one for Christmas.”

  “You’d have to ask her. But every person in the county knows she’s legendary for not asking for help.”

  Taryn shook her head. “She was hiding out there, you know.”

  “From what?”

  “Me. You.” This was a line of conversation they couldn’t continue. Not now. The shock of seeing him again was still too strong, and this dash to the ER had her emotions on high. Talking about personal things with him was insanity. “Know what? I’m fine.” As long as someone came through the door soon to tell her Jemma was okay, it was the truth. If they came out and said anything different . . . A tremor shook her so she grasped her knees and held tight, afraid she’d fly apart if the vision fully formed.

  “I’ve got nowhere to be. Dad rescheduled the Duncans when I called and told him what’s going on with Jemma. He said to keep him posted.” Justin stretched and crossed his legs at the ankles, boots shedding rapidly drying mud.

  Every time the gray mud came into view, all she c
ould see was Jemma’s even grayer face as they loaded her onto the stretcher. Jemma lying on the ancient gray wood floor of the barn, arm at a crazy angle no arm should ever be, step ladder sideways on the floor as though it had jumped and skittered at a sudden sound. Or tucked tail and ran after dumping its precious cargo onto the old splintered wood.

  When Taryn got home, she was going to break the stinking ladder into pieces and burn it in the old wood stove in the barn.

  She pressed her fists against her eyes so tightly, white light swirled the darkness and imploded in a black hole sucking up all of the light in the universe. When she was a little girl, she used to press her palms against her closed eyes to see what would happen and to marvel at the play of light where there was no light. Now she just wanted the swirls and sparks to take away the sight of Jemma prone on the barn floor.

  She shuddered again. Please, God. Let Jemma be okay. If You take her, I’ve got nothing.

  “She was awake when they put her in the ambulance.” Justin interrupted her prayer.

  Taryn snapped her head toward him. “It would have been nice to know earlier. If I’d known, I’d have fought harder to ride with her.”

  “Exactly. And you didn’t need to get in the way.” He nudged his shoulder against hers. “She was talking slowly, but she was giving what-for to the EMT who was working on her.”

  “Oh, no.” Jemma never missed a chance to tell someone else—in the most loving way, of course—how to do his job. “Was he not putting on the oxygen mask to her liking?” Knowing Jemma was responsive back at the house loosened one of the steel bands around Taryn’s lungs, allowing a slight moment of relief.

  “No.” Justin turned his head toward her and smiled. “She has perennials in her flower beds by the pump house, and those boys had better be careful turning their monstrosity of an ambulance around, because if those begonias don’t come back in the spring they’ll be out there replanting every single one of them.” His voice was deeper than Jemma’s, but the tone was spot on.