Quilted by Christmas (9781426796142)

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Quilted by Christmas (9781426796142) Page 11

by Bailey, Jodie


  Taryn gripped the bed rail so hard her knuckles ached. “I don’t know, Jem.” Justin had, but Taryn could still see the handle sticking up out of the ground, waiting for her to trip over it.

  Jemma laid her free hand on Taryn’s. Her skin was cool and dry against the heat of Taryn’s muddled life. “Tell him the truth.”

  Looking down at their hands on the rail, Taryn shook her head.

  “Until you do, nothing good can come of the two of you together. You may have done the right thing for both of you, but sooner or later, it’s going to come out. Better he hear it from you than from someone else.”

  “You and I are the only two in Hollings who know. Who’s going to tell him? Why do anything different now?”

  “Things change. Circumstances change.” Jemma looked away at the curtain. “It will always be between you, and you’ll never be able to trust each other.” She gripped Taryn’s fingers tighter. “Tell him.”

  “You were the one who convinced me not to let him know in the first place, telling me it was better if he didn’t know.” Taryn pulled her hand from her grandmother’s grasp. “Why the change of heart?”

  “Age begets wisdom.” Jemma sighed.

  The nurse poked her head around the curtain. “It’s getting late, ladies. Ms. McKenna, would you like to come back in the morning? She should be in a regular room by ten or so, and you can stay as long as you want.”

  Taryn nodded, glad to drop the conversation she wasn’t ready to have with anyone yet. The conversation she’d likely never be ready to have with anyone ever. She pressed a kiss to Jemma’s cool forehead and slipped through the curtain with a promise to come back tomorrow.

  Her hiking boots thudded softly on the tile floor of the hallway as she headed back to where Justin waited. Life had been good. Though it wasn’t perfect, the routine had been comforting. Why did Justin have to come back and complicate everything?

  11

  Sooner or later, somebody’s going to have to bring me a steak.” Jemma stuck her fork in the chicken breast Taryn had baked and brought to the hospital for her. The utensil stood in the meat like a flag pole of surrender. All they needed to do was tie Jemma’s napkin around it to complete the look.

  “Something wrong with the chicken?” Taryn cut another bite and held it up to look at it. She had to agree with Jemma. Plain chicken breast wasn’t appetizing. Some honey barbecue sauce would go a long way toward helping the matter. Still, she’d smelled the food cart as she passed, and this had to be better.

  “Wanna know what’s wrong with the chicken you’re studying? It’s not a T-bone.”

  Taryn laughed. “It’s not Jell-O either, so eat up or I’ll go hunt down the nurse and have her bring back whatever it was she tried to bring in here earlier.”

  “Smelled like dog food. Sick people need good food, not bland cardboard that Fido would turn up his nose at.”

  “Well, aren’t you cranky tonight?” Taryn couldn’t say she blamed her. They were marking a week of Jemma being in the hospital, and Christmas was creeping up ever faster. It had only been three days since the minor heart attack set her back, and with each passing day, Jemma’s mood got worse. “You need to get a little bit of Christmas cheer so they’ll let you come home.”

  “Hard to get Christmas cheer when the walls are beige, the sheets are white, and my skin is looking grayer by the day. Look at this.” She held out her good arm. “I’m losing my tan.”

  “What tan? You’ve been wearing long sleeves since Sep-tember. There wasn’t any tan left when you came in here.”

  Jemma slouched against her pillows and huffed her indignity at the world. “It’s the point of the matter, Taryn Margaret.”

  “Honey, I’ve seen two-year-olds who’ve missed their naps over at the church preschool less petulant than you are right now. When they get like this, the teachers make them stand in the corner.”

  The edge of Jemma’s mouth twitched. “I’d sure like to see you try to put me in a corner. You’d find out just how much strength this old woman’s got left in her.”

  Taryn pointed a finger at her grandmother. “Ah. There’s the Jemma we all know and love.”

  “You found the Jemma we all know and love? I didn’t know she was lost.” The voice from the doorway turned both of their heads. “To mutilate a time-honored eighties quote, I thought nobody put Jemma in a corner.” Justin stepped into the room with a wink at Taryn, his arms loaded down with a plastic grocery sack and a canvas duffel bag.

  What was he doing here?

  “What have we here?” Jemma flung a quick glance at Taryn, then held an arm out to Justin for a greeting. He set the bags on the floor beside her bed and obliged her with a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to Taryn.

  She jerked away as he ruffled her hair before he reached for the bags. “Well, Justin. What brings you by today?” She hadn’t seen him since he dropped her off at her house in the wee hours of Thursday morning, although he’d called a couple of times over the course of the past two days to check on Jemma’s progress and see how the quilt was going. With the remodel he’d taken on in Dalton, his time was eaten up well into the evening. Taryn had sewn alone the past few nights after coming home from the hospital, feeling out of sorts, already used to having him around.

  She was in so much trouble.

  Justin hefted the duffel bag and set it in her lap. “Christmas cheer.”

  “Do tell.” Jemma leaned to the side to try to see around him.

  “It’s Saturday night, right?” He flashed a grin at Taryn and jerked his chin toward the bag. “Open it.”

  It seemed the grown-up Justin was full of more surprises than the young Justin ever was. Every day, he shocked Taryn one more time. She unzipped the bag cautiously, wary of spring-loaded snakes or mounds of confetti and gasped softly when she realized what was inside. “Jemma, you won’t believe . . .” She looked up at Justin’s eager face. “You didn’t.”

  “Let the old invalid woman see.” Jemma planted a hand on Justin’s bicep and eased him to the side, her eyes widening. “A DVD player?” She leaned as far as she could over the edge of the bed, her grin widening every second. “And the movie.” Her voice dropped low, but her smile widened. “How did you know?”

  Justin settled gently on the foot of Jemma’s bed and braced his hands beside him. “Taryn let slip the other night you were afraid you’d miss y’all’s tradition of watching White Christmas together. I double-checked and, sure enough, the hospital doesn’t get the classic movie channel. They told me I could bring a DVD player and hook it up to your TV if I wanted. Nobody should have to miss Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney at the holidays, so here I am.”

  “Now all we need is popcorn.” Jemma looked like a kid on Christmas morning, her smile genuine and wide for the first time since the ambulance loaded her up and brought her here.

  Something told Taryn that Justin had taken care of snacks. After all, he’d thought of everything else. “There’s popcorn in the grocery bag, isn’t there?”

  “If you want to call it that. I asked about popcorn, but the nurse said you could only have air popped and plain. So you got air popped and plain.” He leaned down and picked up the bag, then settled it on Jemma’s lap. “It tastes like packing peanuts to me, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

  Jemma sighed happily and peeked into the bag, then pulled out a plastic container filled with popcorn. “Justin Callahan, I have sorely missed having you around. Your mama raised you right.”

  He mimicked Jemma’s trademark hand wave. “Pshaw. You’re just saying nice things because I brought you Bing Crosby and popcorn.”

  Popping a kernel into her mouth, Jemma nodded. “You could be right there, but it has been too long, hasn’t it?”

  Taryn wanted to kick her right in the shin. What was Jemma thinking? Could she be more matchmaking than she was right now? Well, fine. She’d turn the tables on her grandmother one-two-three. “Jem, stop flirting. He’s less than half your ag
e.”

  Justin choked on a laugh, and Jemma gave her a knowing look as she nodded her head. “Well, nobody else in this room is flirting with him, so somebody has to stroke his ego.”

  Oh, if Jemma wasn’t lying in a hospital bed at the moment . . . Taryn was certain her face glowed red enough to put any Christmas tree to shame.

  Justin simply laughed. “No need to flirt, and my ego is just fine. I promise. It’s payment enough to see you smile.”

  “Well, aren’t you just a giant cliché.” Jemma reached up and tweaked his ear, then sat back and eyed the bag in her lap. “There’s something else in here.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Justin reached over and rattled the bag toward him, then dipped inside and held something out to Taryn. “If I’m remembering right, this was your movie snack of choice.”

  Taryn leaned forward and grasped the blue tube of cookie dough, Justin’s fingers brushing hers and telegraphing straight to her stomach. The fluttering anticipation there had nothing to do with sweet treats. “Thank you.”

  The soft words brought a look into Justin’s eyes, holding Taryn closer than an embrace. “Anytime.”

  It was a look she hadn’t seen in twelve years, and one she had never expected to see again. Her stomach accelerated from flutters, past butterflies, to full on red-tailed hawks.

  “You’re staying to watch the movie, right?” Jemma’s voice intervened, breaking Justin’s gaze and letting Taryn sink back into her chair.

  “I wish I could.” Reluctance coated the words like snow on Brown Mountain. “But I have to help Dad with some things tonight.” Justin stood and pressed a kiss to the top of Jemma’s head, then paused to look down at Taryn. “Meet me at Jemma’s after church tomorrow. Dress warm.” He was gone before she could answer.

  His departure seemed to take her spine with him. She sank deeper against the chair, her eyes slipping closed. That kind of request should set any girl’s heart on fire. Instead, the flames sizzled under cold fear.

  12

  Wind and mud stung Taryn’s face and smeared her goggles. Her red knitted scarf flew out behind her, occasionally flipping back to flick her in the cheek. Justin’s off-key, off-beat rendition of their old standby “Fishin’ in the Dark” flew over his head, bounced off her helmet, and danced away on the wind.

  She’d grin and maybe even sing along if it didn’t mean there’d be mud in her teeth by the time they reached the first chorus.

  When Justin said they should go get Jemma’s traditional live Christmas tree from the firs planted at the far end of the orchard a couple of miles away, Taryn thought they’d be taking his truck.

  Nope. He dug out the old four-wheeler from the barn, managed to get the thing running, tossed her a helmet, and told her to hold on.

  With a bounce that nearly pitched her off the seat and over his head, he crashed through another mud puddle, breaking the thin sheen of ice glazing the top and shooting muddy water in all directions.

  He had to be hitting those things on purpose.

  Taryn swiped at her goggles with one hand, smearing the mud thin enough to see through more than actually removing it, then reached around and tightened her grip around Justin’s waist as another giant puddle appeared on the path. Yep, he was definitely doing it on purpose.

  And no, she did not notice how tight his abs were under his work jacket, which was also caked with damp mud. In spite of the look between them the night before, Taryn felt more relaxed than she had in more than a week. It had been too long since she’d let herself go in her beloved outdoors. School and Jemma and the quilt kept her indoors. The weather hadn’t helped, what with the relative warmth finally giving way to winter chill mixed with rain and damp snow.

  The two of them were bound to be a sight. A muddy, wet, laughing sight. Somebody was likely to call the press and tell them a two-headed Sasquatch had been spotted in the hills above Hollings.

  With a whoop, Justin skidded sideways to a stop at the end of the orchard where the apple trees ended and the Fraser firs began. Years ago, Taryn’s great-great-great-grandfather carved the orchard out of the forest on the hill above Hollings, but he left a couple of acres of the natural trees to flourish. Every Christmas, they came out, took down one tree, and replaced it with a seedling.

  Taryn twisted around to find the tiny tree that Jemma bought two weeks ago still anchored to the small metal bracket behind her seat. Honestly. How did it survive Justin’s driving?

  He revved the engine, looking to the left and to the right. “Which way?”

  “No way. Can I drive now?” She wasn’t scared so much as sure there was already mud caked in her eyebrows, and it would never come out.

  Justin turned to look over his shoulder, nose bare inches from hers. It was enough to steal her breath. He hadn’t been this deep in her personal space since . . . well, in a long time. It tweaked her heart into a triple beat, almost making her wonder whether she didn’t belong in the hospital right beside Jemma.

  “Scared?” Justin’s voice didn’t sound quite right, maybe even a little strained. Probably the wind had dried out his throat.

  Scared? Yes. Yes, she was. Because she had just become aware of the fact her arms were still tight around his waist and her chest was pressed up against his back. He probably thought she was making a move on him. Again. For the sake of what was a new beginning of their friendship, she loosened her grip and moved to sit back.

  Justin gunned the engine and spun the tires off again. “Left it is!” His voice was carried away on the wind, and the speed forced Taryn to jerk her arms forward and hold on for all she was worth. Her heart forgot what just passed between them and decided it was okay to pull him close if it meant saving her life.

  He slowed a couple of minutes later, the trees growing too thick for his breakneck speed. He tilted his head to the side and called over his shoulder, “Keep an eye open for the perfect tree. No Charlie Browns this year. Jemma deserves the biggest we can find.”

  Which reminded her . . . “Hey, genius. How are you planning to get the tree out of here once we find it? And how are you planning to cut it down?”

  “I’ll bring the truck back later. We’ll mark the one you want. It was just easier this way.” He gunned the engine. “And more fun.”

  Taryn sat back a little and let her hands rest on his waist, gripping his coat to keep some space between them. With the breakneck speed decreased to a slow crawl, her heart went back to the “he’s so close” beat. “Easier? Nope. You just wanted to drive the quad. Just like when we were kids.”

  “Actually? I thought you could use some fresh air. You’re working too hard, trying to be everything to everybody. It was making you tense.”

  There he went again, looking after her when she wasn’t even sure she wanted him to. “Thanks.”

  He grinned over his shoulder at her and tapped the front of his helmet, then glided to a stop in the middle of a small clearing where several smaller trees surrounded them. The damp chill in the air hung heavy with the scent of evergreens and the expectation of snow. With the engine silenced, the quiet took control.

  Pulling the helmet from his head, Justin sat back a little in his seat. “I haven’t been back here in years.”

  “Probably not since the last time you came out here with Jemma and me to get a tree.” Taryn pulled her own helmet off and finger combed her hair, wishing she’d brought a baseball cap.

  He nodded, then slid off the four-wheeler. “The year your grandfather died. I was invited to be the man of the party and rock the chainsaw.” He burned a few riffs on an air guitar.

  “Good way to lose fingers if you’re handling a chainsaw like you’re in a rock band.”

  Justin held up his hand with his ring and middle fingers bent down, frowned, then gave Taryn a sheepish grin. With a shake of his hand, his fingers “magically” reappeared, then he swept his arms wide. “Find us a tree, m’lady. It’s getting cold out here, and I want to come back with the truck before it gets too dark to find this
spot again.”

  It didn’t feel like so many Christmases had passed since her grandfather had died and Justin had made the trek out here with Jemma and Taryn and Fred the pickup. In the moment, watching Justin run his hands along tree branches as he analyzed how many needles fell, it seemed like just last week. One of those carefree, crazy days, one of the first times when she felt truly happy after the aneurysm jerked Grampa out of their lives forever.

  Jemma had laughed at Justin’s antics until tears ran down her face, good tears for the first time in a long time. She’d vowed to always bring him to “man up” with the chainsaw, even though she was perfectly capable of wrestling a tree down all by herself.

  It was the first and last time Justin made the journey with them. The next year, he was in the army and Taryn was at college, wearing baggier sweaters every day and crying into her pillow every night.

  “What’s the frown all about?”

  The nearness of his voice, right over her shoulder, pulled a huge, cold, stinging breath into her lungs. “Don’t sneak up on me!” The words were snappier than she’d meant them to be, high on adrenaline and whatever else seemed to spike whenever he got too close. Apparently, her muscle memory of him was way too keen. She pulled in a calmer breath. “Just thinking about Grampa and Christmas and Jemma.” It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

  “Well, turn your frown upside down.”

  Even if she didn’t want to smile, there was no way she could stop it. “You may have a soldier’s body, but there’s a band geek still alive inside you.”

  He tipped his chin, then flexed an arm and tweaked his own bicep. “You think I have a soldier’s body?”

  Great. Now he knew she’d noticed.

  Before she could turn red enough to melt the few flakes of snow already drifting down, he stepped around her and looked to the top of the tree she was standing beside. “I think you’ve found the perfect tree without even trying.”

 

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