At the doorway to the den, her feet dragged to a stop. Rachel’s nearly finished quilt lay draped across the back of her couch. If Jemma was coming home on Friday, she had two days to finish the quilt. So long early bedtime.
Pulling in a deep breath, she abandoned the idea of a nap, letting it go with a sigh, and flopped onto the couch next to the quilt, allowing her hand to run down the fabric. It was probably her imagination, but it seemed to release the faint scent of Justin, all woodsy outdoors and fresh soap. His presence lingered, almost like he was sitting there beside her, easing his way back into her life.
Taryn let her eyes close and dropped her head back to the couch. For the past two nights, he’d shown up on her doorstep after she got home from visiting Jemma, always with food, always laughing and talking and stitching like nothing had ever happened between them. Not once had he brought up what had almost happened in the woods on Sunday. Not once had he talked about the past. Everything was focused on the now with him. It almost seemed like he took pleasure in being with her doing something as un-Justin as sewing fabric squares into strips and strips into the body of the quilt.
Stupid quilt. If Jemma hadn’t decided to take on a tradition not her own, if the first quilt hadn’t been ruined, if Justin wasn’t so insistent on helping her . . . they’d have never spent all of this time together. He wouldn’t have nearly kissed her. She wouldn’t have wanted him to.
Marnie’s words wouldn’t be chasing around in her head, keeping her awake more than Jemma’s illness ever could. I meant the line about love finding you when you least expect it. You certainly weren’t expecting Justin back.
No, she wasn’t. Taryn had always secretly missed him, but she sure hadn’t expected to see him in her life again. Not this close. She leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. This was all moving so fast. Two weeks ago, she hadn’t seen Justin in a dozen years. Now she was starting to forget the time had passed, was starting to think she wanted so much more than the friendship she’d caved in to.
The sooner they finished the quilt, the better. Then he wouldn’t have any reason to keep coming around, and they could each go on with their lives, separately, friends bumping into one another occasionally, like it should have been all along. He’d never have to know what she’d done and could go on without the burden of knowing Sarah was out there.
There was only an hour or two of work left on the stitching, and the quilt would be done. Taryn glanced at the clock. If she started now, it would be nearly finished if Justin showed up as he had the past few nights. She could tell him good-bye, and it would be for the last time.
But she couldn’t make her fingers pick up the quilting hoop she’d finally resorted to using when they started stitching rows together. The thought of it made her fingers ache. The thought of doing it without Justin present made her heart ache worse. She’d wait. Give herself one more evening with him before she shut the door behind him and went back to regular life.
The thought depressed her, but it had to be done. What she needed was to sip a good, hot cup of her mom’s Russian tea and to open her Christmas cards.
In short order, she had the fireplace going and had settled into the recliner with the warm citrus scent of tea drifting from an end table and the mail on her lap. She flipped through the seven or eight envelopes, noting return addresses, mostly people from church, a couple from college friends, and one or two from distant relatives. The last one was different, not a card but a letter in a plain envelope, the handwriting familiar, the return address from Texas.
Sarah.
The girl usually tucked notes in with letters or cards from her mom once or twice a year. Never had she gone to the trouble to write on her own. Taryn’s heart picked up speed until she thought it would bounce out of her chest and hightail it for safety under the couch across the room.
Breaking the envelope seal, Taryn pulled out the folded notebook paper gently, as if it was fragile enough to crumble in her hands, and unfolded it. Sarah’s handwriting curled across the page, impossibly neat for a middle schooler’s, nothing like Taryn’s own.
Aunt Taryn,
For the first time, it feels weird to call you that. I sort of want to write Mom Taryn or Mama McKenna, which sounds kind of cool, but I don’t know if you’d like it.
I’ve been talking to Mom and Dad a lot lately about you. See, I know they love me and I’m glad they’re my parents, but sometimes it’s not enough. Sometimes I wonder who I am and how much of me is like you. Mom says these are big questions for a kid. She said it makes me sound like an old soul. I guess I just think about it a lot.
She said one time you wouldn’t come to see me unless I asked you myself. So here’s me asking you myself. Will you come see me? Maybe for my birthday? Mom and Dad said it’s okay, and I’d like it. A lot.
Love,
Sarah Josephs
Taryn didn’t even realize she was crying until a tear splotched the middle of birthday. The edges of the paper crumpled in her grip. What could she do? To get on a plane and fly to Texas and see what she’d lost would rip her apart. To say no would be to abandon Sarah fully, to leave that little girl feeling just like Taryn’s dad had left her to feel.
To go would mean she had to tell Justin the truth because it would be the height of wrong to look their daughter in the eye without him.
Their daughter.
Taryn dropped the letter to her lap, buried her face in her hands, and cried.
14
Child, you have not stopped chattering since they settled me into the blessed wheelchair in the hospital, and you finally believed they were letting me come home.” Jemma was aiming for her stern voice, but she missed. The slight tilt of her lips was a dead giveaway she was anything but mad. If she were to get down to being honest, she was just as excited as Taryn, who was bouncing and chattering in the backseat.
Christmas was six days away, and Jemma was headed home. Taryn didn’t care if it was the only present she received for the next decade.
Justin met her eye in the rearview mirror, shook his head, and smiled a crooked smile. She sat back against the leather rear seat of his pickup, heart pounding hard enough to require a trip right back to the hospital. He shouldn’t smile at her. It only reinforced what she was realizing she wanted badly but couldn’t have. It twisted the decision about Sarah into a knot in her gut, bringing a deeper ache than she’d ever felt before.
A frown drew her eyebrows together when her attention went back to Jemma. Justin and Sarah were things to think about late at night, when she was home trying to fall asleep, unable to because he was slowly tangling himself back into her heart.
Right now, nothing could be allowed to bring her down. Jemma was coming home in time for Christmas. Thank you, Lord. He’d answered this prayer, but it created an uneasy twinge around her heart. Things just couldn’t stay good for long. They never did.
“You drive slower than my great-grandmother.” Jemma goaded Justin from the front seat beside him. He’d been easing around the dips in the dirt driveway leading to the farmhouse, going at a turtle’s pace, and Jemma had just about had enough.
Taryn knew what was on her grandmother’s mind. She wanted to make sure the house had fared well in the nearly two weeks she’d been gone.
And she should be wanting to make sure. Her granddaughter was not known for her excessively awesome cleaning skills. Those definitely got left in the gene pool when Taryn climbed out and toweled off.
“You just got out of the hospital. Last thing I need is your granddaughter screaming in my ear because I bounced the stuffing out of you on this driveway.” Justin flashed Taryn an-other look. “You know how she can be.”
Taryn slapped him in the back of the head, which only elicited a chuckle from him and a knowing look from Jemma.
Jemma could smile like the Cheshire Cat all she wanted. It had become clear to Taryn she’d have to hold Justin to acquaintance level, no matter how much it hurt, and her grandmo
ther would have to be content with it. They’d have to sit down and talk after Justin left. Jemma could not be playing matchmaker, no matter what her motives, not with all the things Taryn couldn’t say.
The truck didn’t speed up one iota, even though Jemma leaned forward and fried Justin with her impatient glare.
He kept his eyes out the windshield in front of him, where the wipers swept away a spitting snow flurry. “When was the last time you had the driveway graded?”
Jemma shrugged. “I have no idea. I usually don’t notice it’s uneven.”
Taryn snorted. “Because you drive up here at eighty and go airborne every time you hit a bump.”
The look she shot over her shoulder should have left Taryn gasping for breath, but all she got in return was a smile. Taryn refused to be scared today. Jemma was coming home, albeit with restrictions she may or may not follow. Any discussion would have to wait until later.
Taryn couldn’t wait until her grandmother saw the tree in the den and the quilt laid out on the table. It might not be the one she had planned, but she’d be doing back flips over the fact Rachel would have a quilt for her wedding. It had yet to be backed, but she’d already talked to Holly and would carry it into Dalton on Monday to have it machine-quilted to the backing. The hard part was done.
“Tell you what,” Justin rounded the back of the house and slowed to a stop by the back door behind Jemma’s Blazer. “After Christmas, I’ll borrow the tractor from Dad and come over and smooth out some of these holes for you. I’m afraid if it doesn’t get done soon, the thawing and freezing of all the rain and damp we’ve had so far will do nothing but make the whole thing worse.”
Justin was coming back? Even though the roof was repaired and the quilt his misplaced guilt had driven him to help with was finished? Even though Jemma was back home and he could safely walk away now?
He was eyeballing Taryn in the mirror again, but this time, it looked like he was trying to read her more than say anything. When he realized she was looking at him, he smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then popped the door open and looked at Jemma. “I’ll come around and help you out.”
“Like fun you will.” Jemma had the door open and was out of the truck before Justin could even get around the front fender.
He shrugged and pulled Taryn’s door open for her. “You okay?”
“Perfectly fine.” For the most part.
Shutting the door, he walked around the back of the truck beside her. “You staying with Jemma tonight?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I should, but she probably won’t let me.” No matter what the doctor said, no matter what Taryn wanted, it was pretty much a guarantee her grandmother would boot her out of the house right after Wheel of Fortune, telling her she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. This in spite of the fact Jemma was not left-handed, and the doctor told her not to do anything more strenuous than walk from the den to the bedroom.
The woman would be making gingersnap cookies within two hours of being in the back door. After all, she was behind on her Christmas baking.
“Hey.” Justin grabbed Taryn’s wrist before they could get all the way around the truck. “Since there’s no sewing and no decorating to be done tonight, I was going to see if—”
“Taryn, do you have your key?” Jemma stood at the top of the concrete steps, holding the white wooden screen door open with her shoulder while she tried to rummage through her purse one-handed. “Mine’s not in my purse. It’s probably still hanging on the rack by the door.”
Turning away from Justin, Taryn dug into her pocket. It was way better not to know where his sentence was going.
By the time the door was unlocked and Jemma was kicking her shoes off inside as she leaned against the washing machine, Justin was at Taryn’s shoulder. “You excited about what she’s going to say?”
A grin was the only answer Taryn had. Definitely. It was the first time she’d ever felt like she was able to pay Jemma back in some way for all she’d done for her.
Jemma settled her shoes under the hooks and shrugged out of her coat, struggling with the left arm.
Justin moved to step around Taryn and help, but she held up a hand to stop him.
Jemma would rather struggle for ten minutes and do it herself than accept help from one of them. She finally sandwiched the hem of the sleeve between her fingertips and the cast and managed to slip her arm out. The smug look she gave Taryn and Justin set them firmly in their places. “Know what I could use?” She was off, into the kitchen before either Justin or Taryn could even slip out of their coats. “A nice cup of coffee.”
“Decaf,” Taryn called, tossing her coat and hoping it caught on a hook. “And I’ll make it for you.”
“Honestly, child. Filling the coffeepot is not going to send me into cardiac arrest.” Jemma huffed her frustration as she pulled the carafe from the coffee maker. “There is such a thing as too much help. And hovering. You are definitely hovering.” She planted the carafe against Taryn’s stomach and gently eased her back a couple of feet. “There. I can breathe now.”
Taryn flared her nostrils, knowing better than to take offense. The queen of England would get the same treatment if she showed up and tried to help. Far from being insulted, it did her heart good to see Jemma was still her Jemma. A tiny part of Taryn had been afraid her grandmother would come home an old woman, one who shriveled up in her recliner until she wasted away into nothing. Seemed like the opposite had happened, and too much “rest” in the hospital had Jemma raring to go.
“You ought to know I’m not going to sit in there in front of the TV and wither away.”
“Stop reading my mind.” Taryn popped open the cabinet door and reached up to pull the decaf from its perch way in the back, then settled back onto her heels.
Justin leaned against the counter next to Taryn, arms crossed over his chest, watching the proceedings. “Yep, I was right. This is exactly where you get it.” His voice was low and intimate. “Stubborn as the day is long.”
The bag of coffee squeezed like a pillow between her fingers, releasing the warm smell of roasted comfort. “And don’t you forget it.”
She turned to hand the coffee to Jemma, but Justin grabbed her upper arm and tipped his head toward her, whispering, “She spotted the quilt.”
Jemma had stopped stock-still, coffee carafe in the sink and hand on the faucet, staring over the bar at the kitchen table where the quilt was spread in all of its green-and-white glory. She was completely silent.
Taryn shot a glance over her shoulder at Justin, who straightened and stood so his chest hovered just out of reach of her back, the warmth of him filtering through her shirt and into her heart. It took all she had not to lean back into him, to give herself one moment where she could pretend there was something between them, and this could go where she’d always wished it could go, with no secret holding them apart like an invisible barrier.
“Taryn.” Jemma dropped her hand from the faucet, leaving the water running, and gripped the edge of the counter. “What is this?”
Justin rested his hand at the small of Taryn’s back and urged her forward.
She glanced back to catch his grin. They’d rendered Jemma close to speechless. It was a nearly impossible feat.
There was a high five in his eyes. Good job us. Way to go, team.
“It’s Rachel’s quilt. For her wedding. Justin and I finished it for you.”
Jemma had yet to take her eyes off the quilt. Rounding the bar, she reached out a finger but stopped just short of touching the fabric. “This is not Rachel’s quilt.”
“I know.” Leaving Justin behind in the kitchen and stepping around the bar, Taryn slipped up behind her grandmother and laid a hand on her shoulder. “But it’s hand-sewn just like you wanted. I didn’t want to tell you while you were in the hospital, but there was a leak and—”
“Where did you get this?” There was a tremor in her voice, one that dropped Taryn’s hand from
her shoulder and drove her back a step. Something was off, something not good.
“In the attic. I found it when we were bringing down the Christmas decorations, and since it was already half-sewn, it was the only way to get one done for Rachel in time for the wedding. There was no way, even with Justin’s help, for me to get a new one cut and pieced in time after a leak ruined the first one. This one dropped into our lap and—”
“You and Justin sewed this together.” It was not a question. And she still hadn’t looked at Taryn. “Isn’t this just fitting.” Jemma’s voice was laced with the tears hanging on her eyelashes. “If you two would have just waited, would have hung on, and waited like you should have, it would have been yours.”
Taryn took a step back as a rustle came from the kitchen. “What would have been whose?”
“Your father. Your awful father. I never should have let him influence me, should have kept him away from you, talked some sense into you instead of listening to him.” It was as if Jemma was alone in the room. She’d lost all focus save for the quilt. “He’d have asked you like he planned, and everything would be so much different.”
The tone of her voice chilled Taryn. Straight from her heart, it made the hairs rise up on the back of her neck. “Who was going to ask me what?” But she already knew the answer. Deep inside, where she wouldn’t even admit it, she already knew. Some sort of crazy nausea gripped her, and she pressed her fingers against her mouth, hard, letting her other hand press them even tighter.
Over the bar, her eyes met Justin’s. He looked stricken, the set of his jaw hard. When he caught Taryn’s eye, his mouth opened, then shut. His eyes flickered away and back again, unreadable.
Behind her, Jemma kept talking. “I should have let you tell him instead of letting your father convince me it was for the best for you to give the baby away.”
Jemma, no. Taryn’s heart beat twice on a surge of adrenaline. It gripped her chest and shot pain to her fingertips. Her head swung back and forth. No. No. No.
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