by Erin Wright
And then he pulled away and without a word, headed back out into the snowstorm, down the street, disappearing into the swirling white.
Ivy stared after him, a hand pressed to her lips, surprise thrumming through her. She hadn’t expected that kiss, she hadn’t expected him to leave abruptly, but most of all, she hadn’t expected to want to continue.
A part of her knew that this was a bad idea. Her and Austin could never work out. Living in different states tended to put a damper on things, but it was more than that. He was a cowboy who worked with local farmers to help them make long-term decisions about what crops to plant and what rotation schedule to follow.
Those weren’t talents that were exactly in high demand in the Bay area.
And she couldn’t move here. To live back among the people who’d tried so hard to make her life miserable. To live in a world where snow was a regular occurrence six months out of the year. To live where pine trees grew as far as the eye could see, and art for the sake of art wasn’t even on anyone’s radar.
But despite all of this, she couldn’t help the joy running through her as she slipped inside her parents’ house and down the hallway to her bedroom. Snuggling up underneath the hot pink comforter that had seemed so awesome when she was a sophomore in high school, she stared up at the ceiling, a loopy grin on her face, playing and replaying the kiss in her mind.
Maybe a Christmas miracle would happen here, too. Maybe she shouldn’t give up on it quite yet.
She wrapped the hope for a Christmas miracle around her, snuggled in deep, and drifted off to sleep, a peaceful world of snow continuing to fall gently on Long Valley.
Chapter 12
Austin
He picked up the newest thriller by Mark Dawson and stared unseeingly at the pages, then put it down. He automatically went to pick it back up, when his hand froze over the paperback. It was no use. He’d been trying to read that rather short paragraph for the last – he looked at his phone – thirty-two minutes, and still had no idea what it said.
Or what the name of the book was.
He groaned, burying his face in his hands. This was ridiculous. He loved to read. He loved thrillers. He loved Mark Dawson. Austin had long ago taught himself how to entertain himself while alone, because otherwise, he would’ve gone stark raving mad years ago.
After growing up with Monica practically attached to his hip from their freshman year forward, it’d actually been something he had to consciously teach himself how to do. It was okay to be by himself. It was okay to spend evenings in, with only a book to keep him company.
But today, he couldn’t concentrate. Not when he was about to go spend the afternoon at Stetson’s house.
Not when he was about to spend the afternoon with Ivy McLain at Stetson’s house. Because as fun as Stetson was, he was not the reason that Austin was having a hard time concentrating.
His eyes flicked towards the ready stack of presents by the front door. He’d bought bottles of wine and boxes of chocolates for everyone, except Ivy. She deserved something more, something special. He’d spent days searching for exactly that, until he’d found the perfect present.
This wasn’t a date, of course. You didn’t go on a date with a girl, her sister, her parents, and three Miller brothers, wives in tow. Especially not a Christmas Day date. That implied a level of seriousness in their relationship that just wasn’t there.
Couldn’t be there.
After the holidays, Ivy was going back to California; back to her life in the relative warmth of San Francisco. There, people appreciated her talents, and rewarded her for them. After all, how many people were able to make it financially as a painter? She’d never talked financial specifics with him, of course – it wasn’t his place to pry – but to be able to keep a studio and an apartment and live full-time in the Bay area without any outside job meant she was really tearing up the local art scene.
Which she should. She had talent in spades. She’d finally shown him her painting of the Goldfork Mountains that she was working on while up here, and although it had looked amazing to him, she’d been muttering something about how it wasn’t quite right. He figured that was just her perfectionism showing itself, because he couldn’t see how she could make it any more stunning, but he wasn’t about to argue the point with her.
Going back to California…that’d been her appeal from the beginning, of course. She was leaving, and he didn’t have to worry about her wanting something more from him. She wouldn’t want more, she’d help him get rid of Tiffany in a way that just words couldn’t seem to do, and then he could go on with his life. This was why he’d wanted to go on a date with her from day one.
But the last week had been…magical. They went caroling again, sledding out at Stetson’s place, and spent a couple of evenings watching old sappy Christmas movies. He started to realize that the more time he spent around Ivy, the more he wanted to spend around Ivy.
Which was dangerous, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts and glanced at the deer clock on the wall, the antlers pointing to 12:40. It was time to get going. He hated being late.
Especially being late when it came to seeing Ivy.
He gathered the mountain of gifts into his arms and hooked his foot on the door, pulling it shut behind him. It was time to celebrate Christmas.
Chapter 13
Ivy
Abby leaned over to Ivy with a huge grin on her face. “Sooooo…” she said, drawing the word out with relish, “tell us all.”
Ivy looked around the group of women, who were all staring right back at her with huge grins on their faces. There was Abby of course, who’d recently married Wyatt (their wedding being where Iris had reunited with Declan), and then there was Jennifer, Stetson’s new wife, their even newer baby bouncing on her shoulder, and last but certainly not least, Iris herself. They’d all managed to find the guy they were supposed to be with, while Ivy…
Well, she was just play-acting with Austin. It was embarrassing to admit, even if just to herself, that it was all for show. Who pretended to date a guy to get revenge on their high school nemesis? What did that say about her?
Of course, there was the fact that neither Tiffany nor Ezzy would’ve ever spotted them during their Christmas movie marathon three days ago, so that made the efficacy of their “show” somewhat questionable, but Ivy studiously ignored that fact.
The girls were all still staring at her. Ivy gulped.
“He seems like a real sweetie,” Abby said, sensing her discomfort at being on the receiving end of so much interest, and trying to gently guide her towards safer ground. “He’s not from around here, right?”
Ivy smiled, feeling relief course through her at having something simple and straightforward to discuss with them. Something that didn’t include love or relationship. “No, he came from up north – up in the panhandle. He took over the extension office when Mr. Snow retired.”
Austin had been at that job for two years now, but that didn’t keep everyone in Long Valley from considering him the new guy. He’d probably be the new guy right up until the day he retired.
Jennifer nodded sagely. “Stets has been saying that Austin’s been a real big help in getting a new crop rotation figured out. Do you think you two will continue to date even after you go back to–oh hello!”
Everyone turned to look, even Ivy, even as she was inwardly begging God that it was not, in fact, Austin behind her.
It was.
She met his gaze.
He sent her a huge grin. He knew they’d been talking about him.
She sent him a weak smile in return. She’d been caught.
She was pretty sure her hair and face were exactly the same color. Damn fair skin, anyway.
His grin got wider.
She glared at him.
He bust out laughing.
She glared harder.
“Oh, the magic of the Miller homestead,” Carmelita said in her thick H
ispanic accent as she came bustling into the living room with another plate of Christmas cookies. These appeared to be sugar cookies with frosting, at least according to Ivy’s super-sensitive-cookie-finding nose. “Every Christmas, someone falls in love here in this house. It is Mr. and Mrs. Miller, watching over us, God bless their souls.” She made the sign of the cross over her ample chest as she placed the cookies on the coffee table – sugar cookies indeed – scooting it a half inch to the right, and then straightening up. Sending Ivy a guileless grin, she sashayed back into the kitchen, leaving behind a roomful of laughing females.
It was Austin’s turn to look like he’d swallowed a frog.
It rather served him right, in Ivy’s not-so-humble opinion.
“Let me drool over your adorable baby,” Ivy said in an obvious bid to change the subject, holding her arms out for Flint. She was quite sure she’d never seen such a picture-perfect baby in all her life, and anyway, Jennifer owed her for embarrassing her in front of Austin.
She felt, rather than saw, Austin move away. He was probably going to head out into the barn to hang out with the guys until mealtime. Jennifer handed Flint over along with a burp cloth, and Ivy began patting and rocking him as she looked around, realizing Juan was absent, too. He was the ten-year-old soon-to-be-adopted son of Wyatt and Abby, and as the only kid in the family other than Flint, it was probably hard for him to figure out where he should hang out.
Well, the barn was a good choice. The guys would pretend to work on a tractor or combine or something, but everyone knew they were just out there to hide from Carmelita bossing them around to set up more tables or chairs.
She snuggled Flint closer to her. He felt wonderful in her arms; a bundle of squishy love. She looked over at Jennifer with a huge grin on her face. “He’s so beautiful,” she cooed.
Flint gurgled. Jennifer beamed. Iris grinned.
Ivy narrowed her eyes at that one. No, no, no. She was not baby hungry. She could read Iris’ expression from a mile away, and she did not appreciate the direction her sister’s thoughts had taken.
Ivy simply thought that Flint was cute. That just meant she had eyeballs in her head, nothing more.
At Ivy’s glare, Iris smothered her grin and, with a teasing glint in her eye that didn’t bode well for Ivy, turned to their mom. She was carrying in a bowl of punch from the kitchen to deliver to the buffet table. Carmelita had declared that their mom could help her in the kitchen, but hadn’t let anyone else in thus far.
Ivy’s nose twitched again. Stuffing. There was definitely stuffing in the turkey.
“Mom, don’t you think that Ivy is just about the cutest mother you ever did see?” Iris asked in an overly sweet, syrupy voice.
She was such a sister sometimes.
Their mom looked up from the punch-bowl arranging and sent Iris a warning glance. “Now dear, I think that Ivy will make a splendid mother, if and when she ever chooses to have children.”
In other words, she knew Iris was trying to make Ivy blush, and even though she’d succeeded – damn her Irish roots – Ivy had won the war. Mom had sided with her. She stuck her tongue out at Iris. Iris laughed.
Ivy rolled her eyes…and then laughed too.
It was good to be home. Even if it meant that she was stuck there indefinitely, in that moment, Ivy wasn’t sure that she would trade it for the world. She’d missed her family and being teased and beautiful baby boys while she’d been hiding out in California, trying to pretend that she loved abstract expressionism.
She stopped short, her head snapping up. Abby noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye and looked over. “You okay?” she asked.
Ivy nodded and sent her an overly bright smile. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said, a bit too loudly. Abby cocked her head to the side, obviously not buying it. Ivy ignored that and continued to bounce Flint as she thought through that again.
Trying to pretend that she loved abstract art? She didn’t pretend to love it. It was her life. She’d focused on it ever since she’d moved to San Francisco and had first started taking courses at the California College of the Arts. Her art teachers had rhapsodized about the flow and curves and beauty, and as Ivy had sat in class, staring at the paintings being projected up on the wall, she’d fallen in love with the style right along with them.
Much better than being a landscape artist, anyway. Painting a couple of mountains was easy. Abstract art was hard. You had to put your heart and soul into it, not just replicate what was in front of you.
Which was strange, now that she thought about it, because she sure was struggling with her painting of the Goldfork Mountains, which wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a keep-busy project. She’d been sketching the view that day that Austin had run into her out in the woods, and had started painting it after her dad had found her oils up in the attic.
But no matter how much she worked on the painting, it was never quite right. Maybe it was the sky. She’d painted it as a sunset, so maybe she needed to add some more ora—
“Ivy!” her mother practically shouted.
Okay, did shout.
Ivy jerked her head up. “What?” she asked, dazed.
“It’s time for dinner, and Jennifer would probably like her baby back now.”
Ivy looked down at Flint, nestled against her shoulder, fast asleep, and up to Jennifer, who was holding her arms out for him, a smile dancing on her lips. Ivy flushed red again – being a redhead just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be some days – and quickly held Flint up to her.
“I’d marry him if I were you,” Jennifer whispered in her ear as she scooped Flint up, then pulled back and winked at her. “If he makes you that oblivious to the world…” She let the sentence trail off and headed to the table.
Ivy looked over at the table. Whoops. Everyone was there, and they were all waiting for her to move her ass over to it.
The thing was, she hadn’t been lost in her thoughts, thinking about Austin. She’d been thinking about paintings, which was only right. The art world was where she belonged.
Not Long Valley.
After a scrumptious dinner that left Ivy feeling overstuffed and very, very happy, the whole family moved into the living room, with couples sitting everywhere they could shoehorn themselves into, and Juan sitting on the floor, gingerly holding a sleeping Flint. Ivy grinned at the scene, loving it. He already seemed to be fitting into the family, even if he didn’t seem to be quite sure of what to do with a sleeping eight month old.
He hadn’t said much that day, at least that Ivy had heard, but when he looked at Abby and Wyatt, he had stars in his eyes.
Ivy looked to her left; her whole body was squished up against the side of Austin, who was smiling down at her. He was obviously very happy with the seating arrangement. She couldn’t pretend she minded it, no matter what her brain kept warning her to think. She’d worry about their relationship and painting styles and nagging feelings about unfinished landscape paintings later.
Right now was Christmas.
Declan busied himself, distributing the presents spilling out from under the tree, and the sound of tearing paper filled the air, along with shouts of glee and thank-yous. Ivy looked around, her smile slowly fading as the truth she’d been avoiding bonked her over the head again. No matter what she’d been telling herself to focus on, the painful truth was in front of her: She hadn’t provided a single present under that tree.
She’d wanted to. Oh, how she’d wanted to. But she couldn’t get back home; she couldn’t pay her rent; she couldn’t even buy herself a pair of gloves to make it through this dang-blasted winter.
She could only hope no one noticed the lack of presents from her. She would simply die if someone brought it up, she was sure of it.
“Here you go,” Austin said softly in her ear, placing a long, thin box in her hands. A simple gold ribbon was wrapped around the middle, providing the only wrapping for the present.
Ivy stared down at it in shock. What on earth was
it? She looked up at Austin and he smiled back, close enough that she could clearly see the brown flecks in his otherwise-brilliant green eyes.
Did he have…love in his eyes? It couldn’t be love. He couldn’t love her. She was imagining things.
She looked back down at the box, the rest of the world falling away. Tugging at the gold ribbon, she lifted the lid and—
“Oh!” she gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Inside of the box lay a pair of leather gloves, nestled in tightly. She gently pulled them out, running her hands over the buttery soft leather. “Oh Austin,” she said, her throat tight with emotion. They were beautiful, so damn beautiful.
“They reminded me of you,” he said softly. “Classic, simple, soft, and beautiful.” He shrugged, looking embarrassed that he’d waxed so poetic. “Well anyway, since you’ve been stuck up here without your gloves for so long, I thought you’d like ‘em.”
She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. “Like them?” she pushed out. She felt her eyes tearing up a little and she blinked rapidly, trying to will the tears away. “I love them.”
She pulled them on, the cashmere lining soft and smooth against her skin. She closed her eyes in ecstasy. She was pretty sure she’d never felt something so sinfully soft as these gloves. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered. She leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his lips, which rapidly turned into…something more. The whooping and hollering finally broke through the haze surrounding her and she pulled back, her face afire once more.
This time, though, Austin’s face matched hers. Which was only fair.
As she showed off the gloves to Iris, who ooh’d and ahh’d over them, she heard Carmelita sniffle, “It is so good to have my boys under the same roof this year. Mr. and Mrs. Miller would be so happy, bless their souls.” Ivy shot Iris a questioning look, and Iris sent back an answering one – I’ll tell you later.