by Amy Andrews
Her mother rolled her eyes, then turned them on Suzanne, holding out her hand. “Darling?”
But Suzanne also shook her head. “Not until you’ve made a snow angel, Mom,” she repeated, and she, too, fell backward in the snow on the other side of her mother and proceeded to make her angel.
“You’ll both be sorry you didn’t help when I catch my death,” she said waspishly.
Then her father reached his hand across to hers and stroked it down her cheek. “Live a little, darling.”
Her mother sighed but clearly knew when she was beat, performing the very unfamiliar actions with total aplomb—like she’d been doing it every damn day of her life. “Now what?” she said as her limbs came to a halt.
Albie laughed and hauled himself up from the ground, so did Suzanne, and, between them, they pulled Simone St. Michelle, world-famous artiste, onto her feet.
“Look, Simone,” her father said, gazing down at the three angels side by side, their wings touching. “Just look how beautiful they are all white and pure and fresh and new. Like a chain of paper dolls. Look how they’re as individual as the snowflakes that make them up and how the light shimmers on the wings like they’re actually fluttering. It’s breathtaking. If that isn’t art, then I don’t know what is.”
Simone looked—actually looked. She inspected each impression, stopping at the foot, then around to the head. She was using her critical eye, the one Suzanne had fallen foul of so many times. “You’re right, Albie,” she said eventually, her voice quiet. “They are quite beautiful.” She glanced at her husband and smiled. “I can see how they could be classified as art.”
Maybe this revelation had come about because it was angels—her mother’s latest creative obsession—but it was still a major breakthrough.
Albie smiled back and held out his hand to her mother, and Suzanne felt tears prick at her eyes.
“Okay,” Winona called, her big voice booming across the park, breaking into the intimate moment. “Let’s go eat.”
Everyone was in good spirits when they arrived back at the boardinghouse. The large living area had been decorated—tastefully—with tinsel and garland, and the real tree scented the room with a fresh piney aroma. Two tables had been pushed together to make one long one and decorated with pine cones and red candles. The heating was working well throughout, and everyone had shed their outside layers at the door.
The fire had burned low in the massive fireplace, and Grady was given the job of getting it roaring again. “You’re an outdoors man. You know about logs and trees and stuff, right?” Winona asked.
He cocked an eyebrow. “I know how to burn them, sure.”
“Perfect.” She smiled. “Now, who wants eggnog?”
A general chorus of affirmatives followed, and Suzanne took on the role of glass filling as classy Christmas carols played and people flitted about, either socializing or helping in the kitchen to get the meal served.
Winona held out her glass for seconds. “Being hostess is thirsty work,” she said with a grin.
Suzanne smiled. “You love it.”
“I do.” Winona laughed, and it was so damn happy, it made Suzanne want to cry, which was all kinds of screwed up. Winona’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.”
She moved closer. “What happened?” she asked, her voice dropping.
“I went and fell in love with Joshua Grady.”
“Ah.” Winona patted her shoulder. “Yeah.”
Suzanne frowned. “What do you mean, yeah?”
“Babe, I write love stories for a living. I have good antennae for these things.”
What? “A heads-up might have been nice.”
Winona patted her on the shoulder again. “What are you going to do?”
Suzanne glanced over at the fire, where Grady was standing along with Drew, Arlo, and Burl. They seemed to be doing all the talking, but he looked comfortable in their company. “I have no idea.”
“Poor baby.” The pat became a gentle squeeze. “Let’s talk—tomorrow, okay? It’s too hard now.”
“Yeah.” Suzanne nodded. “Thanks.”
“Here.” Winona reached for a wrapped present from a small pile sitting farther along the bench. “This is for you.”
Suzanne smiled as she took the small boxlike gift, excited to see what gimmicky present Winona had bought her this year. Tearing off the paper, she opened the box to find a snow globe. Not one of those elegant, classy ones sitting on a wooden stand that played music. No, it was a tacky plastic dome-shaped one found in abundance in tourist shops all over the world. Inside were three miniature Greek statues, women with long flowing robes barely covering their ample bosoms and laurel wreaths in their hair.
The white plastic bordering on the outside proclaimed them to be Calliope, Clio, and Erato. Three of the nine Greek muses. Suzanne laughed, shaking it to watch the snow fall before clutching it to her chest and hugging her friend. It was cheesy and awful and perfect.
So perfect.
“I love it, thank you.” Pulling out of the embrace, she quickly grabbed her gift she’d left on the table when she’d entered the room. “Your turn,” she said, handing it over.
Winona gave an excited little shimmy as she, too, tore open the packaging to reveal the bag of dicks. “Oh my god,” she said before dissolving into a fit of the giggles.
Suzanne laughed, too. “You like?”
“I love.” Winona grinned. “I’m going to put one on every plate. Can’t wait to see the look on Officer Uptight’s face.”
Suzanne laughed. “Maybe we should keep it PG. You know, for the five-year-old?”
“We’ll tell him it’s a rocket ship,” Winona said with a smile on her face and a dismissive swish of her hand. Her gaze shifted to something over Suzanne’s shoulder and she called, “Hey, you two…mistletoe.” She pointed at the bunch hanging in the doorway between the long hallway and the living room.
Suzanne turned to find her parents—Ho three and Ho four, who had been god knew where all this time—standing in the doorway, everyone watching them expectantly. Without missing a beat, her father wrapped his arm around her mother’s waist, dipped her backward, and dropped a lingering smacker on her lips.
“Well, well,” Winona said quietly to Suzanne as the room cheered. “Looks like your work here is done.”
Suzanne blinked at her parents still kissing. Yeah. Mission accomplished. For her parents anyway.
Lunch was served and everyone ate till they were stuffed full. Some, like Burl, beyond that point, claiming he was going to pop if he ate another thing as he stuffed one more bean from the casserole into his mouth. Cora rolled her eyes.
After lunch, Winona made everyone play silly old-fashioned English parlor games she’d been researching for her latest book. Everything from the minister’s cat to musical chairs to wink murder that were all a hoot before they moved on to a massive game of charades—men versus women—that got very competitive.
Suzanne was impressed Grady was joining in and even appeared to be enjoying himself. Maybe he was just playing the role of over-the-top Christmas guy she’d forced upon him and he was silently counting down the minutes, but he seemed to get along with the other men present. He hadn’t suggested they leave. Not yet anyway.
At four in the afternoon, they had a special visitor who came bearing pies. Annie was welcomed with open arms even as everyone protested they were too full to eat anything more. They managed somehow, though, and not a single crumb was left when Annie left an hour later.
“That’s it,” Burl said, pushing his empty bowl away. “I’m never going to eat again.”
“From your lips to God’s ears, Burl Grady,” Cora quipped, and everyone laughed.
“Okay,” Winona said. “Let’s—”
“Oh god, no, please,” Arlo interrupted. “Sp
are us another one of those awful parlor games.”
“Hey.” Della whacked her brother on the arm. “Speak for yourself.”
“Thank you, Della,” Winona said, smiling sweetly at her. “But what I was going to say”—she shot death rays at Arlo—“was I think it’s time to go around the table and tell one another what we’re thankful for today. I know it’s not Thanksgiving, but Christmas is a time for reflection, too, and we’re so lucky to have full bellies and a warm house and clothes on our backs when so many don’t.”
“Hear, hear,” Burl said.
“Good.” Winona beamed. “Why don’t you start first, Burl?”
Burl turned to his wife. “Cora, you go first, sweetheart.”
“I’m thankful for Suzanne,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “We look forward to spending many more Christmases with her.”
Grady went very still beside her as Suzanne’s cheeks heated. She knew Cora was aware of the real situation between Grady and herself, but it seemed like she wasn’t above meddling, either.
“Me too,” Burl chipped in. “Suzanne’s been like a breath of fresh air at the ranch.”
There was a general murmur of consent around the table, but Grady said nothing, his jaw tight, his smile not reaching his eyes. He obviously hated how Burl and Cora had built up their hopes despite his warnings.
They went around the table next, the relative newcomers, including Della, naming different aspects of their new town they were grateful for. Little Henry was unanimous in his decision—his new daddy was the best Christmas present ever, followed closely by his baby sister inside his mommy’s tummy.
“Rocket ship cookies,” Drew said with a smile.
Simone didn’t hesitate when it came around to her. “Angels,” she said, followed quickly by Albie saying, “Snow angels,” and then smiling at his wife like they were eighteen again.
Then it was Grady’s turn. “What about you, Grady? And you can’t say Suzanne,” Winona ordered.
Suzanne felt like all eyes were on her as Grady considered his answer. She held her breath as she smiled at him with something she hoped looked like adoration and not some weird kind of facial palsy. “Tacky Christmas T-shirts, of course,” he said after a considered pause, which got some laughs.
“Your turn, babe,” Winona said, her voice soft, her eyes gentle as she delivered an encouraging squeeze to Suzanne’s thigh.
Suzanne glanced at Grady, his expression carefully neutral. Blizzards. That’s what she wanted to say. But given how much destruction they could wreak, she didn’t think anybody but Grady would understand. Her gaze fell to the table, landing on the snow globe sitting there all garish and awful next to her empty bowl. “Muses,” she said, deliberately not looking at Grady as she picked it up and shook it, causing a flurry of snow. “I’m grateful for muses.”
“Good answer,” Winona said with another squeeze to Suzanne’s leg, and somewhere inside Suzanne, her muse preened.
“What about you?” Drew asked Winona. “You’re the last one.”
Their hostess grinned, raising her glass above her head. “Eggnog,” she said, then toasted them all. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”
…
It was seven before Grady stopped the pickup outside the back door to the cabin. Suzanne’s parents had already disembarked from their vehicle and had barely stopped to say good night before disappearing into the cottage. No money for guessing why they were in such a hurry.
Looked like that had all ended well, at least.
“You’re not coming in?’ Suzanne asked when Grady kept the engine running.
“In a bit. I’ve got to check on a bull.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him, her expression disbelieving. “Really?”
“Yes,” Grady said, his voice steely, his gaze on hers. “It’s why I was late this morning. I had to get the vet in and now yes, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to check on the animal.”
“Oh…crap, sorry. Of course you have to deal with a sick animal. Why didn’t you say anything this morning, for god’s sake?”
Because keeping her at arm’s length was easier when she was pissed at him than when her eyes were all sympathetic and her mouth was all soft and kissable. Grady shrugged. “We were in a hurry.”
For a moment, Grady thought she was going to push back against his excuse, but then she nodded and glanced away, reaching for her seat belt and unclicking it. “I’ll see you later.”
On impulse, he grabbed her hand as she opened the door and turned away. “It’s just in the yards behind the barn, so it shouldn’t take me long. Let’s talk when I get in.” She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze settling on their hands. Grady admired how they fit together before remembering how he’d dropped that very hand like a hot coal this afternoon when he’d realized everyone’s eyes were on them. It had been purely reactionary—muscle memory from years of rigid control over how he acted in public. But he’d sensed her stiffen, felt her withdrawal, and he knew he’d hurt her.
Which wasn’t what he’d wanted. He just wanted things to get back to normal around here, damn it.
“Okay,” she murmured, her hand slipping out of his as she slid out of the pickup and shut the door.He wondered with a sudden thump to his solar plexus if she’d slip out of his life as easily.
Grady was back within the hour. Suzanne was sitting on the couch reading but obviously waiting for him as she sprang to her feet. Part of him had hoped she’d given up and gone to bed and they could just avoid this conversation altogether even though he’d suggested it. He’d even contemplated lingering in the barn, but he’d never been a coward, and he wasn’t about to start now.
She’d changed into those plaid pajamas he knew he was going to be dreaming about for a very long time, and he felt conspicuous in his Ho one Henley after he’d shrugged out of his coat.
“Is the bull okay?”
“Yep. Much improved.”
“Oh…that’s good.”
“It is.” He strode to Zoom’s tank, the need to be active suddenly a driving force. “Should be able to join the rest of the herd in a couple of days.” Grady felt her gaze right between his shoulder blades as he pushed the tank lid back a little. “Hey, Zoom,” he greeted. “Hungry, little guy? Of course you are.” He opened the container of turtle pellets. “You’re always hungry; you should be way too fat for your shell, buster.”
Grady tossed in the usual amount and watched as Zoom proceeded to snap them up.
“Are you still in love with her?”
The question dropped like a huge boulder into a still pond, and everything seemed to stop for a beat or two—all sound and thought and action—before a tsunami of ripples buffeted his body. Grady turned, his heart beating slowly and forcefully. “What?”
She looked surprised but stoic. Like she couldn’t quite believe she’d asked the question, but now that it was out, she wasn’t retracting. “Are you still in love with her?” she repeated.
“With Bethany?”
“Yes.” Suzanne rolled her eyes. “Bethany.”
God…where had that come from? “Because…of Zoom? I don’t understand… Turtles live for a long time. Should I have…given him away or something?”
“No, of course not. I just mean…” She faltered like she couldn’t really articulate what she meant now or where the question had come from. “According to Cora, there’s been nobody else since Bethany. In seventeen years. So…you must still be in love with her, right?”
“Yes.”
It was an automatic answer to a question he hadn’t been asked or thought to ask himself for a long time. Of course he still loved Bethany. She was his first crush. His first girlfriend. His first kiss, his first…everything. And she’d been sweet and lovely and smart and funny, and it had been so fucking unfair that she’d been taken from this world when she’d had so much to offe
r.
Of course he still loved Bethany.
But…that wasn’t the question Suzanne had asked. She’d asked if he was still in love with Bethany. And, Grady realized, as he stood in front of this woman who had driven him crazy for three weeks that he wasn’t. He wasn’t in love with Bethany anymore.
And that he hadn’t been for a very long time. That somewhere along the way in the intervening years, time had done what time usually did—it had healed. Bethany…his parents…it still ached to think of what he lost, but it wasn’t a big black-and-purple bruise anymore or even a yellowed, fading one. It was a scar. Like the one from the shrapnel. A reminder of the pain and injury but fully healed.
He just hadn’t realized.
Or maybe he had and that had scared the bejesus out of him, so he’d doubled down on all those old feelings, hoarding them close, like a kid with candy, because it gave him a shield and a reason to keep away from people and situations that could wound.
Like falling in love again.
But then Suzanne had landed in his life like a fucking one-woman SEAL team and blown that all to hell. He swallowed. Jesus Christ…
Yes, he still loved Bethany. And he always would in the way that a first love does claim a piece of a heart. But God help him, he was in love with Suzanne St. Michelle.
Fuck. A blaring red warning light whop-whop-whopped in his head.
When had that happened? When? A sick feeling of dread sank to the bottom of his stomach as he realized it didn’t matter when, that what mattered was that it happened at all. And what he was going to do about it. Because he’d already loved and lost once—there was no way he was ever traveling that road again.
“I will always love Bethany,” he said, his pulse loud in his ears. He’d been pushing Suzanne away since the day after the blizzard. Now he needed to shove.
“What?” She gave a brittle kind of half laugh. “There’s never going to be any room for anyone else? Sounds lonely.”
“Being alone and being lonely aren’t the same thing.” Grady knew that too well. He’d not felt lonely these past three years on the ranch, although he had a bad feeling that was going to change. Thanks to Little Miss Chatty.