by Lori Wilde
Hitchhiking, living on the road, running from kindness, shunning concern. He carried monstrous guilt on his shoulders.
What had he done? Who had he wronged and why?
“If he would just talk to me,” she whispered, then realized how that sounded. Why would he spill his soul to her? She was nothing to him. Ironic really, a few days ago she’d been wishing for a silent dairy hand and now that she’d gotten him, she wanted nothing more than for Keegan to talk, to fill her ears with tales of his sorrows.
“Forget it, Wren. Treat him tenderly, show him kindness while he is here, and then let him go.”
Wren sank down in the bubbles. Sound advice. But could she follow it?
SHE WAS AT IT AGAIN.
Humming cheerfully, cooking relentlessly, giving him those warm soft smiles.
Keegan had finished the second round of milking chores only to come inside the house and find two brightly wrapped packages under the Christmas tree.
Oh hell, he thought, please don’t let those packages be for me.
The very notion that she’d prepared him a gift sent Keegan into panic. He had nothing to give in return. He’d stopped thinking about other people a long time ago. It had never occurred to him that Wren might give him a present.
“Have a seat in the living room,” she called from the kitchen. “We’ll take our supper in front of the tree.”
Keegan groaned inwardly. Wren was determined to make this a real Christmas, despite his reluctance.
“Do you need any help?” he asked, restless and unsure of himself.
“Not right now.”
Stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, Keegan prowled the living room. A bookcase lined the wall opposite the fireplace. He stepped closer and read the titles.
Dickens, Twain, Hemingway. Steinbeck, Cather, Poe. All the classics bound in leather. What else did he expect? She was a high school English teacher.
It seemed eons ago that he had been in high school and read these books. When he’d actually been young and eager to leave home. If he’d known then what he knew now, Keegan would not have been in such a hurry to escape his upbringing and rush headlong into the future.
“The TV trays are in the hall closet,” Wren said, coming to stand in the archway. She wore a festive apron with Santa Clauses embroidered on the front. “Would you mind setting them up, please?”
Keegan shrugged and headed for the closet. He tried to remain as silent as possible. If he said nothing at all, it might be easier to keep from blurting out his feelings to her. Although he didn’t want to talk about his past, Wren was making it harder and harder to stay quiet. He longed to explain his behavior to her, to let her know that his outrage at the world had nothing to do with her. But he simply could not allow himself to reveal his inner feelings to this woman and involve her in his sordid affairs.
He set up the TV trays, then picked up the remote control and switched on the television to the six o’clock news.
“Hey, boys and girls,” the newscaster exclaimed. “We’ve just received news that Santa Claus has been spotted in the Trans-Pecos.”
Nostalgia reached out and slapped Keegan. Hard. The memories hurt. Instant gooseflesh carpeted his skin. He pressed his lips together against the emotions, remembering the last Christmas he’d spent with Maggie and Katie.
His daughter had been three at the time, just old enough to really enjoy the Santa Claus myth. She’d been so wound up on Christmas Eve, hopping in perpetual motion, chattering nonstop, her blue eyes wide and expressive. He could still see her sweet smile and her blond hair, so much like her mother’s, billowing around her little face. It was the last time he remembered being happy.
The television announcers kept yakking about Christmas, Santa Claus, and reindeer, but the noise sounded very far away. Keegan felt as if he were moving down a long, dark tunnel, headed straight into a bottomless pit. Hands trembling, he reached out, hit the remote control, and clicked off the television.
Perspiration covered his brow, and he was breathless. Had the fever come back?
“Keegan?”
He glanced up to see Wren staring down at him.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
She gave him a worried frown. “Do you mind if I listen to the weather?”
He shook his head.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
Keegan turned the television back on without answering.
“Folks, this is going to be a Christmas for the record books,” the weatherman said gleefully. “We’re expecting a blanket of snow measuring two to three inches for tomorrow morning. Yes, you heard right. For the first time since 1954, we’re going to have a white Christmas.”
Wren clapped her hands and squealed as excitedly as Katie might have done. “A white Christmas. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Keegan shrugged. He was from Chicago. A white Christmas was no big deal.
“This is so great.” Wren laughed.
Her eyes twinkled as merrily as St. Nick’s himself, her lips curled into a smile prettier than a Yule wreath. Her cheeks were rosy, and he realized with a start that she’d applied makeup. She seemed different from when he’d first met her. Happier, somehow.
“I’m glad you’re here to share this Christmas with me,” she said. She sounded so positive of her statement. Did she mean it? Was she really glad to have his company?
“You’re pretty hard up, Wren Matthews, if you’re grateful for the company of a scoundrel like me.”
“You’re too rough on yourself.”
“You don’t even know me,” he accused. “For all you know, I could be a murderer on the run from justice.”
That was true. It might have been Heller who had shown up on her doorstep instead of him. In fact, it might actually be Heller’s footsteps in the snow. That gave him pause. In her naiveté, would she have welcomed the killer as readily as she had welcomed him? Fear traipsed invisible footprints over his skin as he thought about what could happen to her.
She gave him a pitying look. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, but at some point, you’ve got to start putting your life back together.”
He didn’t answer.
The oven timer dinged, punctuating his silence.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said and left the room. “Come and get your plate.”
He turned of the TV and followed her into the kitchen and waited while she dished up their meal. Roast Cornish game hen, cornbread stuffing, green bean casserole, hot buttered rolls. The food brought memories of other holidays, happier times. Keegan accepted his plate from her with murmured thanks and headed back to the living room.
“Christmas Eve was the only time Mama let us eat in the living room,” Wren said, positioning herself in the chair next to him. “We’d sit and eat and look at the tree.”
Keegan studied his plate. He did not want to know how Wren had spent her past Christmas Eves. He did not want to get involved with her on a personal level. Couldn’t she see that? Didn’t she know it was for her own good?
He ate while she chattered. She seemed compelled to fill the silence. Concentrating on the delicious food, Keegan tried not to think. Not about Christmas, nor Maggie and Katie, nor his inexplicable connection to Wren.
Suddenly, she stopped talking.
Emptiness echoed, disturbed only by the faint sound of wood crackling in the fireplace.
He put down his fork and looked over at her.
Tears shimmered in her brown eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.
“Do you find me repulsive?” Wren asked, batting away tears with the back of her hand.
“God, no!” Keegan declared. In fact, the opposite was true. He found her devastatingly attractive. Those wide, limpid, brown eyes could be his undoing if he dared let her get close enough.
“Then why do you always look away from me? Like I’m a freak.”
“Wren,” he protested.
“You
don’t have to be ashamed of your feelings. If you’re repelled, then you’re repelled.”
“I’m not put off by your disability, dammit. Not one bit.”
“What is it about me, then?”
“It’s not you. I’ve been alone a long time,” he admitted awkwardly, abashed to think his behavior had made her doubt herself. “I’m not used to being around people. Really, it’s me. My social skills are the pits.”
“You’re sure it’s not my limp?”
“Honey,” he spoke softly. “Your limp doesn’t detract from your loveliness one whit.”
Her cheeks pinked. “You don’t have to lie. I know I’m not lovely.” She folded her hands in her lap and glanced down at them.
“Says who?”
She shrugged. “Experience.”
“Well, then, you’ve been having the wrong experiences.”
What directed him to do what he did next, Keegan couldn’t say. He simply knew he had to do something to make her feel better. He put his TV tray aside, moved over to her chair, crouched before her and cupped her chin in his palm.
“You possess an inner beauty, Wren, something that can’t be faked or manufactured with makeup and clothing. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”
“But my limp...” She crumpled her napkin in her fists. He could tell this was a touchy subject with her. What cruel fools had made fun of her?
Keegan shook his head. “It’s only a handicap if you let it become one. Actually, I think it makes you more attractive.”
“You do?” Her eyes sparkled at his words.
“Yes. Your limp tells the world you’ve suffered through something traumatic and survived with a good attitude intact.”
“Not every man would agree with you.”
“If a man thinks less of you because of your physical imperfection, then he’s not much of a man and certainly not worthy of your time and consideration.”
“Thank you,” Wren said, “for saying so.”
He patted her lightly on the knee and rose to his feet.
Chapter Eleven
The touch of his hand on her knee sent Wren’s heart soaring. Keegan had admitted he found her attractive! Now if she could get him to talk about himself, to trust her with his story, perhaps they could work past the barriers between them and build a real friendship. The idea pleased her.
“Would you like to know why I limp?” she asked.
“Only if you want to tell me.” He returned to his chair and leaned forward. Elbows resting on his knees, he gave her his undivided attention.
Wren took a deep breath to steady her nerves then launched into her history.
Keegan listened. Truly listened. His eyes never left her face, and he didn’t once interrupt. Wren had merely meant to tell him about the accident where their car spun out on ice and slammed into a guardrail, killing her parents, but he was so encouraging, nodding his head and murmuring his sympathy, that she found herself telling him her most shameful secret—giving Blaine Thomas money for some crazy scheme to make the dairy successful.
When she’d finished almost an hour later, Wren took a deep breath and settled back against the chair.
“I’m sorry to hear about your parents and what you went through,” Keegan said.
“Thanks.”
“As far as that creep that took your money, don’t feel embarrassed. It happens to a lot of people. You were just too trusting.”
Wren gave a harsh laugh. “I know. I let the whole thing get to me. I haven’t even dated since then. After Blaine, I’ve been afraid to trust men.”
Their eyes met. Something in Keegan’s look caused her to exhale sharply.
“Until you,” she said.
“You shouldn’t trust me either, Wren. It’s not wise.”
“Do you mean me harm, Keegan?” Goose bumps popped up on her arms, but she never dropped her gaze.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“So tell me about you.”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“You’re better off not knowing.”
“Have you done something bad?” she asked. His statement should have scared her, but it didn’t. In fact, his mysterious behavior heightened her interest. An insatiable passion to learn more about him had Wren squirming on the edge of her chair.
“I do not have honorable intentions,” he said.
“Toward me?”
“Toward anything.”
His blunt scowl caused her muscles to tighten. “Why? Because of that burn?”
“You don’t really want to know. It’s a long, dark story.”
She pressed her lips together. “All right. I can respect your right to privacy.”
“Thank you.”
She got up from her chair, her pulse sliding rapidly though her veins, and cleared the dishes. She couldn’t name the emotion surging through her. Was it fear, dread, temptation, desire? Perhaps a bizarre combination of all four.
What had he done that was so terrible? Why was he on the run? Keegan was a complete paradox. One moment he was kind, tender, reassuring her that she was an attractive woman despite her limp. The next second, he would turn cryptic, warning away her questions with his moodiness and his refusal to communicate any information about his personal life.
She didn’t know what to make of him, but she was determined this was going to be a pleasant Christmas Eve, no matter what. Leaving the dishes to soak in the sink, she made her way back to the living room.
“It was the tradition in my family to open gifts on Christmas Eve,” she said. “What about you?”
“We always unwrapped ours at dawn at Christmas morning,” Keegan replied.
Wren limped over to the tree, picked up the two gaily wrapped packages beneath it, and brought them over to Keegan. “These are for you.” She stretched out her hand.
“You shouldn’t have.”
She shrugged. “It’s Christmas. I couldn’t let it pass without doing something.”
“I... I don’t have anything to give you,” he said.
“Yes, you do.”
“What’s that?”
“A smile.”
His lips lifted lightly at the corners.
“I want a real smile,” she said.
“It’s tough for me.”
“I know.”
He tried again. This time the smile spread to his eyes.
Wren smiled back, felt her face warm. His grin widened in response to hers. “There,” she said. “That’s so much better. Now open your presents.”
Wren thought he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Especially when he smiled. Keegan fumbled with the tape. His dark hair curled down the collar of his turtleneck sweater, covering most of his burn scar.
He tore through the wrapping paper like a kid and opened the box. He lifted out the gray and white sweater she’d spent the whole of last night knitting for him.
“It’s beautiful,” he exclaimed. “But how—where did you get it? You haven’t been out to shop. You don’t know my size—”
Silently she lifted up her knitting bag, showing him the gray and white yam.
“You did this yourself?” Awe in his voice, he raised the sweater to his face, and brushed the soft material against his cheek.
Touched, she nodded.
He blinked and looked away. “Thank you.”
“The other present is a matching scarf,” she said, feeling nervous. “I thought you might need something warm when you’re hitchhiking. I’d hate for you to get sick again.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Wren.”
“Hey, isn’t that what Christmas is all about?”
“You deserve a gift from me. Something more than a smile, but I have nothing to give.”
“That’s so wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“You fixed my water pipes. That was a wonderful gift. Do you have any idea what it would have cost me to have that done?”
“I owe you much more.”
“If you really feel that way, then stay and help me work the dairy.”
Something dark swept across his eyes. “I can’t. I wish I could, Wren, but I can’t.”
“What can I say to change your mind? I need your help, Keegan. Badly.”
“You’ll find someone else.”
They studied each other in the lights from the Christmas tree.
“I suppose you’re right.” She sighed.
But she didn’t want anybody else! She wanted Keegan. Ached for him, actually. She couldn’t sleep at night because of him. She had trouble eating because her stomach was all jittery when he was near. Her knees went weak when he smiled...and when he touched her...she melted.
Already the thought of him leaving had created a gaping hole in her heart. After having him around for the last few days, it was going to be even harder returning to her solitary life.
He stood in the archway between the kitchen and the living room, a sprig of mistletoe dangling above his head. His tall physique filled the room, his broad hands laced together in front of him. He drew her more powerfully than any magnet and with more force than a runaway freight train.
Impulsively, Wren crossed the floor to stand beside him. This could be the last chance she had to taste those lips, and she’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity.
Keegan looked down at her, obviously unaware he was standing under the mistletoe. Wren reached up and placed a hand on each shoulder.
“I’ve got something else for you,” she said. “Shut your eyes.”
He obeyed, letting his eyes fall closed.
Her hands trembled, but she didn’t care. She’d been longing to do this since he’d caught her when she tumbled off the stepladder. Pursing her lips, Wren rose on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.
At first, Keegan did not react.
She lifted her arms, threaded her fingers through his hair, and gently tugged his head down. Just when she started to feel like an oversexed female making unwanted advances, Keegan groaned low in his throat and accepted the challenge.
His mouth covered hers, hard and hungry.