Not that he would ask her why. He blamed his feelings for her on the heightened romance that always accompanied weddings.
But then, as now, she was easy to talk to, and he enjoyed their casual conversation. Something he hadn't indulged in with a beautiful woman for so long he wasn't sure he even remembered how.
Since Kimberly, he had gone on a total of two dates, both of which were set up by his well-meaning sister, and both of which were disasters. Though he wouldn't deny that he was lonely, he wasn't looking.
But Miriam drew out emotions he thought he was done with.
A log in the fireplace fell, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, catching his attention. He was about to get up to push the log back, but Miriam was already there, nudging the charred piece of lumber back onto the flames with a poker.
"Did you light the fire?" he asked.
"I did," she said, shooting a glance at him over her shoulder. "I hope that's okay."
"It's amazing," he said, closing his eyes just for a moment. "The house is usually chilly when I get here."
A rustle of movement caught his ear, and he sensed Miriam wanted to get things moving. And so should he. He was enjoying this time with her too much.
"So, the birthday party," he said, opening his eyes, straightening, and clasping his hands between his knees. "When is this happening?"
"Friday. At about 2:00."
He did a bit of mental juggling. It could work out if Les was willing to supervise that day. They would be finished in the block Thursday and doing an equipment move Friday. He didn't need to be around for that.
"How long do you want the ride to be?" he asked.
"No more than half an hour," Miriam said. "Depending on the weather. I imagine if it's blowing hard we'll have to cancel."
"I've got a good trail cut through the trees on the property," Duncan said, stifling a sudden yawn. "We'd be out of the wind there, so that will help."
"Another thing, your mother said something about doing a marshmallow roast afterwards on the yard."
Duncan frowned. "I thought I was just doing a sleigh ride."
"And you would be," Miriam said, tapping her fingers together. "We just thought it would be fun for the girls to make s'mores while we're here anyway. Your mom said you have a fire pit. If you could bring some wood back from the bush and have it ready I can take care of the fire."
"Which you seem to be capable of making."
"I have a few life skills."
The slightly harsh tone of her voice kindled his curiosity. All he knew of her life before coming to Jerrod’s mother’s house was that she had been bounced between her biological mother's place and the Carpenter home. After the wedding, when Jerrod heard Miriam hadn't returned any of Duncan’s texts, he'd said it was probably just as well. That Miriam’s life was complicated.
But he hadn’t gotten that impression when they spent time together at the wedding. She seemed fun, spunky, and full of confidence. Quite different than how she came across now.
"As long as you're okay with me just taking care of the sleigh ride, I can help out,” was all he said.
"Then it's a start.”
Before he could ask her what she meant by that, she walked toward the stairs and called out for Celia.
But there was no reply from upstairs.
"Celia. It's time to go. Jane." Still nothing. "Can I go up and get her?" she asked, turning to him.
Again, that reluctance for her to go up there, and again he fought it down. It shouldn't matter anymore.
"You didn't have to ask," he said.
"Sorry. Force of habit. Every house has its own boundaries."
As did this one, he thought. Boundaries Celia had already slipped over when she went upstairs.
But even as he fought his resistance to that, he also found himself wondering about Miriam's comment about boundaries.
And he found himself wanting to know more about her.
If you hurry, you'll fall, I told myself as I beat a hasty retreat up the stairs, forcing myself not to look back to see if Duncan was watching me.
It had been so easy to talk to him. Just as it had the first time we met. Then, he'd worn a suit, and the next day, blue jeans and a clean shirt.
Now, he looked rough and hardened, worn down by the sad events of his own life. Which made me wonder what I looked like to him? How much I had changed because of what I had been through?
At the top of the stairs, I paused. Ahead of me was a bathroom, to the left, a closed door, to the right, one that was open just a crack.
"She's probably in the room to the right. The other one's mine."
I jumped at the sound of Duncan's gruff voice behind me. I spun around, my feet catching on the carpet, and would have fallen, but for his hand steadying me. His skin was warm and his touch sent a current of awareness that bothered me on so many levels.
You can't do this, I reminded myself. You weren't right for him then, and even less so now.
My brain knew that on one level, but the loneliness that grew with each passing year, the need for companionship, made me hesitant to pull away.
But my practical self won out.
I drew away from him, turned to the right, carefully pushed open the door and stepped into a darkened room.
My heart melted when I saw Celia curled up, asleep, on the carpeted floor, her doll clenched tightly in one arm, her knees tucked up. She looked so alone.
I bent down to pick her up, but to my surprise, Duncan pushed past me, gently took the doll from her, fitted his arms under her and stood. But it was the subtle softening of his expression as he looked down at her that snagged my attention. He had been a father. Had held a child before. He knew what to do.
The thought pierced me.
"You get her coat ready, and I'll bring her down," he said quietly. Then he glanced at me and for the whisper of a moment that connection that once sang between us rose up again.
I wanted to hold his gaze but made myself look away, turning to leave. Then I stopped. I hadn't noticed it before, in my rush to get to Celia, but a small child's bed took up one corner of the room. Pillows in the shape of hearts lay neatly along the wall. A quilt, also decorated with hearts, was tucked around the mattress.
This was Tasha's room, I realized, glancing around at the prints on the walls, the toy chest in one corner. Frozen in time, like it was waiting for his little girl to come back.
And suddenly, everything that Duncan had lost hit me like a jolt of electricity—shocking and immobilizing.
He knows, I thought, struggling not to look over my shoulder, to acknowledge, in this moment, what had been swept from his life in the accident that also took his wife.
He knows what it's like to lose a child. He has felt the same loss.
A sob crawled up my throat, and I wasn't sure whether it belonged to what I had just seen, the little girl that lay in Duncan's arms like she belonged there, or the relentless compounding of losses in my life.
I took a deep breath, dug down like my foster mother always told me to do, and sent up a prayer for strength. I couldn't break down. Not here. Not in front of Duncan.
Without looking back, I walked out of the room and down the stairs, clutching the wooden railing. The last thing I wanted was to stumble again.
I went directly to the porch, snagged Celia's coat off the hook and turned to Duncan to put it on her. I hesitated again. The sight of that little girl resting so peacefully in his arms looked so right it gave me an ache.
I wanted to grab her, hold her close. Stake my claim. And warring with that urge was the feeling that, in spite of Duncan's reluctance to take care of her, this was exactly where Celia belonged.
"Sit down and take her," he said, still not looking at me. "I'll go start your vehicle."
"It has a remote starter," I mumbled, digging through the pockets of my coat, needing a few moments to compose myself. "I'll take care of it."
I stepped into my boots and out into the freezing dar
kness. A click of the fob turned on the vehicle's lights, illuminating the light snow drifting down, deadening the rumble of the SUV starting up.
For a moment, I stayed on the step, the cold air and gentle snowfall cooling my heated cheeks. I was doing too much mental juggling. Duncan was too appealing and too complicated. Though he claimed not to want to take care of Celia, the way he handled her reminded me that he'd done this before.
He could do it again.
I sucked in a chilly, bracing breath, then returned to the house.
Duncan was sitting on the bench in the porch, looking down at Celia, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of longing on his face, compounding the sense of rightness.
"I hate to wake her," he said, brushing her hair away from her face with a surprising tenderness. Then he frowned and pulled a toy out of Celia's hand. I noticed it was a small plush puppy dog.
"Was that Tasha's?" I asked.
Duncan didn't look up, but his features hardened. His eyes narrowed, his lips pressed together and I knew I should have kept my question to myself.
"Please don't talk about her," he said, setting the toy aside.
"I'm sorry," I said, reaching for Celia. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."
Duncan's gaze was fixed on something behind me, his features crumpled, as if he were looking into a painful past. Then he blinked and seemed to return to the present. "No. I'm sorry. That was out of line."
He handed Celia to me then, shifting her carefully. The little girl's head lolled to one side as I took her, and she dropped her doll. Duncan picked it up, and set it down on the bench, releasing a harsh laugh as he looked down at it.
"Does she take this silly thing everywhere?"
"She's very attached to Jane and everything she wants goes through the doll," I said as I sat down beside the doll, carefully threading Celia's floppy arms through the sleeves of her jacket. "I play along, though I feel dumb talking to a doll, but it's the only way I can communicate with Celia."
I made myself stop. I knew I was talking too much, and I blamed it on my scattered emotions and Duncan's presence looming over me—tall, broad shouldered.
As I pulled Celia's toque over her ears, her head moved, she blinked slowly, then scrunched her face as she straightened, pushing away from me. She looked around, as if trying to orient herself. Then she spied her doll and snatched her up, holding her close. She yawned, then looked up at Duncan, giving him a slow smile.
"Hi, Dunkle. I'm having a birthday party here, and you're taking me for a ride on your horses."
"We're giving you and your friends a sleigh ride," he corrected, taking a step back, as if needing both physical and emotional distance between him and his niece.
"But can I go for a ride on one of your horses?"
Duncan shrugged. "I don't know."
"We'll see, right?" she asked. Then she turned to me. "Jane wants to go for a ride on one of Dunkle's horses."
I looked at her and felt a momentary confusion. She had talked to me through Jane, but had addressed Duncan directly, just as she had in church on Sunday. When she had gone running up to Duncan to show him the dress her doll was wearing.
I looked over at Duncan, who stood apart from both of us, his hands shoved in his pockets, a frown creasing his forehead. I could see that he was uncomfortable with the connection that Celia seemed to have with him.
But nonetheless, I felt a tiny glimmer of hope. If I could capitalize on it, make Duncan see this, maybe he would realize he really was the best person to take care of Celia.
Chapter 6
Paper plates decorated with pictures of horses and smeared with traces of neon-glo icing were strewn over the oversized wood table that dominated the dining room. Remnants of said neon icing were also pressed into the cloth covering some of the chairs.
Not that it mattered. The pink simply blended in with some of the other stains. I knew I should clean them, but it would have to wait. Progress on the house was slow. I had finally restored order to the pantry, and was now working on Celia's room. Next up, Jerrod and Francine’s.
One thing at a time, I reminded myself.
Girly, high-pitched squeals came from upstairs, accompanied by questionable thumps. After they devoured the cake Celia took her friends, Laine, Savannah and Tiffany upstairs. Cora was with them now, so despite the chaotic noises, I could only assume she had things in hand.
"That went well," Esther, Duncan's other sister, said, as she cleared up the last of the paper plates. "Though it does seem rather cruel to leave the horse so massacred."
Esther was tall, like Duncan, but had the body of a dancer, lean and willowy. Her blonde hair was clipped short, emphasizing her narrow features.
She looked pointedly at the legs and mane that were all that was left of the horse-shaped cake that Celia, via Jane, had admired with breathless awe. An edible My Little Pony in pink and purple.
"It does look rather pathetic, now," I said, with a laugh. I took a stab at the pink icing on the chair and quickly gave up, wondering once again why my sister-in-law had bought white-cloth covered chairs, when she couldn't seem to keep them clean.
"Celia seemed happy," Esther said, as she carried the plates to the kitchen. "I'm glad you decided to have the party."
"I felt we should try to carry on as normal as possible," I said, as I followed her with the cake platter. "It helped that she got all excited when your mother suggested we have a horse-themed party."
"I'm sure my mom spent one afternoon on Pinterest and another in the city, looking for decorations and ideas."
"She did a great job." Floating balloons with horses printed on them were anchored to the table by ribbons tied to horseshoes. Banners made of horse images were draped across the wall behind the table. The girls had all received cowboy hats, as did the dolls that had accompanied some of the girls.
My mind was still reeling at all the work Cora had to have done to accomplish this in such a short time—and how much it must have cost.
Esther dumped the paper plates in the garbage, then turned to me. The blue turtleneck she wore, which exactly matched the shade of her eyes set off her blonde hair. "And how are you doing with this all? I'm sure it's difficult living here in Jerrod’s house?"
"I'd never visited them here, so at least I don’t have those memories."
"Did Jerrod ever talk to you? About how he and Francine got along?"
I shot Esther a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
She shrugged, a vague gesture combined with lack of eye contact that raised a flicker of concern.
"I was just wondering. I know that money was tight for them. What, with buying this house and all. Francine had to have the best. I know they fought about it."
I was surprised that she would talk about her own sister that way. Though I had often thought the same, as the sister-in-law I would never have voiced my opinion.
"I didn't know that."
"So Jerrod never said anything to you about their relationship?"
"Jerrod was never one to talk about his feelings. Or talk a lot, period." After the adoption, we'd kept contact to a minimum. It had hurt, but I only wanted what was best for Celia. I understood his concerns, I felt them myself. But Esther's pointed questions puzzled me. "Why are you asking me about them?"
Esther looked down and I saw pain twist her features. "Doesn't matter," she said, her voice quiet. "It's not important. He's gone now…they’re both gone…" her words faded away as her voice broke.
I reached out to console her, but as I did, she shifted her stance.
It was a small movement, but it was definitely a movement away from me.
"So what have you been doing about Francine and Jerrod's things?" she asked, changing the conversation.
"I just started on Celia’s things. I’ll probably get to Jerrod and Francine’s after that." I paused then gave her a concerned look. “Are you sure you don’t want to help?”
“I thought I could come and take care of the office.�
� She gave me a piercing look. “You haven’t been in there yet, have you?”
"No. It’s locked and I haven’t been able to get in."
"I have the key. I had been helping Jerrod with his accounting," she said, her tone softening. "I know what is what so I’ll go through it when I’m home for the holidays."
"That sounds fine to me." I had no intention of going through the office anyway.
Cleaning up Jerrod and Francine's other things was difficult enough. This morning, I had found an old hockey jersey in the laundry that I had given him for Christmas one year. I sat for a long time in the bedroom, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I remembered that bright and happy time in my life.
And now, Christmas was coming again and I was dreading it.
"I'm glad you understand. I feel bad that you are taking care of all of this. I just know it would be too hard for Mom, and I don't have time until school is over. And it would be so difficult—" her voice broke and I struggled to keep my own emotions under control. "This really sucks, doesn't it?" she said finally.
"In many ways."
"As well when I come to clean the office, we need to talk about you and Duncan’s…situation.”
I wanted to ask her what she meant by that but was interrupted by the thunder of feet descending the stairs, and voices laughing. Any attempt at further conversation was obliterated.
"I think we should get these girls dressed," Cora called out as she came down the stairs last, following the girls who were running to the porch in a squealing mass.
She stopped at the bottom, glancing from me to Esther. "I'm sorry, were you two having a heart-to-heart?"
"Just getting to know Jerrod's sister," Esther said, in what sounded like a falsely bright voice. She pushed herself away from the counter and as she passed me I caught a shining glimpse of tears in her eyes.
I felt a sympathetic clench of my own heart. It was a hard time for everyone, I thought, quickly cleaning up the rest of the mess, then hurrying to join Cora and Esther in the porch.
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