Just the Man She Needed

by Karen Rose Smith

He was silent for so long she thought he wasn’t going to speak, but then he confessed, “Christmas was always a disappointment. All of us lived at the home, but we went to school with normal kids and there was this big buildup before Christmas. Kids constantly talked about what they were getting, what they wanted, what Santa Claus would bring. Yet any of us who lived at the home knew there was no Santa Claus. Hell, we didn’t even have parents, let alone believe in somebody in a red suit who would bring us presents. And it’s not that I’m ungrateful for what they did for us. They kept us warm, they fed us, they gave us the care they could. On Christmas we got an orange, a candy cane, one present, usually a puzzle. Like you said, life on a shoestring is tough. The home had to watch costs wherever they could.”

  Emily gently clasped his arm. “Christmas isn’t about gifts or shiny paper and fancy bows. It isn’t that I don’t want Mark to have the things you want to give him. But I want him to realize he can be happy without them.”

  “Oh, Emily.” Slade shook his head. “I know you’re right, but yet I know how I felt as a kid. I got back to school after the holidays and kids with families would talk about relatives staying and gifts they’d brought and shiny new bikes and wagons and electric trains. It was another world, and it was as if I didn’t belong in it or didn’t have a right to it, or didn’t deserve it.”

  Stepping closer to him, Emily looked straight into his eyes. “You deserve happiness, Slade, and a family and people who care about you.” Suddenly she realized how much she cared about him. She’d bought him a book earlier, and though she hadn’t had much spare time lately, when he was out doing chores, she’d started knitting him a pair of socks. It wouldn’t be much, but there was caring in each stitch and now she realized it was more than caring. Caring was turning to love. She’d tried to guard against it, but something about Slade had stolen into her and wrapped around her heart.

  Still, she could prevent herself from becoming more deeply involved. She could prevent her heart from being broken when he left.

  His eyes changed from stormy to deep, deep blue and she knew they’d better get to lunch or he’d be kissing her and she’d be forgetting she had to keep her heart safe. Releasing his arm, she wrapped hers around herself. “You were right, it is cold out here, even though I’m bundled up. I guess we’d better get some lunch.”

  He smiled at her then. “Lunch it is. Anything on the menu your heart desires.”

  When she glanced over at the placard on the family-style restaurant, she knew she wouldn’t find what her heart desired on that menu. But she knew exactly what it was. And it scared her.

  The excitement of seeing Christmas shine in Mark’s eyes was everything to Slade as they bumped along the rutted snow tracks to a stand of firs. Thinking about yesterday and the near argument with Emily in the toy store, he realized cutting down a Christmas tree with Mark would be important to them both. Emily put the emphasis on tradition and intangibles of holidays. He’d try to abide by that as best he could.

  Today had been clear and bright, not filled with clouds and snow as yesterday had. But they had less than an hour of daylight left so they’d have to move quickly. Slade parked along the barbed-wire fence and saw he’d have to lift Mark over it. The snow had mounded and there wasn’t enough room for the boy to crawl under.

  “Mom told me Gramps used to cut down our Christmas trees,” Mark said as Slade reached for his seat belt.

  “What about after your gramps died?”

  “Mom would just cut down a small one and bring it in. But we couldn’t fit much on that. Can we get a really big one?”

  Slade laughed. “Only as tall as the ceiling. I don’t think your mom would let us cut a hole in the floor above.”

  Mark giggled and they both jumped out of the truck.

  As they trudged through the snow, Mark asked, “Will you be here after Christmas?”

  “Any special reason you’re asking?” Slade asked, figuring Mark had something in mind.

  “There’s gonna be a Fun Festival at school after New Year’s. Kids and their dads build a snowman if we can go outside. The best one wins a prize. And there’s games in the gym. I was wonderin’…if you could go with me.”

  From the look in Mark’s eyes, Slade saw this was important to him. “Sure, I can go with you. I haven’t built a snowman in a while, but I imagine you could help me practice if the weather holds out.”

  Mark grinned and vigorously bobbed his head. “Sure.”

  Slade wasn’t used to having anyone look up to him. It made him uncomfortable but also kind of good. Clasping Mark’s shoulder, he said, “But, right now, we have to pick out a tree.”

  When they reached the fence, it was easy to lift Mark over it. Then Slade grabbed the saw and stepped over the barbed wire himself. The snow was deeper out here than back at the house and it took them longer than Slade expected to reach the trees and find the right one. Apparently Mark not only wanted a tall tree, but a perfect tree, one with no holes, plenty of branches and a nice straight trunk. Slade seconded the straight trunk. But by the time they both found one they decided was just right, the sun was slipping below the horizon.

  “We’ll have to hurry,” Slade joked, “or we’ll need the moon to guide us.”

  “I’m glad you’re going to be here for Christmas,” Mark said, looking up at him with big brown eyes, red cheeks and a worshipful smile.

  A lump lodged in Slade’s throat and he realized how much this little boy was coming to mean to him. “I’m glad I’m going to be here, too. Now come on, we’ve got to get a move on.”

  It was dark by the time they cut down the tree and Slade dragged it to the fence. Slade laid down the tree and the saw. “Come here, partner. I’ll lift you over.”

  Mark held up his arms and Slade transferred the boy to the other side. “Go get in the truck so you keep warm.”

  As Mark scurried off, Slade picked up the saw and tossed it down on the other side of the fence, then he lifted the eight-foot tree and climbed over the barbed wire. But in the darkness he misjudged, and the weight of the tree took him over faster than he expected. The side of his thigh brushed against the barbed wire. He could hear the tear of his jeans, and he felt the stings. Cursing and deciding it was his own fault for hurrying, he ignored the cuts, carried the tree to the back of the pickup, heaving it into the payload. After he fetched the saw, he tossed it back there, too, then climbed into the truck.

  “All set?” he asked Mark, deciding his leg had simply gotten scratched.

  “I’m ready for supper,” the seven-year-old said enthusiastically. “Are we going to trim the tree tonight?”

  “We’ll have to talk to your mom about that, but I don’t see why not.”

  Emily had left the tree-stand out on the front porch. Slade shooed Mark inside before he shaped the trunk with the saw and secured it in the stand. Then he opened the kitchen door. “Are you ready to put the tree in the living room?” he called inside.

  Emily was taking a roast out of the oven and she smiled at him. “I rearranged things a little and we’re ready. Bring it in.”

  Hoisting the tree into his arms, he carried it into the living room. Amanda was sleeping in her cradle by the armchair. He saw the place Emily had made for the tree in front of the window. It seemed to take up at least half the room.

  “I guess Mark wanted a big tree this year,” she said with a smile.

  “And perfect all the way around.”

  Standing back, she pretended to examine it carefully. She’d looked it up and down and was about to say something, when her gaze fell on Slade’s leg. “Goodness, what did you do?”

  When he looked down, he saw there were several tears in his jeans and they were matted with blood. He was sure it looked worse than it was. “It’s just a few scratches. The barbed wire and I had a tussle.”

  “You’d better let me see to that. Have you had a tetanus shot lately?”

  “Last summer.”

  “That’s a relief. Come down to th
e bathroom and we’ll clean it up.”

  “Emily, really…”

  “You’d better do it Slade so it doesn’t get infected,” Mark warned him, and Slade knew the boy had probably heard those words many times from his mother.

  “I don’t want to hold up supper,” he groused.

  “Supper will keep for a few minutes. Mark, how about if you go upstairs and get washed up. I’ll take care of Slade down here.”

  In other circumstances, Slade might rejoice at Emily’s words, but not in these particular ones. She followed him down the hall to the bathroom and once inside they both realized how small the quarters were. When neither of them moved, she finally said, “You’ll have to take your pants off.”

  He searched his mind for a smart comeback, but damn, he couldn’t find one. “Emily…”

  Her cheeks were flushed as she opened the medicine cabinet, reached inside and took out a bottle of peroxide. “We’ll be done before you know it. You’ve got to be a good example for Mark.”

  He wasn’t sure what kind of example he’d be with his pants off. “I’ll take care of it myself,” he muttered.

  “It’s at a bad spot and hard to reach. It’ll be easier for me to do it.”

  Not easier on his nerves or on the desire he already felt stirring. When his hands went to his belt buckle, Emily was still fussing around the medicine cabinet, but her cheeks were getting even rosier. He figured the best thing to do was get this over as quickly as possible. She had him so flustered he forgot he had to take his foot out of his boot before he could get the pants leg off. Stooping down, he yanked off the boot and tossed it into the hall. Slipping one leg out of his jeans, he left the other leg on. The material of the jeans had stuck in spots to the wounds and now they started bleeding again.

  “Oh, Slade, that’s got to hurt.”

  “Nope. Didn’t know it was there.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head and picked up a soft, clean cloth that she rinsed, then sudsed with a translucent looking soap. “This is antibacterial. It’ll clean the wounds before I put the peroxide on. That’ll go deeper.”

  “Pleasant thought,” he muttered. “Let’s just get this done.”

  Although she was as quick and efficient as a nurse, he was still very aware of every touch of her fingers on his skin. He could imagine them other places…as they lay in bed…. When he realized the effect his thoughts were having, he tried to stop them. But stopping them was as difficult as keeping his distance, as not wanting to kiss Emily again and again. Her head was bent as she tended to his leg. The yellow light in the bathroom picked up the blond strands in her hair. He knew it was soft and silky. He knew if he touched it, he wouldn’t want to stop.

  After she’d finished with the soap and peroxide, she used a cream and, despite the scratches stinging on his leg, the softness of her touch, the sweet torture of her fingers on the back of his thigh, were enough to make him want to groan. No way could he face her. No way could he let her see…

  She applied a gauze bandage much too fast and, if he didn’t want to be rude and keep his back to her, he had no choice but to turn and look at her, holding his jeans up as best he could to disguise what was happening to him.

  But before he could put his other leg in his pants and escape to his room, she said, “Why don’t you just take them off altogether. I’ll wash them then see if I can repair them.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It will be when you need a pair of clean jeans.”

  Damn if she wasn’t going to stand here and argue with him.

  But it wasn’t arguing that made his blood rush faster when her gaze shifted from his leg and inadvertently rested near his belt buckle. He was aroused and there was no way to hide it.

  Her cheeks became almost red as she quickly turned away from him and stowed the bandages and tape in the medicine cabinet.

  Stepping into his pants, zipping and fastening them quickly, he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t be embarrassed, Emily. I think you know how I feel about you without seeing the proof of it.”

  Finally she met his gaze in the mirror. “I am embarrassed. I should have realized—”

  Turning her toward him, he gently stroked her hair from her face. “No matter what my reactions are to you, you know you have nothing to fear, don’t you?”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she answered him.

  Yet there was something in her voice, something that made him wonder what sex had been like between her and her husband. “But?” he prompted.

  “But men’s needs and women’s needs are a lot different.”

  “How so?”

  “A man’s needs are all physical. A woman’s needs are a lot more complicated.”

  “I’m not going to tell you my reaction to you isn’t physical, but there’s more to it than that. You’ve given me something here I’ve never had before. Meaning in the holidays…traditions. And I appreciate that. What’s between us isn’t just physical, though I think you’re afraid of both what is and what isn’t.”

  Her chin went up. “I’m not afraid.”

  Cocking his head, he gave her a slow smile. “What would you call it?”

  “I’m cautious, and I have to be. When you’re gone, I’ll still have the same life I’ve always had. I’ll still have two children to care for and a ranch to run, though I’m not sure how much longer I can do that. Kissing you might be pleasurable, but I can’t let it distract me from what’s really important.”

  To him, the desire he felt for Emily, the sense of rightness being in her presence was much more than pleasurable. But she was right about it being fleeting. Still, if he didn’t have a brother to find, he might stay longer…but that didn’t mean she’d want him to or that anything would be any different than it was now.

  When he heard footsteps running down the hall, Slade stepped away from her.

  Mark burst into the doorway. “I’m all washed up and Amanda’s crying. Are we going to eat now?”

  Emily looked flustered, but she stepped out of the bathroom into the hall. “Can you try to distract your sister while I get supper out? Then I’ll feed her while you and Slade get started.”

  “Sure. Is Slade’s leg gonna be okay?”

  She looked down at where the white patches showed through the torn jeans.

  But Slade was the one who answered. “It’s going to be just fine, Mark.” He wished he could say the same about the emptiness he felt inside when he thought about leaving. He wished he could say the same about his feelings toward Emily and her children. But he’d always been a “take one day at a time” kind of guy and there was no reason to change that philosophy now.

  Chapter Seven

  Boxes of Christmas decorations strayed across the living-room floor as Emily steadied Mark on a step stool so he could hang a miniature bell up high. As she glanced over at Slade who was standing at her side examining a shiny blue ball with Mark’s name written on it, she felt her cheeks get hot all over again. No man had ever made her feel as he did, all tingly and weak-kneed. Especially standing this close, she was aware of his body heat, his scent, his long legs, his…

  When she’d glimpsed his arousal earlier in the bathroom, she’d felt excited and aroused herself, and now she wondered what would happen if she gave in to the feelings. Really gave into them. In a couple of weeks she could think about—

  In a couple of weeks, Slade might be gone.

  “Can I put the star on top before I go to bed?” Mark asked.

  Even when they’d simply cut a small tree, they’d put the star on top. “Sure you can. But the step stool won’t be high enough for that.”

  “I’ll lift you up,” Slade said.

  She moved away from him. “The star’s in the box by the sofa.”

  Mark jumped from the stool and went to find it.

  Lifting the ball in his hand, Slade asked her, “Did you paint this?” Mark’s name, birth date and a small angel decorated the or
nament.

  “For his first Christmas.”

  “You know how to make things matter.”

  Slade’s voice, low and deep, made her insides tremble. “What do you mean?”

  “Mark thinks he’s special every time he looks at this. I’ll bet you bake him a birthday cake every year, too, don’t you?”

  She nodded, willing to bet Slade never had a celebration for his birthday. “When’s your birthday?” she asked.

  “April 8th.”

  She suspected he’d be long gone by then.

  Changing the subject, Slade pointed to a crocheted snowflake she’d hung on the tree. “Some of these ornaments look old.”

  “My mother made that when I was five. Many of these hung on our tree when I was little. Mark likes to hear the stories behind them, where they came from.” She pointed to a bucking bronc fashioned from metal. “Dad bought that one when he visited a friend in Wyoming.” And carefully she tapped a tiny wooden church. “That one Dallas gave me when we were in high school. They all have memories attached.”

  With Slade looking down at her very seriously, she wondered what was going through his head until he said, “I never realized Christmas trees are memory trees. It must be nice to have all those good memories. They must make you feel…connected.”

  She wanted to say, You could be connected, too.

  But before the thought could be put into words, Mark came over to them with the star. “Here it is.”

  Slade hung Mark’s ornament on the tree and lifted the boy so he could slip the wire attached to the star over the tall treetop. It was gold and a little tarnished, but Mark looked up at it in awe as if it was the most beautiful star on earth.

  After Slade set him down, her son looked up at her. “Doesn’t it look great way up there? Didn’t we pick out the best tree?”

  “The absolute best tree.” She smiled at Slade because he’d made this moment possible, because he was making this Christmas special for Mark by being here.

  And for you, too, a small voice whispered. But she tried to ignore it.

  “Can we light it up?” Mark asked.