by Loree Lough
“It was just a silly suggestion.”
“Silly? You’re kidding, right?”
She put the bowl on the table and tucked her legs under her. “I told them we’d have to run it by you first, so—”
“We could invite Mercy and Austin, and Flora and Bud, and Harriet. Our whole Thanksgiving gang.”
Had her little gasp been inspired by his reference to “we” and “our”? Matt followed up with, “And if there’s somebody you’d like to add to the list, do it.”
He watched her process it all, frowning, raising her eyebrows. She widened those sometimes-blue-sometimes-green eyes, then tucked in one corner of her mouth. That beautiful, kissable mouth. If Brady Shaw was here right now, he’d punch him in the mouth, for stealing even one second of Honor’s joy. Well, if Matt had anything to say about it, Shaw would get what he had coming to him. Then Honor licked her lips and his mind went blank, and when she smiled at him, his heart pounded so hard that he worried she could hear it from her spot near the arm of the couch.
He glanced at the clock. An hour, yet, before the boys went to bed. He should never have sent them outside with her earlier, because it messed up the schedule. It’d be eleven before the boys settled down, midnight before he could trust that they’d fallen asleep. Now disappointment of a different kind thumped in his head because how was he supposed to put their suggestion to the test if—
They thundered into the room bellowing, “Dad, Dad!”
Warner whipped off his hat. “It’s snowing like crazy out there!”
Steve did the same. “I bet there’s six inches on the ground already!”
Matt cut another glance at the clock, then stood and started walking toward the back door. “In an hour? No way.”
“Yes, way,” Steve said, running alongside him. “You’ll see.”
Honor followed, too. If the boys were right, she’d leave. So he hoped with everything in him that they were wrong.
“Oh my,” she said over his shoulder, “it’s just beautiful.”
Nowhere near as beautiful as what I’m lookin’ at.
“Let’s start the movie up again,” Warner said.
Steve hung his jacket beside his twin’s. “Wanna swap a slice of pizza?”
“No way. You put mushrooms on yours.”
“Only half.”
Honor took a step forward, laying a hand on each boy’s shoulder. They turned to face her as she said, “At the rate it’s coming down, there’ll be a foot on the ground before the movie ends.” She chucked their chins. “So I can’t watch the end of it with you.”
“Aw-w, bummer.”
Cash chose that moment to trot up and beg for a pat, and she stooped to oblige him. “Believe me, I’m more disappointed than you are. But Rerun and Rowdy are home alone.”
“Yeah. We know.” They walked with her to the foyer. “So will you come over for Christmas?”
Honor cut a fleeting look at Matt, and he tensed, wondering what she’d say. She hadn’t declined the invitation, but she hadn’t accepted it, either. He lifted his shoulders and smiled, hoping she’d read his mind again. Say yes. Just say yes.
She grabbed her coat, and Matt took it from her. “Y’know,” she said as he helped her into her coat, “I think a repeat of Thanksgiving will be fun. Let’s just pray everybody else hasn’t already made plans.”
He let his hands rest on her shoulders a second longer than necessary. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, giving them a little squeeze.
She reached up and patted his fingertips. “Maybe next Friday, we can finish watching that movie. Nothing better than seein’ a bad guy get his just desserts.”
The image of Brady Shaw, getting his, flashed in Matt’s mind, and it made him grin.
“Drive safely,” he said as she stepped into the snow.
“I will.”
“G’night, Honor,” the boys chorused.
“Sweet dreams,” she said.
And Matt’s heart raced because she was looking at him, not at his boys, when she said it.
An hour later, the snow had filled in her bootprints on the walk, and drifts hid her tire tracks in the driveway. He’d already checked on the boys and let the dog out and cleaned the last of the movie night mess from the family room. Too late to call, make sure she’d gotten home all right? “Only one way to find out,” he muttered, biting the corner off a slice of cold pizza.
After just half a ring, she said, “What, you think I don’t know how to drive in snow?”
Man it was good to hear her voice. “What,” he echoed, “you don’t say hello when you answer the phone?”
She laughed. “I’m fine, as you can see—hear, but thanks for checking.”
“Somebody’s gotta make sure your dogs are properly cared for.”
“Touché, monsieur.”
The reminder of their earlier call inspired a quiet chuckle. “Wanna borrow my pin?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a chainsaw.”
“A chainsaw!”
“Thanks to your boys’ compliments, the only way I’ll get my big swelled head through the doorways is if you carve keyhole shapes into them.”
“And you think I should try stand-up.”
“Please. One joke does not a comedian make.”
The mantle clock struck midnight. Perfect timing, he thought, because if he wasn’t bewitched, he didn’t know who was. “Well, I’d better let you go. I promised the boys breakfast at the Double T.”
“Ah, the home of the 24-hour breakfast …”
“Yeah, they love the place, so I expect they’ll be up at dawn.” He paused. “Hey, why don’t you meet us over there?”
“I’d love to, but I’m working tomorrow. If the snow doesn’t cancel class, that is.”
He remembered how she’d put lesson plans and handouts on hold to join them tonight. “What time does your class start, if it isn’t canceled, that is?”
“Nine.”
“Where is it?”
“The fire hall on Route 99.”
“One hour? Two?”
“You’ll be out of there by noon. If it isn’t canceled.”
Did he sense a “gotcha” in that last comment? If so, he had it coming. Matt grinned. “What should I bring, teach? Safety harness? Rope? Compass?”
“Oh, I think even a reporter can find the fire hall without a compass. Paper and pencil will do.”
“Well, don’t save a seat for me. You know. Just in case the kids throw me a curveball after breakfast.”
“Got it.”
He could almost see her, giving that little nod of her head when she said it. “Well, g’night then.
“G’night.”
He waited for the telltale click as she hung up. When he didn’t hear it, he said “Honor?”
“Matt …”
“You didn’t hang up.”
“Oh. I was waiting for you to do it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The person who calls has to hang up first?”
“What’s that, Rule Six in the Phone Call Etiquette book?
“More like Two, I think.”
He chuckled. “The sooner you say goodbye, the sooner you
can get to bed.”
“Bye.”
“Sleep tight and all that.”
“Matt?”
“Honor …”
“This could go on all night.”
“Hang the Phone Call Etiquette book. You hang up first.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Ladies first?”
“All right,” she said.
And with that, she hung up! Matt sat staring at the buzzing receiver for a moment, knowing before it made contact with the cradle that he’d sit front and center in that class of hers tomorrow, even if it meant rushing the boys through breakfast. It wasn’t likely he’d nod off with her at the front of the class, even though he’d sat through the sessions before. He’d have to watch it, though, because his own S
AR training qualified him as an instructor, and the last thing he wanted to do was undermine her authority up there. Especially with that craziness hanging over her head.
“It’s for their own good,” he muttered, climbing the stairs.
A dad with CPR and SAR training had to be a good thing, he thought, tiptoeing into the boys’ room. Warner had kicked off his quilt, as usual. And, as usual, Matt pulled it up, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. On the other side of the room, his twin snored softly, one foot poking out from under his blanket, a hand tucked under his head. He sighed and stirred slightly as Matt kissed his cheek. And as Matt was pulling the door to, Steve whispered “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too,” he whispered back, knowing the boy was too sound asleep to hear it.
As a young Marine, he’d silently scoffed when a married pal got a little pie-eyed on the first night of a three-day pass. “There’s a lotta different kinds o’ love in the world,” he’d slurred, tapping the wallet-sized photo of his infant daughter, “nothin’ tops the love of a dad for his little girl.”
Matt took a last look at his sleeping sons and said a silent apology to that Marine. Yeah, having a dad with CPR and SAR training was a good thing, but having a mother was better. He couldn’t think of a more fitting candidate than the woman they’d entrusted with their little-boy secret, mere hours after meeting her.
14
I can’t believe you made this,” Mercy said, holding up the wooden cutting board.
“I gotta say, it’s the perfect two-in-one gift. Kitchen appliance for the little woman, here, reminder of my bachelor days aboard One Regret.” Austin ran a fingertip along Honor’s rendering of his tugboat. “Must’ve taken hours to woodburn all these details into the water and sky.”
“And look, sweetie, she even put the name across the back end.”
“Across the stern, sweetie.” Groaning, Austin shook his head. “I’ll never make a sailor outta her.”
Steve sat on the sofa arm nearest Austin. “Is that why you’re selling it?”
Smirking, he looked at Mercy. “Nah. Between our jobs and her condo, there won’t be time to take proper care of her.”
“Why don’t we buy it, Dad?”
“Because,” Matt said, “between my job and your school, and Little League, and Scouts, we don’t have time to take proper care of her, either.”
“We can’t quit school,” Warner said, “but you can.”
Matt looked at Honor and smiled. “What? Give up before I earn my …” He pretended to search his memory for the proper term.
“Wilderness training.”
“Right. That. You want me to quit before I earn my Wilderness badge?”
“Certification,” she corrected gently. “You’ll have to join the Scouts to earn a badge.”
“He’s already got a whole drawer full of ‘em,” Steve said.
Warner nodded. “Yeah, Dad was an Eagle Scout, y’know.”
“No, I didn’t know that. But I’m not the least bit surprised.”
Matt felt his face redden. He’d never known a woman with the power to turn him into a weak-kneed, bumbling idiot, just by smiling at him. He didn’t want to think about the mess he’d be if he ever got around to kissing her.
“Your turn,” Honor said, handing him a rectangular box.
“Seems a shame to unwrap it,” he said, fiddling with the perfectly-tied red bow. “Maybe I’ll just put it on the mantle, next to the carriage clock and the—”
“Here,” Warner said, hands extended, “let me do it.”
“You already had your turn,” Steve said, clutching his DVD.
She’d put a lot of thought and time into every gift. For the bookworm, a silver marker inscribed with Harriet’s initials. A cutting board for the couple who loved to cook, and the latest releases of Shrek and Transformers for the twins. She’d had to secure Austin’s help in getting a photo of Flora and Bud to slide into the carved driftwood frame she’d given the Sullivans. And Cash got a canister of hand-baked dog biscuits. Matt couldn’t imagine what might be inside the box on his lap.
“I’m with the kid,” Bud said, wiggling his fingertips. “Open that baby, or give it here.”
“You guys sure know how to stifle a mood.” Matt said, chuckling as he slowly peeled away the silvery wrapper. The boys were hanging over the back of the sofa, and every few seconds he felt the breeze of a frustrated sigh. When he lifted the box top, Warner said, “Finally!” and Steve applauded.
Matt pulled back the tissue paper.
“Well,” Bud said, “what is it!”
“Something knitted,” Flora whispered.
Austin leaned forward. “A scarf?”
“No,” Matt said, holding it up, “it’s a sweater.”
“Not just a sweater,” Harriet said, “a cable knit. And just look at the precision of those twists!”
He met Honor’s eyes. “You made this.”
“I did.” Her lips slanted with a shy smile. “I hope it fits.”
“Only one way to find out.” Standing, he slid it over his head, then tugged the sleeves and hem into place. “Perfect,” he said. “But how’d you know what size to make?”
“I’m just a good guesser.” She grinned. “I guess.”
Not that he was looking, but Matt couldn’t find a single flaw. It must have taken weeks to produce a hand-knit sweater so perfect that it looked machine-stitched. Honor worked a full-time job and clocked hours of overtime, in addition to teaching SAR classes and volunteering for missions. It had only been a week since they’d discussed spending Christmas together. Either she’d knitted so fast that her needles sparked, or she’d made it for someone else.
The very thought made every muscle tighten. “When did you have the time to make it?”
Shoulders raised, she braided her forearms and tucked both hands between her knees. “I don’t require a whole lot of sleep.”
Interesting fact, he thought. Too bad it didn’t answer his question. “Well, it’s terrific. I love it.” He’d love it even more when he found out she’d made it for him.
The timer beeped, and Honor started stuffing wrapping paper and ribbons into a trash bag. “Dinner’s ready when you are.”
She’d arrived at six, carrying half a dozen overstuffed plastic grocery bags and claimed she needed that much time to get the meal cooked and the table set. But the disappointed look on her face when she realized the boys had been up since five was all the proof he’d needed that the real reason for her early arrival had been her hope that she’d be there when they came downstairs and raced toward the Santa-delivered toys under the tree.
She hid the letdown well, though, and after letting the kids show her every toy and book and game, Honor put on an apron and got down to business. Now, as everyone scrambled for the best seat at the table, he watched her in the dining room doorway, chewing on a knuckle to keep the mist in her eyes from becoming more, and he was pretty sure that pride in her work didn’t have a thing to do with it.
That’s when it hit him: Honor needed this a whole lot more than the rest of them, and the insight gave him yet another reason to want to hurt Brady Shaw. By ruining her reputation, he’d made it impossible for her to meet and marry a man who deserved her, someone she could build a life and grow a family with. It seemed warped and weird—feeling a little bit grateful to Shaw—as he considered whether or not he could be that man.
He hadn’t noticed until that moment that she’d moved into the dining room, where she stood, fingers gripping her chairback, waiting for him to catch her eye. When he did, she smiled and pulled out the chair. “There’s no bird to carve,” she said, “but you’re still stuck with saying grace.”
Stuck was hardly the word he’d use. Grateful. Blessed. Overjoyed. He could think of a hundred other ways to describe how he felt, standing beside her at the head of the table.
When everyone settled in and settled down, his prayer could have been a recording of the one he’d said on Thanksgiving
, except for the short but heartfelt qualifier he uttered to himself: If she’s in Your plan for my life, I sure would appreciate a sign.
When he opened his eyes and looked across the table, she nodded. Just once. But it was enough. He hoped the unbridled joy beaming from her face was the sign he’d prayed for … and not just wishful thinking.
15
Cash sniffed the base of a fat oak, then tugged at the leash.
“Easy does it, boy,” Austin said. “I’ve only got two legs, don’t forget.”
Matt laughed. “Just say the word if you want to hand over the leash, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
The dog chose that moment to stop and look over its shoulder. “Lookit that big doggy grin,” Austin said. “I think he’s trying to tell me you don’t know one end of the lead from the other.”
Matt barely heard him above the wail of a siren. “Man. What a day to need an ambo, eh?”
“I guess. You ever miss the SAR work?”
“Only every day. But the boys are well worth the sacrifice.”
“Yeah, there’s no rule that says you can’t recertify when they’re older.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. Already did.”
“No kiddin’?”
“No kiddin’.” Then, “So how’d you merit a holiday off? I figured they’d stick you with every crummy shift on the board, payback for taking two weeks for your honeymoon.”
“Try and keep a good thought, why don’t you?”
“Speaking of good thoughts, that was some present Honor made you guys.”
“Surprised the heck outta me. I’ve known her for years, and never would’ve guessed she had that kind of artistic ability. And she’s no slouch in the kitchen, either.”
Matt patted his belly. “Bet I put on five pounds, just from that one meal.”
“So what’re you waiting for, man, an engraved invitation? Women like that don’t grow on trees, y’know.”
“I’ve only known her since the night that jet crashed on 95.”
“Plenty of time, if your head’s in the right place.” He stopped, so Cash could sniff out a fire hydrant. “Never heard of nightflying geese before.” He elbowed Matt. “You sure you got your facts straight, dude, ‘cause how weird was that?”
It had been Matt’s article that outlined the cause of the accident. Near as any of the experts could figure, the flock was headed in to roost when two birds got sucked into the plane’s engines. “Rare,” he’d quoted one wildlife expert, “but then, Canada geese can’t tell time.”