“I’m sure that will be fine.”
But Levi stopped him before he could go. “Micah, when’s your birthday?”
Micah shrugged. “July twenty-ninth.”
“And you’ll be nine?”
“Yes, sir.”
Levi nodded, did the sums in his head, felt the anger and shock in his chest burn hot and unforgiving.
Ada addressed her son; the high tone of her voice had dropped, becoming deeper, defeated. “Off to bed, Micah. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Micah stepped forward and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Good night, Mr. MacAllistair.”
Mr. MacAllistair. As if he was a stranger. Not his father.
Once the door to the bedroom closed, Ada turned, fear embedded deep in the green of her eyes. He wasn’t wrong. His first instinct had been the right one. Micah was his son. His chest grew painfully tight. He rubbed at it, but the feeling refused to abate, spreading to his throat, his lungs, his limbs.
It surprised him he hadn’t recognized it earlier. And yet he had, on some level. In some moments, Micah’s gestures or words or expressions had appeared so familiar, as if he’d seen them before but couldn’t place where. And why would he have placed them? Ada had held her secret close to her heart, as if she was the only one who deserved to know. She’d denied his claim when he’d raised those suspicions.
I don’t think he liked me much.
Micah’s words resonated in his head and another truth settled in, hateful and ugly. Harlan had known. And Harlan had resented the boy because of it. Why had she done it? Why hadn’t she told him?
All those years he’d spent in prison thinking he had nothing waiting for him when or if he ever woke from that nightmare, and she had known all along. Ada, whom he had loved above all else, whom he had trusted, adored. She’d robbed him of his son.
Until he’d met her, he’d led a life forced upon him by his father and circumstance. He hadn’t known any other way to survive, had never had a reason to try. A part of him had figured it hadn’t mattered. One day he’d catch a bullet and that would be the end of it. That’s how it was for men like him, living on the outside of the law. They’d put him in the ground and he’d be forgotten, barely more than a marker sticking out of the dirt to say he’d ever been there.
Until he’d stumbled into Ada on that fateful day and suddenly the sky had brightened and light invaded the dark. She’d given him hope. Purpose. He’d put her on a pedestal, thinking she was his salvation. And for a time she was. She’d loved him. At least he’d thought so. But when push came to shove, when darkness crept back in and brought their world crashing down around them, she’d abandoned him. She had gone back to a man who promised safety and security. And she’d let his son call Harlan Baxter father while he wasted away like a forgotten dream.
Ada bowed her head, her hands clasped in front of her tightly enough for him to see the whites of her knuckles. “You don’t understand,” she whispered.
“You’re right, I don’t,” he said. The words scraped over his throat like shards of jagged glass and he wanted to drive the words into her. To hurt her as much as he was hurting. All this time, a piece of him had existed out in the world and he had never known. She’d lied to him with her silence.
Ada hugged her arms around herself. “I can explain.”
“Doubtful.” What explanation could she provide that would satisfy him?
He wasn’t sure the words existed that could create a balm for the wound her lie had inflicted.
* * *
Ada stared at him, let her gaze roam over his handsome face, filled with pain and broken trust, and her heart boarded up its gates against the inevitable. Where did she begin? How did she say the words that would make him understand? What did it matter? He would not forgive her. She could see it in his face—beyond the shock and disbelief, she could see it. No words would be enough.
She reached out a hand to touch him, to anchor herself, but he pulled away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He headed for the door and she rushed to it. As she was closer, she reached it first and pressed her back into it, barring his departure. He couldn’t leave. Not now. Not like this.
“Micah is your son.” The words rushed out of her in a whisper. Her gaze shot to Micah’s bedroom door and then back to Levi.
He stepped back, away from her. The hope and promise she’d seen earlier in his eyes had turned to stone, crowding out everything else.
“Move.” One word, filled with anger and purpose.
She shook her head, her palms and back flat against the cold pine of the door. Levi reached out and banged his fist on the wood behind her, his face only inches from hers. “Open the door.”
The words were strangled. Desperate. As if he couldn’t breathe.
“Levi, please—”
But he didn’t listen. Wouldn’t listen. He reached behind her and grabbed the door handle, forcing it open, pulling her with it. Her lighter weight proved no competition to his superior strength and his determination to get out of the cabin, away from her.
She followed him out, the cold air hitting her sharp and hard as Levi stumbled into the evening, the deep snow that had drifted around the shoveled pathways pulling at his legs, slowing him down. Above them, the sky had darkened to a deep indigo punctuated with stars.
Ada grabbed Levi’s sleeve before he could go too far. “At least let me explain.”
He turned and pulled his arm from her grasp. “When did you find out you carried my son?”
She flinched at his words but held her ground. It was no more than she deserved.
“Shortly after your trial began.”
By then, his fate had been all but sealed. The people in the town had wanted blood, and his father being sentenced to hang had not been enough. Though no real evidence had been given against him that wasn’t lies and supposition, the townspeople had already made up their minds. He was guilty by association, if nothing else. Levi and Ada’s entire world had crashed down around them. She’d been frantic, desperate to protect their baby growing in her belly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Thin strands of moonlight cast their glow across his features, bathing him in an ethereal light until he reminded her of an avenging angel.
“I was terrified. You were going to prison or—worse.” She swallowed. Even now, all these years later, the tinny taste of fear filled her mouth. “All I wanted to do was protect our baby, but I didn’t know how, so I turned to Marilla.”
“And ran back to Harlan.” The statement was laced with anger, barbed with sharp thorns and accusation.
She nodded. “I didn’t want to, but Marilla said it was the only way to ensure the baby had a father and a home. I had no means of support, no chance of finding any because of—” She stopped, puffs of white dissipating in the air from her breath.
“Because of me.”
Ada refused to meet his gaze. Refused to place the blame at his feet. He’d been an innocent victim in all of this, sent away for a crime he hadn’t committed, years of his life stolen from him, their future together ripped away. “I made the decision to do what I did.”
“She knew you carried my son? And Harlan knew?”
Ada met his hard gaze without flinching. “Yes. Marilla said if I married Harlan quickly enough, we could pass the baby off as coming early. That no one would question whether Micah was his.”
“So you sold yourself for a better life.”
The underlying meaning in his words pounded into her like fists and left her reeling. She reached out and grabbed the one thing she could find. Anger. Justification. The sense of desperation she’d experienced over eight years ago when she faced bringing a baby into the world on her own in a town that had turned against her because she’d chosen the wrong man.
“You were all but convicted. At worst, you would hang. At best, you’d be incarcerated. I was on my own. You couldn’t help me. You couldn’t even save yourself!” He recoiled, but she kept going,
needing him to understand. Needing to know she hadn’t wanted to hurt him, only to save their son. “What kind of life would Micah have had? How would the townsfolk have treated him—the bastard child of a convicted murderer? I would have been run out of Glennis Creek without a cent to my name and no way to care for our baby. So you tell me—what other choice did I have?”
“You had the choice to at least tell me!” His voice roared between the space dividing them, across the past to the present, bringing with it all the anger and hurt her betrayal had wrought. She didn’t fight it. He had a right to it.
Fate had dealt them a hard hand, and she’d played it as best she could.
“What would you have done? What would you have had me do differently?”
He said nothing and the truth settled between them into an uncomfortable silence. In the end she had set aside her own needs and put her son’s first, ensuring he would not suffer for her weaknesses, that he would be safe and cared for.
“You could have told me—after Harlan died.”
“I wanted to.” Every day that passed, the guilt of her silence weighed heavy in her heart. But Harlan had tied her hands. “Harlan left everything to Marilla. She agreed to support us provided I kept my silence. She wanted to protect her son’s memory. It was all she had left.”
Levi turned away from her. After a moment, he tilted his head back to address the stars. His voice had calmed, anger now replaced by raw pain. “For over eight years I thought of this day. Dreamed about it. It was crazy.” He laughed and the sound was as bitter as the cold air around them. “You were married and I had years left on my sentence. But when I heard Harlan had died, I thought maybe... I was such a fool.”
“No!” She took a quick step forward, then stopped, his stark posture not inviting intimacy, especially not from her. “It wasn’t foolish.”
Hadn’t she thought the same thing? Hadn’t she dreamed of it every night, too? Sometimes those dreams were the only thing that got her through the next day. That, and watching Micah grow, so much like his father in so many ways. Levi had been gone from her life, but he’d left a piece of himself behind, and she would do whatever was necessary to protect the amazing boy they had created.
“I can’t stay here tonight.”
“There is nowhere else to go.” She took another step toward him, needing him to understand even if he couldn’t forgive her, but his warning glare stopped her in her tracks, the cold from the ground beneath her seeping into her feet and traveling upward. “It is far too cold and you’re still healing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No. If you’re leaving, at least give Micah a proper goodbye.” He didn’t answer, so she pushed on. “Take the bed. I’ll sleep in Micah’s room tonight. We can talk more in the morning.”
He looked at her and what she saw in his gaze frightened her. “You think a night’s sleep is going to change anything?”
She wished she could tell him yes. But she’d told enough lies.
She turned and tromped through the snow back into the house. For a while, she stood next to the woodstove, letting its warmth permeate the ice that filled her bones. In the corner, the Christmas tree stood in the shadows, decorated with strings of berries and bows made from scraps of leftover material. The sight of it pained her. Once upon a time she had loved Christmas, believed in the sense of hope it always brought her.
She shook her head. Whatever hope she’d harbored for her and Levi lay in tatters outside in the snow next to the man she loved—had always loved. She waited for Levi to come inside, but as the wood burned down and she fed another log into the stove, she realized her wait was in vain.
With a sad and heavy heart, she took off her coat and placed it on the hook by the door, then went into Micah’s room.
The cold hit her full force, as if she’d taken a wrong turn and walked back outside. Her breath came out in a visible puff of white vapor, and directly across from her the curtains billowed softly against the window, revealing an opening about two feet in height.
Her gaze shot to the bed, where moonlight cut a swath across its middle. A lump filled its center, but there was no sign of the dog sleeping next to it.
“Micah?” She rushed to the bed and threw back the covers.
The bed was empty.
Micah was gone.
Chapter Nine
Levi stood in the snow, unable to move. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Christmas tree inside with its strings of berries and homemade decorations hanging from the branches. Something about the tree calmed him. His first real Christmas tree. His first real Christmas. Just the sight of it had given him faith that everything would work out.
A strangled laugh cut the air around him and he turned away from the sight, from the image of her standing on the other side of the door, worried and upset. He didn’t want to see her side of things. Didn’t want to give her his pity or his understanding for the choice she’d faced. None of that erased her lie.
Why?
What had she thought he would do? Run into town and scream the news from the top of his lungs for all to hear? He wanted to. In the short time he’d been here, Micah had squirmed beneath his skin, and his fondness for the boy went beyond just thinking he was a great kid. Had a part of him known for certain all along? Seen a part of himself in his son? Maybe.
His son.
Funny thing was, the boy had been right. He’d made a Christmas wish and it had come true. He’d wished for a family of his own. And tonight Ada had presented it to him, but it came wrapped up in lies and betrayal.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he muttered and another bitter laugh escaped him. He shouldn’t be laughing, but it beat crying in this kind of cold, freezing the tears to his face and burning them into his skin.
“Levi!”
Ada’s voice startled him, shattering his reverie like thin ice, leaving it crumbled on the ground at his feet. He heard something desperate in her voice and didn’t even have the word for it, but he reached the door before he was even conscious of moving at all. She met him there, throwing the door open. The expression on her face stopped him in his tracks.
“What is it?” Micah. The name whispered through him and dragged with it a fear he’d never thought possible.
“He’s gone.”
He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the words. “What do you mean gone?”
She gulped air in short breaths. “His window is open and he’s just...gone. He’s run away. I can see tracks by his window, but it’s too dark to tell where they go. I—do you think he heard us?”
Guilt bled through Levi’s veins. He hadn’t been quiet when voicing his anger. On a still night, the sound could easily have carried. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
Why did Micah run? It was dark and cold and he had nowhere to go.
But hadn’t he been about to do the same thing? Because Ada had told him Micah was his son. Somewhere in the miasma of emotions attacking him from all sides, he knew running made no sense, but it had been instinct. It had been what he’d always done when trouble brewed or things got tough. It was what his father had taught him.
He kept his voice calm for no other reason than it seemed she needed it and despite everything, he had to give it to her. “He couldn’t have gotten far. Stay inside, I’ll find him.”
“No! I’m going with you!”
She tried to move past him but he caught her, feeling the pull against his injuries as she fought him. He held her tight, her desperation to see her son—their son—safe making her strong, feeding a beast inside of her he was only beginning to understand. To share.
Nothing else mattered now. Only Micah.
His hand cupped her face and forced her to look at him. “He might come to his senses and return home before he gets too far. He’ll need you here if he does.”
Slowly his words reached her and she nodded, but the terror did not leave her, indelibly carved into the fine bones that made her so beautiful. He press
ed her back inside with him, grabbed his rifle and a lamp from the kitchen table, and made to leave.
“Levi—”
He stopped and turned to her, and in that moment, the years peeled away and there in the middle of the room stood the girl he’d fallen in love with, the girl who had been riddled with fear the last day he’d seen her. The day she’d come to say goodbye. The day she had known she carried their child.
A sliver of understanding wound around him and he had the sudden need to comfort her. How crazy was that? Very. But it didn’t change the facts. So he set his rifle and lamp down and walked straight up to her, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her hard.
“I will bring him back. I promise.”
It was a stupid promise to make. The woods were dark and, as he’d discovered the hard way, filled with hungry animals fighting to find their next meal. He didn’t care.
Nothing was going to stop him from protecting his son.
* * *
He had forgotten how absolute the dark of the woods could be. Prison had its own kind of darkness, but it wasn’t like this. The lamp barely illuminated anything beyond the end of his mare’s nose and the thick trees blocked out any assistance from the moon and stars. All he had to go by was the trail of footsteps left behind. Two sets—one straight, the other crisscrossing over them. Bruce. At least the boy had the dog with him. It gave Levi some small modicum of comfort.
Though not much. Fear kept sliding through him, hissing and taunting him with its frightful ideas of every horrible thing that could happen to a young boy stumbling through the woods at night.
“Micah!” He called the name repeatedly until his throat ached and his voice grew reedy. He willed it to hold out. “C’mon out, son. Your mother’s worried and I’m freezing my particulars off. Can’t imagine you aren’t feeling a little of both those things.”
Silence answered back.
His son had obviously inherited his mother’s stubborn streak.
He urged his horse on, following the footsteps and holding the lamp high in front of him. His horse’s ears flickered and the mare snorted. Levi pulled up on the reins and held still, listening. Trying to see through the darkness. There was nothing.
Dreaming of a Western Christmas: His Christmas BelleThe Cowboy of Christmas PastSnowbound with the Cowboy Page 18