by Lisa Carter
“Yes, it is.” She gave the netting machine the once-over. “Does it need wrapping?”
“The funnel shakes the tree of loose needles.” Ryan glowered. “If Luke shakes this Charlie Brown wannabe, there won’t be anything left to decorate.”
Her brows lowered. “I love this tree.”
Ryan scoured his neck with his hand. “I guess this is the one, then.”
She fluttered her lashes. “Great.” She wheeled around to Luke. “How shall we load it? Lash it to the top?”
Luke carried the tree to Ryan’s car. “This should fit nicely in the lift back. What do you think, Ryan?”
Ryan opened the hatch.
“Or I’ll bring my Beetle.” She raised one eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want to mar the pristine condition of Ryan’s classic car.”
Making it sound like he only cared about his car. When nothing could be further from the truth. He gritted his teeth and helped Luke secure the pot in the hatch.
She rummaged in her shoulder bag. “There wasn’t a tag on the tree, Ryan. How much—?”
“This one’s on the house.” Ryan glowered.
Her lips flattened. “I can pay for my own Christmas tree.”
For inexplicable reasons—he blamed it on pregnancy hormones—she acted like she wanted to pick a fight. And fighting was the last thing he wanted.
He jutted his jaw. “No charge.”
Savages could out-stubborn a Pruitt any day of the week.
He clenched his teeth. “We couldn’t give this tree away.”
Glaring, she turned to his brother. “Luke?” A vein pulsed in her throat.
The shiest of the Savage siblings backed away, both hands raised. “Like Ryan says. You’re doing us a favor.”
She slung the purse strap over her shoulder. She marched toward the passenger side. “Since neither of you think my money is any good, it’s time for me to head home. I’m more tired than I realized.”
That made two of them.
He slammed the lift closed. The car rocked. “Whatever you say, Mrs. Reyes.”
She scowled at him over the roof of the car.
Luke stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It was good to see you home again, Anna.”
“Thank you, Luke.” She glanced at Ryan. “I’m glad someone’s happy I’m home.” And she got into the car without another word.
Chapter Seven
Jaw clenched, Ryan carried the potted Christmas tree inside Anna’s trailer. “Where do you want it?”
Lips tight, she pointed in front of the large window.
He wasn’t feeling too positive about her right now, either. He hadn’t remembered Anna being this stubborn. Good thing he was leaving in a few weeks. Only an idiot saw the hurt coming and kept running toward it.
As he drove away, he congratulated himself on dodging a bullet with Anna. Her situation wasn’t his problem.
He had a job and a new life off-Shore. Life was simpler in the laboratory. Data collected. Data analyzed. Solution achieved. One plus one equaled two. Always. No deviation. Input yielded output every single time.
If only life was more like a formula. But relationships were messy. Fraught with complications and best avoided altogether. Anna was right. He wasn’t going to stick around to watch a tree—or a baby—grow.
And what about the kids in the after-school program? The danger Oscar and his too-young mother faced every night in that sleazy motel nagged at Ryan.
Unable to quiet his heart, he called Agnes Parks with his concerns about Oscar. Twenty minutes later, he hung up with a sigh of relief. The problem had been identified. The problem would be resolved. His responsibility was done. For Anna, too.
And he kept telling himself that as a sleepless Saturday night rolled into Sunday morning. Right until he trudged into church and caught her watching for him.
His heart pounded. When his shadow fell over her, she glanced at him. And slid over a few inches on the wooden pew. Plenty of room for him. If that’s what he wanted. He did.
Ryan sank into the pew. “Mornin’, Anna.” His voice sounded as raspy as fallen autumn leaves.
“Morning, Ryan.”
Across the aisle with the rest of his siblings, Justine’s mouth dropped open at his appearance. After an unsettled night, he was aware that not only did he look rough, he was also late for church. He raked his hand over his head, earning a concerned frown from his mother.
Pink, red and white poinsettias bedecked the altar steps. Each plant dedicated to the memory of an absent loved one. Including one for his father.
Christmas wasn’t an easy time for his mom. Despite the shared merriment of the holiday—maybe because of it—Christmas could be an especially lonely time for those missing someone.
With sudden insight, he reckoned Anna must be experiencing a myriad of conflicting, confusing emotions. Joy at her child’s impending birth coupled with the loss of the child’s father.
The organ music swelled. Reverend Parks rose. Sweet sounds of Christmas filled the sanctuary. O come all ye faithful... The voices of the faithful floated toward the rafter beams. Joyful and triumphant...
He sighed. What was he doing with Anna? Why was he getting involved with Oscar? There wasn’t room in Anna’s life for anyone except her child. He should be keeping his head down, his heart cordoned off and ticking down the days until the start of his new life. Anything else would not end well for him.
Come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem... He stole a look at Anna. She sang, her hand resting atop her mushrooming abdomen. And then his eyes widened.
Like a fisted jab, the top of her stomach pulsed. From the inside, pushing outward. He blinked at the small, rounded bulge. The heel of a tiny foot or the imprint of a hand. In and out. In and out.
He counted the beats in his head. The movement in perfect rhythm with the organ music. Like a beater striking a kick drum.
O come let us adore Him... Was it possible? Did the unborn child hear the carol? His gaze returned to Anna’s serene expression. Eyes closed, her head tipped back. Singing. Worshipping.
Perhaps Ryan had it wrong. Perhaps he’d always had it wrong. He wasn’t done at all. Not with Oscar. Not with Maria and Zander.
Ryan’s stomach knotted. O come let us adore Him... His attention, yet again, was drawn to the pulsing rhythm of the baby in Anna’s womb. Perhaps the real truth was Ryan had no room in his heart for anyone but himself.
Help me, God. I don’t know what You want me to do.
But maybe deep down, Ryan already knew what God wanted him to do. Did loving God mean loving His children also? He sucked in a breath. Was that what God wanted of him? To love Maria, Oscar and Zander? Anna’s baby, too?
Something shifted inside him. And though he had no idea how—somehow he trusted all would be well. The next month might not unfold the way he first envisioned, but walking away was not going to be an option for him. He had to be in this for Anna and the kids for the duration. At least, until Christmas.
The congregation finished with a triumphant flourish as the last chords of the organ died away.
Anna leaned close. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
He nodded before sinking into the seat. He had a hard time focusing on the sermon. And after the final benediction, she touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry for what happened yesterday.”
Whereas he’d been sorry about what hadn’t happened.
His shoulders hunched. Was that true? Since renewing their friendship, he’d rationalized he could remain friends with Anna and require nothing more. But after yesterday at the tree farm?
Ryan wasn’t so sure he could be this close to her and be content with friendship. Anna and the kids were like a battering ram against the walls of his heart. And with every encounter, his defensive barricades weakened a
little more.
He might not be able to completely walk away, but he could spend less time with her. Establish better boundaries with Anna. For the welfare of his heart.
“Ryan, I want you to know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me.”
“Grateful...” Like forcing down a bitter pill, he swallowed hard. “Right.”
This was a Ryan problem. Not an Anna problem.
She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I hate to be a pest, but...could you fix the lock for me this week?”
The thought crossed his mind that she was searching for a reason to see him again. As if she was afraid she’d pushed him too far. Asked for one favor too many. But he had promised to fix the lock on the trailer door.
“Tomorrow after school?” Her voice grew small. “Ryan?”
He never could say no to her. “Okay.”
So much for boundaries.
But at least this way, he could keep an eye on her without offending her pride or antagonizing her independent spirit. For the baby’s sake. He grimaced. A poor excuse was better than none.
“Thank you, Ryan.” The dazzling brilliance of her smile momentarily blinded him.
He walked her outside, careful not to touch her. That’s where he’d gone wrong yesterday. New rule—no unnecessary touching.
At the edge of the winter-brown grass, she moved toward her car. She waved as she slipped into the Volkswagen. And he watched her drive away.
Maybe that’s what this was about. A lesson in letting her go. He could do that. Couldn’t he? He’d let her go once before when they went their separate ways after high school. He clenched his eyes shut.
But the real question? If this time he could let her go without falling helplessly and hopelessly in love with her.
Chapter Eight
At lunch on Monday, Anna rubbed her aching back before settling into the chair at the teacher table. For the first time that day, she caught a glimpse of Ryan. He strolled the perimeter of the cafeteria on lunch duty.
Once in a while, he leaned over to speak to a particular student. He patted others on the shoulder. Good-naturedly ruffling the hair on some of the boys. Who grinned and pointed stubby fingers at Ryan’s perpetually rumpled hair.
He was so good with them. She found it hard to imagine Ryan as a man meant to spend his days in the sterile, white-coat environment of a lab. Over jeans, he wore an open-collared dress shirt underneath a brown suede blazer with elbow patches. Just the right mixture of professionalism and approachability.
Sipping from her water bottle, she was chagrined when he didn’t stop to say hello. Or smile at how she’d braided her hair this morning. Why had she bothered? And why did it bother her so much he hadn’t noticed?
Anna got up and stood at the table of squirming five-year-olds. She raised her hand to get their attention. The students fell silent, their eyes on her. She reminded them to properly dispose of their trash before lining up to return to the classroom.
When the children scattered to do as she asked, she headed toward the exit doors to wait. But even before she heard his voice—by the tingling between her shoulder blades—she felt Ryan standing behind her.
“Anna Banana...” he whispered.
Pivoting, she gave in to the urge to smile.
“Are we still on for this evening?” His voice was ultracasual, but his eyes were not.
Her insides turned to mush. “With bells on.” Since church yesterday, she’d thought of nothing but him.
Ryan’s lips quirked. “Sleigh bells?”
“You still owe me a sleigh ride.” She toyed with a tendril of hair around her earlobe. “And one day, I aim to collect.”
His gaze followed the movement of her hand. “You did something different to your hair.”
She bit her lip. “Do you like it?”
His eyes traveled from her hair to her mouth. “Your hair is beautiful however you choose to wear it, Anna.” Their gazes locked for an instant until one of his students called for him and he turned away.
That afternoon, she began a unit on holiday traditions around the world. Isaac Finkelstein’s mother was coming tomorrow to talk about Hanukkah. Other parents would do likewise over the coming weeks. On the last day before winter break, she planned to surprise her students with a star piñata at the holiday party.
She incorporated the same lesson plans in her literacy work with Oscar, Maria and Zander after school. She started with the Mexican traditions Mateo’s grandmother had taught him. About the posadas—processions venturing to different homes each night in the nine days leading to Christmas. Together they read the folktale about the flor de nochebuena—the Christmas poinsettia.
After the children finished their work with Agnes and Ryan, she asked Maria to share about her family’s holiday traditions. Nervous and soft-spoken at first, her voice became animated as she told them about the nacimiento—how a different member in the nativity tableau was added each day until on Christmas Eve the Christ Child was placed in the manger. Even Zander listened without interrupting or making wisecracks, a hint of wistfulness on his face.
Later at the trailer, she combed her fingers through the woven strands of her braid. She changed into a more comfortable top and, in a task getting trickier by the day, put on a pair of holiday-green elf socks.
She heard a tread on the porch steps outside. “Come in,” she called. Her hair fell in crinkly waves across her shoulders.
Gripping a toolbox, Ryan pushed open the door. “You really shouldn’t leave the door unloc—” He froze, his eyes fixed on the sway of her tresses.
“Ryan?”
He jolted at the sound of her voice. “I—I got caught by a parent. Sorry I’m later than expected.” Turning away, he gave her a nice view of his back as he jiggled the doorknob.
But not before she’d seen the spark in his eyes. Ryan Savage liked her hair to hang long. Her pulse skittered, and she filed the information away for future reference. Gratified in a way she didn’t completely understand. Or cared to probe too deeply.
She willed her heartbeat to settle. “Charlie installed motion sensor lights on the trailer.”
Ryan sank to his knees in front of the door and opened his toolkit. “Sounds like Charlie has taken care of everything you need.”
She pursed her lips at his flannel-clad back. Unsure from his tone if he sounded relieved or distressed.
Refusing her offer of assistance, he also installed a dead bolt. “Agnes and I plan to visit Oscar’s mom during my planning period tomorrow to see if she can shed any light on Oscar’s fatigue.”
Anna smiled. “I knew you’d know how to best handle the situation.”
He shook his head. “Agnes has the social work background, not me. And as the pastor’s wife, she has connections. She’s the perfect one to get involved with this. Especially since I’m leaving soon.”
Anna frowned.
He installed the last screw. “Voilà!” He stepped out onto the stoop and shut the door with a click.
She laughed when he knocked. In her stocking feet, she plodded to the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.” A muffled reply.
She grinned. “Me who?”
“The me who’s freezing out here in the cold.”
She swung wide the door. His glasses fogged from the warmth inside the trailer. As his glasses slowly cleared, he gave an elaborate shiver. She rolled her eyes.
He handed her the new key. “All done.” He shrugged into his brown Carhartt jacket. “I better call it a night.”
Blinking rapidly, she assessed the shabby trailer, seeking inspiration. “Wait.”
He zipped his jacket. “Was there something else you needed, Anna?”
She needed his company, his good humor and his friendship
more than anything else in the world. But she couldn’t say that to him. Her pride battled against her need for Ryan to want to spend time with her. And not because he believed she was a charity case.
“What about the back door?” She raised her palms to shoulder level. “Don’t you think you ought to inspect that lock, too? To be on the safe side?”
His brow creased. “Okay...”
Leading him toward the hallway off the living room, she flipped on a light.
Bending, he examined the lock. “You’re right. It does need replace—”
“When?”
“—cing.” The bridge between his eyes furrowed into a V.
She tamped down her enthusiasm. She was almost a mother. She had to maintain a certain dignity. “How about tomorrow?”
He rubbed his scruffy jaw with his hand. For a moment, she was certain he was going to refuse. Her gut twisted. Her heart sank. She held her breath.
“Sure.” He raked his hand over his head. “I’ve got a committee meeting, but afterward...”
Anna gave him the full-fledged version of the renowned Pruitt smile. A charm Charlie had used with potent effect to win the heart of Kiptohanock librarian, Evy.
Ryan rocked slightly on the heels of his brogans. Then he headed for the front door. Giddy with relief, she padded along behind him.
Hand on the newly installed doorknob, he gave her a stern, fifth-grade-teacher look. “Set the bolt after I leave, Anna.”
She gave him a two-fingered salute. “Will do, Mister Sabbage, sir.”
His eyebrows rose. “Are you feeling all right, Anna?”
“Never better.” Totally, surprisingly true. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this good.
With one foot in and one foot out the door, Ryan hesitated. “See you tomorrow.”
She hung on to the door. “Can’t wait.”
And that truth kept her awake long past her bedtime.
* * *
On Tuesday morning, the motel looked no better than it had Friday night. Maybe even worse. Daylight only emphasized the peeling paint, the pitted parking lot and the sagging eaves.