The party was just getting started when Riley and Sierra arrived with their charges, a group of boys aged eight to twelve who were barely held in check by Sierra’s frantic promises of Jell-O Pudding Cups for breakfast for good behavior. The kids raced to the tree, admiring the many presents mounded beneath it. Those who had been at Phoenix House for more than a year whispered the tradition to the newer kids: Santa would appear at some point in the evening and distribute the gifts to all the good kids. And somehow, nobody had ever been too bad to receive a gift—or if he was, this Santa didn’t know it.
“Roads are pretty bad,” said Isaiah, his eyes lighting up with covetous joy. “Maybe not too many kids’ll show up. Santa won’t be able to take these presents back with him, so we’ll have to help him out. Lighten the load.”
Isaiah was a Phoenix House alumnus, having been adopted by Brady Caine and Suze Carlyle soon after their marriage. He’d always been a natural leader—or naturally bossy, depending on who you asked.
“Isaiah, you wouldn’t want other kids to miss out, would you?” Sierra asked gently.
“Sure I would.” Isaiah grinned. “More presents for me. That’s the Christmas spirit, right? Gimme, gimme.” His dark eyes gleamed as he grinned impishly at Sierra. He pretended to have an Isaiah-centric view of the world, but his humor shielded a tender heart when it came to the littler kids. It was hard not to ache for the lost boys, tossed away by parents with drug problems, jail terms, and violent propensities—especially for Riley, who’d been there herself.
“Don’t forget, I’m expecting you to be Santa’s helper tonight,” Sierra said.
“Oh, I’ll help him,” Isaiah said. “Can’t wait to see old Santa.”
Riley grinned, wondering if Isaiah would be a help or a hindrance to his adopted dad in his new role as a first-time Santa.
“He wanted me to dress up as an elf, you know that?” Isaiah grimaced. “I said noooo way. So then he tells me I should bring all our games and sh—and stuff.” He pointed toward a table laden with board games. “Some of those were my Christmas presents last year, but I gotta share and help keep the kids busy ’til he comes.” He shoved out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Thought Santa was supposed to spread joy, not boss everybody around.”
“Well, it’s nice of you to help,” Sierra said gently. “I will, too, okay? We want to give Santa time to get dressed.”
“Well, all right.” Isaiah brightened. “But we’re gonna start with a snowball fight. I promised the little kids.”
“Okay, but be gentle.” Sierra gave him a stern look. “And do it in that empty lot to the side of the bar, okay? Santa’s going to enter from the back door.”
“Okay. You know you can count on me.” He tried for a wide-eyed, innocent look, but his elfin brows and the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. When they laughed, he looked indignant and pointed at the crèche that topped the upright piano by the stage. “You know I’m like one of those sweet baby lambs over there, hanging out with Jesus.”
Laughing, Riley and Sierra headed for the Christmas tree, winding through the tables that had been arranged in long rows to facilitate community dining. Red candles nestled in wreaths of real pine branches every few feet. The ceiling lights had been dimmed to let the dancing flames give the room a festive look.
Clutches of kids were huddled around the tree whispering about the presents mounded under the boughs. It looked like the community had really stepped up this year. Riley figured there were at least two or three gifts per child under there. She’d contributed a half-dozen kiddie tool kits, and Griff had wrapped several sets of green plastic army men.
Griff. He’d probably be here tonight. Riley tamped down the puppy dog’s joy, reminding her heart Griff would be with Fawn. Riley might be all for their inevitable coupling, but watching them fall in love over Christmas dinner was not her idea of a good time.
Scanning the tables as they walked, she nodded and smiled at people she knew. That made for a lot of nodding and smiling, since most everyone came into Boone’s Hardware. It made her feel good to know so many people, to have them smile and nod back. In her pre-Wynott life, a lot of people had known her, but half of them had been social workers or cops, and the rest hadn’t smiled much.
She reached up and lightly smacked the side of her head, trying to reset her brain. Tonight was about Sierra and the kids. She wasn’t even going to think about the past. Or about Griff.
“Look out.” Sierra pointed at the door, where people were shedding their heavy coats. “There he is.”
Riley tried not to stare. From all the way across the room, she could still somehow sense his size and strength as well as his confidence as he spoke to various friends and neighbors. As he hung up his Carhartt jacket, she saw he was wearing a red shirt in honor of the holiday. He had on black boots and that black cowboy hat, too, and his walk, a surprisingly graceful swagger, reminded her of that day he’d come in from riding. Plus, miracle of miracles, he was smiling.
It seemed like less of a miracle when she saw who he was smiling at. Bending, he cocked his head to let Fawn, dressed in a classic “ugly” Christmas sweater, whisper in his ear. She swept her golden hair to one side, then reached up and touched his shoulder as she stood on tiptoe to tell him some secret.
As Riley watched, Griff straightened, still smiling. Fawn giggled, then scanned the room. When her eyes lit on Riley, all the humor in her expression evaporated. Despite the hardness in her eyes, she still looked so perfect she made Riley feel skinny and scarred and dirty.
Squeezing Griff’s arm, Wynott’s golden girl gave him an apologetic smile, then headed across the room to Riley’s table.
“Sierra,” she said. “Hi.”
Well, good. Maybe she’s not aiming for me after all.
“Hi, Fawn,” Sierra said. “Nice sweater.”
“Oh, thank you!” Fawn patted the puffy knit reindeer that crossed from hip to shoulder in front of a chimney that emitted equally puffy smoke. Each wore a silly grin and a Santa hat, and when Fawn turned to show Sierra the back, she revealed a puffy Santa with googly eyes and a miniature pack stitched to his hand. “There’s a contest, you know. I’m hoping to win.”
You probably will, Riley thought. Why not? You win everything else.
“I just wanted to say, I think it’s so wonderful what you do for these poor disadvantaged children,” Fawn told Sierra. “I just don’t know how you do it.”
“It’s not hard,” Sierra said. “They’re good kids.”
Fawn laughed her tinkling laugh. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”
Sierra’s eyes narrowed at Fawn’s singsong, finger-wagging response. “Well, most kids are good once you get to know them.”
“I suppose,” Fawn said. “I just don’t know many poor kids.”
Riley stood. “I should go help Isaiah,” she said, starting for the side door, but she wasn’t fast enough. Fawn grabbed her sleeve.
“Oh, Riley, I wanted to talk to you. Could we go sit down?”
Giving the bartender a little finger-wave, she started for the booths.
“I guess,” Riley mumbled.
When they reached a booth at the back of the room, Fawn slid inside and motioned toward the bench across from her. “Have a seat,” she said as if she owned the place.
Riley sat.
“First of all, Merry Christmas. How are you?”
“Fine.” Riley slid into the booth, feeling self-conscious. She’d thought about dressing up but had settled for clothes that made her confident: jeans that really fit, tooled cowboy boots, and a red-plaid button-down shirt that was her only concession to Christmas. It hung open over a T-shirt that advertised DeWalt power tools. She was hoping that would give somebody a gift idea and garner some business for Ed.
The outfit had seemed right when she’d chosen it, but now she felt like an ugly caterpil
lar next to Fawn’s colorful butterfly.
“You look fantastic,” Fawn said, smiling as a server delivered some fruity, girlie drink. “But you always do.”
“You too,” Riley said, and at least she was telling the truth. Fawn really did look fantastic, but while Riley had put on some eyeliner and lip gloss, she knew that only brought her up to acceptable.
Fawn cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.
Here it comes, thought Riley.
“We need to talk about Griff.” There was a light in Fawn’s eyes that told Riley this was it in her mind: a showdown over the man she wanted, Riley guessed. She didn’t think Fawn loved Griff. Not yet.
But you do.
She shook off the thought.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said. “It’s not serious between us.”
“Are you sure? Because he’s been avoiding me for some reason, and every time we go out, he seems awfully anxious to run home.”
“He’s not running home to me,” Riley said.
But he was. He’d said so.
She squelched the protests that were coming from her puppy-dog heart, which thought everybody loved her. More likely “everybody,” a.k.a. Griff, just loved sleeping with her.
“He’s got a lot of issues to work through, and I don’t think he wants you to see him struggle, you know?” Riley sighed. “You’re a forever kind of girl, and he wants to be worthy of you.”
Her heart churned at that last bit, but it was true. Naturally, Fawn preened a bit, but it turned into a pout soon enough.
“He’d be a lot more worthy if he wasn’t fooling around with you.”
“We’re not,” Riley said.
And it was true. She’d never been just “fooling around” with Griff. But she couldn’t speak for him.
“We had a fight,” she said. “So it’s over.”
But was it really a fight? It wasn’t like he’d hurt her. He’d just been frustrated—but she had Sierra on one side, disapproving because she believed Griff might be abusive, and Fawn on the other, disapproving because she wanted him for herself. There was no reason to keep seeing him. Absolutely none.
Oh yes, there is, said the puppy dog. But the puppy dog had had terrible judgment in the past, and Riley didn’t trust it one bit.
“I care about Griff, and he deserves somebody like you,” she told Fawn. “He’ll figure that out eventually, but you have to give him time.”
Fawn sighed. “It’s just that I’ve already waited so long.”
What, a week?
When life handed a woman everything she wanted, that probably seemed like a long time to be denied. Or maybe absence had made the heart grow fonder. So said the angel on Riley’s shoulder—but the devil on the other one told her Fawn hadn’t given Griff so much as a thought until he’d been labeled a hero.
All the time he’d been overseas, working his way up to that status, Riley had thought of him just about every night. She’d sent hundreds of messages into the void, hoping to help him through a tough day. Her heart had twisted every time she heard of a casualty overseas, but had Fawn ever worried about him?
The little devil said no. It said Riley surely deserved him the most, but it was, after all, a devil, and she was done being led astray. She might not have been a good girl all her life, but she was good now—or as good as she was able to be. So she smiled at Fawn.
“I know how it is. But whatever happens with you and Griff, you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Fawn said.
“Oh, I know. Why would you worry about me?” Riley tried to laugh, but it came out sounding like a death rattle. “And anyway, I’m leaving town soon.”
She hadn’t known it until that moment, but it was suddenly the absolute truth. She wasn’t going to stick around and watch Griff and Fawn fall in love. She remembered the nursery renovation she’d seen in their future and shuddered.
“You’re leaving? Oh, that’s right.” Fawn nodded like she’d known this all along, her eyes dewy with liquid pity. “Because of the situation at the hardware store, right?” She rested one perfectly manicured hand on the table. “I’m so sorry about that. It must be hard.”
Riley shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ve been planning to leave for a long time.”
By your standards, anyway. A whole week.
Fawn sighed. “I guess it’ll be up to me to help our wounded soldier, then.” She sighed. “It’s a challenge. He keeps so much bottled up inside. But I plan to be there for him and help him let it all out.”
“Right.” Riley felt uneasy. “It’s just… You have to let him decide when that should happen.”
“Hmm. Well, that’s your opinion. And I think that’s why he’s still so troubled.” Fawn stood, brushing off the front of the short plaid skirt that made her look like a sexy schoolgirl. “Well, I appreciate this little talk.”
She took a sip of her drink, smiling around her straw like a schoolgirl sipping a Shirley Temple. Reaching the bottom, she made a sucking sound with the straw and turned wide eyes on Wayne, who waved and began taking down bottles and setting up the blender.
Of course he did. Ordinary Wynottians were lined up three deep at the bar, but Fawn only had to bat her lashes to get an instant refill.
Riley rose, thinking she’d leave right after the party, sneak out the back door, and take off. Nobody needed her anymore—not Griff, who had Fawn now, and not Ed, because the Harpies wanted the store for Trevor and she had no doubt they’d get it. Griff was right. She wasn’t going to fight. But she wasn’t going to hide, either. She was going to run away.
After all, it was Christmas—a time for giving—and the only way Riley could give anybody what they wanted was if she gave up something she loved. The hardware store. Her apartment. Griff.
They said the more it hurt to give something away, the more generous the giver. By that metric, she was just loaded with Christmas spirit.
Chapter 35
The minute Riley returned to Sierra’s table, an itch started between her shoulder blades, like somebody was watching her. Turning, she saw Griff’s eyes fixed on her so intently she swore they burned her soul.
“Look out,” Sierra murmured, touching Riley’s arm. “He’s coming over. Remember what happened now. I know he’s attractive, but…”
Riley stood. “I have to go to the ladies’ room.”
“Atta girl.” Sierra patted her arm.
Riley slipped through the crowd, moving fast, smiling, nodding.
“Gotta go,” she said, nodding toward the restrooms. “Sorry. Excuse me. Gotta go.”
She was halfway to her destination when a broad expanse of red shirt loomed into view.
Uh-oh.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Um, sorry. Gotta go.”
“Where?”
She looked up, which was a mistake. Griff had shaved—for Fawn, of course he had—and he looked happy. Relaxed. Like his old cowboy self.
See how good Fawn is for him?
Her heart suddenly ached so much she touched it and squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Why was Fawn always the lucky one?
Because she’s always been a good girl. That’s why.
“You’re not babysitting the Only Heir tonight, are you?” he asked.
“No,” Riley said. “I doubt he’s even here.”
“He will be.” Griff nodded toward the stage. “Wayne said the kid talked him into hiring some band from Denver. Said Trevor’s their manager.”
“Good for him.” Riley shrugged. “It’s not my job to watch him.”
“Good for you,” Griff said. “We’re here to celebrate Christmas, not watch the kid.”
We? Riley looked up at him and blinked a moment, lost in the depths of his eyes. They grew serious, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her.
That’s what Sierra would say. And Fawn. Fawn would definitely say that. In fact, after the conversation they’d had, Fawn would probably take Riley out back to be drawn and quartered if Griff kissed her.
But the butterflies had formed a gang and were bashing their wings against her belly, pushing her toward him, making her stare up at those eyes, those lips, that strong, stubble-free jawline, and the puppy-dog heart was dancing like a hippie at Woodstock.
It was hard to swallow that much joy, but she managed. “I-I have to go. I need to help Sierra.”
She fled to the table without looking back and found Sierra chatting with Eleanor Carson, who’d made Riley’s scarf—the one Griff thought was too long.
“Hey, Mrs. Carson.” Riley gave the old woman a gentle hug. “I wore that awesome scarf you made me tonight. It’s my favorite.”
“That’s wonderful, dear.” The old woman was holding a plate of tiny sandwiches, which must be her potluck offering. She peeled back the Saran Wrap that covered them and held the plate out to Riley. “Have some chicken-salad toasties. I made them myself.”
The chicken looked slightly brown around the edges, but Riley would never hurt Eleanor’s feelings. She’d just picked up a piece when Isaiah came flying out of the restroom marked “Cowboys.” He skidded to a stop just in time to avoid plowing into Mrs. Carson and her chicken sandwiches and knocking Riley’s selection out of her hand.
“Hey!” He could barely catch his breath. “Santa—you know, Santa?” He gave them an exaggerated wink, as if they might not remember Santa was actually his dad. “He’s in the bathroom and he’s puking. You gotta help him!”
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