by Ellie Hall
“Rachel, I’m not most guys.” The smirk turned into a wolfish grin.
Heat splashed her cheeks. She ignored how the tickling feeling turned into fluttering. Had she been able, she would’ve gone to his father’s funeral even though seeing Ryan would’ve caused her untold anxiety. But bumping into him on the trail was on another level all together.
Again, her entire being was at odds: mind, body, heart all vying for different things. She’d learned of Mr. Kelly’s death the same day she’d returned to the mainland. She could’ve been on a plane the same day and gone to Ryan’s side—to be there for him. Instead, she’d boarded one bound for Colorado less than a week later, but without a return ticket. She should’ve expected to run into him at one point or another. But she didn’t expect him to want her to be there during the difficult time. Rachel wrapped her arms around her chest.
“Chilly?” Ryan glanced at the kettle, which was slow to boil.
They were both still in their running gear. “I should go change.” She hurried out of the room, but not because she was cold. Being so close to Ryan ignited those old feelings and she was warm all over.
After she swapped out one pair of leggings for another and tugged on a sweater, the kettle whistled. She rushed from her room to turn off the burner on the stove. It was dark at the foot of the stairs and she collided with someone solid. Her body smacked into Ryan’s. She had a sudden and deep sympathy for every football player he encountered. His arms were quickly around her, holding her steady.
He asked, “Are you okay? Sorry, I was in the living room starting a fire and heard the tea kettle.”
She gazed up into his eyes. They twinkled in the growing light that came from the living room. “You started a fire?” That was thoughtful of him.
“Wanted you to keep warm. And the kittens,” he added.
He had no idea. She was still in his arms and every inch of her skin was blazing. She’d gladly go stand in the snowstorm if only to cool off.
His gaze dipped to her lips then he took a deep breath before he let her go.
She hurried into the kitchen.
The passion they’d shared as high school sweethearts was so strong it shouldn’t have surprised Rachel that there’d still be residual feelings so many years later. It would be so easy to slip back into their old ways. Except for one thing. He’d taken off. He’d left. She couldn’t easily forget that.
Inside the box, the kittens were curled up and fast asleep. He carefully picked it up from the table while she followed with the mugs of tea.
They settled on the sofa in front of the fireplace. The coffee table was covered in yarn and Rachel gathered it to one side to make room.
The firelight illuminated him and as usual, he glowed. Stubble along Ryan’s jaw interrupted the smooth planes of his face. The roped muscles of his arms as he rested his elbows on his knees were pronounced. He scrubbed his hands over his face. She always used to marvel at how he was like a sculpture—the kind found in a museum. He’d told her not to put him on a pedestal. It was reserved for her. He’d filled out and was looking irresistible. But one thing was different. Ryan was quiet.
She’d spent enough time with him to know he was talkative. In fact, her mother had once remarked that he was a bit chatty. Maybe it came from having so many brothers or simply having an opinion on most topics, but he’d once said that talking to her was easy. The new version of Ryan pressed his lips together as though resisting saying a word.
Was what happened between them unspeakable? Or did he have as much trouble as she did explaining what had brought her back home?
They sat in silence that pushed the bounds to unbearable. At last, he sighed.
Her head jerked in his direction, anticipating him breaking the silence.
He cleared his throat. “I’m hosting a charity gala next Friday.”
“The one your brother mentioned?”
Ryan’s eyes flitted to her fingers. “Would you like to come? Not as my date or anything. No pressure.” He shifted from foot to foot.
“No, of course not.” He probably had a girlfriend. A guy as good looking and charming as Ryan likely had a whole string of girlfriends. Mr. and Mrs. Kelly raised him properly so he was just being polite to her especially since JJ had said he’d see her at the event.
“You remember P.U.M.P.E.D, right?” Ryan asked.
She nodded. The Kellys were incredibly wealthy. Mr. Kelly instilled in the boys the importance of serving others. She remembered him once saying something along the lines of to those who are given good fortune, it is their duty to give to others. Because Ryan was so interested in football from a young age, he’d always say he was pumped. They’d created a program funded by the Kelly Foundation to unite disadvantaged youths with mentors to teach them sports and skills. He might be able to save it with the gala, but it was doubtful he could help his brothers.
“It’ll be in Denver this weekend.” Ryan set down his mug. “Uh, you mentioned you were involved in fundraising, maybe you could help me. I mean, help the kids.”
Writing grants and fundraising was one of the main things Rachel did back in Miami for the research programs at her school as she earned her degree. Mr. Kelly’s words had never left her even though she wasn’t blessed with the Kelly luck.
Ryan went on to explain that he wanted to raise funds outside of what the Kelly Foundation provided. It was as though the seal on his silence was broken as he talked about the work P.U.M.P.E.D had done in recent years. “I want to get more people involved. Dad always talked about a legacy and I want this to be mine, but not mine alone.”
Rachel imagined the idea of teamwork originated in his large family and only grew once he joined the Boston Bruisers. From the press and articles she’d read, the guys on the team seemed as close as brothers, not that she was paying attention.
But she was paying attention to Ryan seated on her sofa. The way his lips moved. The way his eyes shone in the firelight. The way his hand curled around the mug.
Her mind, heart, and body went to battle once more. She fought against any sort of interest in him. She knew better. She had her mother to take care of, money to earn to pay for the medical bills, and enough to focus on that she didn’t need Ryan distracting her.
He continued to highlight the work he envisioned P.U.M.P.E.D doing. “It was always so easy to talk to you.”
She felt his eyes on her, yanking hers to meet them. His lips quirked.
“I guess I can be a good listener.”
“Me too, if you ever want to talk nerdy.” Ryan winked. He got to his feet, stoked the fire, checked on the kittens, and then set his mug in the sink.
Meanwhile, Rachel remained on the couch. Once again, frozen.
Her body said: have him stay a little bit longer.
Her mind said: let him go.
Her heart just pounded out a fast rhythm. If he stayed any longer, she’d lose the fight. “You’d better go.” It’s what he did. Leave. It stung to think about, but it was true. He’d left her a long time ago and she’d do well to remember that.
Chapter 5
Ryan was a physical guy, used to hard workouts, contact sports, and over the years a few close encounters with women, but none of them had the effect Rachel did on him. His brain kept score of each of the times they’d touched.
When he’d gripped her arm to keep her from falling.
When their fingers brushed as he picked up the box of kittens.
When they’d collided in the hall.
Kelly up three points. Twenty seconds left to go in the quarter. Will he make the score?
He stood in the entryway.
She got up from the couch but remained in the living room.
He wasn’t one to play with fire, but he may as well have been because he wanted to close the space between them. To tangle his fingers in her hair. To breathe her in.
She drew her mug to her pouty lips. The blaze in the hearth washed her in golden light. It danced in her big brown eyes.
He fought the urge to knock the mug out of her hands and press his lips to hers. Stupid mug. He hated that Santa Claus mug. Mostly because he was jealous of its familiarity with her lips.
Ryan was also talkative. Always had been. His mother joked that he’d started babbling the moment he’d left the womb, mostly to stake his claim in the growing family and make sure he was heard among the loud and rowdy boys. But his tongue was tied because more than anything he wanted to tell her the truth.
Second to his mom, when he and Rachel were together, he’d told her everything. Then why had it been so hard to talk to her while in her living room and in front of the warm fire? It wasn’t that his vocal cords had frozen, and it wasn’t for a lack of things to say.
Like why had he run off when things got hard?
He silenced the word coward that chorused in his mind.
Why did he abandon the love of his life?
He turned away from the truth of his pain.
Why were his feelings for her still so bold after so many years?
The answer was like playing with fire.
Why hadn’t he said anything? It was because it was easier, because as far as his father’s will went, legally he had to keep silent. He wanted to tell her everything about the stipulations, and what a surprise it had been to learn he had to get married or forfeit his inheritance and the funding to the charity. He wanted to sort out how he felt torn between honoring his father’s wishes and doing things his way as he would tell a friend, someone who could help him sort it out. But the burning inside suggested more than friend.
Item one? No way.
Item two? He’d figure out a way to keep the services P.U.M.P.E.D provided even without the Kelly Foundation funding.
Item three? What would it mean for his family if he or any of his brothers denied their father’s wishes? That was what he wanted to talk to Rachel about. She was so intelligent, full of ideas and insights. She’d helped him decide which college to select after he’d been offered positions on three top teams. She’d given her thoughts on how to handle a tricky situation with some of his teammates in high school when they were breaking some of the rules. She’d have been able to help him get through everything with his mother.
Then truly, why had he run away from her?
Because of that box wrapped in Christmas paper and what it had meant.
Ryan Kelly had never been told no. He was lucky in that way. But what if Rachel had said no back then? He’d have lost his mother and her. Better to beat her to the punch to spare himself the agony. But that made him feel the worst sort of shame. It was all too much so he’d taken off on her.
He shifted from foot to foot.
Now they were both back and so much had changed. He just needed to get through Christmas. She’d said the same. It was only about twelve days away. He’d be back in Boston for New Year’s Eve. He glanced at everything in the room except her. No tree, no trimmings around the fireplace, no garland on the stair railing.
No mirth in Rachel’s eyes.
He staggered a breath as he stood on the threshold. “See you,” he said as she closed the door behind him.
He had no intention of following through with his father’s wishes—it wasn’t possible. He’d find a way to fund the programs and he would definitely find a way to make her holiday bright.
* * *
The next day, Ryan went to the Honey Bea & Thistle for lunch and to meet with some old friends who he hadn’t seen in years.
The quaint pub-like restaurant had been the gathering place for local families and had become something of must-visit for visitors passing through the mountains. The thick oak plank tables were filled with faces he recognized—though many had aged in the five long winters since he’d visited. The scent of herbed eggs cooked in butter, sizzling bacon, and the famous scones smelled like home. The counter was filled with old-timers who’d already been in once at dawn when the restaurant opened and were back for what they called their mid-morning sip n’ bite.
Evergreen boughs lined the window frames and were tied with red bows. Garland hung over the stone hearth with three stockings—including a little one the owners had put up for Rachel when she was little since she practically grew up in the place. A wreath hung over it and was decorated with pinecones and ribbons.
Bea McCarthy appeared from the kitchen with her arms wide open. “My, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She gripped him in a hug then pulled back and looked at him for a long moment then winked. “Okay, my eyes aren’t sore anymore.” She leaned in. “Don’t tell Thistle I said so, but you Kelly boys grew up to be mighty handsome.”
“And you’re as bea-utiful as ever,” Ryan said, using her name for a play on words.
She brought her hand in front of her mouth to hide her smile. “Thanks for saying as much, but I imagine you’re here to visit with that beauty of yours.” Bea’s eyes floated across the room to where Rachel was standing in front of a table taking an order.
She wore the green T-shirt with purple writing for waitstaff and also for sale by the register to take home as a souvenir.
For a moment Ryan flashed back in time to when she’d worked there in high school. Things had been so much simpler then. The newspaper on the counter stated the date and a headline about the Colorado Crush, one of the Boston Bruiser’s rival teams that stood a good shot during the playoffs, tugging him back to the present.
“Actually, I’m meeting some old friends.” Ryan scanned the room, searching for the guys. Most of his buddies had moved, but a few remained to help with family businesses or to start families of their own. Jim Simmons waved.
Confusion flashed across Bea’s face, but she smiled. As the owner of the local establishment, she’d learned to stay out of other people’s business.
As Ryan crossed the room, he was intercepted by several old family friends asking about him. A man he didn’t recognize asked for his autograph and a few women stared at him long and hard. But the set of eyes he couldn’t ignore were brown. However, she was busy with customers, and he didn’t want to bother her.
Ryan greeted the guys with claps on the backs. Jimmy caught him up on working at his uncle’s lumber mill. He learned Andrew and Josh were partners at an auto dealership. The latter was getting married and the former couldn’t keep his eyes off Rachel.
“So, what’s going on between you two?” Andrew asked. “I heard you ditched her, but you’d both left town and are back now so—”
Without leaving time for Ryan to try to figure out how to answer that, Josh jumped in. “It’s terrible about her mom. Remember when Mrs. Moore would bring us doughnuts after practice?”
“She liked Coach Robbins,” Jimmy said. “A lot.”
“My mom works at the hospital and Robbins was supposed to be the visiting Santa Claus for the patients in critical care, but he had a family emergency of his own.” Josh shook his head dolefully.
“Dang, I bet that would’ve made Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Claus.” Andrew smirked.
Jimmy’s lips puckered. “Harsh, man.”
As though realizing that his comment had been kind of crude, he said, “Actually, sorry about that. It’s terribly sorry about her mom.”
Ryan leaned in, trying to follow the conversation. “Wait, are you guys saying Mrs. Moore is in the hospital?”
Andrew brightened slightly as though realizing that Ryan and Rachel were not together if he didn’t know that piece of information. He shoved a bite of his hash browns in his mouth.
Ryan leaned back in the chair and swept his hand over his forehead. Rachel was across the dining room, clearing plates. He’d seen the sadness in her eyes when they’d met by the oak tree. She’d been unusually quiet the day before, but he figured she was still upset with him and rightly so if the news was true. He suddenly understood then why she was packing up the house. He was what his mother would’ve called a heel. Self-absorbed. Selfish. Why hadn’t he thought about her or her family or what she’d been through? Duh, he
had his own stuff, but no excuses. Ryan wanted to be a friend to her and friends were there for support during tough times.
From across the room, their eyes met. Her expression crumbled and she rushed into the kitchen. Ryan pushed out from the table and followed her through the double swinging doors.
Without looking up, Thistle McCarthy, a mountain of a man with a heavy Scottish accent—even after living in Colorado for thirty years—, bellowed, “Out of my kitchen.” It was a well-known fact that customers weren’t allowed back there. If Thistle wanted to chat, he went to the front of the house. Apparently, he took his sausage-making, and the secret ingredients, very seriously.
Bea appeared. “Dear, it’s okay.”
Thistle lifted his eyes from the old-fashioned sausage-stuffing machine at the sound of his wife’s voice. Then his sharp eyes landed on Ryan. “You.” His tone was accusatory.
Ryan swallowed hard. “I just want to talk to Rachel, sir.”
Thistle shook the sheers in his hand that he’d been using to divide the sausage. “It stands to reason the girl doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“I need to explain.”
“Five years wasn’t enough time to find a way to explain? Not once did you think to yourself to be a man, to step up, and make things right?” He chucked a chicken leg in a bowl of marinade.
Ryan’s mouth fell open. Apparently, Bea stayed out of everyone’s business, but her husband did not. In the absence of family beyond her mother, the McCarthys were like grandparents to Rachel. Likely, they knew the whole story. Bea, a romantic, probably wanted them to get back together. Thistle was, well, Thistle, and was protecting Rachel.
Another server poked her head through the door. “Table four needs something. Where’s Rachel?”
Bea bustled past. “I’ll take care of it.” She shot Ryan an apologetic look before breezing through the double swinging doors.
Thistle rounded the metal prep table. “Ryan Kelly, you’ve been given much in this life, but you’ve also had things taken away. You, of all people, know the cost involved. If you so much as hurt her again...” As he spoke, he stabbed the air with the sheers. “Do you understand?”