Authors: Jillian Hart
Had Lucy heard that? Maybe not, with the running water, but he had. His chest caved in. Pain exploded. Darkness beat at him. Marry him off? That’s what they all wanted for him: misery and heartache? They wanted him to have the same life his father had had? He put his hand to his face, hating that it shook just a bit. He steadied it. “Why didn’t you get married?”
“It’s complicated.” She started moving again, grabbing one plate after another and running it beneath the faucet. She had tensed up, though, as if he had hit a sore spot.
His head was ready to explode. He couldn’t take it anymore. His family was in there meddling and waiting for him to fall for Lucy—as if he were desperate. The pain was building like the inside of a volcano, hot dangerous lava bubbling upward with enough power to blow off a mountaintop. That’s how much pain he was under. That’s what the thought of commitment did to him. He choked, wrestling down the past.
He watched her, debating what to do, as she rinsed another plate under the faucet. He was not going to think about how lovely she was. He was not going to remember how kind she was to his family. He was not going to let his crush soften him. A smart man would do anything to end this right here and now. Maybe then the pain building within him would stop. He prayed to heaven it would.
Forgive me for this, Lord, for what I am about to do.
He couldn’t see any way around it. A quick clean break would be the best for everyone. The pain blinded him. He wanted it to stop, that was all. He never again wanted to hear the words that had changed his world:
Love is pretending, don’t you know that, stupid boy? You say you love someone and they give you what you want. Love doesn’t exist.
He hated that, after all these years, he believed her. That was the only time his mother had ever been honest. Love didn’t exist, and whatever he felt for Lucy had to stop here and now. He took a deep breath, dug deep past the need to be kind to her—she was obviously hurting—and went for the jugular.
“The man you didn’t marry, what was wrong with him?” He bit out. “Didn’t he have enough money to satisfy you?”
She gasped. The plate slipped from her hand and shattered in the sink. The reaction was not exactly what he had expected. She was supposed to get mad at him and say it was none of his business—which would mean yes. Or she could lob a few uncomplimentary adjectives at him and shout that she never wanted to talk to him again. Mission accomplished.
Instead, she stared down at the sink horrified. Her entire being vibrated with pain, but she didn’t speak of it. She gave a single sob. “Oh, look what I’ve done. Katherine’s beautiful china. She’s never going to forgive me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stand the look on her honest face. She didn’t deserve what he had done. He turned off his heart so he wouldn’t feel agony and remorse slam into him like a speeding semi. The drip of blood into the sink killed him.
What was it about Lucy? he asked angrily as he spun around and grabbed a few paper towels off the roll. She was contrary to everything he knew. She was a law unto herself.
“I—I need to buy her another plate,” she sputtered, holding her chin very still and blinking fast. The tears in her eyes were because he had put them there. The fixation on the plate was to cover whatever damage he had really caused.
What damage could Lucy have? He always figured she was one of those perfect types that nothing bad ever happened to. Otherwise, why could she be so sunny? Why could she write fairy tales about love and romance that always ended with a happy marriage? She didn’t exactly have her feet planted on the ground.
He took her hand in his—it was small and soft compared to his—and took a look at the cut. The cut was not deep, not serious, and it didn’t look like there were any shards in the wound. He wrapped the towels around her palm and applied gentle pressure. “I’m the one who owes Katherine a new plate.”
“But I dropped it.” She focused stubbornly on the sink, turning her face away from him just enough to let him know she couldn’t stand that he was so close to her.
He kept a tight hold of her hand so she couldn’t pull it away. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I apologize.”
“All right.” Her chin lifted a notch higher. “I’ll take care of this, thank you.”
She meant her hand. That was killing him, too. This tactic had worked with every other woman who had crossed paths with him, and they all had cooperated nicely with his plan.
But not Lucy. Never Lucy. He should have known. A sigh of resignation escaped him as he lifted the towels from her skin. Most of the bleeding had stopped. It wasn’t very much, but he hated the thought of what he’d done. He hated that he really hurt her.
“I’ll get a bandage,” he choked out. “Don’t move.”
He tossed the towels into the kitchen garbage and looked in the cabinet next to the stove. The first aid supplies were neatly organized. He loved Katherine and her organization. He took a bandage out of the box and a tube of antibiotic ointment.
A few more steps brought him back to Lucy, standing as still as the china plate and looking like she was in as many pieces. He hated that. Maybe her breakup with her fiancé had been fairly recent.
“I’m sorry, Lucy.” He spun the top off the tube and took her hand in his. It felt cold, when a moment ago her skin had been warmed silk. “I wish I could take back what I said.”
“You already apologized.”
“I know.” He didn’t know how to begin to explain it. He had always been unlovable. It wasn’t because he’d had a bad mother. She wasn’t to blame for who he was essentially. He tried to be a good man, a good Christian and a hard worker for his family. None of that was Lucy’s fault. Judging by the heartbreak on her face, she had enough pain of her own. He squeezed a few drops of cream onto the cut. “This won’t keep you from your work, will it?”
“Probably. I may have to sue.”
He detected a slight curve in the corners of her mouth—and what was wrong with him that he was still looking there? She was one woman he was never going to kiss. Let’s face it. Neither of them would ever want that. He tore at the wrapping and peeled the backing off the adhesive. “Call the bookstore if you need the name of our lawyer.”
“I might.” Those tears still hovered in her eyes.
Deep down as far as his soul went, he wanted to make those tears go away. “There. You don’t want to get that wet. I’ll finish the dishes.”
“No, I’ll just use my other hand.” She glared at him stubbornly—or more accurately, she glared at his left shoulder because she apparently couldn’t look him in the eye after what he had said.
He wouldn’t be able to either. He had never caused such harm before and that he had done it in self-defense brought him no comfort and no peace. He stepped away, tossed the paper in the can and searched for the right thing to say. Nothing came to mind. So he walked away and hooked his coat off the back of one of the bar chairs at the end of the counter.
The munchkins were outside making angels in the snow. He had promised to play with them. As he opened the sliding glass door, he watched Lucy. She was still at the sink, rinsing with her left hand, her shoulders as straight and as tense as a board.
At least he had accomplished his mission. She was never going to speak to him again. He stepped outside and let the cold wind blow through him. The guilt remained.
T
he image of the big bear of a man playing with his little nephew and niece remained with her through the long drive home. John and Dorrie had taken pity on her and offered to take her out in their four-wheel drive, bless them, and as she sat safely in the backseat of their SUV, she did her best to keep Spence from her thoughts. But was she successful?
No. Not even a little bit. How could the man who had bitterly and hurtfully said what he did be the same one who tended to her cut with such care? Who held her hand with tenderness? Who had made snow angels and then a snow man family with little Tyler and Madison, amusing them while they clapped and laughed and helped?
“Lucy, it’s a pity you’re not interested in Spence.” Dorrie turned in the front seat as they bumped down the compact snow on the rural county road. “I have to say, you were our very last hope.”
“Surely not your very last hope.”
“No, there isn’t anyone else. Is there, John?”
“No,” John confirmed as he kept his eyes on the road. “I think our boy has scared off every other eligible lady in these parts.”
“And it’s a pity, too.” Dorrie looked truly wounded, sad for the son she must love like her own flesh and blood. “He’s such a fine man, responsible and strong of character. Why, you can always depend on him. He never lets one of us down.”
Those were exactly some of the traits Lucy had found herself admiring about the difficult man. But she couldn’t forget what he’d said to her. She closed her thoughts, trying to keep those hard words silenced so they couldn’t hurt her. “He’s a little embittered.”
“A little?” Dorrie twisted around again, “Dear, he’s flat out the most bitter man I know. It was his mother. He never got over her abandonment. He drives women away on purpose, and I think it’s so he won’t have to risk being abandoned like that again. Don’t you think, John?”
“That’s what I think,” John replied and lifted one hand to gesture to the road ahead. “Is that where I turn, Lucy?”
“Y-yes.” She had to lean forward to peer between the seats out the windshield. She didn’t want to give John the wrong directions. Dorrie’s words were spinning around in her head.
He drives women away on purpose.
“I don’t know what we are going to do with him.” Dorrie held up her hands helplessly, as if there was nothing more to be done for her son. “No one will have him. He’s going to wind up alone and unhappy, and he will have done that all by himself. He doesn’t listen to me. John, you have to talk to him.”
“I’ll talk to him,” John agreed, but he sounded grim. “For all the good it will do.”
“We have to try.” Dorrie reached across the console and laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “He’s our boy.”
“Yes, he is.”
It was love, as deep as the heavens and as wide as the sky—for one another and for their son who tried so hard to be unlovable. Anyone could see it. Lucy looked away, feeling as if she were intruding on a private moment. She wrote of happy endings every day and the tough journey toward them, because she didn’t have one of her own. Because she had to believe in a world where true love prospered and dreams came true. But today she hadn’t needed fiction to find what mattered most. It was right in front of her.
“What a lovely home you have.” Dorrie’s words cut into her thoughts. “All those windows. You must feel as if you’re living right in the middle of the forest.”
“Sometimes I do.” It was what she had loved about the house from the very first. The floor to ceiling walls of windows that peered out at the forest and, on the other side of the house, the breathtaking Rocky Mountains. The SUV came to a stop. “Did you two want to come in for a moment?”
“As much as I would love to, we don’t have time.”
“Then maybe another day.” Lucy understood. She knew that the McKaslins had Gran to check on before they headed home, which was on the opposite side of town. “I’ll take you out to lunch when the snow is gone. How about that?”
“I would love it, Lucy.” There was no one more genuine or loving than Dorrie. It was easy to like her and admire her. “I hope you can make it to Katherine’s shower. We would all love to have you there.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She gathered her things. The wind felt especially cold as she stepped out into the wintry world. “Thanks for the ride home, and drive safely.”
“We will.” Dorrie smiled and John nodded.
Lucy closed the door and stepped back. She figured Spence would look like his father one day in the far future, still strong and impressive with a head full of salt-and-pepper hair and quiet dignity. She searched through her purse for her house key, looking up to see them bump down her driveway through the drifted snow and disappear around the cedar grove.
She was alone. She sighed, not at all sure what she was feeling. Residual upset, from her encounter with Spence. Contentment, from spending the holiday meal with the warm and fun McKaslins. Regret, because her life was turning out so different than she had hoped.
She breathed in the winter air scented with snow, evergreens and wood smoke and let it soothe her. Snowflakes, dainty and airy, drifted against her face like tiny touches from heaven. The forest around her seemed silent and waiting, and the sky felt watchful as if hope was just around the corner.
There was an angry thump on the window behind her. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was her cat, undoubtedly peeved with her extended absence. Sure enough, a fuzzy gray face stared out at her. Dark eyes gave her a scolding look.
“Sorry, Bean.” Lucy waded through the deep snow on her porch, unlocked the door and tumbled into the welcoming warmth.
Home. She dropped her things on the bench by the door. The cat hopped onto the bench with a loud thump and meowed sharply. The Persian gave her an appraising look.
“I know, I’m in the doghouse.” Lucy shucked off her coat and ran her fingers across Bean’s silky head. The cat flicked her tail, scowled again and jumped down with a four-footed thud. She walked heavily across the carpet, making enough noise to show her discontent.
Funny cat. Apparently, Lucy’s stay in the doghouse was going to be a long one. She dutifully followed the imperial cat through the living room, the view of snowy trees and winter white was like looking at a picture, and into the kitchen where the cat’s dish was empty, except for the broken scraps of kibble the princess would not deign to eat.
“My apologies,” Lucy offered. She didn’t comment that there was still plenty to eat in the bottom of the bowl. She filled it and set it before her cat. With a flick of a tail, Bean inspected her kibble and stormed away, still perturbed, apparently. Her padded paws made enough noise to echo in the quiet house as she disappeared down the hall.
Fine. She was on her own for awhile. She wrapped her arms around herself. All around her were windows. Tiny flakes winged to earth like poetry, and she let the serenity of the landscape, of the meter of the snowfall and the sweeping grace of the mantled fir trees lull her. But as beautiful as it was, it wasn’t enough to draw her away from the cold pit of pain dark and deep within her.
Spence had done that, stirred her up with his callous words.
The man you didn’t marry, what was wrong with him?
No, Spence hadn’t meant to harm her, she realized; he had meant to drive her away with a harmless insult. He couldn’t know what she had lost. The ache sharpened, the one in her soul she tried to silence, and most days she was fairly successful.
But today she heard that ache like wind through the trees. She padded to her bedroom and pulled open the bottom chest drawer. In the back tucked away, with other remembrances of dear moments of her life, was the picture still in its frame.
She brushed her fingertips across the smooth glass. Time had forever frozen the image of a much younger her, when she kept her hair long and when love used to light her up like midsummer. Her soul ached seeing the little boy with tousled black hair and big chocolate eyes, just like the man also in the picture. Their dear faces, one strong with character and heart, the other, sweet with a child’s innocence, made her vision blur.
There were some things prayer couldn’t fix. The sharp ache of loss that followed grieving and acceptance was one. Time could not heal it, only dull it. Some losses stuck with you forever, and you were never whole again.
It was dark by the time he had dug out the apple-green car enough to get the driver’s side door open. Snow had drifted against the car, so he’d had to shovel that away too and his frostbitten hands felt numb, thick and useless as he fought the door handle.
Lucy. He had done his best to avoid her the rest of the time at Katherine’s. It hadn’t been easy. His gaze had continued to malfunction, automatically finding her whenever she was in his visual field. The buzz that filled his brain when he spoke to her had become permanent. He could remember how delicate her hand had felt in his. If only he could forget.
He dropped into the driver’s seat and yanked off his glove. His right hand was red from cold and numb enough that it took three tries to get the key Katherine had procured for him into the ignition. The engine turned over, the heater blasted on and an upbeat song blared through the speakers. He hit that off, turned the heater to defrost and hit the headlights.
If he had been trying to get Lucy out of his head and out of his life, he had failed. Her car smelled like her—like lilacs and sunshine and sugar cookies. A tiny crystal angel hung from the rearview mirror, swinging on a length of apple-green yarn. A pile of paperbacks was strewn haphazardly over the front passenger’s floor, and a pile of notes written on flowery note paper littered the front passenger seat. The top note said—not that he was snooping, but his eyes happened to notice—idea for next story: a bookstore? Or a coffee shop. Check out Ava’s bakery for research.
That explained the sugar cookie smell. He noticed a small bakery box in the backseat—sugar cookies from Ava’s shop.
He scowled and searched the dash for the rear-window defroster switch. It was self-defense that had him gathering up criticism at her car—further evidence why he should not be interested in sunny, gentle-hearted Lucy. She left her books on the floor. That was no place for a book! Look at the paper she wasted and tossed around and left in a heap, besides lacking the basic common sense not to park on the street when the snowplow would be coming by.
None of it worked—mostly because his heart wasn’t in it. All he could see was the image of her standing at the sink, rinsing plates and bowls, glasses and silverware with her left hand, waving away every offer to take over. She had washed the hand washables, wiped down the counters and helped Dorrie fill bags of leftovers for everyone to take home. If he had dared to get close enough to her, he would have witnessed the lingering sadness in her jeweled eyes.
He couldn’t forgive himself for that. He laid his forehead on the top round of the steering wheel, hating what he had done. He had grown hard-hearted. Lord help him, because he didn’t know what to do about it.
“Spence?” A familiar voice called out. Boots crunched through the snow.
“Caleb.” He was glad to see his brother-in-law. Caleb, a city cop, was suited up in his uniform and cold weather gear. Spence angled out of the little car and grabbed the ice scraper from the roof, where he’d left it. “Good to see you hard at work. Too bad you left before dessert.”
“Dorrie promised she would send a few pieces of pie and chocolate cake home with Lauren.” Caleb had a quiet, confident air about him. He made a good match for Lauren. “This isn’t your car. Wait—it’s Lucy’s. She was talking about being plowed under.”
Great. Spence grimaced and put a cold frown on his face. Best that Caleb didn’t guess as to the real reason he was out here on a holiday in subzero temperatures scraping the packed ice and snow off of a woman’s windshield. “Thought I would nip the problem in the bud.”
“The problem? You mean Lucy is a problem?”
“You know she is. You saw what went on.” Spence put some muscle into it, and all he could do was get the smallest chip in the inch-thick ice. “You didn’t help matters at dinner. You could have spoken up and saved me from the marriage-crazed women at the table.”
“Hey, I figured the least said the better.” Caleb held up his gloved hands as a show of innocence.
“I could have used some support. We men have to stick together.” He gave the ice another swipe of the scraper. Nothing. “Dorrie practically has me married off to her.”
“Marriage isn’t so bad, once you get used to the misery.”
“Funny.” He wasn’t in the mood for humor. In fact, he was starting to be opposed to humor of any kind.
“In fact, you sort of become tolerant to it. It’s not so bad after a while.”
Was everyone in his family a comedian? He began beating at the ice with the scraper. Tiny flecks sprayed off. At least he was making some progress. “When do you get off your shift?”
“Late evening.”
“Then you can make yourself useful.” Spence did his best not to grin. He knew he could count on Caleb to help out, but for some reason it was easier for him to demand it instead of ask for it. “I need you to come out with me and drop off this poor excuse for a car so I have a ride back.”
“Sure. This is an excuse to see her, isn’t it?” Caleb placed his hands on his hips, looking authoritative, as if he had everything figured out.
Hardly. Spence growled as the ice began to crack away. Victory. “Lucy Chapin is a nightmare. She’s not the kind of woman I would pick—
if
I ever decide to marry and be miserable like the rest of you.”
“I don’t know. A guy who looks the way you do can’t be too picky. Seems to me Lucy is out of your league.”
“Thank you. Of course she is. She’s too good for me.” Finally some common sense. “I’ve been waiting for everyone else to notice that, but they are blinded by the thought of another wedding. What is it with women and weddings?”
“No idea, but after having one of my own, it
was
nice.”