Marry-Me Christmas (12 page)

“Oh.” She didn’t know if that meant he didn’t want her to ask, or if he meant the opposite. She simply waited, allowing Flynn to call whatever shots he wanted.

“It’s not an easy topic for me.” He picked at his food, but didn’t eat, as if the twist of noodles on his plate held some answers she couldn’t see. Before them, a log split, the fissure hissing and spitting sparks. “My mother was…not the most responsible person on the planet. She never knew who my father was. Mine or Liam’s.”

Again, Sam reached out a hand to Flynn, laying her palm gently on his wrist. She was here, and she would listen. That, she suspected, was what he needed most right this second.

“She was an addict. Nothing too heavy when I was born, but by the time Liam came along, she was doing cocaine. Nothing could get her to stop, not even getting pregnant. They tested him for drugs in his system at birth, and that was it. We were yanked out of the house, and even though she made a stab at getting clean a few times, it never stuck. So we bounced around the foster care system all our lives. She overdosed before we were in high school.”

Sam gasped. “Oh, Flynn, that’s awful. I can’t even imagine.”

“Don’t. Because whatever picture you come up with, it’s probably not half as bad as the reality. I’m not saying all foster care is terrible, because there are a lot of good foster families out there, but Liam and I never seemed to hit the family lottery. We were…” He shrugged. “Difficult.”

“You were traumatized.”

“Yeah, well, in those days, that wasn’t what they called it.”

Her heart broke for him, and even though she knew it was impossible, Sam wished she could go back in time, and make up for all those years. Take away all the rejections, the shuffling from place to place. Somehow give Flynn and his brother the home they’d never had. “And Liam? Did he do okay?”

A smile filled Flynn’s face. Clearly, he loved his brother. “He’s at Purdue University, going for a master’s in engineering. He’s smart as hell. And thank God, he’s turned out just fine.”

“Because you were there for him.”

“Not enough,” Flynn said quietly. “Not enough.”

She heard the guilt in his voice. That was an emotion she understood, too well. “Are you still planning on seeing him before you go back to Boston?”

Flynn rose and grabbed a log, tossing it onto the fire. He watched the flames curl around the wood, accepting it and devouring the bark, then eating into the wood. “No.”

“Why not?”

“We lost touch when he went away to college. It was always hard for Liam, and he was younger, so he didn’t always understand. I tried my best…” Flynn rose, dusted his hands together. “I just tried my best.”

“I’m sure you’ve done plenty, Flynn.”

He shook his head. “I watched out for Liam when I could, but we weren’t always together. That hurt him, more than me. It’s made him…distant. It’s like an old joke. You think I’m detached?” He looked up at her, his face no joke, but filled with the pain of separation, of losing the sole family member he had. “You should meet my brother.”

“Oh, Flynn,” Sam said, reaching for him where he stood, but he didn’t want the comfort, not yet. It was as if he needed to say the words, get them out in one painful pass.

“Everything we went through was so much harder on him because he was younger. I can’t take those years back. I can’t undo the damage.” Flynn ran a hand through his hair and sighed, the sound pouring from him like concrete. “All I can do is make it up to him the best way I know how. Keep taking care of him, but this time with dollars.”

Guilt lined Flynn’s face, and his shoulders sagged beneath a burden only he could feel. For a moment, she wanted to reach out, to tell him she shared that burden. That she felt that pain every time she brought her grandmother cookies, a new sweater or simply made sure the nurses and staff had her favorite blanket on her bed. Instead, Sam kept her secrets walled inside. “You pay for everything for him?”

Flynn shrugged. “Yeah. But he…won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe…” She paused. “Maybe he wants you, not the money.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Flynn returned to the sofa and picked up his plate again. “Fire’s doing well, don’t you think?”

“It is.” The heat was so good, it was making her drowsy. Sam tucked her legs beneath her, and leaned closer to Flynn. She let the subject of his brother drop. She certainly didn’t have a right to tell others how to handle their relationships with loved ones when she wasn’t taking anyone’s advice, either. “Who taught you to build a fire?”

“There was one house,” Flynn said, stirring his food, “we stayed at for almost a year. The father there, he was into camping. Loved the outdoors. He took my brother and me a few times, and made sure we knew how to survive.” Flynn scoffed, then his voice softened, going so quiet Sam had to strain to hear him. “Turned out, that was the one skill I’d need the most.”

“What do you mean?”

Flynn rose, forcing her touch to drop away, and crossed to the kitchen, depositing his plate on the counter. “Considering how well you bake, I’m sure you’re a hell of a cook, Sam. You probably would have done a better job than me.”

The subject of his childhood was closed. He couldn’t have made that any clearer if he’d hung up a sign. Sam could hardly blame him. She’d been hanging No Trespassing signs around her own heart for years.

But for the first time, she began to wonder if maybe the time had come to take a few of the signs down. And take a chance again.

W
HAT HAD HE
been thinking?

For five minutes there, Flynn had lost control. Had opened the door to a past he’d vowed never to visit. Not again. Instead of continuing the conversation, he melted some snow over the fire and used it to wash the dishes and put them back.

But that only killed a few minutes.

Long, potentially endless hours stretched before him. Alone with Samantha Barnett. A woman he told himself, over and over again, that he wouldn’t get involved with. Wouldn’t open himself up to, emotionally.

Except for those kisses. Yeah, there had been that. And the fact that he wanted to repeat those. Again and again. Wanted still to take her in his arms, even as he knew he shouldn’t.

What he should really be doing, instead of spilling his guts over some lousy canned spaghetti, was getting the story his editor was paying him to find. Start probing
Sam
for answers instead of spitting out his own every five seconds like some crazy self-pity candy machine.

“Do you need some help?”

Sam’s voice, soft as silk, over his shoulder. “No, I’ve got it.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean to intrude earlier. If you don’t want to talk about your childhood, I understand.”

“Like I said, it’s not my favorite subject.”

“Then how about we spend the rest of our time here doing something else?”

The invitation in her voice brought the roar of desire, one he’d barely been holding back, to life again. Flynn laid the last dish on the shelf and turned to her. “I don’t think—”

And saw that Sam was holding a deck of cards. “I found these in one of the drawers. Are you up for some gin rummy?”

She’d meant card games. Not kissing. Not anything else.

He should have been grateful, but, damn it, he wasn’t.

What did he want? Flynn crossed the room, following behind Sam’s curvy figure, and knew, without a doubt what he wanted.

Everything.

He wanted to get the story, get out of Indiana, go back to Boston, keep his job, and—

Have this moment with Sam. To forget that he was Flynn MacGregor, a man who’d never known this kind of sweet simplicity, the kind that she believed in as devoutly as children believed in Santa Claus. To surrender to the same beliefs, and just…

Have a merry Christmas.

In the last few days, that Christmas spirit had started to rub off on him, as silly as the thought was. The possibility that Flynn, of all people, could have what Riverbend offered began to feel…real. It sounded so easy. But for Flynn, nothing had ever been that easy.

Still, he ended up at the kitchen table with Sam, who dealt the cards. He vaguely remembered how to play gin rummy, and fanned his cards in front of him.

“Flynn? Your turn. Lay down or discard.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He discarded an ace he’d really wanted to keep, which Sam promptly picked up and used to make her own triplet of aces, crowing with delight over the find. Three minutes later, Sam had trounced him at cards.

She leaned forward to collect his cards, getting ready to deal again. “Your mind’s not in the game, MacGregor,” she teased. “You keep playing like that and—”

Flynn leaned forward, cupped a hand around her neck, and kissed her again. The fire crackled softly, sending quiet waves of heat over them, but there was already plenty of heat brewing in the kitchen. Flynn’s fingers tangled in Sam’s blond mane, dancing up and down the tender skin of her neck, while his mouth captured the sweet taste of hers.

Her tongue darted into his mouth, dancing a slow, sensual tango, which only served to inflame the desire in his gut. Flynn groaned, sliding out of his chair to get closer. His hand drifted down, over her shoulder, along her arm, sliding around to cup her breast through the thick fabric of her sweater.

Sam arched against him, responding with a fervor that matched his own. She whispered his name into his mouth, and Flynn nearly came undone.

Had he ever known anyone this sexy? A woman who could make him fall apart with a kiss, the mere mention of his name?

Sam curved into him, her arms going around his back, holding him tight, as if she couldn’t bring him close enough. His kiss deepened, wanting more of her, so much more than he could have.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulled back. “If we, ah—” he caught his breath “—don’t stop, we’ll probably end up finding ways to pass the time that we hadn’t intended.”

Sam’s green gaze was steady on his, deep, still filled with desire. Against his chest, her heart hammered a matching beat. “And that would be bad.”

“Very.” Though he was having trouble thinking of very many reasons right now.

“Because…”

“We don’t know each other very well.”

“There is that.”

He traced a finger down her cheek, along her jawline, fighting the growing desire to kiss her again, to taste that sweet skin. “And we should probably be thinking about ways of getting out of here.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, we probably should.”

And he should be focusing on his job. On what was important. Kissing a woman he had no intention of staying with didn’t even make the list.

So, he tried. He picked up the deck of cards, dealt them out again and tried to concentrate on the game.

And failed miserably.

A rock band drummed in Sam’s head. Pounding, pounding, calling her name…

“Sam! You in there?”

She jerked awake, just in time to see Earl stumble into the cabin, along with a flurry of snow and a barking dog. Beside her, Flynn popped to his feet. The two of them had fallen asleep after playing cards, the heat of the fire and the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with them. “Earl?”

“You’re alive! Well, thank the Lord in heaven. I thought sure I’d be finding myself two Popsicles in the woods.” Earl brushed a load of snow off the top of his hat. The golden retriever started running around the cabin, sniffing every corner, his tail wagging, as if he’d just latched on to his own personal treasure trove.

“What are you doing here?” Flynn asked. He had already disentangled himself from Sam, and gotten off the sofa.

Had Earl seen them like that, lying in each other’s arms? And how had they fallen asleep like that? Sam remembered sitting on the sofa, talking lazily with Flynn about when the storm might end…

And then nothing.

Earl stared at them like they were idiots. “Looking for you.”

“How did you know we were here?” Sam said.

“Ol’ Earl’s not as dumb as he looks. Plus, your man here told Betsy he was going shopping. And you, Sam, told your Aunt Ginny you’d be back this afternoon. She called Betsy, looking for you, all worried that you weren’t back yet. Me and Betsy, we were gettin’ cozy—” Earl paused, cast a glance at the sofa, then cleared his throat “—we were talking, just talking, and we put two and two together, and got thirty-one.”

Earl had seen them. Great. He’d tell Betsy, and the next thing Sam knew, the whole town would be planning her wedding.

Flynn shook his head. “Two and two adds up to four, Earl.”

Earl removed his cap and gave Flynn a grin. “Not when you and Sam are on highway thirty-one, it don’t.”

“Whatever math you’re using,” Sam said, crossing to give Earl a hug, “I’m glad you found us. We were worried we’d be stuck here forever.”

Earl’s face reddened, from collar to hairline. “Aww, it was nothing, Sam. Really.” He stepped out of the embrace, twirling his cap in his hands.

The golden retriever, done with his search of the cabin, came bounding over to them, pausing by Sam for an ear-scratch, before heading to Flynn and jumping on him. Flynn looked surprised for a second, then patted the dog. In response, the golden retriever licked Flynn’s face then jumped down again. Flynn swiped at his jaw. “What’s the dog for?”

“That’s Paulie Lennox’s worthless mutt. Supposed to be good for tracking, but Gracie there, she didn’t find nothin’ but two black squirrels. If I’d had my shotgun, we’d all be having squirrel for dinner—”

Flynn blanched.

Earl chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just kidding there, city boy. I draw the line at animals that climb trees.”

“We have that in common.”

“See? Told you that you’d fit into this town.” Earl plopped his hat back on his head. “Are you two about ready to leave? Or you thinking of moving in here? I gotta admit, it’s mighty cozy here. Maybe this summer me and my Betsy…” He colored again. “Well. Time to go.”

A flicker of sadness ran through Sam. She should be glad to be getting out of the cabin. Back home. Her Aunt Ginny was undoubtedly worried sick, and things at the bakery were probably insane without her there.

But as they doused the fire, tidied the cabin, and headed out the door, Sam couldn’t help but feel a little regret that the small oasis she’d found with Flynn MacGregor had come to an end. They were going back to the real world.

And soon, he’d be going back to his.

“Good news,” Earl said, while he drove them back to town, in a pickup truck that had been built long before Flynn had been born. “Your part came in while you were out traipsing through the woods.”

“My part?”

“My goodness, boy, I think the snow has damaged your frontal lobe.” Earl looked over at him. “For your car. I put it in and your car is running like a dream again. I told you ol’ Earl would take care of you. Now you can hightail it out of town. And just in time for Christmas tomorrow.”

Christmas.

He’d be heading back to Boston. To his apartment. Alone.

He should have been happy, but he was inexplicably disappointed. Irritated, even. Like he wished the part hadn’t arrived. That his car would remain on Earl’s lift for a couple more days. What was up with that?

Mimi would have already flown to Paris, or Monte Carlo, or wherever it was that she had chosen to spend her holiday this year. Mimi didn’t do holidays—except New Year’s Eve, which was an occasion to host a social event, and get noticed by people in the business. Flynn tended to avoid Mimi’s parties, the crush of strangers, because they were always more of a networking tool than a celebration.

And Liam? Liam was probably with his friends, or a girlfriend. Flynn hadn’t talked to his brother in so long, he wasn’t quite sure. The chances of Liam still being on campus tomorrow were about zero.

Most years, Flynn didn’t mind that his Christmases were anything but conventional. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything even remotely resembling a traditional December 25th.

In fact, most years, Flynn
preferred
to be alone on holidays. It gave him time to catch up, to clear out his desk, go through the backlog of e-mails, and most of all—

Pretend he didn’t care that there was no one’s house to drive to for a turkey dinner and a slew of presents to open. That it didn’t matter that Liam hadn’t returned his calls. Or that he hadn’t called Liam, either. Because for a while there, the brothers had lost touch and stopped relying on each other because it was easier than connecting and being torn apart again and again.

It was this town. And most of all, Samantha Barnett. The two of them had gotten him dreaming of something he’d never really had—a real Christmas.

He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He scrolled through the list of contacts until he got to Liam’s name. The four letters stared back at him, simple and plain.

“Oh, look,” Sam said from her position in the backseat. “You finally have a signal. If there’s anyone you want to call.” Her gaze met his in the rearview mirror. “Tomorrow’s Christmas, Flynn.”

He had a signal. He could make a call, if he needed to, as Sam had said. The phone weighed heavy against his palm. He ran his thumb over the send button, but didn’t press the green circle.

“Gas station coming up in a few miles,” Earl said. “I need to stop and fill the ol’ bucket up.”

“Great,” Sam said. “I could really use a cup of coffee. Flynn? How about you?”

“Huh?”

“Coffee?”

“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.”

But when they finally did pull over, Earl got out to pump gas, and instead of staying behind to make a call, Flynn offered to head inside to get the coffee, leaving his phone on the dashboard.