Christmas at Twilight Page 10

  Chagrinned, she started down the stairs toward him.

  He looked up at her and a convivial smile lightened his craggy face—no, the smile was much more than convivial. It was one of those priceless, spontaneous smiles that bubbled up from deep inside, completely heartfelt and guileless. It landed on her like a caress, locking on her as if she was the only woman in the world that he’d ever gifted with such an irresistible smile. It was a smile that said, Hi, honey. I’m home, look what your conquering hero brought back for you. It was a smile that left her completely exposed.

  Meredith tightened her belt and her resolve. She wasn’t falling for it. “I was worried,” she said. “Why didn’t you leave a note?”

  His smile ebbed, but hung on. I did, he mouthed the words.

  “Where? I looked all over and didn’t see one.”

  He left the pile of packages, returned with the Magic Slate, and held it up for her to read.

  She moved forward and noticed his right hand. It was black and blue, the knuckles busted open and swollen. He’d been in a fight.

  “What happened?”

  He looked down at his hand like it was nothing, shrugged casually, and handed her the slate.

  “Who did you punch?”

  No one, he said silently.

  She put a hand to her mouth. Should she make a big deal of this? Even though it look like the results of a fistfight, the rest of him looked fine. No black eye. No busted lip. This other hand was fine. She decided not to push the issue. “Let me take care of that injury.”

  He shook his head, and mouthed, I’m fine. She could tell from the look on his face that in his mind the wound was nothing more than a minor annoyance, no bigger than a gnat on his banana.

  Still nervously eyeing his fist, she quickly glanced down at the Magic Slate. The filmy top sheet was empty, but she could still make out trace images of the words he’d written.

  GONE XMAS SHOPPING IN FORT WORTH. BE BACK LATE.

  “Ben,” she said, feeling embarrassed for having rushed to judgment. “He was playing with the slate and must have erased it. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I was worried.” Why had she admitted that? She didn’t want him thinking she’d lost sleep over him.

  He wrote slowly, the busted skin on his knuckles pulling open and dotting with blood. MY FAULT. SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN NOTE WITH PEN AND PAPER.

  “We need to exchange cell phone numbers. So we can text each other. And stop writing. It’s making your hand bleed.”

  He nodded, beckoning her closer, that never-ending smile back on his face and turning Christmas cryptic.

  She moved toward him, her breath slipping quicker over her lips. What was it about him she found so compelling?

  Hutched fished around in an extra large Toys “R” Us bag, and peeled the paper to reveal a Thomas the Train ride-on toy. His face split into radiant pride, as if he just summitted Mount Everest without a Sherpa or oxygen.

  “How did you know Ben wants one of those more than anything in the world?” she asked.

  He cupped a hand behind his ear, meaning, she supposed, I listen. Her son did have a mad crush on Thomas the Train and talked about the train engine all the time.

  “It’s too much, it’s too expensive,” she said, her heart doing a herky-jerky little dance in her chest.

  He lifted a casual shoulder, still flashing that amazing smile that said, Your boy deserves a good Christmas.

  Meredith had no idea what compelled her. Her heart or her gut. It certainly wasn’t her intellect, because her brain screamed, Do not break rule #4. But Hutch’s face was aglow and he looked so happy, so proud of his purchases that she went up on her toes and kissed him.

  She kissed his cheek as if she were a princess and he a knight who had just slain a hundred dragons for her. He had an irresistible impulse to kneel down at her feet. His skin burned sweetly where her lips had branded him, and he reached up a palm to touch the spot.

  From all appearances, she was just as stunned as he. Her eyes widened and she stepped back. “I . . . I . . .”

  Despite the fact that his bruised fingers didn’t want to cooperate, he wrote on the tablet. RULE #4 IS A BITCH TO KEEP.

  She fingered lips that were forming into a shy, I-can’t-believe-I-just-did-that smile. “I’m grateful to you for buying Ben the toy that he wants so badly and I could never afford.”

  He lifted one corner of his mouth and the opposing eyebrow, trying not to show how much she bedazzled him. This wasn’t an ordinary situation and she was not an ordinary woman.

  “I don’t want you to think this means anything else, because it doesn’t.” There was something unexpected and wild in her voice, as if she didn’t believe a word she was saying.

  Hell, he didn’t know what to think.

  “This doesn’t negate rule #4.”

  He nodded. No, princess, it doesn’t.

  Her hands went to her hips. “You’re not going to argue?”

  He sent her a look that said, Do you want me to? Struggled, and failed, not to glance at her breasts.

  “No, of course not,” she said, getting damn good at reading his body language. She folded her arms over her chest, but she was nodding. Did she realize she was nodding?

  A year ago if this had happened to him, he would have taken her into his arms and given her a kiss that erased all doubts about what he wanted. But now, things were so different.

  He was different.

  Also, he had a feeling that if he reached for her, even though she was sending mixed signals, she’d resist. She was like an orchid blooming in the desert, brave as hell, but so damn vulnerable. Sooner or later the sun was going to burn her up.

  CONSIDER US EVEN ON RULE #4 VIOLATIONS. He let her see what he’d written, and then lifted the top sheet to erase the words so he could add more. LET’S CALL A MULLIGAN AND START FROM SCRATCH.

  Relief flooded her face and she gave him a strained thank-you smile.

  Good. Great. The applecart had been righted, so why the distinct feeling that he’d lost something important?

  Afraid she would read the disappointment in his face, Hutch wheeled around to the packages and started taking out the gifts he’d bought to show to her—a doll for Kimmie, a football for Ben, a Snow White costume, a Hot Wheels track, LEGOs and talking books and LeapFrog computers, one in pink and one in blue. He showed her everything except for the little blue box that he kept tucked in the bottom of the bag, out of sight.

  “You’re spoiling those kids rotten.” She said it as if spoiling them was a bad thing, but her tone was light.

  She looked amazed, her pupils widening as he stared into those gorgeous blue eyes. If he had known eyes this gorgeous had been at his house just waiting on him, he would have come home a whole lot sooner.

  After Gideon had left him that note, Hutch had started thinking about why he hadn’t answered the door. Why he’d rammed his fist into it. He flexed his hand, savored the sting. He was accustomed to being in charge. He took care of other people. He used to be the mentally healthy one. At least he had been until the ambush. But the bombs and bullets had taken away his control. To accept help from his buddies meant that he couldn’t take care of himself. That he couldn’t be counted on to take care of the people he cared about.

  So he’d gone shopping. Modern-day version of bringing home the bacon.

  Was that pathetic?

  Maybe. The only thing he knew for sure was that right now, Jane was gazing at him like he’d just hitched the world up on his shoulders, Atlas-style and she was certain that everything would be okay because of it. She made him feel honored and honorable, capable and competent. In that kickass moment he’d felt like his old self.

  “Are you hungry?” she murmured.

  He nodded.

  “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s hide those toys and I’ll heat up the leftover pot roast.”

  Just like that, the balance between them that she’d upended when she kissed him was restored. Rule #4 was firmly back in plac
e.

  But the daring Delta Force operator in him couldn’t help wondering what it would take for her to break it again.

  The following morning, Meredith got up before dawn, dressed in leggings and a loose T-shirt, and went out onto the second floor landing to practice yoga. She’d skipped it yesterday when she slept in, and a day without yoga left her feeling antsy.

  Then again, maybe she was antsy about something else.

  Maybe it was the kiss she’d planted on Hutch’s cheek last night. What on earth had she been thinking?

  Clearly, she had not been thinking. That was the problem. Whenever she was around him, logic did a double gainer out the window.

  Why? What was it about Hutch that dismantled her finely honed defenses? She was getting too close to him. She knew it.

  Move. She should move.

  With less than three weeks until Christmas?

  She breathed, slow and deep, fully expanding her lungs. After several minutes, she struck triangle pose. Enya played through the earbuds of the mp3 player clipped to her waistband: “Only Time.” She closed her eyes and allowed the hopeful music to spirit her to tranquillity.

  Between the breathing, the poses, and the music, Meredith found the calm center that had carried her through the darkest of days. It would carry her through this too. Her muscles softened, her heart rate slowed, and for those blissful few minutes, she was transformed.

  Hutch stood halfway up the staircase, his heart in his throat. He’d heard Meredith moving around on the second floor and he came up to ask her how she liked her eggs. He never intended to spy on her.

  But that was exactly what he was doing.

  Captivated by the sight of her practicing yoga, his feet welded to the floor and he couldn’t seem to make himself go either up or down.

  She was seated on the floor, her legs crossed in lotus style, elbows out, palms pressed together in prayer pose. Her breathing was steady, controlled. Her chest rising and falling slowly as she fully expanded her lungs with air. Her hair lay in soft waves, framing her radiant face. Her eyes were closed and an otherworldly smile tipped her lush, pink lips, as if she’d just gotten a glimpse into heaven.

  Simply watching her calmed him. He drank her in, storing the sight of her deep within his memory banks. When she was gone, he wanted to be able to remember this moment so he could take it out and touch it whenever he felt harried or stressed.

  Thinking about her and Ben leaving chipped a hollow place in the dead center of his breastbone, as if a skilled whittler had taken out a pocketknife and carved a hole. How had he managed to get so attached to her and the boy in just a couple of days?

  Not good.

  Never mind that whenever he was around her he felt more like his old self. Ignore the fact that her presence kept him from dwelling on his handicaps. Overlook that her smile humbled him, made him ache to be a better man. He barely knew her. This was nothing more than a fantasy he was building up in his head.

  But last night when she’d kissed him . . .

  She’d immediately regretted it. He couldn’t forget that.

  Her fluid movements as she shifted from one pose to the next, with her eyes still closed, carried along by instinct and practice, mesmerized him. What talent, what skill! Her soft face was so kind, so at ease even in the midst of exertion.

  He wanted what she had. Peace. Calm. Contentment. If yoga would do the trick, sign him up.

  For another few minutes, he watched as long as he dared. He’d better get back down the stairs before she opened her eyes and caught him staring at her. Reluctantly, Hutch sheered away, dragging his spirits behind him.

  Yeah, it wasn’t so much his fantasy that was the problem. Rather it was the realization that he had no idea what was going to happen to him and Kimmie when she was gone.

  Expelling her long-held breath, Meredith opened her eyes all the way and studied Hutch’s retreating back. She’d known the second he’d come up the stairs. Even though she hadn’t heard his footsteps over the gentle music whispering through the earbuds, she had felt floorboards vibrate.

  She lifted her lashes just enough to see him standing on the stairs if she kept her head tilted slightly back, and debated whether to acknowledge him. She loathed being spied on—five years of being stalked by a maniac would do that to a person—but there was something in the way he looked at her, an expression full of reverence and respect, that kept her silent. It hadn’t been creepy or voyeuristic. Instead it was as if she’d bewitched him, ensnaring him in a feminine spell, and he was helpless to glance away.

  His awe made her feel powerful.

  You put on a show for that man.

  She had. She couldn’t deny it. Showing off her yoga skills. When had she gotten so audacious?

  Why had she gotten so audacious?

  And she’d been watching him as intently as he watched her. She read his face like a navigator studying a map, seeking signs of the road up ahead, understanding that forewarned was forearmed. Were there things to avoid? A washed-out bridge? A pothole-riddled stretch of highway? A ten-car pileup?

  But the scenery distracted her from those questions. She studied the firm lines of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his broad chest, the clean lines of his narrow waist, the fall of his dark hair across his forehead.

  Delicious. This detour.

  Nothing wrong with looking, just as long as it didn’t lead to touching as it had last night.

  Her cheeks burned and her mind would have started down that rutted track again but a sound drew her gaze to her bedroom, and there were Kimmie and Ben wriggling in the doorway like two eager puppies, wishing her good morning.

  Rescuing Meredith from her futile imaginings.

  CHAPTER 8

  The cold stung her cheeks as Meredith hurried up the sidewalk, clutching in her mittened hands a box of lemon squares she’d picked up at the Twilight Bakery after she’d dropped Kimmie and Ben off at Ye Olde Book Nook.

  She climbed the front porch of Raylene Pringle’s Tudor-style home. From inside the house she heard laughter and music. Paul McCartney singing “Wonderful Christmastime.” This year felt as if Sir Paul might just be right. The smell of cinnamon, peppermint, pine, and wood smoke oozed out onto the porch. Red and white twinkle lights winked at her from around the door frame.

  Raising her hand to knock, she hesitated, her fist in midair. More than anything in the world, she wanted to go into that house, enjoy the company of the lively women inside—joke and tease and eat cookies and sip wine to her heart’s content. She longed to be normal, to fit in, to recapture that wonderfully beautiful feeling of being loved and cherished that she had experienced as a child. She wanted the same thing for her son.

  Inside, she would find goodwill and Christmas cheer and a community eager to welcome her into the fold. It would be so easy to fall into friendly arms and allow herself to be accepted.

  But if she did that, leaving Twilight was going to hurt much more than it already did. And she would have to leave. There could be no long-term home for her. Eventually, Sloane would find her again. He always did. Constantly moving around and changing her identity was the only way to stay one step ahead of him.

  “He’s not The Terminator,” Dr. Lily had said, two days before Sloane had murdered her. “He’s not all knowing and all powerful.”

  But he was and her psychologist had paid the price for not realizing just how relentlessly ruthless he was.

  The LAPD ruled Dr. Lily’s plunge off Mulholland Drive an accident. Of course, Sloane had been one of the investigating officers. No matter what the police said, she knew in her heart that the brakes of her doctor’s vintage Porsche had been tampered with. That was one of the many fates Sloane used to threaten her with on a daily basis.

  She imagined the same thing or worse happening to the people she met in Twilight. Ashley, Kimmie, Hutch, Raylene, Flynn, Jesse. She couldn’t bear it.

  It wasn’t too late to leave.

  She spun on her heel, only to come
face-to-face with two women from the book club headed up the walkway behind her. Sarah Walker, the author of The Magic Christmas Cookie, who wrote under the pen name Sadie Cool, and Emma Cheek, a Hollywood actress turned director and the owner of the Twilight Playhouse Theatre. Sarah was a tall, quiet brunette, Emma a petite, bubbly redhead.

  “You came!” Emma exclaimed, and threw an arm around Meredith’s waist. In the crook of her other arm, she carried a red wicker basket filled with cookies. Wearing a red and green plaid skirt, and a green sweater with jingle bells sewn on the front, she looked just like one of Santa’s elves. Over her shoulder Emma called to Sarah, “And you said she wouldn’t come.”

  Sarah lowered long, thick eyelashes. “I just remember how difficult it was for me at my first cookie swap party. You guys can be overwhelming.”

  “But in a good way,” Emma told Meredith. “Sarah’s shy, but she’s getting over it. Ooh! You brought Christine’s lemon squares. I’m sitting next to you.”

  Before she could back out, Emma looped her free arm around Meredith’s and dragged her through the front door, Sarah trailing behind them.

  “We’re not going to knock?” Meredith balked.

  “We Twilightites don’t stand on formalities and Raylene is expecting us,” Emma explained. “Keeps her from running to the door every time someone shows up.”

  From the foyer, as they took off their coats and hung them on the coatrack, Meredith could see a roaring fire in the fireplace that warmed the house. A flocked tree, decorated exclusively with Dallas Cowboys ornaments. Women peered at them from the living room, calling out greetings. Some of them Meredith knew from the book club group, and some were massage clients.

  Emma passed off her basket of cookies to Raylene, who handed Meredith a cup of eggnog. “This is virgin,” Raylene said. “The good stuff is in the kitchen with an assortment of wines if you want that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “C’mon,” Emma said, still latched on to Meredith’s arm. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  There were at least thirty women in the room. No way could she remember everyone. She shook hands and smiled and made small talk and for the first time in a very long time, she felt like a normal part of society again. Oh, this was dangerous. She could grow so accustomed to having friends again.