A Family for Christmas (10 page)

And so he held her. Eyes closed and teeth gritted against a need for more, he held her until another intrusion drew his attention.

The crunch of tires in the stone drive and a car nosing around the side of the house signaled the end of those precious minutes. Be grateful, he told himself. This is still moving too fast. Feel lucky that
someone else came along. But as he put Maggie away from him and dried her cheeks with his thumbs, he didn't feel grateful or lucky. He felt cheated and lonely.

Their visitor approached carrying Daniel and Rachel who'd run to intercept him. It was Pastor Jim.

“Trent. Maggie. Afternoon. I thought I'd stop by and offer my services. I understand from Sarah's mother and Maggie's that you're working on the old homestead by yourselves. I'm guessing that neither of you knew that I used to help Mike around here. Actually, we traded hours. He lent a hand at The Tabernacle, and I came over here to help out with a lot of the bigger jobs. I'll warn you, though, Harvest Fest is just around the corner. I need help setting up booths.”

Trent waited before answering, considering the preacher with a narrow-eyed gaze. Was this just another friend of Mike's offering help, or was it an attempt to lasso him into the church? “I could use a hand, I suppose—and lend one,” he agreed, finally.
And
he silently added,
maybe figure out what the attraction is at that church.
After all, if his wife was going to attend church there and take the kids along, he needed to at least understand what was being taught there. And he was ready if the man tried any subtle indoctrination ploys. Besides, he had to admit he was curious, because so far none of the members he'd met seemed the least bit weak or foolish. Which blew his religion theory right out of the water and only heightened his curiosity.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Pastor Jim?” Maggie asked with a knowing smile.

Jim Dillon laughed, then checked his watch with an expansive gesture. “Well, look at that. It is getting right up there toward dinnertime, isn't it? Don't mind if I do. Thanks, Maggie.”

Trent looked from one to the other. “Am I missing something?”

“The women in the congregation, and a few of the men as well, try to keep me fed. My lack of cooking skill is legendary. But it's my only true failing, so don't worry. I'm well-versed in home repair. It was my job before I went into the ministry, and I still earn a little extra money that way.”

“Was Mike paying you with more than trading labor?”

“No, I only worked when he did. I guess the next project was the heater tubing. Want to work on that ‘til dinner?”

“I warn you, I've only read up on this stuff,” Trent said.

“It's easy. We'll have a room ready for the next step by dinner.”

Trent was surprised. He seemed to remember several sermons about not working on Sundays. “What about all that not-working-on-the-Sabbath doctrine?”

“Jesus came to free us from the law, not reinforce it. We're free to do what has to be done. That's why he cured the blind man on the Sabbath. To show us that if what we do glorifies God, then there's nothing wrong with it. And besides that, this is fun for me. Not really work at all. How about you?”

Trent grinned, realizing that it was indeed fun, and not just a duty he was left to fulfill for Mike. Lately, he'd certainly come to enjoy working with his hands more than he did working at his own company with computer software. Dealing with anything at CSD left him flat. Maybe he should seriously entertain some of the buyout offers that he was always getting. “Yeah, Pastor, actually it is fun. Maybe because I was never allowed to get dirty as a kid.”

Jim laughed. “Well, then. Let's go have some fun and see if we can't get you a little dirty. And could we dispense with the ‘Pastor' stuff? It makes me feel old, and I think I'm a couple years younger than you.”

Three weeks later Trent hooked up the last of the piping, making all the rooms ready for heat. And it was just in time. Fall had settled in, and he was close to considering Jim Dillon a friend. Jim had answered a few of Trent's idle questions about faith and about the Bible, but not once had he pressured Trent to attend his church. And Trent was more confused than ever about religion.

He'd managed to keep busy enough these last weeks that being close to Maggie hadn't become a problem again, but as he'd learned already, this kind of work often left his brain free to think. And he usually found himself pondering his life. Lately his thoughts centered on Maggie.

He'd learned something stunning about her, and wondered if it had anything to do with her new faith. She was not the same woman who'd left him after
ten years of marriage. She had an uncanny ability to roll with the punches now. She took Grace's decorating the bathroom rug with toothpaste in stride. Hadn't even flinched when Grace had decorated her still baby-round tummy in the same vein but with indelible marker. She'd actually laughed last night when Daniel, with Rachel's help, had practiced his Noah costume for the Harvest Fest by slicking his auburn hair back with a gooey mixture of petroleum jelly sprinkled liberally with baby powder. Nothing flustered her where the children were concerned.

Mickey was fighting back now and was well on the way to full recovery. He was due home in a few days, and though he still needed physical therapy and used a walker, he would return to school soon as well. The children's grief was lessening, and with each passing day they were better able to talk about Mike and Sarah, remembering happy times with their parents in a true spirit of joy. Trent hadn't realized how resilient children were.

As he walked up the steps from the basement, Maggie came into the kitchen—he couldn't believe how bad his timing was. His love for her was like a caged thing, clawing at him to be set free. But he kept those feelings locked up and out of sight. He wanted to trust her, but every time he tried to reach out, his mind snared his heart and held it back, keeping the impulse in check.

“So that
was
you I heard down here. All the children are upstairs. You were the only one I could think of, but I couldn't imagine that you'd be at it already,” Maggie said.

“I wanted to get an early start on the heater. Jim's coming over this afternoon. We're going to fire up the system and see what we get.”

“Heat, I hope. It got a little chilly last night. I was up three or four times, checking to make sure everybody had stayed covered. Of course, they hadn't.”

Trent forced himself to look into her eyes for the first time in three weeks. She looked so tired and drawn this morning, and there were dark smudges beneath her doe eyes. I
should be here to take some of the middle-of-the-night burden.

Now guilt assailed him. He supposed the children often caused her to lose sleep during the night. The first night after the accident, Rachel had kept Maggie up all night with nightmares. He frowned. When he'd explained that he would be using the carriage house, he'd told her to call him if she needed him, but now he realized Maggie would never do that. Looking into her tired eyes was like staring the truth in the face. This situation between them couldn't go on much longer this way. He missed her. And he knew she missed him.

Rachel skipped into the kitchen just then, breaking the connection between them. She stopped short and her smile faded, her brown eyes going suddenly grave when she looked at Trent. “Oh, you're working again this Sunday morning.” Her disappointment was palpable.

“I only have a little time each night and on the weekends, and there's an awful lot left to finish on the house. I have to get this heat going today, sweetheart. We had frost last night.”

“But can't you do it later? You never come to church with us.”

Daniel came in just then and added his two cents. “Daddy said work can always wait, but God shouldn't have to ‘cause he does so much for us. We want you to come with us.”

Trent could have debated Mike's axiom all day, but it was important to preserve his brother's memory in a positive way for his children. “I'm not dressed for church, kids,” he said instead, and checked his watch. “And you have to get on the road in less than an hour.”

“A lot of guys go dressed like that,” Daniel protested. “Pastor Jim always wears jeans.”

“I've been working in these clothes,” Trent said, beginning to feel trapped.

Intellectually he knew that was foolish. Just because he drove his family to church didn't mean he had to subscribe to the whole religious nine yards. It was good for kids to go to church—to have that strong moral grounding, he reminded himself. If he insisted on staying home, someday they might balk at going.

So he'd go. He didn't have to go, he assured himself. But he'd go.

“Okay,” he said, trying to sound cheerful and not as if he were on the way to the dentist. “I'll go wash up and change. It won't take long. I can always grab something and eat it on the way. Be back as soon as I can.”

He was halfway across the porch when he realized his error. Until then he'd managed to keep his residence
in the carriage house a secret. He held his breath, hoping the kids didn't notice, but then Daniel's voice drifted out the door.

“Why's Uncle Trent going to the workshop to change?”

M
aggie saw Trent halt midstep. Good. He'd heard Daniel's question. She wondered what his answer would be, or if he'd leave her to answer it herself. She'd been waiting for both these explosive questions, and it struck her as rather humorous that both had come in the same conversation.

Trent pivoted, looking dismayed.

On the hot seat for the second time in only minutes.

Maggie settled back to enjoy herself, but stood by, her hands on Rachel's shoulders, ready to help out— for Trent's sake as well as the children's. She knew she'd enjoy seeing him squirm, but she didn't want him to fall flat on his face.

“Come here, partner,” Trent said, then directed Daniel over to the wicker settee. After lifting the four-year-old onto his knee, Trent appeared more composed. “Do you remember that Aunt Maggie and I
weren't living together before we moved here to take care of you and your brother and sisters?”

Daniel nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“It takes time for adults to get used to living in the same house. Like…can you sort of remember the way you had to get used to having Baby Grace around?”

Head bobbing in agreement, Daniel replied, “Mommy said I kept waking her up ‘cause it was okay to yell before, so I kept forgetting.”

“Exactly. And believe me, it's even harder for one adult to get used to living with another adult. Which gets us back to Aunt Maggie and me. I didn't want us to get in each other's way or to get on each other's nerves. So I gave us both a little space of our own for a while ‘til we get used to each other again. Sort of
half
moving in together. I've been spending the nights after all you kids go to bed in the apartment over the workshop.”

Daniel grinned. “Wow. You get to sleep in the carriage house? That's cool! Can I come stay with you when Rachel gets in my way?”

“You have your own room to go to when you need time alone. I'd share one with Aunt Maggie if I stayed in the house. See the difference?” Daniel nodded, but was obviously disappointed. Trent looked up at Maggie with a triumphant grin as if to say,
See? problem solved.

“Uncle Trent, where are your nerves? How do people get on them?” Daniel enquired. His brown eyes, wide and fringed with long curling lashes, looked endearingly innocent.

The look on Trent's face was priceless in contrast,
and had just the right tinge of horror to tickle Maggie's funny bone. She grinned and said, “He's all yours, oh, wise one. Come on, Rachel, let's go get your hair fixed and wake Grace, while Uncle Trent explains this one.”

Of course, that look was nothing to his expression later in the afternoon when Daniel started explaining to Pastor Dillon that Trent slept in the carriage house because Aunt Maggie got on Uncle Trent's nerves. Maggie was only too glad to leave Trent to do his explaining alone once again.

She knew she shouldn't revel in his discomfort, and should probably be just as embarrassed as he was to have the intimate details of their lives revealed to her pastor. But she wasn't. Not just because she had already discussed her marriage in detail with Jim Dillon, but because there
were
no intimate details. None whatsoever. And that was no one's fault but Trent's. She had every confidence that her pastor and friend would instinctively know that.

Since that Sunday afternoon three weeks earlier when Trent had kissed her with such passion then later held her when she'd cried, he'd been standoffish and distant. It hurt, because during those few shining moments he'd made her believe that he still cared.

Then he'd withdrawn into a familiar pattern. He was unreachable beneath a shell of activity and overwork. He was “keeping too busy to think.” It was so typical that it would have been funny had it not been so sad. It was classic Trent Osborne, with a new wrinkle. Maggie didn't think she was being paranoid in
believing that he actually fled every time they wound up alone together.

She understood that she'd hurt him in the past. She understood that he was afraid to be hurt again. But what she didn't understand was how she was supposed to convince him that she'd never hurt him like that again if he wouldn't even spend five minutes alone in the same room with her.

Each night Maggie emerged from Grace's room, hoping to find him waiting for her somewhere in the house. He was never there. It wasn't as if he was necessary to her survival. She was getting along all right and adjusting to her new life, because she had the comfort of her faith. But she still needed Trent's love. She needed to share her thoughts with him. She needed him to hold her when she was worried or sad. She needed the joy and excitement of being in his arms throughout the long nights.

Shaking her head to drive off thoughts of what was wrong with her life, Maggie forced herself to focus on what was right with it. She had Trent back, and all the time in the world to prove her love to him. She had the children, who, though it took a lot of time and energy to care for them, were worth every second's effort.

Maggie didn't know why she'd let herself get mired in negative thoughts, but figured it had something to do with how tired she felt today. The room even tilted a bit when she turned toward the back door as it opened.

“I'm going to have to pull up the corner of the boy's bathroom to fix that leak on the family room
ceiling,” Trent said as he came in carrying a tote full of tools.

Maggie checked the clock. An hour ‘til bedtime for the children. She sighed. Why was she so tired? “Does that mean you're going to turn off the water? I was going to do a couple of loads of laundry.”

“Not yet. I have to tear up the floor first. You could probably get a load done before I'm ready.”

“Okay, don't forget bedtime for this crew is in an hour.”

Trent nodded. “I'll have the noisy part done by then.”

“I'll get the wash started right away,” she told him, and they went their separate ways—he upstairs and she to the laundry room in the basement.

Forty-five minutes later the banging stopped, and she heard the
whir
of a power drill floating down the back stairs. Maggie's first load of laundry was ready to go in the dryer, so she trudged back down the basement stairs. The
whir
was now overpowered by a rough grinding sound. Halfway across the basement, she was suddenly deluged: cold water, and over a hundred years' worth of accumulated dust and dirt poured down on her head. All her brain functions just stopped. She stood there stupefied.

Footsteps thundered down the rickety wooden steps toward her, but it was only when she saw the look of utter horror on Trent's face that the log jam in her brain broke. Laughter welled up inside her and erupted.

“Maggie, you're all wet!” he shouted over her uncontrolled
hysterics and the rushing sound of the indoor waterfall.

Pushing her sopping hair out of her eyes, Maggie nodded and tripped forward out of the flow. “Yeah. Wet's definitely what I am.” She gestured toward the gushing water. “Maybe you should turn it off.”

“Off! Right!” he agreed, and rushed to the main shut-off valve. The stream turned instantly to a trickle, then intermittent drips. “I can't believe I did that” He grabbed an old blanket and tossed it over her shoulders, then started rubbing her arms. “I feel so stupid!”

“What did you do?”

“Jim told me to drill a little pilot hole in the subflooring, then tap with a pencil to make sure the pipe wasn't right under the drill before I used the hole cutter.”

“Then how did you hit a pipe?” She gestured to the ceiling. “I'm assuming you hit a pipe.”

“I feel so stupid,” Trent said again. “I just didn't think.”

“Didn't th-think w-what?” she asked, suddenly quaking with cold chills.

“About the eraser. I used the eraser end of the pencil. No wonder I didn't hear it hit the pipe. I'm so sorry, Maggie. I'll have it fixed as soon as I can. But let's get you in a hot shower to warm you up first. You're shivering.”

She chuckled. “C-can't You j-just t-turned off all the wa-water.”

“That bathroom has separate valves. I'll get them now and isolate the boys' bath from the rest of the
house. Then we'll get you warmed up in that hot shower.”

Trent hurried to restore the main water supply.

“There we go. All secure,” he told her when he returned to where she still stood shivering.

Oddly, cold as she was, Maggie hadn't yet been able to get up the energy to climb the stairs so she could take off her wet clothes. Her head ached and her limbs felt as heavy as lead. Her bedroom seemed so far away.

“Now, Maggie, let's get you warmed up,” Trent said, steering her toward the steps. Maggie staggered as she shuffled along, trying to keep the cold cloth from connecting any more than was necessary. Before she knew what he intended, Trent had scooped her into his arms and was carrying her upstairs.

“I'll get you all wet,” she protested.

Trent chuckled. “Mag, sweetie, I'm the one who got you all wet, remember?”

“Oh,” she said dreamily. Feeling a little like Scarlett O'Hara, Maggie decided it was worth an icy drenching to feel his arms around her—to have him behave so gallantly toward her. Then she tried to admonish herself.
Where's your pride? Your selfrespect?

Pride and self-respect don't make you feel what being in his arms does,
another voice called out from the depths of her being. And Maggie listened to that voice. She dropped her head on Trent's broad shoulder and just breathed in the beloved scent of the man she'd love ‘til the day she died.

“What happened?” Rachel asked when they got to
the top of the steps. Her big brown eyes were wide as saucers.

“A pipe sprayed cold water everywhere.”

Rachel stared at them. “All over Aunt Maggie, too?”

Trent grimaced. “She…sort of got in the way of the flood. She needs a warm shower and dry clothes. Do me a favor, Rach. Put a video in for your brother and sister, and keep an eye on them for a little while longer. I'll be right back down.”

Maggie didn't protest. She didn't have the energy. And her chest felt suddenly heavy. Her head didn't feel any better, either. Trent adjusted the shower and helped her undress. Then, after checking on the children, he returned to help her dry off and dress in a warm flannel gown. She wished she wasn't so tired because she scarcely had the energy to enjoy all the loving attention.

“You need to be in bed, Mag. I'll tuck the kids in, then come back to help you dry your hair. Maybe you can get a little sleep in the meantime.”

Maggie nodded meekly and sank down on the bed, grateful for its softness. Trent frowned down at her, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle. He put his hand on her forehead. “You're all flushed, and you feel warm, too.”

“I'm just tired. Really. Thanks for this. I don't think I could do bedtime tonight.”

“Don't worry about it. I'll handle it.”

“Grace sometimes likes to be rocked for a few minutes after the other two have calmed down.”

“Maggie, I'll handle it. You rest. And, sweetheart, I'm sorry about the water.”

“'s okay,” she muttered and sniffled, praying he'd leave before she lost the battle with the ridiculous tears dammed at the back of her throat. Just when she'd gotten good and mad at him for ignoring her, he had to turn around and be sweet and gentle and solicitous. The man didn't play fair!

The tears never had a chance because Maggie drifted off before Trent left the room. Before she knew it, though, he returned, and stuffed extra pillows behind her back. Then he started drying her hair with the hair dryer. All she could do was watch the play of undecipherable emotion move across his face, and stare into his beautiful blue eyes as he ran a brush through her hair.

It was all so wonderful. Like a dream. Then a horrifying thought occurred to her.
No, Lord,
she prayed.
Don't let me be sick. Who will take care of the children? Who will finish the wash? I can't get sick. If I leave Trent with all this responsibility, how will he stand it? He doesn't have You. He doesn't know how hard this is. And he didn't want all this responsibility in the first place.

“I promise not to be sick,” she told Trent. He leaned forward as if to hear her, and she caught the scent of him once again. She reached up to stroke his jaw. It was rough and scratchy with a day's beard growth, but it felt wonderful to Maggie. It felt like old times. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I'm not sick. Can't be,” she muttered.

She heard his, “Oh, yes, you can be, love,” reply,
but it just sort of floated over her head and made no sense. She looked up into Trent's concerned face and dismissed his words. She never got sick.

She didn't bother to protest, though. What he said didn't matter anyway, because Maggie felt as if she were wrapped in a warm cocoon. As if she were seeing everything from behind a dark, silken veil. The world had become muzzy, muted and cloudy. It was lovely.

Maggie numbly swallowed aspirin with juice, just the way he ordered, then she smiled up at him. But he didn't smile back. He only frowned and stuck a thermometer in her mouth. After that, everything faded except a lot of strange aches and pains then even they began to dim.

One conscious thought stayed with her as she slept. Even deep behind the insulating veil, she felt Trent's presence. This time he didn't leave her alone in the night.