Holiday Homecoming (8 page)

Oh, here it comes. Trust Mom to see buying a small appliance as a prelude to a trip down the aisle. “I agree, Mom. I should consider a future with a lot of small appliances in my kitchen. Since I'm a single career woman, I'm sure I'll enjoy healthier meals with my own, say, bread maker or one of those rotisserie roasters.”

“Well, you just never know when you might be cooking for two.”

“Exactly. Two weeks ago I went out to lunch with Cousin Rachel. It sure would have been nice to invite her over for a home-cooked meal.”

“Oh, you! You know what I mean. I can't believe you want to be alone. Goodness. I'll rest so much better when I know you have a husband to take care of you in that big city you insist on living in.”

“I like it here. I'm staying. Without a husband. Sorry.”

“I worry. It's a dangerous world out there.”

“I've got a security system.”

“Well, I'll feel better knowing my last daughter is settled.”

“I am settled, Mom. I have my own home, I have a great job, I'm happy. Why isn't that enough for you?”

“Oh, it is. But think of all that you're missing. A husband and children of your own. Kirby had a doctor's appointment—you know how they've had trouble trying for a second child—and I kept Michael so Sam could go with her to Bozeman for those tests she needs.”

“I was just about to get online and check my messages. Kirby said she'd e-mail me if she felt up to it tonight and tell me what happened. How was Michael?”

“A handful! It took me back to when you girls were small. So much energy! It seemed as if I never could have a moment's rest, and now look at me. You're all grown and gone and I have all this time on my hands.”

Kristin ached for her mom. For the child she'd had to bury, for the depression that troubled her for years after. Mom's life had crumbled into irrevocable pieces. It was sad, because Kristin had found a way to go on. She'd built a life that she could count on. Mom hadn't been as lucky.

“What's Dad up to now that he has so much time on his hands?”

“He's planted himself right in front of that expensive television he insisted on buying and doesn't move off the couch. Retirement is fine for him, but he's underfoot all day long.”

Her parents had their problems. Kristin's stomach squeezed. Marriage. She didn't understand it. How her
parents could have been so in love once—they'd been deeply bonded in the years when Kristin was small. But their marriage, as strong as it was, had suffered from their daughter's death. Now they were like two strangers living in the same house.

If love was something that could break, she didn't want any part of it, thank you very much!

“I had lunch with Mary again today. We had our own Christmas, just the two of us, a little early. We met at her house. I brought the eggnog and dessert, and she whipped up the best meal. Cornish game hens that were perfection. Anyway, she happened to mention that Ryan is coming home tomorrow. Isn't that something? He's finally got enough seniority in that doctor's office to get Friday and Saturday off. He'll be here, in Montana.”

“I knew you were going to mention that. I already know, Mom.”

“You do? You've spoken to him?”

“You sound as proud as if I'd won the Nobel Peace Prize. Mom!” Was her mother predictable or what? “He's not my type, and I'm not his. So stop. If you don't, I'm going to call each of my sisters and tell them that you're pressuring me. When you promised to stop.”

“I just can't help myself. He's a
doctor
.”

“Yeah. That's been established. Good night, Mom.”

“Before you go, what time should I be looking for you tomorrow?”

“I'll be home sometime in the evening. Snow's forecasted through the mountain passes, so it'll be slow going. Don't wait supper on me.”

“All right. You drive safe. I can't wait to see you. I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too.”

She hung up, aching. She loved her mother so much, but that only made Mom's comments about marriage hurt more. Mom's heart was in the right place, but she didn't understand. She couldn't. Her life was different. They were different women, different choices. That's what it came down to.

Wind moaned beneath the eaves, spattering rain against the windowpanes. The furnace kicked on, blowing at the closed curtains, ruffling them gently.

It was a lovely room. The big picture window, during the day, looked out over the grass lawn and through the treetops for a seasonal view of Green Lake. Gramma's old bedroom set, refinished in a honeyed oak, gleamed as if it were new. The reading chair tucked in the corner by the window, the oak bookcases stuffed with inspirational romances—this was home. Her home. Safe and snug and welcoming. Everything she'd ever wanted.

She'd never set her sights high on being rich or successful or renowned. She'd never wanted to base her future on unstable ground or on someone she could lose. But this place was nice and sensible at once, and it was her center. Her sanctuary. Her life. She was happy here. Content. Blessed.

The screen saver had clicked on and she tapped the keyboard to bring the e-mail program to the front. The letter sat, just as she'd left it.

She reread the e-mail, pondering. The mattress
dipped slightly as the second cat hopped onto the bed and padded across the quilt to inspect the screen. “What do you think, Mickey?”

The gray longhair sneered, lifted one paw and washed his face.

“You're right—I shouldn't meet him. It was a nice offer, to treat me to a milkshake. But with our matchmaking moms and all their hopes, it's a bad idea.”

Ryan Sanders lived like two thousand miles away. Too far away to be friends. So what was the point? She didn't want another e-mail pen pal. She couldn't keep up with the messages she got from her sisters!

She hit Delete and clicked the command for the modem to start dialing. She read Kirby's letter first—a report on the state of her sister's fallopian tubes—and sent a sympathetic response. Then she moved on to Michelle's note about their joint gift for Mom. She laughed reading her last note from Kendra—who was getting her sleigh ready for the Christmas-tree expedition Christmas Eve morning.

She signed off without contacting Ryan.

Their lives had crossed paths once, for a higher purpose, perhaps only to save Samantha Fields. Kristin believed God worked that way, all things for His purpose and His good. That meant there was no reason she would see Ryan Sanders again. She wasn't about to manufacture one—not with the way her mom was frothing with excitement in hopes of a final marriage in the McKaslin family.

She tucked the computer onto the nightstand shelf,
eased into her feather pillows, soft and comfy, and switched off the lamp by her bed. In the dark, she drew the snuggly electric blanket to her chin.

Sure, she was alone, but she liked the peace of it. Rain hammered with a new fury on the roof above. Wind thrashed against the siding, making the fir boughs dance, their shadows from the faint porch light hovered on the wall.

This was her life—safe, predictable, independent, unshakable. She remembered to thank God for it before her heavy eyelids drifted shut and sleep claimed her.

December 23

Three minutes past midnight. Ryan yanked loose the tie that had been trying to throttle him for six hours. Way too long for a party, in his opinion. Their office Christmas party had taken place in one of Scottsdale's finest restaurants. The food had been amazing. The gifts generous. His heart hadn't been in the festivities. As usual.

He respected the people he worked with. He liked them as people. Talk about lucky. Not everyone could say that about the folks they worked with. He could make small talk, but he was beginning to think his former fiancée had been right. He was horrible when it came to getting really close to people.

He didn't want to get too close. That was the problem.

He tossed his tie on the bed. Francine had been right about a lot of things. He wasn't controlling, but he did control how much—or how little—he let people in.

He buried his emotions. He didn't express his feelings very well when he did allow them to surface. His career was demanding and left little time for any personal relationships. He pretty much kept to himself, other than the quick e-mail a few times a month, and superficial friendships with other busy doctors that were based mostly on talking about the job and sports.

Yeah, Francine was right on target.

The house echoed around him. Dark and shadowed. He rented it—it was easier than committing to a mortgage and taking on the added responsibility of being a homeowner. He'd worked hard to become a good surgeon. That took a great amount of devotion and responsibility.

Well, he wasn't a shrink. He didn't know a thing about psychology, not in the practical application. He only knew that for some reason the lonely shadows in his house felt as suffocating as the ones in his past. In his life.

He flicked on the hall light to chase away the darkness. That was enough introspection for one night. He was flying out tomorrow, that's why all this was troubling him.

Maybe he'd volunteer to work through the holidays next year. He loved his mom, but he couldn't take the memories. It had taken three weeks for him to stop waking up in the middle of the night in a sweat. The nightmares from his youth had returned. Dreams where he lost his mom, his sister, his home, everything that mattered. And his dad, over and over again.

He couldn't take going home, but he had to. How many times had he picked up the phone to dial his mom and cancel the trip? To try to explain to her? But how
could he bring up his grief? Talking about Dad's death had always hurt her terribly. Over time she'd begun to mention him now and then in conversation, but to really talk, to go back in time—no, he couldn't do that to her.

He was going home tomorrow, whether he liked it or not.

In the bedroom he kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his shirt. A paperback book was facedown, spine open on the crate he used as a bedside table. He usually read before he went to bed, but he didn't feel like it tonight.

What he needed to do was pack. He'd put it off, and since he had an early-morning flight, he'd run out of time. It was now or never.

The suitcase was buried on the floor of the closet where he'd left it after his last ski trip. He'd pack for cold weather. Maybe he'd be able to get some cross-country in while he was home. Mom wouldn't have any skis. Maybe he could borrow a pair somewhere, since there was no place in town that was likely to sell them. Kristin—he bet her family would have a few extra pairs of skis somewhere. Not that she'd taken him up on his offer of a milkshake.

She had a full life, too. She was probably busy, and it wasn't as if they had much in common.

It was just as well.

He tossed underwear, socks, jeans, a thin sweatshirt and a bunch of T-shirts. All warm-weather stuff, basically. He'd gotten rid of his winter clothes when he'd
come here after his residency, and in the years that had followed, he'd bought only clothes suitable for Phoenix temperatures. As if, subconsciously, he was making a choice. In truth, he'd never intended to go home again.

He didn't want to go now.

He'd go to Montana this last time, but no more. Phoenix was home. This house was home. It was where his future was and where the past didn't crop up every time he looked out the window. The sparse brown and jagged rocks of the Southwest were as different from Montana as a man could get. He'd invite his mom and sister to visit him here instead for holiday gatherings.

He'd forgotten to pull the blinds, and as he grabbed his razor bag and headed for the bathroom, the flash of light caught his attention. The merry Christmas lights of the houses down the street—the Carlsons with the white icicle lights dangling from their tile roof, the Millers with multicolored bulbs cheerfully outlining their stucco home and the Cooks with their front yard saguaro cactus draped in solemn blue flashing lights.

There were no icicles dripping from his roofline. No lighted angels in his front window. No flashing strings of bulbs adorning the cactus in his front yard.

The shadows of the night felt cold. Hollow, he finished his packing and left the suitcase at the front door for easy grabbing on his way out the door at 5:00 a.m. He set his alarm, climbed in bed and left the tableside lamp on. The darkness felt as if it were closing in on him.

When sleep came, it was fitful. He could not find peace.

December 24

K
ristin tugged her favorite cable-knit sweater over the white turtleneck she wore. The soft wool was deliciously warm. It would definitely keep her toasty on the sleigh ride into the hills. With a pair of long johns under her sturdiest pair of jeans and wool socks on her feet, she was ready for a McKaslin family tradition. Christmas-tree gathering, the same way her great-great-grandparents did when they homesteaded the ranch in the 1860s.

“Kristin! Hurry!” Mom's call echoed up the stairwell.

“I'm coming!” she answered just as there was a rattle at the back door. It was amazing she could hear it over the racket downstairs.

New greetings rose over the excited voices in the kitchen below. It sounded as if Mary was here.

Mary.
Kristin froze in the hallway. If Mom had invited her best friend, then did that mean she'd invited Ryan, too?

No. There was no way a man like him would be interested in a sleigh ride into the hills. Relief sluiced through her. She couldn't imagine it—

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. McKaslin.” A familiar male voice.
Ryan's
voice.

He was here. Her knuckles gripped the banister but she couldn't make her feet carry her forward. She hadn't answered his letter. Hadn't taken him up on his offer of a milkshake. And why? Because Mom would make such a big deal about it if she found out. Because she was under enough pressure. She'd disappointed her parents enough.

“Nice kitty.” Allie, dainty and precious in her pink sweater that said Grandma's Little Princess and the cutest little pair of jeans, collapsed on the landing. Her arms wrapped around Minnie's middle and squeezed. “Soft kitty.”

Kristin wasn't fooled by the disgruntled frown on the feline's face. She could hear the contented purr from six steps up. She stopped to give her three-year-old niece a kiss on the cheek.

“Kristin!” Mom sounded impatient. “We're leaving without you.”

It was tempting, but she wasn't about to miss one of her favorite holiday customs. She'd have to talk to Mom about this later.

As for Ryan, she'd be polite to him. She liked him.
But she didn't
like
him. Mom would just have to accept that her and Mary's matchmaking was an abysmal failure.

As Kristin hurried to the kitchen, the merry ring of dozens of jingle bells filled the air with their sweet music. Two matched pairs of Clydesdales flashed past the dining-room window. In the next room, she could hear Mom ordering everyone outside and giving Karen last-minute instructions.

“I know, Mom, don't worry, just go,” Karen said laughingly as she scooped up daughter number two and held the squiggling toddler captive on her hip. “Have a great time. Remember, I want something small. Not ten feet tall. Where's Dad? I'll tell him myself. Last Christmas you got us a tree that didn't fit in our house. Hi, Kris.”

“Hey, big sister.” Kristin gave Karen a hug and baby Anna a raspberry kiss that made the toddler giggle. “Yeah, where's Dad?”

“He headed into town to have breakfast.” Mom's words were tight, but her smile was firmly in place.

Her fake smile. The one she used when she didn't want to acknowledge something was wrong.

Kristin saw the question on Karen's face, too. Dad leaving for town on a day like this? Getting the family Christmas trees was something he looked forward to every year. Kristin opened her mouth to ask if they should wait, but Karen shook her head.

That could only mean one thing—there had been serious discord between Mom and Dad. Perhaps they'd
had an argument or a heated fight. Maybe this was the one that would tear them apart for good.

Kristin's stomach twisted.
Please, Lord. Not now.
Since the birth of their first grandchild, her parents had been on speaking terms and had been creeping incrementally closer to one another. And now, who knew? She just wanted them to love each other the way they used to.

“I'll join Mary outside. Kristin, you'll close the door behind you?” Mom handed her a thick parka and a pair of gloves. She looked frail and tired.

Why hadn't she noticed that last night when she'd arrived? Because she'd been tired herself after about fifteen hours on the road. She was still tired.

“Sure.” She waited until Mom was out of hearing range to whisper to Karen. “What about their gift?”

“Yeah. I know.” Karen looked troubled, too, as she set Anna down on her pink tennis shoes. The toddler took off on a flat-footed gait after Mickey, who was hiding beneath the table. “Pray.”

“Yeah. Big-time.”

Snow drifted on the wind, tiny spun-sugar flakes, as delicate as air. They caught on her lashes and tickled her cheek as she zipped up her old winter coat. She tugged the back door shut behind her, lost. What were they going to do about their parents?

“I say we don't fight it.” A man's melted-butter baritone had her turning around. Ryan, chainsaw in hand, waded through the knee-deep snow from the direction of the detached garage.

“Fight what? And why do you have Dad's chain saw? Oh, I get it. That's what you're doing here.”

“Yep. Believe me, I'm freezing and it's early and I'd rather be reading the morning paper in front of the woodstove. But my mom and yours pleaded with me. Since Pete isn't going to work the chain saw, they needed a man, they said. I couldn't turn them down.”

“Our moms have way too much time on their hands. I know how to work a chain saw. I helped Dad every year bring in wood for the winter. So did Karen and Kendra.”

“So basically I'm here under false pretenses?” Ryan watched her nod and it didn't surprise him—not one bit. Yeah, Mom was up to no good. Just as he'd suspected. “Our moms have worked so hard plotting how to put us together. Like I said, why fight it? It will only make them try harder.”

“I'm sorry about this.” Fiery pink crept across Kristin's fine-boned face.

Ryan doubted it was from the cold wind alone. He understood, and he hated seeing the reserved way she was keeping distance between them. Normally that kind of thing didn't bother him, but he liked Kristin. She was into her career, that was her focus. He sure understood that, and he figured they had to stick together against the marriage-minded. “Don't be sorry. We'll ignore them. What's the saying around these parts—you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink?”

“You can't make
her
drink,” she corrected, and some of that fiery sparkle returned to her eyes.

Yeah, she was a girl with spunk. Ryan held out his hand. “Let's make them pay for manipulating us. C'mon, friend.”

He loved her smile. Big, bold, genuine. When she smiled, it was like sunshine on a snow that lit up the entire world.

She slid her delicate hand into his. “You're on, friend. Do you know how to use that chain saw?”

“How can you ask that? I'm a Montana boy at heart.”

“Yeah, but you're a city man now.”

“No more than you're an urban woman. Cutting down a tree is something every real man knows. My dad used to take me up into the woods when I was a kid. Don't worry. I know how to use this thing.” He hiked the dangling chain saw for emphasis.

Kristin bit her bottom lip to keep quiet. Testosterone!

“Hurry up, you two!” Kendra popped up beside the giant horses, tugged on the harness, patted one of the gentle giants on the neck and took up the reins. “Ryan, have you ever been on a horse-drawn sleigh?”

“No, ma'am. Looks like I'm in for a treat. Aren't the little ones coming along?”

“It's too dangerous,” Kristin answered, stole the chain saw from him and stowed it safely beneath the front board seat. She talked to her sister in a low whisper, heads together, in the way that women do, before leaving Kendra to settle the dual set of thick leather reins between her gloved fingers. “Karen's staying behind with the kids. Allie might be old enough next year.”

That made sense. The chilly temperature alone was enough to give a guy hypothermia. Of course, maybe that had more to do with the thin summer-weight sweatshirt he had on beneath Dad's old coat. The goose-down parka cut a lot of the wind's bite, but not enough. And it only covered him so much. His legs and feet were bone cold.

His mom had taken up position on the board seat next to Kendra, and she looked proud of herself. “You two find a place and sit down.”

“Sure, Mom.” Yeah, he was going to have to have a talk with her. Set it out straight and tell her how it was. And not just about Kristin. About Dad, coming here—
everything
. But now wasn't the time.

Kristin climbed aboard the sleigh, which was more of a sled for hauling than riding. A layer of local hay, sweet smelling and soft, lined the back in a fluffy bed. She snuggled in, sitting so her feet dangled off the back.

He climbed in beside her. “So, you people do this every year?”

“Sure. It never occurred to me that other people didn't cut their own trees every year, until I was away at college and saw a Christmas-tree lot. I laughed so hard, I cried.”

“There aren't a lot of fir trees in Phoenix. They have to truck them in. It costs a bundle for a real tree. So I bought a plastic one. It stays in a box for pretty much a whole year and I let Mom take it out when she comes down.”

“Plastic trees. Yeah, that's what I put up in my house.
I have one of those little ones. My cats hate it, but it's simpler, since I always come here for Christmas.”

“Yeah.” Christmas. Ryan hated to think about the lights he didn't put up and the tree still in its box in the garage. “It doesn't seem right without my dad.”

He heard the words coming out of his mouth. Too honest. Too private. He stared down at the coat he wore, the navy-blue nylon flecked with snowflakes, and willed the pain to stay down. Didn't quite succeed at it.

The sleigh jerked forward, the skids squeaking on the fresh snow. Ryan's bones rattled. His teeth clacked together. His spine snapped. The jarring start smoothed out into a sensation of gliding. The tiny bells on the harnesses made a sweet sound. “Not too bad.”

“Wait until the horses pick up speed. Then it's like flying. Oh! Here we go! Hold on!” Her gloved hands curled around the ends of the floorboards as the sleigh pitched again, accentuated by the jingling bells, and eased into an eye-watering cruising speed.

It was too cold to talk, with the wind whipping by. Silence was the best way to enjoy the ride as she got caught up in the rhythmic chink of the horses' hooves on the compacted snow, the caroling bells and the lilting rhythm of the women's voices in the seat up front. Somehow, Ryan's melancholy seemed out of sync with the pleasant grassy scent of the hay, and the snowflakes falling in a lazy waltz from a white-gray sky that went on forever.

Despite his soul-deep pain, Ryan savored the sheer exhilaration of the snow-mantled earth flying out from
under him, the solemn stance of wooden fence posts wearing snowlike hats, their wooden rails outstretched like arms. Nothing moved, not bird or deer or rabbit except for the crystal flakes everywhere descending.

Kristin leaned close, bringing with her the scent of fabric softener and vanilla. Her scarf felt like a kitten's fur against his cheek. Something sharp as a pin's prick jabbed him deep inside, turning him inward again. His chest ached and he felt…

He didn't know what he felt.

The earth felt solemn, as if sleeping. The morning was calm as the valley fields rolled away and the horses started to climb. Random trees appeared, then more and more, until it was a forest draped in white, silent with grace. It felt as if something were speaking to him, not with words, but to his heart. A tug that pulled at his very sturdy defenses.

He watched her as she breathed deep the cold air and lifted her face to the sky.

“This ride blows me away every year.” She blinked at the snowflakes caught on her eyelashes. “I've done nothing for the last three weeks but shop and stress and worry and rush here and there. Wait through traffic without moving. Circle parking garages for over half an hour looking for any old spot to park in. Push my way through crowded malls and wait in long lines. On top of work, feeling like there's never enough time and so much to do.”

“I did all my shopping late. Made a list, made one stop at the mall. Caught a bunch of sales, wasn't too bad
at all. Okay, I only have Mom and Mia to buy for, except for the office girls at work and my nurse, so it's not bad. We don't have a big family, the way you do.”

“Yeah. But when I'm here, feeling the snow on my face and seeing it grace the trees, it hits me every time. All the stress melts away. Nothing has changed, not in two thousand years. All the hustle and hurry-up and decorating and gift buying is all done because of a single child born long ago. That the heart of Christmas is the same and always will be.”

“I hear it wasn't easy for the Wise Men, either. Sure, they didn't have mall traffic to deal with, but they rode forever on a camel's back. Think of it. No air-conditioning. No roadside convenience stores. No motels or fast food along the way. No Global Positioning System. No triple A.”

“I hadn't quite thought of it like that before.” When she laughed, the sound was as dulcet as the bells ringing.

Whatever was hurting within him lifted through him like a bird in flight, filling his eyes so he turned away. It was the cold making his eyes tear.

Nothing more.

 

The sleigh slowed to a stop on snow so pure, it looked like clouds. The sun poked out between a break in the clouds to smile on the wintry forest, and a billion glimmers shone everywhere making the world so bright, it hurt to look at it.

“Notice how they sent us out to scout for trees.” Ry
an's stride was bigger than hers, and the knee-deep snow hardly troubled him.