Home for Christmas (7 page)

Miranda made her way through the crowded parlor, stepping between two brothers-in-law seated on the carpet. She reached Hunter’s side. Taking his arm, she led him into the kitchen and nearer the heat of the stove.

She watched as he removed his wool coat, crisp from the freezing temperatures. At church, she hadn’t noticed the perfect fit of his suit. The black trousers accentuated the length of his legs.

She wanted to reach for him, to soothe the worry from his brow, to ease the burden she could see he bore.

“Are you all right?” He took a step closer and reached for her, as if to brush the backs of his fingers over her cheek. He hesitated and lowered his hand.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She searched his eyes, finding no answers. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“Nothing, I--”

He drew a ragged breath, something in his gaze heated, intense. He did reach for her then, brushing his knuckles over her cheek with a tenderness that pulled at her heart, sending shimmering waves of heat through her.

“I’m sorry, Miranda. If I’d known he’d be there, I never would’ve let you--
him--
all of it. I thought they’d planned to stay home. I never--”

Miranda pressed one fingertip to his lips, silencing him with the simple touch. His breath, warm on her finger, made her heart flutter and her knees weak. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose. He didn’t try to hurt you. Didn’t even know you--”

“I know.”

Hunter settled his warm, gentle hands on either side of her face. He seemed to see the truth hiding in her soul.

She covered one of his hands with her own, painfully aware the ache of loneliness had given way now that he was here, close. “Thank you.”

“If it’d ease your pain, I’ll try to make up for everything he’s done to hurt you.”

His offer was incredibly sweet. “I’m all right.”

“I
saw
your face when Warren came into the service. Don’t try to tell me it didn’t hurt you to see him.”

“I was surprised, yes.” She eased back a step. “To see him with Viv....I only heard this morning they’d married. I’m not hurt as much as embarrassed.”

“I wish I could’ve saved you from having to see it.”

“When?” She cleared the tightness in her throat. “When did they marry?”

Pain clouded Hunter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m a grown woman. I want the truth.” She attempted a smile. “I recall you promising me we’d be straightforward with each other. ‘Fess up.”

From the parlor, sounds of the pageant continued. The family wanted to give them some privacy and space.

He hesitated. “November.”

Miranda nodded and smiled sadly. From the apparent age of the child on his arm, it was evident which November they’d wed. “He married Viv one month after he would have married me?”

He gave a slight nod.

“All this time, I pictured him living at home, going about his life, in the way he always had.” She wanted to sit, but all the chairs were in the parlor. She leaned against the cupboard and felt herself sag. “He’s been married three years.”

“I thought your family had told you.”

Miranda nodded. She knew they’d wanted to protect her. “Why’d he do it?”

The color faded from Hunter’s face. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing. Not one word of explanation. I spent the first few months wondering if he’d come after me, wanting to explain, hoping to salvage our relationship.”

“And you never heard from him.”

“No. But that’s all right, really. Now that I see how he....” she gestured feebly, searching for the right word, but unable to find it.

She looked Hunter in the eye. “Tonight at church, I decided to ask you for the whole story. I want to know everything, and I figure if anyone knows what went wrong, you do.”

“Miranda, I don’t think--”

“Please. If it’s something I did, something I said, something about me--”

“It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you at all.”

Oh, how she wished that were true.

“I’ve considered it from every side, thought of every possible reason why he’d call off the wedding two hours before the ceremony.” Old, long-suppressed emotion clouded her voice, made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I’ve had ample time to dwell on that day. It should have been the happiest day of my life, instead, it was full of questions and painful surprises.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Miranda. Could this wait a couple days?”

Muted applause signaled the conclusion of the pageant.

Miranda finally looked Hunter squarely in the eye. “I
need
to know.”

She could see the indecision warring inside him, the determination to save her any further pain, the softening and compassion in his heart.

The patter of little feet sounded in the hallway. Angela pushed open the door and peeked inside. Her tight ringlets bobbed about her rounded face. She eyed the platter of gingerbread men on the table and darted a gaze toward Hunter. “Momma says I can’t go in the kitchen.” Her loud whisper tugged on heartstrings.

“Can you carry this big plate?” She handed the gingerbread platter to Angela.

“Yes.” Her eyes widened as she claimed the cookies and let the door shut behind herself.

“I should go.” Hunter turned away, scooping up his coat and gloves from the table. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Please stay.”

“Your family’s ready for cookies.” Regret darkened his eyes. “This isn’t a conversation to have in front of everyone.”

She appreciated his consideration, but wouldn’t let him brush her off. “I’ll get my coat. Let’s go to the barn where we can find a bit of privacy, and continue this conversation.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I think we should wait and discuss this after Christmas. You should be with your family, eating gingerbread and sipping hot cocoa and....you’re not listening to me.”

Miranda took her coat from the peg by the back door and slipped into it. “Afraid not.”

She opened the door into the hallway, finding the house suspiciously quiet. She imagined the whole family sat quietly in the parlor, hoping to catch a word of what was uttered between herself and Hunter. “Mom? We’re going to the barn to talk. Don’t wait for us.”

“All right, dear,” her mother called.

Hunter followed her outside. “Won’t she want to send a chaperon?”

“She would, with anyone else.” Miranda smiled. “My parents trust you and like you. Too much.”

“I’m grateful for their trust.”

Snow crunched under their feet as they made their way across the yard and into the warmth and shelter of the barn. Yellow light cast bobbing shadows over the snowdrifts from the lantern Hunter carried.

The animals stirred as the freezing air came inside with them. The cows raised their heads, watching them with idle interest.

Miranda pulled two milk stools from their pegs and set them in the middle of the floor. She sat and waited for Hunter to hang the lantern and take the other seat.

She didn’t wait for him to speak. “I believe we left off with me asking you what Warren’s reasons were.”

Hunter’s half-smile was so sad it twisted her heart.

She signed, continued, “I knew something was wrong. He’d been edgy and unsettled for a week before the wedding. Daddy assured me it was just pre-wedding jitters, that every groom felt them. But something was under his skin, and I now suspect it was Viv.” She’d never forget how that last week had made her feel. “Why didn’t he just tell me?”

“He should have. I don’t know why he didn’t.” He slid his stool closer until their knees almost touched. He took her hands into his and leaned close. “I need to know one thing. Do you still love him?”

The answer came easily. “No.”

“Has it been easy for you to spend an evening out with other men? Supper and the theater and whatever else city folk do?”

“I haven’t accepted invitations.”

Hunter paused. Disbelief registered, gave way to awe. “You haven’t seen anyone else since Warren?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I still love him.”

Hunter sat motionless, searching her face, scrutinizing her quick response. She couldn’t mistake the doubt in his eyes.

“I don’t. Honest.”

“Then why did it hurt you so badly to see him at the church?”

“It didn’t hurt, not exactly.”

“I saw your face, Miranda. I’m not blind.”

She absorbed the warmth of his hands and let her gaze lower to look at his larger, calloused hands enveloping her own.

She knew the contours of these hands--the long fingers, neatly trimmed nails, and outlines of veins. Sweetly familiar. Intimately familiar.

Hunter’s hands.
He squeezed hers, in support and tenderness.

Silence stretched, comfortable. He waited.

Hunter was so easy to love.
The thought came unbidden, out of nowhere, and besides, it was absurd to think it meant anything more than the way she loved her parents and siblings, her brothers-in-law, the children, her neighbors…

Miranda pushed the thought aside, deeply aside, she couldn’t examine that now. “I was stunned to see them together, shocked by the sight of something I’d barely heard about. But that’s all there was to it.”

She met Hunter’s midnight gaze, held it. “I
don’t
love him anymore. Tonight, I realized it’s been years since I did. I can’t help feeling humiliated.” Her voice tightened. Tears threatened. Her eyes filled.

“Hey,” he whispered, easing an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close such that her head rested on his shoulder. He held her there for several long moments. Just waiting. And silently showing tender compassion.

No judgment.

No interruption.

So, this is love.

More than anything, she wanted to wrap her arms around his middle, pull him close, let his strength banish her fears and yesterday’s anxieties.

Foolish. So foolish.
Pulling away from him, just a little, she shook her head and forced herself back to the wretched explanation of why humiliation kept her away from home for more than one thousand precious, lost days.

“
Everyone
knows he rejected me and married immediately,” she whispered. “It’s embarrassing.”

He seemed to mull over what she’d said. “No one thinks ill of you. I haven’t heard a single comment about any of it in years.”

Miranda nodded, knowing he spoke the truth. So no one gossiped any longer. That was good.

“What’s wrong with me, Hunter?” A sob lodged in her throat, twisting her voice into a hollow shadow of itself. Fresh pain lanced through her, preventing any embarrassment for losing control. “Why couldn’t Warren love me? Why didn’t he stay with
me?
”

He took her face in his hands, lifting gently, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “
Nothing’s
wrong with you. Nothing at all.”

He paused. Waited, evidently gaging her reaction.

Oh, how she wanted to believe him.

But something had to be wrong with her. Something so deep, Warren hadn’t seen it until near the end.

“You’re remarkable, Miranda.” Honesty rang in his words, deepened his voice with an edge of emotion she’d rarely heard from him. “Compassionate, considerate of people’s feelings, and beautiful.
So beautiful.
”

His gaze held hers, refusing to let her look away, refusing to allow doubt.

Ever so slowly, with sheer reverence, he touched his lips to the trail of tears on her right cheek. He lingered, softly. The kiss of a friend, of a trusted, beloved brother.

Agony tore through her. How could she fall in love with another Kendall? He wouldn’t--
couldn’t--
love her in return. He could claim blindness to her flaws and failings, but he would never love her. That perfect oneness would forever be out of reach, at least for her.

His lips pulled away, so slowly, his gaze locked with hers. Then he seemed to gaze with longing at her lips--
couldn’t
be.

She was merely seeing what she desperately wanted to see, so she closed her eyes against the yearning that swelled in her chest.

But his lips touched her other cheek, pressing a kiss upon her tears. He lingered. Longing surged, dampening inhibitions, making her want everything she couldn’t have. She craved Hunter’s affection,
genuine
affection, the kind Warren hadn’t been able to give her.

Because of her unworthiness.

So lightly, Hunter’s tongue swept moisture from her cheek, his lips still pressed against her in a gentle kiss. Pleasure skittered across nerve endings at having him so close, the kiss upon her cheek feeling
almost
non-brotherly.

Tears welled as he pulled away.

His large, graceful hands still cupped her face. She realized she’d covered his hands with hers and hadn’t known it until now.

“When you’re ready,” he whispered, “you’ll marry someone who loves you more than you can imagine.”

“I doubt that’s true.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Her heart craved the oneness, the happiness of sharing her life with a man she loved with all her heart and who loved her--really loved her--in return. Was that so very wrong to want? Even for the likes of her, a cast-off bride?

Hunter eased his hands away from her face, leaving her chilled without his heat. He took her hands in his, lacing them together, holding on as if he meant to keep her close.

He fell silent, apparently waiting for her to elaborate. Or to take back the impetuous words. How could she? The words, the explanation were too difficult.

“You…?” he asked, paused, “you’re against marriage?”

“Marriage follows an engagement.” How could she make him understand? “The dreadful months of planning and courting and no guarantees.”

She shook her head, not quite certain why she told Hunter so much more than he’d asked. “It’s the engagement part I’m not very good at. I’ve made up my mind to never agree to an engagement again. Not ever.”

“Never?” Hunter kept his gaze on their entwined hands. He sat motionless, as if trying to digest her claims. “What if some fellow simply sent for you? No engagement necessary?”