Sleigh Ride (Minnesota Christmas Book 2) (12 page)

Gabriel’s face heated at the memory of how rude Arthur had been—how rude they’d both been. “I’d rather not discuss this anymore, if you don’t mind.” To his surprise, she said nothing. He was so shocked, he glanced at her.

She had tears in her eyes, and as Gabriel’s heart seized at the sight, they spilled over. “I’m sorry. I should—” She fumbled in her purse for a tissue.

Gabriel brought the box from his desk, plucked one and passed it over. He felt like an ogre. “Please don’t cry, Corrina.”

She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, sniffling. “I hate how sad he’s been lately. I thought you were good for him.”

Arthur was sad?

“He’s so lonely in the cabin. With the mill shut down, it’s him alone all day, fixing people’s broken things. I want him to get a shop, do it up proper and quit the mill, but he says it’s too lonely. He needs people, poor Arthur, and he’s all alone, and I can’t find anyone right for him.”

She kept wiping at her eyes, and every stroke made Gabriel feel worse. “He’s a kind man. I’m sure he’ll find someone.”

This only made Corrina choke out a sob. “He’s forty. I thought he’d be with Paul, but that’s over. I’ve been trying for months to find him someone, but he won’t look.” She blew her nose noisily. “I really thought you two were perfect for each other.”

What was he supposed to say? Intellectually Gabriel knew he didn’t owe Corrina anything, or Arthur, but emotionally he was wrecked. Probably because he’d been ducking Arthur’s calls and rushing through the grocery store so he never accidentally ran into him. Because the man hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Gabriel had been scared and tried to play it safe.

Was Arthur actually sad? Did he care that much?

Did it change anything, if he did?

As if she could sense his waffling, Corrina took Gabriel’s hand and held it tight. “Give him one more chance.” When Gabriel started to balk, she rode over him. “Come to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. You aren’t going to anyone else’s house, because I’d have heard about it. I know you don’t get on with your family, and there’s bad weather between here and Minneapolis, so you can’t go see your friend there. You don’t have any other friends here, because you don’t go out with anyone, even to a movie. Come to my house. You can have a nice dinner, and we’ll talk books after. Give Arthur one more chance.”

Gabriel told her no. He told her gently, he told her firmly. Yet she left smiling and promising him it would be the best meal he’d ever had, and it would all be fine between him and Arthur, he’d see.

He knew he couldn’t simply plan to skip—she’d send Arthur to collect him, and he had to prepare for an invasion. He’d keep the doors locked, and he wouldn’t answer, but he worried it wouldn’t be enough. That night he barely slept, too nervous about the impending visit.

More than anything, though, he was nervous because he knew part of him wanted to go. He wanted to see Arthur, wanted to see if he really was sad, wanted to sit with his family and feel included for once. Except that was also the reason he didn’t want to go. Arthur made him want things. Dangerous things.

Arthur made him believe there was a place for him in a family, made him believe he could have what Marcus and Frankie did.

Gabriel woke at six, unable to go back to sleep. He took a bubble bath with a book to calm himself, but he tensed every time he heard a noise, convinced it was Arthur come to collect him. He ate breakfast, but he pulled the curtains tight, as if he could pretend he wasn’t home.

For an hour he dithered about whether or not he wanted to get dressed. If he remained in his flannel pants, he’d imply he wasn’t going to be moved, but he’d also feel vulnerable, sending Arthur a subliminal
take me to bed
message. In the end he tried to compromise, putting on a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

At nine, he started watching the driveway.

At ten, he gave up trying to read and turned on his DVDs of
Sherlock
. He was starting episode two of series one when the doorbell rang.

Though he’d planned to simply ignore it, something about the
way
the doorbell rang made him rise and peer through the window. A hooded, huddled figure stood on his stoop…but it wasn’t Arthur. Dread filled Gabriel—had she come
herself
? But no, the figure was the wrong shape. In fact he didn’t know this person at all.

Good God, had she sent the sheriff?

The doorbell rang once more, as timidly as the first time. Confused, wary and slightly curious, Gabriel answered.

It took him a moment to place the man bundled in a scarf and hat, but when he did, he felt Corrina’s checkmate click into place. “Tom.” Gabriel smiled and opened the door wider as he gestured for Corrina’s husband to come inside. “Please, won’t you come in?”

Big Tom huddled over his cane, his ruddy face as always a mixture of quiet cheerfulness and the weariness that comes with chronic pain. “I’ve got the car all warmed up. I’ll sit out there and wait for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Gabriel promised.

With a nod and the tip of an imaginary cap, Tom shuffled toward his vehicle.

Gabriel changed clothes, donning a pair of khakis, a button-down and a sweater over the top of it. After a quick scan of his cupboards to see what would be suitable to bring to Thanksgiving, he settled on a bottle of wine he found in the back of a closet. It wasn’t a particularly good vintage, something someone had given
him
in Minneapolis as a gift, but it would have to do.

Big Tom drove slowly, partly in deference to the blowing snow but mostly because this was how he always drove. Gabriel had been caught behind him in town more than once. The first time it had happened, it had made him crazy, but then he’d met Tom at the diner, and everything clicked. Apparently a tree had fallen on him when he was only a little older than Arthur. He recovered enough to do desk work at the mill until retirement, but the lack of regular physical therapy and general damage had left him crippled, and with age, arthritis had set in, worse all the time from what Gabriel understood.

“House smells pretty good,” Tom said as he ambled down Main Street. “Turkey’s one Arthur dropped, and we smoked it so Cory could have the whole oven. Candied sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, cornbread stuffing. ’Bout four pies for dessert, last I counted, but I think the kids were talking her into chocolate mousse when I left.”

In Big Tom’s quiet, steady presence, Gabriel’s refusal to attend felt foolish, selfish. “Thank you very much for inviting me, for coming to get me.”

“No trouble, no trouble.” He leaned back in his seat as much as his hunched posture allowed and let out a satisfied sigh. “Good to get out a bit, to be honest.”

“How many people will be there?”

“Well, me and Cory, and Becky and the kids, and Arthur and yourself. Last year Marcus came with his mother, but Mimi’s too far gone to leave the care center now. Far as I know they went down to Duluth to see Frankie’s folks, though Cory put in a good effort to get them to come to the house. Marcus said he might swing by for pie on the way home, but I reckon with the weather they’ll stay in the city tonight.”

The air was clear and still in Logan, and from his own glance at a weather app Gabriel knew it should stay that way…yet he couldn’t stop the compulsion to discuss the potential snow. “Think it’ll miss us?”

“Oh, ya.” He patted his knee. “This would be too rough for me to drive, if we was about to get a storm.”

“Good to know. You’re handy to have around, Tom.”

Tom chuckled, a rusty cackle that warmed Gabriel’s heart. “Listen to you. No wonder Arthur’s got himself all in knots. You’re a real charmer.”

Gabriel ducked his head to hide a blush. “I don’t know about that.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing. Good for the boy to work up a sweat over it. Did the same thing to Cory, and look where we are.”

Gabriel couldn’t stop a laugh. He could see it so clearly: a young Corrina railroading her way across Minnesota…and running into this patient creature. “I’ll bear it in mind, sir.”

“You do that.”

C
hapter Thirteen

T
he Anderson homestead was south of town, nestled in a stand of trees, dotted with outbuildings. The main house was quite old, with a stone foundation, politely painted wood siding and decorative shutters lining all the windows. A great glass-and-screen porch took up the front of the house, and as Gabriel followed Tom up the steps, he saw the porch doubled as a depository for pies, cookies and sweetbreads. The scent of many delicious things cooking mingled with the sharp bite of cold before Tom opened the front door, but as soon as Gabriel entered the foyer the delicious aromas became a multilayered wall hitting him in the gut, carving out a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

One whiff, one glance around the gateway to the Anderson home, and Gabriel whiplashed fifteen years back to an equally ramshackle foyer full of the same homey, simple scents. Not Alex’s delicately appointed suburban home, not the book-lined halls of the boyfriend he’d had long enough to accept a holiday invitation. Not his own sad kitchen with takeout on the years he managed to escape being dragged to a dinner. This was something he hadn’t experienced since his junior year of college when he’d told his parents he was gay.

This was something he hadn’t known how much he’d missed—until right now.

Tom had removed his coat and set his cane aside as he held out his hand for Gabriel’s. “You’ll want to take off your Sorels here, or the missus will give you hell. If your feet get cold, we can scare up a spare pair of wool socks, I’m sure.”

“Thank you.” Gabriel passed over his coat and toed out of his boots.

Taking it, Tom leaned toward a noisy doorway and hung Gabriel’s parka on a peg. “Cory—we’re back, dear.”

“Perfect timing.” Corrina stuck her head around the corner. Her face was flush with exertion and sweat, and she looked as happy as Gabriel had ever seen her. “Good to see you, Gabriel. Can I get you something to drink? A coffee to warm you up?”

“Coffee would be lovely.” He presented the bottle of wine. “I brought this for you, as a thank you.”

Corrina came into the foyer, oohing and clucking over the bottle as she showed it to Tom. “Land sakes. Look how fancy. How thoughtful of you.” Tucking the bottle into her arm, she pulled Gabriel down to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for coming, sweetheart. Tom, get him settled in the living room. I’ll send Becky with the coffee.”

Gabriel knew what waited for him in the living room—who, rather—and his heart fluttered with a cocktail of apprehension and excitement as he followed Tom’s shuffling gait through the house. The table was set with antique, faded china, with chairs that didn’t match and an eclectic array of water-stained glasses. Several centerpieces decorated the center—a sagging 1970s cornucopia with faded plastic fruit, a paper pumpkin with one side sagging like a flat tire, and a family of handmade felt-and-pinecone turkeys clustered in the center. Each one held a toothpick sign whose paper flag bore names in a child’s handwriting.

One of them said, with the Gs backward,
Mr. Higgins
.

Gabriel quickly looked away, but it was too late. His chest was tight, his heart cracked open.

“Someone here to see you, son.” Tom stepped aside, giving Gabriel a clear line of sight to the living room.

Arthur lay on the floor, propped on his side as he trotted action figures in front of a little boy—Thomas Cooney, a regular library patron with his mother and two younger sisters. When Gabriel entered, Arthur put down the action figure and sat up, the smile on his face fading to something guarded, the same hope and dread Gabriel felt.

Thomas had no such issue. When he saw Gabriel, he leapt to his feet with a happy cry and ran across the room. “Mr. Higgins, Mr. Higgins! You came!” Gabriel wasn’t fast enough in his crouch, and Thomas attached himself to Gabriel’s legs. “You came to my house for Thanksgiving, just like Grandma said. I made you a turkey with your name. I’m going to put it on your plate, but I don’t know where you’re sitting. You can take it home after or leave it for next year. We’re having a smoking turkey, but you don’t have to have a cigarette, only the turkey. I made mousse with Grandma, but it’s still gooey. Do you want to help do whipped cream? But don’t eat the vanilla because it doesn’t taste good.” He bounced on his heels, his dark hair flopping as he beamed up at Gabriel. “Will you read me a story, Mr. Higgins? I have lots of books in my room. Do you want to see my room?”

“
Thomas Allen Cooney.
” Becky appeared in the doorway, an angry baby on her hip and a whining toddler bouncing insistently at her feet. She ignored her daughters and leveled a threatening glare at her son. “What did I tell you about bothering guests?”

Thomas looked wounded. “But I want to play with Mr. Higgins. I want to show him all my toys and my books.” He held Gabriel’s hand in the soft, warm grip only a child could have. “Do you want to come play with me?”

Gabriel swallowed hard, sucking in a slow breath to keep the rush of emotion at bay.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Tell Thomas you’ll play in a minute, but for the love of God, don’t cry…

Arthur crouched beside Thomas, stroking the boy’s hair. “Mr. Higgins will play in a minute, sport. You go get things set up in your room, okay? I’ll bring him up, but I need to talk to him first.”

Dear God, that was only going to make it worse. But Gabriel couldn’t object, could only let Arthur take his hand and lead him down a hallway. It was a narrow passage, with a bedroom at one end and a bathroom off the side, and every square inch of the passage was lined with pictures, from Thomas’s toothless kindergarten one to an aged photo of another dentally challenged, chunky young man with pale skin, freckles and shock-red hair.

Gabriel shut his eyes and clamped a hand over his mouth.

He’d thought Arthur would lead him into the bedroom, but he pressed Gabriel against the doorframe instead, cradling the back of his head as he gently pulled Gabriel even to his height. Gabriel kept his gaze down, tears leaking out, all his emotions laid bare for anyone to see.

Arthur stared into that dark pool of feeling, stroking Gabriel’s jaw with his thumbs as he regarded him with concern. “Baby—what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Gabriel tried to say yes, but he couldn’t speak. He tried to nod, but his head shook side to side instead.
No. I’m not okay at all.

Arthur kept stroking him. “I’m sorry my mom dragged you here. I told her not to, but she wouldn’t listen. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for fucking up, sorry for everything. Do you want me to take you home?”

The pinecone turkey with his name on it flashed into his mind’s eye, and a sob choked out of him. He shook his head again.

“Do you want me to go home?”

This time his sob was also a half-laugh. “No.” Gabriel lifted his head and met Arthur’s eyes. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

Arthur wiped Gabriel’s trail of tears with his thumbs, fussing when they didn’t stop. “Sweetheart, why are you crying?”

Because it’s too much. Because this is what I always wanted, what I never had even when I lived at home—because you’re here, everyone’s kind, and it feels real. And if it’s not, if this is me looking through the glass at home again, it’s going to break me in half.

He sagged forward, pressing his forehead to Arthur’s own with a ragged sigh.

Arthur didn’t kiss him, but he nuzzled, stroked, touched, crowding his big, warm body around Gabriel. “Tell me what I can do. Tell me how I can make you feel better. Tell me what you need from me, and it’s yours.”

I want this to be real. I want you holding me like this to be real, your family to be real, this safe place to be real. I need it to be real.
Swallowing, Gabriel wet his lips to speak, his words raw and rough in his throat. “I need you not to break my heart.”

Arthur’s tense hold slackened. His bushy beard brushed Gabriel’s jaw, his chin, his lips. “If I do, just tell my mother, and she’ll kick my ass.”

Gabriel sob-laughed—until Arthur swallowed the sound with his kiss.

Arthur nibbled at Gabriel’s lips but didn’t delve inside, a languid claiming, a gentle reassurance. When Gabriel relaxed enough, he started to slide down the wall, his knees straining from the crouch. Arthur caught his waist and held him in place.

I’ve got you. I’m here. You’re safe.

It was Gabriel who took the kiss deeper, craving more, needing more, wanting to crawl inside the warmth of Arthur, wanting Arthur to make his body feel as good as his soul. He was sneaking his hand under the hem of Arthur’s Henley, in fact, when a soft voice cut through the moment from the other end of the hall.

“Uncle Arthur, why are you kissing Mr. Higgins?”

Gabriel tried to withdraw, but Arthur held him in place for one last brush of lips before turning to address Thomas. “I’m kissing him because I like him. A lot. Like Frankie and Uncle Marcus.”

Thomas’s eyes went wide, and he tipped his head to the side. “Is he going to live in the cabin with you now?”

Gabriel bit back a smile as Arthur took the question in stride. “He lives in a house in town. Do you have your toys ready? We can come play now.”

But Thomas would not be moved from his line of questioning so easily. “If you like him like Frankie and Marcus, how come you don’t live together?”

“Because that doesn’t happen right away. First you go on dates and you kiss.”

“Are you going to have a baby?”

Gabriel’s laugh burst out in a snort, and he buried his face in Arthur’s shoulder. “You have to be a girl to have a baby, so no.”

“Grandma says Frankie and Marcus should have a baby. They can get one from the hospital. It’s like shopping. I think you and Mr. Higgins should get a baby too. A boy, so I can play with him. But a girl would be good too. Maybe you should have two babies. We could go shopping, all three of us.”

“Thomas, go to your room and wait. We’ll be up in a minute.”

Thomas’s shoulders fell slightly. “Yes, Uncle Arthur.”

But the boy wasn’t two steps down the hallway before Arthur said, “Thomas? Come back here a second.”

Thomas appeared around the corner, looking hopeful. And adorable.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Remember the rule about kissing. Only people in your family. You cannot kiss your friends yet, not the boys or the girls.”

The disappointment on Thomas’s face indicated he’d been planning on doing exactly that. “But Mr. Higgins isn’t in our family, and you’re kissing him.”

“That’s because we’re adults, and because he’s—I mean, I want him to be…” Arthur trailed off, abruptly self-conscious.

The scent of Thanksgiving and old carpet filled Gabriel’s head, and the wall of photos framed Arthur’s red hair as the sense of family chased the last of Gabriel’s hesitation away. “He can kiss me because he’s my boyfriend.”

Arthur’s gaze softened and heated at once, his hand sliding up Gabriel’s side. “Thomas, go to your room, right now. We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“Are you going to kiss Mr. Higgins again?”

Arthur took Gabriel’s face in his hands. “Oh yeah,” he said, and then he did.