A Blazing Little Christmas(14)
The memory slammed into her—the stupid, typical argument between a fourteen-year-old know-it-all girl and her aggravated father over too much time spent on the phone and not enough on homework. Angry words shouted out of teenage rebellion. And two days later, with the argument and her resentment still simmering between them, a heart attack. Her father was gone in the blink of an eye. The last words spoken between them had been said in anger. Eleven years later the memory still tore at her.
And so she’d escaped the lounge. Before regrettable words could be spoken—although she’d left a few seconds too late. I’ll just show up at the church. Or, damn it, maybe I won’t.
The words had slipped out before she could stop them. She hadn’t meant them. Or had she? She couldn’t deny that at that moment, she had. Coward that she was, she hadn’t paused to look at Eric, but she’d sensed he’d gone perfectly still. And the same question that had plagued her for the last four months again raced through her mind: how in God’s name could she resolve this mess and still keep her relationships with both Eric and her family?
She saw the cabin in the distance through the thickly falling snow and with a sense of relief, she quickened her pace. When she reached the door, she turned and saw Eric’s bright red parka just now emerging from the lodge. Clearly he’d exchanged a few words with Mom, Marc and Kelley. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what those words were. Or what she’d say to him when he reached the cabin. She’d have less than ten minutes before he arrived to compose herself and she’d need every second of it.
As soon as she’d closed the door behind her, she yanked off her coat and let it fall to the floor. After jerking off her snow-encrusted boots, she immediately climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Shivering, she closed her eyes, tears leaking, unstoppable, from beneath their lids to slip down her chilled cheeks as she forced herself to empty her mind and concentrate on the slow, deep breathing exercises she’d learned after her father’s death.
After a few minutes the tension and tingling sensation started to ease from her limbs. Her throat felt less tight, her breathing more regulated. Another few minutes and the anxiousness passed, leaving weariness and relief in its wake. She’d just sat up when Eric opened the door.
The instant his serious and concern-filled blue gaze locked on hers, a fresh supply of tears welled in her eyes. Damn it, this was supposed to be a happy time. Looking forward to their future together. Not fraught with all this gut-wrenching stress and hair-yanking frustration. She wasn’t naive enough to believe their lives would be sunshine and roses all the time. But surely there shouldn’t always be dark clouds and crabgrass, either.
Without a word he closed and locked the door. Removed his parka and gloves, toed off his boots. Then walked to the bed. Sat next to her. And drew her into his arms.
She went willingly, gladly, savoring his strength, the solid feel of him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she burrowed her face into her favorite spot—the cozy nook where his neck and shoulder met, a place that usually felt deliciously warm but was now cool from the frigid weather. But one that still smelled delightfully of Eric—clean and masculine and him.
He pressed his lips against her hair and whispered, “You okay?”
Her throat closed, so she nodded. Then shook her head. Then shrugged. How could she explain how she felt when she wasn’t certain herself? The only thing she knew for certain was that she was exhausted.
His arms tightened around her, as if he feared she might otherwise slip away. And a small part of her couldn’t help but wonder if she would.
She wasn’t sure how long they remained that way, holding each other in silence, before she finally lifted her head and leaned back to look at him.
Before she could say a word, he cupped her cheek in his palm and brushed his thumb over her skin. “You’ve been crying.”
She attempted a smile, but knew it was a weak effort. “Oh, great. On top of everything else I’m puffy and blotchy.”
“You’re beautiful. And breaking my heart. I can’t stand to see you cry.”
“You didn’t see it—just the horrifying aftermath. And I didn’t really cry. It was just a case of freakishly leaking eyeballs.”
He didn’t crack even the slightest grin at her feeble attempt at humor. “You want to tell me what happened?”
She blew out a long sigh. “The usual—arguments, nastiness, tension. My mother and Kelley didn’t provide you with the gory details?”
“I didn’t ask for them. Instead I told them in no uncertain terms that I was as sick and tired of this as you were. That I wanted them to go home, leave us alone and not make any attempt to contact us before Tuesday unless there was a true emergency—one that involved hospitals and blood.”