Christmas Male(56)

The move had surprised him. Entranced him. He knew that everything was happening very fast between them. The war had gotten him used to expecting fast changes. Adjusting to them was the key to survival. But Fiona didn’t come from a battlefield—at least not the same type he’d experienced. He thought of what she’d said that morning—about the temporary nature of their relationship, and something akin to fear tightened inside of him.

She’d opened up to him for the first time earlier, sharing what had passed for cooking in some of the foster homes she’d lived in. He’d had a tough enough time accepting the loss of his father when he’d been nine, but he couldn’t imagine what it might have been like to lose both parents at the age of four. He wanted to ask. He eventually would. But for now he didn’t want to spoil her mood.

Instead he said, “You don’t like Christmas.”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” She reached for her wineglass and twirled the stem in her fingers. “I don’t have a tree. I don’t have any funny stories to share about wrapping and hiding presents. Last night, when I was on the way to the Blue Pepper, I was even praying for some kind of crime to occur so that I could get out of going to Natalie’s party.”

“I was praying for the same thing. Boredom was my excuse.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. D.C. let the time spin out. As an interrogator, he’d learned that crucial questions were often answered to fill a silence.

With a sigh, Fiona set her glass down, then drew her knees up to wrap her arms around them. “I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was adopted.”

“Why?”

“They had two children of their own. The boy was twelve, the girl ten. They were busy with school and their friends most of the time. The adoption was the mother’s idea. I think she missed having a little one around the house. No one else in the family wanted me there. Especially not the two kids. They thought it was funny to get me into trouble. They’d lie about things I’d done. I wasn’t quite five yet, and not even the mother believed me when I would deny things.”

She was staring into a space that he couldn’t see. All he could do was set his wineglass down and put his arm around her.

“One day near Christmas, the two kids took crayons, scribbled all over the dining-room walls and told their mother that they’d caught me red-handed. I denied it, but I was the outsider. The father thought I should learn a lesson, so there were no presents for me under the tree on Christmas morning. I had to sit there and watch while everyone else opened theirs.”

In spite of the fury that flared to life inside of him, D.C. kept his voice even. “What happened then?”

“When I cried, I was sent to my room and told that was what Santa did to bad girls. A few days later I was returned to foster care.”

Once again, D.C. banked his anger. “So it was a double whammy. Not only did Santa punish you for being bad, but the mother gave up the battle and rejected you, too.”

“Yes.” The word came out on another sigh as she settled her head on his shoulder.

D.C. drew her closer. “No wonder you don’t have a tree.”

She lifted her head to study him in that careful way she had. “Most people don’t understand.”

He traced a finger along her jaw. “That’s not all, is it? What else happened to you at Christmas?”

“You see a lot.”

“I’m a cop.”

She dropped her gaze. “You’ll laugh.”

He tilted up her chin and met her eyes. “No.”

“I fell in love for the first time at Christmas.”

There was suddenly a harsh metallic taste in his mouth. Jealousy? “Tell me.”

“It’s a really old and corny story.”

“My favorite kind.”

“I was sixteen and he was captain of the football team at the high school I was attending.”

D.C. tightened his grip on her. “Go on.”

“Do you remember your first love?”

“Mandy Reardon.”

“Shawn Hancock. He’d gone out with lots of girls before me, but I didn’t think of that. I was so blindsided by his attention I got stars in my eyes. He was the first thing I thought of in the morning, the last thing I thought of at night.”

D.C. swallowed and tasted metal again.

“He took me to movies, let me wear his football sweater. No one had ever paid me that much attention before. I fell so hard. And I didn’t ask any questions. Maybe, I didn’t want the answers.”

D.C. wanted to get up and pace. He wanted to break something. But that wasn’t what she needed. He eased her head back onto his shoulder.