She lingered on the stairs studying the pictures hung on the neighboring wall. They showed Jordan at different ages, along with various brothers and sisters. His entire childhood was immortalized here, from baseball games to fishing trips to prom.
Erin didn’t have a single picture of herself as a child.
A glance below revealed Jordan’s nieces and nephews bouncing around the living room like popcorn, full of sugar from the treats in their Christmas stockings. It was the kind of thing that Erin had only ever seen in movies. When she was a child, Christmas was a day of extra prayers, not presents or stockings or Santa Claus.
She stuck one hand in the pocket of her new fleece robe. Her other arm was in a sling. Her shoulder was almost healed from the lion attack. Jordan had just changed the bandages up in her bedroom and was already back down, dragged below by his nephew Bart. Erin had promised to follow right after, but it was peaceful on the steps.
Finally, Jordan poked his head around the corner, discovered her, and joined her on the steps. He tucked the edges of his new robe between his legs as he sat. Both of their robes had been gifts from Jordan’s mother.
“You can’t hide forever,” he said. “My nieces and nephews will hunt you down. They can smell fear.”
She smiled and bumped him with her elbow. “It looks very merry down there.”
“I know they’re a bit much.”
“No, they’re fun.” She meant it, but his family seemed so normal, so very different from hers. “Just takes some acclimatizing.”
Jordan stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, the simple touch reminding her why she cared so much about him. “Are you telling me that you’ve faced down lions and wolves and bears and all kinds of undead, but you’re afraid to go in there with four little kids, their exhausted parents, and my mother?”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her cheek against his flannel-covered chest. His heart thumped steadily under her ear. She savored the sound, knowing how close she had come to losing him. She tightened her arms around him.
He rumbled at her. “You know . . . we can always move to a hotel, a place with one bed for the two of us?”
She smiled up at him. His mother had insisted that they sleep in separate bedrooms when they arrived yesterday. “It’s damned tempting. But it’s sort of fun seeing you in your native environment.”
A child’s voice piped up from below, demanding, “Where’s Uncle Jordan?”
“It seems Miss Olivia is growing impatient.” He tugged her to her feet. “C’mon. They don’t bite. Except maybe the little ones.”
Her hand felt warm and safe in his as he led her down the last steps and into the noisy living room. He guided her past the decorated Christmas tree to a couch.
“Best to stay out of the combat zone,” Jordan warned.
His mother, Cheryl, smiled at her. She sat in a brown leather chair with a knitted afghan over her knees. She looked pale and frail. Erin knew that she was battling cancer, and no one was sure if she would see another Christmas.
“My son’s right,” Cheryl said. “Avoid the tree until the madness dies down.”
“Grandma!” Olivia shouted, near the top of her lungs. “Can’t we open presents now?”
A similar chorus rose from the other children.
Cheryl finally lifted a hand. “All right already. Dig in!”
Like lions on a downed gazelle, the kids dove into the presents. Paper tore. Squeals of delights filled the air, and one disappointed voice called out, “Socks?”
Erin tried to imagine what kind of person she would be if she’d grown up here.
Olivia dropped a plastic unicorn into Erin’s lap. “This is Twilight Sparkle.”
“Hello, Twilight.”
“Uncle Jordan says that you have stitches. Can I see? How many are there? Does it hurt?”
Jordan saved her from the grilling. “Olivia, the sutures are under the bandages, so you can’t see them.”
She looked crestfallen, as only a disappointed child could look.
Erin leaned closer. “There are twenty-four stitches.”
Her eyes got huge. “That’s a lot!” Then one eye narrowed suspiciously. “How did you get ’em?”
Erin honored her own commitment to the truth. “A lion.”
Jordan’s mother almost dropped her coffee cup. “A lion?”
“Cool!” Olivia extolled, then handed Jordan another plastic pony. “Hold Applejack.”
She ran to get more of her toy horses.
“Clearly you won her over,” Jordan said.
Olivia returned and stacked ponies on Erin’s lap, reeling off names: Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie. Erin did her best to play with them, but it was as foreign to her as aboriginal tribal customs.