"Fine," he answered quietly.
Before she left, she took one last jab. "When you're in your office, I hope you look at the snake often and remember why it has your features."
Eight
Christmas Day was just awful.
The Cameron family holiday breakfast was strained as Anna watched her father strive to remain cheerful despite the deepening worry lines at the corners of his eyes. Clarissa made a big show of a supposed "cold" that kept her constantly sniffing and wiping her eyes with her handkerchief.
And Anna missed Sam desperately.
She hadn't spoken to him in days, which only told her that she'd made the right decision. Sam had no doubt realized that they were better off apart. Truth didn't make the pain any easier to live with, though.
Yet, watching her father go through the motions on a holiday he loved was unsettling. She was worried enough about him that her own pain was taking a backseat.
After an exchange of presents, Anna joined her father in his study for a cup of coffee. Clarissa excused herself to take some cold medication.
"Dad," Anna said, sitting beside him on the brown leather sofa, "is it really so bad?"
Her father frowned and Anna knew she was crossing into unexplored territory. Ordinarily, her dad preferred that she and Clarissa be happy and completely ignorant of his business dealings. But after a moment or two, he gave a resigned sigh.
Patting her hand, he admitted, "It's not looking good right now, honey."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't want you worried about this, understand?" He gave her tight smile. "Things will work out as they're supposed to. I'm sure the new year will bring plenty of opportunities."
Her heart already aching from the loss of Sam, Anna felt another wrench. Her father had worked hard his entire life to build a company he was proud of. Was he really going to lose it? And if he did, what would it do to him?
"No sad faces," he chided, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "We've got some Christmas cakes to eat, remember?"
Another family tradition. Decadent cupcakes covered in Christmassy icing were always eaten after breakfast in the Cameron house. She watched her father fight past his own disappointments and worries and knew she could do no less.
"Yes, we do, Dad. Want me to go get them from the kitchen?"
"Please. Take them into the living room by the tree." He stood up, still smiling tightly. "I'll just give Clarissa a hand finding her cold medication and we'll join you."
"Okay." There was a knot in her throat but she wouldn't let her father down. If he wanted to have a normal Christmas morning, then that's exactly what they would do. As he started walking away, though, she said, "I love you, Dad."
His smile was warm and real as he answered, "I love you, too, Anna. Now don't worry, all right?"
She nodded, though her concerns were still there. But she wouldn't contribute to her father's worries, so she silently vowed to keep her anxiety well-hidden.
"Have you heard from him?" Tula asked later that night over a Christmas dinner of takeout tacos.
Because Tula had no family, the two of them always had Christmas dinner together-with only one rule. Nobody cooked. So every year, they looked around for any restaurant that happened to be open. This year, it was Garcia's Familia. The food was terrific, but Anna wasn't enjoying it anyway.
Hard to eat when it felt as though there was a ball of lead in the pit of your stomach.
"Sam?" Anna shook her head and took a sip of wine. She pushed the tines of her fork through the Mexican rice as if drawing a picture. "No. And it's better that way. Really."
"Yeah," Tula told her. "I can see that. This is working out great for you."
Sighing, Anna set her plate on the coffee table and sat back on her couch. Her gaze fixed blankly on the brightly lit Christmas tree, she wondered what Sam was doing. If he missed her as much as she missed him. And she wondered how he had become so important to her in such a short length of time.
"Anna, you're miserable. Why don't you call him?"
She glanced at her friend and ruefully shook her head. "What would be the point? Nothing's changed. Even if it's not a conscious notion, he still thinks I'm after him for his money."
"That's crazy," Tula said with a snort of derision. Picking up her wine, she took a drink and said, "You had a fight. People always say things they don't mean in a fight."
"Or the truth comes out," Anna suggested. She'd already had this same conversation with herself a dozen times. She'd thought about that last fight from every angle and each time she came to one conclusion. "Either way, it's just over."
The phone rang, but she didn't move to pick it up. She didn't feel like talking to anyone anyway. Her heart hurt, not just for what she'd lost in Sam, but for her father. And there was nothing she could do about either situation.
"You're not going to get that?" Tula asked.
She shook her head. "Let the machine pick it up."
Which it did a moment later. She listened to her outgoing message and then her heart jolted at the sound of Sam's voice.
"Anna?" His deep voice sounded commanding. "If you're there, pick up."
Tula waved at her frantically, but Anna shook her head again. She had to curl her fingers into fists to keep from reaching for the stupid phone, but she did it. She couldn't talk to him. Not now. Maybe not ever again. It was hard, but it would be even more difficult if she didn't stay strong.
Sam sighed into the phone, then said, "Listen, I, uh, wanted to say merry Christmas-"
Anna's heart tugged a little at that and the twisting pain made her close her eyes. If things had been different, Sam might have been here right now, with her and Tula, having dinner and laughing. But things weren't different and they weren't going to be.
"Talk to me, Anna. Don't let it end like this."
"Oh, God," she whispered.
When she still didn't pick up, he muttered something unintelligible and hung up.
"Yeah," Tula said, every word coated in sarcasm, "I can see why you don't want to talk to him. Sounds like a heartless bastard."
"You're not helping," Anna told her.
"This time," her friend said sagely, "I think you're going to have to help yourself."
Sam glared at the damn phone as if Anna not speaking to him were its fault instead of his own. "Idiot," he muttered thickly, shoving one hand through his hair. He'd done nothing but think about Anna for the last few days. Their last argument was on constant replay in his thoughts. And every time he relived it, he saw the shock on her face and the hurt in her eyes. He still wasn't sure how the damn argument had erupted and he'd like nothing better than to step back in time and bite back the words that had hurt her so badly.
Why the hell had he said something so stupid? He knew damn well that she wasn't after his money. He had been convinced of that as soon as he saw how much time and effort and artistry she'd poured into the mural she had painted for him. No mercenary woman would have cared so much about doing a good job. She would have come in, slapped some color on a wall and cashed his check.
But Anna had pride. Integrity.
And his heart, damn it.
He poured a Scotch and took a seat on the sofa. The Christmas tree was lit up and soft jazz pumped through the stereo. It would have been perfect, he thought. If Anna were there.
Instead, there was a hollow spot in his chest that he couldn't see being filled anytime soon. God, if he had to live the rest of his life with this emptiness inside …
"Sitting alone in the dark?" Garret said when he came into the room. "Not a good sign, Sam."
"It's not dark," he protested lamely. "The tree lights are on."
"Yeah." Garret grabbed a beer from the wet bar, then sat down in a chair close to his brother. He took a long drink and said, "So, you want to tell me what's eating you?"
"What?" Sam shot his brother a look.
"I was gone like a week or so, not years. You're … " he tipped his head to one side and studied Sam " … different, somehow. Still mean as hell, of course, but there's something else, too."
This was a rare moment, Sam thought. His younger brother was noticing something outside himself. And maybe it was a sign that the younger Hale brother was finally taking a step toward maturity. God, he hoped so. Because Sam knew what he had to do.
He'd missed Anna like he would have an arm or a leg. Somehow, in the last couple of weeks, she had become as necessary to him as breathing. And he couldn't live without her. So he had to tell his brother that not only wasn't Garret going to get Anna back, but also that Sam was in love with her himself.