Long, Tall Christmas Page 5

  Holding the candles, he straightened, turned, and stepped out of the closet—only to bump into something soft, warm, and womanly. Even in the dark, there was no mistaking Kylie’s luscious curves.

  A jolt went through his body. He lowered his arms, resisting the urge to touch her. If his hand ended up in the wrong place, he’d be in serious danger of getting his face slapped.

  With a little gasp, she drew back, thrusting a small cardboard box between them. “Matches,” she said. “They were on the hearth. Muriel wanted me to bring them to you.”

  “Thanks.” Forcing himself to be cool, he took the box and followed her back to the kitchen, where it was light enough to see a little. Shane’s pulse was still racing. There in the dark hallway, she’d been so close, so tempting. What would’ve happened if he’d been crazy enough to pull her close and kiss her—Kylie Summerfield, the girl he’d wanted to kiss since he was Hunter’s age? The one girl he’d never dared touch?

  But what was he thinking? This wasn’t the right time to get involved. It wasn’t the right place or the right woman. Red lights all the way.

  “Hold this.” He handed her one of the longer candles. She kept it steady while he struck a match and lit the wick. The flame caught the wax and flickered upward, casting her face in a golden glow. She’d been a pretty girl in high school. Now, bathed in candlelight, she was stunning—and all woman.

  “We need something to hold it up. There’s a Mason jar by the sink. That should work.” She hurried away from him and came back with the candle leaning against the inside rim of the jar.

  “Hang on.” Shane lit a second candle from the flame of the first. Sticking the end in a soda bottle Kylie had found, he carried it into the living room and set it on the hearth. As in many older homes, the opening of the fireplace had been filled with a cast-iron fireplace insert.

  “Without the furnace going, we’ll need some heat,” he told Muriel. “Tell me where I can find some dry wood and I’ll make us a fire.”

  “No need for so much work, Cowboy,” Muriel said. “Henry always carries out the ashes and keeps the insert stoked with wood. All you’ll need to do is open the front, check the damper, and light a match. If you need more wood, there’s some in that box in the corner.”

  “Henry takes good care of this place,” Kylie said. “You’re lucky to have him.”

  “Oh, indeed I am. I don’t know how I’d have managed without him all these years.” Muriel pulled her hand-knitted afghan tighter around her shoulders. “I do hope he’ll be warm enough out there in that trailer.”

  “Henry knows how to take care of himself. He’ll be fine.” Crouching in front of the hearth, Shane opened the cast-iron door of the fireplace insert. It was as Muriel had said. The wood chunks were skillfully laid with newspaper and kindling underneath. After making sure the damper was open, all he had to do was light a match. Within minutes a crackling blaze was warming the room.

  Shane made himself comfortable on the couch. Hunter wandered in with his phone and settled in a corner.

  “Now this is cozy!” Kylie sipped the last of her lukewarm cocoa. “The old days must’ve been like this. Candles for light, a fireplace to keep warm . . .”

  “And no TV to watch.” Amy’s voice reflected her sour mood.

  “When I first came here as a little girl, we didn’t have anything like TV, or even a radio,” Muriel said. “The first summer, we lived in a tent while my father built the oldest part of this house, with the kitchen and bedroom, and a sleeping loft for me and my brother. Even after it was done, we didn’t have electricity till the power company strung a line out here. That first winter we kept warm with the old iron stove my mother used for cooking. It had a tank on one side—a ‘water jacket,’ they called it. It heated water for dishes and our Saturday-night bath. I was about your age, Hunter, before we finally got an indoor bathroom.”

  That got Hunter’s attention. “You mean you had to go outside to—”

  “That’s right. We had an outhouse—‘privy’ was the polite word for it—behind where the machine shed is now. On cold winter nights, it could seem like a very long walk. Sometimes when we went out there, we could hear coyotes howling. I remember how they used to scare me.”

  “Were you pioneers?” Amy asked.

  “Pioneers?” Muriel chuckled. “I’m not quite as old as that. But it was after a time called the Great Depression when a lot of people were out of work. It was a common thing to be poor. My father got this piece of farmland from a man who had to move away. He traded our old truck for it. We were lucky to have land, but we were poor, too.”

  “I bet you at least had a Christmas tree,” Amy said. “Everybody should have a Christmas tree, even if they’re poor.”

  Kylie sighed. “I hear you, Amy. Believe me, I haven’t given up.”

  “We didn’t have money for a tree,” Muriel said. “But there was usually a party with a tree and Christmas carols at the church. If we were lucky, we got a few pieces of candy and an orange. But we didn’t get many presents. I remember one year the present I got was a pair of warm socks my mother had knitted. I do believe I still have those socks somewhere. They have a few holes now, but they kept my feet warm for a long time.” There was a catch in her voice. “We didn’t have much in those days, but we knew what we had was precious.”

  Muriel’s hands kept busy as she talked. In the faint light, Shane could see a gray wool sock taking shape beneath her knitting needles.

  “When my mother died, I was just fourteen and had to do the cooking and take care of the house,” she said. “I managed to finish high school but couldn’t go to college. When my brother—that would be your grandfather, Kylie—was seventeen, he took a job as a cowboy on one of the big ranches so we’d have a little money coming in. Even then there was never quite enough.”

  “Are you telling us kids that we don’t have it so bad?” Amy stood, her hands clenched at her sides. “Not even if our dad died in the war and we had to leave our nice house in California and come to this cold, awful place where there’s nothing to do? Last Christmas was bad. This Christmas is going to be worse! This is the worst time in my life!”

  “That’s enough, young lady!” Kylie was on her feet. “We’re lucky to be here. You should be grateful to have a roof over your head and people who care about you. Go upstairs to your room and think about that for a while.”

  “My room will be freezing!”

  “You’ve got plenty of blankets. You’ll be warm enough in bed. If you leave the door open, you might even get a little heat from downstairs. Go on. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “It’s dark on the stairs!”

  “You’ll get enough light from the kitchen to find your way. And the snow will reflect some light through the bedroom window. You’ll be fine, Amy.”

  “It’s not fair!” Amy flung back the words as she dashed upstairs.

  In the silence that followed, Shane told himself he was well out of this drama. But then, in the firelight, he glimpsed Kylie’s stricken face. She hadn’t asked for any of this, he reminded himself. Fate had dealt her and her children a brutal blow. She was doing her best to help her family survive. It had to be tough.

  In school he’d admired Kylie Summerfield for her beauty and intelligence. Now he’d discovered one more quality to admire—her courage. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his distance. Come spring, with luck, he’d have a buyer for the ranch and could start planning the rest of his life—the life of freedom and adventure he’d always dreamed of.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Muriel.” Kylie fought back tears of frustration. “You’ve done so much for us. Amy should know better than to talk to you like that.”

  Muriel’s knitting had fallen to her lap. She waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it, dear. She’s young, she’s been through a lot, and this old place isn’t much like home. But she’ll settle in. Just give her time.”

  “It’s hard to see her hurting—but that’s no excuse f
or hurting other people, especially you, when you’ve literally saved our lives.” She glanced at her son, who was still texting. “That goes for you, too, Hunter. Tomorrow morning you’re both getting a lesson in manners.”

  “Huh?” Hunter glanced up, then shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Muriel laid her knitting on the arm of the rocker and pushed herself to her feet. “Well, if you youngsters will excuse me, it’s been a long day, and there’s only so much I can get done in the dark. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Will you be all right in the dark? I can walk you to your room,” Shane offered.

  “Thanks, Cowboy, but I’ve spent seventy-five years in this house and I know my way around. When I get old enough to need your help, I’ll let you know.” Carrying one of the candles, she tottered down the hallway toward her bedroom.

  “Well, there’s nothing to do down here except be bored,” Hunter said. “I might as well go, too.”

  “Go on, then. Tomorrow will be better. You’ll see.”

  “That’s what you always say. And it’s never true, so you might as well stop lying about it.” Hunter scuffed his way toward the stairs, dragging his feet.

  Torn, Kylie gazed after him. She’d just sent both her children to bed angry tonight. After all they’d been through, how could she blame them for feeling the way they did?

  She stood. “I hope you won’t mind,” she apologized to Shane. “I think I’d better go upstairs and do some peacemaking.”

  “Go ahead. If you decide to come back down, you’ll find me right here by the fire.”

  Kylie picked up the Mason jar that held the candle and trudged up the stairs. Moving to Texas had been their only option after losing the house; and Muriel had been wonderfully welcoming. But how could she justify staying here when her children were so miserable?

  What would she do if things didn’t get better for them?

  On the landing, the sound of blowing wind and snow pelting the roof was even louder. The candle flame cast dancing shadows on the wall as she moved down the hall. Hunter wouldn’t be afraid, or at least he wouldn’t show it. But Amy might be terrified.

  The door to Amy’s room stood open. Kylie stepped inside. Snowflakes spattered the panes of the single window. From the mound of blankets on the bed came the sound of muffled sobs.

  “Amy?” She set the candle on the nightstand, sank onto the edge of the mattress and slowly pulled back the covers. Amy’s face was buried in the pillow. “Are you okay, honey?”

  Amy turned over, her face was wet, her eyes swollen. “Why do so many bad things have to happen to us? I didn’t ask for Daddy to die. And I didn’t ask to leave our house and come to this place. It’s awful here. Aunt Muriel is nice, but Hunter and I don’t have any friends or anyplace to go. We don’t even have a Christmas tree or any presents to put under it.” She sat up in bed, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her pajama top. “When I try to be honest and tell you how I feel, all you do is get mad at me.”

  Kylie hugged the small, trembling body. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she murmured. “And I wasn’t mad because you were being honest. I was upset at you for hurting Aunt Muriel’s feelings, after she’s been so good to us.”

  “I know that now. I’m sorry.” Amy started to cry again.

  Kylie smoothed her daughter’s damp, tangled hair. “I’d do anything to give you all the things you want, Amy. But for now, all we can do is hang on, make the best of things, and wait for better times. Things will get better, I promise. Someday you’ll be a grown woman. You’ll tell your children about this Christmas and the things you learned from it.”

  Amy sighed. “Maybe. But right now. I feel so bad my stomach hurts.”

  “You’re not sick, are you?”

  “No. Just sad.”

  “Well, go to sleep now.” Kylie kissed her, eased her back onto the pillow and tucked the covers around her. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

  “You always say that. . .” Amy’s voice trailed off as she closed her eyes. Taking the candle, Kylie tiptoed into the hall and down to Hunter’s room. She found her son fast asleep. Hunter’s way of coping was to act as if he didn’t care. But she knew he was hurting, too.

  As the candle burned lower, she made her way back down the stairs to the living room. She’d done her best to keep her children close after their father’s death, and to give them a good life. But tonight she felt like a failure. Somehow she had to find a way to lighten their crushed spirits.

  Exhausted, Kylie sank onto the sofa. Even keeping her eyes open took more strength than she had left. Outside, the storm was unrelenting, battering the house as if to tear it apart.

  “Are you all right?” Shane’s voice startled her. After the stress of dealing with her children, she’d almost forgotten he was there, sitting at the other end of the sofa with his arm along the back.

  “I will be as soon as I take a few breaths. I love my children, but trying to make them happy can be like banging my head against a wall.”

  “Maybe you’re trying too hard.”

  “Listen to you, Shane Taggart.” She opened her eyes and turned on the couch to face him. “As I remember, you were an only child growing up, and you told me today that you never had children of your own. So what makes you a child-raising expert?”

  The firelight glowed bronze on the planes of his sculpted face. “I may not be an expert, Kylie, but I’ve got eyes and ears. Your kids have been through a rough time, losing their dad and their home. They have every reason to be unhappy. Maybe you should just step back and let them work through it.”

  “Fat lot you know.” Leaning forward, Kylie watched the crimson glow of the fire through the iron insert’s mica panes.

  “I may not know much,” he said, “but I know what I see—a beautiful woman beating herself up because she can’t protect her children from the bad things that happen in life—a woman taking care of everybody but herself.”

  “So now you’re Sigmund Freud—or is it Dr. Phil? You don’t know me, Shane. You don’t know anything about me.” Kylie meant to sound defiant, but she could feel herself crumbling inside. The man was getting to her.

  “Not true. I’ve known you since you were five years old. For little Kylie Summerfield, anything short of an A-plus was a failure. Something tells me you haven’t changed that much.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t give myself an A-plus for today. I burned a batch of cookies, couldn’t find a Christmas tree, wrecked your precious bike, and came close to having meltdowns with both my children.”

  He shook his head. “I’m surprised you’re not blaming yourself for the storm and the power outage. Take it easy on yourself, Kylie. You can’t hit a home run every time.”

  “But don’t you see? I can’t give up. I have to keep trying. And now it’s almost . . . Christmas.” Her voice broke. She was trembling, on the verge of tears.

  “Come here, lady.” His arm, which had rested along the back of the couch, reached down to circle her shoulder and pull her toward him. “You need a buddy hug. Don’t worry, I’m not out to take advantage of you. Just relax. Let it go.”

  If she resisted, it was only for an instant. The solid warmth of his arm around her shoulders felt like something she needed. His subtle scent, a blend of snow and motor oil and fresh hay, stirred memories of the old days, growing up happy and secure in Branding Iron. She remembered the Christmas holidays, the stockings by the fireplace, the glittering tree, and the excitement of opening her gifts.

  His hand moved to the back of her neck. Strong fingers massaged the aching muscles. A little purring sound rose in her throat. “That feels wonderful. Where did you learn to do that?”

  “I learned massage to help my father after his stroke,” he said. “You’re all knotted up. Just close your eyes and breathe.”

  Kylie exhaled, feeling the tension drain out of her shoulders. “I’m really, really sorry I wrecked your bike,” she said.

  The sound of blowing snow filled the brief silence. “Accident
s happen. If it can be fixed, I’ll fix it. If not . . .” His voice trailed off. He paused as if weighing what he was about to say next. “When we were in high school, I thought about asking you out. I wanted to, but I knew I wasn’t the kind of boy you’d want to be seen with. I couldn’t handle being turned down by Little Miss Perfect.”

  Jolted by his revelation, Kylie pressed her lips together to keep from confessing her own secret crush. If she were to tell Shane the truth, he might take it as an invitation—and she wasn’t ready for that. She twisted the simple gold band on her finger—the wedding ring she’d worn for the past fourteen years. His eyes took in the gesture. His hand returned to the back of the couch.

  “I take it you haven’t started dating again,” he said.

  Kylie shook her head. “I’ve got better things to do than beat the bushes for single men. And even if I did meet someone, how could I do that to my children? They’re already dealing with so much. A new man, or men, in their lives—it wouldn’t be right.”

  “Hearing that doesn’t surprise me. And knowing you wouldn’t have settled for less, I imagine your husband was a fine man.”

  “He was.” Kylie’s throat tightened, as it did whenever she spoke about Brad. “But we had to share him with the army. He spent more time away than he did with his family. While he was gone, I had to manage on my own—not so different from now, except that now we know he’s not coming back. He’s buried in Arlington National Cemetery—that was what he always wanted.” She gazed down at her hands in the firelight, wondering if she’d revealed too much. “But that’s enough about me. Tell me what you’ve been doing all these years.”

  He stretched his long legs, resting his stocking-clad feet on the raised brick hearth. One wool sock had a dime-sized hole in the toe. “Not much to tell. My plan after graduation was to head for the Gulf Coast and work for a while, maybe on an oil rig or a shrimp trawler, till I could save enough money to travel. I was packing up to leave when my dad had a stroke. It turned out to be bad. There was no way I could leave him, especially since my mother had passed away years before. Now that he’s gone, too . . .” Shane shook his head. “It seems like all I’ve ever done in my life is run that ranch. If I don’t cut loose now, I never will.”