by Melissa Tagg
“My lips are sealed.”
“From what I can see, you’re a good mom, Leigh. Maybe Winnie’s just restless.”
Leigh let out a breath, less ragged than before. “I hope that’s all it is. I don’t want to see her repeat my mistakes.” She slipped from her stool and turned. “Oh, hey, Colin.”
Rylan froze. Colin? She turned on her stool, slowly, to see him standing in the kitchen doorway. How long had he been there?
He pointed over his shoulder as he stepped farther into the kitchen. “Just came to see which one of you told my niece it was a good idea to rearrange all the dining room tables. Though I have a pretty good idea.”
Leigh chuckled. “That would be my cue to leave.” She brushed past her brother, but stopped before pushing through the door. She turned back to Rylan. “She likes reading. Winnie, I mean. Regular bookworm. And I catch her writing in notebooks sometimes, but she’ll never let me see what she’s working on.” She shrugged. “Drew’s wife is an author. Maybe I should see if she’d be willing to talk writing with her or something.”
Rylan couldn’t look at Colin. The thought of him hearing everything she’d just said . . . “Couldn’t hurt.”
“And then if that doesn’t work, I’ll sic her on the two of you. See if she has any latent culinary skills.”
“Rylan can teach her to follow a recipe to the T.” Colin’s voice was a gentle tease.
“And Colin can teach her to break dishes and set off fire alarms.”
Leigh pushed through the door, leaving behind an unwieldy quiet. The vulnerability that’d snuck up on Rylan as she attempted to encourage Leigh dawdled now. Maybe he didn’t hear any of it.
Or if he did, maybe he’d politely ignore it. Pretend he hadn’t listened in on her heart as it spilled over. Maybe if she acted nonchalant . . .
She hopped off her stool and moved to the industrial dishwasher. The inside was cool enough now for her to reach in and pull out the tray. Once it was free, she lifted her hands to the sliding door overhead to try to close it. It was high enough she had to stand on her tiptoes.
“You weren’t supposed to tell her about me nearly getting expelled.”
“Sorry, um, it slipped.” Unlike the dishwasher door. She jangled it once more. Wouldn’t budge.
She felt Colin’s presence behind her and before she could move away, he reached around to grasp the door himself. He steadied himself with his other hand on the edge of the sink, effectively trapping her against the counter.
He had the door down in one sturdy yank.
She couldn’t make herself move. Still facing the dishwasher, she waited for Colin to step away.
Instead, hand still clasping the machine door, he paused, breathing measured and words slow. “For what it’s worth, Brent sounds like an idiot.”
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
And then, with the same strong arm that’d just battled a stubborn machine, he turned her around to face him. “Now let’s go sledding.”
“You weren’t lying. It really did snow.”
Colin let out a laugh at Rylan’s gasped words. “No, I wasn’t lying. Generally if I’m going to tell a lie, I try to pick a juicier topic than the weather.”
Rylan pulled her nose away from the passenger door window she’d had it smashed up against almost the whole way out of town to the railroad depot they approached now. Her face was the perfect picture of a disapproving matron. “You shouldn’t ever lie, Colin. It’s very wrong.” She turned back to the window.
“You have seen snow before, right? Like, last week back in Denver. And halfway through Nebraska.”
“But I’ve never seen it in Iowa. It’s different here.”
It was exactly the same. White and fluffy. But he wasn’t complaining. He liked this Rylan—all softness and wonder. None of the prickles and sting he’d grown so accustomed to back in Denver.
And the way she’d talked to Leigh back at the restaurant, the honesty and understanding in her voice—he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, but it’d nearly undone him right there in the kitchen doorway. He’d actually had to blink away sudden tears.
Because of his sister’s admission of how much she was struggling? Because of what he’d learned of Rylan’s own heartbreak?
Or maybe it was the simple and entirely unexpected joy of seeing two people he cared about—apparently at some point in the past week, Rylan had come to fit that description—find exactly what they needed in one conversation. Leigh, a listening ear. Rylan, the chance to step outside her own hurt long enough to share someone else’s.
He’d felt uplifted and unraveled, all at once. Yearning and hope stirred together inside him.
Along with something else he didn’t dare name, no matter how endearing Rylan had looked with her hair in a knot and her sleeves pushed up to her elbows. No matter how his own awareness had peaked in those moments standing so close to her by the dishwasher.
A few minutes in the cold, a good dousing of snow, would do him good.
“I see the depot!” Rylan lifted one hand to the window. He’d dug the mittens she wore out of the coat closet back at Drew’s earlier in the week. “You were right. Everyone in town must be here.”
He steered his car into the parking lot of the Maple Valley Scenic Railroad. “That’s twice in one night you’ve acknowledged I was right. The snow, the turnout at Depot Hill.” The oblong depot, which also served as a museum, was lit up on all sides, a yellow glow in every window and a string of bulbs rimming the roof’s overhang. And just like he’d predicted, hordes of kids were already making tracks in the fluffy blanket of snow that covered the hill. Moonlight coasted through the clouds.
Rylan was out of the car before he’d even cut the engine. By the time he rounded the front, snow already half-covered the knit hat she wore over her now-loose hair. He had to blink to keep snowflakes from sticking in his eyelashes. “We probably should’ve stopped at the farmhouse first to get snow pants or at least layer our clothes.”
Rylan shrugged, twisting her scarf around her neck. “Eh, no matter. We’ll get wet and cold, but we’ll survive.”
Was she even the same person who’d scoffed at his every baking attempt back in Denver? Who’d told him exactly twenty-three times in the past week she couldn’t stand him?
“Wait a second.” Her mouth drooped into a frown. “What about sleds?”
“I was thinking we’d go bully a couple kids and steal theirs.”
She folded her arms. There was the Rylan he knew. “Have a little faith in me. I didn’t come unprepared.” He opened a car door and pulled out the two trays he’d stowed in the back seat earlier this evening, soon as he’d realized it was going to snow enough to make sledding a go.
“Did you steal those from The Red Door?”
“Borrowed.” Figured it was the least Seth Walker could do considering all the work he and Rylan had put in the past two days. Not that he begrudged the work. Turned out, he loved being out and about in his hometown, seeing familiar faces. Sure, maybe some like Byron Pratt still saw him solely as the kid who’d constantly gotten into trouble as a teen. But plenty of others seemed willing to give him a second—or hundredth—chance.
Made him almost wish he didn’t have to return to Denver in January. But no, he’d started down a path with culinary school. He couldn’t do what he’d done so many times before—veer off course just to chase a feeling.
“You expect me to slide down a hill on a restaurant tray?”
Colin started toward the hill. “Trust me, it’s even more fun than a sled. Because not only do you fly down the hill, you have the extra excitement of trying to stay on the tray. Adds an element of danger.”
Rylan’s boots made imprints beside him. “Danger isn’t really my thing, Colin.”
“Poor word choice. Thrill. It adds an extra thrill. We did it all the time in college.”
“But I’m not a college kid. I’m in my thirties. My mid-thirtie
s.”
“So ancient. I’m surprised you don’t need a walker.”
“I’m just saying—”
He reached for her hand. Just to shut her up. And because she sank into the snow with every step. And because it felt right. “You’re not going to get hurt, Ry. You’re going to love it. I was right about the snow, wasn’t I? I’m right about this too.”
She didn’t pull away. He didn’t know what to think about that.
“You’re awfully confident for someone who’s broken about every kitchen appliance known to man. If I come out of this with a bloody nose or a broken leg—”
They’d reached the top of the hill. “Then I’ll get you to the nearest hospital posthaste. Promise.”
Her smile that seemed to come easier and easier with each day that passed gave way to a giggle. “You said ‘posthaste.’”
“I think you’ll find I have a stunningly expansive vocabulary the more time you spend with me, Ms. Jefferson.”
“Well, you’ve got ten more days to dazzle me with your big words, Mr. Renwycke.”
“Ten more days.” She planned to leave December 22. Suddenly it didn’t feel nearly long enough. At some point in the past week, he’d gone from wondering if he’d made a major mistake bringing this woman to Iowa with him to simply enjoying every minute. Baking, laughing, working alongside each other.
And sometimes when he wasn’t teasing, when they weren’t bickering, they just talked, too. Over a cup of coffee in the morning. On the way to the restaurant. Late at night when they were beat but too wired to immediately drop into bed.
“Ten days.” Rylan repeated her own words. “Ten days until I have to go back to Denver and impress Potts. Ten days to somehow come up with . . . something.”
Worry threatened to shove away her earlier delight. He wouldn’t have that. “That’s plenty of time for brilliance to strike, Ry. We’ll come up with something amazing. Leigh doesn’t need us at the restaurant tomorrow. We can get up at the crack of dawn to start baking if you want.” He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “But for now, it’s time to ride.”
He dropped both trays to the ground and lowered onto one of them, folding his knees up to his chest and gripping its sides. Rylan hesitated for a moment before following suit.
“That’s a good girl,” he said as she shadowed his movement.
“If I die, Colin Renwycke—”
“Then I promise to give a great eulogy at your funeral.” And with that, he reached one arm behind her and gave her a solid push.
Her squeal peeled through the air as she went soaring down the hill. Grinning, he pushed himself off with his foot and careened after her. Snow smacked into his face, stinging his cheeks, air barreling past his ears. His eyes closed instinctively, but he forced them open in time to see Rylan’s tray swerve and then spin, sending her flying off. A second later, he hit the same bump she had and felt himself roll off his own tray.
His body hit the ground with a thump and a roll, snow seeping down his coat collar and through his jeans.
And Rylan’s laughter coming from . . . underneath him?
“Get off of me,” she said through giggles muffled by his coat. “Posthaste.”
He rolled to his side, his laughter mingling with hers. “I told you it would be fun, didn’t I?”
She was splayed on her back, her hat lost in the snow, wet strands of hair clinging to her cheeks. “I think I broke all my ribs,” she sputtered. “And I’m pretty sure I have a collapsed lung or two. And I swallowed a gallon of snow.”
He rose up on one elbow, tipping the snow out of one ear. “Yes, but all your limbs are intact, so I’d say this was a success.”
“I can’t feel my face. I’m completely numb.”
He grinned as he leaned over her. He tapped her forehead with his glove. Her nose. Her chin. “It’s all there, I promise.”
She was still trying to catch her breath, from the ride, from the laughter, her chest heaving underneath her coat. She’d lost a mitten and one boot was untied. Her cheeks were red; her lips, nearly blue from the cold.
In that moment, sprawled in the snow, moonlight and mirth waltzing in her eyes, she was, quite simply and undeniably, the prettiest woman he’d ever seen.
You can’t go there, Colin. Not with her.
How many times would his conscience have to remind him? She wasn’t like the other girls. The ones he’d casually dated and just as casually forgotten. And he wasn’t that person anymore.
But that’s just it. He wasn’t that person anymore. Wasn’t it possible this time, with this woman, could be different?
“Colin?”
He could feel the warmth of Rylan’s closeness, the sudden slowing of her breathing as he hovered, debated, felt his feeble restraint waning.
“I was just thinking . . . ” Did his voice sound as rasped and reedy to her as it did to him? “I was thinking about how you haven’t once today told me you can’t stand me.”
He looked right into her eyes, watched as she swayed between curiosity and delight. “I don’t think it’s midnight yet. I could rectify that, if you really want.”
If he really wanted? If she knew what he really wanted . . .
“Go ahead and say it.”
She blinked, swallowed. “Colin Renwycke, I really . . . ”
He dipped his head an inch lower. He felt the hitch in her breathing.
“I can’t stand . . .” she tried again.
“My brother. Kissing a girl in the snow. Why am I not surprised?”
Shock lanced through him. Drew.
Chapter 7
Colin would’ve known where to find Drew even if he hadn’t awoken to the strident buzz of a table saw ten minutes ago. Predictable as ever, his big brother.
Scattered footprints already decked the snow-covered lawn, despite the shoveled path leading to Drew’s woodshop. Drew’s truck was missing from the circle drive that curved around the yard. Perhaps his wife had gone into town.
His wife.
Why hadn’t Colin stopped to consider even once this past week that the newlyweds might not appreciate having surprise houseguests when they arrived home? He should’ve gotten a couple hotel rooms or asked Leigh if he and Rylan could bunk at her place.
Then again, how was he supposed to know they’d come home last night? Apparently Drew had texted Leigh when he’d arrived and realized someone had been camping out in the house. She’d told Drew where to find him.
The rest of the night had been a blur of awkward introductions. Everyone had simply disappeared into different bedrooms once they got back to the house. That is, Rylan into the attic, Colin into his childhood bedroom . . . and Drew and Maren into the master next door.
Definitely not how they must’ve planned to spend their first night together at home.
The groaning of Drew’s saw cut off abruptly when Colin pushed into the shop. “Hey, Drew.” The smell of sawdust and coffee engulfed him, along with the warmth of a space heater along one wall.
“Hey.”
His brother looked good. More than good. Marriage must do that to a person.
“Leave it to you to already be at work first thing post-honeymoon.”
There was a wariness to Drew’s smile. That too, predictable. “Maren doesn’t exactly love the headboard in my—our—bedroom. I’m making a new one.”
He resisted the urge to tease Drew about his slip-up. “You mean the headboard that’s been there since Grandpa and Grandma were the ones sleeping in that room? I don’t blame her. That’s just creepy, man. Tell me it’s not the same mattress, too.”
Drew rolled his eyes. “It’s not the same mattress.”
“Good.” The tiny space of Drew’s shop was cramped with tools, slabs of wood, half-finished projects. “Congratulations, by the way. On the marriage, but also, your business. I’ve heard rumblings around town. You built an addition onto the depot, put up a building at the orchard.”
Drew nodded. “Thanks.”
Never one to waste words. Colin stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. Why couldn’t this be easy? Why couldn’t they give each other some kind of brotherly embrace and let that be that? That’s probably how the Walkers did things.
Yeah, well, you aren’t the Walkers. Never had been. That family was as close-knit as a warm sweater. The Renwyckes were a ball of frayed yarn, so many knots now it’d take more than a casual conversation in a woodshop to untangle the mess.
But he could try. That’s why he’d come home, wasn’t it?
Drew reached for a mug hanging from a hook on the wall. He poured from the Thermos Colin hadn’t noticed until now and handed the cup over. “So the girl?”
Colin sputtered on his first drink. “Uh, Rylan? It’s like I said last night. She’s my teacher. From the Denver Culinary Institute.”
“But what’s she doing here?” Drew perched himself on a sawhorse.
It would’ve been so easy to give the answer he’d rehearsed. The one that made the impression he’d intended all along. She’s got this huge opportunity to work in a trendy bakery, but she needs help and she’s seen my creativity this past semester and besides, she didn’t have anyone to spend the holidays with.
Technically, it was all true. So why did he feel the need to blurt out the other half of the story? “I bungled my first semester at the school and she was ready to kick me out until I convinced her give me another chance on the condition that I help her come up with a recipe to impress a big-time chef.” The words released in a whoosh.
Drew only cocked his head. Took a drink of coffee straight from the Thermos. “Huh. Not exactly the way she told it this morning.”
“You talked to her already?” He hadn’t seen her downstairs when he’d come through the house. He’d looked. A little too eagerly.
“She and Maren went into town awhile ago. To the store. Maren insists on doctoring her coffee with half the dairy aisle.” He took another swig from the Thermos. “Rylan said you’re a star student and seemed to indicate we should all be infinitely proud of you.”
