She shivered. I can’t wait.
Footsteps passed by in the hallway, and a rush of tuneless whistling, like a playful gust of wind. Her heart quickened, and her cheeks grew hot. “Dammit,” she whispered to the sinkful of soap bubbles. “Dammit.”
Later, still dodging Eric like a character in a French farce, Devon listened at her bedroom door until she heard him go downstairs, then quick-stepped down the hallway to knock on Lucy and Mike’s door.
“It’s me-sorry to bother you,” she said in a low, urgent voice in answer to Mike’s cautious “Who is it?”
The door opened halfway and Mike’s face appeared, wearing a look of cordial inquiry. “Hey, Devon-what can I do for you?”
Behind him, Devon could see a bassinet beside the bed, and an overflow of pastel blankets, and Lucy sitting crosslegged on the floor in a sea of wrapping paper and stick-on bows.
“Could I trouble you for some of that paper?” She nodded toward the mess on the floor. “And a couple of bows, some tape and scissors… Oh-and if you have any to spare, a couple of boxes, about…yay-big?”
“Sure-help yourself,” Mike said cheerfully, while Lucy was already scolding and absolutely forbidding Devon from even thinking about giving gifts to anyone.
But Devon stood her ground. And later, back in her own room with all the gift-wrapping supplies she needed, she had the strangest feeling Lucy had been pleased to find that Devon could be every bit as stubborn and strong-willed as she was.
It was late-by Iowa farm standards, not the L.A. lifestyle Devon was accustomed to-by the time she finished wrapping her gifts for Mike and Lucy. It took her longer than she’d expected, since she didn’t normally do her own gift-wrapping, and it took her a few abortive tries before she got the hang of it. The finished product still lacked the professionalism and elegance she was used to, but under the circumstances, she thought it would do.
The house was quiet; it had been some time since she’d heard Eric’s footsteps, and there wasn’t so much as a peep coming from Lucy and Mike’s room. What better time to play Santa’s elf, Devon thought wryly as she tiptoed down the stairs to the parlor. While everyone was asleep, she’d slip her two small gifts among the growing pile under the tree…
In the parlor’s near darkness, she felt for the twin light switches beside the door and chose one. And it was the Christmas tree that sprang to life, bathing the room in the soft glow of its multicolored lights. Her breath escaped in a tiny involuntary pleasure-sound, like that a child might make, as she stood in the doorway and gazed at the shimmering tree, tiny lights reflecting off a mishmash of ornaments accumulated through generations of a family’s Christmases without regard to taste or style. And before she knew what was happening, she found herself blinking away tears.
Silly, she thought. Really-it’s just a tree. She wasn’t sentimental about Christmas-not even a little bit.
She dashed away the moisture on her cheek with a finger, but the ache in her throat remained.
Then, as she stood there alone in the doorway of that quiet, empty room, something came over her, a feeling so vivid it was more like memory than imagination. She saw the room no longer empty, but filled with people…adults in all the chairs, crowded together on the sofa-even perched on the arms-and children on the floor, all gathered around the tree. And no longer silent, but alive with laughter, and Christmas music playing on the stereo-something schmaltzy, Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas.”
And Devon was no longer alone, as someone came behind her to slip his arms around her with the ease of someone who’d done the same thing countless times before. Someone whose touch and scent, though familiar to her as her own, never failed to make her heart bump, and beat with a new and faster rhythm. His arms enfolded her in their warmth and the lonely ache inside her vanished. A smile bloomed across her face as he whispered her name…
Devon…
Chapter 13
S he drew in her breath with a shuddering gasp. The vision vanished, and the parlor was empty and silent again.
Cold and aching once more, Devon placed her gifts beneath the tree, turned off the lights and went back up the stairs.
At the door to her own room, she hesitated. She’d left it open; she could see the peace and privacy, the order and solitude she craved right there in front of her. The neatly made bed, the leftover wrapping materials in a tidy pile beside the dresser. But now for some reason the room seemed less peaceful to her than lonely. And suddenly she knew that, on this night, at least, it wasn’t solitude she wanted.
A little farther down the hallway, she could see a narrow strip of light showing under Eric’s bedroom door. There was no sound in the hallway; she could almost hear the pounding of her own heart. A shiver went through her, and she put a hand on the doorframe to steady herself. Drawing a slow, deep breath, she closed her eyes.
Devon…
She could feel his breath on her skin…smell his clean, wholesome scent. The longing to have his arms around her, the warmth and strength of his long, angular body against hers as it had been in her vision, was so acute she nearly whimpered aloud.
Her heart thumped against her breastbone as she pushed away from the doorframe. Her legs shook as she crossed the few yards of hallway to Eric’s door. Her mouth was dry; her throat felt sticky when she tried to swallow. More nervous than she’d ever been in her life, she lifted her hand to knock.
And froze-just in time.
Above the pounding of her own pulse she could hear Eric’s voice, not the low, crooning murmur he used when he spoke to Emily, but the recognizable cadences of adult conversation. Only one voice, though, with pauses between; he was obviously talking on the telephone. Devon couldn’t make out words, but there was no mistaking the intimacy and affection in his tone.
Her skin prickled; chagrin washed through her in a cold flood. Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid… She’d never thought to ask him if he was involved with anyone. If he had a girlfriend. Had she just assumed, because he’d kissed her, because he’d been all too ready to jump into bed with her, that meant he was unattached? Why would she assume such a thing when she knew so well from personal experience that not even solemn vows and wedding rings were enough “attachment” to keep some men from taking advantage of any opportunity that came along. She knew better. Why was she so surprised?
Thank God I didn’t knock.
Calmer now, her heart quiet and heavy inside her, Devon tiptoed back to her room and closed the door. She felt no less cold, no less lonely, but at least now she knew. She wouldn’t be so stupid again.
“Eric, just one question-are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do?” Even on the bad cell phone connection, Caitlyn’s voice sounded tense.
He gave a short, uneven laugh as he tried with one hand to rub the ache out of his eyes. “I wouldn’t say it’s what I want to do, no. But I think…I know it’s what I have to do.” He paused, then added, “I’m still hoping I won’t, but I’m kind of running out of time, you know? This reprieve Mom engineered is only good through Christmas. Devon means to haul us both back to L.A. as soon after the holiday as she possibly can-the day after, probably-and at this point I think it’d take a miracle to change her mind.”
“You really think she’s got repressed memories of abuse?”
“I’m almost certain of it-yeah. She’s got no memories of her childhood at all, and she gets tense and scared if you push her on it. But unless I can get her to remember and acknowledge what went on in that house, she’s going to continue to do everything she can to get her clients-i.e., her parents-what they want. What they want is custody of their granddaughter, and…” His voice grew deeper with resolve. “I can’t let that happen, Cait.”
“No,” she agreed softly. And after a pause. “Too bad Emily’s not really yours.”
“You can’t fool DNA,” said Eric dryly. “No, without Devon’s testimony, I’m afraid the law’s on their side.” It was his turn to pause. “Cait, you know I wouldn
’t ask-”
“Hey,” she interrupted in a brisker tone, “it’s what we do. Now-it’s kind of short notice…”
“I know-I’m sorry. I should have-”
“Never mind that. Let me get started on this-there’s a lot to do. Where do you think you’ll go, Canada?”
“For starters, yeah, it’s the closest. After that…who knows? Someplace warm.” His smile was wry, though she wouldn’t see it. “I’m not used to these Midwestern winters anymore.”
There was a little silence, and then Caitlyn’s voice, sounding farther away than ever. “Eric? I’m sorry, but I have to ask. What about your mom and dad? They’ve missed you, you know. Your mom’s so thrilled to have you here. I know you’ve been away a long time, but are you sure you’re ready to give it all up? Forever? This is your home-”
Eric interrupted her with a pain-filled laugh. “If you’d asked me that a week ago, I’d have said, no problem. Now…” He took a breath. “Since I’ve been back it seems like everything-the place, my folks-somehow it all looks different to me.”
In the gentle, attentive way that had made her not only his cousin but his best friend, as a kid, and in the years since, so often his confidante, Caitlyn prompted, “Different how?”
Sitting hunched over on the edge of his bed with his elbows propped on his knees, he tried again to rub away the ache behind his eyes. “You know how it was when I was growing up. All I could think about was getting away from this place, getting out into the world. I was scared to death I’d be trapped here for the rest of my life, like Mom. Now, maybe it’s because I’ve seen the world, and I’ve seen how much misery there is out there, but I’m really beginning to realize for the first time, I think, how lucky I was-what a great childhood I had. I keep thinking how great my mom and dad are. Even thinking what a great place this would be to raise a kid.” He smiled crookedly at the floor between his feet. “Ironic, isn’t it? Now it’s impossible…”
“Eric?” Caitlyn’s laugh was gently teasing. “Is this you I’m hearing?”
He tried his best to erase it all with a snort. “Hell, maybe it’s the holidays. Anyway, look-I know it’s not much notice, but do what you can, okay? And I guess I’ll see you here, Christmas Day?”
“You don’t think I’d miss it, do you? Your first Christmas home in ten years? Sure, I’ll be there-with bells on. I’ve even got a present for Emily. Thank you for the book gift certificate, by the way. It came in today’s e-mail.”
“You’re welcome. Hey, don’t think you have to- Wait-hold on a minute, Cait.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think I heard someone…”
Placing the cell phone on the bedspread, he crossed the room in two long, soundless strides, listened for a moment at the door, then carefully eased it open. There was no one in the hallway, but Devon’s door was just closing with a soft click.
His heart gave a lurch and his skin shivered with a whole weird mix of emotions-curiosity and excitement, regret and alarm. Had she come to his door? If so, why? And why hadn’t she knocked? How long had she been there? What had she heard?
He thought about going down the hall and knocking on her door to find out the answers to those questions. The pulse thumping in his belly urged him to. So did the not-so-well-banked embers of earlier fires simmering farther down. But both of those things also told him if he went knocking on Devon’s door this late at night, in a sleeping house, it wouldn’t be because he wanted questions answered. Who was he kidding?
And Caitlyn was waiting on the phone, her very presence there a reminder, and a warning. Getting involved with Devon was a bad idea-for all sorts of reasons. Not the least of which was the fact that he was starting to care about her.
Oh, God. I’m starting to care about her.
He picked up the phone. “Cait? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Okay. False alarm. So, all right. You get everything together, and I’ll call you first thing Christmas morning to let you know if it’s a ‘go’ or not.”
“Right. And meanwhile…Eric?” He waited, and his cousin said softly, “Keep hoping for that miracle, okay? ’Tis the season, after all.”
He answered with a huff of laughter that gave him no comfort.
He broke the connection, but sat for a long time with the phone dangling between his knees, staring at nothing while his mind darted from one quandary to another, not knowing which to tackle first. No matter where he looked, his prospects seemed bleak.
I’m starting to care about Devon.
Oh, yeah, there was a happy thought. In fact, the realization that he was developing feelings for the woman who was trying her best to destroy his life had shaken him more than he’d thought possible.
Care about… What the hell did that mean? He’d cared about Susan, for sure, but it hadn’t felt anything like this. His caring for Susan had been that of a friend, a big brother. His feelings for Devon weren’t remotely brotherly, and they were a long way from being friends. He couldn’t even chalk it all up to physical attraction, although he definitely had that. He couldn’t say why or how, but he’d had physical attractions before, and all he knew was that this was different.
So, what are you saying, Eric? Are you trying to say you think you may be falling in love with her?
Oh, hell.
He hoped to God it wasn’t true. Because even if it was, it didn’t change a thing. Except to make it hurt a whole lot worse.
The day before Christmas-Christmas Eve Day, some people called it-dawned clear and cold. It would be a beautiful, sunny day. The snow was melting on exposed southern slopes and the livestock yards were a trampled, muddy mess, but it lay thick and crusty in the shady places, and there was plenty left with which to build a snowman. From her bedroom window, Devon watched Mike and Lucy assemble one in the front yard, working together to roll and lift the heavy parts and between times laughing and pelting each other with handfuls of snow, their chore-buckets abandoned in the driveway. The sight made her smile, even laugh a little. It also made her throat ache.
How happy they are. How is it that they-two middle-aged people-can laugh and play like this? Like children?
The answer came to her, sparkling clear as the day outside: They love each other. Love their lives, their home, this place.
But, she thought, I love my life, too. I love my home, my place. I could never live here-I couldn’t.
The fact that she could even have such a thought shook her to her core.
The day that began on a note of whimsy continued the same way. After breakfast, Mike unearthed a long-handled pruning saw from somewhere in one of the sheds and cut mistletoe out of a tree in the front yard. Lucy tied sprigs together in bunches and hung them from every door casing and ceiling light fixture in the house, and she and Mike took turns “catching” each other standing under them.
Eric, who happened to be passing through the kitchen during the traditional consequence of one of those occasions, paused in the process of shrugging into his coat to roll his eyes at Devon. “Don’t mind them. They get like this at Christmastime.”
“Like what?” Lucy, roused and bristling, was struggling to free herself from Mike’s rather theatrical embrace.
“Nuts,” said Eric, and punctuated it with the growl of his ski jacket’s zipper. Devon caught the grin he tried to hide.
“We’ll have no ‘Bah Humbug’ in this house today,” Mike warned his son’s retreating back as the door banged shut behind him. He looked over at Devon and winked. “Don’t mind him. He has a tendency to take things a tad too seriously.”
“Eric always did have a hard time having fun,” Lucy agreed, and her voice held a note of wistfulness. “I think he just needs for somebody to show him how.” Then she looked at Devon, and for some reason her eyes seemed to warm, and then to sparkle, like embers kindling.
Devon murmured something ambiguous as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, but as she looked away from Lucy’s glowing eyes she was seeing another
pair very much like them. Eric’s eyes, going wide with surprise as her snowball plunked him in the chest, then suddenly igniting.
She remembered the thrill of excitement that had shot through her then, and her wildly pounding heart as she’d tried to escape inevitable reprisal. How they’d laughed, hurling and ducking snowballs, floundering and wallowing in the snow. She hadn’t felt cold, only exhilarated, carefree. Like a child, she thought-and the realization came to her: We were like them, Eric and I…like Mike and Lucy this morning.
And then he’d come so very close to kissing her. She’d so very much wanted him to. And then…yesterday. And last night.
Tears came from nowhere to sting and blur her eyes, and she plunked down the coffee cup and blinked them away in a panic. What would Mike and Lucy think?
But she heard their voices and laughter, now, moving on down the hallway. She was alone in the kitchen. For that one moment she could safely let her shoulders sag, close her aching eyes and lower her face into the cradle of her hand.
Ironic, she thought, that here in this house, surrounded by so much warmth, so much love, for the first Christmas in memory she should feel the desperate misery of loneliness.
It was like every day-before-Christmas he remembered-the whole household bustling with preparations for that evening and, of course, the Big Day, his sensible mom and dad behaving with uncharacteristic giddiness, and over everything a fog of suspense he could almost touch…smell…taste. Smelling and tasting being the operative words to describe the activity in the kitchen, from which cooking odors wafted through the house all day long in a confusing, ever-changing stew made up of everything from pungent onion and sage, to turkey giblets and cornbread, to pumpkin and cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla and rum.
All that cooking had always been Eric’s cue to make himself scarce, and in that respect, too, this Christmas was like the others in his memory. He managed to spend most of the day in his darkroom putting together his gift for Devon, leaving Emily in his mom’s care-although mostly it was his dad he’d spotted, during occasional forays into the house for food or some forgotten item, walking a fussy baby up and down the hallway. Which was definitely one thing about this Christmas that was different, the other being the presence of a redheaded stranger working side-by-side with his mother in the kitchen.
The Black Sheep’s Baby Page 18
