by Toni Leland
He pulled over and set the emergency flashers, then entered the word “library” into the GPS screen. A few minutes later, they had an address and Dillon eased the truck back onto the highway.
“It’s not far from my drop-off, but they might not be open.”
“I appreciate this. I can certainly wait in the truck if they’re closed.”
The highway passed through the center of town and they stopped in front of the library. The lights were on inside. She opened the door and was greeted by a gust of freezing air.
With a glance back at Dillon, she climbed down. “See you later.”
She stood on the sidewalk, watching the semi rumble down the street and make a wide, arcing left turn. Dillon was probably the nicest human being she’d ever known, and she felt really crummy about deceiving him. But until she could be certain she was safe, she had no other option.
The Rutland Free Library was housed in a very old building with tall arching windows and a simple entrance. An historic marker by the door revealed that the building was the old courthouse and jail, and had been in that location since the 1930’s. She pushed through the heavy door and stepped into the welcome warmth of the lobby. A woman was rearranging notices on a bulletin board, and she turned.
“We’re getting ready to close in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, I won’t need that long.”
Julia hurried toward the back of the room where she could see the magazine displays against the wall. Please, please let there be one.
She moved quickly along the racks, then almost crowed with delight. The Morgan Horse was part of the library’s collection, just as she’d thought it might be. Grabbing an older copy off the shelf, she looked around to see if anyone was nearby, then pulled one of the subscription cards out of the magazine and stuck it into her pocket. She exhaled slowly, then paged through the magazine, her heart almost breaking at the sight of the magnificent animals shown in both the advertisements and the articles. America’s horse. Several pages covered the events of the regional shows, and Julia’s pain grew. She’d had it all, could have been a part of it. Her pain morphed to cold hatred. Stephen had ruined her life and, somehow, he would pay. She didn’t know how, but she knew that what goes around, comes around. Always.
Five minutes later, she entered a small drugstore and picked up a pack of envelopes and a couple of candy bars. At the checkout counter, she filled out the subscription card, addressed the envelope, and smiled at the clerk.
“I need a money order for thirty dollars, and a first-class stamp.”
Back on the sidewalk, she spotted Dillon’s truck just turning the corner and she walked quickly toward the front of the library. Dropping the letter into the mailbox, she nodded with satisfaction. She was getting pretty good at this clandestine stuff.
She clambered up into the truck and cocked her head. “I thought you’d be gone longer.”
“Those guys were on the case, got me unloaded in record time.” He laughed. “They wanted to close up shop and get outta there.” He threw her a look. “I notice you were finished early too.”
Julia nodded and handed him one of the candy bars. She wasn’t ready to share anything yet.
Dillon pulled away from the curb. “We should be home in a couple of hours. We’ll stop and pick up some steaks for dinner. That okay with you?”
Julia nodded. Almost anything he wanted to do was okay with her.
Setting the brake, Dillon hopped out of the cab to slog through the snow to the mailbox. Julia watched him leaf through the stack of mail that looked as though it might have been sitting there for weeks. He’d said he didn’t get home very often, but he’d also mentioned the state of his housekeeping. Deep down, she knew she’d been given only a glimpse of the iceberg. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t complain. She hadn’t even given him a real iceberg.
Dillon expertly backed the semi trailer down the narrow driveway bordered by snow-laden trees, and parked in a clearing. Julia couldn’t suppress a sharp gasp. The “cabin” was magnificent.
“I pictured something really small, very rustic. This is gorgeous.”
He looked a little embarrassed. “It was the family vacation home. I bought it from my mom about four years ago. It’s really too big for one person, but I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else living here.”
Surrounded by towering fir trees and graceful cedars, the house looked like something out of an architectural design magazine. The high peaked roof made a dominant statement in the log structure, the center portion of the house facing the mountains to the west. Huge windows rose from the deck level to the uppermost point to provide what promised to be a breathtaking view. Stone faced the ground level which featured two sets of sliding glass doors. An elaborate stone chimney rose from the roof at one end.
Dillon pointed a small remote toward the house and lights immediately came to life on every level, bathing the logs in a warm glow. Julia gazed at the beautiful sight and thought about the coming days. Hidden out here, she felt as though her life had only been a bad dream. She looked over at Dillon and knew that, at some point, for her own self-respect, she had to tell him the truth.
She followed him up the stairs leading to the deck and waited while he fumbled with the key.
“It’s gonna be cold in here, but it doesn’t take long to warm up.”
He opened the door, reached inside and flipped a light switch, then stepped aside for her to enter. “Welcome to Massachusetts.”
Julia took a soft deep breath as she gazed at her surroundings, catching just a whiff of the rich, earthy smell of a cold fireplace. The warm natural colors of wood and stone were enhanced by what remained of the natural light coming through the massive windows. Such a contrast to the chrome and glass eclectic modern architecture of her house in Seattle—Stephen’s design and preferences, not hers. She glanced at Dillon, then stepped into the great room. As she’d expected, the view from those windows was spectacular, a panorama of snow-covered peaks, miles of evergreen trees, and valleys filled with clouds. The sun had already settled behind the mountain range, leaving a vibrant pink glow in its wake. Her throat tightened. I never want to leave this place.
She sensed Dillon’s presence at her side and she smiled. “I’m speechless.”
“A view like this helps make problems seem insignificant.” He was silent for a moment, then took her arm. “Come on, I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour.”
Even through her jacket, his touch sent an electrifying sensation through her body and she was reminded that, in a few hours, she’d be faced with one of the more emotional decisions of her brief life as Ginger Green.
The great room was invitingly arranged with overstuffed chairs and loungers, and an aged leather sofa. Magazines littered the top of a coffee table carved from a huge slab of wood with hundreds of growth rings. A brightly colored lap robe was draped over the back of the sofa, and a woven Indian rug covered a portion of the uneven plank floor. To one side of the seating area, a granite fireplace dominated most of the wall, the stones marching upward and disappearing into the peaked roof. A white bearskin rug sprawled in front of the hearth.
“I spend most of my time right here in front of the fire. When I’m not out tramping the woods, that is.”
“Are we really going skiing tomorrow?”
He turned and considered her for a moment. “Only if you want to. If nothing else, we can just go to the ski lodge and sip cocoa in front of the fire.”
I’d rather do that right here. “No, I’ll give the skiing a shot.”
She peeled off her jacket and, while Dillon put it on a hook by the door, she wandered past the fireplace and found the kitchen. Again, the comparison to her own cooking space was like night and day. The appliances were simply white and functional, while hers had been state-of-the-art brushed steel and black glass. The walls of the kitchen were knotty pine, burnished to a soft glow by time, and a long breakfast bar separated the cooking area from the more traditional din
ing room containing a wooden trestle table and ladder-back chairs.
Dillon called out from the other room. “Make yourself at home. I’m going out to bring in the groceries, then I’ll build a fire.”
Make yourself at home.
“I can do that,” she whispered.
Chapter 23
The sounds of a fire crackled through the air, accompanied by the delicious scent of burning wood. Julia busied herself washing the giant baking potatoes they’d bought. Dillon had disappeared down the stairs to the lower level and she smiled as she listened to doors opening and closing, and his mutterings. A few minutes later, he appeared again, carrying a large cardboard box. He set it on the dining room table, then strode across the kitchen and out the back door.
Julia grinned and shook her head. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer, but a minute later, he struggled back through the door with a small evergreen tree in a black tub. He grunted as he hurried past her and into the great room. Julia wiped her hands and followed him.
He set the pot on the floor and exhaled sharply. “Man, that thing has grown.” He took off his gloves and dropped them on the coffee table. “Can’t have Christmas without a tree.” He chuckled. “We shoulda brought your little tree with us.”
Julia’s eyes burned with tears. She’d had so many Christmases without a tree. Stephen wouldn’t have one in the house—called it a hollow ritual.
Dillon appeared directly in front of her. “What’d I do wrong now?”
She sniffled, then reached out and laid her hand on his chest. “Absolutely nothing.”
He covered her hand with his, sincerity reflecting in his eyes. “Ginger, you can trust me with anything. I’ll never hurt you.”
The warmth of his touch and the warmth in his eyes settled into her body like the heat from the fire. Any decisions she made now would be good ones.
Dillon’s eyes twinkled. “Wait here.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, returning seconds later with the cardboard box. “I have no idea what-all is in here, but it’s better than a naked tree.”
He opened the box and began parceling out ornaments and garlands of tinsel.
“Hey, you want some wine? I think there’s some good stuff downstairs.”
She nodded and picked up a glittering star treetop ornament. “I’d like that.”
For the next hour, they sipped red wine and laughed their way through decorating the small tree. Dillon’s tree lights were the old-fashioned kind with big bulbs, and they looked ridiculous on the three-foot tree. The gold tinsel garland circled the tree twice, leaving barely any room for ornaments. Dillon crowed with glee as he pulled out a carved wooden Santa and held it up.
“I loved this guy when I was a kid.”
He hung the ornament on one of the lower branches, then dived back into the box. Treasure after treasure appeared, all nostalgic remnants of his youth, and Julia’s heart swelled with happiness. This was the closest thing to a real Christmas she’d had in many years.
When the box was empty, Dillon shoved it out of the way, then handed her the star. “You’re the guest of honor…you put it on.”
While she adjusted the star to sit straight, Dillon poured them each another glass of wine.
He plugged in the lights. “Ta-da.”
The tiny tree no longer looked ridiculous. Rather, it seemed to grow larger with the glow of the colored lights and the glittering garland. The thin branches and flaws of its natural shape disappeared under the mantle of baubles.
Lifting his glass in the air, Dillon smiled. “Here’s to you, Miss Green. Merry Christmas.”
After dinner, Julia brewed a pot of coffee and hummed while she tidied the kitchen. Dillon’s mastery in the steak-cooking department would give any five-star restaurant a run for its money. Dinner had been a pleasant and relaxing experience, unlike sitting across from Stephen’s disapproving countenance.
She slammed the dishtowel down on the counter. Damn it, you have to stop thinking about him. He’s history. Don’t screw up your one chance to feel like a human being again. She filled two mugs with coffee and headed for the great room. Dillon had hauled the sofa over in front of the fireplace, and she set the coffee down. He was standing at the windows staring out into the dark and she wasn’t sure if she should intrude.
He turned and walked toward her. “Snow’s really beginning to fly. Should be great skiing tomorrow.” He sat down and patted the cushion beside him. “I don’t bite, you know.”
The leather gave off a fragrance that brought saddles and bridles to mind, and Julia swallowed hard. Why was it so difficult to put thoughts of the past out of her mind? She gave Dillon a sidelong glance and settled back into the cushion. She definitely needed something else to think about.
“Tell me about your travels as a military brat.”
“Pretty boring stuff…are you sure?”
“How could it be? Getting to see different places, start over every time you move.”
He threw her a withering look. “Oh yeah, the starting over was great.”
She chuckled. “Well, tell me anyway.”
“My step-dad was a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps, so he wasn’t transferred as often as the enlisted men, but still, his leadership skills were excellent, so he was offered new posts more often than would be normal.”
“Your step-father?”
Dillon’s eyes darkened. “My real dad was a father in blood only.”
Julia recognized more iceberg below the surface and she quickly deflected with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I won’t interrupt again.”
Stories of places Dillon had loved, and the places he’d hated, followed one after the other. The warmth of the fire and wine, and the security of the beautiful hideaway lulled Julia into a drowsy, dreamy state. She sank back into the cushions, faintly aware of Dillon’s arm across her shoulders. Finally, her head rested on his chest and sleep crept in.
Dillon’s voice murmured close by. “Come on, sleepy head. You’ll feel better if you spend the night in a bed.”
As they climbed the stairs, Julia’s groggy brain tried to sort out what would happen next. A minute later, Dillon ushered her into a small bedroom and turned on the light. He set her bag down next to the bed, then turned and brushed his fingers across her cheek.
“Sleep tight. You’ll need your energy tomorrow.”
As she drifted off, her ever-reaching mind wondered what that might mean, other than skiing...
Early the next morning, Dillon hummed as he adjusted the heat under the sizzling bacon. Last night had been the first good sleep he’d had in a long time—solid and deep, filled with upbeat and provocative dreams. He stared at the frying pan for a moment, thinking about the woman sleeping upstairs. First of all, he was surprised at how pleasant it felt to have a woman in the house. For years he’d kept his liaisons separate from his personal space. There’d been some great relationships, an almost-proposal, and a string of meaningless romps.
He turned the bacon strips, then checked the cinnamon rolls in the oven, trying to quell the feeling of sadness about his failure with the only woman he’d ever cared about enough to consider marriage. He closed the oven door with a snap. Sal’s murder had changed all that—not Dillon’s feelings, but his recognition that he could never subject a loved one to the prospect of becoming a widow.
A small sound intruded and Ginger’s smiling face appeared on the other side of the breakfast bar.
Her voice was husky with sleep. “Wow, that smells so good.” She sat on one of the stools. “What time did I go to bed?”
Dillon poured a cup of coffee and pushed it across the counter. “Wee hours, I’m not sure exactly. Did you sleep okay?”
She gazed at him, her eyes now clear and alert. And green.
“Better than I can ever remember.”
Dillon busied himself with the eggs, struggling with the overwhelming urge to go around to the other side and gather her into his arms. She s
eemed so vulnerable and fragile. What violence had she endured at the hands of her husband? Would she even be able to enjoy a physical relationship? His chest tightened. His mother had remained single for a long time before she had let a new man into her life. Though Dillon didn’t know any of the details, he’d sensed her fear of the vulnerability of intimacy. His own growing desire to share himself with Ginger would be tempered by whatever she’d gone through. But before he could even think like that, he had some unfinished business.
He expertly flipped the omelet and set the pan aside. “Look outside.”
Ginger slipped off the stool and padded over to the windows, her soft voice trailing behind her. “Ohhh, it’s so beautiful. It must have snowed all night.”
“Six more inches. I’ll have to plow the driveway before we can get out.” He set two plates on the counter. “Come and get it. I hope you’re hungry.”
A minute later, she bit into a roll and closed her eyes. “Oh Dillon, that is so good. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
He chuckled. “Necessity. This place isn’t exactly close to any restaurants—not that I don’t get enough restaurant food on the road.”
She set the roll down and licked her fingers. “I was thinking about this skiing thing. I didn’t bring any outdoor clothing.”
“You’re about as tall as me. I think something of mine will fit you.”
She snorted. “That’d be the first time my height worked in my favor.”
“How so? I’d have thought it would be an advantage. Models are tall, basketball players are tall.”
Ginger almost choked with laughter. “Oh, yeah, Miss Grace here.”
Dillon set down his fork and gazed at her. “You know…it’s your turn.”
Confusion flashed through her eyes. “For what?”
“Stories. Childhood. Hobbies.”
Her features hardened ever so slightly. “Why are you so interested in this stuff?”
He leveled a sober look at her. “Why are you sitting in my kitchen? Is this trip just a lark? A way to pass some idle time?” He pushed his plate away and stood up. “I thought we had some sort of connection going here, but I’m obviously mistaken. I won’t bother you anymore.”
