by Dora Hiers
“I chucked it out by the curb on Christmas day that year.”
“The day your mom died.” Her fingers stilled against the prickly limb as she twisted towards him.
“Yeah.” He gulped. “My dad must have dragged it back into the house.”
She smiled and resumed decorating. “Must bring back memories then, seeing the tree up and…” Alive. No, she couldn’t say that. The poor tree was barely hanging on by its threads, but she didn’t want to dash his memories.
He plucked up another fragile ornament in his giant hands, hands capable of catapulting her into the air, and then catching her at just the right second. He cradled the glass, a wistful expression on his face, as he stared at the tree, almost as if he’d disappeared back in time. Then, with a little shake of his head, he attached the ornament. “Yeah. I wanted to put it up again. For her.” The last two words were spoken so quietly, they were almost lost in a swell of the music.
They continued working together in silence, occasionally sipping their coffee.
Finally, the last adornment, the angel, finished the tree.
“Done,” Conner said, glancing sideways at her. “Thanks for helping.”
“My pleasure.” Decorating had given her more time with him, and it was…safe. “Oh. I almost forgot why I came by.” She scrambled to the coat rack and dug into her pocket. “I think this is yours.” She held out the player.
He chuckled and took it from her, the slight brush of his fingers doing a number on her tummy. “Yeah. I wondered where I left it.”
“Well, it’s late. I better be going.” Not that she really wanted to leave, but this cozy nearness to Conner was starting to frazzle her heart.
He held her jacket while she slid her arms through the sleeves, his fingers squeezing her shoulders before wrapping around the doorknob, blocking her exit. “Thanks for all your help tonight. I probably wouldn’t have finished until sometime next week if it weren’t for you.” His voice came out husky.
Maybe it was the soft crackles that came from the fireplace, or the subtle fragrance that settled over her, all male and woodsy, that set her on edge. Whatever. She had to get out of here before she did something stupid like stand on her toes and lift her face for a kiss. She moved away from him and the warmth his body generated, edging right up to the doorframe, waiting to slither out through the tiniest of cracks like the coward she was. “You’re welcome.”
He smiled, a knowing look teasing his lips, and opened the door.
She squeezed by, not breathing until her boots landed on the snow covered driveway. She glanced back.
The dim light coming from the family room cast Conner’s bulky frame in shadows as he blocked the doorway, watching her. A moonbeam highlighted his face, all remnants of humor dissolved, replaced by a sadness, so painful and raw, and a rigid stance as if it was him alone against the world.
Oy. Seeing him like that, so vulnerable and exposed, was even more dangerous to her heart.
4
Chaney pushed the heavy door open and flicked on the lights to the pitch-black rink. Sunday mornings she had the ice all to herself thanks to her mom and good old Pete.
It didn’t take long to lace her skates, and the cool breeze fanned her cheeks as she glided across the ice, breathing in—she sniffed— yeasty pretzels, apparently last night’s concession stand food of choice, and beer and sweat. But even better than that…solitude. With a two-year-old to care for, private moments like this were sparse, and she intended to enjoy every second. No music. No students. No—
“Good morning.” A deep masculine voice echoed through the cavernous space, and blades cut through the ice with a precision and skill that only came from years of practice.
Conner? OK. So maybe she lost her private time this morning, but she surely wouldn’t complain about Conner’s presence. “Hey,” she said, slowing for him to catch up with her.
“You’re up early.” His arm snaked around her back just like old times. As if the many years apart hadn’t severed their connection, their ability to move in perfect synchrony, to create breathtaking, enchanting art on ice.
“It’s the only time I have for, um, free skating.” She didn’t want to make him feel bad for interrupting her privacy.
“Ah. Carole watching Annabelle again?” The vulnerable look from last night was gone. Confidence straightened his posture as they sailed around the rink, linked together, and his intense cobalt eyes danced with excitement and…a teasing glint. “Must be nice to have a built-in babysitter.”
She gave him a gentle shove with her shoulder, knocking him slightly off balance. He feigned tripping, but when he stopped horsing around, she ended up snugged even closer to his side.
Had he done that on purpose? Or had she just imagined it? Not that she was complaining. Especially not when his spicy citrus and woodsy scent enveloped her like a warm, cozy blanket or when his muscled leg brushed against hers.
“Actually, when Annabelle came to live with us, and I started teaching, Mom suggested that Sunday mornings would be a great time to skate just for the joy of skating.”
“Wise woman.”
“Yeah. She is. I’m not sure I could have done this parenting gig without her help.”
“I’m sure you would be a wonderful mother, with or without Carole’s help.” He glanced sideways, his gaze warming her as much as the arm around her back, before turning back to lead them around the curve. “What happened to Hailey, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Her eyelids fluttered closed, as if to shut out her sister’s hurtful words the last time they’d been together. When Hailey had basically abandoned Annabelle. And Hailey hadn’t just abandoned her daughter, but her mother and sister, as well. They hadn’t heard from her since she left.
“She blamed me for stealing our mother.”
Conner’s face turned towards her again, his expression matching his tone. “What?”
“Yeah. She got pregnant. Claimed that she didn’t know who the father was.” That had almost destroyed their mother. “She stayed at home until she had Annabelle. Stuck around for a couple months. Then, one night, she literally blew a gasket. Blamed me for all the hours Mom spent shuttling me back and forth to the ice rink and all the competitions. She stormed out without her baby. We haven’t heard from her since. “
“After all these years she threw that in your face? That’s crazy.”
She shrugged. “I guess it just built up. She never mentioned her feelings until the day she left. But I never really asked, either.” Guilt had plagued Chaney since that awful confrontation two years ago, and God’s consistent response through prayer and studying her Bible had been “commitment.” Commitment to Annabelle. Commitment to parenting, to the path that God had laid out for her. That if Hailey never came back to Evergreen Peak to claim her daughter and be a parent, Chaney would do her absolute best to step in and raise Annabelle for her sister. To make up for what Hailey felt she’d stolen from her.
“It’s not your fault, Chaney. People have choices in life.”
****
People have choices in life. Just like he’d chosen to skip town and join the Army after his mom died. But back on the ice with Chaney in his arms again, her silky hair tickling his cheek and her soft body nestled next to his, her feminine curves and sweet smile creating havoc with his pulse, would he have made the same choice?
Hard to say since his dad had been the deciding factor. That, and his ultimatum the day of the funeral. Conner hadn’t had time to process his mom’s sudden death or to grieve, but suddenly, he’d been forced to choose between his home and his dream of skating in the Olympics. Skating, period.
You can continue to live at home, Son, for as long as you like. But there will be no more skating. Your mom coddled you with that foolishness for way too long.
Without realizing it, Conner had picked up their pace, and Chaney’s ponytail bobbed with the breeze. He gripped her waist and signaled for their signature lift. At her slight nod, he ho
isted her petite frame up and over his shoulders, executing an intricate element that had always garnered immediate applause. He held that position as long as he dared, his legs gliding across the ice until they nearly buckled, his arm muscles straining in punishment at the memories that routine dredged up—bittersweet and downright painful, warring with a sense of rightness.
He’d given it all up, surrendered this pleasure of creating poetic elegance on the ice with a partner who matched his rhythm, skate for skate, and whose aspirations of winning the gold had rivaled his own. Forced into submission by a narrow-minded, chauvinistic father who didn’t believe that men should skate.
But had his hasty decision really accomplished anything? He worked at tempering his breathing and slowed his pace, carefully lowering Chaney back to the ice. When she steadied on her skates, his arm wrapped around her and he lowered her back halfway to the ice, and then halted their progress.
She gazed up at him, those luscious, forest-green eyes trusting, glowing with pleasure. Her spicy fruit and floral scent drifted up to him, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to kiss those strawberry red lips.
His arm tightened around her, and he tugged her up, bringing their torsos together so close that their breaths mingled and they became one form against the ice. Her eyes widened, and then her dark lashes rested against ivory cheeks.
Was she really inviting him to kiss her? But she didn’t know…didn’t know what he did for a living now. And shouldn’t he apologize first for stealing her dreams with his impetuous choice?
“I’m sorry, Chaney.” His voice came out husky, overflowing with broken dreams and pent-up longing. All he’d ever really wanted in life had been his faith, Chaney, and skating.
He had reconciled with God over the lost years. Had even picked up his skates again, and this time, no one could stop him from skating. But Chaney? He was probably the last person she wanted in her life right now.
Her lids flashed open, and her chest lifted with a sigh. Her hand floated up to cradle his cheek, her palm smooth against the rough smattering of whiskers. “It’s OK, Conner. You need to let it go. I have.”
“Have you? Really?”
Her lips tightened and her hand dropped away from his face, and God help him, he already missed her gentle, soothing touch. Using his shoulder, she pulled herself upright, away from his arms.
“It’s in the past. We can’t turn back time, as much as we might like to, sometimes. Besides,” she speared him with a determined look, and then glided away, “I have Annabelle now. And I wouldn’t change that for anything.”
He followed her, catching up to match her quiet, uncomplicated rhythm. “What happens if your sister comes back?”
She shrugged and her fingers swiped at her cheek. “I can’t lie. It would hurt, but Annabelle is Hailey’s daughter. God’s only entrusted her into my care for a season. But just like our dreams, our ambitions for the gold, the Annabelle season will eventually pass, too. I’m quite sure of it.”
If he hadn’t been sure of his love before now, those words cinched it. She was so beautiful, so brave, so faithful.
He reached for her hand again on the pretense of practicing more elements, but really, he just wanted to be close to her, to achieve that total oneness on ice. They skated silently for a few more minutes, recreating a semblance of their last routine.
She landed back on the ice after a flawless axel jump, and spun around to face him, skating backwards, her long, tights-clad legs still in terrific shape. “I could use your help, Conner.”
Her scent drifted into his zone, and her sultry green eyes rendered him powerless to refuse any request she made. “You name it.”
“Don’t you want to know what it is first?” she teased, her dimples flashing.
He shrugged. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that hard.”
Chuckling, she veered towards the opening to the ice and stepped through. He followed. They sat down on the bench and began unlacing their skates. Disappointment that their time alone together was ending slithered into his gut. He’d do anything to make the time last—
“Well, since you’re in such an agreeable mood, how about joining us for church this morning?”
Except that. He might be on speaking terms with God again, but he wasn’t quite ready to attend church. Not when there’d be questions and stares and whispers behind covered mouths. “I…can’t. I’m on shift today.” Might as well try out the explanations with Chaney.
“Really? So you’re actually working somewhere? I thought you were just back in town to get the house ready to sell.”
He took a deep breath. That had been his original intention, but somewhere during the last few days, that goal kept getting pushed farther back in his brain. He’d even taken a break from cleaning out the attic room. “I…I’m not sure yet.”
Her eyes widened with emotion, what he couldn’t tell.
“But I’m working part time at the automotive center while I clean out the house. I figured that would give me time to decide what to do next.”
Her hand lighted on his palm and lifted it from his thigh. Her fingertips glazed the calluses. Tingles from her touch zapped up and down his arm, kindling the spark in his heart for her, the one that time and distance had never extinguished. Her head was bent, studying his palm, and when her gaze strayed to him, he expected to see disappointment lurking there. But that wasn’t the case. No, before her lashes dipped to close over those creamy cheeks, he glimpsed something much better, more promising. Hope?
He sucked in a breath. Was it even possible? Would she consider going out with the likes of him?
When she looked up, her lips curved in a shy smile, her tone soft and inviting. “Well, Conner Weddington. I know you’ll figure it out.”
The only thing he could figure out right now was that her touch and that sweet voice were driving him to the brink of disaster. Like wanting to crush her to his chest and kiss her silly.
She stood, but he was reluctant to move off the bench for fear his legs would give out on him.
“Maybe next week, then.”
What? Oh, church. “Yeah. That might work better.” Give him time to work up his courage. And to ask for the day off.
She started to walk away, but then turned back, her head tilted to the side, doubt and hope warring across her face. “Annabelle and I are going shopping for a Christmas tree later this afternoon. Would you like to join us?”
So she wanted to spend more time with him, even after he told her the truth about his job? A smile tugged at his lips, and his heart felt lighter than it had in years. “Yeah. That sounds great.”
Suddenly, Christmas didn’t seem so bad.
5
Conner spooned the last bite of chili into his mouth, savoring the spicy, meaty goodness before swallowing. “Mmmm. That was delicious. Thank you.” The spoon clanked inside the empty ceramic bowl. He couldn’t help that Mrs. Mitchum had insisted on refilling his bowl two more times, could he?
“You don’t have to pretend you like it, Conner,” Carole teased, and then sipped her diet cola.
He’d anticipated Chaney’s mother to greet him with coolness or even indifference, but she hadn’t been either. Instead, she’d pulled him into a bear hug the moment he stepped through the front door, her cheeks brimming with tears.
Grace. Forgiveness. So not what he’d expected after he’d stomped on her baby girl’s dreams.
“When we goin’ to decrate the tree, An Chaney?” Annabelle, who’d been incredibly patient during dinner, piped up, and then crammed an oversized spoon of macaroni and cheese into her mouth, puffing out her tiny cheeks.
He hid his grin behind a hand. Dressed in a cherry red, striped long-sleeved shirt and cute little pants—did they call those things leggings?—with giant hearts sewn at the knees, Annabelle had stolen his heart right along with her aunt. She’d been adorable at the tree farm, shouting, “This one! This one!” until she scrambled to the next giant fir and repeated the process, her gr
een eyes, so much like Chaney’s, aglow with excitement.
“As soon as you finish your dinner.” Chaney smiled, love evident in the patient look she gave her niece.
Annabelle chewed faster and shoved more gooey pasta into her mouth.
His brows crinkled, and this time he couldn’t contain his laughter.
“Done!” Annabelle’s fork plunked down on the table, and she scrambled to get down from her booster seat.
But Chaney was too quick and scooped the little one up in her arms. “How about we wash our hands and face first.”
When Annabelle’s pained look flashed towards him, he stood, collected some of the soiled dishes and stepped over to the sink next to them. “Let’s wash up, then.”
“You guys don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of them and join you in a jif,” Mrs. Mitchum said.
“What’s a jif?” Annabelle asked, wrinkling her face as Chaney scrubbed it. At least, she’d lost that worried expression.
“It means shortly, like in a few minutes,” Chaney explained.
Conner ignored Mrs. Mitchum’s soft snuffle of refusal and made another trip to the sink, dirty dishes stacked in his hands.
Chaney swung the little miss down from the counter, and glanced at her mother. “All right, Mom. If you’re sure?”
Mrs. Mitchum waved her palm in the air, gesturing towards the family room. “Scoot. It’ll take me less time with an empty kitchen.” She turned the faucet and squirted some soap in the sink.
“I believe she’s kicking us out.” Chaney grinned at him.
Annabelle’s hand wrapped tight around Chaney’s, and the little one tugged her into the family room.
Conner stopped in front of the giant fir, planting his fists on his hips and studying it. “What should we do first, Annabelle?” Conner asked.
“Mmmm…” Clearly the tyke was thinking hard. Her dark brows scrunched and her bottom lip disappeared behind tiny teeth.
She was too precious. How could her mother just leave her in someone else’s care, even if that someone was the girl’s aunt?
