Holiday Homecoming

by Jillian Hart

  “Kristin! Hurry!” Mom’s call echoed up the stairwell.

  “I’m coming!” she answered just as there was a rattle at the back door. It was amazing she could hear it over the racket downstairs.

  New greetings rose over the excited voices in the kitchen below. It sounded as if Mary was here.

  Mary. Kristin froze in the hallway. If Mom had invited her best friend, then did that mean she’d invited Ryan, too?

  No. There was no way a man like him would be interested in a sleigh ride into the hills. Relief sluiced through her. She couldn’t imagine it—

  “Merry Christmas, Mrs. McKaslin.” A familiar male voice. Ryan’s voice.

  He was here. Her knuckles gripped the banister but she couldn’t make her feet carry her forward. She hadn’t answered his letter. Hadn’t taken him up on his offer of a milkshake. And why? Because Mom would make such a big deal about it if she found out. Because she was under enough pressure. She’d disappointed her parents enough.

  “Nice kitty.” Allie, dainty and precious in her pink sweater that said Grandma’s Little Princess and the cutest little pair of jeans, collapsed on the landing. Her arms wrapped around Minnie’s middle and squeezed. “Soft kitty.”

  Kristin wasn’t fooled by the disgruntled frown on the feline’s face. She could hear the contented purr from six steps up. She stopped to give her three-year-old niece a kiss on the cheek.

  “Kristin!” Mom sounded impatient. “We’re leaving without you.”

  It was tempting, but she wasn’t about to miss one of her favorite holiday customs. She’d have to talk to Mom about this later.

  As for Ryan, she’d be polite to him. She liked him. But she didn’t like him. Mom would just have to accept that her and Mary’s matchmaking was an abysmal failure.

  As Kristin hurried to the kitchen, the merry ring of dozens of jingle bells filled the air with their sweet music. Two matched pairs of Clydesdales flashed past the dining-room window. In the next room, she could hear Mom ordering everyone outside and giving Karen last-minute instructions.

  “I know, Mom, don’t worry, just go,” Karen said laughingly as she scooped up daughter number two and held the squiggling toddler captive on her hip. “Have a great time. Remember, I want something small. Not ten feet tall. Where’s Dad? I’ll tell him myself. Last Christmas you got us a tree that didn’t fit in our house. Hi, Kris.”

  “Hey, big sister.” Kristin gave Karen a hug and baby Anna a raspberry kiss that made the toddler giggle. “Yeah, where’s Dad?”

  “He headed into town to have breakfast.” Mom’s words were tight, but her smile was firmly in place.

  Her fake smile. The one she used when she didn’t want to acknowledge something was wrong.

  Kristin saw the question on Karen’s face, too. Dad leaving for town on a day like this? Getting the family Christmas trees was something he looked forward to every year. Kristin opened her mouth to ask if they should wait, but Karen shook her head.

  That could only mean one thing—there had been serious discord between Mom and Dad. Perhaps they’d had an argument or a heated fight. Maybe this was the one that would tear them apart for good.

  Kristin’s stomach twisted. Please, Lord. Not now. Since the birth of their first grandchild, her parents had been on speaking terms and had been creeping incrementally closer to one another. And now, who knew? She just wanted them to love each other the way they used to.

  “I’ll join Mary outside. Kristin, you’ll close the door behind you?” Mom handed her a thick parka and a pair of gloves. She looked frail and tired.

  Why hadn’t she noticed that last night when she’d arrived? Because she’d been tired herself after about fifteen hours on the road. She was still tired.

  “Sure.” She waited until Mom was out of hearing range to whisper to Karen. “What about their gift?”

  “Yeah. I know.” Karen looked troubled, too, as she set Anna down on her pink tennis shoes. The toddler took off on a flat-footed gait after Mickey, who was hiding beneath the table. “Pray.”

  “Yeah. Big-time.”

  Snow drifted on the wind, tiny spun-sugar flakes, as delicate as air. They caught on her lashes and tickled her cheek as she zipped up her old winter coat. She tugged the back door shut behind her, lost. What were they going to do about their parents?

  “I say we don’t fight it.” A man’s melted-butter baritone had her turning around. Ryan, chainsaw in hand, waded through the knee-deep snow from the direction of the detached garage.

  “Fight what? And why do you have Dad’s chain saw? Oh, I get it. That’s what you’re doing here.”

  “Yep. Believe me, I’m freezing and it’s early and I’d rather be reading the morning paper in front of the woodstove. But my mom and yours pleaded with me. Since Pete isn’t going to work the chain saw, they needed a man, they said. I couldn’t turn them down.”

  “Our moms have way too much time on their hands. I know how to work a chain saw. I helped Dad every year bring in wood for the winter. So did Karen and Kendra.”

  “So basically I’m here under false pretenses?” Ryan watched her nod and it didn’t surprise him—not one bit. Yeah, Mom was up to no good. Just as he’d suspected. “Our moms have worked so hard plotting how to put us together. Like I said, why fight it? It will only make them try harder.”

  “I’m sorry about this.” Fiery pink crept across Kristin’s fine-boned face.

  Ryan doubted it was from the cold wind alone. He understood, and he hated seeing the reserved way she was keeping distance between them. Normally that kind of thing didn’t bother him, but he liked Kristin. She was into her career, that was her focus. He sure understood that, and he figured they had to stick together against the marriage-minded. “Don’t be sorry. We’ll ignore them. What’s the saying around these parts—you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink?”

  “You can’t make her drink,” she corrected, and some of that fiery sparkle returned to her eyes.

  Yeah, she was a girl with spunk. Ryan held out his hand. “Let’s make them pay for manipulating us. C’mon, friend.”

  He loved her smile. Big, bold, genuine. When she smiled, it was like sunshine on a snow that lit up the entire world.

  She slid her delicate hand into his. “You’re on, friend. Do you know how to use that chain saw?”

  “How can you ask that? I’m a Montana boy at heart.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a city man now.”

  “No more than you’re an urban woman. Cutting down a tree is something every real man knows. My dad used to take me up into the woods when I was a kid. Don’t worry. I know how to use this thing.” He hiked the dangling chain saw for emphasis.

  Kristin bit her bottom lip to keep quiet. Testosterone!

  “Hurry up, you two!” Kendra popped up beside the giant horses, tugged on the harness, patted one of the gentle giants on the neck and took up the reins. “Ryan, have you ever been on a horse-drawn sleigh?”

  “No, ma’am. Looks like I’m in for a treat. Aren’t the little ones coming along?”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Kristin answered, stole the chain saw from him and stowed it safely beneath the front board seat. She talked to her sister in a low whisper, heads together, in the way that women do, before leaving Kendra to settle the dual set of thick leather reins between her gloved fingers. “Karen’s staying behind with the kids. Allie might be old enough next year.”

  That made sense. The chilly temperature alone was enough to give a guy hypothermia. Of course, maybe that had more to do with the thin summer-weight sweatshirt he had on beneath Dad’s old coat. The goose-down parka cut a lot of the wind’s bite, but not enough. And it only covered him so much. His legs and feet were bone cold.

  His mom had taken up position on the board seat next to Kendra, and she looked proud of herself. “You two find a place and sit down.”

  “Sure, Mom.” Yeah, he was going to have to have a talk with her. Set it out straight and tell her how
it was. And not just about Kristin. About Dad, coming here—everything. But now wasn’t the time.

  Kristin climbed aboard the sleigh, which was more of a sled for hauling than riding. A layer of local hay, sweet smelling and soft, lined the back in a fluffy bed. She snuggled in, sitting so her feet dangled off the back.

  He climbed in beside her. “So, you people do this every year?”

  “Sure. It never occurred to me that other people didn’t cut their own trees every year, until I was away at college and saw a Christmas-tree lot. I laughed so hard, I cried.”

  “There aren’t a lot of fir trees in Phoenix. They have to truck them in. It costs a bundle for a real tree. So I bought a plastic one. It stays in a box for pretty much a whole year and I let Mom take it out when she comes down.”

  “Plastic trees. Yeah, that’s what I put up in my house. I have one of those little ones. My cats hate it, but it’s simpler, since I always come here for Christmas.”

  “Yeah.” Christmas. Ryan hated to think about the lights he didn’t put up and the tree still in its box in the garage. “It doesn’t seem right without my dad.”

  He heard the words coming out of his mouth. Too honest. Too private. He stared down at the coat he wore, the navy-blue nylon flecked with snowflakes, and willed the pain to stay down. Didn’t quite succeed at it.

  The sleigh jerked forward, the skids squeaking on the fresh snow. Ryan’s bones rattled. His teeth clacked together. His spine snapped. The jarring start smoothed out into a sensation of gliding. The tiny bells on the harnesses made a sweet sound. “Not too bad.”

  “Wait until the horses pick up speed. Then it’s like flying. Oh! Here we go! Hold on!” Her gloved hands curled around the ends of the floorboards as the sleigh pitched again, accentuated by the jingling bells, and eased into an eye-watering cruising speed.

  It was too cold to talk, with the wind whipping by. Silence was the best way to enjoy the ride as she got caught up in the rhythmic chink of the horses’ hooves on the compacted snow, the caroling bells and the lilting rhythm of the women’s voices in the seat up front. Somehow, Ryan’s melancholy seemed out of sync with the pleasant grassy scent of the hay, and the snowflakes falling in a lazy waltz from a white-gray sky that went on forever.

  Despite his soul-deep pain, Ryan savored the sheer exhilaration of the snow-mantled earth flying out from under him, the solemn stance of wooden fence posts wearing snowlike hats, their wooden rails outstretched like arms. Nothing moved, not bird or deer or rabbit except for the crystal flakes everywhere descending.

  Kristin leaned close, bringing with her the scent of fabric softener and vanilla. Her scarf felt like a kitten’s fur against his cheek. Something sharp as a pin’s prick jabbed him deep inside, turning him inward again. His chest ached and he felt…

  He didn’t know what he felt.

  The earth felt solemn, as if sleeping. The morning was calm as the valley fields rolled away and the horses started to climb. Random trees appeared, then more and more, until it was a forest draped in white, silent with grace. It felt as if something were speaking to him, not with words, but to his heart. A tug that pulled at his very sturdy defenses.

  He watched her as she breathed deep the cold air and lifted her face to the sky.

  “This ride blows me away every year.” She blinked at the snowflakes caught on her eyelashes. “I’ve done nothing for the last three weeks but shop and stress and worry and rush here and there. Wait through traffic without moving. Circle parking garages for over half an hour looking for any old spot to park in. Push my way through crowded malls and wait in long lines. On top of work, feeling like there’s never enough time and so much to do.”

  “I did all my shopping late. Made a list, made one stop at the mall. Caught a bunch of sales, wasn’t too bad at all. Okay, I only have Mom and Mia to buy for, except for the office girls at work and my nurse, so it’s not bad. We don’t have a big family, the way you do.”

  “Yeah. But when I’m here, feeling the snow on my face and seeing it grace the trees, it hits me every time. All the stress melts away. Nothing has changed, not in two thousand years. All the hustle and hurry-up and decorating and gift buying is all done because of a single child born long ago. That the heart of Christmas is the same and always will be.”

  “I hear it wasn’t easy for the Wise Men, either. Sure, they didn’t have mall traffic to deal with, but they rode forever on a camel’s back. Think of it. No air-conditioning. No roadside convenience stores. No motels or fast food along the way. No Global Positioning System. No triple A.”

  “I hadn’t quite thought of it like that before.” When she laughed, the sound was as dulcet as the bells ringing.

  Whatever was hurting within him lifted through him like a bird in flight, filling his eyes so he turned away. It was the cold making his eyes tear.

  Nothing more.

  The sleigh slowed to a stop on snow so pure, it looked like clouds. The sun poked out between a break in the clouds to smile on the wintry forest, and a billion glimmers shone everywhere making the world so bright, it hurt to look at it.

  “Notice how they sent us out to scout for trees.” Ryan’s stride was bigger than hers, and the knee-deep snow hardly troubled him.

  “I noticed.” Kristin trekked beside him, working harder to keep up with him. The snow was deep and dangerous. While they weren’t in the mountains, snow pack avalanching off the ridge nearby had them sticking to the thicker woods, where the trees offered protection.

  Though it made it tougher to hike. She pushed aside a branch, and snow cascaded down on her, slipping between her collar and the back of her neck. Talk about freezing. She shivered. “I don’t know if they’re trying to pair us up or give us hypothermia.”

  “Yeah, notice how they didn’t offer us one of those thermoses your sister brought with her. Hot chocolate?”

  “And coffee.” Kristin knew from experience. “When we were kids, Mom would bundle all of us up and Granddad would come by on his sled. Gramma was the one who brought the hot drinks then, and a bag of homemade Christmas cookies, too, and we’d sing carols all the way up and all the way back. But things change.”

  “People leave you.”

  “Yep. First Granddad. Then Allison. You said it doesn’t seem right without your dad. That’s the way it is with me, too. I don’t know how my sisters do it. They go on, they get married, have kids. I don’t know. I guess they’ve coped with it in their own ways, but I can’t pretend Allison didn’t die. It’s like saying she didn’t exist, that she didn’t matter.”

  “Yeah.” Ryan sounded choked. “Yeah.”

  Because it hurt, she said nothing more. Let the cold chap her face and burn down her throat when she breathed. “What about that one?”

  “I think it would be just the right size for Mom’s living room. Here, let me get this contraption started.” Pointing the tip downward, safely away from their feet, he yanked on the starter. The small motor coughed before it started on the second pull. The earsplitting whine shattered the serenity.

  Kristin held the shoulder-high cedar by the trunk, as Ryan knelt to dig the saw into the bark at the snow line. The vibration rocketed through her arm until the tree came loose. The roar died, and Ryan set the saw aside as she kept the young tree from falling on its perfect branches.

  Yep, he was a Montana boy at heart, just as he’d said. He handled the chain saw with the same competence that he did everything.

  When he helped her lay the tree gently on its side in the snow, the solid length of his arm bumped hers. He was one hundred percent substantial man. Dependable. Amazing.

  Was it her imagination, or was her pulse skyrocketing?

  He hiked the chain saw up by the handle. Snow clung to him everywhere—hair, jaw, shoulders and thighs. “Your family wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of cross-country skis, would they?”

  It took a few seconds for her brain to register his question. “Uh, in the garage. I’ll check when we get back.”
>
  “Thanks. I appreciate it. Mom sold my old pair at a garage sale, like ten years ago.” He trudged toward a huddle of firs. “These trees are about eight feet. Think your sisters would like them?”

  Kristin squinted at the threesome of evergreens. It was easy to imagine each proudly bearing twinkle lights on their tender branches.

  By the time they’d cut all three trees, she and Ryan were working together as a team. She held the tree, he used the saw, and they stacked the trees carefully to keep the limbs and needles from being damaged.

  “Can I ask you something pretty personal?” Beneath the arching pines and reaching cedar, he looked more dream than man as the sunlight faded, leaving him in shadow.

  She felt rooted in place as snow began to pummel down, tapping on her coat, catching in her hair. It was as if a veil shrouded them, and although their mothers and Kendra were just on the other side of the rise, maybe ten yards away, the curtain closed around just the two of them.

  It felt as if they were the only two people anywhere.

  Did Ryan feel this, too? She swallowed. “What do you want to know?”

  He leaned so close all that separated them was the snow-filled air. “You lost your sister years ago. How can you do it? Come back here and go on. How did you make everything okay?”

  “It’s not. It will never be fine again.”

  “Then how can you come home year after year? How do you get past it? I—” Pain lined his face, shadowed his eyes, tensed his jaw.

  He was talking about his father. Sympathy tugged in her chest and she reached out. His arm was iron solid beneath her fingertips. The image of him that night when he’d helped the car-accident victim arrowed into her mind. He’d been awesome. She’d never have guessed he had wounds of his own that would never heal.

  She knew exactly what that felt like. “I—”

  “Ryan? Kristin?” Mom’s voice carried on the rising wind. “Where did you two get off to?”

  Kristin withdrew her hand as her mother trudged into sight, but it was too late. Mom was already grinning from earmuff to earmuff. “Interrupted you, I see. Ryan, be a dear and come with me. We’ve found the perfect tree for my living room.”