"Noah isn't scared of anything," Lindsey said resolutely. Oh, how wrong she was. "Betcha he could beat you in a race, Casey."
The boy's stubborn defiance put Noah’s back up. "Did you know I've never been sledding on a swim tube, Linds? It sounds like fun."
Whatever competitive spirit had overtaken him, he instantly regretted the words. Wasn't he just setting himself up for more hurt by spending time with Jilly and the kids?
* * *
Whatever impulse had made Noah agree to come sledding with them seemed to have worn off quickly. The dissonance was still there between them, and, with the kids present, she didn't know how to break the silence.
The perfect sledding hill wasn't far from the barn. Steep enough to get some speed and distance, but not too steep that climbing it was impossible.
Twenty minutes in, Jilly'd flown down twice with Lindsey in her lap. So far, Noah had been watching. After the boys raced once more down the hill and tumbled off of the rafts, Lindsey raced over to PJ and kept her hands around her mouth to whisper in his ear.
PJ grinned and then glanced Jilly’s way. "You and Noah should race!"
Noah frowned.
"I don't think that's a great idea," Jilly said.
"Come on. It'll be fun!" Lindsey chanted.
"Told ya he was chicken," Casey mumbled, loud enough that they all heard him. What was going on with that boy? She'd thought that the conversation last night had reassured him, but Casey was in an awful mood, despite the fact that it was a snow day.
Noah propped his hands on his hips, but his lips were set in a tight line. "I'm game. We proved I was a better flag football player. Maybe Jilly's the one who is scared."
Oh. The nerve of the man.
"It's on." She grabbed both rafts and held them under her arms as she crunched her way up the hill. She was panting and sweating beneath her heavy coat and sweater by the time she'd made it halfway up.
Noah was behind her, trudging through the snow with his cane. He wasn't struggling with awkward shaped, air-filled plastic, which meant he was catching up to her.
"I could've carried one of those," he ground out.
"I know," she snapped. "I just happened to be closer."
"Are you angry with me?"
She topped the hill and tossed the rafts onto the snow side-by-side. "Are you angry with me?"
Some emotion passed over his face, an expression she couldn't identify as she squinted against the bright sunlight reflecting off the snow.
"Why would I be angry with you?" The words were tight and filled with emotion. "You and the boys obviously have something going on, something more than them taking Honey last night. You were giving them some kind of look back there, like you didn't want me to be a part of the conversation."
She wanted to howl in frustration, but she was cognizant of the kiddos watching from the bottom of the hill. They might not be able to hear what she and Noah were saying, but they were watching. And if she raised her voice, it would carry.
"The boys and I are working things out," she said tightly. "I'm really sorry that you were worried about Honey. "
He nodded, the movement tight and jerky. "You're sorry. But you're not gonna let me in. You're not gonna tell me what's going on."
"You're one to talk. You didn't even call me last night when you needed help finding Honey."
His lips twisted. "What do you mean?"
"Aiden called me."
When realization dawned, his expression hardened, that muscle ticking in his jaw.
"I knew you were busy putting the kids to bed and getting settled in for the night. And it was snowing."
"So? I would've come over anyway. You just didn't want to ask for my help." And that hurt.
She'd thought that he was opening up to her. Maybe he'd reached the limit of how open he could get.
They stood there at an impasse. She stared at him while his eyes were unfocused, fixed somewhere over her shoulder.
"Are you guys going to sled?" PJ’s voice rang out clear in the empty space between them.
"The kids are watching," she reminded him.
"Maybe I should just go home."
Her stomach twisted. She didn't want this to be the moment they ended today on. She needed it to be something else. Something more positive.
"Get on the raft," she said. "You issued me a challenge in front of the kids, and we're doing this."
Cheeks flushed with temper, he bumped the raft with his cane and then knelt beside it. He reached down, mapping its contours with his gloved hand before he settled onto it. He folded up his cane and gripped it in one hand.
She got into her own raft, slipping in the snow and almost toppling herself.
"What do we do—?"
She didn't let him finish his question, kicking off against the ground and nudging his raft with her other foot, sending it spinning down the hill.
They raced side-by-side. Air rushed past, stinging her cheeks. Exhilaration bubbled up, and she couldn't help the laugh that emerged. Beside her, Noah let out a loud yell. A happy yell.
The kids were cheering as they flew past. Their momentum carried them several more yards before they bumped together and were dumped into the white powder.
Unlike during the football game, Noah scrambled away from her. He brushed snow off his pants and coat, extended his cane to reach the ground. "You okay?" he asked tightly.
No. No she wasn't okay.
Before she could answer, there were shouts from the top of the hill.
She was shocked to see Iris and Callum each lugging a toboggan. The twins were halfway down the hill, rolling and running in the snow. PJ let out a loud whoop. Lindsey was already running to greet the boys.
And Noah's expression had shut down completely.
"It's my sister and Callum," she told him.
He nodded. "Guess it's time for me to get out of here after all."
He started trudging away through the snow.
"You're going the wrong way," she called out after him, even though he wasn't. He waved his empty hand in acknowledgment and kept going.
Was he really just going to walk off? Lindsey had invited him to join in the day. She was going to be upset when she realized he’d just abandoned the fun.
She threw up her hands, turning in a circle to try and vent her frustration. Even from this distance, she could see the disappointment etched on Callum's face.
And the fact that Noah was running away again made her angry. Really angry.
She didn't think the words through before she called out, "Hey Callum! Noah just challenged you to a race."
Noah froze. He didn't have to look over his shoulder for her to feel his icy glare.
But at least he’d stopped marching off.
* * *
Jilly had issued him a challenge. Not a silly one like the kids' dare.
She was challenging him to stay. To face Callum and Iris.
His instinct was to keep walking.
But then, Callum's slow drawl echoed down the embankment. "Nah. Noah and I never were much for competing against each other. We always did better on the same team."
Noah had to swallow hard to dislodge the ball of memories and regret that rose up in his throat.
Apparently, Callum wasn't done. "Maybe what he'd like to do is challenge you two women to a snowman building contest. Real friendly like."
Noah's pulse raced, ideas immediately swirling through his head. He and Callum teaming up like old times. Hope inflated like a balloon.
He heard the crunch of boots in the snow. A heavier tread than Jilly's. And then Callum was there clapping a hand on his shoulder. He jumped at the unexpected contact and Callum’s hand fell away.
"I know better than anybody about wanting to leave the past in the past," Callum said in a low voice. "If you're up for it, I'd like to start fresh with our friendship."
That balloon of hope rose up in his throat and threatened to choke him.
He nodded as if he wer
en’t a complete fool, and Callum urged him back toward the group, where the children were chattering like magpies. From what Noah could make out, it had turned into men versus women versus kids.
Game on.
Hours later, he was so wet and cold that he was a little afraid his toes were now blocks of ice. He was hungry and tired. And he'd laughed so hard and so much that his abs would be sore tomorrow.
He'd forgotten, or maybe forced himself to forget, what it felt like to have a snowball fight. To be shoulder-to-shoulder with a teammate.
A friend.
His aim was awful, but he could pack a mean snowball.
The girls had admitted surrender soon after they'd instigated the fight.
Being together, Callum and Iris, Jilly and him, was better than he remembered from senior year. The camaraderie, the silliness and teasing...
Remembering the bleak years he'd gone without it was painful.
He didn't have time to dwell on it. They let him stop at home to change into dry clothes, and then he found himself herded along with the rest of the group into Jilly's big, drafty farmhouse.
It was a chaotic few minutes as the women stripped all five kids in the mudroom. He made a mental note to be careful not to trip on any discarded boots when he left.
Then, it became blessedly quiet as they tromped upstairs to dress in warm, dry clothes.
He was surprised when Callum started puttering around the kitchen.
"Gonna make some chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. When those terrors come back downstairs, they'll be hangry."
"The women or the kids?"
Callum laughed. "Make yourself useful." He clunked something wooden onto the counter. "Here's a cutting board and some carrots. If you could peel 'em and turn 'em into sticks, I'd be appreciative. That work?"
Noah sidled up to the counter and got oriented. His friend apparently had no compunction putting him to work, and it was one of the highest compliments he could've been given.
"So... You and Jilly huh? I never would've thought it. You hated her back in high school."
Noah felt heat roll up from the base of his neck. "I never hated her. Besides, we're just friends. She is..."
"Still annoying as all get out?"
"No!" His voice was sharp and, when he strained his ears to hear whether Jilly was coming back down the stairs, Callum had the audacity to chuckle.
The muffled babble of voices from upstairs hadn't changed.
"You can deny it all you want, but I see how it is between you. The way she looks at you..."
Noah's heart leapt, but he worked to eradicate the unreasonable hope that rose in him. He focused on peeling the carrot beneath his fingers, refusing to rise to the bait.
"We're friends," he repeated. He shook his head. Even if he wanted more, she was so far out of his reach... "You know why I can't ask her to be with me." He kept his voice low and his face pointed at his hands. "She doesn't know. About Chad." Crap. He got choked up just saying the name after all these years. "I'd like to keep it that way."
The air crackled between them. Long-held secrets hovered so close he could reach out and touch them.
"Noah." Callum's voice was deep and serious. "You don't think that's why we lost touch—"
But before he could continue, footsteps stampeded down the stairs and they were besieged by a horde of small hungry people.
18
After a day spent playing outside in the cold and inside cousin time, where the kids had played several rounds of Monopoly and watched The Santa Clause, Casey and PJ offered to tuck Lindsey in as Jilly said good-bye to her sister and brother-in-law.
Their good-bye was just as stiff and tense as the rest of the day had been. Iris hadn't magically forgiven Jilly for what she'd said during Lindsey's birthday party. And Jilly hadn't been ready to apologize. Not to mention that there hadn't been a spare minute.
She closed up the front door and glanced up the stairs, where all the lights were turned off. No whispering tonight. The kids were exhausted. She should still check on them, just to be sure.
There was rustling in the kitchen, as if Noah were in a hurry to get his coat on.
She left the kids, for now, and chose the kitchen.
He was in the mudroom, reaching down to the floor, sorting among the jumble of boots and socks and pants and scarves by touch.
"There's a bench to your left," she said. "I put your boots up there. Your coat is on the hook just above them."
He straightened. Something had happened while Callum and Iris had been here. Some part of him had opened up. He'd relaxed and played and laughed.
Now, the tightness in his shoulders was back.
She drew her courage up around her. Crossed her arms and stood with one foot on top of the other. "Will you stay for a while? I can make some hot chocolate. Or coffee, if you'd prefer. I'd really like for us to have a chance to talk."
She said the words hesitatingly. It was hard to be vulnerable.
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
"I can start the hot chocolate,” he said, “if you need to check on the kids."
He was staying. Relief and hope and uncertainty rushed through her in a swirl of emotions.
It didn't take long for her to tiptoe up the stairs and peek in first the boys' room and then Lindsey's. They were all tucked under the covers and asleep. She took a detour to the master bathroom to freshen up. Winced when she looked at her body beneath the shapeless sweater she wore. What was she thinking?
Back in the kitchen, Noah was pouring boiling water into two mugs. She stopped in the doorway and watched his capable hands rip the hot chocolate envelopes and add their contents to the steaming mugs. She wasn't high class. It was Swiss Miss all the way. The spoon clinked against the mug as he stirred one and then the other.
"Thank you." She crossed the room to meet him. "Will you come into the living room with me? We can get a little more comfortable."
He lifted one mug and moved through the room carefully, feeling his way with each foot extended in front of him before he stepped. Smart. She'd stepped on a few Legos in her scant months as a parent.
He sat in the same spot he had earlier in the day, on one end of the couch. Lindsey had perched beside him during the movie, whispering about her class at school and the music program they were working on.
Now, he didn't settle back against the sofa but kept to the front, his elbows on his knees and his mug on the coffee table in front of him. His hands were clasped loosely.
She went around the coffee table, stepping over a rogue basketball. The sofa seated three, but now wasn't a time for keeping her distance. She sat on the middle cushion, resting her shoulder against the back of the couch and tucking her legs underneath her. She held her mug in both hands. Even though they'd been inside for hours, she still felt cold from the inside out.
Noah turned his head slightly in her direction. Surprise was etched on his features. Was she imagining a hint of vulnerability beneath? Or was she just seeing what she wanted to see?
"I wanted to be close to you," she explained.
His eyes lowered to half-mast. His face cut away. "Then why did you pull away from me so fast? Last night, when the kids surprised you?"
Had he known the kids were approaching? His hearing was excellent. It was possible he'd known they were about to be interrupted and hadn’t alerted her.
Had this been bothering him ever since? She'd simply reacted. Done the best she could in an uncomfortable situation.
"Maybe I didn't handle things perfectly." She spoke the words almost into her mug. "The boys—Casey, especially—was upset about seeing us like that. "
His head dropped, leaving her with only a view of his shoulders, tight with tension.
"It's the same as what happened when you started narrating that story," she explained. "It's not about the hug or you and me being together. Any kind of change makes them worry that they are going to lose their place here. With me."
He didn't lift his head. His back and shoulders lifted with one long breath.
"I talked with Casey last night and then again this morning before we came over to your place." She couldn't seem to get through to the boy. He remained distant and contrary no matter what she did.
Noah had been silent for so long that she started to worry. Why had he stayed if he didn't want to talk?
She shifted in her seat, untangling her feet and bringing them so her knees were bent in front of her. She nudged his thigh with one toe. "You haven't touched your hot chocolate."
He still didn't speak. His body language told her he’d shut down. Shut her out. She dropped her feet to the floor and scooted to the front edge of the cushion, putting her coffee mug on the table in line with his. "Noah—"
He lifted his hands to cover his face. Was he hiding? He laughed once, the harsh sound muffled, but nothing about it was happy or joyful. He dropped his hands, and she saw the stark expression beneath.
"Why am I even sitting here?" His words were softly muttered, and she didn't know if they were meant for him or for her. But they hit strong and true like an arrow to her heart.
"If you don't want to be here, with me, then…"
She was halfway to her feet when his grasp, tight on her wrist, stopped her. He turned toward her, his expression fierce and, at the same time, pained. "I can't remember anymore what it feels like not to want to be with you." He tugged her toward him.
His kiss was a claim. His lips slanted over hers. A question. A demand.
She let him in, let him take what he needed. His hands at her back were a firebrand, his grip proprietary. Almost as if he were afraid that if he let go, she would disappear. She twined her arms around his neck, one hand burrowing into the rich softness of the hair at his nape.
He broke away from her mouth to kiss her jaw, the sensitive place just behind her ear.
"I know I'm not supposed to, but I need you." His admission was a murmur against her jaw. She let her hand brush down the back of his neck. She meant the gesture to be comforting, but he sucked in a breath as if she'd hurt him somehow.
Cowgirl Next Door (Sutter's Hollow Book 3) Page 14
