The Christmas Key

by Lori Wilde

  And that was the real truth of why she hadn’t mentioned she had a boyfriend.

  Dear Lord, please forgive me. She’d been selfish and inconsiderate. She deserved Mark’s anger.

  Undaunted, she pulled out a chair for him.

  He grunted. Didn’t meet her eyes.

  Okay. She exhaled through pursed lips.

  Mark took care with each placement of his cane. When he reached the chair, he dropped down hard onto the seat.

  “You’re in pain,” she said. “Shall I get you some ibuprofen?”

  “No. I don’t need anything.” He cast a glance back across the dance floor. “Go on. Robert is waiting for you.”

  Naomi looked to where Robert was standing, giving her an impatient, hurry-up stare, and then she looked back at Mark.

  His mouth tightened as though he was fighting off pain.

  “I have time for you,” she said. “We can talk.”

  “Go.” It was a bark, a command. He scowled.

  Something more was going on here. Yes, they’d kissed. But it was just a kiss. It wasn’t as if they’d had sex. She could see why he would be irritated or upset with her, but he was flat-out angry. The vein at his temple jumped, and his jaw clenched.

  Naomi inhaled sharply. Could he be jealous of Robert? But if he was jealous of Robert, that meant Mark had feelings for her. Did he? Her pulse sped up. Oh gosh, she had feelings for him too. Big, scary feelings.

  “Why are you so huffy?” she asked.

  “I’m not huffy.”

  “You are.” She nodded to where he’d knuckled up on the cane. “What’s this all about?”

  “You.” His tone was blunt, but his eyes held unfathomable depths of gentleness.

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “You didn’t leave me alone when I asked you to,” he said.

  “All I wanted was to help.”

  “No, all you want is to be needed.” His stare was steely. “It’s an issue with you.”

  Naomi notched up her chin, hurt. “And what’s wrong with wanting to be needed?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Well, I don’t like it when the people I’m trying to help turn testy.” Her chest squeezed tight, forcing a snort of air from her lungs. “Is that what you mean?”

  “That’s because you expect to get something out of helping.”

  “Excuse me?” She rested her hands on her hips, felt her temper push against her throat. They were about to have their first fight. What a location for it, right in front of her community.

  “You expect people to be grateful because you swoop in and save them. Naomi to the rescue.”

  “I do not.” But even as she said it, she knew there was a grain of hard truth in his words. Weren’t people supposed to be grateful when you helped them? It bugged her when she went out of her way to lend a hand and folks didn’t thank her. Okay, he was right. She did expect a thank-you. Was that so wrong?

  He raised both eyebrows, sent her a cool appraising glance.

  “You’re impossible,” she said, exasperated and confused. Was this about Robert? Or something else?

  “Most likely,” he agreed with a grunt.

  “And irritating.”

  “I am. But you have to ask yourself, Naomi, why are you getting triggered?”

  “I . . . um . . .” She snorted again, tossed her head. “You’ve been to therapy.”

  “I have,” he said mildly. “And I’ve learned that when I’m upset for no good reason, it’s generally because I’ve allowed something, or someone, to push my buttons. It’s about me, not them. Or as my psychiatrist says, take it vertical.”

  “What does that mean?” Her skin chilled. Goose bumps sprang up.

  Mark had been seeing a psychiatrist. Was this part of the secret he’d wanted to confess the first day he’d shown up at their dinner table? A secret her father had quashed with his message of forgiveness and acceptance. But that was a good thing. He had PTSD. He was working on healing. Why should that be a secret?

  “Look inside yourself for the answers to what’s bugging you,” he said. “Not to the behavior of others.”

  “Well . . . well . . .” she sputtered. He was right. She was triggered and it ticked her off that he was calling her on it. “La-di-da.”

  He grinned then. Looking thoroughly amused that he’d gotten her goat.

  “You know what I think?” She swished her head from side to side.

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “I think you like pushing people away. You believe it keeps you from getting hurt,” she challenged.

  “Oh ho?” His eyes narrowed, glittered darkly in the colored lights.

  “But it doesn’t.”

  “No?”

  “Loneliness is just as painful as putting yourself out there. You gotta pick your poison. That’s up to you. But me, I’d rather go with people than without them.”

  Having said everything that she needed to say, her heart racing, Naomi turned and marched away.

  Feeling like a bumbling idiot, Shepherd fumbled for his cane, desperate to get out of the ballroom. His gut pitched, and the muscle at his temple ticked. What a fool he’d been to kiss Naomi.

  Discovering too late that she had a boyfriend.

  He put all his weight on his bum knee, perversely needing to feel the pain. Punishing himself for daring to think he had a chance with her.

  The problem wasn’t just the boyfriend.

  He was the real problem. He had too much childhood baggage he was still dragging around. And a white Christmas key in his pocket that had belonged to her dead brother. That enigmatic key that had brought him to this town. To her.

  The woman of his dreams.

  He lurched forward. Headed for the door. He didn’t look back at Robert and Naomi. Couldn’t bear to see her wrapped in another man’s embrace.

  His heart tightened, a lonely instrument. Thump-thump-thumping.

  The Christmas music, which earlier had sounded so cheery, grated on his nerves. He gritted his teeth. Narrowed his eyes against the onslaught of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

  Up ahead, the exit sign glowed red. He moved faster, anxious to get out of here, anxious to breathe.

  The dance floor was crowded. He had to wend a circuitous path to his destination. Out. He had to get out.

  Panic pushed up through his lungs and he flashed back to the Kandahar orphanage. Where he’d found Luther in a chokehold. The wounded terrorist, Ackmed Talid, pressing his handgun against Luther’s temple. That stupid Christmas light lei around Luther’s neck blinking cheerful colors.

  Shepherd slammed through the exit door. Stumbled out into the alley. Panting. Sweating. Shaking.

  “Gunny?” Nate Deavers’s coal-black gaze was acute. “You with me?”

  Where in the hell had the former SEAL come from? Where were they? Shepherd blinked, glanced around. Christmas lights. Laughter from inside the gym. Music. In the distance, the dark shimmer of the lake. Snowflakes. It was snowing.

  He was in Twilight. Not Kandahar. This year. Not last. Clayton Luther was dead. He was alive.

  And Naomi had a boyfriend.

  Disappointment was a rat, gnawing a hole through his belly. Why hadn’t she mentioned she had a boyfriend? There’d been plenty of opportunities.

  No. He wouldn’t blame her. Take it vertical. This was his fault, not hers. He’d just assumed she was single. If he had asked, he wouldn’t have been blindsided.

  Here was a bigger question.

  Why was he blindsided? She was smart, single, and attractive. He should have assumed she was in a relationship. Why hadn’t he asked? That gave him pause. The answer was obvious. He’d wanted her to be available. Hadn’t wanted to know if she wasn’t.

  Well, now you know. Hands O-F-F.

  “Gunny.” Nate gripped his shoulders. “Snap to.”

  Shepherd shook his head.

  “Where are you?” Nate grunted.

  “Twilight, Texas.” Shepherd gripp
ed his cane, leaned heavily on it. Felt the solidness of the earth through the tip of it. Grounded himself.

  Nate nodded. Dropped his hands. Stepped back. “C’mon, let’s hit the Waffle-O-Rama.”

  Shepherd wanted to say no. He wanted to be alone, but the part of him that had struggled so hard to come back from Kandahar nodded.

  “My pickup is this way.”

  “Where’s your minivan?”

  “I was in town taking more toy donations to the firehouse. I saw you tumble out the back door of the gym.” He paused. “You had a look on your face . . . well, let’s just say I recognize that look.”

  Blowing out his breath, Shepherd ran a hand through his hair. “I’m falling apart.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, now we can put you back together, better than ever.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re my guardian angel.”

  Nate’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe I am.”

  They reached a battered green Ford parked at the curb. Nate opened the passenger door and let Shepherd in.

  Shepherd hoisted himself up. Placed the tip of his cane on the running board. Used it as a fulcrum. Landed hard in the seat. Buckled up.

  Nate got in and started the engine. Drove to the waffle place.

  Without saying a word, they went inside. Sat at a table in the corner where they could both have their backs to the wall and watch the door. Old habits of self-preservation died hard.

  They ordered coffee and apple pie.

  It was early, and with so much else going on in town, there was hardly anyone inside the restaurant.

  “Flashback?” Nate asked.

  Shepherd nodded, unfurled the paper napkin from around the silverware.

  “The trigger?”

  He shrugged. Spread the napkin on the table. Lined up the fork, spoon, and knife so that the bottoms were evenly spaced.

  “Shepherd?”

  “Who knows?” He liked having Nate with him. But at the same time, he found the other man’s presence taxing.

  “You know.”

  Bombarded by so many emotions that he did not want to feel, Shepherd pulled a palm down his face. “The flashback was about Clayton.”

  Nate nodded, a reassuring bob of his head. “I figured.”

  “Be honest. Tell me the truth. How long before the flashbacks go away?”

  Nate lifted one shoulder, leveled him a pitying stare.

  Angrily, Shepherd glowered at him. He hated being pitied.

  “Depends,” Nate said.

  “On what?”

  “How willing you are to let go.”

  “Let go of what?” His voice came out waspish, but Nate stayed even-keeled.

  “Guilt. Shame. Regrets. Blame . . .” The former SEAL tapped the table with an index finger. “Anger.”

  “Well, isn’t that a basket of Post Toasties?”

  Nate laughed and reached for the cup of coffee the waitress set in front of him. “Glad to see you’ve hung on to your sense of humor. That’s one thing you don’t want to let go of.”

  A few minutes passed. They sipped coffee in silence.

  “I’ve got a question for you,” Shepherd said when the waitress was out of earshot and he leveled a hard stare at the other man.

  “What’s that?”

  “How come you didn’t tell me that Naomi Luther had a boyfriend?”

  “She and Robert have been on again, off again for years. I can’t keep up.” Nate raised an eyebrow, lifted his cup, and settled back in his chair. “Honestly, I didn’t know you were interested or I would have mentioned it.”

  “I think I’m falling in love with her.” Shepherd chuffed out his breath.

  “That’s a lot to process.” Nate took a sip, studied Shepherd over the rim of his cup. “You. Naomi. The ghost of her brother hanging over your relationship.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You got a lot of obstacles.”

  Yep. Stacked up like cord wood. “I know.”

  Nate shook his head. “She’s a wonderful woman. Generous as the day is long.”

  Shepherd stirred his coffee. He didn’t know why he stirred it. He took his coffee black. Hadn’t added any sugar or cream. Maybe just to see the coffee swirl.

  “Does she feel the same way about you?”

  Shepherd snorted. “That’s the impression I got when I kissed her. But then here comes this guy announcing that he’s her boyfriend.”

  “You’re going to let someone like Robert Bellamy stop you from going after what you want?”

  “I dunno.” Shepherd pulled both palms down his face this time. “I should just leave town. This whole thing is doomed.”

  “How so?”

  The past was a hammer, pummeling him from every direction. “Her brother died because of me, Nate.”

  The other man tilted his head. “Is that really true?”

  “If I’d gone back—”

  “Put the blame where it belongs. On the terrorist who killed him. This is what I’m talking about. You’ve got to let go of feeling like it’s your fault. You can’t save the whole damn world, Shepherd.”

  “I can try.”

  “No, no you can’t. Not if you want a sane life. You do want a sane life?”

  “More than anything,” he whispered. Clenched his hand into a fist against his knee. Nate was right.

  “You’re not responsible for other people’s actions. You can’t be. Hell, man, it’s hard enough being responsible for your own.”

  More truths. More great advice.

  Shepherd picked up his fork, and cut into the slice of warm apple pie.

  “Got a question for you,” Nate said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Why are you here having pie with me instead of talking this through with Naomi?”

  “I’m not the kind to trespass on another man’s land.”

  “Well, if Naomi is kissing you, rest assured all is not well in Robert Land. She is not a fickle woman.”

  Shepherd felt hopeful for the first time since he’d learned about Robert.

  “Sometimes you have to break the rules to get what you want. Go to her. Trespass. Tell her what she means to you.”

  For a man who’d learned to honor the rules, Nate’s words were a caldron of intrigue, tempting and dangerous. Did he keep quiet and stay out of Naomi’s life? Or did he go for it. Break the rules. Tell Naomi what was in his heart.

  Following the rules keeps you safe, whispered the teenage boy who’d lost so much because of the people in his life who broke the rules. If he kept quiet, he wouldn’t get hurt.

  But if he didn’t take a chance, he’d never know if their kiss had been monumental for her too.

  If only things were that simple. He couldn’t tell her how he felt without first telling her who he really was. His flashback tonight was clear. Their relationship could not move forward as long as he was holding on to his secret.

  Nate came to the same conclusion because he said, “If you tell her how you feel, you have to tell her about Clayton.”

  “I know.” Shepherd stared down at his hands cupped around the coffee mug.

  “It’s all part of letting go. The secrets. The lies. The misguided beliefs.”

  “It’s hard.”

  Nate’s nod was slow, filled with empathy and meaning. “It is.”

  Shepherd might be a rule follower, but he wasn’t a coward. The time had come. He’d put this off for too long. He had to come clean. If Naomi forgave him, okay. If not, that was okay too.

  And Robert? What about him?

  Well, that was up to Naomi.

  He pushed his pie aside, met Nate’s gaze, and said, “Take me back.”

  Chapter 19

  “Let’s take a walk.” Robert held his arm out to Naomi.

  She took his elbow because it was familiar. Something she’d done hundreds of times. But even as she linked her arm through his, her mind was chewing on her argument with Mar
k. Was what he’d said true? Did she go around helping people simply because she had a deep-seated need to be needed?

  Was that why things had gone south with Robert when he’d left Twilight first for graduate school, and then for his job in Colorado? He hadn’t needed her any longer? Was that the reason she hadn’t gone to Denver with him? Did that also explain her attraction to Mark? He was a man in need and Naomi loved to be needed?

  What an eye-opener. These were tough questions and it took courage to look at them. And honestly, she felt blindsided.

  What was so bad about wanting to help? Caring for other people made her happy. She loved the everyday, behind-the-scenes stuff that turned a house into a home—cooking, taking care of Hunter, assisting her mother. She enjoyed her job, but only because it too was about doing things for other people.

  Was Mark suggesting she was wrong?

  Nothing is wrong with helping people. The answer popped into her mind. But it can’t be a one-way street. You’ve got to let people help you too.

  Ahh, there it was. The rub. Her downfall.

  Robert squired her around the town square. The place was alive with tourists and fun activities. Karaoke poured from the Fruit of the Vine. The line for Santa’s North Pole workshop was twice as long as it had been last weekend. A group of carolers sang on the street corner. It was magical, fun, sweet.

  And she couldn’t enjoy it.

  Her emotions were lava, bubbling beneath the surface. Churning and hot, ready to spew and boil over.

  “I love your costume,” Robert said.

  “What?” Naomi blinked, looked down at her dress that she’d sewn herself. “Oh. Thanks.”

  He led her from the square to Sweetheart Park, his steps quick and jubilant. Outrunning her. Leaving her behind.

  “Robert, slow down.”

  “Naomi.” He chuckled. “Speed up.”

  That was their relationship in a nutshell. He’d always been on the fast track, wanting more. Grasping. Reaching. On the hunt for never-ending improvement.

  To Naomi, it seemed like just so much pointless rushing around. The real action was right in front of you, life unfolding in the blooming of a Christmas cactus or a little boy’s smile. In the washing of dishes and making of sandwiches. In holding the hand of a sick friend, in the rocking of a cradle, in the whisper of the wind through the trees.