by Susan Crosby
He wondered what she knew. Had Shana talked to her? “Everything is going well, thanks.” He decided to leave it at that. “Goodbye, Miss Emma.”
“Bye-bye, Kinky. Bye-bye.”
Kincaid ruffled her hair. Aggie helped Emma blow kisses.
A few hours later he opened his front door, stepping into a warm house, with the fireplace already going, the tree lights on and the scent of tomato and basil in the air. There were brightly wrapped presents under the tree.
“Hi,” Shana said, looking pink-cheeked and happy to see him. She looked behind her, hurried over and hugged him. “I’m glad you’re home.”
He held her close, watching for Emma to appear, because apparently Shana didn’t want Emma observing them hugging or kissing. He wondered why. Emma wouldn’t put two and two together like an adult would. Because he couldn’t relax into the hug, he let her go, then saw disappointment in her eyes. You can’t have it both ways, he wanted to say, trying to understand her thought process. He knew she was enjoying their physical relationship, but he wanted more than that. He wanted the honesty they’d promised each other when she moved in.
“Something smells good,” he said instead, deciding to give her the chance to tell him about Doc on her own.
“Spaghetti and meatballs.” She looked proud of herself. He’d told her only yesterday that it was his favorite meal. “I called Aggie for the recipe.”
“Did you get all your errands done?” Tell me why you were at Doc’s house for so long.
“I did. I even had time to wrap some presents.”
“I noticed.” He had been ordering gifts online and had them delivered to his downtown office, a safe hide-away because he hadn’t given Shana the key yet, pretending he needed to get a copy made. “What else did you do?”
“Just stuff. Shopping, mostly. I picked Emma up early. We’ve been playing.”
“I saw your car at Doc’s.”
She hesitated. “Oh, that. He just wanted my opinion on where to hang some art. I wasn’t there long.”
Yes, you were. What was she hiding?
“Kinky!” Emma came running at him. He scooped her up, stopping just short of saying, “There’s my girl.”
“Come. Play.”
“I need to clean up first, okay?” He hadn’t worked hard enough to sweat today, but he needed to escape, try to figure why Shana was keeping a secret.
“’Kay.”
Still…he didn’t ask Shana to go back to her own bedroom that night. He also didn’t sleep as easily as he had been. What was she keeping from him? If she’d needed to talk to Doc about a possible pregnancy, why wouldn’t she tell Kincaid that?
He didn’t like the possible answers to that question. Not at all.
Chapter Twelve
Kincaid’s business slowed down as Christmas neared, therefore so did Shana’s. She wasn’t disappointed about it, since it gave her time to decorate and shop. She’d finished entering all his business receipts in the computer.
She had also put in a lot of work on the Christmas Eve event tomorrow, had spent hours in the kitchen, as she was now, baking and decorating cookies to give as gifts and to put out at the party. A huge group of people would spend the whole day tomorrow decorating and cooking. The event had turned into a lot bigger production than Gavin and Becca had imagined.
Shana and Kincaid hadn’t discussed the possibility she was pregnant for almost two weeks. She’d been happy, all things considered, even as she recognized she was in full avoidance mode.
She didn’t want anything to change. She liked her new life.
Shana wasn’t sure Kincaid felt the same. He’d become a little more distant each day—except in the bedroom. Or rather, except during sex. He didn’t want to lie in bed and talk as they’d done the first couple of nights after they’d made love, but went to sleep right away, although still holding her close.
But really, what was there to say about their situation? Either she was pregnant or she wasn’t, and only time would answer that question.
In the meantime, she’d fallen all the way in love with him. So had Emma, who had taken to climbing up into his lap after dinner every night. They felt like a family. Even if Shana wasn’t pregnant, she wanted to marry him—although she hoped she wasn’t pregnant. She still didn’t want to start off that way, nor have the town know they’d been sleeping together, but the idea didn’t concern her as much as it used to, either.
At the beginning she hadn’t imagined major problems with living in the same house with him, not seeing beyond the antagonistic relationship they’d had. But then they’d each revealed secrets from their past, opening up. She’d gotten to know him well. She didn’t see any reason that would keep them apart—unless he couldn’t love her.
The front door opened and shut. She peered around the kitchen doorway, saw Kincaid and went to greet him. He’d taken off his boots on the porch.
“How’d it go?” she asked, anticipating a kiss hello.
“Fine.” He went directly to the fireplace and started building a fire. “Tables and chairs are all set up, ready to be decorated. Eric and Marcy have come up. They’re staying with your brother until after Christmas.”
“I know. We’re invited to dinner tonight. Emma’s already there, being spoiled.” She moved closer. He seemed…angry. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to go to Gavin’s. You go ahead, though.”
“It was your idea that we be seen together so that—”
“I know. At this point I don’t think it matters.” He lit the tinder, added small branches. In a few minutes he would put a couple of logs on. “We’ll know tomorrow.”
He might as well have plunged a knife into her heart. It was a black-and-white situation to him. He hadn’t been falling in love like she had.
“Why are you so mad?” she asked him.
He hesitated a few seconds. “I’m not. I’m tired.”
“You’ve become increasingly irritated for two weeks.”
“And you’ve become increasingly calm.”
It sounded like an accusation. “That’s a bad thing?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Would you prefer I go back to my own bed?” She could hardly form the words, but she didn’t know what else to do. If he wasn’t going to tell her what was wrong, she had to ask questions…and get answers.
“No,” he said, his voice harsh.
“Do you…want me to leave?” She swallowed around the hot lump in her throat.
He finally looked directly at her. His jaw was like iron, his eyes flinty. “No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You.” One fierce word that said enough for now.
“So what’s the problem?” She framed his face with her hands. “Take me. I’m yours.”
He swept her into his arms and climbed the stairs, then carried her all the way down the hall to his bedroom in the most exciting, romantic gesture of her life. Then he undressed her, harsh emotions still on his face, but his hands working gently at her buttons and zipper. It felt more like a first time than their first time had, his gentleness arousing her to new heights.
It was different for her, she realized, because this time she knew she was in love.
He didn’t undress but moved her onto the bed and stretched out beside her, sliding his hands over her skin, adding his lips, then his tongue. He’d come to know what excited her the most and took advantage of that now.
“I want to feel your skin next to mine,” she said, grabbing his shirt. She loved the feel of his body, his warm flesh covering well-toned muscles.
“In a minute.”
He continued to move down her body, touching and tasting, finally settling, bringing her pleasure, then bliss, then ecstasy, and finally such a deep satisfaction she felt like crying.
If she couldn’t have him for life, she didn’t know what she would do.
She gathered him close, pulling him down on her, holding him tight. “Inside me,” she whispered into his ear.
Kincaid didn’t need to be asked twice. He stood to undress, not letting her help, knowing it might take him over the top way too soon. And he wanted this to last. He had a strong sense that this would be their last time, that everything would change tomorrow when she took the pregnancy test.
When he was naked, he opened the nightstand drawer.
“You don’t need one,” she said. “The timing is all wrong. But it’s your choice, of course.”
He grabbed a condom, anyway, then shut the drawer with a little more force than was necessary. He covered her body with his, not giving her a chance to touch him, or give him the same special treatment he’d just given her. He needed to be inside her. Now.
Ah, but he loved the sound she made when he joined with her, something between pleasure and relief. He kept himself still, wallowing in the feel of her, shoving all dark thoughts out of his mind, thoughts that had dogged him for weeks.
No. It was just this moment, the here and now, that mattered. Just this…?.
It was over way too soon. He collapsed on her, rolling onto his side after a few seconds, taking her with him. How had it come to this? How had he lived his entire adult life walking the straight and narrow, and after one night of indiscretion, be living in such turmoil?
“How can I help you?” Shana asked quietly, her face against his chest. “Is it just the question of whether I’m pregnant or is it something else?” She angled away from him far enough to make eye contact. “Please tell me.”
Isn’t it all tied together? he wondered. “I feel like I’ve been living in limbo.”
“Me, too.”
“Yet you’ve seemed fine.”
“I’ve focused on other things. I’ve loved Christmas this year. It’s the first time I’ve had the financial freedom and enough time to make it special. I’m content here in your house. Emma’s safe and happy.” She ran her fingertips across his lips. “Sharing your bed has been amazing. But I can see you’re not happy.”
“It’s just the waiting.”
“I already bought the test kit. I could take it now.”
He’d had the Christmas Eve deadline in his head for so long that it took a moment to think the change through. What difference would twelve hours make? If anything, they should wait until after Christmas so that they could celebrate the holiday, at least. Except…
“Okay,” he said.
She left his bed and the room, returning with a small box. She went into his bathroom then didn’t come out for a few minutes. When she did, she carried the test stick. She laid it on the nightstand.
“Two minutes,” she said, then climbed in bed with him, burrowed close, then didn’t move.
He could feel her heart pounding, felt his own match hers. He counted the seconds by heartbeats. “Do you want to look first?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He reached across her, picked it up. “Not pregnant.”
Her body jerked, as if he’d struck her. She jumped out of bed and ran down the hall. He heard her slam her bedroom door shut.
Should he go to her? Let her be?
He looked at the results again, let it sink in. It was what he’d wanted, the best answer possible.
So, why did he feel so hollow?
He got up and dressed, walked down the hall. He started to knock on her door then could hear the shower running, so he went downstairs and restarted the fire. After a while, she came down, dressed for an evening at her brother’s house, even wearing makeup, which she rarely did.
“Still don’t want to come?” she asked.
“No.”
He met her at the bottom of the staircase. “We dodged a bullet,” he said, wishing he could feel the relief he should.
She met his gaze straight on. “Looks like it.”
He knew there was more they should be saying, but it all felt too raw to him. Maybe tomorrow.
She turned away abruptly and headed to the kitchen. “There’s chili in the fridge, if you want to reheat it. I’ll see you later.”
He saw her grab a plate covered with foil and then open the door to the garage. Soon her car was moving down the driveway. Rain was coming down in earnest. He hadn’t even noticed it had started.
He’d thought his world would right itself again when he knew whether she was pregnant or not. If she was, he would’ve had something to do—plan a quick wedding. If she wasn’t, he could relax.
Instead, he felt a deep loss. He’d convinced himself she was pregnant, even with little reason to think so. Was he mourning for what had never existed?
He sank onto the sofa and dropped his head in his hands. He hadn’t had anyone in his life who was just his, someone to put above all others. Someone to cherish, who would cherish him in return. This was the closest he’d come, and it had taken him years to allow it, to take a chance, to open up about his past. She hadn’t been judgmental, but had shared her past, too.
At least about everything except why she’d run away in the first place. She continued to balk about that.
Where did this leave him now? And her? And Emma, who gave him kisses before bed now. They’d come a long way.
He didn’t eat dinner. He barely even left the couch all evening. When she hadn’t come home by eleven o’clock, he was frantic. The rain had barely let up all night. What if she’d had an accident driving home?
He’d just picked up his phone to call Gavin when he saw headlights coming up his driveway. Please don’t be the sheriff…
It was Shana, safe and sound. He took a minute to catch his breath then he went through the kitchen into the garage. “Have fun?” he asked.
“Yes. Dylan came, too. We laughed a whole lot.” Her tone held a bit of accusation in it, which he ignored. He couldn’t have spent the evening trying to laugh.
“Any word on Joe and Dixie?”
“Gavin spoke to her this morning. They probably won’t be here until closer to New Year’s.”
He opened the back door and got a sleeping Emma out of her car seat. She was deadweight in his arms. He carried her upstairs and settled her in her crib, but she didn’t open her eyes for a second. He moved aside as Shana pulled up Emma’s comforter and tucked it around her. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to Emma’s forehead then brushed back her hair.
Finally she looked at him. “Good night,” she said, then she turned around and walked away, leaving him to go to his bed alone.
He’d been alone most of his adult life, but this was the loneliest he’d ever felt.
Shana was still awake at 2:00 a.m. She’d lied to Kincaid—she hadn’t had fun at Gavin’s. She’d tried, and she’d made herself laugh, but it had been one of the hardest evenings of her life. Becca was pregnant and due in April. Marcy was due in May. They were both jubilant in their pregnancies and they had loving, attentive husbands who were excited to be first-time fathers and had no qualms about showing it.
Shana felt wrung through the wringer. She knew it was best that she wasn’t pregnant. Was sure of that. But she’d been hoping for more from Kincaid, that he would still want to marry her.
He’d seemed upset at the test results, but in what way? She’d thought that giving him the evening alone would let him come to terms with everything, but he didn’t bring it up, so she’d decided to sleep alone.
Except she wasn’t sleeping. She couldn’t relax, couldn’t find peace. She was grieving for a baby that never existed, she recognized that. She didn’t want to grieve alone.
She’d been brave about so many things in her life—alone. She was sick of it.
Shana got out of bed and walked down the hall. She didn’t knock. He rose up in the bed but didn’t question her, just lifted the covers, inviting her to join him.
She got into bed, curved herself into him, spooning, feeling his body against hers all the way to her feet. His arm came around her stomach, and he tucked her a little closer, if that was possible.
“I was cold,” she said.
“Me, too.”<
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Then she closed her eyes and slept.
Chapter Thirteen
When the people of Chance City threw a party, they did it right, Shana thought. Somehow it had turned into an open house so that more people could attend, staggering arrivals and departures to accommodate everyone who wanted to come. Those who could give, gave. Those who couldn’t, received graciously.
They’d changed the venue three times as they foresaw their attendance growing, finally ending up at the high school gymnasium, which also had a kitchen. Bruno Manning played Santa brilliantly, as it turned out, no padding necessary.
At the end of the evening, Shana held Emma and watched Doc and Aggie as they stood on stage, waiting for quiet. Although some of the guests had left, most remained. There was enough food left over to give boxes to those who needed it, and many of the local businesses had donated gifts for the children.
She looked around for Kincaid. She’d barely seen him all day. They had both been busy, had crossed paths a few times, but that was all. She’d gotten up before him this morning, leaving him sleeping, and they hadn’t had a minute alone since.
She finally spotted him talking to her father, of all people. Deep in conversation, they didn’t seem to notice the crowd noise dwindling until Doc finally spoke, the sound system squawking, making everyone cover their ears and laugh.
“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Doc called out, receiving an en masse greeting in return. “Have you enjoyed yourselves?”
The response was deafening.
“Good, because your party committee held a quick meeting a few minutes ago and decided that we’ll be calling this our first annual Share the Spirit party.”
More hoots and hollers went up.
“I don’t know why we waited this long,” Doc said. “Now, there are lots of people here that need thanking, but to a one, everybody said they didn’t want thanks. That’s the spirit of Christmas at work, folks. So, one big thank-you to everyone who helped, everyone who came and everyone who’s going to stick around and help clean up,” he added, shaking a finger at them.
