Blush Duo - Marriage Under the Mistletoe & The Christmas Inn

by Helen Lacey

  Evie felt the hot sting of tears behind her eyes again and blinked a couple of times. She had a hard time imagining this strong, confident man being afraid of anything. Her feelings for him...her love for him suddenly felt like a powerful, overwhelming force—more intense than anything she had ever known.

  But loving him wasn’t enough. She’d had a life before Scott entered her world—a life she had to get back to. Sensible Evie was about to make a comeback. She couldn’t change who she was—at least not forever. Perhaps for a few stolen weeks. But afterward she would be left with only memories and the knowledge that they were as incompatible as oil and water.

  “I need to stay angry with you to help me get through these next few days. I can’t sleep with you anymore. I just can’t. Good night, Scott,” she said quietly, wanting nothing more than to fold herself in his arms and stay there for the rest of her life.

  He touched her arm as she walked by him. “Evie,” he said, taking her hand. “Is this really how you want it to be?”

  “Yes,” she said, but wasn’t sure how. “I think we both know it’s for the best.”

  His expression was unreadable and he released her instantly. “For the record, Evie, I’ll never consider what’s happened between us a mistake.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Evie stayed downstairs for a while, thinking about Scott, thinking about Trevor. Her son deserved an explanation, so she headed directly for Trevor’s room when she got upstairs. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, a handheld computer game at his fingertips.

  “Can I come in?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  Evie took a couple of steps into the room. “I’m not mad at you or anything,” she said quietly.

  He looked up. “You’re mad at Scott, though.”

  She didn’t disagree. “He should have asked me if it was okay for you to go with him.”

  “He didn’t force me to go. I tagged along,” Trevor said. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

  A big deal? Evie suddenly felt like an overprotective, cloistering parent who wasn’t prepared to give her child the freedom to spread his wings. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. It’s just that I—”

  “Don’t want me to end up like Dad,” he said, and tossed the game onto the bed. “Yeah, I know.”

  Shame crept along her spine. “That’s not exactly it,” she said. “I just want you to have other opportunities.”

  “I wasn’t joining up,” he told her. “I wouldn’t do that without talking to you about it first. I was just listening. Cody’s thinking of volunteering and I thought I’d go along and see what goes on there. But Scott told us we should think about finishing school first because that’s our priority at the moment.” He raised his brows. “It made sense. So, like I said, I wasn’t joining up—I was listening.”

  Evie wanted to hug him close. Instead she took a deep breath. “I should have trusted you. But when I saw you wearing that jacket I—”

  “I was only trying it on. Scott told me to wear it so I could feel how hot it gets inside one of those things. Then he told me to imagine wearing that and a heavy hat and oxygen and then walking into a fire.” Trevor held up one skinny arm. “He said he reckoned I needed to do a whole lot of push-ups before I could carry all that equipment.”

  Evie tried to shake the powerful pounding of her heart. “He’s right.”

  Trevor made a face. “I know he is. You shouldn’t be mad at him. I wish he was hanging around.”

  But he’s not.

  * * *

  Three days later Evie said goodbye to Scott. Callie was taking him to the airport and Evie barely registered his quiet farewell. She didn’t touch him, didn’t kiss him, didn’t hang on to him and tell him how much she would miss him, even though the need to do so pumped through her blood with a molten fury. She stood back as he shook Trevor’s hand and said goodbye to Flora and Amelia. She didn’t look at Callie as he collected his bags and left, terrified her friend would see the truth in her eyes.

  Once he’d left she headed directly for her studio. She had managed about ten minutes alone when Flora Manning tapped on the door and didn’t wait to be invited inside.

  “I’m sorry to see that young man leave,” Flora said pointedly.

  “His life is in L.A.,” Evie said as she grabbed a couple of pots filled with brushes.

  Flora raised her silver brows. “Is it?”

  Evie dropped the pots into the sink. “I really don’t want to—”

  “I’m not fooled, you know,” she said, cutting her off. “If you had any sense you’d jump into that car of yours and chase after him.”

  Evie’s cheeks flamed. “I do have sense,” she said quickly. “That’s why I’m staying exactly where I am.”

  “You’re stubborn,” Flora said. “That’s your trouble.”

  “It’s better this way. He can get on with his life...and so can I.”

  Flora looked around the room. “This isn’t your life—this is the place where you hide from life.” She tutted. “But enough said. Amelia and I are leaving tomorrow.”

  And the house would be even quieter. With no new guests arriving for a few weeks, Evie had plenty of time to think about Scott. Plenty of time to remember everything they’d shared. But right now she had to pull herself together and not give in to the dreadful pain in her heart.

  “I’ve enjoyed having you here,” Evie said. “And thank you for...well, you know.” She reached out and hugged the elderly woman.

  “So stop being a damned fool and take what’s in front of you,” Flora said into her ear.

  He’s not mine to take...

  And knowing that hurt her so much she could barely breathe.

  * * *

  The end of January and all of February were unusually quiet for the B and B. But having only one guest gave Evie an opportunity to get stuck into some necessary cleaning and repair work. She hired a handyman to replace window hinges that had corroded from the salt in the air, a requirement when the ocean was at the doorstep, and set about to do some of the minor painting and yard work by herself.

  She went on a date with the schoolteacher, experienced not a single bit of whoosh and decided to forget about dating for the next couple of decades.

  Summer had arrived with a vengeance. The days were hot, the nights long and balmy. Trevor had gone north to visit Gordon’s parents, and without him the big house seemed empty.

  To make things worse she caught some kind of bug and was laid up in bed for a few days. Afterward, once the nausea abated, she still couldn’t kick the fatigue, and her plans to spend long afternoons in the garden, pruning hedges and repotting geraniums around the wishing well, took a backseat to her sudden need to take a nap almost every afternoon.

  And then three weeks after he’d returned to Los Angeles, Evie got an email from Scott. It wasn’t particularly personal, just a few short lines asking how she was, and he mentioned that he’d returned to work. After dwelling on it for two days, she wrote back.

  January 23

  Pleased that you’ve settled back into your routine. It’s quiet around here at the moment, without any guests and Trevor’s away. Take care, Evie.

  Twenty-four hours later he sent one back.

  January 24

  Trev emailed me a few days ago and said he was heading off to his grandparents’. He also said you’d been sick. Are you okay now? Scott.

  Evie hadn’t realized her son was communicating with Scott. But she wasn’t surprised. Trevor was addicted to his computer and had genuinely liked Scott. And Evie had to admit, Scott had been generous with his time in regard to her son. She wrote back a few hours later.

  January 24

  I’m fine, just the summer flu. Lucky you left when you did or you might have caught my
germs. Evie.

  January 25

  I could think of worse things.

  It continued like that for a week. Emails about nothing in particular. Nothing important. He asked how she was doing; she said she was fine. She inquired about his work; he said it was okay. But beneath the surface, something simmered...a kind of tension filled with words unsaid. Finally, on the seventh day, he sent her a message she obsessed over for three days.

  February 1

  I’ve been thinking, Evie...and I regret the way things ended between us. I’d like to think we can be friends. Scott.

  Friends? Evie wasn’t so sure she had the fortitude it would take to remain friends with a man she’d known only as her lover. A man she had fallen in love with and whom she could never have. Between the years that divided them and the career he’d chosen, their differences seemed impossible to overcome now that an ocean lay between them. But he was Callie’s brother. He was family. And family was important.

  So she garnered her resolve and replied.

  February 4

  I agree. And I’ve been thinking too. I overreacted that afternoon. And I’m sorry we didn’t really get to say goodbye. Evie.

  February 5

  Me too. But I’m not sure I could have managed to say goodbye to you.

  After that, the emails they exchanged became friendlier and she found herself sharing stories about what was happening in Crystal Point, about her guests who had just arrived and the slow progress being made renovating the surf club. In turn, he told her about his close circle of friends and how the football team he supported was doing and what he’d been creating in the kitchen. He asked if she’d been painting and she admitted that she had been spending time in the studio.

  She slept a lot, sometimes in the guest room where she’d spent her magical moments with Scott. She lay on the bed and hugged a pillow, imagining the sheets still had the scent of him in them. But she didn’t cry—despite feeling so emotional and wrung out. By the end of February the nausea returned and she began to wonder if something was seriously wrong. Trevor noticed it, too.

  “You’re sick again?” he asked one afternoon when he loped through the door after school.

  Evie shrugged and sat down wearily. “I’m just tired.”

  Trevor grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and placed it in front of her. “And you’re hardly eating.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. She did eat. Dry toast and crackers seemed to have become her staple diet to combat the wretched nausea. And she was so tired that eating huge meals seemed like way too much effort.

  She grabbed the apple and smiled. “I eat,” she said, and to prove her point took a tiny bite. “See.”

  “You’ve been like this for a month or so. Maybe you should see a doctor?”

  Evie looked at her son. A month? Had it been that long? But what would a doctor tell her—to drink fluids and rest? Wasn’t that the usual remedy for the flu?

  Only, the more she considered it, the less like a flu it seemed. Besides the nausea and fatigue, she didn’t feel sick. She felt...like...like...

  Evie dropped the apple and quickly excused herself. She headed for her bedroom and grabbed the desk diary in her bedside drawer. She looked at the calendar pages with urgent fingers. The empty pages stared back at her.

  I missed my period.

  Not once, but twice. How did I not notice that?

  Oh...God...could it be true? Could I be pregnant with Scott’s baby? She did the calculation in her head and worked out the weeks. She remembered the time they’d made love without protection. She dropped the diary and placed her hands on her abdomen. A baby? Tears pitched behind her eyes and she shook herself. There was no point in imagining what a baby would mean to her before she had proof.

  She took about ten minutes to change her clothes and grab the keys to her Honda. The trip into town was forty-five minutes there and back, with a quick stop at a pharmacy to purchase an over-the-counter pregnancy test.

  She took the test and waited. Three of the longest minutes of her life. Once the time was up, Evie stared at the strip. Two blue lines. She sat on the edge of the bathtub.

  Oh, sweet heaven...

  “I’m pregnant.” She said it out loud. “Oh, my God, I’m pregnant.”

  I’m having Scott’s baby...

  Joy and fear mixed together and created a vortex of feelings inside her so intense she stood no chance of stopping the tears. So Evie let them come. When it was over she felt better, stronger somehow, to deal with the inevitable fallout when news of her pregnancy came out. Because it would come out. Another month or so and she’d be showing. Her family would ask questions, they’d speculate and she knew it wouldn’t be long before they worked it out.

  And Scott had a right to know he was about to become a father before the rest of the world did. Only...she wasn’t sure how to do it.

  Over the following days she picked up the telephone a dozen times and started emails she didn’t send. But how did she tell him something like that? Especially when their fledgling relationship was over and all that remained was a courteous, forced friendship held together because they were now obscurely related by the marriage of their siblings.

  So, as the days morphed into a week, and then another, her courage dwindled. Evie knew she was living in a vacuum of borrowed time. Trevor kept asking her what was wrong. So did her mother and Noah.

  Physically she felt good. The nausea was gone, and her appetite had resumed with a vengeance. She remembered her wanton addiction to toffee ice cream when she’d been pregnant with Trevor, and this time appeared to be no different. She had her first appointment with her obstetrician and scheduled a time to have her first ultrasound the following month.

  And still she didn’t tell Scott. In fact, she’d been so preoccupied with not telling him, she hadn’t responded to any of his emails for a couple of weeks.

  In March she received another email.

  March 15

  I haven’t heard from you lately. Is everything okay? Scott.

  Evie stared at the computer screen and fought the urge to hit the delete button. But she didn’t.

  March 24

  I’m fine.

  March 25

  Trevor said you’ve been sick again? I’m worried about you. What’s wrong?

  She deliberated for an hour. But she knew it was time for the truth. He had rights and she had an obligation to tell him what was happening. They’d both made love that night, and her resulting pregnancy was a shared responsibility. Whatever Scott chose to do with the information was up to him. All Evie knew was that she wanted the baby. She wanted this precious gift more than she’d ever dared imagine. She took a deep breath and wrote.

  March 26

  I’m pregnant.

  Chapter Twelve

  Scott wandered around his apartment that night, barefoot, in jeans and a worn T-shirt; he walked from room to room, trying to soothe the crushing ache behind his ribs.

  A baby...

  Evie was having his baby. But he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. That she would tell him like that...it seemed so outrageously callous he could barely get his head around it. And Evie wasn’t callous. Of course, he knew she was notoriously hardheaded about some things...but he couldn’t believe she would send an email containing two words and think that was adequate.

  Scott headed for the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.

  His head felt as if it were about to explode. He gulped some beer, winced as the cold liquid froze his brain for a few seconds and tried his best to be as mad as hell at Evie.

  But no use. He’d spent months in a kind of dazed limbo—missing her, wanting her so much he couldn’t think about anything else. He’d gone back to work and gone through the motions, determined to keep
his head because he knew what the consequences could be if he let the distraction take hold of him.

  But the nights were impossible. He hurt all over just thinking about Evie.

  I’m going to be a father.

  And he didn’t quite know what he felt. Shock, definitely. And fear. And the absolute certainty that he wanted to share this child with Evie. And not just as a distant, absent parent. But how could it work? His life was in L.A....Evie’s was in Crystal Point.

  He dropped his half-empty bottle into the trash and walked back into the living room. The laptop still sat on the coffee table in the center of the room. He should call her. Scott picked up the telephone, thinking of her number that he couldn’t remember memorizing but somehow had. The telephone stuck to his hand. What would he say—Thanks for the news...let me know when our kid arrives? Yeah, as if that was gonna happen.

  The doorbell rang and he shook himself. A few seconds later three of his friends piled into his apartment, carrying six-packs of Bud and pizza boxes.

  “The game’s on, remember?” Clint Dawson reminded him as he stood as if he were a statue and let them pass. “And you’re the one with the big flat screen.”

  The game? Flat screen? Right...he vaguely remembered agreeing to an evening in with his friends, sharing the tab for takeout and watching the game on TV.