by Toni Blake
So finally she said, “Maybe . . . it’s not about figuring out what happened or who was to blame. Maybe it can be about . . . starting over.”
Though Shane just looked at her like she was crazy. And maybe that was understandable. The news was so fresh, after all. “I can’t think about that right now. I can’t think about any of it.” Then his face softened, harsh lines fading, and an undeniable need filled his eyes as he said, “Kiss me, Candy.”
And she wanted him again, too. Wanted to slake his pain. And wanted to connect with him in that oh-so-intense and oh-so-pleasurable way.
And so she kissed him—she took his darkly stubbled face between her palms and kissed him warm and long and deep. And then she kissed him other places. She kissed his rough cheek. She kissed his soft neck. She kissed her way down his broad, muscled chest. And then she kissed a line down the center of his stomach, following the contours of the muscles there, until she arrived at his navel—and then lower.
Taking his firm erection in her hand, she kissed it, too. Softly. Tenderly. Then, loving the gentle moans it drew from him, she took him in her mouth.
She wanted to give him . . . all of her in that moment, all of herself that she could. And she hated that he was leaving. And she wondered if this news about Anita could possibly change anything, possibly make him stay, once he got used to the idea. And she almost hoped—but was afraid to. And so she ultimately chose to forget, too, about anything else but this moment, and his hot, virile body, and taking him to heaven.
They took each other there twice more before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
“You need a hobby.”
As the sound of his voice jarred her from slumber at some point in the night, she opened her eyes in the dark room, illuminated by moonlight that told her the snow had stopped falling outside. And she realized Shane was addressing Frosty, who was back at the foot of the bed, intently looking their way.
She simply let a soft giggle leave her, kissed his chest, rested her head there as she closed her eyes, and wished it could be this way always.
The trill of the phone by Candy’s bed woke Shane from a sound sleep. Sound because of the woman next to him, he knew. He was surprised he’d slept so damn well, in fact, and the sun outside told him he’d slept long, too.
As she leaned over to answer, he glanced toward the clock to see it was past nine.
“Hello?” she said. Then, “No, I haven’t.” And her face went dark. “What? You’re kidding. How can that be—how is it even possible?”
He waited quietly as she finished the call, her expression grim.
And when she hung up, she said, “That was Tessa. And I can’t believe what she just told me.”
“What?” he asked.
“The worst possible news. A fresh foot of snow fell last night, and there was a lot of wind, too, apparently.”
She clearly hadn’t gotten to the heart of the matter yet, so he prodded her. “And?”
“And the snow collapsed the church roof again.”
He leaned slightly closer. “Really?”
She nodded.
And he said, “Well, I can tell you how it’s possible. The repairs we did weren’t meant to hold the weight of another big snowstorm. They were only supposed to be enough to get through the holidays and . . . the wedding.” His mother’s wedding. Not just some stranger’s wedding anymore. But he went on. “It was just some tarps and plywood—nothing else.”
Next to him, Candy sighed. “And who would have believed we’d get another big snow before Christmas. I mean, one that big is fairly unusual. But two . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t ever remember anything like that happening here in my whole life.”
“I’m sure nobody else expected it this soon, either,” he agreed.
“Poor Anita,” Candy said.
And Shane’s chest tightened. Poor Anita. Everyone felt so damn sorry for Anita. And they’d probably feel even sorrier for her now—because her long-lost son had stormed away from her and her wedding was ruined, again.
Though he didn’t say a word, Candy must have sensed his reaction because she told him, “I’m sorry. I just can’t not feel bad for her about the wedding. And . . . about you. I feel bad for both of you. I know this whole situation is hard.”
He just nodded because he didn’t even know for sure how he felt.
Hell, he didn’t like to think of the woman’s wedding being ruined all over again, either. He didn’t like to think of all the hard work people had gone to these past few weeks coming to this. Christmas Eve was only three days away—and if the roof had collapsed again, there would be no fixing the church in time to have a wedding there now.
But at the same time, he was still angry. Even if everything Anita said was true, had . . . had she just given up on finding him? Montana was long distance, sure—but he’d been there all this time, in one place more or less. And even if he didn’t know the details or facts behind any of this, it was hard to believe that if she loved him so much she wouldn’t have found a way, kept searching. To the ends of the fucking earth if that was what it took.
That was when Candice asked, her voice laced with caution, “Would . . . would you like me to take you to see Anita? Or maybe Walter? Both of them?”
“No,” he answered quickly. Still mired in that fresh jolt of anger. Starting to consider, just a little, that maybe his father had been in the wrong—but somehow that just made him feel abandoned by both of them. Like they were both pieces of shit who didn’t deserve his attention.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’d rather just help you clean up at Miss Ellie’s today.” Lot less drama at Miss Ellie’s, after all.
Yet Candy bit her pretty lower lip and informed him, “Adam promised me that he, Sue Ann, Jenny, and Mick would take care of everything so that I didn’t have to come back today. So we’re kind of . . . off the hook.” Though he could tell by her tone that she knew good and well this news didn’t equal off the hook to him.
He let out a sigh. “How about we just start with breakfast, then?”
And in reply his pretty girl gave him a smile, and a good-morning kiss, and he thought she looked like a slightly naughty angel, naked next to him but wearing that sweet, innocent expression on her face. All she was missing was the halo and wings.
Kind of like Clarence in the movie. Well, if Clarence had been female and hot.
Shane felt in sort of a fog as he got up, took a shower, put back on yesterday’s clothes, and joined Candy in the kitchen. He focused on her, his angelic Candy Cane, as she experimented with peppermint pancakes over the griddle. He focused on remembering all the ways they’d moved together last night. He focused on the silly cat who kept weaving figure eights around his ankles, even as he looked down and said, “Seriously. Hobby. Consider it.”
Snowplows went by just as she was scooping the pancakes onto plates. And as they finished eating a little while later, Shane said, “You got a snow shovel, Candy? I should probably start trying to dig the car out.”
“Yeah—in the toolshed.”
That was when the doorbell rang, a surprise given the heavy snow accumulation.
They just looked at each other—before Candy silently rose to go answer.
And Shane pushed to his feet, too, but hung back, in the kitchen doorway, watching from a distance, because he already had a good idea who would be on the other side of that door.
A few seconds later he saw his mother again—just a sliver of her face actually, because Candy had only opened the door halfway. She stood next to her fiancé, and maybe he could sense more than see that she was tired and harried. “I made Walter bring me as soon as the plows went through,” she said. “I’m so sorry to bother you, honey—but I had to. I had to see—is my boy with you? Is Shane here?”
Candy hadn’t even answered yet, though, when Anita must have caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, because that was when she leaned past the door to look at him. The m
other he hadn’t seen since he was a little boy.
And now he was a man.
And she’d missed every damn thing in between.
And he realized even more than before that he had nothing to say to her—nothing at all.
Twenty-two
“Don’t you see what a mistake it would be to throw it all away?”
Clarence Odbody, Angel 2nd Class, It’s a Wonderful Life
When Shane made no response, not even moving a muscle, Walter said from behind Anita, “I told her maybe we oughtn’t to come rushin’ in, that maybe we should give you some time, son.”
And it wasn’t so much that Shane meant to keep standing there staring at them, not speaking, especially when Candy opened the door wider—but only that he couldn’t think of a damn thing in the world he wanted to say. To either of them. He bore Walter no ill will—from everything he’d heard, the man was a pillar of the community and he seemed sensible, but Shane’s mind just felt . . . empty. Too filled with emotion for anything as trivial as words to squeeze their way in.
When he still didn’t reply, Candy hurried to fill the blank space. “I’m so sorry about the church. Is there any way they can fix it in time for the wedding?”
Anita had stepped through the door now, just over the threshold, and stood wringing her hands, her eyes flitting from Shane to Candy to the floor—and Shane knew he wasn’t making this easy for her. But it wasn’t out of cruelty. He just lacked any answers.
Still behind her, Walter let out a long sigh, and responded to Candy’s question. “Don’t seem likely, but folks are up there right now givin’ it a look to see what they think.”
“That doesn’t matter,” his mother interjected then. “I mean, it does. Of course it does. But . . .” She stopped, appearing torn, confused, yet then looked more directly at Shane. “Shane is what matters to me right now. And . . . maybe Walter was right, I should have waited, not pushed myself on you so fast. But Shaney, I’ve waited so long already. How could I stay away?”
And that was when Shane found his voice. “You’ve missed my whole life. I don’t have any damn idea what to say. Or what to believe.” He shook his head and was brutally honest. Honesty seemed like a good idea here. “And I guess this just seems . . . pointless to me. I mean, you don’t even know me. And obviously, you didn’t come looking for me.”
At this, her eyes flew wide. “I did all I could, I swear. I didn’t have any money, any resources. I tried to track your father down, but nobody would help me. And . . . and . . .” Her voice lost some of its steam then. “I can see how empty this must sound to you.”
“Kinda, yeah.” He hadn’t planned to accuse her of anything, but maybe it needed to be said.
“Not a day has gone by,” she told him, “that I haven’t ached to know where you are, and to have you with me. Not a day, Shaney.”
“I can attest to that, son,” Walter added. “In the years I’ve known Anita—well, she told me about you on our very first date. And she talks about you all the time. She’s never stopped looking for you—I’ve tried to help, too, but the trail had been too cold for too long and there just weren’t any clues or leads to follow. She loves you dearly and always has.”
Shane went silent again. And Anita took a step forward, her hands clasped together tight. The fact that she wore no gloves seemed almost ironic—though he guessed she’d just rushed out without them or something. “Is there anything I can say or do to make this better? Anything at all?”
And as Shane considered the question, he realized that was what it really all came down to. And he gave another honest answer. “That’s the thing. I don’t think there is. It’s just . . . too much lost time. Too much lost . . . everything.”
“I would do anything. Anything.” And that was when she rushed forward, toward him, collapsing on him in a fierce hug.
Hell. Like yesterday in the garden, he didn’t want this, this closeness with her. This forced intimate moment with a mother he didn’t know. And yet, there she was, clutching on to him so desperately—and even amid the cold and emotion that clung to her, he found . . . an old familiarity, something invisible and long-forgotten. And it tore at his gut and made him hug her, too. Again, just like yesterday.
But shit—he wasn’t the little boy she’d lost and he hadn’t been anybody’s little boy for a damn long time, so to hell with this. His heart beat too hard as he reached up to untwine her arms from around his shoulders, taking a step back away from her.
He didn’t look at her eyes then—couldn’t. Afraid of what he’d see. Her hurt. Memories. He wanted to fucking be done with this. So he just dropped his gaze to the floor and said, voice low, “I can’t. Sorry—but I can’t.”
He then sensed Anita digging in the large purse that hung from a strap on her shoulder. His skin prickled with wishing she would just leave already—wishing he could leave. But he didn’t have that luxury.
That was when she thrust a small wooden picture frame at him.
He didn’t really want to take it, see what it held, but he felt he had no choice the way she was holding it out. And maybe if he did, it would hurry along her departure.
Accepting it, he glanced down at a picture of a red-haired woman holding a dark-headed little boy, maybe around seven. He only had a few pictures of himself that age or younger, but of course he knew it was him. He was smiling and so was she. A lit Christmas tree stood behind them, suddenly assaulting him with the memory, the knowledge that it was at his grandparents’ house, that he remembered the little red sweater vest he wore, that he remembered his grandmother making the kind of star-shaped cookie he held in his hand. He remembered it all. Suddenly and too vividly. He remembered a whole other life that he’d thought he’d forgotten. His chest went hollow.
Because he also remembered . . . her love. Not just misbehaving and being yelled at and punished. But he remembered playing with her and opening presents she’d bought for him and being tucked in to bed at night—and a hundred other snippets of the past that were all . . . filled with love.
“I keep that next to my bed,” she said of the picture. “Always have. But . . . but I want you to have it. Just to have some keepsake of me. It would . . . it would mean something to me.”
Shane sucked in his breath, tried to find more words. “You . . . don’t want it?”
Her reply came out quick, her breathing nervous and ragged. “It’s my favorite picture of us together and I have copies—I can frame another. It’s just . . . just . . . my way of showing you . . . how much I love you. I know it’s not much. It’s just . . . all I have.”
“Okay,” he murmured. Then lowered his eyes once more. He’d take the picture, but that was all.
And apparently she was reading him loud and clear because that was when she finally retreated—with the words, “I love you, Shane. And I’m so glad you’re safe, and so proud of you.”
And then she turned and walked out the door. Leaving him a little numb, and thinking about the pride she’d just proclaimed. Odd, given that she knew nothing about him at all, and yet somehow it warmed something inside him.
He slowly raised his gaze to see Walter still standing near the front door, still wide open—the room was getting cold. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling right now,” Walter told him, “but all I can say is—she has a lot of love to give you, son, if you’ll accept it.”
And then he turned and left, too, and relief flooded Shane.
Until he, for some reason, thought of Frosty—and that wide open door. He looked to Candy. “Where’s the cat?”
Appearing surprised by the question, she pointed toward the hearth, where Frosty lay stretched out, warming beside the fire.
And Shane nodded, stepping up to finally shut the door. “I was just afraid . . .” He stopped, shook his head. “Just not in the mood to go chasing a white cat around in the snow.”
“It’s all right. He’s still here.” Her voice came out soft, comforting. Then she walked over to him, r
eaching up to touch his shoulder. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about this?”
He met her pretty gaze only briefly, then let it drop. “Right now, I just want to shovel snow.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You want to shovel snow?”
“Yeah, I never thought I’d hear me say that, either. But it’s just what I feel like doing right now.” And with that, he set the framed picture his mother had given him facedown on a nearby table and went to find his shoes, which he’d left by the fireplace last night.
As he bundled up, finishing with the gloves Candy had given him, she said, “Lot of snow out there. Don’t forget to take breaks and come in to warm up. And don’t hurt your back. Or have a heart attack. Or anything else.”
“I’m a big boy, honey,” he said, eager to get out the door.
“I know. I just . . . care. That’s all.”
And it reminded him exactly how much she cared. She loved him. She’d told him so. And he’d had pretty damn much on his mind since then, so maybe that had gotten a little lost in it all—but now it was back. And hell, it felt nice. Even if maybe he wouldn’t have thought that a few weeks ago.
Now he turned toward her, placed his gloved hand at the back of her neck, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered. Then he walked to the door.
Though he stopped when he reached it, looking back. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” she said.
“What if your dad came back? What would you do?”
A certain darkness passed over her face, instantly telling him she didn’t have an easy answer, which at least made him feel justified here. He’d asked the right question to really make her understand what he felt right now. She lowered her gaze, her expression somber, serious, until she met his eyes once more to quietly say, “Maybe I’d give him a chance. I’m not saying that would be easy—but I think I would. I think I’d have to.”
