Christmas with Her Lost-and-Found Lover

by Ann Mcintosh

  Elise nodded, her gaze unclouded, seemingly clear of the doubts and worries—and the lust—swirling through him.

  “I’m going to put on dinner so it’ll be ready when you get back.”

  He nodded. “Sounds good. And after we’ve eaten, if you want, we can go do the shopping.”

  “Okay,” she said, giving him a little smile before turning to open the fridge.

  As he put on his coat and headed out the door, what struck him was how homey the conversation sounded. Almost domestic.

  And how damned right.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ELISE COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d almost kissed Rohan, and each time she thought of it, tingles spread up her spine, and desire ran, warm and sultry, through her entire body. She couldn’t even find solace in the mundane, like she usually did, and as she fixed dinner, her mind kept going back to those thrilling moments.

  Her response to his closeness didn’t surprise her. Not really. Rohan was as attractive to her as he’d been all those years before, and the day had been an emotional one, filled with revelations and drama.

  She was also discovering much to like about the older Rohan. His calm and compassion, the way he listened to her, his full attention focused on her words and expression. More than once he’d caught her off guard with his insightful comments and questions.

  But even more important, she liked how much thought he was obviously putting into meeting Jeevan and what he could do to make their relationship a good one. His eagerness made her heart sing and boded well for the future.

  What wouldn’t bode well was the undercurrent of lust flowing between them.

  It wasn’t hard to tell he wanted to keep some distance between them, and she was quite sure doing anything about their attraction would be a bad thing in the long run.

  Once the novelty of their reunion wore off, having slept together would make things uncomfortable.

  She’d made a big pot of chicken stew the week before and frozen it in batches. Now she heated some up, planning to add dumplings once it was simmering. As she mixed the dough, her thoughts turned once more to Rohan, and her breath caught in her throat.

  He’d looked so uncomfortable, almost shocked, at their near-kiss, but she’d also seen the desire shimmering in his eyes. It was a look she recognized, even after all these years, and it still had the same effect on her as it had before.

  Turning the burner down to low, she decided to have a shower while Rohan was gone.

  While Ben’s rescue had happened just that morning, it felt as though days had passed since then, and somehow the thought of a warm shower to wash away the day was infinitely appealing.

  Having enjoyed her shower, she checked the pot and then went to make up the bed in the spare room and put out towels for Rohan. Wondering if he still liked an extra blanket when he slept, she went and got one, laying it out, just in case.

  It was weird to know so much about a man but still consider him something of a stranger. Yet that was exactly how this crazy situation felt.

  They’d somehow found their way back together after almost thirty years, their story almost perfectly bookended by accidents—one that tore them apart, the other reuniting them.

  But she reminded herself that it wasn’t a reunion, really. More a reintroduction—happenstance that fortunately also gave back to her son the father he’d never known.

  That was what was important.

  Nothing else.

  By the time she finished, it was time to add the dumplings to the stew. After putting some rolls in the oven, she set about making a salad. As she went to open the fridge, she caught sight of the picture of Jeevan she always kept on the door.

  Love for her son overwhelmed her, brought her to tears. She’d missed him so much. It had been a constant ache in her heart. At least when he was at university, she’d known he was in the same country, although miles away. While he was abroad, she’d fretted and worried every day. Now she wondered how he’d feel when he discovered his supposedly long-deceased father was actually still alive.

  When he was growing up, she’d tried to gauge how he was dealing with not having his father around, but he’d always assured her he was fine. During his rebellious teenage years, she’d wondered if having a solid father figure, or even a male influence on a day-to-day basis, would have curbed some of his wilder impulses.

  Jeevan had had his Uncle Ray, Elise’s brother-in-law, while they lived in Calgary, but once they’d moved to Banff when Jeevan was fourteen, it had just been the two of them.

  How would Rohan coming back into their lives, and hearing why he’d been absent, affect their son?

  There was no way to know until Jeevan got home and found out, but Elise couldn’t help worrying anyway.

  As she was cutting up cucumbers, her phone rang. It was Rohan.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, wondering if he’d changed his mind about staying there after their near-kiss.

  “Yes, but I wanted you to know I’ll be a little longer.”

  “The husky isn’t doing well?”

  “The one we operated on is fine, but the female has been acting up since the barn collapse. Nathan thought she was missing the male, and took her in to see him briefly earlier, but it didn’t help. She only settled down when I went and took her out of the kennel, and I thought I’d just stay with her a while and see if I can calm her down enough to not have her howling all night.”

  “Bring her back here,” Elise said. “Maybe having Bax for company will help.”

  There was a short silence, and she wished she could see his face, to perhaps get a hint of what he was thinking.

  “She isn’t house-trained, Elise.”

  “Bring some pee pads with you, and we’ll keep her and Bax sequestered in the kitchen overnight. I’m not some shrinking violet who’ll get upset over a bit of a mess in the morning.”

  The sound he made was something between a snort and a chuckle.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Well, then, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “And for goodness’ sake, give her a name. We can’t expect her to listen to us if she doesn’t know we’re talking to her.”

  He laughed then, before hanging up, and the sound turned her insides to molten desire, and her legs to jelly.

  What was it about that laugh that affected her this way? And had her thinking the kinds of thoughts she’d firmly told herself she shouldn’t have?

  Like if making love with him would be as magical and fulfilling as it had been when they were young. He’d instinctively known where to touch her, how to seek out her pleasure zones and, after taking her to the edge of orgasm, bring her to completion. Just thinking about it made nerve endings she’d almost forgotten she had roar back to life, and pushed tingling heat to all her erogenous zones.

  During those heady months, they’d spent hours exploring their sexuality together. Neither of them had been virgins, but he’d often said he’d never had the type of satisfaction he’d found with her, and she’d readily admitted it was the same for her. Just kissing him had been an exercise in pleasure back then. One of her favorite memories was of them sitting on a bluff in Algonquin Park, surrounded by glorious autumn colors, kissing and kissing, and stopping only when they heard others coming up the trail.

  That was where the picture of Rohan in her living room was taken, when she’d caught him in a moment of joy and impulsively snapped the shot. It showed, she thought, the essence of the man she’d fallen for so hard.

  But he remembered none of that—and in a way she was glad. While he worried that she may be judging him against the person he was then, she didn’t have to consider how he would view the changes in her—both physical and emotional—in return.

  The young woman who’d luxuriated in delicious, rebellious passion no longer existed
. In her place had grown a woman who’d learned to be steady, calm, controlled.

  That was the woman she now needed to depend on, to put aside her erotic, potentially destructive impulses and keep him at arm’s length.

  With that pep talk, she went back to fixing the salad, but the heat that had flooded her stubbornly refused to abate, and her heart gave a little stutter when she heard his vehicle arrive.

  The husky took some coaxing to get inside, and it was Baxter who seemed to have convinced her eventually, but once she came in, she swiftly settled down, sharing a bed with the golden.

  “See, I told you Bax would help.” Elise couldn’t keep a hint of smugness from invading her tone as she put their dinner on the table. “Have you decided on a name for her yet?”

  “Yes, you told me, and no, I haven’t given her a name. We usually wait for either the fosterer or adopters to do that.”

  He pulled out her chair for her, waiting until she was seated to sit down.

  “Well, I think that’s silly. She needs rehabilitation, which also means learning her manners and basic commands, as well as socialization. I don’t see how that’s possible if she doesn’t have a name to respond to. I’m going to call her Phoebe.”

  He just smiled and, picking up his spoon, said, “This smells delicious.”

  She knew a change of subject when she heard one, so she started on her salad. Swallowing the first bite, she said, “Chicken and dumplings is one of Jeevan’s favorites. I was telling myself off for cooking as much of it as I did a couple days ago and was resigned to eating it for weeks. But since he’s coming home, I won’t have to worry.”

  He glanced up, his eyes gleaming. “Maybe you had a premonition that he would be here for Christmas after all?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head as she reached for a roll. “I was absolutely sure he wouldn’t be. He was so excited to see Australia—all those birds.” She chuckled. “I asked him whether he’d go to the Great Barrier Reef, or travel to Sydney to see the Opera House or Bondi Beach, but he said probably not. His friend had some bush treks arranged so they could go bird-watching.”

  “I think I’ll have to have words with him. I’ve heard the bird-watching on Bondi Beach is pretty amazing.”

  “Ooh...” Elise gave his deadpan expression a narrow-eyed glare, even though she saw the devilish humor in his gaze. “Don’t you become a bad influence.”

  “What?” He tried for an innocent look and failed. “He likes birds.”

  She swatted his hand before going back to her meal. “Watch yourself, buddy.”

  * * *

  As he was eating, Rohan couldn’t help watching Elise even while they joked around—the way she moved, the shape of her lips, the delicate yet strong hands.

  No matter how he tried to force himself to stop, his gaze tracked back to her again and again, taking in all the nuances of her expression.

  Just as they finished their meal, a huge yawn took him by surprise, and she gave him a knowing look.

  “It’s been a long day. I think we can leave the shopping for tomorrow, don’t you? Why don’t you take a shower and go to bed?”

  “It’s too early for bed. If I turn in now, I’ll be up at three in the morning, but I could use a shower. Besides, I want to see Jeevan’s pictures.”

  “Sure. If you like.”

  The memory of her smile, as she agreed, followed him down the corridor to the room she directed him to.

  She seemed so happy that he wanted to see the pictures. Didn’t she realize how amazingly special that would be to him?

  But how could she, really?

  Jeevan had been a part of her life since he was born. An unbroken chain of love connected them in ways Rohan could hardly fathom. There was no way she could begin to understand how it felt for him, after all those lonely, somehow barren years, to be presented with the gift of the chance to know—to love—his child.

  It was like being given a second chance, a new lease on life, and he was going to grab ahold of it with both hands.

  Going to give it everything he had.

  He felt a bit better after his shower and wandered back out to find her in the living room, a stack of photo albums beside her.

  She’d turned on the lights in the garlands they’d put up that afternoon, and Rohan wondered what her Christmas tree would be like when decorated. Would it be filled with colorful, silly toys, remnants of Jeevan’s childhood, or would it be elegant and color-coordinated? Somehow, he thought the former. She struck him as a woman of sentiment, behind that no-nonsense, strong exterior.

  As he sat next to her on the couch, she said, “I got in the habit of putting albums together and kept doing it even when the digital revolution took over, although I have hundreds of other pictures on the computer.”

  She placed them on his lap and said, “The years they span are on the spines, and I think they’re in order, but you can check.” Straightening, she stretched. “I’m going to take the dogs out. If there’s anything you want to know about, just ask.”

  “Thank you,” he said, battling disappointment that she wasn’t sticking around to look at the pictures with him.

  Yet that same sense of excitement he’d felt earlier superseded discontent soon, as he opened the first album and found a record of Jeevan’s birth, complete with foot and handprints.

  That was when he knew he was in trouble—that what he’d thought of as an interesting way to learn a bit more about his son was going to be an emotionally devastating event. The knowledge almost made him close the album and walk away, but he fought the impulse.

  All this time he’d thought he’d lost the ability to feel emotion, but maybe he’d just been too frightened to feel. Too hurt to want to. Looking at the pictures would hurt, but perhaps also, in some way, heal.

  So he forced himself to focus, to accept the pain of loss.

  Those tiny hands and feet that he’d never got to see. Toes he’d never got to kiss. Palms he’d never got to wash.

  He wanted to go back, to experience it all. To be there for the middle-of-the-night feedings. For rocking baby Jeevan to sleep. Even for diaper duty.

  Elise had had to do it all herself, taking on the full responsibility of motherhood without him, and the knowledge tore into him like a lance through the heart.

  For a long time he couldn’t move, except to run his finger over the inked lines until, eventually, he forced himself to turn the page.

  Elise, younger, disheveled and pale, and a wrinkly, obviously just-born Jeevan lying on her breast, his face turned away from the camera. He had a full head of dark hair, and Rohan lifted his hand to touch his nape, just where his hair swirled. The spot every barber complained about, because it was impossible to cut it so the strands lay flat.

  “Who has a cowlick at the back of their head?” one had complained.

  Rohan did. And so did his son.

  What else did they share? The shape of their toes or fingers? Perhaps an affinity for sweets, or seafood?

  He wanted to know, even as each revelation, every discovery, would tear at his heart.

  With a deep breath, he turned another page, trying to hold it together, taking his time to view the photos, noting the subtle changes as Jeevan grew. One thing never wavered, though, and that was the love clearly visible in Elise’s eyes whenever she was looking at their child. There were other people in some of the pictures, but Rohan hardly spared them a glance. The only people he was interested in were his son and the woman who’d given him life.

  “How’re things going?”

  Lost in the moment, in the pain, he hadn’t heard her coming back, and looked up. She was a blur, and he blinked to clear his vision. And it was then he realized he’d teared up, looking at this record of all he’d missed.

  All he’d lost.

  “Oh, Rohan. Don’t.”

  And th
en she was there, holding him, and he could let go, somehow sure she wouldn’t let him fall.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “IT’S OKAY. IT’S OKAY.”

  Elise didn’t know what else to say to the man trembling in her arms, or how to comfort him. She thought he was crying, but he did so without sound, just the silent, quaking body expressing sorrow and regret.

  Because she knew there was no real comfort she could offer.

  What he was seeing, what it appeared he mourned, was the past, and the lost chance to be a part of all that was laid out two-dimensionally before him in the albums. To experience what was pictured in real time, as she had.

  She remembered the feel of holding Jeevan as a newborn, a baby, a toddler. Remembered the weight of him, the scent, as he went from baby powder sweetness to grubby little boy, to the teenager who wouldn’t leave the house without the stinky cologne he favored at the time.

  There’d been fights over clothes, about how he wore his pants, and the ugly hat he’d found on sale somewhere and wore until it started to unravel. Strong words exchanged over report cards and inappropriate friends, rumors of him sneaking cigarettes—which he thankfully didn’t become addicted to—and the snake she once found in his room.

  Elise knew she wouldn’t change any of it, although there were parts she would prefer not to relive.

  Rohan, she now realized, would give anything to have been there for all of it, and was grieving the inability to do so.

  So there really were no words to ease his anguish, or to make it right. All she could do was hang on and try to see him through.

  In a way, she’d been where he was, just in a different way.

  She was eternally thankful for her sister, Emma, who’d taken her in and held her while she wept for Rohan. Emma had traveled the road of loss with her, encouraging her to think of the future, not just of the past. Perhaps Elise could do the same for Rohan now.

  “You can’t go back in time, Rohan, but you have a lot to look forward to. I know it hurts to know what you missed, but there’s time to start over, to build a relationship with Jeevan, and be happy.”