by Caro Carson
He hasn’t said he loves you. Pay attention.
Fine. Then he’d care for her just the same whether he saw her onstage or not.
She loved him, though, and she was concerned for his comfort. “Avoiding church steps or whatever else is unpleasant is simple enough, but avoiding Santa Claus… I don’t think it’s possible. December must be torture for you.”
The sting of tears caught her by surprise. Disappointment, concern, love for a man who was leaving two days from now, her uncertain future—all of it added up. She puffed out a little breath and blinked back the tears quickly.
Not quickly enough. Ryan pulled her protectively into the alcove by the window. “Is that a showstopper? I didn’t think that would make a woman consider walking away.” The stiffness with which he asked the question was a sure sign that this was not a passing curiosity. This question mattered.
A woman walking away. Pay attention.
“What if you have children someday? Would you raise them without Santa?”
He was silent for an eternity.
She felt awful, keeping him by this window full of Santas. “We can keep walking. We don’t even have to talk about this.”
To her surprise, he enveloped her in a hug. “It’s okay. I’ve never dated a woman who made me think about having children.”
She hugged him back, grateful once more that he was leaving the rodeo forever. It sounded like a rotten life.
He let go of her and cleared his throat a little, a man prepared to make a formal statement. “I think children deserve to believe in the magic of it all.”
Kristen let out the breath she’d been holding. If she’d had time to think up a right answer, that would have been it.
“I’d handle it.” To her relief, Ryan winked at her. “You’ll notice I’m standing in front of this window without going crazy at the moment. I didn’t run screaming from the Santa on your porch. I’m a grown man, I can control my feelings. If I was with a child who wanted to sit in Santa’s lap, I could stand in that line at the mall for as long as it took. Does that answer your question?”
She smiled and nodded and pretended she wasn’t choked up by those tears once more. Poor Ryan. Her Ryan. The one she was paying attention to.
She started walking toward Depot Park and her theater. Ryan fell in step beside her, and she reached out to hold his hand, blue mitten to his black leather driving glove. Only one event in his childhood could have given him such an aversion to Christmas. “Did you see Santa before or after your birth mother walked away?”
He whistled softly. “Has anyone ever suggested the law to you as a career? You’re so fearless in your questioning. I can just see you with a witness on the stand.”
That surprised her, in a good way. She swung their hands a little bit. “I like that image. It makes me sound tough. Much more flattering than what my brothers would say. They say I’m like a bull in a china shop, always jumping in without thinking.”
“No, it’s an insightful question. Childhood memories are tricky, though.”
“You were three, right? I’m trying to come up with a memory from when I was three. I don’t think I have any.”
“I was almost four, but I still only remember a couple of moments.”
They’d come to an intersection with a traffic signal. Ryan pushed the button, and out of habit, Kristen shifted from foot to foot to stay warm while they waited for the signal to walk. She’d been doing that since she was a little girl.
“When I was three, my sister and I were taken to a preschool here in Kalispell once a week while my mother did the big shopping. I really only know that because my mom has pointed out the preschool to me and told me about it.”
“The big shopping?”
“You know, the weekly grocery stock-up. My brothers went through boxes of cereal, so she bought them by the gross.”
The light turned green, and they continued walking hand in hand, like grown-ups.
“Anyway, I suspect the preschool was a way for her to get her shopping done without hauling around two three-year-olds, but she insists that it was to improve our social skills. If you think about it, it would be easy for twins on a ranch to grow up without ever seeing other children their age. I don’t remember the preschool at all, or at least I thought I didn’t, but I remember this toy kitchen. It was made of wood, but it had a stove and sink, and the knobs were blue. I asked my mom once what happened to it, who had we given it away to, and she said we never had a toy kitchen. It had been at this preschool.”
She slowed her steps, concentrating on that memory, and Ryan slowed down with her.
“That’s it. I can’t remember the classroom or any of the other kids or what the teacher looked like. I remember blue kitchen knobs. Isn’t that weird?”
“I’m told that’s normal. Below a certain age, you might remember something like the candles on a birthday cake, but you wouldn’t remember the whole day, like who was at the party or what gifts you got. Just an image of a flaming cake.”
“You were told that?”
“Part of the adoption process included counseling for my parents as well as me. I don’t remember that, either, but to this day, my parents recommend it to other adopting parents. When I was old enough to ask questions, they always seemed to know what to expect. I asked about the church steps when I was in middle school. Before that, they weren’t sure I had any memory of my birth mother at all.”
His adoptive parents must have cared about their new son very much to have prepared themselves to answer all his questions in the future. She’d like to meet them some day.
“Is that all you remember? Church steps and the backs of her legs and the hem of her skirt?”
“It’s like one of those six-second videos that you see on the internet. I’m looking down at my shoes, and I’m standing on cement steps. I know it’s a church, and it’s some kind of Christmas festival, because I’m holding a snow globe. It’s brand-new to me, like I’ve just gotten this snow globe, and my shoes hurt, and my mother…”
He trailed off into silence.
“I’m sorry,” Kristen said. “I shouldn’t have asked you to relive that.”
He looked almost surprised at her apology. “It’s okay. I was just replaying that scene, and you were right. I would have said that Santa wasn’t part of it, but he was. That snow globe had a little plastic Mr. and Mrs. Claus in it, puckered up for a kiss and bending toward each other with their eyes closed.”
“Oh, no. Like the one on my porch?”
“It’s a common scene. I dropped the snow globe when she walked away. There was water and glitter splattered everywhere, and those red figures were lying there in the open air, still straining toward each other, still trying to connect. They never get to kiss, do they?”
They reached the park, which was really just an open square. Soon, it would be filled with cocoa stands and craft stalls for the official start of the holiday season. Right now, in the sunny-cold afternoon, it was a still-green square by the railroad tracks, empty except for the plain evergreen in the center that awaited its holiday finery.
Kristen stopped walking and turned to face Ryan. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have retired Mr. Claus. I would have at least shut up about my quest for Mrs. Claus.”
“Unnecessary, remember? I can handle it.”
She felt the tears sting her eyes. “Right. Because you’re a big, tough man and you can control your feelings.”
“Is that so bad?”
She stepped into him, her boots fitting between his as she clutched his lapel in her mittens and looked up at him through lashes that were wet with tears. “I’m so very sorry. I’m sorry that Ryan Michaels had to learn to control feelings like those. And I’m sorry that Ryan Roarke has a girlfriend who is too curious. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.”
“Don’t be sorry. I want you to know me.” He lifted her chin with his leather-gloved hand and kissed away a tear. “You are so special because you want to know me. It’s a gift to be with a woman who asks such real questions. Most women just want—”
He cut himself off abruptly.
“Women just want what?”
Long moments ticked by. At first, she was horrified that she’d brought up some other terrible memory, but when he wouldn’t quite meet her gaze, she looked at him harder. What did women want from him?
“Oh, my gosh,” she blurted. “You’re blushing, aren’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“You are.” She slapped the lapel of his overcoat with her palm. “That’s what women want from you, huh? I guess I’m not very unique.”
They both began to laugh, and it felt wonderful to be with him, laughing by an evergreen on a sunny day in the park.
“Kristen.” Ryan pulled her to him. “You are the most perfect you. Never has a woman touched my heart the way you do.”
Her heart soared at those words, and she looked up at him through lashes that were still dotted with tears. “With you, I’m crying one minute and laughing the next. I think that definitely means I love you.”
“Are you sure you can love a man who is more of a Scrooge than a Santa?”
If only he knew. “Scrooge had his reasons for hating Christmas, and so do you. I’d have to have a heart of stone to hold it against either one of you. I’ve always had a soft spot for Scrooge.”
“I’ve always liked Scrooge, too.” His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, and then he straightened and looked around the square. Red bells, candy canes, the tree awaiting its decorations—he looked critically at them all. “I’ve always thought I hated Christmas, but I don’t. None of this bothers me. I watch at least one version of Scrooge every year.”
“You do?” The ticket in her pocket might be a sweet surprise, after all.
“I do. I don’t hate everything about Christmas.”
“Just Santa?” she asked, wanting to be sure.
“Yeah, I’m not so crazy about him, but now I’ve pinpointed why. Thank you. I told you those questions were good ones.”
“Being like Scrooge could be a good thing. He changes at the end of the play and ends up as the biggest Christmas fan of them all.”
“That may be a bit ambitious, but I’ll work on it.”
“The day after Thanksgiving, there’s a big parade through town that ends right here. The mayor lights the tree, and it stays lit all month. When you come back, I’m going to bring you here and kiss you until you have a great Christmas memory to start building on.”
His smile dimmed a little at her words, but that was probably because a great Christmas was a new concept for him. “I told you when we met that if anyone could make Christmas better, it would be you.”
She looped her arms around his neck. “And when I find my 1968 Mrs. Claus, I’m going to put her on the porch with her little mouth pushed right up to Santa’s. It’s too sad that they never make that connection. Mine are going to get to kiss all winter long.”
He’d said her questions were like a gift to him, but she had something better to give: a promise. So while he was still chuckling, she spoke very seriously. “And, Ryan Roarke, whether it is Christmas or the Fourth of July or spring or autumn, I will never, ever walk away from you.”
* * *
Kristen loved him.
Him, Ryan Roarke, who had once been Ryan Michaels, and who bore all the complications that came with his history. Miraculously, he’d come to Montana and found the one woman who had taken the time to get to know him inside and out, and she loved him.
They’d spent all week sharing their histories, their feelings, their desires. She knew nothing about the cars he owned or the clients he helped, but she knew his heart. She loved him, the real him, not an idealized image of a cowboy or a rodeo star. He could tell her about his law practice now, and it wouldn’t change anything she loved about him, because she’d fallen in love without knowing about his Hollywood connections or his bank account. When he explained that he couldn’t make it back in December, that there’d be no kiss by the town’s tree, she’d be disappointed, but she’d still love him in January.
“Speaking of Scrooge,” she said, “there’s something you don’t know about me. Close your eyes.”
He closed them obediently. He heard the rustle of her bright red coat as she unbuttoned it. His own coat was unbuttoned despite the temperatures staying in the thirties. In only one week, his body had learned to tolerate the cold far better. If he lived in Montana, it would take no time to adjust.
“Now let me turn you so you’re facing this way.”
If only he could live in Montana. He couldn’t let his parents down, but he needed to find a way to see Kristen more often. December was impossible, but perhaps he could fly Kristen to Los Angeles, if she could juggle her ranch, her renovations and her teaching job. She’d never want to live in LA, but she might find a visit interesting.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
Kristen was beaming at him as she held a ticket in her mittened hand.
He took the ticket. “A Christmas Carol? We were just talking about it. You had this in your pocket the whole time?”
“I did, but I wasn’t going to give it to you if it would make you sad. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say you like Scrooge. Tonight is opening night, right here at this theater.” She gestured toward the sprawling brick building she’d turned him to face, a renovated train depot, by the looks of it.
She seemed overly excited about attending a local play, but he was game. “Great. We’ll go. You’ve got the other ticket?”
“That’s the surprise. You know that job I’ve been working at every day? This is where I’ve been.”
His brain made a feeble effort to tie a teacher into the theater. She tutored children in the cast, perhaps. Dread started building, knotting his gut. He tried to connect a cowgirl to the theater, grasping at straws. Perhaps there were live animals in the play, and she wrangled them. But his heart knew what was coming, what came next.
What always came next, with every woman.
“After I met you, I knew that it was time to get serious about my passion, my career, my life. Everything. Because of you, I’m pursuing a little happiness here in this theater. I don’t need a ticket, because I’ll be onstage.”
No. Don’t say it, don’t break it.
“I’m an actress!”
Good God. He staggered back a step. How could he have thought it would be any different with this woman?
He crumpled her ticket into his fist and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You knew. All along, you knew.”
Her smile didn’t falter, but the little wrinkle between her brows betrayed her concern at his reaction. She wasn’t a good enough actress to hide her concern.
“I knew? Well, yes, I auditioned in October.”
“An actress.” He looked at her beloved face—yes, beloved, damn it—and felt like a fool.
“You knew I was an actress.”
He couldn’t speak he was so disgusted.
Her smile was completely gone now, as she so earnestly tried to make him believe this was a good thing. “You were the one who encouraged me to use my degree. You were the one who inspired me not to take no for an answer.”
“From a principal. So you could teach.”
“So I could create a drama club. I majored in theater, Ryan. I’d love to direct a play at the school. I love the theater.”
“Of course you do.”
She blinked at his mocking tone and even pulled that trick with the tears again. He wanted to applaud her performance, shout Brava! for the way she’d so thoroughly performed her part this week, b
ut he couldn’t go that far. Not yet. Not while she looked like the innocent ranch girl of his dreams. Once she made it to Hollywood—and he had no doubt that a woman with her exquisite features could get noticed there—she’d be Botoxed for no reason, her lips augmented and her hair dyed blond, and then, when she didn’t look so much like Kristen, he’d be able to harden his heart completely.
Right now, it hurt like hell.
“Well done, Kristen. Well played. A word of caution, though. You almost gave away your game at the beginning of the week. You accepted the fact that my name was Roarke too easily. You should have played it a little less cool that I was from California. You were supposed to think I was a rodeo star, remember? There are no cattle operations in LA.”
“But… Bakersfield. Salinas.” She sounded faint. Bewildered. Still beautiful.
He couldn’t bear to look at her. For a week, he’d been denying himself the pleasure of her body, wanting her to know who he really was before he made love to her.
He had to laugh at his own naïveté. “I must’ve thrown you off by refusing to share your bed, but you compensated brilliantly. All those long talks, all that tender concern. It was a novelty to me, I admit. What were you hoping for, Kristen? Was I supposed to go to your little play tonight and be so besotted that I’d run to Scorsese and sing your praises? What are you earning at this theater, equity minimum? Did you think I’d negotiate a top contract for you?”
She’d deserve it. The way she was pressing her little mittens to her temples in confusion, the way her hair tangled with her polka-dot scarf and the November breeze pinkened her cheeks—oh, yeah. She was playing her role to perfection. He could get her top dollar.
“It backfired,” he informed her coldly. “The sex would have been fine. No hard feelings. But to make me believe in love and family and goddamned Santa Claus? I just feel like a sucker. No one does favors for people who treat them like suckers.”
Kristen held her palms out in a helpless gesture. The gentle shake of her head was just enough to make fat tears drop from her lashes to her cheeks.
