by Cara Colter
“Yes, I’ve had trouble forgetting that.”
“I’m not saying this because I want your pity, or Oh, poor you, but I was an only child, an accident, I suspect.”
She gasped, and he smiled wearily at her.
“My mom and dad never stopped fighting. Christmas would come, and every single gift I asked for would be given—bicycles or expensive game consoles, the best clothes, the greatest sports shoes. Our whole living room would be filled with gifts. It looked like the perfect Christmas.
“But I only wanted one thing—please, stop fighting. That’s what I hoped for. Prayed for, even. I’d watch all the Christmas movies and listen to the songs, and they all promised the same thing. It was practically a guarantee that everything that was wrong would somehow become right at Christmas. Even cannons would stop firing and men at war would put down their guns and go meet one another.
“But the war in our house never stopped. My parents finally divorced—thank God—when I was eight. My memories of family were of fighting, and then after the divorce, being used as a club for my mother and father to smack each other with.
“And so, when I met Sierra and we loved each other so fiercely, I thought we could do it differently. Looking back with a tiny bit of the maturity that I wish I’d had then, I realize neither of us came from happy families. Sierra wouldn’t even talk about hers. She made up her name to cut any link with them.”
Her eyes followed his hand as he raked his hair. He remembered her fingertips in it earlier. He wanted to stop talking, but for some reason he could not explain, the memory of her fingertips in his hair kept him speaking.
“Looking back, what chance could two people coming from histories like that have? We had a whirlwind romance. From the moment I met her, I felt bowled over. When we discovered she was pregnant, just weeks after we met, we were excited. We wanted to get married. We hoped we would become the family we dreamed of. Maybe we were even frantic to be that family. Had we waited, we might have discovered we simply didn’t have what it took.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t get me wrong. She was a beautiful, vivacious woman. But complicated, in the way highly gifted people sometimes are. I felt like I stole her life force from her, without knowing how I was doing it. I couldn’t seem to make her happy. I started spending more time away from her. She felt lonely, I guess, and misunderstood. She started drinking...and worse. We began having fights that could rival anything my parents had ever had. We managed to keep our deep dysfunction secret from the press—never underestimate the power of a good press secretary. The night of the fire—Christmas Eve—we’d had a tremendous row.
“Tess woke up crying. All I could think was We’re doing to this poor kid what was done to us. I couldn’t make Sierra calm down. So I took Tess and I left.
“Sierra didn’t normally smoke, never in public. But if she felt stressed, or started drinking, she smoked. The fire investigation said it was a cigarette.
“It never got out to the public that Tess and I weren’t there. The public perception of us as the perfect fairy-tale couple remained intact. It makes all of it, somehow, even harder to bear.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was soft, a caress of pure compassion.
He lifted a shoulder. He wanted to stop, but somehow he could not, as if he was a train running down a track with no one in control. He hated that the most, being out of control.
“I never even heard from her family, not even when she died. I had a private detective track them down. I wasn’t sure if they should know about Tess or not.”
“And?”
“Not,” he said wearily.
“And your own mother and father? They don’t see Tess?”
“My father died before she was born. My mother married a man who lives in Australia. She sends a card and a gift. Now and then she calls. She told me she’s way too young to have someone call her Grandma. Tess calls her Peggy.”
“Now I know why you think hope is the most dangerous thing,” she said. Her eyes were sparkling, as if she was holding back unshed tears. It did not feel like she pitied him. It felt like the truest empathy he had ever experienced.
The train running down the track did not result in a wreck, but in something else entirely unexpected. His heart felt open in a way he was fairly certain it never had been before.
Maybe it was like some kind of a Christmas miracle.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“YOU’RE THE ONLY person I’ve ever said that to,” Aidan heard himself admit slowly. “I don’t know if I should have.”
But there was something about her, from the green of her eyes to her belief in angel kisses, that invited confidences. Or weakness, depending how you looked at it.
“Why?” Noelle’s voice was as soft as the relentless snowflakes drifting down outside his window.
“It feels like a betrayal of Sierra. Of her memory. Tess doesn’t really remember her, so I’ve kind of created this perfect Mommy for her to remember.”
“That doesn’t sound like something a true cynic would do.”
“Sometimes I even surprise myself,” he admitted. “Like sharing this tonight. That’s a surprise.”
“Maybe it’s just a weight you’ve carried by yourself for too long.”
He waited to feel the shame of having let his guard down, of having let out secrets that he should not have, the guilt at his loss of control.
Instead, looking at Noelle, he felt she was right. He felt a new lightness, as if he had carried a burden for too long.
And he also felt exhausted.
“I’ll show you where you’re going to sleep tonight.”
“Not just yet,” she said softly. She patted the sofa beside her.
He knew he should resist this. He knew it. And yet he was not that strong. He got up from his own chair and went and sat beside her.
“Closer,” she said, her voice soft but firm.
He moved toward her, until his leg was touching her leg, until the length of his side was pressed against the length of her side, fused. Her hand took his.
She lifted it to her lips and then lowered it to her lap, stroking it, all the while saying nothing. She did not try to fix or pry.
And yet he felt her tenderness, her compassion, the purity of her beautiful spirit in that featherlight touch on his hand.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly.
He did not resist when she guided his head to her shoulder, when she traced the plains of his face with her fingertips, healing in her touch.
Something in him that he did not know he held in constant tension unraveled. Her breath deepened, and so did his. He marveled that he felt as deeply relaxed as he had ever felt.
No, something more than relaxed.
He felt safe.
In Noelle’s touch, in her total and unconditional acceptance of him, Aidan felt as if he had finally, finally found his way back to a place he had never really been: home.
He wasn’t sure how long he was there, but her voice came to him through a thick haze.
“Aidan, you are going to get a sore neck. Go to bed.”
He rose and stared down at her, and then held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her gently to her feet. The bag of partially melted ice that had been on her ankle splatted to the floor.
She went to pick it up, but he did not want such a mundane thing to break the magic between them.
“Leave it,” he insisted.
He led her down the hall to his bedroom, through the door, to the luxurious largeness of his bed. He pulled back the sheets with one hand, holding her hand tight with the other.
Then he turned and looked at her. Faint light was washing through the window, washing her in the silver enchantment that had shivered through the whole evening. She looked at him, wide-eyed, willing for whatever came next in a way that
made him slightly ashamed, that called on him to be the better man.
“Let me just hold you,” he said gruffly.
Her expression relaxed into a mixture of disappointment and relief that made him feel, with abundant clarity, it had been the right decision.
Slipping into the bed beside her, pulling her fully clothed body against his own. Feeling her breath on his chest and her hair tickle his chin, her scent waft up to his nostrils, her softness filling all his emptiness, Aidan felt like for once he was the man he had always wanted to be.
* * *
Noelle woke to soft light, muted gray falling across her face. For a moment she felt disoriented, but then she felt Aidan’s arm over her midriff, heavy and possessive, in a way that made her heart feel full. His scent filled her with euphoria like a forbidden drug, one that once you had it, you could never ever get enough.
She took advantage of the fact that he still slept to study his face, dark whiskers, his hair falling over his brow.
After a while, she became aware of other things. The massive bed they shared could easily be a single size, they were cuddled so close together. The room was as beautiful as the rest of his space, but as beautiful as it was, it was impersonal, like a hotel room. Where were the photos and the socks on the floor? Where was Aunt Bessie’s old wardrobe, the framed art of a child? Somehow there was no history here, and none of his dynamic personality. It made her acutely aware that all his success was driven by a need to outrun the loneliness of his own heart.
Out the window the huge snowflakes still fell. Her sense of well-being left her. It was still snowing. And it was Christmas Eve. She touched his shoulder, and he pressed against her hand, buried his face in her neck. She took a deep breath and nudged more firmly.
His eyes flashed open. So blue. Full of tenderness. Welcome.
“Noelle,” he said, his voice a purr of pure seduction.
Easy to want to follow it to wherever temptation led, but no. It was Christmas Eve. They had responsibilities.
“Look at the weather,” she said to him.
His eyes narrowed on her face, and then he looked over her shoulder. He rolled away from her, was out of the bed in one lithe move, and went to the window. He opened the curtain fully.
And said a word she had not heard him use before.
It was when he turned back to her that she knew, somehow, someway, that without her permission, following the trail of breadcrumbs life had put out for her, she had come to this.
She loved this man. It was crazy. And stupid. Their worlds were a million miles apart. It was too fast. She had no idea where this was all going. Just like in the story of Cinderella, midnight loomed. Only their midnight was Christmas. He was sharing his life with her until just after Christmas. Then what?
And even with all these rational thoughts crowding around her, Noelle loved him for the panic on his face that she read correctly even before he spoke it.
“It’s Christmas Eve. Tess needs me to be with her.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I am my little girl’s Santa Claus and despite my hard-earned cynicism about everything Christmas, I take that responsibility very seriously. I don’t ever want Tess to be as cynical about the season as I am. Jerry Juicejar has to have magically appeared under the Christmas tree tomorrow.”
“I know,” Noelle said.
“I’ll drive.”
“Of course,” she said. She saw it. The fierceness in him. The warrior. With the tender heart. That he would do whatever it took to be with his daughter on this day, especially, that held so many bad memories for them.
“Look, it might be tense,” he said. “I’m sure driving conditions will be abysmal.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to come.”
But, of course, she did. The option of spending Christmas Eve, and no doubt Christmas, by herself was untenable.
“This has got to bring up painful fears for you,” he said.
“It does. I have avoided bad roads ever since my parents’ accident.”
He nodded.
“I’ve avoided a lot of things. I’m not going to let fear rule me anymore,” she said. And she meant it.
And so, when they headed out an hour later, she had a sense, not of being afraid, but of tackling a great adventure with a man she trusted. After his confidences last night she trusted him more than ever. And she had admitted her secret love for him. Once again, doubts crowded. But she shoved them away, determined to cherish these moments.
Telling herself that love made everything possible. Even the impossible.
The vehicle was a good one, a heavy-duty four-wheel drive, the kind that had been invented for the military but adapted to civilian use.
They piled all their gifts in it. And a thermos of coffee. Snacks. Extra clothing. A car blanket. An emergency kit with a flashlight and a candle, matches and first-aid equipment.
The primary highway south of Calgary, while not in the best of condition, was passable. The plows and sanding trucks were working full force to help keep the roads safe for people anxious, as Noelle and Aidan were, to be with loved ones for Christmas.
The vehicle felt solid and safe, but Noelle was aware her sense of safety came as much from Aidan as from the vehicle. Aidan drove the same way he flew a helicopter, with the great calm and confidence of a man certain of his own strengths and abilities.
They listened to music and chatted easily. He made her laugh out loud with stories of Tess and his own bumbling through single parenthood. She told him of coming, as a child of the city, to live with her grandmother and grandfather on their ranch, and how she had come to love it. They argued playfully about music choices and favorite movies and TV shows.
She felt so relaxed—and truthfully, nursing her secret love for him, happy to have this time alone with him—that she could scarcely believe a storm raged outside the capsule of warmth and laughter and safety that they shared.
It was when they turned off the main road and onto the secondary highway that conditions deteriorated. The road crews were not giving the secondary roads the same priority, and the storm seemed to thicken around them. The little traffic there was crawled along, back tires slithering.
And then in the line of cars in front of them, the brake lights of a small blue car flashed red in the storm. Noelle and Aidan watched helplessly as a deer, followed by another, darted out in front of it. The car avoided the deer, but lost control and swung around in several looping circles before going off the road, its snub nose buried in a snowdrift. The cars behind it avoided collision, but once they regained traction, they kept going.
Only Aidan pulled well off the road. “Stay here,” he told her.
Watching him push his way to the car and lean in to talk to the driver, she was overcome with a sense of admiration for him. Despite all he had been through—a terrible childhood and a disappointing marriage and the death of his partner—this was still who he really was. Decent and honorable. The one who could be counted on to stop, even in the middle of a storm, and do the right thing.
He claimed cynicism, but underneath that was the heart of a good man, and a strong one. One able, in challenging circumstances, to make the right decision, to be better for the things he had faced and overcome, not bitter.
A young man, the driver, got out of the car. And then the other door opened, and a young woman climbed out. She reached into the back seat and retrieved a baby!
It was obvious the young woman had had a terrible fright, and Noelle got out of the vehicle and went to her. She held out her arms to the baby, and found it snuggled against her.
They went and sat in Aidan’s warm vehicle while the two men figured it out. Aidan had a towrope in their vehicle, and he soon had the blue car back on the road. They determined it was safe to drive and the little fami
ly was back on their way.
Noelle sighed contentedly, as they too got back on their way. “Did that feel like the perfect Christmas moment to you?”
Aidan cocked his head and squinted, thinking about it.
And then he turned to her, and gave her perhaps the most radiant smile she had ever seen.
“Perfect,” he agreed.
Again the storm deepened around them. When they turned off the secondary highway to the country lane that eventually would lead to Rufus’s ranch, there had been no plows. The snow was unbelievably deep and the going was slow. Still, there was that feeling of being in a capsule with him, warm and safe, a wonderful intimacy blossoming between them.
Normally the drive from Calgary to her grandfather’s took a little over two hours. They had been on the road for eight when they finally turned at the wooden gate that marked the beginning of his road. The last light was leeching from the short winter day. They were less than six kilometers from Christmas! From lights and egg nog and singing around the tree, from Tess’s excitement and wonder, from a fire in the living room stone fireplace that was lit only once or twice every year.
Her grandfather had obviously been out on the tractor, clearing the road. His road appeared to be in better shape than the lane had been.
But then, without warning, a huge snow-laden tree crashed across the road in front of them. The sudden cloud of snow that enveloped them was dramatic and oddly silent.
Aidan stomped on the brakes and the big sturdy vehicle shuddered to a halt, its windshield wipers clearing away the sudden onslaught of yet more snow, the bumper practically resting on the branches of the fallen tree.
Aidan leaned back, closed his eyes, and then turned and looked at her. “A few seconds later...”
“I know.” Her heart was thudding crazily.
They both let that sink in. That life could change that quickly in a few seconds.
After getting over the initial shock, she reached for her phone.
