Читать книгу A Mistletoe Vow - Kate Hardy, Ami Weaver - Страница 13

Chapter Six

“Is she asleep?” Celeste whispered an hour later, when they made the turn onto Cold Creek Road.

He glanced in the rearview mirror and could see Olivia curled into the corner, her eyes closed and her cheek resting on her hand.

“Looks like it.” He pitched his voice low. “She’s always been a kid who can sleep anywhere, especially when she’s had a long day. Driving in the car has always knocked her right out. When she was going through the terrible twos and used to fight going to bed, I would strap her in her car seat and drive her around the block a few times. She always ran so hard that when she finally stopped, she would drop like a rock by the time we hit the first corner.”

“Did she stay asleep?”

“Yeah. That was the amazing part. She never seemed to mind when I unstrapped her from her car seat and carried her into the house to her bed. I was kind of sorry when she outgrew that phase and started sleeping in her own bed without a fuss.”

Beside him, he caught a flash of white in the darkness as Celeste smiled a little. “I imagine she was an adorable toddler.”

“Oh, she was. Scary smart and curious about everything.”

He felt a sharp pang in his heart when he thought again about how much she had changed, how she had become so fearful and hesitant. Would the old Olivia ever return, or was this their new version of normal?

“I wish you could have known her three months ago. Before.”

Celeste reached out to touch his arm briefly, like a little bird landing on a branch for only a moment before fluttering away again.

“She’s a wonderful girl, Flynn. A terrible thing happened to her, yes, but she’s already demonstrated what a survivor she is. Trust me. She’ll get through it in time. She may always have those dark memories—nothing can take them away completely—but eventually she’ll learn how to replace them with happier thoughts.”

He glanced over at her. “Is that how you coped?”

He could sense her sudden fine-edged tension. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What happened to you? I vaguely remember my grandmother saying something about you and your sisters enduring a terrible ordeal, but I’ve been racking my brain and can’t remember what. I should. I’m sorry.”

She was silent for a long time and he didn’t press, just continued driving through the quiet night through Cold Creek Canyon.

The creek here wound beside the road and through the trees, silvery in the moonlight. Tall pines and firs grew beside cottonwoods along the banks, at times almost forming a tunnel over the road. It was beautiful and mysterious at night with the snow fluttering gently against the windshield and the occasional house or ranchette decorated with Christmas lights.

She finally spoke when they were almost to the Star N. “It’s a time of my life I don’t like to think about,” she murmured.

“Oh?”

She sighed. “I told you my parents moved us around the globe under sometimes difficult circumstances.”

He nodded, wondering what her life must have been like without any kind of stable place to call home. Had she thrived there or had she always felt as if something were missing in her life?

She loved to read. Perhaps books had been her one constant friend through all the chaos and uncertainty.

“When I was eleven, we moved to Colombia to open a clinic in a small, undeveloped region. My parents were assured over and over that it was a safe area to bring their daughters.”

“It wasn’t?”

“The village where we lived might have been safe, but several in the region were not.”

With reluctance he pulled up in front of her house, wishing he could keep driving. He shouldn’t have worried. She didn’t appear to notice where they were, that he had parked the vehicle and turned to face her. She hardly seemed aware he was there as she spoke, her features tight and her eyes focused on some spot through the windshield that he had a feeling wasn’t anywhere close to eastern Idaho.

“We had been living in the village about six weeks when the clinic drew the attention of the local rebel leader in one of those unstable villages who happened to be in need of some extra cash to fund his soldiers. I guess Juan Pablo thought he could get a handsome sum in ransom if he kidnapped the crazy American do-gooders. The only trouble with that plan was that my parents weren’t associated with any larger organization with deep pockets. They were free agents, I guess you could say. There was no money to pay a ransom and no one to pay it.”

“What happened?”

“Juan Pablo didn’t believe my parents when they insisted no one could pay a ransom. He thought if he held us long enough, the US government at least would step in, especially with the lives of three young girls at stake. We were held hostage for several weeks in a squalid prison camp.”

What the hell had her parents been thinking, to drag three young girls all over the world into these unstable situations? He was all for helping others and admired those selfless people who only wanted to make a difference in the world, but not when it cost the well-being of their own children.

“Did someone eventually pay the ransom?”

She shook her head. “That was never one of the options. Juan Pablo was just too stupid or too blinded by greed to realize it. Instead, after we had been held for several weeks, a team of US Navy SEALs mounted an early-morning rescue.”

She paused, her head bowed and her dark curls hiding her features. When she spoke, her voice was low, tight with remembered pain.

“The rescue wasn’t a complete success. My father was...shot by Juan Pablo’s rebels while we were trying to escape. He died instantly.”

“Oh, Celeste. I’m so sorry.”

“You can see why I feel great empathy for Olivia and what she’s going through. Seeing a parent die violently is a trauma no child should have to endure.”

“I completely agree,” he said. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

She lifted one shoulder. “It happened. I can’t change it. For a long time, I struggled to deal with the injustice of it all. My parents were only trying to help others and my father paid the ultimate price for his benevolence. I can’t say I’ve ever really found peace with that or ever will, but I’ve been able to move forward. For what it’s worth, I freaked out at loud noises for a long time, too. Probably a good year or two after the accident.”

“You seem to handle them fine now.”

She gave a small laugh. “I wouldn’t be a very good children’s librarian if I couldn’t handle a little noise, believe me. I would have run screaming into the night after the very first story time.”

“So how did you come to live with your aunt and uncle?” he asked.

She shifted her gaze to his for only a moment before she looked out the windshield again, as if she couldn’t quite bear to make eye contact while she told the rest of the story.

“In possibly the cruelest twist of all, our mother was diagnosed with cancer shortly after we were rescued from Colombia. She had been sick for a while but hadn’t sought the necessary medical care. She’d apparently suspected something was wrong before we were taken and had made an appointment for tests in Bogota in the days right around our kidnapping—an appointment she couldn’t make, for obvious reasons. It was...an aggressive and deadly form of cancer. Largely because she didn’t get the treatment she needed in a timely manner, she died four months later, after we came back to the States.”

Unable to resist, he reached for her hand and held it in his for a moment, wishing he had the words to tell her how much he admired her.

So many people he knew would have pulled inside themselves and let the tragedy and injustice of it turn them bitter and angry at the world. Instead, she had become a strong, compassionate woman who was helping children learn to love words and stories, while she wrote uplifting, heartwarming tales where good always triumphed.

She looked down at their joined hands, and her lips parted just a little before she closed them and swallowed. “After our mother died, Uncle Claude and Aunt Mary opened their home and their hearts to us, and we’ve been here ever since.”

“And thus you entered the world of Christmas extravaganzas.”

This time her laugh sounded more natural—a sweet, spontaneous sound that seemed to slide through his chest and tug at his heart. He liked the sound of her laughter. It made him want to sit in this warm car with her all night while soft Christmas music played on the stereo and snow fluttered against the windshield and his daughter slept soundly in the backseat.

“There was no Christmas Ranch before we came here. Uncle Claude had the idea a year later. My sisters and I share the theory that he did it only to distract us because he knew the holidays would be tough for us without our parents, especially that first anniversary.”

“You were kidnapped at Christmastime?” That only seemed to add to the tragedy of it, that people could cruelly and viciously use an innocent family for financial gain during a time that was supposed to be about peace on earth and goodwill toward men.

“Yes.” She leaned back against the seat and gazed out at the snowflakes dancing against the windshield. “My mother and father would try to keep up our spirits during our captivity by singing carols with us and encouraging us to make up Christmas stories.”

“Ah. And you’ve carried on their storytelling tradition.”

“In my feeble way, I guess you’re right.”

“Not feeble,” he protested. “Sparkle and the Magic Snowball is a charming story that has captured the hearts of children and parents alike.”

She looked embarrassed. “Mostly because of Hope and her beautiful illustrations.”

“And because the story is sweet and hopeful at a time when people desperately need that.”

She shifted in the seat, her cheeks slightly pink in the low light.

“I never expected any of this. I only wanted to tell stories to my niece and nephew. I don’t know if I would ever have found the courage to submit it to a publisher. I didn’t, actually. If not for Hope, all the Sparkle stories would still be in a box under my bed.”

He released her fingers, not at all sure he liked this soft tenderness seeping through him. “Your parents would be so proud of you. Who would have guessed when you were sharing stories with your parents and sisters while you were all hostages during a dark Christmastime that one day you would be a famous author?”

“Not me, certainly.”

“Does writing make you feel closer to your parents?”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide. “I... Yes. Yes, it does. I never realized that until right this moment when you said it. Sometimes when I’m writing, I feel as if they’re with me again, whispering words of comfort to me in the darkness.”

It would be easy to fall for her. Something about her combination of vulnerability and strength tugged at him, called to him in a way no other woman ever had.

He didn’t have time for this, he reminded himself sternly. His daughter needed all his attention right now while she tried to heal. He couldn’t dilute that attention by finding himself tangled up with a lovely librarian, no matter how much he might want to be.

“I had better go,” she said after a moment. Did she also sense the growing attraction between them? Was that the reason for that sudden unease in her expression? “You should get a certain exhausted birthday girl home to her bed. Besides that, Linus and Lucy are probably wondering what in the world I’m doing out here for so long.”

“Of course.”

With far more reluctance than he knew he should feel, he opened his door and walked around the vehicle through the lightly falling snow to her door.

The December night smelled of pine and smoke from a fireplace somewhere close. The familiar mingle of scents struck deep into his memories, of the happy times he used to spend here with his grandmother. She had been his rock, the one constant support in the midst of his chaotic family life.

He breathed in deeply as he opened her car door. As they walked to her house, he realized with shock that this was the most peaceful he had felt in weeks, since that horrible day when he’d pulled up to Elise’s house to find sirens and flashing lights and ambulances.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door, Flynn. This isn’t a date.”

He suddenly wished it had been a date, that the two of them had gone to dinner somewhere and shared secrets and stories and long, delicious kisses.

If it had been a date, he possibly could give into this sudden hunger to kiss her at the doorstep, to finally taste that lush mouth that had been tantalizing him all evening.

“I want to make sure you don’t slip,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie, just not the entire truth. “Ice can be dangerous.”

She said nothing, though he thought her eyes might have narrowed slightly as if she sensed he had more on his mind than merely her safety.

They both made it up the steps without incident, and it only took her a moment to find a key in her purse.

“Good night,” she said after she unlocked her door. “Thank you for including me in Olivia’s birthday celebration. It was an honor, truly.”

“We were the lucky ones that you agreed to come. It was a dream come true for her, sharing delicious pizza with her favorite author.”

“I imagine her dreams will become a little more lofty as she gets older, but I’m happy I could help with this one.” She gave him a sidelong look. “I hope I see her at the rehearsal tomorrow for the Christmas program. She really seemed to be interested in participating, and we would love to have her. Don’t worry. She’ll have fun.”

Damn. He had almost forgotten about that. The peace he had been feeling seemed to evaporate like the puffs of air from their breaths.

“Don’t plan on her,” he warned.

“Why not?” she asked with a frown.

He raked a hand through his hair. “She’s been through a brutal experience. Would you have been ready for something like this right after your own trauma?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if I expressed any interest at all, my aunt and uncle would have been right in the front row, cheering me on.”

“I’m not your aunt and uncle,” he said, with more bite in his voice than he intended.

She froze for just a moment, then nodded, her sweet, lovely features turning as wintry as the evening. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I overstepped.”

Her words and the tight tone made him feel like an ass. She was only trying to help his child.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just can’t see how getting up in front of a bunch of strangers and singing about peace on earth will help a young girl suffering from PTSD.”

“I suppose you’re right. I will say that my parents firmly believed a person could ease her own troubles while helping others—or at least trying to see them in a different light. Living here with Uncle Claude and Aunt Mary only reinforced that message. They started The Christmas Ranch so my sisters and I could find comfort in the midst of our own pain by bringing the joy of the holidays to others. It worked for us. I guess I was hoping it would do the same for Olivia, but you’re her father. It’s ultimately your decision.”

Talk about backing a guy into a corner. What was he supposed to do?

Olivia had expressed a desire to participate, the first time anything had sparked her interest in weeks. He certainly had the right as her father to make decisions about what he thought was best for her, but what if he was wrong? What if she truly did need this? How could he be the one to say no to her?

“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll bring her tomorrow. If she enjoys herself, she can come back. But if I believe this is at all stressing her, I’ll immediately put an end to it.”

She smiled and he was struck again by how lovely she was. Behind her quiet prettiness was a woman of true beauty; she just seemed determined to hide it.

“Oh, that’s wonderful. We’ll be thrilled to have her. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, in the main lodge at the ranch. Do you know where it is?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you both tomorrow, then.”

He knew that idea shouldn’t leave him with this bubbly anticipation.

“Good night. Thanks again for having dinner with us.”

“You’re welcome. It was truly my pleasure.”

He started to leave and then, prompted by the impulse that had been coursing through him all evening, he reached forward and kissed her softly on the cheek, the light sort of kiss people gave to even their casual acquaintances in California.

She smelled delicious—of laundry soap and almonds and some kind of springtime flowers. It took him a moment to place her scent. Violets—sweet and fresh and full of hope.

Instantly, he knew this was a mistake, that he would be dreaming of that scent all night.

Her eyes, wide and shocked behind her glasses, were impossibly green. It would be easy—so very easy—to shift his mouth just a few inches and truly kiss her. For an instant the temptation was overwhelming, but he drew on all his strength and forced himself to step away.

“Good night,” he said again. To his dismay, his voice sounded ragged.

“Yes,” she answered with a dazed sort of look that he told himself was only surprise.

He didn’t give himself the chance to explore if that look in her eyes might have some other source—like a shared attraction, for instance. He just turned around and headed down the steps of her porch and toward his vehicle and his sleeping child.

* * *

When she was certain Flynn was in his car, driving back down the lane toward the main road, Celeste moved away from the window and sank into her favorite chair. Lucy—all sleek, sinuous grace—immediately pounced into her lap. She took a moment to pet the cat, her thoughts twirling.

For a moment there she had been almost positive Flynn Delaney had been about to really kiss her. That was impossible. Completely irrational. She must have been imagining things, right?

Why on earth would he want to kiss her? She was gawky and awkward and shy, more comfortable with books and her fictional characters than she was with men.

They were from completely different worlds, which was probably one of the reasons she’d had such a crush on him when she was a girl. He represented the unattainable. His mother was a famous movie star, and he was certainly gorgeous enough that he could have been one, too, if he’d been inclined in that direction.

He had been married to Elise Chandler, for Pete’s sake, one of the most beautiful women on earth. How could he possibly be interested in a frumpy, introverted children’s librarian?

The absurdity of it completely defied reason.

She must be mistaken. That moment when he’d kissed her cheek and their gazes had met—when she’d thought she’d seen that spark of something kindling in his gaze—must have been a trick of the low lighting in her entryway.

What would it have been like to kiss him? Really kiss him?

The question buzzed around inside her brain like a particularly determined mosquito. She had no doubt it would have been amazing.

She was destined never to know.

She sighed, gazing at the lights of her little Christmas tree sparkling cheerily in the small space. If she weren’t careful, she could end up with a heart as shattered as one of the ornaments Lucy liked to bat off the branches.

It would be so frighteningly easy for her to fall for him. She was already fiercely attracted to him and had been since she was barely a teenager. More than that, she liked and admired him. His devotion to Olivia and his concern for her were even more attractive to Celeste than those vivid blue eyes, the broad shoulders, the rugged slant of his jaw.

If he were to kiss her—truly kiss her—her poor, untested heart wouldn’t stand a chance.

After a moment she pushed away the unease. This entire mental side trip was ridiculous and unnecessary. He wasn’t interested in her and he wouldn’t kiss her, so why spend another moment fretting about it?

Still, she couldn’t help wishing she never had encouraged him to allow Olivia to participate in the Christmas program at the ranch. He was only here for a few weeks. The likelihood that she would even see the man again would have been very slim if not for Olivia and the program, and then she could have let this hopeless attraction die a natural death.

No worries, she told herself. She would simply do her best to return things to a casual, friendly level for his remaining time in Cold Creek.

How hard could it be?