Читать книгу A Wyoming Christmas To Remember - Melissa Senate - Страница 13

Chapter Three

They walked home from town, Maddie linking her arm through his, which buoyed him like nothing else. There was affection in that gesture, a degree of trust, and that meant a great deal to him since he’d lost that over the past several months. Once, for a very long time, she’d believed he’d never hurt her. Then he’d started outwardly denying her what she wanted most. And the bond began fraying.

Now, in the simplest way, he felt her saying yes to him, to them.

“How about lasagna for dinner?” he asked. “Your mother really did stock the freezer after your accident. She said all that cooking gave her something to do with her mind and hands or she’d have gone nuts. There are five containers of lasagna alone.”

Then again, Sawyer thought he should be doing more for Maddie than just heating up her very kind mother’s bounty of food. But April MacLeod was a great cook and he a mediocre one, and she’d made their favorites. Lasagna. Shepherd’s pie. Fettuccini carbonara. Her amazing chili and three pans of corn bread, which Sawyer could polish off in one sitting. He felt like he should be cooking for her, figuring out how to make some of her favorite dishes, such as blackened salmon, without burning it, and risotto.

“Do I love lasagna?” she asked.

“It’s only your very favorite food on earth. Mine too. We used to make it as teenagers. I did a layer, you did a layer and then we’d stuff our faces.”

She smiled. “What else do I love?”

“Blackened everything. Also, fish tacos. Caesar salad. Cheeseburgers. The Pie Diner’s chili potpie. Your mother’s brisket. Coffee chip ice cream.”

“What don’t I like?” she asked. “In general, I mean.”

“That you can’t figure out yoga. You don’t like corn. You don’t like horror movies.”

She smiled. “What did I do when I wasn’t working?”

“Well, the past few months you started volunteering for the town’s Holiday Happymakers program. You devoted quite a few hours a day to it.”

“Holiday Happymakers? What’s that?”

“A group that plans ways the town can help those who can’t afford Christmas or can’t do much in the way of celebrating because of illness or other issues. You started an adopt-a-family program to provide holiday decorations and gifts for each family member. Anyone can leave a letter on the Christmas tree in the community center with a wish list for the family or a relative.”

“I sound kind!” she said. “Glad to hear it.”

“You are. Very.”

“What was Christmas like when you were growing up?” she asked.

He frowned at the thought. “I spent every Christmas at your house. My dad didn’t always have his act together, or he disappeared to a girlfriend’s. Your parents always hung a stocking for me—stuffed it too. And there were always presents for me under the tree. I got them gifts, too, and always wished I could have afforded better than a scented candle for your parents. But that’s what I got them every year.”

“Aw,” she said. “I’ll bet they loved it.”

“Your mom always made a show of sniffing it and lighting it and setting it right on the mantel.” He’d never forget her mother’s kindness. Ever.

“My sister told me the basics of your childhood,” she said. “I hope that’s all right. She figured because it was something we all knew, it wasn’t telling tales or talking about your personal business, which she refused to do.”

“I don’t mind your family filling in holes,” he said. “The truth is the truth. And I’m not interested in hiding anything from you. Our marriage was rocky two days ago when you got into the accident and months before that. Very rocky.”

“I’m glad I don’t remember,” she said, tears poking again. “I guess that’s wrong. But all I know is that I’m not unhappy or sad or anxious or wanting anything. I don’t know who I am, but I feel safe because of you and the MacLeods. So if I’m in limbo, at least it’s a nice limbo. A Christmas limbo, at that.”

He smiled. “That’s a nice way to look at it.”

She tightened her hold on his arm, and again he felt like they had a chance. Even if it was just this limbo chance. This Christmas limbo chance. Right now, she was his again.

At the house, Sawyer let out Moose, who raced around the yard, which still held a good covering of snow. Maddie threw his favorite squeaky ball at least twenty times, and he chased it over and over, dropping it by her foot.

“Sorry, Moose, I think my arm is going to give out,” she said, kneeling down to give the German shepherd a rub and a pat.

The phone was ringing, so they headed inside, Moose going over to his big red fluffy dog bed by the fireplace in the living room. They missed the call, and about twenty others, from Maddie’s parents and sister, checking in, and friends and fellow volunteers on the Holiday Happymakers committee.

“That’s really nice,” Maddie said after she listened to all the messages.

Sawyer nodded. “Everyone likes you. Well, I’m gonna go get dinner ready. Want a glass of wine?”

“I have a craving for a little eggnog. Do we have any?”

“Of course. You love eggnog.” He was back in half a minute with two glasses of eggnog. He handed her one, then clinked hers.

“Yum,” she said. “You don’t want help with dinner?”

“My job is reheating,” he said. “So no. You relax. It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, per your mother’s very specific instructions.”

She flashed him a smile and sank onto the couch, Moose coming over and sitting in front of her, his head on her knee. Sawyer watched her give the dog a warm hug, wanting more than anything to pull her into his arms and hold her. But he was afraid to overwhelm her, and he had a feeling he should let her make any physical moves.

Over dinner they talked more about what they liked and didn’t, laughing more in twenty minutes than they had in the past three months. After dinner and cleaning up the kitchen together, they bundled up and took Moose on a long walk around the neighborhood, enjoying the holiday lights. Back home they watched a singing competition on TV, Maddie sitting very close beside him on the couch as she drank a little more eggnog. Then she yawned—twice—and they realized she’d better get to bed. It had been a long day for her, busier than either expected it’d be once she was discharged, and she could probably use the rest.

He followed her up the stairs, Moose trailing them. In their bedroom, she poked around her dresser drawers and pulled out blue flannel pj bottoms with little Woodstocks all over and a long-sleeved pink T-shirt.

“So...I’ll just change in the bathroom,” she said. “Is that weird?”

“Not at all. We just met this morning.”

She laughed. “It really does feel that way.”

It did feel that way. And not—at the same time. All their history was front and center in his head and heart, weighing heavily. He was taking a T-shirt and pair of sweats from the dresser when she came out of the bathroom. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail so her goose egg was even more prominent, the scratch beside it too.

“Which side of the bed is mine?” she asked.

“Window side. I’m the door side.”

“Ah,” she said, “so the robbers get you first.”

He smiled. “Exactly. And so I can roll out of bed and rush out if an emergency call comes in.”

She picked up the mystery on her bedside table and looked at the cover. “Am I reading this?”

“I think you just plucked it off the bookcase to pick up whenever I’d come in the bedroom—to avoid talking,” he said. “When you weren’t pretending to be sleeping.”

“Yeesh. That bad, huh?”

He looked at his wife, his beautiful Maddie, wishing he could say otherwise. “Yeah. There were recent moments, though, that even our stalemate couldn’t ruin. When I plugged in the Christmas tree for the first time. When Moose ate a stick that required a trip to the vet, and we were both so worried about him that we actually held hands in the vet’s office for the first time in forever.”

“Was Moose okay?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and turning toward him.

“Yeah.”

“But we weren’t. We’re not,” she amended. “I’m not sure I want to remember that, Sawyer.”

“Well, like I said, I’m prepared to give you ten kids. So, once your memory is back, we’re all set. We’ll start a family.”

She frowned. “But, Sawyer, you don’t want a baby. You’re only agreeing because you made a spiritual pact.”

“But I meant it. I’m prepared to have a baby.”

“Well, that’s not what Maddie-who-I-don’t-remember would want. That Maddie would want you to want to have a baby, a family of your own.”

He let out a breath, exhausted. “I don’t know that there should be conditions. A yes is a yes, right?”

“No. The yes was about something else. Having your wife back. Giving her what she wanted so badly because you made a bargain with the heavens. It’s not actually about what you want, Sawyer.”

“So what you’re saying is that I can’t win?” That came out sharper than he intended. They weren’t supposed to be arguing. Maddie needed her head to settle; she needed rest. Not this. He turned away, barely able to take it—that they were back in this place, arguing.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t really know anything, do I?”

Dammit. He walked over to her side of the bed where she was sitting, and he held out his arms. She bit her lip and looked up at him, then stood and walked right into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his head atop hers, and hell if he didn’t feel tears stinging his eyes. “I’m just so grateful you’re alive, Maddie. That we have a second chance. That’s the truest thing I know.”

She raised her head and looked at him, then kissed him on the lips, just a peck, but a kiss nonetheless. Then she got into bed and drew the down comforter up to her neck.

He slipped in beside her knowing there was no way he’d get a wink of sleep tonight.

Maddie’s eyes fluttered open as she felt Sawyer suddenly bolt up beside her. She heard the doorbell ring—twice. Then a third time.

She sat up and glanced at her phone on her bedside table. It was 12:19 a.m.

“Someone’s at the door?” she asked.

His phone pinged, and he grabbed it, reading the screen. “Oh man.”

“What?”

“It’s my brother. He’s the one ringing the bell.” He texted something back, then got out of bed. “I’ll handle this. Try to go back to bed, Maddie. You need your sleep.”

Sawyer had a brother? No one mentioned a brother.

There was no way she was going back to bed. Sawyer’s brother was at the door after midnight, pounding on the ringer and texting? Something was definitely up.

She found a terry bathrobe on a hook in the bathroom and put it on, then tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the bottom step as Sawyer reached the door. Unless she was mistaken, he took a breath before pulling open the door.

Standing there, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, was a younger version of Sawyer, with shaggier and lighter hair. He wore a black leather bomber jacket and a thick black ski hat. He had an overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

Before he could say a word, Sawyer barked, “Cole, it’s really late. And Maddie’s not feeling well.”

“Yeah, hello to you,” Cole said.

Sawyer didn’t invite him in. “The last time you needed a place to crash and I let you stay a couple days, you robbed us blind and disappeared. If you need a place to stay, I’ll front you some money I know I’ll never see again, but you can’t stay here.”

“I’m not looking to stay here,” Cole said, his body language all fidgety and nervous. “Um, look, it’s not good for the twins to be out in the cold so long, okay?”

“What?” Sawyer asked. “What twins?”

Cole leaned down and picked something up out of view. Sawyer stepped onto the porch and Maddie heard his gasp. She rushed toward the door as Cole came inside carrying two infant car seats, a baby asleep in each one.

Sawyer stared at the babies, shutting the door behind him. “What the hell is going on? Whose babies are these?”

Cole put the car seats down on the foyer rug, then dropped the bag off his shoulder, rubbing his face with both hands. He looked absolutely miserable. And nervous.

Maddie stepped out of the shadows. “Hi.”

“Hey, Maddie.” Cole nodded at her, his expression warmer, and she had the feeling they’d gotten along at some point or that she’d been kind to him. “Whoa, what happened to you? That’s some bump on your forehead.”

“Car accident,” she said. “I’m okay, though.”

He nodded and reached out to squeeze her hand. Yup, she’d been right. They had definitely gotten along—or just better than Cole and his brother did.

“What the hell, Cole?” Sawyer barked. “Whose babies are these?”

“I got an ex pregnant,” he answered, his voice shaky. “We got back together, but then I was fired from my job, and she told me forget it and hooked up with someone else, but he said no way is he gonna be a father. So she went into labor yesterday and called me and I rushed over. I witnessed the birth—wow, that was something.” He shook his head. “And I thought maybe my ex would say she wanted us to have a second chance, but she told me she wasn’t ready for motherhood and didn’t want the twins. She even signed away her parental rights. Unless I accepted responsibility for them, the state would have put them up for adoption.”

This time Maddie gasped. She looked down at the two infants—newborns—asleep in the carriers.

“Good Lord,” Sawyer said, shaking his head.

Cole closed his eyes for a second, his expression pained. “I stood outside the hospital nursery, staring through the glass at their bassinets and holding the forms to give up my rights so they could be placed for adoption. A nurse saw me struggling, I guess. She came over and told me that allowing them to be placed for adoption could be the best thing I could do for them if I couldn’t take care of them. She said it was up to me, that I was their father. Damn that word, Sawyer. Father. Father. Father.” His eyes brimmed with tears, and he slashed a hand underneath and sucked in a breath.

Sawyer put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, his expression full of so many emotions Maddie couldn’t begin to pick them out.

“But I couldn’t sign, Sawyer,” Cole continued. “I couldn’t just abandon them completely like that. I know what it’s like to be tossed aside.”

Maddie’s chest constricted. She had no idea what Cole’s story was—and from what she knew, he wasn’t raised with Sawyer next door to the MacLeods, or his name would have come up. But whatever his story was, it certainly didn’t sound good.

Cole dropped down on the bottom step of the staircase, covering his face with his hands, then stood up and paced. “My name is on the application for the birth certificate that Gigi started filling out—and they look like me, I can see that, even though I thought all babies just looked like babies. They’re mine. But I can’t take care of them. I can’t take care of myself.”

“Jesus, Cole,” Sawyer said, his gaze moving from his brother to the infants.

“The twins were cleared to leave, and the nurses told me what to buy before I could leave with them—two infant car seats. She also told me to buy some newborn-sized pajamas. When I returned with all that, they gave me a starter pack of diapers and formula and other stuff I’d need. I sat in my car in the hospital parking lot for a half hour with the twins in the back seat and completely panicked, no clue what to do, what to think, how I was gonna do this. Then I drove here.”

“Did you name them?” Maddie asked gently.

Cole didn’t respond; he just ran a hand through his hair. He looked so frantic. “I’m gonna get their other bag from my car. Be right back.”

He dashed out, closing the door behind him. Sawyer stared at Maddie, then looked at the two sleeping infants in the carriers again. They looked so peaceful, blissfully unaware of all that had happened since they came into the world just a day ago. All that was going on now.

Maddie heard a car start and peel away, tires screeching.

Sawyer raced to the door and flung it open, rushing out to the porch. Maddie followed, pulling her bathrobe tighter around her in the cold December night air.

She saw the car’s red taillights barely pause at the stop sign up on Main Street before turning right. Maddie recalled the sign for the freeway in that direction. “He’s not coming back tonight, is he?” she said. More a statement than a question.

Sawyer took her hand and led her inside, closing and locking the door behind them. He stared at the babies, then at her. “I’m not sure he’s ever coming back.”