Читать книгу The One Winter Collection - Rebecca Winters - Страница 45

TY leaped up off the couch as if he’d accidentally sat on a hot ember. He nearly dumped his plate.

“Like I said, I’m exhausted. Done in. I have to go to bed.”

Amy squinted at him narrowly. This was a repeat of when she had kissed him! He was letting her know, in no uncertain terms, he was not interested in her in that way.

“I’m going to have to figure out a way to get to my dad tomorrow,” he said as if he had to rush off to bed and think hard about that.

“Your dad?” she asked, astounded.

“He and his lady friend live on the old Halliday homestead place. It’s a few miles from here. I’d better make sure they’re stocked up.”

Amy felt shocked. She’d assumed Ty was alone in life. Really alone. As alone as any person she had ever met. But his dad lived a few miles away, and he’d never even mentioned it?

She suddenly felt embarrassed that she had blurted out her whole life story to him. In fact, over the past three days, she had revealed quite a bit about herself.

But he hadn’t! She had just assumed they were getting to know each other, but in actual fact he’d been getting to know her.

Enough to know he wasn’t interested in that way. She watched him take off down the hall to his room, heard the finality in the way the door snapped closed.

Ty Halliday was telling her to back off and that was his right.

It was the situation here that had made her feel so instantly enamored with him. It was seeing him laughing with Jamey, frowning over the Scrabble board, kneading bread until his arm muscles rippled, looking after her hand with such tenderness, stepping up to the plate to uncomplainingly shoulder every single thing she couldn’t do because of her injury.

But the kicker had been to see Ty Halliday on a horse. It went beyond horsemanship.

It went straight to spirit.

She had witnessed the grace and the power of man and horse melt into one seamless entity.

Watching Ty ride was going to that place she had been to so rarely: a place of being fully engaged, fully connected, fully alive.

And she thought she might as well just die now if she did not learn how to get there, too.

But it was precisely the same mistake she had made before. She was looking for a hero, someone to rescue her from her life.

And Ty would certainly fit anyone’s definition of a hero. Seeing him in his element and watching the ease with which he had slipped into hers, given the forced closeness of their circumstances, her total reliance on him, it was natural that she would be feeling things with a strange and sizzling intensity.

It was not unlike a hostage bonding with their captor.

And if there was one thing she was done with, it was being taken hostage. She had to take responsibility for her own life. No more waiting to be rescued.

Knowing exactly what she had to do, she marched into the kitchen.

The phone was still unplugged from the wall.

So, despite the physical closeness of his father, Ty really was more alone than most people. She doubted he had even given a thought to his phone being unplugged—him being unable to be reached—since he had pulled that thing from the wall. If he was concerned about his father, why didn’t he phone him?

None of her business, she told herself firmly. She was in no position to advise Ty on family matters when she had allowed her own to become such a mess.

Now, taking a deep breath, Amy plugged the telephone back in and dialed the familiar number. She was aware her heart was beating too fast. She was aware that all her life she had been telling people how to treat her.

Now she had ridden a horse. Now she had breathed his essence deep inside her. Now she had to step up and claim her own space.

“Hello, Cynthia, it’s Amy.”

“I have been so worried! I was within a hairbreadth of calling the police.”

Cynthia’s tone was wounded, and of course she would not have called the police. It was just her way of letting Amy know she felt her negligence was nearly criminal. She bit back the impulse to apologize.

Instead, she pictured walking up to that horse and not giving an inch.

“Cynthia,” she said firmly, “while I appreciate your concern, I’m fine. Jamey is fine. I just wanted to let you know we won’t be there for Christmas dinner. You’ve probably seen on the news that the roads are closed out this way. I’m at the end of a long driveway. It’s going to take a while to dig out.”

“But where are you? The call display still says Halliday, not McFinley. You said you were house-sitting for people called McFinley. I’ve called the number listed for them in the phone book. And there is no answer. And there is no answer at the house you called from with the so-called washer repairman. So where are you? And who was that man who answered the phone? Please don’t play me for the fool. I know it wasn’t a washer repairman. Have you met someone on the internet? It’s not safe!”

A thousand explanations ran through Amy’s head, and then feeling sweet relief she realized she did not have to make any of them.

“Cynthia, I need you to listen carefully. I love you and I appreciate your concern for me and for Jamey. But I am an adult woman. I do not need to report to you.”

“Please just come back!”

“I won’t be coming back. Not to live there.”

“But John and I are in such a comfortable position to look after you.”

“I don’t want to be looked after.”

“Think of Jamey! We are in a far better position to give him everything he could ever want than you will ever be!”

There it was, what was always there: the underlying lack of faith in her.

“Cynthia, I want to be respected. I want to look after myself.”

There was a long pause. “Really, Amy, this is no time to make a philosophical stand. The well-being of my grandson is at stake.”

Truer words had never been spoken. And Amy did not want to teach her son that she could not stand on her own two feet, that she was a dependent personality without the guts or the wherewithal to make it on her own.

Ty Halliday had just done her a big favor by rejecting her interest in him! He’d set her back on the correct path.

“Jamey will miss you on Christmas. We’ll come for a visit as soon as the weather permits.” As she hung up on her mother-in-law, Amy felt she had never been more on her own path.

She heard Ty get up in the morning, rustling around. She had the feeling he was trying very hard not to wake her.

And the woman she had been when she first arrived probably would have rolled over and pretended to sleep until he left the house, leaving her to nurse her wounded ego.

But she was not that woman anymore. She got out of bed, looked out her window for a moment, then donned her dressing gown and went into the kitchen.

Ty was actually glaring at the coffeepot, drumming the countertop with impatient fingers waiting for it to brew. The radio was on at a very low volume next to him.

He looked up at her, looked away, clearly not happy to see her. He removed the pot and stuck his travel mug directly under the drip.

She ordered herself to face it head-on. “Look, Ty, I just looked out my window. Still snowing. We’re going to be stuck here together for a few more days.”

He nodded, put the cup to his lips. “Yeah, I saw the snow, too. The road reports are the only thing on the radio. Some roads are open, but there are travel advisories on them and the weather warnings haven’t been lifted.”

“So, you’re stuck with me.”

He winced and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, but didn’t argue with her blunt wording.

“Ty, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in your own home. I’m not going to break into pieces because you made it clear you don’t find me attractive. You’ve done me a favor, actually. I should be all done looking for heroes.”

He choked on the coffee. He set down the cup. He stalked over to her.

“Don’t find you attractive? Are you crazy?”

She looked up at him, drank in the fire in those sapphire eyes, the way his pulse beat in his throat, the tight line of his jaw.

“I find you way too attractive, Amy.”

“You do?” For a moment, she felt her whole world start to shift, but then she reminded herself that the new Amy Mitchell needed to be more cynical, more pragmatic. “Or you’re just saying that?”

His mouth fell open. His eyes spit blue sparks of pure heat. “I don’t just say things. How can you not know that about me?”

“We hardly know each other at all. It feels as if we do because of how we’ve been forced together, but I shouldn’t have said what I said last night. It put you in an awkward position. But don’t worry, I don’t plan to moon over you.”

He moved in closer, his eyes still burning with a deep blue flame, like the one that hovered over the hottest part of a fire. And then his hand moved, almost as if it were against his will, and his finger traced the line of her mouth before his hand went to the back of her head and buried itself in her curls. He drew her close.

The blue fire that had been in his eyes sizzled briefly in the small space between them, singeing the air, making her lips tingle.

“Oh, Amy,” he whispered, and then he took her lips with his.

Inferno.

It was everything she had known it would be, and it was so much more.

As his lips, remarkably soft, astoundingly sensual, claimed hers, her world made the final melt into his.

The touch of his lips intensified, took charge and then surrendered to her. He was gentle, and fierce and hungry. He was tender and ruthless, taking and giving.

It seemed to her his kiss asked her not to submit to him, but to be worthy of him. And so she gave back. Everything. For the first time in her life, she gave every single thing she was. Her gentleness. Her fury. Her hunger. Her uncertainty. Her yearning. Her dreams. Her strength.

When it seemed as if there would be nothing left of either of them except smoldering ash, Ty pulled back from her.

He took a step back. His shoulders were heaving as he raked his hand through his hair, tossed her a troubled look.

She took a step toward him, not ready to let go.

He took a step back from her.

“Amy, we are in a complicated situation here. It is incredibly intense. Giving in to this will only make it way more complicated. That’s what I was trying to tell you last night when I walked away. Now, I’m going to my dad’s. I’ll be gone a couple of hours and that should give me a chance to cool off and put my head back on straight.”

Terrible to be so thrilled that she was responsible for the fact he did not have his head on straight.

“How are you getting to your dad’s in all this snow? Why don’t you just phone him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Hmm. For a simple cowboy you seem to have a complicated life.”

“Some days are worse than others.” His eyes trailed to her lips, and then moved swiftly away. He jammed his coffee mug back under the drip, waited for it to fill partially, then took a huge swig. He was going to burn his mouth on that coffee if he didn’t watch out.

“I’ve got a sleigh. I’ll hook up a couple of the big horses to it, put a few supplies in, in case he needs them.”

“I’m coming.”

“I just said we need to cool off.”

“I’ll try to keep my hands off you. But, Ty, I am not missing a genuine sleigh ride for anything.”

Ty looked torn, but then he gave in. It was not like him to give in so easily, and she felt her heart warm as much as it had for the kiss. He wanted to share this experience with her and Jamey. Their worlds were not yet finished melting together.

“Now, what do you think your dad might need? We’ll bring him the last loaf of fresh bread and—”

“He doesn’t need the last loaf of fresh bread,” Ty said sourly.

“Ty! We can always make more.”

But he still looked sour as she found a box and with her good hand started loading a few basic supplies, including the fresh bread, into it. Jamey woke, and without being asked, Ty disappeared down the hall.

When he came out the baby had already been changed and was in a fresh Onesies.

An hour later, with Ty carrying Jamey in his little blue snowsuit, they made their way down to the barn. The snow was still coming. But did it seem a little lighter this morning?

Handing Jamey to her at the barn, Ty left them. He returned with two horses, one lead rope in each hand, and brought them through the open barn doors. The horses were absolutely huge, golden-colored with heavy white manes and tails, and white feathers around their feet.

“Their feet must be as big as pie plates!” she said.

Maybe her awareness had been heightened by that kiss, but every single thing seemed to shimmer this morning.

She was so aware: Ty in a sheepskin-lined jean jacket, dark cowboy hat, leather gloves, looking strong and rugged and calm and self-assured—the quintessential cowboy. And the horses: clouds of breath, the warm smell of them, the squeak and jingle of the leather harnesses as Ty got them ready.

“Can I breathe in their noses?” she said. “The way I did with Ben?”

He cast her a glance from under the shadowed brim of his cowboy hat. After that kiss she was aware of him trying frantically to rebuild walls. But she did not miss the quiet satisfaction that passed through his eyes that she was not afraid of these huge horses.

She went and stood at their shoulders, breathed in their wonderful scent, let Jamey pet and stroke and coo and call out in excitement.

But all the time, she was so aware of how Ty was with the horses. She had promised not to moon over him, but really, how could she stop herself?

Besides, he was very focused on what he was doing, ignoring her. This was second nature to him. Ty worked around the huge animals with confidence and unconscious grace, entirely certain of himself. He talked to them as he quickly brushed them out, his tone low and soothing, his voice sending shivers up and down her spine.

The harnesses seemed complicated, and yet Ty’s manner was easy. Putting a harness on a horse was no different for him than checking the air pressure on a tire or the dipstick on the oil was for most men.

And yet watching a man doing mundane vehicle maintenance could never have this kind of pull to it.

Watching Ty get the horses ready, his hands gliding along strong muscles, working buckles, untangling leather straps, was like watching something extraordinarily and breathtakingly beautiful. It was a symphony of motion and energy.

When he had the horses harnessed, he led them out into the snow. Bells jingled on the big leather collars and the snow kicked out in huge puffs from their feathered feet.

There was a lean-to attached to the barn, and in it was a huge lump under a blue tarp. He dropped the reins for the horses.

“Stand,” he commanded, and the huge horses stood quietly, while he went and removed the tarp.

Again, she felt as if she was in a state of heightened awareness, because the sleigh was so pretty it made her eyes smart with tears.

It was possibly the most Christmassy thing she had ever seen. It was painted bright red, with a black leather front seat and shiny runners.

Expertly, Ty backed the horses toward the hitch. Again, watching his confidence and efficiency of motion took her breath away. Once the horses were hitched, he took the baby, helped her up onto the seat and climbed up beside her.

He took up the reins. “Hang on.” He made a clicking noise. The sleigh lurched as it moved from the dry ground under the roof to the snow outside the lean-to. And then it was gliding along, the huge horses plowing effortlessly through the deep snow, tossing their heads, moving into a huge-gaited trot.

Ty directed them up the hill to the house, dropped the reins and told the horses to stand. He made several trips: the box of supplies, baby things, warm blankets which he stowed behind the seat. And then lastly he came out with several square items wrapped in towels.

“I threw a couple of bricks in the oven this morning after you said you were coming. Just tuck them around you and Jamey.”

She did and the sensation of warmth on this chilly day was incredible. The sensation of being cared about was even more incredible.

Though, she reminded herself, he would have denied it. If she questioned it, she was sure he would say it was something he would do for anyone.

Ty got back in the driver’s seat, took up the reins and moved the sleigh down the slope of his hill, where his driveway once had been. At the bottom of the hill, he turned along a wooden fence line.

“This is called a pioneer fence,” he said. “My great-grandfather built it.”

The snow falling was even lighter now, and the horses settled into the task at hand, bells jingling, their great strength breaking a path through the snow effortlessly. The runners on the sleigh made a hissing noise on the ground. The baby laughed and all those sounds became part of the magic of a world muffled by snow.

“I think,” Amy whispered, “this may be the most beautiful moment of my whole life.”

Ty shot her a look that clearly said sheltered, but it didn’t matter. The horse-drawn sleigh followed the fence for a while, and then Ty turned and they wove their way through open fields, then through a small forested stretch. When they came out the sun had burst through and was glinting off the pristine snow.

But it wasn’t white. It was like the earth was covered in sparkling diamonds with blue fire at their core.

“Don’t get your hopes up about the snow stopping,” Ty said.

But somewhere along the way, Amy realized, all that had shifted. She didn’t want it to stop. She wanted it to snow forever, to stay in this world of the two of them, and the baby, and Scrabble and baking bread together, and squeezing into the cab of his tractor and playing with horses.

“Why do you say that?”

“I can taste more snow on the air.”

She stared at him. “You can taste snow on the air?”

“Sure, try it.”

And so she stuck out her tongue, and tasted nothing. And then she breathed the air in through her mouth. Still nothing.

And then she noticed his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.

“You can’t taste it!” she said, thumping him firmly on the arm.

He rubbed his arm with pretend hurt. “Yes, I can. But I also heard it on the radio. Slight clearing today, more snow coming.”

And somehow the tension that had been created by that kiss dissipated, and there was something playful and comfortable in the air between them.

“You want to try driving the horses?” he asked.

“Really? How can I with one hand?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Amy was so aware that woman she had been when she’d arrived would have shrunk back from this. Would have seen everything that could go wrong: horses stampeding, sleigh overturning.

Now she felt eager for the new experience, warmed that Ty offered it to her, trusted her not to screw up.

Ty took the baby and passed her the reins into her one hand. She could feel the power of the horses singing through the leather. She laughed out loud. She was aware of Ty watching her, a small smile tickling across the line of his lips.

A woman could start living to make that man smile, to make that light go on in his eyes!

“Just keep your hand steady, just like that. We’re going that way.” He reached over and pulled ever so slightly on the inside rein, his hand brushing hers, and then staying there.

Amy suspected the horses knew exactly where they were going, but it was so much fun anyway, like taking a trip into the past. This is what life had once been, there had been a beautiful simplicity to it, moments that were slower and lovelier. She felt as if her whole body was humming with awareness.

Though, of course, Ty was a big part of that. His shoulder brushing hers, his gloved hand resting on her mitten, the baby happy in his lap, his face relaxed and happy, his laughter frequent.

She couldn’t taste snow coming, but somehow the taste of him, the way his lips had been on hers, was still with her, woven into the magic of the day.

Woven into who she was becoming, and who she would always be, now.

They moved up a hill, crested it, traveled along the ridge for a bit, and then he took the reins back from her as they headed down through a small copse of trees.

When they came out of the trees, they were partway down a valley, in rolling open pasture. Spread below them was a scene from a Christmas card: an old barn, wood grayed from weather, sagging from age and hard use.

And there was a house.

It was a two-story log house, the logs weathered as gray as the barn. A low porch wrapped around the entire place. Smoke curled out of a river rock chimney.

Amy could see bright curtains in the windows and cheerful light inside. Even from here she could see an immense wreath on the front door, and the porch railings decorated with festive red bows.

“Stop, Ty, please stop.”

He sent her a puzzled look, but did as she asked. She passed him the baby and climbed from the sled, stood in the snow, gazing down at the house below her.

The horses turned their heads to look at her, curious about the stop.

“Stand.”

Ty came with Jamey and stood beside her.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

She took in a deep breath, looked at him, this self-assured man holding her baby as if it was second nature to him.

She debated telling him. It made her feel as if she was showing him something that would make her so vulnerable.

But, she reminded herself, the new Amy was courageous.

And that didn’t just mean taking the reins.

It meant risking showing people your heart. It meant doing that, even though she was risking rejection—again. She felt compelled to tell him who she really was.

“Oh, Ty,” she breathed, “all my life I dreamed of home. All my life. And that is what I dreamed of.” She gestured to the scene below them.

He could have done anything. He could have been impatient. Or mocked her. But instead, she felt his hand on her shoulder, the gentle squeeze of fingers under his gloves.

He gave her his silence and let her drink her fill of the beautiful scene. And then he helped her back on the sleigh and they made the final descent to the house.

As they got closer, it got better. Ty pulled the big horses to a halt at the wide steps that went up to the front door. There was actually a hitching post there, and he got down from the sleigh, fastened the horses, and then came back and took Jamey before helping her down.

The wreath on the door was thick, lush with different types of boughs all woven together. It had a huge plaid bow on it, and country ornaments—rocking horses and snowmen with cowboy hats—peeked out from under the boughs. There was a little wooden word buried in the bows.

Wish.

As they went up the steps, she could smell the fragrance of the wreath. It reminded her of how close it was to Christmas. Despite the tree at Ty’s house, she had not been able to achieve any kind of Christmassy feeling there.

The door opened before they knocked, and Amy’s sense of somehow coming home was complete. A woman stood there, diminutive, white-haired, her face etched, not with surprise, but with kindness.

Behind her wood floors glowed with the patina of age, and a fireplace, hung with socks, crackled with bright welcome. Wish. This was exactly what Amy had always wished for.

“Ty!” the woman said, “what a nice surprise.”

“Beth.”

Amy turned to him, taken aback by something cold in his tone and in his eyes. This is what she should have known all along: Ty was not interested in being part of Amy’s picture of perfection.

“Oh, my word,” Beth said reverently, holding out her arms. If she had noticed Ty’s coldness, she did not acknowledge it. “You’ve brought us a baby.”

Ty handed off the baby into the eager arms, turned around and clattered back down the steps.

“Hunter, look! Ty’s come and he’s brought company. Come in. Come in.”

Amy stepped in the door. And saw Ty’s father. She would have known it was him instantly, not so much because they looked alike but because of the way he held himself. He was extraordinarily handsome even though his hair was white as snow and his features were weathered. He was in a wheelchair, but even so, he exuded power, his energy was like a brilliant light in the room.

His features were stern, and there was wariness in his dark eyes, but when he saw the baby it melted. Beth brought Jamey to him, and he held out his arms and took him. Amy had never seen a man so at ease with a baby. Certainly Edwin had never acquired this ease, and her father-in-law was like a stick man when he found Jamey in his arms.

But Ty’s father was obviously a man who knew a great deal about babies.

My mother left when I was about that age.

Ty came back in the door and set the box of supplies inside of it. “I thought you might be needing a few things.”

Their eyes locked, the young man and the old.

Hunter spoke, his tone proud. “We were just fine.”

The tension was raw in the room, and Amy suddenly understood why Ty had not phoned and had acquiesced so easily to her coming.

His offer to help would have been refused. And he had brought her because she would provide the distraction.

“I’m Amy Mitchell,” she said, kicking off her boots. Her hand was taken by Beth.

“Amy, I’m Beth, and this is Hunter.”

She went over to Ty’s dad. She loved how he was with the baby. He was already engrossed in removing the snowsuit, and Jamey was enthralled with him.

“Papa, papa, papa,” he crowed as if he had met a long-lost love.

She extended her hand, and it was swallowed in one that was rough textured and as strong as his son’s. His eyes searched her face, and then he let go of her hand, a small smile playing the stern line of his mouth.

“I’m Hunter Halliday.”

“Tea or coffee?” Beth called.

Ty was still standing at the door, holding the first box of supplies. He looked as if he planned to just drop it off and leave!

“Tea,” Amy said. She wasn’t leaving this place for as long as she could help it. The sensation of coming home had intensified, not diminished, since she had come in that door.

Ty made a growling noise deep in his throat. “I’ll see to the horses.” And then he turned and went back out the door.

Amy loved it at the old homestead. She loved the handmade throw rugs on the wide-planked floors, the scarred centuries-old harvest table, the crackling fire in the fireplace. She loved the worn furniture and the paned windows. She loved the cat curled up on the hearth. She loved the smell in the air, the tart scent of the pine boughs, a hint of wood smoke, the delicious aroma of something baking.

She shrugged off her coat, and Beth made a fuss about her bandaged hand and clucked sympathetically when Amy told her what had happened.

“I was a nurse before I retired. Do you mind if I look at it?”

Baby in his lap, Hunter wheeled over to the table. So, while he found a set of keys and entertained the baby with them, Amy sat down and Beth looked at her hand.

“Ty did a great job on this. It looks fine. I’ll just change the dressing.”

Amy was aware she was in the company of strangers, and yet she felt safe and loved and entirely at home.

Ty stood in the doorway, surveying the scene, his face impassive. “What do you need done?” he said to Beth.

His father answered. “I can do it myself.”

Ty blew out an impatient breath, went back out the door. A few seconds later they heard an ax thumping into wood. It managed to sound quite angry.

“So,” Beth said, setting a teapot on the table—most likely antique—and scones steaming from the oven, “what brings you to Halliday Creek Ranch, Amy?”

And while Hunter broke scones into bits and fed them to Jamey, who opened his mouth and cooed like a small eager bird, she found herself telling them. And not feeling the least ashamed of her ineptitude with the GPS device.

Beth and Hunter seemed to think her descending by accident on Ty was one of the most hilarious stories they had ever heard.

When Ty came back through the door, his arms loaded with freshly split wood, he found them all laughing. Looking like thunder, he dumped the wood in the wood box by the fireplace and went back out the door.

They heard the angry bite of the ax blade into wood again.

The next hour was a delight of laughter and easy conversation. But in the background Amy was aware of Ty’s seething presence. Ty chopped wood and filled the wood box to overflowing. Then he climbed up on the porch roof and cleared snow. When he was done that, they could see him out the window, heaving snow off the path to the garage.

When he finally came back in, he had worked himself into such a sweat that steam rose off him.

“Amy, we should go.”

“I was hoping you’d stay for lunch,” Beth said.

“Maybe another time,” Ty said. Polite. Terse.

His father glanced at him.

And Amy saw clearly a whole gamut of emotions going through the elder Halliday’s eyes. Pride. And something deeper than pain. Sorrow.

How could Ty be like this? So stubborn? So indifferent to the pain he was causing people?

What had happened between this father and son? And was there any chance, any chance at all, that maybe she could help fix it? So that they all could experience a Christmas miracle?