Читать книгу The Christmas Wedding Quilt: Let It Snow / You Better Watch Out / Nine Ladies Dancing - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

AS BRODY TENDED a fire in the living room fireplace, the shower on the second floor screeched to a halt. Jo must be getting out at last.

He tried to put that image out of his mind.

He was glad he had arrived when he did. By the time he’d managed the driveway Jo had been one stick short of a Popsicle, and by the time he’d unlocked the door to let her inside, she had been shivering uncontrollably. There had been no time to talk. He’d sent her right upstairs to shower and put on warm clothes, and he’d busied himself starting the fire, followed by a pot of coffee. There were few provisions in the Hollymeade pantry, but he’d scraped just enough grounds out of a canister for one pot. He knew Jo had brought next to no groceries with her, because once the fire and coffee were going, he’d retrieved her suitcase and a flimsy plastic bag from the car.

Now the suitcase was resting in the hallway outside the bathroom, and the pitiful groceries were resting on the kitchen counter.

His work was done. Jo wouldn’t freeze, and she wouldn’t starve. Yet somehow, he was still in the house, adding kindling to a fire that was already blazing merrily.

He heard footsteps on the stairs, then a voice behind him. “Thanks for bringing in my things.”

When he turned he saw she was wearing fleece from neck to ankle, something soft, warm and a pretty shade of green. He was glad she’d had the good sense to bring at least some weather-appropriate clothing in her sleek little suitcase.

“You look a little warmer,” he said.

“I think I’ve stopped shivering.”

“I made coffee. It’s in the kitchen.”

“Perfect. May I get you some?”

He heard the stiff formality in both their voices. How nice of you. Thank you. What can I do? He knew better than to sigh, because what had he expected? That the woman who had been pathetically grateful when he called off their engagement all those years ago would throw herself into his arms tonight?

“I take it black,” he said.

“You never used to.” She immediately looked chagrined, as if remembering a simple preference opened doors.

He examined a speck on the wall to avoid her eyes. “I don’t have time to pretty it up anymore.”

“I guess...well, it’s obvious you still live in the area.”

He wasn’t surprised she hadn’t known. From what he’d heard, she hadn’t been to Kanowa Lake in years. And whenever he had casually asked about her, nobody in the Miller family seemed to have news. Clearly she had never asked about him.

“In the house where I was raised,” he said.

“Your father still has vineyards?”

He took too long to answer. She didn’t know that, either, but—he guessed for a number of reasons—this time he was grateful. “He died. I care for them alone now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

He thought she probably was. His father had liked Jo, and so had his mother. He was pretty sure the feeling had been mutual. Of course nobody, not his parents, not her family, especially not her mother, had ever known how serious they were about each other, how they had planned to marry after they finished school, how they had chosen universities close enough that they could spend long weekends together.

That in his senior year the whole flimsy house of cards had tumbled to the ground.

“So I stayed a local boy,” he said. “What about you?”

“After I got my master’s degree I moved back to California. I’m a systems analyst with a consulting firm in San Diego.” After clipping the words as short as a boot-camp haircut, she left for the kitchen, and he gave the fire one more poke for good measure before she returned with coffee, handing him the mug, handle turned for him to grasp.

“I couldn’t get inside,” she said. “When I arrived, I mean. That’s why I was shoveling the driveway, so I could turn around. The key wasn’t where Great-Uncle Albert said it would be. I was about to head to town.”

“The key’s been in the same place as long as I can remember. The concrete vase by the back door.”

“Back door.” She shook her head. “I missed that part, I guess.”

“You never would have found it. By now that vase is probably buried. I doubt anybody expected you to arrive in a blizzard.”

“You seem to have expected it.”

“I heard you were coming. I manage a bunch of properties around the lake in the wintertime, and I thought I ought to check, just in case you didn’t know any better than to ignore a storm warning.”

She didn’t seem to take offense. “It’s a different world here in the winter. But I should have known better. I just wanted...”

“To be here?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“I heard about your aunt. I’m sorry she’s gone.”

“Me, too.”

Brody realized he hadn’t taken a sip. Instead he had been drinking in Jo’s lovely, familiar face. Her hair had been longer the last time he’d seen her. Now straight and shiny, it just touched her collar. The oval face, dark brows and lashes and straight nose were the same. So was the wide mouth that once had smiled so easily.

Not so much anymore.

“You probably need a good night’s sleep.” He held up his mug. “And I probably can’t drink this fast enough. Maybe I ought to just go.”

Instead of answering she settled on one of the love seats flanking the fieldstone fireplace and motioned him to the other.

“I still have to warm up hash for dinner, and I’m on California time. Keep me company a few minutes, unless somebody at home is expecting you?”

He thought she had managed that neatly. Was there a wife? Kids?

“In the winter I’m here alone,” he said. “Mom goes to Arizona to stay with Kaye. She and her family live outside Phoenix. It gets Mom out of the cold, and she loves being there.”

“How are they? Your mom and Kaye? Kaye was only, what, sixteen when—” She stopped herself. “She must be, what, twenty-six or so, yes?”

“Happily married, with a two-year-old and another on the way. Mom babysits while Kaye’s at school. She teaches third grade. How about your mom?”

She seemed to relax a little, even smiled. “Still wacky after all these years. Sophie’s on her third marriage, but my stepfather is remarkably patient, adamant she stay on her meds, and madly in love with her. Plus he has money, which means she’ll try harder. I think this one might stick.”

“Does that let you off the hook a little?” He realized how personal the question was, how much it said about how well they had known each other, but it was too late to call it back.

“I’m allowed to have my own life, yes.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Does that include a family?”

“I’m not married, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He had always liked the way Jo laid her cards on the table. Of course in contrast, there was another part of her that carefully played the rest of her hand close to the chest. Anything really important stayed deep inside her, but that habit had suited him, since he operated the same way. For survival she had been required to keep a part of herself from her mother. Brody’s traditional upbringing and parents had been very different, but as a boy he had realized that they had many burdens and didn’t need his, as well.

“So why did you come back?” he asked. “At Christmas, too. There must be a hundred better places to spend the holidays.”

She launched into a story about her cousin Olivia’s bridal quilt, her own desire to get away for a while and work on her part of it in peace, and a desire to see if she might find some baby quilts or clothing of Eric’s in the Grants’ attic.

She finished up on that note. “If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it right. I thought the quilt would be that much more special if we had some of Eric’s childhood quilted into it, too. Lydia says there are boxes in their attic I can go through. Once I’m settled I’m supposed to call her about a key. Then I’ll go through them until I find what I’m looking for.”

“I have the key. I look after the Grants’ house, too.”

Jo leaned back. “Well, you’re a busy boy, aren’t you? Nothing to do in the vineyard this time of year?”

“I have a bargain with the owners. For a nominal fee I watch their houses in winter, and in the fall they come to my place and pick grapes. We make quite a party out of it.”

“You don’t have machines for that?”

“We harvest the juice grapes by machine, but these are more fragile. Vignoles grapes for wine.”

“I always loved seeing all those acres of grapes.”

“And eating them. The summer we met.”

She had been smiling, but that died now. “You know, Pacific time or not, I really am wiped.”

He had been dismissed, so he stood. “The snow’s going to continue through the night. You have some staples in the pantry, a little flour, sugar, salt, that sort of thing, along with some canned soup. But not a lot else. It might be some time before you can shop. I’d ration.”

“Uncle Albert said somebody plows the driveway after it snows.”

“That would be me. But not until the snow stops long enough for it to make sense.”

She uncurled her legs and gracefully rose to follow him to the door. “Thank you for the fire and coffee.” She stuck out her hand.

Surprised, he took it, but the contact was brief. “What are old friends for?”

“I guess we were friends, weren’t we?”

“Maybe we can be again.”

When she didn’t respond he smiled, as if the lack didn’t matter, as if friendship went without saying when, of course, it was probably impossible.

More things left unsaid, their mutual talent.

“Be sure to close the doors on the fireplace before you go to bed,” he said. “The chimney’s just been cleaned, so it’s safe enough, but that’s a hot fire. You don’t want any sparks popping into the room.”

“Thanks, I have a fireplace in my condo.”

“Then you’re an expert.”

She tilted her head. “At lots of things. I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time.” She paused. “But thank you for taking care of me tonight. I’m not sure where I would be right now if you hadn’t come along.”

He considered those parting words on his way home. She had been talking about tonight and where she would have been without his help. But Jo was a survivor. She would have found a way to keep from freezing even if she’d been forced to dig out the whole driveway to get back on the road.

Now he wondered where she would be if he had never come along at all, if he had never met her the summer she turned sixteen, if they hadn’t made a thousand plans together, all canceled summarily four years later. Had she stopped trusting men after that? Was that why she’d never married? Had she stopped coming to Hollymeade because she had been afraid of running into him? How many choices had she made that stemmed from their past?

How many had he made?

He found himself at the Grants’ house instead of his own. It was more than six miles from Ryan Vineyards, so he hadn’t simply made a wrong turn. No, the wrong turn had come a long time ago. Now there was no telling where this one might lead.

He jumped down and went through his ring of keys on the way to the front door. Inside he took the steps upstairs and then those to the attic two at a time. The Grant house wasn’t as large or lovely as Hollymeade, but it was a pretty Colonial with banks of windows looking over the water and decks all around, well cared for and loved.

Unlike Hollymeade this house wasn’t heated in the winter, and right now the inside temperature was as cold as the outside. He kept his gloves on until he had reached his destination, a pile of boxes in the front. He knew right where they were because he had helped Eric’s father move them to this spot. He’d been impressed at how carefully each one had been labeled, in case the contents were ever needed again.

He spotted the one he was looking for and began to stack the rest along the side until he could get to it.

“Eric’s baby things.” He grimaced at the label and shook his head, but not at the words, at himself for thinking this was a good idea.

He almost left it where it was, but in the end, he carried it across the attic to a pile of boxes that hadn’t yet been sorted, a pile Lydia Grant was probably making her way through each summer.

When he left the house, the box with Eric’s baby things was stored in the very back of the Grants’ attic, six down on an unmarked pile, the label turned toward the wall. It was the least likely place anyone would look for it.

It might buy him the time he needed to get to know Jo again.