“You.”
Chop.
“Doing.”
Chop.
“Here?”
Through his many manly frustrated grunts, he doesn’t look up. Not once.
He’s not happy to see me. Why would he be? Three years ago, we shattered to pieces, and I left him. If I were him, I wouldn’t forgive me either. But that doesn’t mean I have to take his surly attitude.
“It’s my Christmas.”
He lifts his head, hits me with one of his familiar, exasperated looks. “Your Christmas to what?”
“To stay at the cabin.”
Now, he lifts the axe.
I flinch.
With an under-his-breath mutter of “for Christ’s sakes,” he sets it aside. “It’s my Christmas, Bell. My cabin.”
I dig in my boots. “We both own the cabin. It’s in the contract.Andit’s my weekend.” When he stares at me, I snort.
“Unbelievable. You forgot.” Sighing, I tip my head back and study the snow now falling from fat gray clouds.
Hank Blue never forgets a damn thing.
But why would he remember this? It’s not his job. Not anymore.
“It’s my thirtieth birthday.” I face him beneath the trees as the Montana wind steals its way beneath my thick parka. “We agreed I could stay here, remember? In the divorce?”
“Fuck.” Hard gaze softening, he drags a hand down the whiskers of his jaw.
He opens his mouth to say something. What, I’m not sure, because before he can speak, my knees go out from under me.
A pair of paws lands on my chest. A red, drooly tongue drags its way down my chin.
“Oh my God!” I gape at the furry face, then propel myself up and fling my arms around the blue heeler.
She wriggles, panting against my neck, but I hold on tight as joy zips through me. “Zelda, girl! My sweet, silly mashed potato pup.”
She was a gift for Hank, for Christmas the first year we were married. With one brown eye and one blue, she’s adorable, but the goofy underbite that makes her look like she has a perpetual grin is what made me scream “she’s mine” when she was a tiny puppy. The instant I saw her wiggling and squirming with her siblings, I had to have her. And looking at her now, I can’t believe I ever left her.
“Oh, I missed you,” I whisper into her thick scruff.
After she’s given me a few more sloppy forehead kisses, I press my hands into the cold earth and push my way to standing.
She sticks to my side, her tail thwacking against the side of my leg.
“Hell, what are we goin’ to do about this?” Hank considers me, blue eyes searching my face. Serious. Assessing. Always working out problems in that marvel of a brain of his.
Me, I was quick to act, to react.
I eye the cabin steps, wanting nothing more than to dramatically storm up them and slam the front door in his face.
