I'm falling for him. Fast and hard and completely against my better judgment considering his reluctance to start anything with me.
The weekend arrives, and I unpack my Christmas decorations. Mel helps me, chattering the whole time as we string paper chains and hang tinsel.
Granny said we used to have a gigantic Christmas tree, and the entire house was covered in tinsel. Since Mom left, Christmas hasn’t been the same.
I pause, a length of red tinsel in my hands. "She left around Christmas?"
"December twenty-third." Mel's fingers tremble slightly as she loops another paper chain. "I was only a year old, so I don't remember. But I think the holidays remind Dad of losing her."
My heart breaks a little. For Chance, carrying that pain alone for twelve years. For Mel, growing up without a mother and without Christmas magic.
"Then we'll make new memories. Happy ones."
Mel tucks a strand of soft brown hair behind one ear. She tilts her head and stares at me, chestnut eyes wide. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too, sweetheart."
We work in companionable silence for a while, and then I unwrap my most precious possession. The nativity scene, carefully packed in tissue paper. The figures are hand-paintedporcelain, delicate and beautiful. My mother gave this to me when I was ten, and my father added the angel that sits on top.
"It's beautiful." Mel touches the angel reverently.
"My parents are missionaries now, traveling to remote areas to help people. But they always made Christmas special when I was growing up." I position the angel carefully. "This represents family, love and new beginnings."
"Is that why you came here? For a new beginning?"
I glance at her. She's too perceptive, this girl. "Partly. I lost my horse, Grumps, a year ago. I've felt lost ever since."
"I'm sorry." Mel hugs me suddenly, and I hold her tight. "But I'm glad you're here now."
The front door opens, and Chance walks in from working the fence line. He stops dead when he sees the living room.
We've transformed it. Paper chains hang from the ceiling, tinsel drapes the windows, a small tree sits in the corner decorated with simple ornaments. And the nativity scene takes pride of place on the side table, the angel catching the afternoon light.
I watch his face carefully. His expression cracks open—something raw and painful flashing across his features. Then he slams the walls back up, his jaw clenching.
"It looks nice," he says gruffly, then disappears into his room.
Mel touches my arm. "I don’t think he’s mad, just sad. Maybe he’s thinking of Mom."
I understand running from painful reminders. After Grumps died, I couldn't even drive past the stables without crying.
"Then we'll show him that Christmas can hold better memories," I say.
Over the next few days, Chance and I check water sources, move cattle to lower pastures and mend fences. I see his respect for me grow. I also see his eyes linger on me when he thinks I'mnot looking, his breath catch when we accidentally touch, his jaw clench when I bend over to pick something up.
He wants me. And God help me, I want him too.
The attraction between us is a living thing, crackling in the air every time we're in the same space. I catch myself watching the play of muscles in his back when he lifts hay bales. Admiring the strength in his hands when he works with the horses. Imagining what those hands would feel like on my skin.
Fridayafternoon,Melcomeshome from school in tears. I'm in the kitchen starting dinner when I hear her stumble through the front door.
"Mel?" I drop the spoon and rush to her. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
She's clutching her backpack to her chest, her face blotchy and red. She turns and sprints upstairs. Red patches stain the butt of her blue jeans, the significance unmistakable.
I follow her to the bathroom. The door is ajar.
“Can I come in?”
