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CHAPTER TEN
HAVING made it clear that he planned to lighten her load whether Abby wanted him to or not, Dirk went with her to her volunteer stints, becoming more and more involved in her day-to-day life, more and more involved in her Christmas charity events.
Although he didn’t pretend the Christmas aspect didn’t bother him, he no longer winced when she told him what they’d be doing for the day.
As she’d just done.
He’d come over, insisted upon bringing bagels, cream cheese and fresh fruit. They’d eaten and addressed Christmas cards to be distributed to nursing-home residents. When they’d finished, running his finger over the steepled church to her mother’s Christmas village, Abby’s favorite piece, he’d asked what was next.
“It’s called Toys for Toddlers. Various businesses have set up stations for people to donate toys to be given as Christmas gifts to needy children. Our job is to go by the various drop-off points and pick up the toys. We’ll deliver them to the headquarters and volunteers will wrap them at a later time, probably tomorrow.”
His face remained impassive as he picked up a village figure of a couple holding hands on a park bench. “When and how do the toys actually get to the kids?”
Purposely trying to look impish, Abby smiled. “Santa delivers them, of course.”
His gaze narrowed suspiciously and she’d swear he’d have tugged on his collar if he had one. She bit back laughter, enjoying teasing him, enjoying this budding aspect to their relationship.
“Santa?”
Watching as he carefully replaced the figure where she’d had it, she gave in. “No worries.” She placed her hand on his arm, loved the sinewy strength there, but wondered at herself for touching him when she usually so carefully avoided doing so. “You’re safe. I’m not in charge of Santa.”
At least he was safe from playing Santa. Safe from her was another matter altogether. The contact of their skin touching was frying her brain cells, making her want to push him down on the sofa and leap into his lap for a little Santa role playing. She had all kinds of things on her wish list—naughty and nice.
She wanted him to kiss her, believed he wanted to kiss her, too. As frustrating as she found his insistence that they were just friends, she believed he had his reasons. But if he didn’t work through them soon, she was going to make herself a mistletoe halo and wear it at all times.
“That’s good to know.” He sighed with real relief.
She observed him closely, noted that his shoulders had relaxed with her answer. “I was teasing. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist. Was being my Santa really that bad?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was low. “Anything to do with Christmas is that bad.”
His words startled like gunshots fired through a silent night. The true depth of his dislike of the holidays struck her with guilt that she’d teased him. Yes, she’d heard him say he didn’t like Christmas, had seen his discomfort, but she hadn’t truly appreciated how deep his dislike ran, hadn’t fully appreciated that he repeatedly set that dislike aside to help her with holiday projects.
“Why?” Why didn’t he like Christmas? Why was he willing to set aside that dislike for her? Even before they’d known she was pregnant, he’d played Santa. Because she’d asked him to. He’d also volunteered to help her at the food bank. Because he’d thought she was ill and needed his help.
Looking at him, his handsome face clouded, his eyes full of pain as he stared at the ceramic village, she wavered between reminding herself to protect her heart and risking his rejection by wrapping her arms around him. But she only held on to his arm.
“I don’t like Christmas.”
If she understood, maybe she could understand him, could understand why he insisted on calling them friends. Out of misplaced honor to his deceased wife and daughter?
“Tell me why you don’t like Christmas. Please.” She squeezed where she held his arm. “I want to understand you and can’t fathom why anyone wouldn’t love the holidays.”
Silence. More silence.
With his free hand, he raked his fingers through his dark hair. His jaw rotated, then clenched. “Sandra and Shelby died on their way to a Christmas sale.”
“Oh, God, no,” she gasped. She’d known they’d died in a car crash, had known he professed to dislike the holidays. Why hadn’t she put two and two together and come up with the right answer about why he didn’t like Christmas?
“It was early morning, before dawn,” he continued, staring straight ahead, but she suspected he saw nothing, that he was locked away in a different time. A time where he had endured a horrible tragedy. Had hurt in ways Abby couldn’t fix with a little Christmas magic.
Her heart bled for him, at the pain still so evident on his face, at the hollowness in his eyes.
“I’d pulled an all-nighter at the hospital, was still there and didn’t know she was going to the sale. When they wheeled her in, I couldn’t believe it was her, couldn’t fathom why she’d be out that early.”
“Oh, Dirk.” She wasn’t sure he heard her. He didn’t appear to even be in the same room with her, his mind was so far removed from the present.
“She’d dragged Shelby out at that godforsaken hour so she could go and buy my Christmas gift.” Anger cracked his voice. Deep, hoarse anger that chilled Abby to the core.
