To her right, she could make out the corner of the large red barn that housed the Hills’ best stallions. The paddocks where they penned the mares that arrived during breeding season spread out below the barn, along with the usual plethora of snow-covered vehicles, fences and sheds. Mike’s property had been her haven from her mother’s shrill voice and constant demands. She could still hear the whinny of his horses, feel the soft brush of their lips against her palm as she fed them apples or carrots. Even the sound of the cowboys talking back and forth had become a fond memory, although she’d only heard them from a distance.
Everything good in her life she’d experienced at a distance. Except the time she’d occasionally spent with Morris—and that night in the motel she’d spent in Mike’s arms.
Leaning a shoulder against the windowpane, she closed her eyes and imagined his hands on her once again. They slipped slowly over her wet skin in the saunalike heat of the shower. His lips moved over hers, coaxing her to let go of all reservation. And she had….
She opened her eyes to gaze out at his ranch. Mike had smelled like the scene before her now—of snow and earth and mountain air—and he’d tasted like chocolate mint.
The buzzer on the oven went off and she crossed the kitchen to take out the pumpkin pie she’d baked. She wasn’t particularly interested in eating it. She didn’t seem to have much of an appetite lately. But she’d spent the day preparing all kinds of food because she didn’t have anything else to do, and because she liked the way it made the house smell. The scent of cloves and cinnamon, as well as the crackling fire she’d built the moment she saw Mike’s Escalade pass on his way to town, went a long way toward reminding her that this quiet, beautiful night was Christmas Eve.
After setting the pie on a rack to cool, she poured herself a cup of cider, took the lap blanket from the couch and wandered into the living room. She hadn’t been able to turn on her tree lights for the past two days for fear Mike would see them and know she was home. But he was gone now.
She plugged the cord into the socket and wrapped herself in the blanket. Then she sat on the area rug she’d bought and stared at the green boughs laden with ornaments. This tree had been Mike’s gift. The beauty and serenity of the night was another gift. So were the two cards from her brothers, which waited on the kitchen counter to be opened in the morning.
Briefly she wondered what sort of evening Garth Holbrook might be spending and imagined Dave Small busy with his family. She was probably stupid to have approached either one of them—and yet she still longed to know who her father was.
Lucky considered trading her apple cider for a glass of wine to celebrate the biggest holiday of the year. But her eyelids were growing heavy, and she couldn’t make herself move.
“MORE EGGNOG, Mike?”
Mike turned from throwing another log on the fire to see his aunt Cori holding a pitcher of her homemade eggnog. “No, thanks, I’m fine.”
“Didn’t I spike it enough for you?” she teased.
“It’s perfect. I just don’t have room for anything more.”
Uncle Bunk patted a belly that protruded well over his large rodeo belt buckle. “That was quite a dinner.”
“Good thing Christmas comes around only once a year,” his wife told him.
Mike smiled as he took his seat on the couch. His two uncles, their wives, his cousins Blake and Mandy, his aunt Cori and his father eventually found seats close by, or dragged chairs out of the kitchen. The rest of his cousins and Aunt Cori’s husband were already in the other room, playing the new PlayStation 2 his ten-year-old cousin had brought over to share with the younger crowd. He could hear their excited voices vying for the next turn.
“I hope we wrote down enough movie titles,” his mother said as she carried in the glass bowl they used every year when they played charades.
His father, who hated the game but participated under threat of divorce, eyed the bowl with malice as she set it on the coffee table. “Seems like enough to me.”
“We could always play Pictionary,” she suggested sweetly.
Mike’s father hated Pictionary even more than charades, so Barbara’s subtle threat succeeded in provoking a little forced enthusiasm. “No, charades is fine.”
She laughed. “That’s what I thought. It doesn’t matter to me. The women will win either way, right, ladies?”
Josh downed half a glass of eggnog. “I think we should mix it up this year,” he said, being careful not to jostle his son, who was sleeping in his arms. “I’m tired of losing.”
Rebecca squeezed in next to Josh and baby Brian and arched a playful eyebrow at her husband. “Sorry, sweetheart. We’re going for a perfect record.”
A challenging glint lit Josh’s eyes. Josh and Rebecca loved each other desperately, but he’d never seen two more competitive people. “Then it looks to me as if the boys are gonna have to get serious.”
“Good luck,” Rebecca said scornfully.
“Maybe we should have some pie before we start,” Mike’s mother suggested.
The entire room groaned in unison. “We’re too stuffed right now,” Aunt Cori said.
“Okay.” Mike’s mother sat on the arm of the recliner his father had claimed. “Who goes first?”
They played for more than an hour, stopping only when everyone nearly fell off their chairs laughing at Rebecca’s imitation of a samurai.
As the women gloated over their latest win, Mike started for the kitchen to get another glass of wine, but Aunt Cori grabbed his arm before he could take more than two steps. “Hey, Mike, how’s your love life these days?”
“Not too good,” he said. “I’ve been too busy to date.”
She grinned knowingly. “That’s not what I heard. Sparky Douglas asked me just yesterday why you were staying at the Timberline Motel a couple of weeks back, when you’ve got so much family in town.” She nudged him. “I told him there was only one reason I could think of.”
Mike coughed to hide his surprise. Very few people had been out and about during the storm, but Sparky was the motel handyman. He’d probably noticed Mike’s truck, as well as the fact that Mike hadn’t officially registered. “It wasn’t anything,” he said. “The roads were closed because of the storm, and I happened to know someone passing through town.”
“Someone?”