A Merry Bramble Christmas, page 11
Oliver watched her go with a sense of helpless disappointment. “I’m not sure if it was the event or me she wanted to get away from.”
Christine sighed. “Don’t take it personally, Oliver. Trish has had a hard couple of years. I’m afraid her family hasn’t been much help. Her parents came for Dan’s funeral, and I know Trish was hoping they would stay for a while. But they didn’t even stay for a week. And they haven’t been back since.”
These details basically confirmed what Trish had told him about her adoptive parents. “I’m sorry about that. I wish I could have been here for her. And I sure wish my mother could have been too. But surely Trish can’t blame me for that? I didn’t even know she existed back then.”
“I don’t think she blames you for that.” Christine hesitated, then said, “Look, you seem like a nice person with good intentions. But my guess is that Trish is worried you’ve made her and Sawyer your little Christmas project. You’ve done all sorts of amazing things to help them in the few days you’ve been in Marietta. You’ve also endeared yourself to Sawyer. But what happens when you go back home to Spokane and Trish and Sawyer are on their own again? That’s what Trish is worried about.”
“I’ll go home,” Oliver said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t be back to visit. Or she and Sawyer can come to visit me.”
“Maybe that will happen,” Christine said. “Or maybe it won’t. Trish is especially protective of Sawyer. He’s at an age where he’s looking for male role models and she doesn’t want him to feel abandoned when you leave.”
“I hadn’t thought of it from that angle,” Oliver said.
“Look, I probably shouldn’t have said anything,” Christine said. “It’s not my business.”
“You’re Trish’s friend and you care about her. I’m glad you shared those insights with me.” Oliver said the words because they felt right. But his insides suddenly felt wooden.
He had come to Marietta with good intentions. But was he going to end up making Trish and Sawyer’s life worse instead of better?
*
Gemma was paying for some homemade lavender soap when Oliver came up to her.
“I’d like to go for a drive. I need some time to think. Could you get a lift home with someone else? Or do you want me to drop you off at Bramble House now?”
He looked agitated and she wondered what had happened during his conversation with Trish. But he clearly didn’t want to talk about it.
“I’m fine, Oliver. It’s just a short walk and I’ll enjoy the exercise. Go for your drive. But be careful, okay?”
He gave her a quick smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not too upset to drive carefully. Besides there’s so little traffic around here you’d really have to make an effort to hit someone.”
“Traffic accidents aren’t something to joke about.”
“Sorry. My humor is a little black right now. I’ll see you later, okay?”
She wanted to ask him when, exactly. Because she did feel worried. But Oliver was already gone, slipping through the crowd.
*
Back at Bramble House Gemma curled into a comfy chair in the library and continued reading A Christmas Carol. Every now and then she checked out the window. No sign of Oliver or his car.
At five o’clock Amy and Chet came home from the fundraiser. “That was fun, and I think it was a big success,” Amy said. “But I’m exhausted.”
The almost perennially perky B & B host did look a little wilted, Gemma thought.
“I’ll cook dinner.” Chet gave his wife a hug. “You go upstairs and have a nice, hot bath.”
“Oh, that does sound good.”
Chet watched his wife go upstairs with a sweet smile on his face. Then he turned to Gemma. “We’re just having tomato soup and grilled cheese. But you’re welcome to join us.”
She was touched by the invitation, but shook her head no. “I’m going to head over to this saloon I’ve been hearing so much about.”
“Grey’s? It’s a fun spot. They make an awesome burger.”
“Burger and a beer sounds like just the thing.” She slipped her bookmark into place, then went to put on her coat and boots. She loved that almost everything in Marietta was close enough that you rarely needed to drive.
It was already dark as she set out on her walk. The air smelled crisp and clean, layered with the smoke from nearby fireplaces. Almost every house on Bramble Lane was festooned with Christmas lights and her spirits lifted at the sight. She turned on First Street and soon the lights on Grey’s Saloon were beckoning her forward. Quickly she scanned the vehicles parked in the vicinity. No sign of Oliver’s car here either.
She sighed. Then reached for the handle.
She was greeted with the aroma of hot grilled foods and the rockabilly beat of a popular country song. The place looked packed but fortunately one couple was leaving, and she was able to snag one of their stools at the counter.
The man behind the counter was handsome, but his expression when he greeted her was all business.
“You know what you want?”
“That’s an open-ended question.”
He almost smiled, or maybe it was just her imagination. “Wasn’t meant to be. Want a drink?”
“I’ll have the Pine Creek pale ale. And a burger, please.”
He nodded, then moved on. A few minutes later he set the beer down in front of her, ignoring her thanks.
“Friendly guy,” she murmured.
A cowboy who’d just come up to the bar laughed. “That’s Jason for you. Don’t take it personal.” He gave her a second glance. “Where are you visiting from?”
“Is it that obvious I’m not a local?”
“I’m a deputy here. Familiar with most of the folks in the area. Name is Dawson O’Dell.”
She felt reassured, hearing he was in law enforcement. She didn’t go to bars alone very often—actually ever—and sitting next to a deputy seemed like a smart move. “I’m Gemma Granger. From Denver.”
“Oh, you’re the runaway bride staying at Bramble House.”
Gemma cringed. “It seems my reputation precedes me.”
“My wife is Sage Carrigan. She was really touched that you remembered her from your first visit to Marietta.”
“Oh!” She gave him a closer look. Sage’s husband was a good-looking, solid man. They seemed to make a lot of those in Montana. “Sage’s story about pivoting from the rodeo to the chocolate business inspired me back then. Is she here?” She glanced over his shoulder but saw no sign of her.
“Nah, I’m out with my brothers-in-law tonight. Court and Elliot are the ones at the pool table. Nat is watching them and waiting for me to come back with some beers.”
Gemma studied the men, wondering if she could match them up to the sisters she’d met that afternoon. Two of them were in cowboy hats like Dawson. Maybe the younger one was married to Callan and the older to Mattie? The fourth man, lining up his cue with total confidence, looked like a professional from the city—Dani’s husband she guessed. “Where are all your wives?”
“They’re busy baking, preparing for some fancy tea fundraiser—I guess you’ve heard about that huh?”
“Wow, they don’t waste time. Amy just agreed to host the tea this afternoon.”
“Carrigan women make things happen,” Dawson agreed, as Jason slammed a pitcher of beer in front of him, sloshing some of the liquid over the sides. “Well, the guys are probably thirsty. It was nice meeting you, Gemma.”
“You, too.” Gemma sipped her beer and checked out the big TV screen closest to her. Sunday Night Football, of course. When her burger arrived, it was so thick and juicy it required all of her attention. By the time she finished half of it, she was full.
“They make them big in Montana.”
The familiar voice made her smile. She turned to see Oliver sliding onto the barstool recently vacated by Dawson.
“So I’ve been hearing. Want some fries?” She pushed her plate a few inches in his direction.
“Thanks.” He took a few, then gestured to Jason for a beer.
“How was your drive?” she asked. He looked calmer than he had earlier, but something had changed. He seemed more closed off, somehow.
“Fruitful. I sorted out a few things.”
“Oh?”
“I’m doing more harm than good prolonging my stay in Marietta. All I’ve done is remind Trish of the mother she never knew and never can know.”
“I can see how that must be sad for her. But she must have always wondered about her birth mother and at least now she knows.”
He shrugged.
“Eventually she’s going to realize that having a brother is a good thing.” Especially one like Oliver.
“I thought—hoped—it might be. But one of her friends was talking to me at the fundraiser this afternoon. This Christine thinks Trish is worried that Sawyer will get attached to me and then I’ll be gone. Back to Spokane.”
“But…you’ll be able to visit.”
“I’m not sure Trish believes that’s going to happen. She doesn’t have a lot of family she can count on in her life. Apparently, her folks haven’t been to visit once since Dan’s funeral.” He took a long drink from the beer Jason had placed in front of him.
“That’s sad,” Gemma agreed. “But she shouldn’t paint you with the same brush. I’m assuming you do want a long-term relationship with Trish and Sawyer?”
“I was hoping for one, but I doubt Trish is going to give me that chance.” He twirled the glass in his hands, then glanced up at her. “I’ve decided to cut my trip short. I’m going back to Spokane tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirteen
Gemma found herself alone at the breakfast table the next morning. Oliver hadn’t left yet—at least his car was still in the parking lot. As she sipped her chai latte Amy came out of the kitchen and sat down next to her.
“It’s quiet this morning,” Gemma said.
“Kris is having breakfast at the Graff and Oliver told me he’s going for a longer run than usual this morning. He also said he’s checking out early. Do you know what happened?”
“He wanted to spend Christmas with Trish and Sawyer, but Trish hasn’t exactly made him feel welcome.” Gemma had limited sympathy for Trish’s position. Oliver had come here with such good intentions. How could Trish not appreciate all he’d done—with her help—to make a happy Christmas for Sawyer?
“I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“Me, too.” She was sorrier than she ought to be. How could she have become so attached, in such a short time?
“And how are you doing?” Amy asked. “Have you heard from your mother? I hope she had a safe drive home.”
“Yes, thank you. She texted me last night and her drive was uneventful. As for me, I’m doing okay. I’m looking forward to the chocolate-making class at Sage’s shop tonight.”
“Oh, you signed up for that? Good. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” Amy jumped up from her chair. “Sorry I’m sitting here gabbing when I should be bringing you your breakfast. French toast and strawberries today.”
“I’m glad you stopped to chat,” Gemma said. “And breakfast sounds amazing. Mind you, all your food is delicious.”
“That’s good to hear. I’ll be right back.”
Once she was alone, Gemma glanced at her phone, which had been silent since her mother let her know she’d arrived home safely. Radio silence from all her family and friends. The peace should have been a blessing—and it was. But…
“Hey there,” Oliver said, coming into the breakfast room with his hair damp from the shower. “I was hoping I’d catch you before you finished breakfast.”
“How was your run?”
“It was good. Though it feels a lot colder out there this morning.” He took his usual spot next to the window. “I was hoping you’d help me pick out a dress for Trish this morning. I want to wrap up my gifts and drop them off before I leave.”
So, he was still planning to go. She tried not to let the disappointment show in her face.
“Sure, I’d be glad to.”
Amy returned with two breakfast plates in hand, so she must have heard Oliver’s voice. “Good morning, Oliver. Here’s breakfast. I’ll be right back with your Americano, and a special delivery.”
Gemma arched her brows. “Did you order something from Amazon?”
Oliver grinned. “Not even Amazon can deliver what I’m hoping Amy has.”
Gemma had enjoyed several delicious bites of the maple-syrup-infused French toast when Amy returned with a steaming mug in one hand and a child’s picture book in the other.
“Ta da!” she said, presenting the book to Oliver. “Finn Knightley sent it by overnight courier. Autographed and personalized for Sawyer.”
“Man, he is going to be so stoked.” Oliver flipped to the front page, then glanced back at Amy. “Thank you so much.”
“We aim to please at Bramble House. We’re just sorry you have to leave early.”
Oliver lost his smile. “Yes, well, I’m sorry too.”
“Not as sorry as me,” Gemma said. “Now I’ll really be at the mercy of the Caraways.”
*
There were so many beautiful choices at the western wear shop on Main Street, but Gemma kept coming back to a long green velvet dress with a deep slit on one side. “This color would look amazing on Trish.”
Oliver didn’t even check the price tag. “I agree. Let’s take it.” At the till he asked for a gift receipt so Trish could exchange for a different style or size if she needed.
On the walk back to Bramble House, Gemma found her stomach knotted with unhappiness.
“What will you do for Christmas now?” she asked.
“I’ll let my friends know I’m back. I’m sure one of them will give me a pity invite for Christmas dinner. How about you? Are you going to be okay? I hope the Caraways don’t rope you into playing board games all day long.”
“There are worse things.”
Oliver gave her a searching look. “Meeting you has really been the bright spot for me. The timing could have been better on your side, though.”
“Meaning?” She suddenly felt short of breath as she waited for his answer.
“I would have preferred meeting you without the shadow of an ex-fiancé in the picture.”
It was the first time he’d directly suggested he might be attracted to her, and Gemma could feel her cheeks growing warm. “Everywhere I go in Marietta, people are calling me the runaway bride. But the strange thing is, I’ve hardly thought of Josh since I got here.”
They’d stopped walking and Oliver had her trapped with the intensity of his bright green eyes. “Are you giving me hope, Gemma?”
She swallowed, wishing in that moment that he would kiss her. “Maybe. But you’re leaving today, right?”
Oliver didn’t break eye contact. “Part of me wishes I wasn’t.”
Gemma longed to ask him to stay. Not for Trish—but for her. But what would be the point of that? Eventually they were going back to different places, different lives. And a rebound fling was definitely not her style.
“Me too. Talk about bad timing, huh?”
Oliver sighed. “Yes. It would seem so.”
*
Oliver parked his car across the street from Trish’s house. He felt some pride, seeing the little house all decorated for Christmas, with outdoor lights and a wreath and a large Christmas tree visible through the front window. Maybe he hadn’t accomplished all he’d hoped for in this visit. But he’d done some good.
With Gemma’s help, he amended. Honestly, he couldn’t have done it at all without her. But that wasn’t the reason he would always think of her when he recalled this trip to Marietta. In a short amount of time, he’d been captivated by her. Her kindness and thoughtfulness and beauty. He’d never met anyone like her.
But there’d be time enough to think of Gemma during his long ride back to Spokane. Trish had told him she would be home for just an hour after her shift at the post office and before her first cleaning job, so he had a short window to say his goodbyes. Grabbing the bag of gifts from the passenger seat, he got out of his car and headed for the front door.
Trish opened the door before he knocked, dressed in faded jeans again and another oversized, long-sleeved T-shirt, this one with the caption: World’s Best Dad.
“Hey, Oliver, come in.”
“Is Sawyer here?”
“He’s at the sitter’s today.”
Oliver realized that with Trish working most of the day, he should have anticipated this. “Oh. I was hoping to talk to him as well.”
“You talk to me, and I’ll pass on the message.” She waved him inside. “Take a seat.”
He didn’t expect an offer of coffee or water, and none came. Carrying the bag of gifts with him he perched on the edge of the sofa nearest the tree. Trish chose the armchair farthest from him and sank into it like a sack of potatoes.
“First, I’d like to say that I didn’t travel to Marietta intending to upset you. But it’s pretty clear that that’s what I’ve done.”
There was a pause, and Oliver resisted the impulse to keep talking. He wanted to hear what Trish had to say to that.
“Look,” she finally said. “I was behind on my Christmas prep, and you helped. So, I appreciate that.”
Talk about reluctant gratitude. “But you haven’t liked me spending time with Sawyer,” he said bluntly.
She crossed her arms hiding the word “best” in her T-shirt. “I don’t want him getting too attached. Because then he’ll just be sad when you leave. And that kid has had enough sad, Oliver. He really has.”
“Making Sawyer sad was obviously not my goal.”
“I’m talking about after you leave.”
So, Christine had been right about what was bothering Trish. Oliver wanted to tell his sister that, unlike Dan, he wasn’t leaving forever. That while, yes, he lived in Spokane, there would be plenty of opportunities for them to visit back and forth.
But she wouldn’t believe him.
She didn’t trust him.
Maybe in a month or two he’d make another overture. Perhaps she’d be more receptive if she saw he didn’t just view her and Sawyer as “his Christmas project.”
