The Christmas You Found Me, page 18
“Watch it. If you utter even one breath of an insult toward my stepdaughter, I will cram my shoe so far down your throat your esophagus will herniate.” Even I’m startled at how hard I snap the words at him. If I was Legs, my ears would be pinned flat and my teeth bared.
“Have you considered at any point here the asshole is playing you?” When I snort, Micah glares at the house instead of me. “I’m serious, Sienna. I know the divorce was just as hard on you as it was on me. You’re hurt right now, it’s almost Christmas, and your dad is sick. You’re making rash, impulsive decisions that aren’t like you, and the whole town is talking about it. I don’t care if it pisses you off, but I’m not going to just stand by when a stranger suckers my wife into some sham marriage.”
His wife. Like I’m not a person, just a possession. A toy he didn’t want to play with anymore until someone else decided to notice me.
“I’m not your wife, Micah. And Guy might be a stranger to you, but he’s not a stranger to me. The marriage isn’t a sham. It was a…whirlwind.”
I should know better than to use the line on him, because Micah knows me too well. His eyes narrow. He’s not going to let this go, and if Micah truly thinks Guy’s a danger to me, he’s more than capable of causing us a lot of problems we don’t need.
I look at the mountains, taking a long, deep breath. Then I tell him the truth. “It really was a whirlwind. Emma’s sick, Micah. We got married to keep her on the transplant list. They’re living here until Emma gets her kidney, which was my idea and my decision. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“And when she does? What happens then?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you don’t know what you’re doing.” Somehow the anger in his voice was so much better than the pity. “You just picked up another stray.”
He might not be as angry anymore, but I don’t know if I’ve ever been so livid in my life as I am in this moment. I can’t even speak.
“I’m sorry the kid is sick, but this isn’t your problem, Sienna.”
“Get. Off. My. Land.”
“Sienna—”
I take a step forward, and I might be half his weight dripping wet, but Micah’s pushed me too far, and he knows it. “I want you to understand something,” I hiss. “From this moment on, you can hate me, you can hate Guy, and you can say anything you want all over town to anyone who’ll listen. I can’t stop you, and I don’t care enough to try. But if I ever hear you bad-mouthing my stepdaughter again, I will burn you to the ground. Every secret, every mistake, everything I spent our whole lives protecting you from… I’ll destroy you. Now get off my land.”
He’s lucky I don’t pelt the back of his head with a pine cone as he finally does what I ask.
“I still think you’re making a mistake,” Micah tells me as he climbs into the Ford. “Don’t come crying to me when it bites you in the ass.”
As if I could ever cry to him about anything. As if he had ever been a safe place for me, when our lives were centered around me having to be a safe place for him.
I stay right where I am, in between Micah’s vehicle and the house, making him back around me. Only when the scent of diesel is replaced by the snow-dusted evergreens do I feel safe enough to take a deep breath, my shoulders slumping. When I turn, I see Guy still standing there on the porch, one shoulder set against the doorframe and his arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Technically, I went back to the house.”
Guy waits for me as I climb the porch steps, those blue eyes scraping over me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, and I’m too unsettled by Micah’s presence to be able to guess.
“I’m sorry,” I say, walking past him, making sure to give him space.
Emma’s playing in the living room, watching a show on her tablet, so I head to the kitchen and start making sandwiches. I use up all the ham on the first two and add a peanut butter as the third. I think they’re apology sandwiches. Sorry my ex is a jerk. Sorry your daughter is sick. Sorry life didn’t give you better. Sorry I’m one more thing you have on your plate.
Guy takes my stack of apology sandwiches and puts the peanut butter and strawberry jam one on a second plate. He sets it in front of me and leans back against the island counter next to me, facing the window, hip at my shoulder.
For the second time in a short span, a man is standing over me. But with Guy, it’s different. I don’t know why exactly, but like pine needles on the wind instead of diesel, his presence causes me to sag. I will not cry over Micah. I will not sniffle into this sandwich. I am a Naples, daughter to one of the toughest men in the Frank Church Wilderness. There’s no room for weakness in these mountains. I will keep my head up and my back straight. I will be strong because there’s no one to do it for me.
Guy’s hand covers mine on the countertop next to my uneaten sandwich, fingers squeezing gently. I didn’t even realize mine were trembling.
Chapter 17
The next morning, while Emma and Guy are at their dialysis appointment, I decide my stepdaughter is right: my Christmas tree is naked.
Technically she said “empty,” but I think “naked” is a better term for it. Decorating the tree seems like something we could all do together, so I pull my Christmas ornaments out of storage and leave them next to my tree. I figure no one will mind if I string some lights on the front porch and hang my mother’s Christmas wind chime, and I find myself humming along to the holiday music playing off my phone as I make my house feel just a little more festive.
I plan on asking Guy’s help with the barn’s massive wreath, because it’s a task easier for two than one. But I’m seriously considering making a snowman to make Emma smile when my phone chirps with an email alert from Emma’s kidney donation center. My gut tells me it’s a bad sign I’m hearing back so soon. Sure enough, when I open the email, it says my blood type isn’t a match for Emma’s, and I’m welcome to make a follow-up appointment to discuss further with Emma’s nephrologist.
Even though part of me expected this, I’m more upset than I’d realized I would be. I know dialysis is the last place either Guy or Emma wants to be this morning, and baking a Christmas treat isn’t even close to being able to donate one of my kidneys. Still, I want to do something nice for them, so I flip through the Emma binder to the recipes section. The muffins Guy made were really good, and I decide to try some kind of cookie. Toward the back, there’s a sugar cookie recipe that seems easy enough, and when I don’t have all the ingredients, I find what I’m missing in the pantry supplies Guy brought.
He’s tucked his things in a corner of the countertop, where they’re out of the way. As I work, I add them to the pantry along with mine. This is his house too, and I don’t like the idea of him feeling like he has to keep himself and Emma politely in a corner.
My Christmas cookie cutters are starting to rust, which might not be a sign of an impressive baking day yet to come. They used to belong to my grandmother, and I remember using them a lot those first few holidays with Micah, but at some undefinable point, like too many things that used to matter to me, I just stopped putting in the effort. They’ve sat so long in a ziplock bag in the garage that Rudolph’s metal nose is starting to rust, and Frosty’s bulbous snowman rear end is looking somewhat squashed. I decide we’re just going to have round sugar cookies instead of cute shapes.
I’m not about to give a little girl tetanus with sprinkles on top.
Carefully following the recipe down to the letter, I weigh out the portion sizes to make sure I know exactly how much sodium, potassium, phosphorus, and protein are in each cookie. Since my cookie cutters won’t work, I flatten each cookie into a circle and use a fork to score them like I would peanut butter cookies. And when they come out of the oven, I sprinkle them with the recipe’s amount of colored sugar crystals so they look festive.
They smell okay. Not the cabin-filling Christmas wonderland I hoped for, but not terrible. Then, because my instincts are telling me something is off, I break off the corner of one to give it a try.
Huh. This is…different.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe my overuse of salt in everything I eat, something I was never aware of until my unexpected marriage, has messed with my sense of taste. Maybe to people with low-sodium diets, these are delicious. I decide not to make any rash decisions, like scooping up my efforts and throwing them in the trash. But when I offer one to Barley, he sniffs at it with a dubious expression on his canine face.
“It’s not so bad,” I tell him.
Barley licks the cookie, then flattens his ears.
When Guy’s truck pulls into the driveway, I’m teasing Barley by pretending to put cookies into his food bowl, and he’s making all sorts of disgusted facial expressions. Guy gets Emma out, and by the way she leans on his shoulder as he carries her inside, I can tell the morning’s been tough. Her little face is splotchy, as if she’s been crying a lot, and her fist grips Guy’s shirt.
“Rough morning?” I ask as they come inside.
“A little bit. Something smells good.” Guy gives me a quick smile of greeting despite the strain on his face. “What’s wrong with the dog?”
“He’s just showing his age,” I joke, quickly palming the cookie so they don’t see. “You know, grumpy-old-man dogs.”
Barley whines dramatically and rolls onto his back, shooting Emma a look of pathetic pleading. She barely notices, instead lifting her head and reaching her arms out to me. When Guy passes her over, Emma snuggles up to my chest, her face in my neck.
“Did you have a hard morning, sweetie?” I ask her, cuddling her close. She nods wordlessly. “I’ve got Rudolph ready for you before your nap. Do you want me to watch it with you?”
A second nod, followed by Emma mumbling, “Barley too.”
At his name, he rolls to his feet with an agility that once made him an excellent, if unlikely, cattle dog. Barley barks once, then follows me up the stairs to Emma’s room. We settle in on Emma’s bed, and it only takes a few minutes before she falls asleep in my arms. I hold her for a while, not wanting to move until I know she’s deeper asleep. Her hair seems thinner than even a week ago, and when I smooth my hand over it, extra strands shed loose. Her little ankles are still swollen despite getting dialysis every day now.
I don’t want to process how it doesn’t seem to be working well.
Emma’s asleep, and there’s a man downstairs who could probably use a hug too, so I extract myself from the pile of child and dog as carefully as I can, turning her tablet off so she isn’t disturbed.
“Good boy,” I murmur to Barley as he watches me go but doesn’t move a muscle.
When I come downstairs, I glance through the windows to see Guy sitting out on the front porch steps. His head is down, and he’s staring at the ground between his feet, not at the snowy wilderness of our home. Unsure of whether to leave him alone or join him, I err on the side of being too present instead of not enough. Leaving the door open a bit in case Emma calls down, I sit next to Guy on the steps.
“Is this where the cool kids are?” I ask as I playfully bump my shoulder against his.
“You forgot your jacket.” His head is still down, but he gently bumps me back, leaning a little. He’s got a cup of coffee and a little stack of cookies wrapped in a napkin, both untouched.
“I’m fine,” I promise. “Besides, there’s this big, handsome construction worker I woke up next to this morning who keeps hanging around the place. I bet he’ll give me a hug if I get too cold.”
Blue eyes find mine. As sad as he looks, how can he still manage to smile at me so sweetly? An arm wraps around my waist, and I’m the second girl today to lean my head on Guy Maple’s strong shoulder. The difference is, he leans his head on mine right back, and my arm is around him too.
“It was bad today,” he finally admits in a rough voice. “She didn’t want to go, and she screamed the whole time we were in the office. I couldn’t get her to stop. I had to hold her and force her to stay still for the treatment.”
I tighten my arm around him. “That must have been hard.”
“It was harder when she finally stopped and just wouldn’t look at me.” He exhales a harsh noise too bitter for a laugh. “I think she hates me.”
“Maybe she hated this morning, but Emma adores you. You’re her daddy, and you’re a good one who makes her do hard things so she will be safe. Keeping his baby safe is a daddy’s job.”
“I honestly don’t know what I’m doing anymore. You’re lucky you didn’t have to carry me to bed today and give me a show and a Barley dog.” Even as he says it, the weight of Guy’s body is resting less on me. His eyes are sweeping the scenery now and occasionally me but no longer on the ground.
“I would. I mean, we’d have to go get a puppy, because Emma’s not sharing Barley, which would be way more drama than I want to deal with right now.” I smirk as I add, “But it would be funny seeing the look of horror on Barley’s face. If you think he’s grumpy now, you should see him surrounded by puppies.”
Guy laughs, a soft, real laugh, and it’s good for my heart to hear it. The wind is a bit nippy, so I tuck my hands in between our legs for warmth.
“Did you still want to go into town after Emma’s nap?” he asks me.
“And see your hard work? Absolutely.”
He gives me a quick, shy grin. Guy doesn’t talk about his job much, but after seeing how he’s helped around here, I know he’s skilled at it. Plus, opening night of the Christmas block party in town is one of the best parts of the holiday season.
“Also, I have a surprise for you during naptime tomorrow,” I tell him. “Jess said they’ll watch Emma for a couple hours while I take you to do something on the property. We’ll be close by if Emma needs us, but it’s kind of a Naples Ranch tradition. Only if you feel comfortable. We’ll need to ride to get there.”
“We won’t be far?”
“Nope,” I promise. “And the section of the property we’re going to has good cell phone reception. It can wait, but the weather is supposed to be perfect tomorrow. There’s a cold front moving in afterward that’ll make everything gross and too frosty.”
“It’s a date.”
When he looks at me like this, then brushes the softest kiss to my lips, I know it absolutely is a date. If it feels strange to be dating my husband, it feels awfully good to make out with him on the porch steps for a while. I’m shivery with cold and breathless when we finally pull away.
“I could do this all day,” he murmurs as he steals one more kiss, then stands up, offering his hand to me. I gather his now iced coffee and the stack of cookies and follow suit. “But I’ll actually get changed and get some work done. Do you mind staying around for Em while I hit the stalls?”
“Gee, hanging out in my nice, cozy house or scooping horse poop… Hmm…” I wink at him and then add, “I really need to finish clearing out the office. You need more space.”
“Do I?” he asks softly. My hands are full, so he rests his fingers under my elbow, drawing me closer. His gaze slides over me, then he blushes as if embarrassed to be caught looking. He doesn’t have to be, because I ogle him all the time. “Okay, gorgeous, I better get to work. I don’t want to ruin this whole sugar-momma thing I’ve got going for me.”
“What did you just call me?” I gape at him, and when Guy starts to laugh, I smack his arm playfully. “You are the biggest tease. And trust me, there’s a definite lack of sugar happening in this house.”
I may have sounded a touch plaintive on the last part. In my defense, I woke up to a lot of abdominal muscles on the other side of the bed this morning.
When Guy slides his hand down my back, putting the lightest pressure to ask me to move closer, I follow where he leads. How could I not? He’s like the Christmas present I didn’t know I wanted and for sure a present I never thought I needed. His lips taste faintly of peppermint, his mouth a slow caress over mine. Warm fingers slide through my hair, and when he deepens the kiss, I shiver.
“I’d do this every day if you let me,” he tells me.
“Guy Maple-Naples, are you trying to seduce me?”
“Is it working?” Guy flashes me that quick, charming smile as he pops a cookie in his mouth. He chews…and chews. Then he seems to take a little breath, as if to brace himself, and then he swallows. The expression on his face is a little pained, confirming my hunch.
“They’re awful, aren’t they? I don’t understand! I followed the recipe to the letter. These are exactly what they said to put in them.”
“They’re exactly right,” Guy agrees. “The recipe just sucks, Sienna, which is totally not your fault.”
I stare at all the cookies in dismay. “But it was in the book.”
“Yeah, that’s on me. I never took the recipe out. Thank you for baking for us.” A light kiss presses against my cheek. “Happy one-week anniversary, Sienna.”
I’m so surprised by his comment, I don’t know what to say. Guy just winks at me and steps away, but not before tossing another cookie in his mouth as he heads for the door.
“Guy, you don’t have to eat them. You hate the cookies!” I call after him.
“Yep, they’re atrocious.” Guy looks over his shoulder, adding sexily, “But you made them for us.”
He doesn’t have to say how much that means in his and Emma’s world.
Chapter 18
Some towns have Christmas parades. Some have festivals or lots of lights. Some even have people drive from all over to ooh and aah over their decorations.
We have our snow globe.
I’m not sure who came up with it, but sometime in my childhood, a random person decided it would be fun to make a to-scale snow globe by the courthouse. It reminds me of a hot-air balloon, if the balloon was made of clear plastic inflated with holiday joy instead of burning gas. Even though there’s plenty of real snow outside the snow globe, there’s something fun about the big fake flakes swirling in the air as you duck inside the clear plastic door.
