The Christmas You Found Me, page 6
Guy doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. I’m not much help because I have no idea what to do with him either. Emma’s easier, the child happily exploring as I give them both a tour.
A nice large kitchen is the newest addition, open to the much more modest original living space, with a large kitchen island and picture windows overlooking the mountainous landscape. The cabin has two bedrooms upstairs, a master with its own small bathroom and a guest room across the hall next to a second bathroom.
There’s a third tiny room on the main floor just off the living room that was part of the original cabin and is now my office. Between the desk, the filing cabinets, and too many boxes of my parents’ things I haven’t had the heart to deal with yet, it’s stuffed to the brim. I’m barely able to squeeze in there to work, and turning it into a makeshift third bedroom isn’t going to happen anytime soon. So I take them up to the second bedroom, showing them where the second bath is.
“I was thinking Emma could have this guest room across from my room?” I phrase it as a question. “When the second story was added, we put a wood-burning stove in the master bedroom to help heat the upstairs. Most of our power is from the solar panels outside, so it helps to have the extra warmth in winter.”
Guy gives the room an appreciative look. It’s not huge, but there’s enough room for the full-size guest bed, a dresser, and plenty of floor space to play on.
“This will be great,” he says. “It’s been a long time since Em’s had a room of her own.”
Our eyes meet, and I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking the same uncomfortable thing. Where’s Guy going to sleep?
“Umm, the office downstairs could fit a sofa bed eventually,” I tell him. “But I need to bulldoze my way through a few things first. Are you okay with the couch for now?”
I mean, we are married and there’s a perfectly big queen-size bed across the hall in the master bedroom, but my brain is blanking out at the mere thought. Nope. No beautiful strangers in my bed the second day I know them, married to them or not.
“Anywhere is fine,” Guy promises, and he sounds like he means it.
I get the feeling I could ask him to sleep in the barn and he’d probably accept. Emma seems delighted to have her own room, and Barley pushes in between us all, his fluffy tail wagging as he jumps up on Emma’s bed. I shoo him off, but he ignores me, which makes Emma giggle. She’s got a graying red nose on her leg and massive puppy dog eyes gazing up at her imploringly.
“He likes you, Emma. Barley doesn’t bother to come upstairs for me,” I tell them, because it’s nice to see her smiling. Then I frown at the light layer of dust in the room. “This room hasn’t been used in years, and I didn’t even consider freshening the bedding. I kind of didn’t think any of this through.”
“You and me both,” Guy murmurs. “I can take care of it if you show me where the laundry is.”
His hands keep flexing as he helps me strip the guest bedding, and I show him how to use the laundry in the mudroom off the porch. We load all their food into my fridge, and even though Emma wants to go outside and see the horses, it’s nap time. I guess nap time is nonnegotiable, even when horses and new homes are involved. Guy gets Emma settled down on the couch while I switch the sheets over to the dryer.
He joins me, looking like he doesn’t know where to stand or if it’s crowding me if he tries to help. The awkwardness level is cranked up to a thousand, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry, but here we are: two absolute strangers now married and doing laundry.
“Are you okay, Sienna?” Guy asks quietly. “You’re pale again.”
“And you’re shaky again.”
We share a quick smile, and he leans back against the wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets, shoulders relaxing in a little slump. “It’s been an interesting day. A really good one, but…interesting.”
He’s not wrong. I look up at Guy, and I wonder if all Montana boys are this tall or if I’ve just found the tallest one and stuffed him into my laundry room. He’s watching me as if I’m the only one in the room, which technically I am. It’s enough to make me want to take a step back and reevaluate. But a Naples doesn’t back down, especially when the stakes are high. I lift my chin a little higher and meet Guy’s eyes, ignoring the fact that they really are the prettiest color of blue.
“Okay, first things first,” I say. “What do I need to know about Emma?”
***
Apparently, there’s a lot to know about Emma.
The sheer amount of information in front of me is overwhelming. At least Guy has it all organized neatly in a lavender binder with glittery tabs, puffy paint rainbows, and smiley-face flower stickers all over it. The label reads “Emma’s Awesome Binder,” and I wonder if that’s for Guy as much as it is for Emma.
We’re sitting at the dining room table, speaking quietly so we don’t disturb Emma’s nap.
“I’ve got this arranged by her daily routine in the front,” Guy tells me. “I keep track of when she wakes up, how she slept, and how she feels. We do a blood pressure check first thing in the morning and before bedtime when she’s feeling good, sometimes at noon if she’s feeling bad. I track everything she eats and drinks, down to the last ounce. If there’s anything that helps, anything I can do, it’s worth doing.” He hesitates, then adds, “She’s only allowed a very limited amount of water. Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t go to the bathroom more than once a day. Sometimes even less. Her kidneys don’t work, so she can’t flush out liquids and filter waste.”
“That makes sense,” I say, trying to keep my face impassive so I don’t show any emotion that might upset him. I can’t help my dad get better, I couldn’t help my marriage, but I can pay attention and help Guy and Emma any way they ask. I’ve already decided to get checked if I’m a donor match for her.
It never occurred to me the little girl was too sick to even pee.
Guy flips a few pages to the “Dietary” tab. “These are what she’s allowed to eat, how much, and how often. And here’s the medication she has to take every time she eats.” He indicates one of several pill bottles on the table in front of us. “Emma needs binders so her body doesn’t hold too much phosphorus. I prep her food in color-coded plastic containers, so she knows to have the yellow containers for breakfast, the blue for lunch, and she can have two of the little pink ones for snacks.”
“This is a pretty strict diet,” I murmur, running a finger down the page of allowed foods. “Does she ever have a hard time with it?”
“The no-dairy one is rough,” he admits. “The no chocolate too. She’s had ice cream a few times, and she loves it, so it can be a fight when she sees other kids with ice cream. I make fruit-and-ice smoothies she likes, but they have to be milk- and yogurt-free, and no melons or bananas. Most of the time, Emma understands she’s special, and it means some treats aren’t for her.”
“But sometimes she struggles with it?” I glance over my shoulder at the little girl snoozing on the couch.
“Don’t we all?” Guy’s voice sounds different, and I glance at him, and his jaw is tensed as he looks at Emma, blinking hard. Without thinking, I rest my hand on his, and those blue eyes shift to my fingers. After a brief moment, he rolls his hand just a little so his thumb lightly brushes mine, a silent acceptance of my offer of comfort.
A part of me desperately wants to shove a whole pot roast down this man’s throat. But that part has been running roughshod over the rest of me today, so I clear my throat awkwardly and pull back my hand. Instead, I thumb through the book. “So, umm, diet, check. Routine, check. This is the list of Emma’s doctors?”
“Yeah. The most important one is her nephrologist, Dr. Sanghvi, and her pediatrician in Idaho Falls. She also has a hematologist and a dietician. She sometimes sees a physical therapist and an occupational therapist to help with some of her pain and her development issues. Not having functional kidneys is brutal on the body, especially when you’re supposed to be growing.”
It’s so much, I can barely retain everything he’s saying. The child taking a nap on the couch has more doctor appointments in a month than I’ve had for years.
Guy’s voice drops to nearly a whisper. “I know she’s frail, but she’s been through so much. Emma’s strong. I know she can beat this. She just needs more time.”
Unable to stop myself, I reach over and squeeze his hand again. Guy closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then seems to refocus.
“Umm, that’s pretty much it. We have a social worker who tries to help make some of the financial difficulties easier, but she’s done as much as she can. Then there’s the pediatric dialysis center in Caney Falls. The rest of this is for the transplant list.” This time, Guy clears his throat, sounding apologetic. “I hate to ask, but I already emailed my contact with the donation center, and they sent the paperwork for us to fill out.”
“The paperwork proving we can afford Emma’s anti-rejection medicine?”
“There’s no we in this, Sienna,” Guy promises. “You won’t have to pay any of it. I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign so you have legal reassurances, but I won’t stick you with the bill.”
I nod and say, “Let’s look at those forms. No reason why we can’t send them in today.”
To Guy’s credit, he doesn’t make any comments about the assets I list on the paperwork. Between the two of us, our liquid cash is meager at best, but adding in the property value of the ranch more than makes up for it. Then he makes a call to whoever has been handling Emma’s case. Clearly someone in the office is looking out for Emma, because the approval comes through within an hour.
It’s like a physical weight has been lifted off Guy’s broad shoulders. He excuses himself and steps out on the porch, and I know I need to give him some privacy. Still, when he returns with red-rimmed eyes and whispers a choked “Thank you, Sienna,” I almost tear up too.
A Naples doesn’t cry, but for once, I’m tempted to make an exception.
Chapter 6
There’s a strange man downstairs undressing in my living room.
Everyone has technically gone to bed, so it seems likely varying stages of undress are occurring downstairs. Which means it’s not ideal timing to go get a drink of water, but my throat has decided to become the Sahara Desert just to mess with me.
Did I lose the humidifier in the divorce? Of course I did.
I’m aware the day has been a lot for my unexpected houseguests, and after introducing them to the cattle, Guy threw himself into helping with chores like a man desperate to prove his worth. Considering I’ve been managing on my own for the last year, having an extra set of hands was almost as surreal as my updated living situation. Helping Emma get her room made up with her toys and their little Christmas tree was fun, but we literally bumped into each other as we tried to navigate around the kitchen making dinner together.
I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry from the sheer awkwardness. I think maybe this was a really big mistake. Not that I’d take it back, not in an instant, if this helps Emma. But the rest of it is so uncomfortable. Barley doesn’t have my problem, because he already made himself at home, curled up next to Emma’s bed so she could pet him while Guy read her a bedtime Christmas story.
We’re playing house, for all intents and purposes. I’m no better than another motel for them, even if I like to think the property is prettier. And now Guy Maple is married to me and probably in his underwear on my couch. This is…not ideal. I’m not cool and collected. This whole situation has definitely damaged my calm.
I don’t want to bother him, but I’m one of those people who gets thirsty overnight, and it feels ridiculous to drink water out of my cupped palm in the bathroom just to avoid going downstairs. This is my house. Just because there’s a man downstairs on the couch doesn’t mean it stopped being my house. And if he’s in his underwear, then I will just deal with it, because I’m an adult, and adults wear underwear.
Usually.
My mind starts to stray as I slip down the stairs, wondering if maybe I’ve got it all wrong and maybe he doesn’t wear underwear and maybe there’s a naked man on my couch. I keep one eye closed just in case, but nope. There’s no one on the couch, because Guy’s in the kitchen, in a faded pair of red flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt, on the floor doing push-ups.
One-armed push-ups. Like, the kind people do in movies and TV shows, not the kind that happens in my perfectly innocent kitchen. I’ve never even seen one of those in real life, and there he goes, driving my poor eyes to distraction as he does ten on one arm, then switches to the other. He’s come by those muscles honestly, it appears. And boy, does he have a lot of them. They all seem to be deciding to flex at the same time.
Sweat beads on his forehead despite the evening chill, and I’m pretty sure it’s dripping onto my kitchen floor. For a moment, I stand there, finding myself oddly jealous of my floorboards.
With a grunt of exertion, Guy finishes the last push-up and then rolls to his feet before turning and seeing me. We have a lovely, shared moment of us both standing there, our eyes resembling deer caught in headlights. Only he’s caught being absurdly sexy and I’m caught watching him.
“Umm, hey,” I say, raising my fingers in a painfully awkward mini wave. Yes, Sienna. That will cover being a voyeur. Well done.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” Guy looks embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure how much sound would carry upstairs. I was trying to be quiet.”
“You were,” I reply as I move into the kitchen. “I just wanted to get a drink.”
The sink is too close to where he’s standing, so I head around to the fridge instead. I try to act like it’s no big deal to pour some milk into my favorite mug while wearing pajamas, when all that is happening on the other side of the island.
“I usually try to get in a quick workout before I sleep.” Guy gives me a shy smile, running a hand through his short dark hair, oblivious to how the action makes his arm muscles flex one more time.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it, Sienna.
“So… I guess I don’t have to ask if you even lift, bro?”
He flashes me the kind of grin I should not be seeing at this time of night in my kitchen, when no one is around to stuff my libido back in my pocket but me.
“I used to,” Guy admits. “But the more we traveled, the easier it was to just switch to body-weight stuff.”
“Ah.”
The wise ah, as if I know what body-weight stuff is. I can deduce…there was a lot of body-weight stuff just happening on my floor a few minutes ago.
“If this is a bad place, I can go outside,” Guy offers.
I shake my head and give him a smile, because the uncomfortable look on his face is back, and I like a relaxed Guy a whole lot better. “It’d make a great Christmas card, but I doubt you’d enjoy push-ups in the snow.”
Oh no, did I say that out loud? So this is what it feels like when your entire body cringes. The man actually blushes, but his eyes sparkle, and he looks amused instead of horrified at my joke. I clear my throat.
“Do you lift?”
I wish I could tell him yes, because I see him trying to find some common ground. We don’t know what to say to each other when Emma isn’t in the room, and that’s making this even harder. At least he doesn’t add the “bro.”
Okay, so we’ll talk…lifting. “Outside bales of hay and big mule hooves? Not really. I don’t think I’ve tried to do push-ups since high school. I ran cross-country though.”
“You don’t seem like the running type,” Guy says, his eyes crinkling as he gazes down at me.
“I wasn’t fast,” I start to say, then realize what he means. He’s giving me a compliment. “Oh. Yeah, it’s kind of a family thing. We’re a stubborn lot. We’d rather dig our heels in, but technically, we can jog if needed.”
He looks sweaty, so I pour him a glass of water and hand it to him. Guy’s fingers are large, and it’s a tall, narrow glass. His fingers brush mine as he takes it with a murmured thanks. I try really hard not to let it affect me, but in the last forty-eight hours, his touch has been the closest to any actual human connection I’ve had since Micah and I separated.
Suddenly wishing I could take his hand and squeeze it, I retreat to the sink.
“Exercise helps me handle what’s going on with Emma,” Guy admits. “No matter what else is happening, I can control my own body and my own mind. I can stay healthy and strong for her.”
“What do you do for you?” I don’t know why I ask, but the words just pop out.
Blue eyes linger on me for a moment, then he glances down at the glass in his hands. “I don’t know,” Guy says quietly. “No one’s asked me about me in a long time. I don’t think I actually do anything that’s not centered around Emma.” He hesitates, then his face brightens. “I like rock climbing, but I can’t remember the last time I went.”
“Good thing we’ve got lots of rocks.” I glance toward the window. If the man wants to climb, he could have married into worse. Half the ranch is on the side of a mountain.
“Hey, I got a call tonight after you went upstairs,” Guy brings up. “From one of the guys on the job I just had. The town needs an extra set of hands for the Christmas village they’re building in town, and the foreman said he’d let me bring Emma. Unless you need me to stay and help around here tomorrow? I know the ad was a joke, but there’s a lot of work here, and I’m happy to help.”
“You’re allowed to take Emma to the jobsites?” I ask curiously before I realize what he’s not saying. He probably takes Emma because he can’t afford to leave her in day care.
“When I can,” Guy says softly. “It doesn’t always work out easily, but Em and I are a team.”
“Do you want to leave her here?” I venture, not sure if I’m overstepping my bounds. “There’s nothing I’m doing tomorrow I can’t do while keeping an eye on her.”
Guy shifts uncertainly, glancing up the stairs where his daughter is sleeping in her new room with Barley, who’s made it clear he’s her dog now, not mine. “Yeah?”
