The Christmas You Found Me, page 8
I’m not ready, not anywhere close, but I can work on moving the tubs up the stairs and over to my room. I work quietly, hoping Emma’s headphones keep her from waking up. It’s hard work, especially trying to tiptoe on squeaky wooden stairs, but I make a solid enough dent in the project to feel like at some point, Guy will have a bit of privacy.
I flop down in my office chair, so lost in thought about my new roommates, I nearly jump out of my skin when the landline phone rings loudly right next to me.
It’s still set at a higher volume ring from back when my dad was here and had a hard time hearing the phone. I grab it without checking the caller ID, wincing because I’m afraid the noise may have just woken up Emma.
“This is Sienna,” I say, craning my head to see through the study door, just in case little feet appear at the top of the staircase.
“We need to talk.”
And that’s why you always check the caller ID. I grimace, feeling the tension in the back of my neck ratchet up.
“Hello to you too, Micah.”
There’s something about the people you’ve known your entire life. The people who’ve known you their entire lives. There’s no hiding from them, not in a town this size. There’s no pretending everything is fine. And when you spent all of high school, all of college, and another ten years of marriage with a person, even if you hate it, they know you. You know them.
And you can tell when they are furious.
“Our insurance company sent over something to me.”
Ahh, yep. Since Micah is the insurance plan administrator now instead of me, I suppose the insurance company would send over notice of my change in status. Well, I suppose it’s one way for him to find out.
“I’m assuming this is some kind of mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake, Micah,” I tell him, closing my eyes to brace myself.
The moment of silence from the other side of the phone is like the calm before the storm. No matter how he reacts, I will not engage. What I choose to do with my life is my business. I don’t owe him any explanations.
“You got married the day after our divorce finalized?”
“Sen-na?” a sleepy voice says from the study doorway. She looks confused and a little uncertain, and she hasn’t had as much of a nap as Guy said she needed. “I’m thirsty.”
“Okay, baby, I’m coming. Micah, I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now. Goodbye.”
I can’t fight with Micah and double-check Emma is getting a safe amount of liquid at the same time. He starts to say something else, but I hang up the phone.
I text Guy to confirm the amount of water Emma is allowed, and he replies back immediately, so I don’t have to be stressed about an upset, thirsty Emma. Barley presses his nose against my hand as I put Emma back in bed to finish her nap, and I realize the fury in Micah’s voice still has me a little shaken. So this time I finish watching Emma’s show even after she falls asleep, and when she’s napped long enough, I put a smile on my face and focus on my afternoon with her. Emma knowing she has a safe, comfortable place to live is more important than my ex rattling me.
Still. Too many conversations like today have happened with Micah, and I wish I had never taken the call. Some triggers are just more hardwired than others.
I keep a close eye for signs Emma’s too cold or getting weary, but she seems to be happy as a clam to stay with me as I work. Maybe it’s from growing up being on jobsites with her father, but she’s very good at picking a place to play and not leaving the spot.
She especially likes riding on the ATV with me when I go to check on the cattle.
I’m going to need to ride the fence line soon and check for any downed poles or loose wire, but there’s a big difference between hanging out with me on an ATV and riding horseback up and down the mountains in winter. That task is just going to have to wait for the weekend when Guy’s off work.
There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind if I said I couldn’t watch Emma that he’d take her to work without blinking twice. But the truth is I like having company. Unlike Legs and Barley, when I talk to Emma, she talks right back.
My phone chirps at me as we get back to the barn.
“‘Leaving the site, need anything from town?’” I read out loud because Emma had seen her father’s photo pop up on my screen.
It’s been a really long time since someone asked me that. It’s been even longer since I felt a little thrill of anticipation that comes with someone being on their way home.
“Take it down a notch, Naples,” I murmur to myself.
“Sen-na, aren’t you a Maple now, like us?” Emma asks me.
Clearly, one can’t get anything by these sharp ears, not even a mutter at my own very confused libido. “Yep, that’s right.”
I reply to his text with a no thank you, hesitate, then add a smiley face. I can’t remember the last time I smiley faced a man, but it probably stopped around the time I stopped shaving my legs before a Friday night because my television streaming service and carton of ice cream couldn’t have cared less how hairy I was.
We are starting the evening feeding when the sound of a vehicle coming up the drive makes Barley’s head come up. He doesn’t bark the way he usually does, and I glance out the barn door to see Guy’s truck.
“You don’t know him yet. You do realize this, right?”
Barley thumps his tail once to acknowledge my comment, but then he turns his head back to Emma, muzzle on his paws and staring up at her with big brown eyes.
“I think Barley loves you, Emma.”
“Aww. I love him. So much.” When she hugs him around the fluffy neck, Barley starts licking her neck and ear, which only causes Emma to dissolve into giggles.
“Is this where the party is?” I hear Guy say as he pokes his head into the barn.
This is a lot dirtier version of the man who left this morning, and whatever he was doing in between emojis, it must have been hard. But Guy seems full of energy as he goes straight for his daughter.
“There’s my girl.” Guy sweeps her up into a huge hug. “I missed you today, baby.”
She doesn’t return the sentiment apparently, because Emma launches into a babbling account of all the things we’ve done today, what she liked, what she thought was silly, and what she liked despite it being silly.
“It looks like I missed out on all the fun,” Guy says with a chuckle. “Hey, Sienna. Thanks for watching Em today.”
“She was great company.” I smile at him in greeting, and there’s this awkward moment when I’m not sure if I should hug him or not. If he was just a friend, I’d hug him, or if we were dating, I’d hug him. But this whole married-with-zero-chance-to-get-to-know-each-other situation has kind of warped the normal rules. Still, I don’t want Guy to feel like I don’t care he came back.
“I put some coffee on when you texted you were on your way,” I say instead, because nothing says “sorry I have no social skills” like caffeine.
“That sounds great. Want a cup?”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink caffeine after noon.” Trust me, I want to, but sleep comes hard enough as it is these days.
“Coffee first, then put me to work,” he tells me, and I almost take him up on it. But after a first day at a new job, the last thing I’d want to do is jump headfirst into more hard labor.
“We’re almost done if you want to grab a shower.”
Guy hesitates, then he nods and leans over, ruffling Barley’s ears before giving my dog a pat.
When he leaves, Emma gives me an interesting look. “Daddy looks at you funny.”
“Maybe your daddy thinks I’m funny-looking,” I tell her, making a silly face. Emma squeals with childish laughter, and yes, it’s a little high-pitched, but I love hearing her laugh. We chase each other around the barn until finally Legs kicks his stall door in protest.
“Oops, guess we better get to work. Old man grumpy pants over there isn’t happy with us.” He probably just knocked loose the new board I put up, but I don’t mind.
And as I start to feed the horses, I have to admit that maybe, just maybe, I look at Guy funny too.
Chapter 8
There’s a man cooking dinner in my kitchen. And here I thought one-armed push-ups were the sexiest thing that could happen in there.
His dark hair is still damp, and there’s moisture beading along the side of his neck as the scent of an unfamiliar shampoo mixes with the aroma of something equally unfamiliar grilling in a pan. He’s changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, and I can’t help admiring how good the shirt looks stretching across his muscled shoulders.
The man is still too thin though. I should have stuck one more extra snowman into his lunch. I can’t help sneaking in closer to the stove, sniffing curiously. Whatever it is he’s cooking, it smells good. I’m not sneaky enough, because he catches me watching.
“Hey,” Guy says, giving me a shy smile. “You were still working, so I got started on dinner. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Feeding me is always a good thing,” I promise him. “What are you making?”
Guy tilts the pan my way, looking proud. “These are Emma’s favorite kind of veggie burgers. She has to be careful what protein sources she eats, but these are good. I make a bunch of them at a time so we have leftovers. They’re easy to cook up on a hot plate when we’re traveling.”
So now I know what some of the containers in my fridge are. I was too busy today to go poking my nose around in them, despite being curious.
Guy suddenly stills, looking down at his pan and the browning burgers. “And it’s just occurring to me you’re a cattle farmer.” He squeezes his eyes closed as if mentally berating himself, and his voice shifts to a more stressed-sounding version of himself. “Okay, I can make you something else.”
I join him by the stovetop and pat his arm to reassure him. The happy, relaxed man I saw in the barn is gone, and I don’t want that for him. Not because Guy was just trying to make Emma a healthy dinner.
“Don’t worry. Since I’m the daughter and former daughter-in-law of multigenerational cattle farmers and the former co-owner of one of the largest cattle farms in the state of Idaho, people think I’ve never actually eaten a veggie burger.” I give him a quick smile. “And they’d be wrong. These look delicious.”
And if it’s awful, I’ll choke it down, and he’ll never be the wiser.
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask. The look he gives me is hard to read, but then he shakes his head with a bemused smile.
I settle into a seat at the kitchen island, watching a stranger try to find his way around my cooking utensils. There’s a salt grinder near the stove, and I notice he doesn’t touch it. Instead, he sprinkles seasoning from a small Tupperware container onto the burgers. Everything he’s making is homemade and, from the look of it, as healthy as humanly possible.
Guy’s doing what he can to keep his daughter safe and healthy.
“How was Emma today?” Guy asks as if reading my mind, his voice dropping with seriousness.
I think about the day, about what she said and did, filtering through the lists he’d given me about her condition.
“She wanted to drink more than you said she could, and she didn’t like the restriction, but it wasn’t an issue. And like yesterday, her appetite isn’t much. I logged her lunch and snack in the tablet like you showed me.”
“Thank you.”
“You already knew, didn’t you?”
Guy gives me a quick smile over his shoulder. “I have access to the food log from my phone, and it pinged me anytime you entered something. If it happens again, it’s okay to give her a few ice chips or one of the mouth swabs in her bag. She likes the lemon ones more than the mint-flavored.”
His smile triggers a memory of a conversation earlier with his daughter. “Emma thinks you look at me funny,” I joke.
“I do look at you funny.” Guy laughs and lowers the heat before turning and resting his arms on the island catty-corner from me. “A gorgeous woman sent me to work with snowman cutout sandwiches and Oreos, took care of my daughter all day, and made Emma laugh in a way I haven’t heard in forever. And when I came home, there was coffee waiting for me. If I’m looking at you funny, it’s because I’m trying to figure out if I’m hallucinating all this.”
I don’t expect the gorgeous comment, and my face heats up.
“I’m currently hallucinating a dinner that doesn’t involve me doing anything,” I reply, leaning over in my seat and giving his waist an impulsive hug.
When Guy realizes what I’m doing and wraps his muscled arm around my shoulders, squeezing gently, I realize I’ve made a critical error here. The man gives an excellent hug, and I’ve been working with a severe deficit.
You’re leaning too long, my brain tells me, but it takes a moment for me to force myself to pull away. My face must be beet red now because my cheeks feel hot. As soon as I drop my arm, he moves away.
“Sorry,” I mumble, because clearly, I can’t be trusted to not plaster myself all over him.
“I’m not. It was a great way to end a great day.” Guy opens the lid on a pot of brown rice, and a rich scent hits my nose, making my mouth water. He scoops out a little bite of it, offering me the spoon. “Here, tell me if you want this hotter. I went with mild seasonings because I wasn’t sure if you liked spicy.”
“What about Emma?” I have my list of rules, and avoiding spicy foods is in there.
“I set aside her rice before I seasoned it.” Guy waggles the spoon at me, so I accept the bite of rice.
I definitely miss the sodium, but the subtle flavors of garlic, onion, and curry are delicious. True, if I were alone, I’d drop a slab of butter on my rice and grind up the saltshaker for a while, but these two don’t just choose to eat healthy. They need to eat healthy. Already, my brain is starting to make the mental switch.
“Yum,” I decide. “And go as hot as you want. I’m not afraid.”
He dips into a second small Tupperware of seasoning, and soon the scent of heated chili pepper makes Barley sneeze in the living room.
While Emma tries to teach Barley how to use a tissue, Guy portions out the veggie burgers on scoops of rice, and I set the table. We sit down to eat together, and the whole situation is…surreal. We’re a picture of domestic bliss, except for the tiny little part where it’s all a lie. A complete and utter lie. It hits me hard all of a sudden, how this was supposed to be what Micah and I should have had, only a real version. Not the version where I’ve never even been on a date with the man across from me, unless you count meeting at the Daily Grind.
“What was the job like?” I ask, trying to distract myself.
“Good.” Guy sounds pleased. “We got a lot done, so the foreman was happy.”
I try desperately to think of something else to say, but nothing comes. An old song plays in my mind, the lyrics messing with me. This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife.
This is not my beautiful life, my brain adds of its own accord.
I don’t regret helping them, but it’s different when Guy’s in the room. The fun, relaxed day with Emma was easier. Having Guy sitting within arm’s reach feels entirely different, almost as if the air between us is charged. I’m overly aware of his presence, of the sound of his voice, of his low laughter when Emma says something he thinks is funny. His hands are particularly distracting, especially connected to the muscled forearms resting on my dining table.
The same hands I recognized as familiar yesterday suddenly seem very large, very male, and very new.
“Can we, Sen-na?” Emma asks, pulling me from where I was watching Guy’s hands.
Blinking, I try to focus on Emma and recall what she just said.
“I doubt Sienna wants to make a whole new set of stockings, Em.” Guy saves me from my inattention. “One for each animal is just fine.”
“But Legs is big. He should have two.”
“She makes a fair point. But Dunkin and Paddlewhack are small. Should they only get half a stocking?”
Emma giggles and shakes her head.
Guy’s eyebrow raises. “Dunkin and Paddlewhack?”
“The donkeys, Daddy.” Emma gives him a look that says he’s embarrassing her.
Guy grins at me. “Oh, the donkeys. Sorry, I’m still learning everyone’s names.”
Emma launches into a description of all the animals, and I’m impressed by how much she’s retained just from being here for a short time. It’s a lot of information, and despite Guy giving his daughter his complete attention, he’s looking a little lost.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t name the cows. Just the bull,” I murmur to him.
We agree the donkeys aren’t losing any stockings, and only Legs is getting a second one. Guy logs Emma’s food and liquid with a few quick taps of his fingers, much more quickly than I did today. There are so many tiny things happening around me, and they’re all new.
This is not my beautiful life.
“Daddy, are you going to stress-ercise?”
“Not until after everyone goes to bed.”
“Why?”
Guy glances at me, but I don’t know why any more than Emma does. “I don’t want to get in Sienna’s way, sweetie. Her routine and our routines are different. We’re kind of taking over the house, and she deserves some peace from our noise.”
“I don’t mind the push-ups.”
Why did I say that? Why didn’t I just say I don’t mind the exercise?
I clear my throat, adding, “This is your home too. Whatever makes you two happy. We’ll get our routines blended.”
He’s smart, and I can see him watching me out of the corner of his eye. I have a feeling Guy knows I’m unsettled, but I don’t think he’s going to ask me about it in front of Emma.
We finish eating, and even though my mouth enjoyed the meal, my stomach is resisting the sudden change of food and spices. A little walk will probably do me good, and I need to take a beat and try to recenter.
