His Christmas Gift, page 12
The need to touch her, to taste her had almost overridden every other thought. Then she’d said goodnight, and he’d remembered all the reasons why it would be really dumb to try to put the moves on his sister’s lawyer. For starters, they were trapped in this cabin together.
Well, at least until Jenna felt well enough to drive home. Which would probably be tomorrow, from the way she was talking.
He didn’t want her to go.
He wanted more of her laughter. He wanted more games of Scrabble, and he wanted to know more about her. The sadness in her face and voice when she’d talked about her mother’s death had just about done him in. He wanted to know so many things about her. He wanted to ask why she’d become a lawyer. He wanted to hear about her family – her sister, her father.
He shifted restlessly against the sheets, frustrated with the forces at war within himself – need versus duty, recklessness versus pragmatism. Because even if Jenna wanted to kiss him, even if the way he felt when he touched her wasn’t one-sided, he was still a guy who grew trees for a living in a small town in Montana, and she was still a polished, highly-educated woman who was used to the bright lights of the city. Not that Billings was New York City, but it might as well be when compared with Marietta.
He’d never been into flings. God knew, he’d tried when he was younger, but he’d soon learned that he simply wasn’t built for casual. He liked for sex to mean more than body parts rubbing together, for sleeping with a woman to be about more than pleasure. His entire adult life, he’d never entered into a relationship knowing in advance how it was going to end. He simply didn’t see the point. There had to be possibility there – a question that needed to be answered – and he wasn’t sure there was one with Jenna. She was so much like his ex, Sheriden. And look how that had turned out.
Jenna is not Sheriden.
In his head, he knew that. Jenna was softer, less aggressive in the way she went after what she wanted. There was a reserve in her that Sheriden hadn’t possessed, either. His ex had always seemed supremely certain of her place in the world, and what she deserved. He didn’t get that sense with Jenna, at all.
Maybe he should have just kissed her. Maybe he should have simply gone with his gut – and regions further south – and seen what happened.
Too late, idiot.
She was going home tomorrow. He’d missed his big chance and it was unlikely he’d get another one like it. Once the trial preparation started in earnest, Jenna would be all about work, and rightfully so.
Sawyer breathed a four letter word into the darkness, then he passed a hand over his face and forced himself to let it go. It was late, and he needed to sleep. His romantic failings would still be there to brood over in the morning.
He still hadn’t adjusted to sleeping with his leg wrapped up like Tutankhamun, but he managed to snatch a few hours here and there. He woke a little later than usual and took the time to brush his teeth, wash his face, and finger comb his hair before he ventured outside of his room, feeling like a teenager the whole time.
He could hear Jenna humming to herself in the kitchen as he approached, and he recognized the tune to James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful”. She stopped when he appeared in the kitchen doorway, flashing him a quick smile.
“Morning. I just made coffee if you want some?”
“I’d kill for a cup,” he said.
She busied herself grabbing him a mug and pouring coffee, and he pretended he wasn’t admiring the fit of her jeans.
Damn, but she had great legs.
“I was being ironic, in case you were wondering,” she said as she set a mug full of steaming coffee in front of him.
He shook his head, baffled by the segue. “Sorry?”
“The song. ‘You’re Beautiful’. I was indulging in some pre-breakfast irony.”
He cocked his head, still trying to work out what she meant. She gestured at her face.
“Because of The Pox.”
Finally he understood – Jenna thought the handful of spots on her face made it ironic for her to hum a song about being beautiful. Where did he even start to disabuse her of that notion?
“You know those spots will go away in a couple more days?” he asked.
“That’s the theory.”
“Even if they didn’t, you would never qualify for irony status.” It was the closest he could come to telling her she was beautiful without actually saying it out loud.
She made a disbelieving noise. “Yeah, right.”
For the first time it occurred to him that maybe Jenna had no idea how freaking sexy she was. How was that even possible when she looked the way she did, moved the way she did, laughed the way she did?
“I don’t think this is something you should worry about,” he said.
“Said the guy who isn’t covered in itchy freaking blisters,” she muttered.
Her cheeks were pink, and he realized she was embarrassed about having drawn attention to her appearance.
“Jenna, you’re gorgeous. Who gives a shit about a few spots?” he said.
She blinked, and he gave himself a mental slap for the delicate poetry that had just fallen from his lips.
Way to seduce a woman, dickhead.
“Um. Thanks,” Jenna said.
Jesus, he was smooth. Aware that his own face was probably as pink as Jenna’s, he took a mouthful of coffee. The sound of Jenna’s phone ringing was a welcome interruption. He watched as she pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans, glancing at the screen briefly before frowning.
“Hey, Sally. Is everything okay?” she asked.
He could hear a woman talking, but not clearly enough to discern what she was saying.
“Phew. I thought you were ringing to tell me my place had flooded again or something horrible.”
Must be a neighbor, Sawyer decided. He pulled yesterday’s paper toward himself and pretended to read it.
“Thank you so much for doing that. I wasn’t expecting anything, otherwise I would have asked you to keep an eye out. Is there a return address? No? Huh. Would you mind opening it and checking to see if there’s a card or something inside?”
Sawyer turned the page, but some sixth sense made him glance toward Jenna as her neighbor started talking again. A look of profound sadness washed over Jenna’s face, and she closed her eyes in a long blink, clearly trying to gather herself.
“Thanks for that, Sally. I’ll come get it off you when I’m not contagious any more. I appreciate the heads up.”
They chatted for a few minutes more, but Sawyer could hear the strain beneath Jenna’s words. Finally, she ended the call.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yes. Fine. Just a parcel that my neighbor accepted on my behalf. I might just go put on something warmer… Excuse me.”
She offered him an empty, polite smile before exiting the room. Sawyer reached for his crutches to go after her, but then it hit him that if she’d wanted to talk to him, she wouldn’t have left in the first place.
He dropped back into the chair, more than a little surprised by how much the realization stung. It shouldn’t have – they’d spent a few days under the same roof together, shared a few laughs and a single late-night conversation, but she owed him nothing.
The hollow feeling in his gut answered some of the questions he’d been asking himself last night, however.
He wanted the right to follow Jenna to her room. He wanted the right to comfort her, to do whatever it took to take away the pain he’d just witnessed in her eyes.
It was that simple, and that clear all of a sudden.
Which just left him with the problem of what to do about it.
*
Jenna sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing her hands down the thighs of her jeans over and over. It took her a couple of minutes to register the self-soothing gesture and when she did she forced herself to stop, curling her hands into fists in her lap instead.
She shouldn’t have asked her neighbor to check who sent the parcel to her. She should have just let it wait for her return, and then she would have been able to recognize the handwriting or some other telltale sign – a postmark, something – that would have warned her it was from her father. Instead, she’d had to listen as Sally read out her father’s Christmas greeting to her.
I hope you are well and that your Christmas is a happy one. Thinking of you with love, as always, your father, Dean.
It was a variation on the message he sent her every Christmas, but the shock of hearing someone read her father’s words out loud to her, of hearing words of love, had struck a chord in her that had taken her by surprise and shaken her, deeply.
Funny how she kept thinking she had a handle on this stuff, and it kept rising back up to bite her on the ass. It had been particularly bad this year. She had no idea why. Christmas was never a cakewalk – she always felt empty, an orphan amongst all the tinsel and carols and cheers – but this year it had been particularly lonely.
Perhaps it was because the ten year anniversary of Cassie’s death had passed in October. Or maybe it was because she’d been gifted with a front row seat on Lacey and Sawyer’s complicated but hugely loving relationship, and witnessing the deep bond between them had reminded her of the empty place at her side where her sister should have been.
Or maybe there was only so long that a person could muddle along, pretending all was right with her world, when, in fact, there was a huge hollow place at the heart of it. She’d tried so hard to fill that void up with hard work and good deeds. She’d made sure that every second of every day was accounted for, for so long. She’d buried herself in emails and briefs and files and cases… None of it had come close to even touching the sides.
There was no replacement for the loss of family.
A tear streaked down her cheek and she wiped it away, afraid that if she gave in to one, she’d be howling her eyes out in seconds. And where would that get her? It wouldn’t change anything.
Instead, she stood and started stripping the bed. She’d put the sheets in the washing machine, tidy her room, pack her things, then hit the road. If she hustled, she’d be home by lunchtime. Sawyer would have his house back, Lacey could come home from exile, Christmas would come and go, and life would go on. It always did.
She dragged the covers off the bed, then yanked the fitted sheet free, tossing it into the corner. The top sheet went next, along with the pillowcases. It only took her a few minutes to pack her things, then she gathered the sheets and exited the bedroom.
She had to pass through the kitchen to get to the laundry room, and Sawyer looked up from a plate of bacon and eggs as she entered. His gaze went from her face to the bundle of sheets in her arms.
“I wanted to wash these before I go,” she said.
“Right.”
“The laundry room is just through here, isn’t it?” she asked, gesturing toward the door to the right of the fridge.
“I can handle those,” Sawyer said, standing and reaching for his crutches.
“I’ve got it. And if you tell me where you keep your fresh linen, I’ll make up the guest bed again for you, too.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to.”
She crossed to the laundry room door and opened it, taking a quick survey of the washer, dryer and sink. The machine was a brand and style she was familiar with, so she dumped the sheets in the drum and turned to the sink to search for detergent.
“Here.”
Sawyer passed her a box of laundry soap.
“Thanks.”
She could feel him watching her as she measured detergent into the washing machine.
“There’s snow predicted up Billings way today,” he said after a short silence.
She frowned. Just what she needed. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“They’re talking a couple of inches, minimum.”
“Guess I should hit the road as soon as possible, then.”
“I was kind of hoping we’d get a chance to watch Rise of the Machines. Even asked Lacey to grab a few extra groceries for me in town so you could have the Terminator-and-chocolate-whiskey-pudding experience.”
“I didn’t realize that was a thing,” she said.
“It is in this house.”
“It sounds great, but I’ve abused your hospitality long enough. You must be desperate to have the place to yourself again.”
“Do I seem desperate to you?”
She glanced at him and he held her gaze steadily.
“Want to tell me why you’re so upset?” he asked.
“No.” Even as she said it, she could feel her face crumpling. She turned her back on him, fighting for control.
“I don’t mind if you cry, Jenna,” he said.
“I do.”
It was too late, though, and she ducked her head, using the backs of her hands to wipe away the tears as they fell. A warm hand landed on her shoulder before hooking around the front of her, drawing her back against a hard male chest. He anchored his hand on her opposite shoulder, holding her in place in case she tried to resist his comfort.
She didn’t. It felt too necessary, too wonderful.
“Who was the parcel from?” he asked, his voice vibrating through his chest and into her body.
“My father. We don’t really… He’s in Bismarck… I don’t see him much.”
Or at all. It was too hard to make herself say it out loud, though.
“So you weren’t expecting anything from him?”
“He sends a gift every year. I send him something, too.”
There was a small pause and she could feel him trying to understand. She took a deep breath.
“There was a car accident, when I was seventeen. My sister Cassie died. She was only twelve.”
“God. I’m sorry, Jenna.”
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, so glad he was standing behind her, so glad she wouldn’t have to see his face when she told him the full truth.
“I was driving. The weather was bad and I lost control on a corner… They say she died on impact.”
She waited for him to mouth the usual platitudes, but his arm simply tightened around her, and she felt the warm press of his cheek against the top of her head. She closed her eyes, absorbing the silent comfort he was offering, letting his solid calm seep into her.
She finished the rest of her sorry little tale with her eyes closed, getting the essentials over and done with as quickly as possible.
“Afterward, Dad could barely look at me. He never said anything, but I knew he blamed me for the fact that Cassie wasn’t there. We were so freaking polite to each other, and the house was so quiet without her… It was a relief to go away to college. And it only got worse from there. After a while, I worked out that it was probably tougher for him to see me than not. So I stopped going home, and he stopped inviting me.”
“How long has it been?”
“Since we were in the same room? Six years. Normally, I’m okay with it. It’s just the way it is. But this year… This year has been hard, for some reason.”
“This is why you’re not a Christmas kind of person,” he said.
“And birthdays, anniversaries…You name it, I avoid it like the plague.” It was the best way she knew to sidestep the pain.
She shifted, and his arm loosened and fell away. She forced herself to step away from the warmth of his chest and turn to face him.
“Sorry.”
She couldn’t quite look him in the eye. There was a reason she kept her family situation to herself. She didn’t know how to deal with her own feelings, let alone anyone else’s.
“Don’t apologize.”
He reached out and tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’m going to tell you something that you told me yesterday. It’s not your fault.”
“You don’t even know what happened, what the circumstances were.”
“Were you drunk?”
“No.’
“On drugs?”
“No. I wasn’t speeding, either, or distracted. It was just dark and the road was icy.”
“So it was an accident.”
“I was driving.”
He wouldn’t let her look away, his gaze was so compelling. So steady and serious, as though this was as important to him as it was to her.
“You’ve been over it in your head a million times,” he said, and she wondered how he knew that, how he’d guessed that about her. “What would you do differently? What did you do wrong?”
She shook her head, frowning. “I don’t know. I tried to steer into the skid. I pumped the breaks, like my dad taught me. It all happened so fast…”
“Bad things happen, Jenna, and sometimes there’s no reason, it’s just about bad luck and crappy circumstances, and there’s nothing you could have done to anticipate it or change it.”
It would be so lovely to believe him. To set down the burden she’d been carrying for ten long years. But it wasn’t just about her – even if she didn’t blame herself, her father did, and that was far, far worse than any guilt she might heap on herself. Knowing that every time he thought of Jenna, his very next thought would always be of the daughter he’d lost was something Jenna had shed many, many tears over.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you can’t fix this,” she said. “It’s broken, and all the king’s horses can’t put it back together again.”
Sawyer studied her for a long beat, then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I won’t push, because I can see you don’t want me to.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’m going to have to insist on making you a hot chocolate.”
He was so serious, so grave, it took her a second to fully comprehend what he’d said. Despite the heaviness of the last few minutes, she felt her mouth curve into a smile.
“I guess I can agree to that,” she said.
“Smart woman.”
She watched him pivot on his good leg and move into the kitchen. She’d thought she was unlucky, catching chicken pox and getting stranded far from home. She was just beginning to realize how wrong she’d been. Falling ill had given her a chance to get to know Sawyer, and every conversation, every interaction revealed new layers to him, new depths and richness.
