Christmas at Twilight (5 page)

Jane rang the doorbell.

Hutch lagged behind, fear slowing his steps. What if his niece didn't remember him?

He'd been there the night Kimmie was born. No dad around. Ashley claimed not to know who the father was. As wild as she'd been, that was probably the truth. Back in those days, he'd been so optimistic, so full of that damn hope. He'd passed out pink bubble gum cigars as if he were the father, bought pizza for the entire maternity ward, and flirted with the nurses. Even though he'd known it was not going to be an easy road for either Ashley or her new daughter, he believed he could make a difference.

Kimmie's birth had been one of the happiest days of Hutch's life.

What a dumbass he'd been.

The door opened and there was Flynn Calloway, a baby on her hip, Jesse standing behind her. They looked so happy.

The storm in Hutch's stomach moved to his throat, spun there like a tornado.

A little blond-haired boy—the same boy in the photograph in Jane's room—came bursting in between Jesse and Flynn and hurled himself at his mother. She swept him up in her arms and dropped kisses on his face.

The boy giggled, and snuggled his head against his mother's long, slender neck.

In the glow of the twinkle lights, love shone in Jane's eyes as she held her son. She was the epitome of Christmas, of a mother's love. It was so pure, so perfect, the two of them together in that moment, Madonna and child. It might just very well be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Hutch felt like an intruder. He didn't belong anymore. He was scarred, his soul soiled black with the soot of war, and if it weren't for Kimmie, he might well have turned and walked away for good.

And then there was Kimmie, coming out of the house, a sweet smile on her angelic face.

“There's someone here to see you, Kimmie,” Jane said, put a palm to the little girl's head, and guided her to the sidewalk, Ben still on her hip.

After that, Hutch couldn't retreat.

Overwhelming love for his niece shoved Hutch forward, and in his eagerness he forgot about the lingering effects of pepper spray. Forgot about his inflamed features and bloodshot eyes. Forgot about the scars on his neck and his missing index finger. All he wanted was to hold her again. Hug her hard and tell her how much he loved her.

Pulse thumping hard, chest tightening with emotion, Hutch held out his hand, waited for her to recognize him and fling herself into his arms.

Kimmie took one look at him and let out a terrified scream.

T
he little girl's scream echoed throughout the quiet neighborhood.

Jesse, Flynn, and Grace Calloway startled. Porch lights came on. Curtains swished at windows. A dog barked, setting off a chain reaction of barks down the block.

Meredith put Ben down on the sidewalk beside Kimmie, leaned over, and whispered into the little girl's ear. “It's okay, sweetheart. That's your Uncle Brian.”

“Hutch,” Jesse murmured. “Everyone calls him Hutch.”

“That's your Uncle Hutch,” Meredith corrected. “Do you want to say hi?”

Kimmie buried her face against Meredith's hip, shook her head.

“He's come a long way to be with you.”

The child fisted a wad of Meredith's jeans in her little hand, but would not raise her head.

Hutch stood on the Calloways' lawn looking forlorn and broken, loneliness rolling off him in waves.

Meredith's heart wrenched for the poor veteran, for all the veterans who came back irrevocably changed and for all the servicemen and women who would never return home. War was awful.

Although it wasn't the same thing, she had been through her own version of combat. Could relate to the hell of violence and how it twisted you up inside, making it hard to trust another human being.

And then Ben, bless his little heart, moved toward Hutch, lifted his hand. “Hi.”

Part of Meredith was proud of her son's bravery and empathy, but another part of her, that part that had been running scared for almost five years, wanted to grab him by the collar of his shirt and drag him back.

Hutch raised a left palm in greeting.

“Kimmie's Uncle Hutch can't talk,” Meredith told Ben.

Ben angled his head, considered this. “You can't talk?”

Hutch shook his head.

Ben turned back to her. “How come he can't talkeded, Mommy?”

“He got hurt in the war.” She bent to explain. “See those scars on his neck?”

Hutch sank to the ground on his knees, eye-level with her son.

Ben stepped forward, studied Hutch's scarred throat with honest, little-boy curiosity. “Cool.”

Hutch let out a short, abbreviated laugh that sounded more like a snort.

Ben inched closer, reached out a finger to trace the scars at Hutch's neck. “Bad guys hurt you?”

Hutch nodded.

“That's mean,” Ben proclaimed.

Meredith couldn't see her son's face but she could tell from the set of his little shoulders that he was frowning. Kimmie had unglued her face from Meredith's hip and was peeping around at her uncle.

“I hate bad guys,” Ben said staunchly, as if it were always easy to tell the bad guys from the good ones. He turned back to where Meredith and Kimmie were still standing on the porch with Jesse, Flynn, and their baby daughter, Grace.

“Honey, don't say hate,” Meredith corrected gently. “Hatred isn't a good thing.”

“But I do hate 'em. They hurteded Kimmie's Unca Hutch.”

Curiosity drew Kimmie down the walkway to join Ben in front of her uncle.

Hutch smiled softly at his niece, but he didn't make a move.

“I 'member you now.” Slowly, Kimmie reached out to touch Hutch's face with her palm. “You tooked me for i-scream.”

He nodded once more.

It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Meredith thought she saw a sheen of tears mist Hutch's lashes, but it could have been nothing more than the reflection of Christmas lights in his eyes.

“I hate bad guys too,” Kimmie said, just as fiercely as Ben. Then she wrapped her little arms around Hutch's neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

There might not be tears in Hutch's eyes, but there certainly were in hers. Meredith pressed the back of her palm against her nose and sniffled. She blinked, turned to Jesse and Flynn. Their eyes were none too dry either.

Jesse plucked the keys from his pocket and put them in her upturned palm. “I moved the minivan to your driveway. You left the keys inside. You've got a crunched fender, but the fence took the brunt of it.”

Meredith glanced over her shoulder at the fence. It was split right in two and leaning over. No one mentioned the pepper spray. “Thank you. I do so appreciate you keeping the kids.”

“No problem,” Jesse said.

“Anytime.” Flynn smiled. “The children were so good. Ben's an utter joy.”

“He has his moments.” Meredith ruffled her son's hair,

“Are you coming to the cookie club swap party on Friday night?” Flynn asked. “We'd love to have you.”

She didn't want to get too close to the people in this town. If she made friends, it would only hurt that much more when she had to leave. “I don't know.”

Flynn touched her shoulder. “Please come.”

“Maybe. Right now I have to get these two home to their supper. Thanks again for everything.”

Hutch got to his feet, loomed tall over the children now, but he looked uncertain as to how to proceed.

The Calloways said good night and shut their door, leaving the four of them alone in the darkness.

A momentary awkwardness fell over them. Ben and Kimmie held hands, looked from Meredith to Hutch and back again.

“C'mon,” Meredith said, acting as if this was a totally normal day. “Let's go eat. We're having macaroni and cheese for dinner. Last one to wash their hands is a rotten egg.”

N
ow that he could see clearly, Hutch noticed how much things had changed.

The cabinets and drawers, which had been a sloppy mess when Ashley and Kimmie lived here alone, were neatly organized. Bowls stacked according to size and construction, plastic bowls on one side, earthenware on the other. Silverware was separated by type in a drawer divider instead of being thrown into a heap. Oatmeal and a variety of nuts and dried fruit filled the pantry instead of the Pop-Tarts, sugary cereals, crackers, and cookies that Ashley usually bought. Fresh apples, oranges, and bananas sat in a wicker basket on the island. Yellow smiley face magnets pinned the children's artwork to the refrigerator. A waist-high wire shelf was parked against the north wall, and on it rested a Christmas cactus in full bloom, two poinsettias, several seedlings in small black plastic containers that had just started to sprout.

This woman was good for his sister. She brought peace, tranquillity, and a sense of order to the house.

He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded over his chest, shoulder braced against the wall, watching Jane microwave macaroni and cheese—homemade leftovers from the looks of it—and then put green beans on the stove to heat. She moved with such grace, her body loose and fluid, as if she had dance training. The woman was a cut above most people Ashley associated with, and he was fascinated.

Who was she really? He had so many questions, but he was simply too weary to bother with a Magic Slate conversation. Was this how his life was going to be from now on? Full of things he wanted to say but couldn't?

“You're unnerving me,” she called over her shoulder. “Staring at me like that.”

Yeah? Well, whether she knew it or not, she unnerved him plenty too.

She turned her head to peek at him, an unexpected smile on her face that made his chest swell.
She likes me.
But then he realized she was actually looking at Ben, who was holding out his wet hands for her inspection.

A sheepish heat burned his gut.

“Those are pretty clean hands. A little wet though,” she said, and gave the boy a cup towel to dry his hands on.

“Mine too?” Kimmie thrust her hands out.

“Perfect,” Jane approved.

“Who's the rotten egg?” Ben asked.

“Hmm. Is it you?” Jane leaned down to sniff her boy. “No, you smell squeaky clean.” Flaring her nostrils in exaggeration, she moved to Kimmie. “Is it you?”

Kimmie lifted her shoulders up to her ears as Jane sniffed her and giggled sweetly. “It's not me.”

Jane raised her own arm and sniffed there. Both kids giggled. “It's not me.”

Hutch could tell this was a game they'd played before, a funny ritual between them as if they were all family. His niece was totally comfortable with Jane, and it occurred to him that she had been taking care of Kimmie a lot.

“Where's that rotten egg smell coming from?” Jane tipped her nose up, sniffed the air like Smokey Bear sniffing out a forest fire.

That drew a fresh round of giggles from the children.

“I know!” Kimmie cried. “Unca Hutch is the stinky one.”

The three of them descended on him, laughing and sniffing, and in that moment, the anger, resentment, loneliness, and grief that dogged him evaporated. In that sweet second, the rage at losing his team that had simmered inside him nonstop from the moment he'd awakened at Walter Reed was gone, and for one sweet moment, he was his old self again.

Amazingly, Hutch was laughing too. He hadn't laughed since before the ambush. And it felt like an utter betrayal of the men who'd fought beside him and died. They would never again laugh with their families.

His gaze met Jane's and his laughter vanished.

Happiness leached from her dark blue eyes. Eyes that said she couldn't believe she was cavorting with him any more than he could believe she was doing it. She sucked in a deep breath, and stepped back. The wall came up. Her face tightened and her lips thinned and she was once again the terrified woman who'd pepper-sprayed him.

She lifted a shaky hand, brushed her fingers across her temple as if she were pushing an errant strand back over her ear, but the close-cropped style was too short for flyaway locks, making him wonder if this haircut was something new that she couldn't get used to.

For the first time, he spotted a jagged, silver scar behind her left ear that staggered up into her hairline as if someone had broken a bottle over her head. Aware of where his gaze had gone, she dropped her hand, and her eyes turned flat, empty.

What on God's green earth had happened to her?

The microwave dinged and Jane exhaled audibly. She bustled around the kitchen serving up the food.

“Dinner's ready, kids,” she sang out, but the sound was forced, fake, devoid of her earlier joy as she carried the plates to the table.

The children, not picking up on the shift in mood between the adults, were still giggling and sniffing.

“Join us, Hutch,” she invited, waving toward the seat at the head of the table.

Feeling like a guest in his own house, Hutch sat.

Jane herded the children to the table, taking extra care not to look at him. She had no more than settled the kids in their chairs when Ben leaped up from his seat and moved to throw his arms around Kimmie.

“We're twins,” he announced to Hutch.

“Twins!” Kimmie cried, and hugged Ben back.

“They share the same birthday,” Jane explained as she sat down, her tone letting him know that she was ignoring everything that had just passed between them, the laughter, that brief moment of connection, his recognition that far more lay below the surface than she could or would reveal. “They've gotten it into their heads that means they're twins.”

“We are,” Ben said firmly, brooking no argument.

“Twins,” Kimmie confirmed.

“They've been inseparable ever since they met,” Jane said in that plain, not-giving-anything-away tone, her gaze fixed firmly on the cheesy elbow noodle on the end of her fork as if it held the key to the secret of the universe. “It's the main reason I moved in here with Ashley. It's been hard for—”

She broke off. Put her fork down. Her breathing had quickened. She kept her head down, refusing to let him see her face.

Hutch wished he could speak. He wanted to press her and find out what was so hard that it had led her here. She seemed like a proud woman, but she hid an ugly secret. It practically oozed from her pores.

That scar . . .

Maybe it was better that he couldn't ask her questions without tracking down his Magic Slate. Maybe it was better not to know. He didn't like people prying around in his head. What business did he have to dig around in hers?

Finally, she shot him a quick glance, but there was nothing in it. She'd mastered whatever emotion it was that had momentarily choked her up. “Don't you like mac and cheese?”

He nodded. He'd been so busy trying to read her body language that he hadn't taken a bite.

“I could make something else.”

He shook his head, silently mouthed,
It's fine
.

“Do you . . .” She motioned at her throat. “Have trouble swallowing?”

In answer, he took a bite, swallowed, made an exaggerated “mmm” face that had the kids giggling again. He and Jane ate in silence while the children chattered about Christmas. He'd never seen two kids of the same age get along so well.

“Mommy, can me and Kimmie have the candy Santa gave us?” Ben asked.

“First, eat your green beans.”

Ben looked like he might argue, but after a stern look from his mother, he popped a green bean in his mouth and chewed as he idly kicked the rungs of his chair. Kimmie eyed him, nudged the green beans off her plate, and then looked over at Jane, challenging her.

“You too, Kimmie,” she said mildly.

Kimmie wrinkled her nose, rested her elbow on the table, let her shoulders drop into a sag. “I don't wike green beans.”

“You ate green beans last week and said you loved them,” Jane said in a kind, affectionate tone.

“That was before.” Kimmie poked at a green bean with a chubby little finger.

Jane set her fork down, gave Kimmie her full attention. “Before what, sweetheart?”

“You know.” Kimmie shrugged and her eyelashes misted with tears. “Before my mommy went to visit Santa.”

Jane reached across the table to pat Kimmie's hand. She didn't make false promises or excuses for Ashley. A tear rolled down his niece's face and she ducked her head.

It hit Hutch exactly what he was up against. Until Ashley decided to come home, Kimmie was his total responsibility. He thought of everything involved in taking care of a kid, meals and baths and taking her to and from school. Regular bedtimes and doctor appointments and making sure she brushed her teeth. It was hard work and he was in no shape to take on the task. It was the stuff of Hollywood comedies, a maimed soldier with PTSD in charge of an active four-year-old girl. Might be cute on the screen, but in reality there was so much that could go wrong.

No clue. He had no clue what to do.

Better damn well get a clue. And fast. Kimmie was here and her mother was not and he wasn't about to turn his niece over to Child Protective Services. He knew firsthand what happened when they took you away from your mother. He couldn't allow that to happen to his niece.

“Kimmie, you better hurry and eat your green beans,” Jane teased. “Ben is going to beat you.”

“What?” Kimmie straightened, swiped the tears away.

“He's almost done with his green beans. I bet you can beat him if you hurry and you'll get your candy first,” Jane coaxed, gently shifting Kimmie's attention off her missing mother.

“No way, Jose!” Ben exclaimed and gobbled his beans.

“I gonna beat you,” Kimmie cried in a singsong voice, and stuffed green beans into her mouth.

Jane looked at Hutch. “Maybe it's not the optimal way to get kids to eat their veggies, but . . .”

He got it and thought she was doing an amazing job.

“I win!” Kimmie mumbled past a cheek full of food, bits of green bean sticking to her lips, and raised her arms over her head.

“Nuh-unh.” Ben protested.

“It was a tie,” Jane said diplomatically. “The candy is in the pocket of my uniform on the bed—”

Before she could finish, the kids were out of their chairs and tearing up the stairs. Jane dropped a small smile and turned in her seat to watch them.

“Ben and I are really going to miss Kimmie,” she said.

Hutch tried not to hear her wistful note, but while he might be Delta Force–trained, he wasn't made of stone. She cared about Kimmie and he needed help. Hard as it was for him to ask, it was time to choke down the pride. He levered himself up from the table, and left the kitchen.

“Hey, I know I'm no gourmet cook, but my mac and cheese isn't really that bad, is it?” Jane called after him, her tease barely hiding the anxiety slathered underneath.

Hutch went to the foyer, closed his hand over the Magic Slate. Did he really want to get tangled up with a woman he knew nothing about?

But Kimmie liked her and, really, how many options did he have?

He caught a glimpse of himself in the oval wall mirror mounted above the foyer table. The mirror, decorated with fake plastic mistletoe, reflected unkempt black eyebrows standing out starkly on his forehead, bleary bloodshot eyes, a bristle of beard dusting his jaw, angry scars puckering the skin of his throat.

Yeah. Not a prize. Slice it any way you like. He was not on anyone's list of most desirable roommates.

He wouldn't blame her if she refused his proposition. Most likely she would refuse it. Any sensible woman would. She would never understand how much it cost him to do this, to grovel. This was for Kimmie.

If there was any other way, he'd take it, but his bag of tricks was empty. She was all he had.

Surprised to see that his hand was trembling slightly, Hutch picked up the stylus, wrote I NEED YOU on the Magic Slate, and took it back to her.

I
NEED YOU.

Meredith stared at the words scribbled on the pad, and for one startled second thought he meant sexually. Worse, her body instantly lit up. Nerve endings tingling, stomach tightening. She got warm down
there
.

Oh no. She looked up at him, blinked, and as soon as she met his harried eyes, she realized he was talking about Kimmie. He needed her help with his niece.

I NEED YOU.

Looking at those words unnerved her. She lifted the filmy top sheet of the slate, making the writing disappear, and handed it back to him. She could hear her heart thumping in her ears.

His hands were clenched, his jaw tight; a muscle at his eye twitched. Asking for help didn't come naturally to this man. He was used to being in control, in charge, and he hated being in this inferior position.

It had taken a lot for him to write those three little words.

He didn't return to his seat at the head of the table, but instead remained standing, forcing her to crane her neck up at him. The children came charging back into the room, unwrapping their mini chocolate bars and talking so fast she could barely make out that they were discussing Santa, oblivious to the tug-of-war tension pulling between her and Hutch.

Meredith got to her feet. “Let me get the kids ready for bed. Then we can talk. You take it easy. Watch TV or something.”

Honestly, it was a little soon to put the children to bed, but she needed to get away from him in order to process his proposal and how she felt about it.

It took her over an hour to get the kids bathed and settled down for their nightly bedtime story. Kimmie insisted on
The Magic Christmas
Cookie
, but Ben begged for
The Polar Express.
Meredith compromised and read both.

Yes, it was an avoidance technique, she knew it, but for that lovely space of time, it felt good to snuggle in bed, a child tucked on either side of her as she read. Kimmie fingering her blankie, Ben sucking his thumb.