Christmas at Twilight (9 page)

Meredith had no idea what compelled her. Her heart or her gut. It certainly wasn't her intellect, because her brain screamed,
Do not break rule #4.
But Hutch's face was aglow and he looked so happy, so proud of his purchases that she went up on her toes and kissed him.

S
he kissed his cheek as if she were a princess and he a knight who had just slain a hundred dragons for her. He had an irresistible impulse to kneel down at her feet. His skin burned sweetly where her lips had branded him, and he reached up a palm to touch the spot.

From all appearances, she was just as stunned as he. Her eyes widened and she stepped back. “I . . . I . . .”

Despite the fact that his bruised fingers didn't want to cooperate, he wrote on the tablet. RULE #4 IS A BITCH TO KEEP.

She fingered lips that were forming into a shy, I-can't-believe-I-just-did-that smile. “I'm grateful to you for buying Ben the toy that he wants so badly and I could never afford.”

He lifted one corner of his mouth and the opposing eyebrow, trying not to show how much she bedazzled him. This wasn't an ordinary situation and she was not an ordinary woman.

“I don't want you to think this means anything else, because it doesn't.” There was something unexpected and wild in her voice, as if she didn't believe a word she was saying.

Hell, he didn't know what to think.

“This doesn't negate rule #4.”

He nodded.
No, princess, it doesn't
.

Her hands went to her hips. “You're not going to argue?”

He sent her a look that said,
Do you want me to?
Struggled, and failed, not to glance at her breasts.

“No, of course not,” she said, getting damn good at reading his body language. She folded her arms over her chest, but she was nodding. Did she realize she was nodding?

A year ago if this had happened to him, he would have taken her into his arms and given her a kiss that erased all doubts about what he wanted. But now, things were so different.

He was different.

Also, he had a feeling that if he reached for her, even though she was sending mixed signals, she'd resist. She was like an orchid blooming in the desert, brave as hell, but so damn vulnerable. Sooner or later the sun was going to burn her up.

CONSIDER US EVEN ON RULE #4 VIOLATIONS. He let her see what he'd written, and then lifted the top sheet to erase the words so he could add more. LET'S CALL A MULLIGAN AND START FROM SCRATCH.

Relief flooded her face and she gave him a strained thank-you smile.

Good. Great. The applecart had been righted, so why the distinct feeling that he'd lost something important?

Afraid she would read the disappointment in his face, Hutch wheeled around to the packages and started taking out the gifts he'd bought to show to her—a doll for Kimmie, a football for Ben, a Snow White costume, a Hot Wheels track, LEGOs and talking books and LeapFrog computers, one in pink and one in blue. He showed her everything except for the little blue box that he kept tucked in the bottom of the bag, out of sight.

“You're spoiling those kids rotten.” She said it as if spoiling them was a bad thing, but her tone was light.

She looked amazed, her pupils widening as he stared into those gorgeous blue eyes. If he had known eyes this gorgeous had been at his house just waiting on him, he would have come home a whole lot sooner.

After Gideon had left him that note, Hutch had started thinking about why he hadn't answered the door. Why he'd rammed his fist into it. He flexed his hand, savored the sting. He was accustomed to being in charge. He took care of other people. He used to be the mentally healthy one. At least he had been until the ambush. But the bombs and bullets had taken away his control. To accept help from his buddies meant that he couldn't take care of himself. That he couldn't be counted on to take care of the people he cared about.

So he'd gone shopping. Modern-day version of bringing home the bacon.

Was that pathetic?

Maybe. The only thing he knew for sure was that right now, Jane was gazing at him like he'd just hitched the world up on his shoulders, Atlas-style and she was certain that everything would be okay because of it. She made him feel honored and honorable, capable and competent. In that kickass moment he'd felt like his old self.

“Are you hungry?” she murmured.

He nodded.

“C'mon,” she said. “Let's hide those toys and I'll heat up the leftover pot roast.”

Just like that, the balance between them that she'd upended when she kissed him was restored. Rule #4 was firmly back in place.

But the daring Delta Force operator in him couldn't help wondering what it would take for her to break it again.

T
he following morning, Meredith got up before dawn, dressed in leggings and a loose T-shirt, and went out onto the second floor landing to practice yoga. She'd skipped it yesterday when she slept in, and a day without yoga left her feeling antsy.

Then again, maybe she was antsy about something else.

Maybe it was the kiss she'd planted on Hutch's cheek last night. What on earth had she been thinking?

Clearly, she had not been thinking. That was the problem. Whenever she was around him, logic did a double gainer out the window.

Why? What was it about Hutch that dismantled her finely honed defenses? She was getting too close to him. She knew it.

Move. She should move.

With less than three weeks until Christmas?

She breathed, slow and deep, fully expanding her lungs. After several minutes, she struck triangle pose. Enya played through the earbuds of the mp3 player clipped to her waistband: “Only Time.” She closed her eyes and allowed the hopeful music to spirit her to tranquillity.

Between the breathing, the poses, and the music, Meredith found the calm center that had carried her through the darkest of days. It would carry her through this too. Her muscles softened, her heart rate slowed, and for those blissful few minutes, she was transformed.

H
utch stood halfway up the staircase, his heart in his throat. He'd heard Meredith moving around on the second floor and he came up to ask her how she liked her eggs. He never intended to spy on her.

But that was exactly what he was doing.

Captivated by the sight of her practicing yoga, his feet welded to the floor and he couldn't seem to make himself go either up or down.

She was seated on the floor, her legs crossed in lotus style, elbows out, palms pressed together in prayer pose. Her breathing was steady, controlled. Her chest rising and falling slowly as she fully expanded her lungs with air. Her hair lay in soft waves, framing her radiant face. Her eyes were closed and an otherworldly smile tipped her lush, pink lips, as if she'd just gotten a glimpse into heaven.

Simply watching her calmed him. He drank her in, storing the sight of her deep within his memory banks. When she was gone, he wanted to be able to remember this moment so he could take it out and touch it whenever he felt harried or stressed.

Thinking about her and Ben leaving chipped a hollow place in the dead center of his breastbone, as if a skilled whittler had taken out a pocketknife and carved a hole. How had he managed to get so attached to her and the boy in just a couple of days?

Not good.

Never mind that whenever he was around her he felt more like his old self. Ignore the fact that her presence kept him from dwelling on his handicaps. Overlook that her smile humbled him, made him ache to be a better man. He barely knew her. This was nothing more than a fantasy he was building up in his head.

But last night when she'd kissed him . . .

She'd immediately regretted it. He couldn't forget that.

Her fluid movements as she shifted from one pose to the next, with her eyes still closed, carried along by instinct and practice, mesmerized him. What talent, what skill! Her soft face was so kind, so at ease even in the midst of exertion.

He wanted what she had. Peace. Calm. Contentment. If yoga would do the trick, sign him up.

For another few minutes, he watched as long as he dared. He'd better get back down the stairs before she opened her eyes and caught him staring at her. Reluctantly, Hutch sheered away, dragging his spirits behind him.

Yeah, it wasn't so much his fantasy that was the problem. Rather it was the realization that he had no idea what was going to happen to him and Kimmie when she was gone.

E
xpelling her long-held breath, Meredith opened her eyes all the way and studied Hutch's retreating back. She'd known the second he'd come up the stairs. Even though she hadn't heard his footsteps over the gentle music whispering through the earbuds, she had felt floorboards vibrate.

She lifted her lashes just enough to see him standing on the stairs if she kept her head tilted slightly back, and debated whether to acknowledge him. She loathed being spied on—five years of being stalked by a maniac would do that to a person—but there was something in the way he looked at her, an expression full of reverence and respect, that kept her silent. It hadn't been creepy or voyeuristic. Instead it was as if she'd bewitched him, ensnaring him in a feminine spell, and he was helpless to glance away.

His awe made her feel powerful.

You put on a show for that man.

She had. She couldn't deny it. Showing off her yoga skills. When had she gotten so audacious?

Why
had she gotten so audacious?

And she'd been watching him as intently as he watched her. She read his face like a navigator studying a map, seeking signs of the road up ahead, understanding that forewarned was forearmed. Were there things to avoid? A washed-out bridge? A pothole-riddled stretch of highway? A ten-car pileup?

But the scenery distracted her from those questions. She studied the firm lines of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his broad chest, the clean lines of his narrow waist, the fall of his dark hair across his forehead.

Delicious. This detour.

Nothing wrong with looking, just as long as it didn't lead to touching as it had last night.

Her cheeks burned and her mind would have started down that rutted track again but a sound drew her gaze to her bedroom, and there were Kimmie and Ben wriggling in the doorway like two eager puppies, wishing her good morning.

Rescuing Meredith from her futile imaginings.

T
he cold stung her cheeks as Meredith hurried up the sidewalk, clutching in her mittened hands a box of lemon squares she'd picked up at the Twilight Bakery after she'd dropped Kimmie and Ben off at Ye Olde Book Nook.

She climbed the front porch of Raylene Pringle's Tudor-style home. From inside the house she heard laughter and music. Paul McCartney singing “Wonderful Christmastime.” This year felt as if Sir Paul might just be right. The smell of cinnamon, peppermint, pine, and wood smoke oozed out onto the porch. Red and white twinkle lights winked at her from around the door frame.

Raising her hand to knock, she hesitated, her fist in midair. More than anything in the world, she wanted to go into that house, enjoy the company of the lively women inside—joke and tease and eat cookies and sip wine to her heart's content. She longed to be normal, to fit in, to recapture that wonderfully beautiful feeling of being loved and cherished that she had experienced as a child. She wanted the same thing for her son.

Inside, she would find goodwill and Christmas cheer and a community eager to welcome her into the fold. It would be so easy to fall into friendly arms and allow herself to be accepted.

But if she did that, leaving Twilight was going to hurt much more than it already did. And she
would
have to leave. There could be no long-term home for her. Eventually, Sloane would find her again. He always did. Constantly moving around and changing her identity was the only way to stay one step ahead of him.

“He's not The Terminator,” Dr. Lily had said, two days before Sloane had murdered her. “He's not all knowing and all powerful.”

But he was and her psychologist had paid the price for not realizing just how relentlessly ruthless he was.

The LAPD ruled Dr. Lily's plunge off Mulholland Drive an accident. Of course, Sloane had been one of the investigating officers. No matter what the police said, she knew in her heart that the brakes of her doctor's vintage Porsche had been tampered with. That was one of the many fates Sloane used to threaten her with on a daily basis.

She imagined the same thing or worse happening to the people she met in Twilight. Ashley, Kimmie, Hutch, Raylene, Flynn, Jesse. She couldn't bear it.

It wasn't too late to leave.

She spun on her heel, only to come face-to-face with two women from the book club headed up the walkway behind her. Sarah Walker, the author of
The Magic Christmas Cookie
, who wrote under the pen name Sadie Cool, and Emma Cheek, a Hollywood actress turned director and the owner of the Twilight Playhouse Theatre. Sarah was a tall, quiet brunette, Emma a petite, bubbly redhead.

“You came!” Emma exclaimed, and threw an arm around Meredith's waist. In the crook of her other arm, she carried a red wicker basket filled with cookies. Wearing a red and green plaid skirt, and a green sweater with jingle bells sewn on the front, she looked just like one of Santa's elves. Over her shoulder Emma called to Sarah, “And you said she wouldn't come.”

Sarah lowered long, thick eyelashes. “I just remember how difficult it was for me at my first cookie swap party. You guys can be overwhelming.”

“But in a good way,” Emma told Meredith. “Sarah's shy, but she's getting over it. Ooh! You brought Christine's lemon squares. I'm sitting next to you.”

Before she could back out, Emma looped her free arm around Meredith's and dragged her through the front door, Sarah trailing behind them.

“We're not going to knock?” Meredith balked.

“We Twilightites don't stand on formalities and Raylene is expecting us,” Emma explained. “Keeps her from running to the door every time someone shows up.”

From the foyer, as they took off their coats and hung them on the coatrack, Meredith could see a roaring fire in the fireplace that warmed the house. A flocked tree, decorated exclusively with Dallas Cowboys ornaments. Women peered at them from the living room, calling out greetings. Some of them Meredith knew from the book club group, and some were massage clients.

Emma passed off her basket of cookies to Raylene, who handed Meredith a cup of eggnog. “This is virgin,” Raylene said. “The good stuff is in the kitchen with an assortment of wines if you want that.”

“Thank you.”

“C'mon,” Emma said, still latched on to Meredith's arm. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

There were at least thirty women in the room. No way could she remember everyone. She shook hands and smiled and made small talk and for the first time in a very long time, she felt like a normal part of society again. Oh, this was dangerous. She could grow so accustomed to having friends again.

After all the guests arrived, the older women migrated to the kitchen, leaving the younger ones seated around the living room. Meredith found herself tucked into the corner of an oversized leather sectional with Emma on her left side, Flynn on her right. Sarah sat next to Flynn. On the other side of Emma was florist Caitlyn Garza. At one point, Emma had whispered to her that Caitlyn was married to Hutch's best friend, and he was a former Iraq war veteran who'd lost his left hand to an IED.

Emma tracked down a corkscrew and opened several bottles of wine—Chardonnay, Cabernet, Riesling, and Pinot Noir.

“What do you want to drink?” Emma asked Meredith.

“I'm a lightweight in the wine department,” she admitted.

“You'll love the Riesling then. It's light and sweet.” Emma passed her a glass half filled with white wine.

The women loaded down red plastic plates with goodies—a variety of cheeses, specialty crackers, sliced fruits, crudités, chips, dips, and cookies. Acres and acres of them. Spice cookies and peppermint cookies. Thumbprint cookies topped with maraschino cherries. Pecan sandies and red velvet cheesecake cookies. Butterscotch haystacks and Russian tea cookies. Gingerbread people and lime angel wings. Shortbread cookies and walnut crescents and the quintessential sugar cookies topped with butter cream frosting. Kimmie and Ben were going to love the leftovers she brought home.

Although she tried not to overindulge in sweets, Meredith was something of a cookie-aholic and she couldn't make up her mind about which ones to choose. So she got one of each. She might regret the hangover in the morning, but for tonight, she was going to enjoy this small oasis of community, neighborliness, and kinship in the desert of life as a fugitive.

Thin ice. Where you're skating the ice is thin as tissue paper.

Livewire Emma leaned in close once everyone had filled her plate and found a place to perch. “We're dying to know what's going on over at the Hutchinson house. You and Hutch are living together?”

She hadn't expected the diminutive redhead to be so direct. “No,” Meredith denied. “Well, yes. But it's not like that. I'm just renting the upper floor.”

“Oh, I didn't mean you were sleeping with him.” Emma laughed. “I mean he's only been home, what, a couple of days? Unless you're a fast mover. Are you a fast mover, Jane? But Hutch is one of the most eligible bachelors in Twilight. All the single gals in town are going to want to know if you have designs on him.”

“Certainly not.” Meredith put a little bristle in her voice. Boundaries. Boundaries were important. Especially when she was caught up in a group, Meredith tended to go along with the flow. She'd never been a boat rocker. Well, until Sloane had forced her into the role. He'd toughened her up, she had to give him that, the sociopathic bastard.

“Why not?” Emma asked. “Hutch is hot as a firecracker and such a wonderful guy. The best of the best. Top of the heap with our husbands.” She winked at her friends. “Right, girls?”

A murmur of confirmation rippled around the room.

“Hutch is so much fun, but at the same time he's so practical and down-to-earth,” Flynn said. “It's a rare combination.”

Meredith shifted on the couch, put the Russian tea cookie she had in her hand back on her plate. Powdered sugar dusted her fingers and she sat there rubbing her fingertips together, trying to get it all off. “I have a son.”

“A son who needs a daddy.”

“Emma,” Sarah cautioned. “You're making Jane uncomfortable.”

Emma looked crestfallen. “Goodness. I didn't mean to pry. It's just that we all love Hutch so much and want to see him happy.”

Every head bobbed in agreement.

“When the building on the square that housed Jesse's motorcycle shop and my Yarn Barn burned down, Hutch started the grassroots fund-raiser that helped us rebuild,” Flynn said.

“Get this.” Emma laid a hand on Meredith's shoulder. “When my husband Sam's younger brother, Joe—he and Hutch were best friends in grade school—got diagnosed with Hodgkins and lost his hair from chemotherapy, Hutch shaved his head in solidarity.”

“He once saved a young boy from drowning in the marina,” Sarah said. “
Good Morning Texas
did a story on him.”

One by one, they told their Hutch stories. Whenever a buddy got his heart broken, Hutch was the first to take him out for a night on the town. He attended the weddings, funerals, and birthdays of family, friends, and neighbors. He loved pulling good-natured practical jokes. He was the go-to guy if you needed help moving or painting your new crib.

Meredith was surprised by some of their descriptions of him. Not the brave and noble parts of Hutch, but the carefree, fun-loving parts. What they described as a playful nature must be buried underneath pain and grief, although she had seen glimpses of it in his interactions with the children. The war had clearly changed him. The fact that he could not speak amplified the differences.

“What happened to him in the Middle East?” she asked.

Everyone got quiet.

“His entire team lost their life in a black ops mission,” Flynn said. “That's really all we know. Their mission was highly classified and the military managed to keep the media in the dark.”

“We wouldn't even know that much if my husband hadn't heard about it through secret sources.” Caitlyn Garza spoke for the first time. She smelled faintly of roses, and there was a quiet tranquillity to the florist that appealed to Meredith. It wasn't shyness, as with Sarah, who quickly turned talkative when she felt comfortable. Rather Caitlyn seemed to be a woman who saved up her words and used them only when she felt she had something to contribute to the conversation. “Gideon still has contacts over there.”

Meredith couldn't wrap her head around the horrors he'd been through. Losing his entire team like that. The poor guy.

“Anyone for more wine?” Emma chirped, but her voice was falsely cheerful.

A few women had their wineglasses topped off.

“If he's such a great catch, why isn't Hutch married?” Meredith asked.

“He proposed to a woman once,” Caitlyn said. “But she rejected him because of Ashley. Whenever Ashley felt like Hutch was ignoring her in favor of spending time with his girl, she'd fly into jealous rages. Once Ashley broke into his girlfriend's apartment and cut up all her clothes. It was too much for the woman, and of course Hutch wouldn't turn his back on his sister.”

“Hutch has had such a rough time of it with his mother and sister. The man is a saint to put up with all he's put up with,” Flynn said.

Intrigued, Meredith leaned forward. “What's he put up with?”

“He didn't tell you?” Emma popped a cookie into her mouth.

“He told me that Ashley has an emotional disorder.

“His mother had it too. She hung herself when Hutch was sixteen, and he was the one who found her.” Emma looked stricken. “He and Ashley ended up in separate foster homes and that boy moved heaven and earth to get himself declared an emancipated minor so he could be allowed to take care of her.”

Meredith put a hand to her throat. “That's horrible. What about Hutch's father?”

Flynn shook her head. “His father was never in the picture. Just like Kimmie's father.”

“It's sad.” Sarah sighed. “How the family dynamics can play out from one generation to the next.”

“Hutch didn't have a childhood,” Flynn continued. “Despite being one of the most handsome guys in town, he never had a girlfriend in high school. He had too much responsibility heaped on him way too soon.”

“It's not fair,” Sarah said. “The poor man can't even throw a penny into the Sweetheart Fountain and wish to be reunited with his high school sweetheart because he didn't have one.”

Puzzled Meredith frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Sarah blinked, wide eyes incredulous. “You haven't heard about the sweetheart legend?”

“No.”

Flynn bit the head off a gingerbread man, chewed thoughtfully, and then said, “We've been remiss.”

“I can't believe no one told you about the sweetheart legend.” Sarah seemed troubled by this. “Didn't you notice the Sweetheart Fountain in Sweetheart Park?”

“I haven't been to the park.” She'd been too busy working and trying to lie low.

Emma glanced around at the other women. “Who wants to do the honors and tell Jane about the legend?”

“Let Flynn tell it,” Sarah said. “She was the first of our generation to be reunited with her high school sweetheart.”

Flynn set her plate down and eagerly rubbed her palms together, her eyes aglow as she launched into the story. “It started with Jon Grant and Rebekka Nash, who were teenagers torn apart by the Civil War. Jon was a Union soldier, Rebekka a Southern belle. Although their love appeared forever doomed, they never stopped thinking about each other. Fifteen years later, they met on the banks of the Brazos River where the town of Twilight now stands. This was before they dammed up the river and transformed it into Lake Twilight. Neither had married, nor did they know that the other had moved to Texas. With that one look, they rekindled their romance. The Sweetheart Fountain was erected as a tribute to their undying love.”