Falling Like Snowflakes (9 page)

Christmas music wafted through the room, and the fire in the fireplace crackled and popped.

“What the heck is this?” He turned his glare on Aunt Trudy, who was knitting on the sofa.

“Look what I found.” Kate bounced into the room, smiling, her arms filled with the three stuffed snowmen his mom had bought years ago when he and his brothers were little. “Oh, hi.” Her smile fell as she studied Beau.

“Who said you could do this?”

Her gaze toggled to Aunt Trudy and back. “What?”

“These are our things.” He grabbed the snowmen from her arms, one at a time. “Our personal things.”

“I-I'm sorry, I didn't—”

“No, you didn't.” He grabbed the angel and set it in the box at his feet. Next went the candles and the floppy elf he'd made in the third grade.

“It-it's just Christmas decorations . . .”

He straightened, directing a glare at her. “
Our
Christmas decorations. Why don't you see if you can figure out how to cook a decent meal and do a load of laundry before you start snooping through our stuff?”

Her cheeks flushed, but he turned to the mantel, taking down the stockings next. He barely heard her and Jack leaving over the freaking Christmas music. He found the radio and snapped it off.

“Well, that was a fine thank-you,” Aunt Trudy said.

“Thank-you? How could you let her do this?”

“Well, I'd hoped you'd be more reasonable than your father. It's been twelve years, Beau. Life goes on.”

“It brings back bad memories.”

“Is that really it? Or are you just holding on to something your dad started?”

“It about killed him—or are you forgetting that?”

“Your mother loved Christmas. She wouldn't want you boys remembering the one bad one when she worked so hard to give you all the good ones.”

“So we're just supposed to forget?”

“Of course you don't forget. But you move on. We own a Christmas tree farm; it's not like we can escape the holiday. But, merciful heavens, did your stubborn daddy ever try.”

Beau lowered the garland in his hands, frowning. “I can't believe you let her do this.”

“She was halfway done when I woke from my nap, and she was smiling like she'd finally done something right.”

Beau pulled the rest of the garland down and stuffed it into the box. He didn't want to be here anymore. And he couldn't even go over to Paige's because Kate had invaded her house too.

“I'm going to order the pizza.”

An hour later he was in his room and on the phone with Paige. “Have you heard from Riley?” he asked after they'd asked about each other's days.

“He called this afternoon. He's hurting, Beau. I think he's running, but I don't understand from what.”

“We had words tonight. Tomorrow's going to be a disaster.”

“Maybe losing your dad has just made him feel like he's at loose ends.”

“Maybe.”

Riley didn't open up to him anymore—not that his brother had ever been an open book. He'd hoped they'd draw together after their dad passed, but Riley only seemed to drift further away.

“Why can't he just join the Coast Guard like everyone else around here?” At least he wouldn't be as far away. And he wouldn't be smack-dab in the middle of a war zone.

“It's always been the marines for Riley.”

“I know.”

“Did something happen at the house today? Kate seemed kind of upset when she came home.”

“What'd she say?”

“Not much. She's been upstairs all night.”

Beau wondered if there'd even be a Thanksgiving dinner. Or a caretaker for Aunt Trudy.

“She got into all our Christmas stuff in the attic, and when I
came home she'd decorated the whole house. It was everywhere. Garlands, ornaments, everything.”

“Oh no,” Paige deadpanned. “How could she?”

Beau clenched his jaw. “I could use a little support here.”

“Come on, Beau. You're not mad at Kate. You're mad at Riley. And you're really not even mad at Riley. You're just afraid.”

He pulled the phone away and stared at it before returning it to his ear. “You're seriously telling me how I feel right now?”

“You always get mad when you're afraid.”

Great. He loved being analyzed. “What exactly am I afraid of, Paige?”

A long thread of silence hovered between them.

“You're afraid of losing him. And you know what? So am I. But he has his own life to live, his own decisions to make. All we can do is support him and pray God keeps him safe.”

“The way God kept Dad safe? The way He kept Mom safe?” Beau sighed hard. “I didn't mean that.”

He ran his hand over his face. It felt like everything was falling apart no matter how hard he'd tried to hold it all together.

“God can handle your questions, Beau. And He can handle Riley. And Kate. And Thanksgiving.”

He threaded his hands into his hair and squeezed until he felt a sting. “I was a real jerk tonight.”

“Well . . .,” she said. “There's always tomorrow.”

Chapter 9

E
den squinted at the directions she'd printed off, then put the bowl of butter into the microwave to melt. The turkey was all trussed up and waiting in the roasting pan. Paige was coming to help in a couple hours, bringing Micah with her. With any luck the meal would be edible, if not delicious.

The microwave dinged, and she began basting the turkey, stifling a yawn. She'd had a rough night's sleep. She wasn't even sure she was still welcome in the house after Beau's scolding. But she needed this job, so here she was.

The floor creaked behind her, and she looked over her shoulder. Beau appeared in jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair damp from his shower. Good to know he had at least one white T-shirt left.

“Morning.” His voice was still rough from sleep.

“There's coffee over there.” She put the finishing touches on the turkey, opened the oven, and reached for the roasting pan.

“Let me get that.” Beau nudged her out of the way. The spicy scent of his cologne wafted over her.

He lowered the pan into the hot oven and shut the door.

“Thanks.” Eden set the timer so she wouldn't forget to baste
the turkey. She washed her hands, then studied her to-do list, conscious of Beau nearby, pouring his coffee.

“Listen, Kate, about last night . . .”

She waved him away. “I'm sorry if I—”

“Don't. You didn't do anything wrong.”

She looked up from her list. Sunlight flooded through the kitchen window, highlighting his face. She noticed the lighter flecks in his brown eyes and the subtle copper highlights in his black hair.

“I overreacted. I'd had words with Riley on my way in. And to be honest, we haven't done a real Christmas in a long time.”

“I didn't know.”

“I know you didn't. I was a jerk. I'm sorry.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “No worries.”

He lifted his mug, calling attention to his muscled bicep and the way his snug shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. She looked back at her list.

“Twelve years ago our mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer right after Thanksgiving. It was pretty advanced by the time they found it.” He leaned against the counter, crossing his bare feet. “She went downhill so fast. From vibrant and strong to weak and so sick. It was hard to see her like that. Hard to lose her.”

“I'm sorry. How old were you?”

“Sixteen.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Dad was a wreck, and all I wanted was to make things better . . . but she died Christmas Eve.”

The hurt she saw in his eyes made her want to pull him into her arms.

“We kind of just skipped celebrating the next year. Mom was the one who did all that—the decorations, the gift buying, the cooking. Without her, it just didn't get done. And honestly, the holidays brought back too many painful memories.”

“But you have a tree farm . . .”

His lips twisted, shadows settling into that crescent-shaped dimple. “Ironic, huh? I guess we stayed busy with that and tried not to think about everything else. Aunt Trudy came to stay here, help out with us boys. But Christmas was never the same after that.”

Eden set down her pen. “I lost my mom too. I was thirteen. She stopped at a gas station and was caught in a holdup. Just some random fluke.”

A notch formed between his brows. “I'm sorry. Did they ever catch him?”

“Never did.”

“Must've been hard.”

“I was in denial for a long time. She just left for work and never came home. I don't know which would be worse: knowing the end is coming and you can't stop it, or having it happen suddenly and there's no time for good-byes.”

“Since my dad died of a heart attack, I can pretty much attest that both ways blow.” He drained the rest of his coffee.

“I guess you're right. But I do understand how something like that can change you. I'll take the rest of the decorations down.”

“No, don't. It's time to move on. And your son deserves a real Christmas.”

Maybe the holiday would provide a nice distraction for Micah. At least for a few weeks. “If you're sure.”

“So what about your dad?” Beau asked. “He still living?”

Eden checked her recipe for the stuffing. “Um, yeah.”

“Where does he live?”

“Oh shoot. I'm short a can of broth.”

“I'll ask Paige to pick it up on her way over.”

“Oh, that'd be great. Thanks.”

“So your dad . . . where does he live?”

So much for diverting his attention. “St. Louis.” She said the first thing that came to mind.

“Is that where you grew up?”

She bit the inside of her lip. “Um, no. Would you like some more coffee? I should've made a bigger pot today—wasn't thinking.”

“I'll do it.” He reached for the coffee beans. His shirt rose an inch above his waistline, showing a sliver of taut stomach. He was a beautiful man, she'd give him that. Tall, dark, muscular.

But he was Paige's boyfriend, not to mention Eden's boss. And she needed another man like she needed a thorn in her big toe.

“Need any help?” Riley pulled a Coke from the fridge.

The turkey was almost done, the stuffing and green beans were in the oven, and the rolls were ready to go in next. Heavenly smells filled the kitchen.

“I think everything's under control,” Eden said.

Paige had stopped for more soda and broth, and now everyone was in the living room watching football and trying to keep Aunt Trudy out of the kitchen. Last she'd seen Micah, Paige was teaching him a card game in the living room.

The guys cheered from the other room, and the TV blared louder.

Riley popped the tab of his soda and took a drink. “You probably think it's pretty stupid, what I'm doing.”

Joining the military to escape his heartbreak? “I'm the last person to criticize someone's decisions.”

“Why, what'd you do?”

She looked into eyes that were shaped like Beau's, but green instead of brown. He had more angles to his face. He was barrel-chested and had thick arms, and everything about his physique said he was a man who could take care of himself. A man with both feet on the ground. But there was a vulnerability in his eyes that called for honesty. She was definitely getting brown vibes.

“What did I do?” She tossed the dish towel down. “Well, let's see. I married the first decent guy to come along just to escape my smothering father, and soon found out he wasn't as decent as I thought. Let's start with that one.”

It was more than she'd meant to say, but hey. She had a secret on him, now he had one on her.

“No kidding.”

“No kidding.” The timer went off, and she pulled the green beans from the oven and put the rolls in.

Riley stared at the door leading to the living room. “It would kill him if he knew. He's always looked out for us. He'd sooner give his right arm than take something from me.”

She gave a soft smile. “Like I said, I won't say anything. Anyway, I won't be here much longer.” She gave him a look. “I guess you won't be either.”

“I guess not.” He gave her a half smile before wandering back into the living room.