Home for Christmas (6 page)

“Of course. Yes, I’m fine.”

Hunter blocked her view of Warren, Viv and their son, but Miranda couldn’t make herself look away. She found herself staring into Hunter’s eyes, searching for answers.

Until now, she hadn’t wanted to know
why.

A dozen questions echoed about in her soul, so many things about Warren’s marriage she wanted to know. What had she done so terribly wrong that he’d turned away from her? When, exactly, had he married Viv?

Why
hadn’t Warren wanted her?

She turned to look at the profiles of her family, packed tightly into their pews. She could ask her sisters about Warren’s marriage. Now that she’d seen the irrefutable truth of his wife and children, perhaps they’d answer her questions. Surely they all knew the truth.

Or a mere part of it.

Hunter knew more. Of that she was certain. Who better to ask than the man who would’ve been her brother-in-law?

She turned to him, finding him watching her intently, concern lining his features. Was that a soul-deep ache mirrored in his eyes?

Miranda knew a rush of affection for Hunter. He’d proven himself a good man with uncharacteristic concern for families struggling to feed and clothe their children. She knew she could ask him, and he’d tell her the truth. He’d already promised to.

CHAPTER FIVE

<><>

In all his life, Hunter had never felt such misery on the holiest night of the year.

He had watched Miranda through the service, his heart aching for her, wanting to comfort her, but not knowing how. Her family had surrounded her and nearly rushed her out of the church.

They hadn’t given him a chance to even wish her a merry Christmas.

He ached with the need to see her, to make certain she was all right.

At home, he climbed the stairs onto the back porch and followed his parents inside. Warren was already helping Viv out of her coat. Warren kissed his wife gently, with obvious affection that made Hunter’s heart squeeze with protective anger. Had Warren even noticed Miranda tonight?

Why had they changed their plans, anyway? They’d decided to stay home at their own house, until the baby came. Instead, they arrived--late, noticeably--at the church for the candlelight service, and caused Miranda a great deal of pain.

If he’d had any inkling at all that Warren might show up, he never would’ve snatched Miranda away from the church. He would’ve made up whatever wild tale he had to, pleaded with her to come outside with him, anything at all to keep her away from Warren.

Hunter helped little Matthew unbutton his coat. The family chattered happily about the service. It would do no good to lecture Warren about what he’d done--because he’d done nothing. He hadn’t tossed his love for Viv in Miranda’s face, hadn’t said an unkind word, hadn’t so much as glanced in Miranda’s direction.

So why was he so angry?

Hunter didn’t much care for the simmering contempt he held for his only brother. He paced to the stove and shoved a few sticks of wood inside. He needed coffee. Hot and black and--

No. He didn’t need coffee.

He couldn’t bear the thought of trimming the tree and pretending to be happy.

He needed to see Miranda.

Now. Tonight.

“I’m going out,” he told his mother and headed outside. He couldn’t let Miranda grieve alone. He couldn’t let his brother, who was so caught up in his own little world that he didn’t even
notice
Miranda--cause her one more shred of pain.

She meant much more to him than all that, and it was high time she knew it.

<><><><>

Hunter headed for the shed to fetch the snowshoes. He didn’t want to take the time to saddle the horse. Walking the direct route across their ranches would be faster than taking the horse on the snow-packed road.

Warren hurried down the back steps. “Hold up a minute.”

Hunter swallowed the bile burning his throat. He stopped, but didn’t trust himself to speak. Warren hadn’t hurt Miranda intentionally, Hunter reminded himself. He hadn’t even seen her.

“What’s wrong?” Warren’s concern sounded genuine.

Hunter counted to five, then ten. It was Christmas, for heaven’s sake. Warren was his only brother. He didn’t want to start the kind of fight an apology couldn’t fix.

“I’ve got to go out for awhile. I’ll be back when I can.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.”

“What did you see or hear at the service that’s got you so concerned? If you’re off to make a delivery of some kind, I can help.”

“I don’t want your help.” His words came out sharper than he intended. He paused, drew a breath, softened his voice. “I’m going to see Miranda.”

That got Warren’s attention. “Why? What’s--”

“You didn’t even see her at the service.” He knew Warren hadn’t, but it felt good to throw the jab.

“I saw the Finlays, yes. But no, I didn’t see her among them. I guess I just saw the girls and thought…”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Is she all right?”

Hunter thought of a dozen retorts--all bitter and accusatory and unkind.

He’d stood by quietly while Warren had gone about the business of falling desperately in love with Viv, of canceling his wedding to Miranda with mere hours to spare, and then marrying Viv.

He’d waited patiently while Miranda took her time in Denver. He’d figured they both needed their space and time to get past it in their own way.

He couldn’t sit quietly any longer.

Completely out of patience, he whirled on Warren. Realization struck, bitterly: he sided with Miranda, against his own flesh and blood.

“No, she’s not all right. You weren’t supposed to be there tonight. You were supposed to be home, waiting for the baby. Not at church. I would’ve kept her away--”

He heard the venom in his voice and recoiled. He fought to even out his breathing, to regain control. Tipping his face up, he stared at myriad stars blanketing the clear night sky.

Christmas Eve, and he’d picked a fight with his only brother. The brother he loved. That wasn’t like him at all.

Warren remained quiet. A verbal attack and yet he held his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Hunter whispered, meaning it. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Warren shook his head, finally giving a response.

Hunter’s stomach fell, burning with too much acid. “I didn’t mean it. I’m glad you came to church. Families should be together at Christmas.”

Warren’s soft chuckle caught Hunter unaware.

Warren offered a handshake.

Grateful for his brother’s forgiveness, Hunter clasped hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do. It’s as obvious as the nose on your face.”

“I should go.” Hunter headed toward the Finlays’.

“You love her.” Warren’s voice echoed with wonder. “You’re in love with Miranda.”

Hunter stopped, his back to his brother, breathing the crisp air and sensitized to the caress of cold wind brushing his cheeks. Every breath seemed to rasp against his ears, dry his throat and echo on the wind.

From the house, he heard Matthew squeal as his grandpa chased him through the kitchen. Still, Hunter struggled for a response. He knew what he had to say, what had to be done. He must be completely honest.

“Yes, I do love her.” He listened, unable to hear any response from Warren. He swallowed and rushed ahead, not allowing himself time to look at his words too closely. “I love her, Warren, and I always have.”

A long moment passed as the wind cut through Hunter’s coat, whispered along the snowdrifts, swirling fallen snowflakes into the air.

Snow crunched under Warren’s boots as he came closer.

Hunter couldn’t see his brother’s face in the dark, but he felt the silent questions, the accusations.

He considered heading out and ending the conversation. But things needed to be cleared between them. If Hunter would ever have a chance to claim Miranda’s heart, he had to reconcile the fact that she’d loved Warren first and had agreed to be Warren’s wife.

Hunter feared she loved Warren still.

He swallowed, fighting the tightness in his chest. He ached to go to Miranda, to comfort her, to soothe his own aching heart. But not yet. He had to apologize to his brother first.

“It wasn’t right,” Hunter said quietly. “It wasn’t right at all, but I cared for her even when she was yours.”

Warren lowered his head, seemed to think it over for a moment. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Hunter nodded. He’d kept his feelings hidden, had hoped the love for Miranda would fade.

“Miranda Finlay’s a wonderful woman.”

Hunter nodded in agreement.

“You know I love my wife,” Warren continued. “Surely you know my feelings for Miranda are completely different than they once were.”

Hunter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. A lump lodged in his throat.

Warren grasped Hunter’s shoulder. Squeezed. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

Hunter nodded, allowing himself a moment while Warren went inside.

Hunter set out, wondered at the wisdom of speaking with Miranda tonight, with his emotions so near the surface and his heart aching with the need to be with her.

Warren seemed to accept Hunter’s feelings, and for that he was grateful. But he’d seen the devastation in Miranda’s face at seeing Warren again. He couldn’t imagine asking Miranda, especially as his wife, to join him at his parents’ home.

How could he ask her to face Warren every time the family gathered for Sunday dinner?

The holidays would come around year after year. How could he ask her to share Thanksgiving feast with the man who’d betrayed her?

How could he ask her to face her painful past at every turn?

He couldn’t.

Less than a quarter of the way to the Finlay place, Hunter halted and turned back toward home. Lights burned from every window, radiating with the sense of home.

He stood, partway between Miranda and his family and knew he must prepare to make a choice. He hovered at an unseen precipice; Miranda on one side, his brother on the other.

With a heavy heart, he considered the ramifications of either choice.

He knew the love he felt for Miranda wouldn’t fade, wouldn’t ease, wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace. Ignoring his feelings hadn’t made them go away.

Warren had accepted his feelings, had all but given him his blessing. He could see his family now and again, without subjecting Miranda to anything more.

He trudged forward, silently praying she’d give him a chance. After all, he bore more than a strong resemblance to the man who’d broken her heart; he shared the same father and mother, and someday, he’d ask her for the impossible.

He’d have to ask her to marry her former fiance’s little brother.

<><><><>

In keeping with family tradition, Miranda sat with her family in the parlor, while the children donned simple nativity costumes over their Christmas dresses and suits.

Miranda couldn’t help smiling as eight-year-old Sam crawled into the room, carrying Angela on his back. Sam hung his head and moved along piteously, as if he were exhausted like Mary’s donkey must’ve been.

Miranda’s dad read the Christmas story from the Bible, his voice resonant and somber. Miranda watched her parents, snuggled side by side on the couch. Their happiness with each other was plain to see.

Just as obvious as Warren’s happiness with Viv, when they’d walked into the church earlier that evening.

Miranda averted her gaze from her parents, turning her attention to the children’s pageant, wondering at the emptiness inside her.

Christmas had never felt so empty, so devoid of life and magic and....and something she couldn’t quite name.

Her brothers and sisters, brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law crowded into the room, surrounding her with collective support. No one had specifically mentioned Warren and Viv at the service. She’d seen the worry in their eyes, felt the compassion in their touches, known they ached for her.

Funny thing was, Miranda didn’t feel all that badly. Empty, aching with an odd sort of loneliness--but not due to Warren’s absence from her life. Of that, she was very certain.

Warren had looked happy. Good for him.

Miranda didn’t feel all that unhappy. Honestly. It had been a long time since she’d loved Warren. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but her love for him had faded, ebbed until only a shell remained. Until her feelings had been knocked from the shelf and broken open on the floor, she hadn’t known how hollow they’d become. She’d seen Warren and come away from the surprise none the worse.

So why did she still ache with something she couldn’t define? She scanned the faces of her family, grateful to be home with them. Was someone missing? Silently, she counted noses. Everyone was accounted for.

She watched young Angela cradle her rag doll on cue from Grandpa’s reading.

“And there were in the same country,” her dad read, “shepherds abiding in the field.”

Her two teenage brothers, with towels draped over their heads, herded Howard’s two toddlers, wearing coats of sheepskin into place before the hearth. Miranda couldn’t help but laugh at the little boys, masquerading as sheep and
baah
-ing so loudly their mother hushed them.

Dad had just reached the passages about the host of heavenly angels when a sharp knock at the door interrupted the pageant.

Timothy, who was seated nearest the entryway, answered the door. A moment later, Hunter stepped to the doorway, his face reddened with cold, his gaze immediately locking on Miranda’s face.

He didn’t say anything, which surprised her. She watched him for a moment, feeling the intensity of his gaze, then stood.

Dad held out an arm in welcome. “Come in, come in.”

Hunter took a step into the room, his gaze sweeping the family gathered, then returning to Miranda’s face. The blue of his eyes had deepened to sapphire. He seemed lost, unable to find the words to express whatever it was that had brought him back this late.