A Ranger For The Holidays. Allie PleiterЧитать онлайн книгу.
wants? And to tell the truth—” she gave him one of her wide-eyed, I-can’t-help-myself-from-helping looks “—I just plain think you shouldn’t be left on your own.” She pulled her silver SUV into the garage. “Gramps loves a mystery and no one even uses the upstairs bedrooms anymore. Besides, even if there was a hotel in town, what if some traumatic accident memory comes back to you in the middle of the night? Who’d want that in some cold hotel room all alone? I couldn’t forgive myself if I let that happen.”
One fact had become relentlessly clear: trying to stop Amelia Klondike from lending a hand to a soul she thought in need was like trying to stop a buffalo stampede with a flyswatter. It couldn’t be done—not without getting trampled. It won’t be for long, Finn told himself. Things are coming back to you. It’d be rude to refuse, right? She’s been so nice. From out of nowhere, Finn got the sense that he hadn’t had much home comfort of late—a vague impression of microwave bachelor food and bare-bones furniture pushed its way into his consciousness. He shivered—as if his body remembered the cold of the place without his brain remembering where that place was.
“What was that?”
Finn blinked, pulling himself back from the—the what? Memory? Hunch?—to see Amelia staring at him with a startled concern in her eyes. “What was what?” he asked, knowing that would do nothing to stave off her questioning.
She cut the car’s ignition. “Your whole face changed just now. And you shivered. You remembered something, didn’t you?”
It bothered him that she could see it. He wanted the return of his memories to be private. He was a private person—that much he knew. “I’m not sure.” It was no lie—he wasn’t sure what that flash in his brain was. “Except I think I live alone. And...not very well.”
Her voice changed, going all soft and warm in a way that got under his skin. “What did you just remember?”
He didn’t want to tell her, but the image rattled so loudly in his head it had to come out. “When you said that about waking up alone in the dark upset. I’ve done that. Or used to do that. A lot.”
“Oh, Finn. Do you know why?” Her eyes were so bittersweet, as if she knew exactly how it felt to be alone in the dark missing someone.
Missing someone? Where had that come from? Was it B? Was B gone from his life, whomever she was? Was that why no one was looking for him?
He caught her eyes again, feeling unmoored and too much at the mercy of randomly returning memories. He shifted his eyes to his hands and willed his fingers to unclench from their white-knuckled curl. “I don’t think I was a very happy man.” He wanted to take back the words the moment they escaped. To not know so much but to know that? What kind of torture was it going to be like to have things trickle back like this? “I don’t like Christmas.” He needed her to know how hard this was right now. Everything was messed up—he wanted company and he needed to be alone. He needed to remember but didn’t like what was coming back to him.
She blinked at him, unable to accept the thought. “Everybody likes Christmas.”
“I didn’t. I don’t. I mean...” Finn blew out a breath, the exhaustion welling up over him again. “I don’t know what I mean.”
“I’m sure I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through. It’s got to be so hard. But if there’s anything I do know, Finn, it’s that hard things are harder alone.” The dark, hard edge showed in the corners of her eyes again, the way it had whenever they talked about the possibility of him being in law enforcement. He’d noticed that little detail like he’d noticed a dozen others—how she avoided talking about herself, how she curled a finger around her hair when she got nervous, how everyone spoke about her in tones of veiled “bless her heart” pity.
Maybe that was why he felt such an affinity for her; she’d been knocked down by something but was fighting to stay up. He wasn’t very good at that fight but she was; she hadn’t let whatever it was beat her down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let a bit of that optimism rub off on him.
A wedge of light spilled on the car, and Finn looked up to see an older man standing in the door that led to the house. He could see more Christmas decorations behind the man, even from here. The urge to run was as strong as the urge to go inside. Not knowing quite who he was seemed to push every emotion closer to the surface, and he was too tired to fight it.
“Come inside,” Amelia coaxed. “If you still want to leave in the morning, we’ll talk about it. It’s almost supper and you need food and rest.”
The scents of a home kitchen wafted through the garage as he hauled himself out of the car and Finn’s stomach growled. He winced as he grabbed the tiny “luggage” the hospital had given him—sad to note all his current possessions fit into the small plastic bag.
“Finn, is it?” called the old man, leaning on a cane. He had Amelia’s eyes and a head full of bushy gray hair.
“Yes, sir.”
The man waved the formality off. “Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me. Luther’ll be just fine.” He held out a hand with thick, wrinkled fingers and shook Finn’s with a strong grip. “Tough go you’ve had there, son. I could barely believe it when Amelia told me.” He hobbled into the kitchen, motioning for Finn to follow.
A holiday home decor tidal wave assaulted Finn’s eyes, bringing a surge of nauseated panic to clutch at Finn’s throat.
“It gets worse every year,” Luther remarked, his expression telling Finn that he hadn’t hid his reaction well. “I feel like I’m living in a department store window some days.”
Pine boughs, candy canes and red ribbon seemed to erupt from every available surface. A miniature tree with tiny ornaments stood in the center of the kitchen table while lights twinkled from every window.
Amelia bustled in behind him, her face a mix of pride and embarrassment given the admission he’d just made in the car. “I admit,” she said with a raised eyebrow, “I enjoy the holidays.”
“I think we went past ‘enjoy’ four years ago.” Luther gave Amelia an indulgent kiss on the cheek. “Now it’s closer to ‘obsess.’ Gets it from her mother, God rest her soul.”
Amelia set another bakery box down on the counter—more experimental pie slices?—and shucked off her coat. “Gramps says all the Klondike men married women with the gift for ornamentation.”
The gift for ornamentation. That was one way to put it. Finn fished for some kind of well-mannered compliment to pay the display, but came up short. When the kitchen clock struck the hour by playing “Joy to the World,” he wanted to shut his eyes and run from the room. But what good would that do? The rest of the house would likely offer the same festive assault.
A series of snuffles and small barks came from another part of the house, and a fat dog with bulging eyes waddled into the room.
“Bug, say hello to our new friend Finn.”
Bug, who looked as if his face was permanently pushed up against some invisible glass window, sniffed noisily around Finn’s boots, a pig-curly tail twitching in curiosity. Finn reached down and let the dog sniff his hand. “Hi there, Bug.” Bug, of course, sported a red collar dotted with green Christmas trees and a shiny silver bell.
Bug’s interest in Finn lasted only until Amelia lifted the lid off a Crock-Pot on the counter, sending a spicy, beefy aroma into the air. That sent Bug to jumping at Amelia’s feet, hoping for a taste. Finn couldn’t blame the dog for his enthusiasm. Real food. Maybe he could put up with the Yuletide high tide if it came with good home cooking. He owed it to himself—and to Amelia—to at least try.
“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Gramps, why don’t you show Finn to his room and he can settle in.”
“Less decorations up there, I think,” Luther said as he headed for a banister wrapped in red and gold ribbon.