His Holiday Heart. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
that about Lucy, that she could see Montana’s heritage and history and respected it. But on a safer level, he couldn’t let himself admit to such a thing. “Probably because she writes those historical books, moving here makes her job easier. That’s all.”
“Even you don’t believe that one. I know you, Spence. You push everyone away. You keep all of us at a distance.” There was more than pity on Katherine’s face now. There was love. “Maybe you could try letting someone in. I’m not saying it has to be Lucy, but if you did, I don’t think it would be a mistake.”
His throat ached. He thought back over the evening with Lucy in his truck. She had a companionable air to her. She was easy to talk with—even if he didn’t talk much. She was gentle and kind and funny. He had said more to her than he’d said to any woman outside his family in a good decade. She’d made him almost smile. At least twice. Maybe more. She made the cold places in his heart ache to be less lonely.
She was definitely a woman he needed to stay away from. He swallowed hard against the emotion bunched in his throat and lifted his hand in farewell. “See you tomorrow, Kath.”
The moment he felt the driving snow beat against his face, he tried to tell himself that Katherine might mean well, but she was wrong. He didn’t need anyone. He was happy with his life. He was glad to be alone.
The trouble was that loneliness was getting bigger and bigger, and tonight it felt enormous. The wind howled, chasing snow into drifts as he fought through the accumulation to his waiting truck. The lights behind him faded into darkness. By the time he’d tumbled into the cab and started the engine, he was colder than he’d ever been. He wanted to tell himself it was the weather, but it was more. It was the loneliness beating at him, the loneliness that hadn’t felt so bad before tonight. Maybe it was because he’d been so numb to it.
That was Lucy’s doing, too.
He started the truck, letting the defroster blast on high as he wiped down the windows again with another towel from beneath his seat. It was impossible not to remember Lucy watching him as if he’d sprouted another ear when he’d meticulously wiped down his side of the truck.
He supposed a woman like her wasn’t used to being practical. Katherine’s words stuck with him and hurt like a blade dug deep. Maybe you could try letting someone in. I’m not saying it has to be Lucy, but if you did, I don’t think it would be a mistake.
He couldn’t imagine a bigger one. Lucy was a writer, an author. In that way, she was just like his mother had been. She was someone seeking attention and fame and all the things that didn’t matter in life.
So what if he liked her? Nothing could ever come of it. He wasn’t foolish enough to let anyone too close to him—and never a woman chasing after dreams. No, he was a man who believed in what was real, in what mattered and in what could be measured by hard work. He didn’t approve of dreams.
Snow beat with impossible force against the windshield, and he started out in low gear, going slowly. He struggled to see the road at all.
The darkness seemed endless tonight, and he felt small and alone as he drove three streets down and five blocks over.
“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Rebecca was saying from the hallway. “There are extra towels in the side cabinets and a new toothbrush in the top drawer on the left side of the sink.”
“You are very well-equipped for visitors.” Lucy couldn’t help being impressed. “My guest room is full of cardboard boxes I haven’t unpacked yet.”
“The munchkins stay over now and then. My nephew and niece,” she explained.
“It must be wonderful that you’re so close to them.”
“And that’s the way it’s going to stay.” She stopped at the guest bathroom door and stepped inside to put a new tube of toothpaste on the counter. “I’m getting married in January, and one of the first things Chad said when we were talking about how we were going to fit all his stuff in this condo was that there had to be room for the munchkins to stay over.”
“And soon there will be more nieces and nephews to dote on.” Lucy thought of the McKaslin twins, Ava and Aubrey, who were now both expecting.
“Yes. Spence has said that we’re going to be outnumbered soon.” There was an electronic chime.
“Is that your handsome fiancé?”
“Sending me a text message.” Rebecca’s heart-shaped face brightened with unmistakable happiness from unmistakable love. “That means he’s home safe.”
“He wants you to call him. Go.” Lucy remembered what it was like to be young and in love. “I can take it from here.”
“Thanks, Lucy.” Rebecca was already heading down the hall. “Just interrupt if you need something. Promise?”
“Promise.” Lucy stepped into the guest room with twin beds against two walls and a large window framed with floral-printed curtains.
She smiled at the flannel pajamas on the foot of one bed—still in its wrapping. Rebecca was surely a thoughtful hostess. The McKaslins were a nice family. She was looking forward to tomorrow, even when it came to Spence. He was a serious mystery, and the glimpses she had seen of him had more than intrigued her. They had shown her a snapshot of sorrow she could not help being touched by.
Everyone had a story; everyone knew sorrow. She knew that, but when it came to Spence, oftentimes it was easy to believe the cold, invincible face he presented to the world. She went to close the door, and the lights blinked out. Darkness descended, blotting out every shadow. She froze, disoriented. She didn’t know her way out of the room, and if she took a step with her luck she would bang right into the door.
Rebecca’s voice floated down the hallway. She was still on the phone. “No, sweetheart, don’t come over. Stay where you’re warm. Lucy and I will be fine. I’ve got a flashlight and batteries right here, thanks to Spence.”
Spence. Thanks to him there was a small light flashing to life at the end of the hall, chasing away the darkness. Whatever his flaws, he sure took good care of his family. Why hadn’t he married? Why did a bachelor own a house in a family neighborhood? Why did he walk around like a disgruntled grinch on Christmas Eve? Like Scrooge counting his money?
It was a mystery, and there was nothing she liked more—other than a good romance, but that went without saying. She opened the door and made her way toward the light.
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