Homefront Holiday. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
him so well, she could read how unhappy he was to be here. How unhappy he was to be near her.
She filled three glasses with milk, holding her feelings still as the man and boy toweled off and tromped her way.
“I see Clarence is still ruling the roost.” Mike took the chair across the table from her—his chair.
She swallowed hard, determined to stay in the present. The trouble was, the man who sat across from her looked changed, too. The year had been a hard one. He didn’t need to say a word for her to know. Sympathy wrapped around her heart, taking it over. What happened to him? She waited for Ali to climb into his chair, the cutie. Mike wasn’t the only one who had changed. The little boy looked ten times happier with his hero at the table.
Life had a way of changing everyone, she realized. The last year had been hard for all three of them. Ali had lost his family and survived heart surgery. Mike had the Army and all that he had seen in a war zone. And she had learned how to live without the man she loved. Without a major piece of her soul.
“We say grace, Mike,” she said gently as he reached for his glass of milk.
“Grace?” Surprise momentarily chased away the hardness on his face. “You say grace now?”
“I’m a Christian now.” She wondered if he remembered the few times they had attended Sunday services at the church in town.
“That’s a change.” His tone was neutral and his face as unreadable as stone.
“A lot of things have changed since you’ve been gone.” She wished she could be the strong, unaffected woman she wanted to be. But the truth was, she would always be vulnerable and moved by Dr. Mike Montgomery.
She bowed her head, folded her hands, and said the blessing.
“What do you think, buddy?” On top of the ladder perched against Sarah’s roofline, Mike waited patiently for the boy down below to appraise his handiwork.
Ali’s face scrunched up as he thought. “I like the red ones.”
Mike considered the gigantic red bulbs that glowed like Rudolph’s nose in the gathering twilight—or about fifty Rudolph’s noses. “Do you want me to put the multicolored strings up on the porch?”
“No. I want ’em here.” Ali padded over to point up at the roofline. “I want ’em both.”
“Up here, together?”
“Yep.”
Mike noticed Clarence was still on his cushion. The cat’s ears had gone back as if he understood the conversation perfectly. “Any chance I can change your mind?”
“No.” Ali’s charming grin clinched it.
“Fine. You’re the boss.” Mike grinned back. “I’m comin’ down for them.”
He had no sooner touched his boots to the ground when Ali, bouncing in place, held up a handful of the smaller twinkle lights. The kid radiated so much joy that his feet were leaving the ground. Mike was glad he’d decided to come. He loved the boy like a son. What was that, compared with his own awkwardness around Sarah? He was a soldier; he could handle it.
“These are blinkers,” Ali explained. “Sarah said that was special.”
Mike chuckled, fighting the instinct to glance to the house where the front windows might afford him a view of her. It was habit, nothing more. He took the string of lights Ali offered. He could picture Sarah standing in the store saying “that was special,” with a roll of her eyes, putting a bright face on everything, even her personal dislike of flashing things.
After he unplugged the extension cord, he tested the ladder just to be sure before climbing back on it. Sarah might not like blinkers, but he wasn’t overly fond of heights.
He had to keep his gaze down, on the porch, as he made his way back to the top of the ladder, fighting to keep from looking for her through the windows. Clarence grimaced at Mike and gave him a disgruntled hiss.
“I’m not steppin’ on his tail.” Ali tipped his head back to explain seriously.
“I see that.” Mike braced his body against the roof and plugged the new string into the outlet of the red.
“I did that once when I first come.” Ali had kept up a steady stream of talk all the while the first layer of lights had gone up. Looked like he was about to do the same the whole evening through.
Mike grinned. “I bet Clarence didn’t like that.”
“Nope. He didn’t get hurt, but I didn’t mean it.” Ali gulped. “So’s I look down now. So I don’t trip on him.”
“That’s mighty thoughtful of you.”
“Yeah.” Ali sighed, as if pleased with himself.
Mike felt his grin stretch wider across his face. His chest hitched a notch, but Ali’s place was with Sarah. And if there was one place that Mike didn’t belong, it was here. How was he going to explain that to the kid?
He was at a loss. He hooked the coated wire through the plastic hook he’d inserted earlier beneath the edge of shingles and went onto the next. He didn’t want to think about a future without Ali. It was as bleak as the one without Sarah. Sadness flattened him.
No emotions allowed, Montgomery. Remember? Mike hooked in the next length of wire, stretched it out. He peered down through the space between his feet to the little supervisor down below. “How does it look, boss? Okay?”
“Okay.” Ali gave him a thumbs-up. “They gonna blink, right?”
“When I plug ’em in they will.”
“I can’t wait.” Ali danced in place, unable to keep still, getting close to Clarence, whose ears returned to their normal position. The cat lifted his head expectantly.
How about that? Mike mused as he descended the ladder to move it over a few feet. The prickly feline liked five-year-old boys. Through all the years he had dated Sarah, he had always thought Clarence was opposed to all human males in general. Apparently it was just him.
Yep, he thought as his boots hit the ground and the cat’s ears went back. It’s just me.
The good news for Clarence was that after tonight, he would never need to be disgruntled over Mike visiting again. He hiked the ladder over and started back up. “Are you and Clarence good buddies?”
“He loves me.” Ali gave the fuzzy cat a gentle squeeze.
Clarence squinted his eyes, tolerating the affection. Mike shook his head, grasping the next ladder rung, and his gaze fell on the front window. This was a different angle, and there was Sarah setting a serving tray on the coffee table. He caught a glimpse of decorated chocolate cupcakes on plastic cartoon plates, bright yellow paper napkins and a small dish of Christmas-colored candies, and Sarah.
She was still as enchanting as ever with her floral-patterned furniture and ruffles everywhere, of her favorite books—children’s books, of course—on the built-in bookcase next to the fireplace, nearby so she could read them anytime. She moved to the fireplace and hit a light switch. Gas flames curled over logs, the soft light haloing her like the dream she used to be for him.
She was a hard habit to break. He’d thought he had accomplished that. That had been the best thing about his deployment—he didn’t have time to think about her and dwell on what he’d lost. He’d gotten over her.
Or so he’d thought. But not enough, apparently. He pried his gaze away and carefully worked the kink out of the light string. Now he could see there was still debris left from the breakup. Debris he had to clean out like shrapnel from an open wound. With each cut of his scalpel, he had to remove every last bit. It was that simple. Sad, true, but it had to be done. There was no other way.
Chapter Three
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