The Christmas He Loved Her Page 3

“A friend.”

  A friend. She didn’t like the way he said it. She didn’t like the guarded look that crept into his face. Call it women’s intuition, but Raine had a feeling there was more to the story.

  “What kind of friend? An army buddy?” she asked casually.

  “No.”

  His dark eyes focused on her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable, and his one-word answer pissed her off more than it should. “You gonna elaborate, Edwards?” she pressed.

  “What is this, twenty questions?”

  She shrugged and pasted what she hoped was a sweet smile to her face. “No,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child. “It’s only one.” She paused. “Are you going to answer it?”

  His face was flushed now and a feeling of unease clutched at her stomach. Which was ridiculous—she didn’t give two shits about who he traveled with.

  “Lily was at loose ends for the holidays, so I invited her along.”

  “Lily?” Raine’s eyebrow shot up. Since when did Jake have a Lily in his life?

  She grabbed Gibson’s water dish and emptied the water she’d just filled it with. Turning on the tap, she kept her eyes on the bowl and tried to keep her voice neutral. “Your friend is a female?”

  “You already did that.”

  “What?” she snapped and turned so quickly, she spilled water all down the front of her T-shirt.

  Jake pointed to the water bowl. “You already filled that.”

  Raine set it on the counter, her cheeks flushed as she grabbed a cloth and dabbed at the large wet stain on her chest. “You’re staying for the holidays?”

  He was silent for a few moments. “Yeah, I’m staying for the holidays. Thanksgiving is a big deal to my folks, and with my dad…well, with Dad being sick, it was time.”

  “And you brought a woman, this Lily person.”

  “Yeah, I brought a woman. A woman named Lily.” Jake’s tone was sharp and he cocked his head to the side. “That a problem?”

  “Not at all. You can bring whoever the hell you want. Your social life isn’t my business.” Lips tight, Raine set Gibson’s water bowl back in its spot, aware that Jake had moved toward the front door. She followed him out to the porch, wrapping her arms around her body and trying to find some bit of warmth. He stood at the bottom of her steps and glanced up once more.

  There was no warmth in his eyes. In fact, there was nothing. Jake Edwards looked as frozen as she felt inside. He glanced at his Jeep. “I should go. It’s been…it was nice to see you again, Raine.”

  Raine’s chest was so tight, she was afraid to speak. She nodded and managed to get a few words out. “I’ll see you Thursday.” And then she turned, disappearing inside the house. She leaned against the heavy oak door, her breaths falling in short, tight spurts as she listened to Jake’s Jeep roar to life and eventually fade until nothing but silence surrounded her.

  Down the hall, the late afternoon was long in the tooth as new shadows crept over her floors. It was nearly dinnertime and she supposed she should eat…

  Instead, Raine locked the door, took her phone off the hook, and with Gibson following behind, climbed into bed without bothering to change. She pulled her heavy lime-green comforter up to her chin, shivering violently as she lay facing the empty pillow beside her.

  She heard the wall clock tick from the hallway. The wind rustling branches against the house. The creaks of her wood floors as the house shifted. These were the sounds of her life. The sounds that filled her world.

  Eventually she closed her eyes and prayed for sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Wednesday it poured buckets.

  All day long, wind and driving water lashed at Raine’s windows and shook them in their frames. The world outside was drenched in a palette of gray that consisted of fog and water. It looked like the end of the world from where she huddled beneath the heavy pile of blankets.

  Even Gibson preferred to hunker down in her bedroom, and it was an effort to get the dog out of the house to do his duty. Though, if she were to be truthful, it was more of an effort to get her own butt out of bed. But she forced herself because, given the choice, she’d rather not deal with doggie mess in the house.

  Wrapping herself in a heavy coat and walking the dog outside would prove to be the extent of her exercise for the day, not that she cared. The funk that had been hanging over her head for months was slowly getting bigger, thicker, and she just didn’t have the energy to deal with it.

  So she chose not to. As Scarlett O’Hara had once said, tomorrow was another day, and she’d deal with it later. Raine let the cloud of fatigue and cold settle on her shoulders and huddled beneath her covers with the dog as midmorning crept into late afternoon.

  She dozed off and on, her body sluggish, her limbs cold. At one point she crawled from beneath the heavy blankets and changed out of her jeans and T-shirt, throwing on a pair of thermal pajamas that drowned her slight frame but offered a modicum of warmth.

  She was so damn cold, and no matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to get warm. Gibson cuddled with her when he wasn’t tearing around the room, his puppy growls and excited barks incredibly annoying. He brought her chew toys, squeaky things that she’d bought him, but she pushed them away or tossed them over the side of the bed. She ignored him for the most part and fell back asleep as the storm continued to shake her windows.

  Much later, when the gray shadows outside fell into her room, draping everything in early evening gloom, she woke with a start. Rubbing her eyes, Raine blinked rapidly as she stared at the neon-green display from the clock beside her bed. It read six thirty.

  She groaned and stretched her tight muscles. Had she really been in bed all day?

  Gibson jumped up beside her and whimpered, his huge dark eyes staring at her solemnly, his chubby tail wagging crazily as he lunged upward, trying his best to lick whatever part of her face he could reach. She grabbed him and held him close, drinking in the puppy smell that still clung to his thick golden fur. For a second he settled in her arms, his cold nose wet against the crook of her neck, his warm body still.

  The lump that had sat in the back of her throat since the night before swelled and she nearly choked from the size of it. Tears welled in her eyes as Gibson nuzzled her neck and made those adorable puppy whimpers that she’d come to love.

  Had she even fed him?

  With a groan, Raine slid from the bed and for the first time became aware of someone pounding on her front door. She pushed a mass of dark hair from her eyes and shuffled down the hall, Gibson following dutifully behind her.

  The wooden floors were cold beneath her bare toes, and she shivered as she entered the kitchen and flipped the light switch. The warm glow that fell from the new ceiling fixtures made her wince, as did the increased ferocity of the pounding that came from her foyer.

  “Jesus, hold your horses.” Irritated, Raine marched down the short hallway and undid the dead bolt. Almost immediately, her door was thrown open, and she took a step back as a gust of wind pushed hard, bringing with it raindrops that hit her face so hard, they felt like ice pellets.

  “My God, Raine. I’ve been calling for hours. Are you all right? I was worried.”

  Raine stared at her mother and fought the urge to slam the door closed. The woman stood before her dressed from head to toe in vibrant yellow rubber. From the tip of her rain hat and coat to the bottom of her knee-high wellies—the woman looked like a giant rain-slicked condom.

  The door closed behind her mother, and Raine watched silently as she shrugged out of her wet gear. She hung her jacket on the coatrack, left her boots on the small area rug in front of the door, and wrung out the long braid that fell over her shoulder. The ends were drenched, and a good amount of water fell onto the rug.

  Gloria Delgotto’s olive skin was pale, her lips pinched, and Raine wondered how long she’d been sta
nding on her porch.

  “Raine…” her mother started quietly.

  Here we go.

  “I’ve been calling all day. Is there something wrong with your phone?”

  Raine turned and headed toward the kitchen, mostly out of habit, since she wasn’t hungry and had no intention of eating. She grabbed the phone off the counter, aware of her mother’s eyes on her, and very carefully, with much exaggeration, placed it back on the cradle. She reached for the kettle and filled it with water.

  “Are you having tea, Gloria?” Raine knew it bothered the woman that she refused to call her mother and yet how could she? Gloria had been on another continent for most of Raine’s life, taking care of someone else’s little girls. She hadn’t called Gloria Mother or anything like it since she was fifteen and Gloria had left for the Sudan for the tenth time in as many years. Gloria Delgotto was no more a mother than…

  Than I’ll ever be.

  Raine cleared her throat as she turned to Gloria. Vibrant blue eyes stared back at her, though at the moment they were shadowed with what she supposed was concern and maybe more than a little dose of gratitude.

  “Tea would be lovely.” Gloria moved until she was on the other side of the island and pulled out one of the rich-brown pub stools. She settled onto it and watched in silence as Raine grabbed two mugs and two tea bags from the cupboard.

  While waiting for the water to boil, Raine filled Gibson’s food dish, feeling a little guilty as the puppy dove in with gusto, his eyes full of appreciation as he wolfed down his meal in between whimpers of delight.

  Big fail on her part as she realized not only that she hadn’t fed the dog, but that his water dish was bone-dry. A sigh escaped her lips as she filled his stainless-steel bowl. Maybe Jake was right after all.

  “Have you eaten today?”

  Raine glanced at her mother sharply. “What?”

  Gloria’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, but then paused and stared at Raine in silence. Her scrutiny made Raine uncomfortable, and she blushed when she looked down and realized she’d buttoned her pajama top incorrectly. The ends were misaligned and there were gaps between the buttons.

  Her hair was a tangled mess, and if she were brutally honest, she’d have to admit that she didn’t exactly smell all that good either.

  “Raine,” her mother said gently. “Have you eaten today?”

  Raine ignored her mother and fixed her pajama top before pouring the steaming water into their cups and tossing the tea bags inside. She grabbed milk and sugar and set them on the countertop—if memory served, her mother liked her tea sweet, with loads of milk.

  The hot mug felt wonderful in her hands and she took a tentative sip, her eyes lowered, her mind racing for ways to get rid of Gloria as soon as teatime was over. She just didn’t have the energy to deal with her, and even if she had…she didn’t want to.

  “Raine.” Her mother’s voice was sharper, and with a sigh, she glanced up. She really was too tired for this.

  “Look, Gloria, I know you think at some point over the next little while we’re going to miraculously bond or something, but honestly, it’s not going to happen, so…”

  Gloria took a sip of her tea and set the mug down. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Irritation sliced through Raine, bringing with it a wave of dizziness. She exhaled slowly and held on to the mug, focusing on the warmth. “What do you care if I’ve eaten or not?”

  Gloria paused. “You look awful, Raine.”

  “Gee, say what you mean, already.” Raine pursed her lips and glared at her mother. Seriously, what gave her the right? “I’ve come down with a bug.”

  “Would this bug be called depression?”

  Okay, now the woman was getting more than a little too familiar. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway?

  “No, it would be called the flu.”

  “The flu.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, that’s not very pleasant. Why don’t you let me look after you?” Gloria took another sip, though her eyes never left her daughter.

  Raine knew where her mother was going with this, and it wasn’t going to work. She’d done just fine without Gloria Delgotto for most of her life, and there was no way in hell she was going to swoop in and play Nurse Nightingale at the eleventh hour because of some guilt trip that had taken thirty years to materialize.

  “Nope.” Raine shook her head. “It’s more like the twenty-four-hour thing. I’m good.”

  “You don’t look good.”

  The irritation inside Raine exploded, and she slammed her mug onto the counter so hard her mother winced as hot tea sloshed over the side and pooled on the granite.

  “Gloria, let me share a secret with you. I don’t have to look good for anybody. I live alone, and Gibson doesn’t care what the hell I look like as long as I rub his belly now and again and feed him on a regular basis.” She leaned closer. “I don’t care that I look like crap, and neither should you.”

  Her mother moved around the island and grabbed a cloth from the kitchen sink. Raine stepped out of the way and watched sullenly as Gloria cleaned up the spilled tea.

  “I hear Jake Edwards is back in town.”

  “Didn’t take you long to plug in to the local grapevine.”

  “Mrs. Lancaster saw him downtown yesterday with some blond woman, and she told me when I stopped in for prayer meeting last night.” Gloria faced her daughter. “I know he means a lot to you. Has he been here? Have you seen him?”

  Raine clenched her teeth so tightly that pain radiated along her jaw. None of this was her mother’s business, but she knew Gloria enough to know she wouldn’t leave until she got what she came for. Raine decided to cut to the chase.

  “I’m not discussing Jake Edwards—or Jesse for that matter—with you, so if there’s anything else…”

  “You’re not all right.”

  No shit.

  “What I am”—Raine leaned forward and spoke carefully—“is none of your concern.”

  She saw the pain in her mother’s eyes, saw how they filled with the shiny, unmistakable sheen of tears, and still she plunged forward. She couldn’t help herself.

  “I haven’t been your concern for a very, very long time, Gloria, so let’s stop pretending. I don’t need you.”

  “I’m your mother and I’m trying—”

  “I don’t need you to hold my hand. Not now. I needed that a long time ago.” Raine gripped the edge of the granite countertop for support. “I needed you when I was eight and Auntie Jeanine’s dog was run over by the school bus. I saw the whole thing and cried for days. I needed you when I was in ninth grade and got my period during gym class. Everybody knew, including Liam Atkinson.” Raine paused as the old memory washed through her mind. She’d been teased mercilessly by some of the more popular girls, and Liam had dumped her like a hot potato.

  “I needed you when Auntie Jeanine got ill. When she was puking every hour on the hour because she couldn’t take the chemo. That’s when I needed you.”

  “Raine, if I could have been here, I would have, but I couldn’t leave the Sudan. Our mission would have fallen apart, and all those children… I couldn’t…I couldn’t let that happen.”

  But what about me?

  Raine shook her head. “You keep telling yourself that.”

  Gloria carefully folded the cloth in her hand and set it on the countertop. “You’re never going to forgive me.”

  “Is that what this is about? Your need to be forgiven?”

  Unbelievable.

  Raine shoved past her mother and paused near the short hall that led to the bedrooms at the back of the house. “You’ll never change. Your being here isn’t about me. It’s not about whether or not I look like shit or that I feel a hundred times worse than I look. It’s not about Jesse dying and leaving
me alone. Or about Jake, or wanting to know when I ate last. It’s not about the fact that my life disappeared and I’ve never felt so lost or so useless.” Gibson rested his butt on her feet and she scooped him into her arms. “Those are the things that a real mother would worry about.”

  “Raine.” Her mother’s voice broke.

  “I can’t do this with you, Gloria. You’re only here to ease your conscience, and I can’t help you with that.” Raine took a second, afraid that she’d break down as the pressure inside her built. “In order to forgive you, I’d have to care, and I’m sorry but I just”—she shrugged—“I just don’t.”

  Gloria’s face whitened.

  The hole inside Raine yawned open, and she knew she needed to disappear before her mother figured out what a big fat liar she was. “You can let yourself out.”

  She escaped down the hall, shut herself in the bathroom, and let Gibson down. For several long moments she leaned against the door, eyes closed, breathing erratically, until slowly she straightened and turned on the tap in the bathtub.

  It filled with hot, steaming water, and after locking the door, Raine slipped beneath the soothing surface and emptied her mind. Everything drifted away except the silky hot liquid that melted her bones and massaged sore, tight muscles. Nearly an hour later she wrapped herself in a thick, bright pink, terry robe and made her way down the hall back toward her kitchen.

  Outside the rain and wind still pounded her home, and inside her soul the conflicting emotions she’d warred with her entire life still raged.

  Raine glanced into her kitchen. The lights were on low, casting warmth over the cool, shiny surface of stainless steel and granite. A plate sat in the center of her island, boasting a triple-decker sandwich wrapped in plastic and a note.

  There’s chili in the microwave. Homemade from Dante’s Grill.

  Mom.

  She stared at the sandwich until it blurred, and she sniffled loudly as one solitary tear wove its way down her cheek. With Gibson running around her feet, she settled into one of the pub chairs and, though she wasn’t hungry, reached for the plate.