The Christmas He Loved Her Read online

  Chapter 4

  The smell of turkey greeted Jake as he made his way downstairs. It was barely six in the morning, yet he’d been up for hours. Sleep and Jake Edwards were pretty much at odds these days. Hell, most nights he dreaded closing his eyes, because he couldn’t deal with the images burned into the back of his brain. It was why he worked out like a dog, pushing his body to the point of exhaustion in the hope that when he finally relented and hit the sack, his mind would shut off too.

  But even then it was a gamble. How many nights had he been ripped from sleep, drenched in sweat with the smell of fear in his nostrils and the taste of agony on his tongue?

  With a sigh, he ran his hand over the rough stubble along his jaw. As an Army Ranger, his mind and body had been honed into a weapon that worked with little or no sleep, yet sometimes, he’d have given his left arm for one undisturbed night in the sack. For some small measure of peace.

  “Not today,” he muttered.

  Outside, the early November morning still darkened the large bay windows in the dining room. The sun came late to these parts of Michigan at this time of year, and with storm clouds still lingering, it was darker than usual.

  Jake cleared the bottom step out of habit and avoided the squeak with ease, a rare smile claiming his mouth as he did so. How many times had he and Jesse come home way too late or way too drunk and struggled to avoid the loose bottom step as well as the second one from the top?

  He shook his head. More times than he could remember.

  There was a soft glow from the kitchen and he paused, watching his mother work. She was surrounded by mixing bowls and a host of ingredients, her dark hair pulled off her face with a clip, and a smudge of flour on her nose. She worked carefully, methodically, with the same ease she put into everything, as she kneaded the dough and stretched it out across the large wood surface.

  There were new lines around her mouth and eyes, carved deeper into her flesh than he’d have liked, and he supposed he had a hand in them as well. On top of his brother’s death, there was his father’s illness to deal with. The prostate cancer had been caught early, but still, it was a worry. In a crap year that had seen him disappoint many, his mother was the one person he wished he’d been stronger for.

  Liar. There was also Raine…

  She looked up suddenly and smiled. “Coffee’s on, honey.”

  Jake dropped a kiss on her cheek and poured them both a cup before settling across from her. “Bird smells good.”

  Marnie nodded. “Sure does.”

  “What did you name it this year?”

  Her hands stilled as her smile widened, and for a moment he fell backward into a pile of bittersweet memories.

  “Mommy, I don’t like Victoria. That’s a sissy name for a sissy bird, right Jesse?”

  His brother ignored Jake, angling closer for the real prize—the one cooling on the counter next to their mother.

  “Now you listen to me, young man. Victoria is far from a sissy name. In fact, your great-grandmother’s name was Victoria, and though the two of you don’t remember her, she was a very, very strong woman.”

  “I still don’t like it.” He turned to Jesse, who was perched at the counter, reaching for the fresh baked pie and the flattened crust sprinkled with brown sugar and cinnamon. “You got any ideas?”

  Jesse snuck a piece of crust, stuffed it into his mouth, and thought about it for a moment. “Why don’t we call it Vicki?”

  “No way, dodo head, that’s even more sissy than Victoria.” Jake scrunched his face together, mind whirling with all the possibilities. “I got it!” He high-fived Jesse and beamed up at his mother. “We’ll call the turkey Vic.”

  “Jake? Did you hear what I said?”

  The pictures in his mind faded quickly, the colors bleeding into gray like the fog that drifted beyond the window. Only the echoes of voices remained, long-dead whispers of another time and place, and he shook his head in an effort to clear them.

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  His mother stared at him for several long moments, her eyes shadowing in the kind of pain he knew all too well. She whispered softly, “Franklin.”

  “Franklin?” Jake nodded slowly. “I like it.”

  “Good.” She smiled once more and continued to knead her dough. “Good, I’m glad.”

  “How’s Dad this morning?”

  “He sleeps a little later these days, but he’s doing all right.” Her eyebrows swept low. “He’s going to be okay.”

  Jake took another swig of coffee and then slid to his feet. “Is there anything I can help you with?” It didn’t feel right to sit and watch her do all the work.

  Marie glanced toward the baking pans behind him. “You can grease those for me, so I can get these buns to rising.”

  They worked in silence, mother and son, and he’d just finished greasing the last pan when she cleared her throat. It was a subtle, careful hint, but he knew it for what it was. She wanted to talk, and judging by the serious glint in her eye, she sure as hell didn’t want to talk about Franklin the turkey.

  She poured them each a second mug of coffee, set the cream and sugar in front of him, and sat down.

  “So,” she began.

  Cold sweat ran down Jake’s neck, and for a second, the hard fist of pain twisted inside him. He concentrated on doling out the required sugar and cream, dreading what was coming. They’d never discussed Afghanistan, and he was sure she, as a mother, wanted to know exactly what had happened to Jesse, not what had been in some official report. She’d want to know the circumstance…the cause and effect.

  Jake just didn’t know if he was man enough to tell her the truth.

  She leaned in close, her eyes earnest. “You have to tell me about this girl you’ve brought home.”

  Jake swallowed a mouthful of coffee and wiped the corner of his mouth as he grabbed a muffin from the basket in front of him.

  Shit, damn, and fuck. Okay. This wasn’t what he had expected. He thought after he’d escaped the night before with only a few questions, there wouldn’t be any more.

  Miscalculation on his part. He began to pick off the raisins, contemplating his reply, but his mother beat him to it.

  “She’s…” Marnie began and then paused as if searching for the right words. “She seems…nice.”

  Jake smiled at that. Leave it to his mother to sugarcoat it. Lily St. Clare wasn’t nice. She wasn’t warm and fuzzy, and she certainly didn’t inspire thoughts of puppies and rainbows. He took a bite of his muffin and spoke. “Lily is an acquired taste.”

  Actually, she was more than an acquired taste. The woman had more walls around her than anyone he knew, except maybe his buddy Mackenzie. Lily was from old Boston money, the kind that breeds anxiety, paranoia, and plain old-fashioned craziness. She’d told Jake once that it was a direct result of the Southern blood that had infiltrated the family back in the 1800s. There was some sort of scandal, and the bloodline had been tainted.

  Or at least that’s what she’d been told.

  Yes, Lily St. Clare appeared as cold and brittle as the crisp blond facade she presented to the world, but Jake knew better. At a time when he’d been drowning in darkness, on the edge of free-falling down endless bottles of tequila, she’d been the one to pull him out. She understood pain. And loss.

  They were two of a kind, with skeletons rattling hard and scars beneath the flesh that only X-ray vision could see.

  “Where did you meet her?”

  Jake paused, swiped the mess he’d made on the counter into the palm of his hand, and rose. “I met her in a hospital in Texas.”

  He felt the weight of his mother’s eyes on him as he tossed the crumbs into the garbage and then turned, his hip leaning against the edge of the sink as he contemplated his next words. “Her brother was in my unit. He was hurt in the incident that, uh…” Jake clear
ed his throat roughly, hating the weakness—the tightness—inside him. “He was hurt in the incident that took Jesse.”

  “And he was brought back to Texas?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’d sit with him every day for hours at a time, just shooting the shit, talking nonstop.” Pain pressed hard into his chest and he exhaled. “Hell, I talked so much, I got sick of hearing my own damn voice, so when this blonde showed up and took over, well, let’s just say we bonded in that small, sterile hospital room.”

  His mother rinsed out her mug. “So are the two of you…” She picked at an invisible crumb and swept it into the sink. “I mean, you never said anything when I showed Lily to the guest room last night, but you’re a grown man, and if the two of you are serious…”

  Jake smiled—a full-on, wide-eyed smile—and cocked his head to the side. “What are you trying to say, Ma? That it’s okay if I want to score me some action in your house?”

  “What?” Marnie’s eyes widened and she blushed a pretty shade of pink that just about made his day. Hell, it made his whole week.

  He couldn’t help himself. “Because I’d be fine with that, if Lily and I were involved, but we’re not, so”—he patted his mother’s shoulders—“you can relax. She’s just a friend who was at loose ends for the holidays and I didn’t want her to be alone, so I figured the more the merrier. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “No, of course not. No one should ever be alone on Thanksgiving.” His mother’s forehead furled and she bit her lip as if contemplating her next question. He could have saved her the bother, because he sure as hell knew where she was headed, but he loved watching her.

  “Is she really…” Marnie found another invisible crumb, which she promptly took care of. “Well, your father told me she was on one of those silly reality television shows. Is that true?”

  Jake shook his head. “No. That would be her sister.” He gave his mother a quick hug. “I’m going to head out for a run before I shower.”

  “All right, honey. Dress warm, you don’t want to get a chill. And Jake?”

  Jake paused in the doorway. “Yeah?”

  “How is Lily’s brother?”

  His hand fisted at his side as all the tension inside him reared up and grabbed hold as tight as it could. “Blake is still in the hospital.” He paused as an image of the young soldier flashed before his eyes. Hair as blond as Lily’s, matted through with blood and gore. “He’s in a coma, and the doctors aren’t sure he’ll ever wake up.”

  “Oh.” His mother turned and began to fill her pans with the dough she’d kneaded earlier. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah.” There was nothing to say. The lightness of the morning was gone.

  Jake grabbed a jacket from the closet in the laundry room and less than a minute later ran outside, inhaling great gulps of fresh, cold air as the wind continued to howl and buffet the area. He followed the path that ran alongside the lake and after a while was able to clear his mind and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

  He ran hard and fast, slipping through the dense bush that carpeted most of his parents’ property, and though there wasn’t any conscious thought, he wasn’t surprised when nearly an hour later he paused there at the edge of the forest along Raine’s driveway. He was drenched in sweat, his body hot and loose, and small puffs of mist fell from his nostrils as he watched the house in silence.

  He inhaled sharply as the front door swung open and Raine appeared on the porch. It was past daybreak, though the cloud of gray still held sway, and she stood in the shadows that fell along the front of her house. Carefully she let a wiggling ball of fur loose and crossed her arms as she watched her puppy slide down the steps and rummage around the front yard in an effort to find the perfect place to pee.

  God, she looked incredibly frail, and the big robe she wore did nothing but emphasize the fact.

  The dog ran in circles and barked crazily for several minutes while Raine hugged herself and shivered in the early morning dampness. Jake shook his head. She was going to get sick if she didn’t get her butt back into the warmth of the house soon. He took a step forward but something stopped him. What was the point?

  They’d only fight. It was what they did. They pretty much disagreed about everything.

  Suddenly Gibson stopped barking and turned his head in Jake’s direction, his tail wagging, nose sniffing madly. Jake froze, hoping the shadows between the trees were deep and dark. He had no desire to be caught lurking in the bush like some deranged stalker by a ten-pound bag of fur.

  Raine turned in his direction and his eyes locked on to the mess of dark hair that tumbled around her pale face. She pushed it out of the way and called for the dog, her voice falling like dead stones. The puppy yelped at him one more time before whirling around and running for his master. Raine opened the door, and with one last glance around, disappeared inside the house.

  Jake let out a long, tortured breath and turned abruptly, his mind a mess of jumbled, half-formed thoughts. With renewed vigor he tore through the brush, needing to push his body to the limit. Needing to think about something other than the only thing that had been on his mind for months.

  For years.

  How fucking pathetic. After all this time he was still a mess when it came to the one woman he could never have. The only woman he’d ever loved.

  His brother’s widow.

  ***

  Marnie Edwards covered her pans with tea towels and arranged them neatly on the counter. The buns would need a few hours to rise before baking, and for the moment she was done. Franklin smelled wonderful, and after basting the large turkey, she shoved him back in the oven and reduced the heat. Steven was still in bed, and for moment she relished the quiet. It had been a tough few months with her husband in treatment, and she found herself craving alone time, or rather time for herself.

  She grabbed another cup of coffee and wandered into the family room, which was just off the kitchen. It was a large open space and in a house of many rooms was the one place everyone gathered. It was homey, colored in buttercream yellow and sage green, and boasted an impressive wall of glass that brought the outdoors inside. With the lake glistening a few hundred feet away, it was her favorite spot.

  She tucked herself into a large overstuffed chair that she’d had reupholstered many times. It was one of the first pieces of furniture she and Steven had bought, and though the sofa that had come with it was long gone, this chair had always been special, the one she felt most comfortable in, and she refused to give it up.

  She’d fed her babies in this chair. Read to them. Cuddled them. And loved them.

  She sank back into the soft, caramel fabric and closed her eyes. The coffee mug in her hands provided a bit of warmth, but she drew a thick throw blanket across her hips and tried to relax. But it was so hard.

  With one son lost to her and the other drowning in pain, Marnie’s insides were all twisted. She’d heard Jake in the night and had followed in his footsteps as he disappeared into the basement.

  At first she’d thought he couldn’t sleep and was in the mood for TV—she had almost joined him—but then she realized he’d gone into the exercise room. She’d sat on the top step and listened, arms crossed over her chest, mouth trembling as the clang from the weights echoed into the silence. Over and over…and over. She’d winced at the grunts of pain as her baby worked out like a demon, and her heart broke a little more with each harsh echo.

  It was then that she knew there wasn’t a thing she could do for him. Gone were the days when she could wrap Jake into her arms, kiss his boo-boo, and make it all better. If only life were that simple. If only childhood remedies worked on adults.

  Her world would never be all right again, but there had to be hope in there somewhere, or else what was the point of it all? Why would God take one of her sons and leave the other broken?

  The
front door slammed shut and she jumped, nearly spilling coffee all over herself as she straightened in the chair. Jake was back from his run.

  She listened as he tossed his dirty clothes into the laundry room and at least one shoe banged against the side of the washing machine, followed by a muffled curse. It brought a bittersweet smile to her face and a deluge of memories that were a little less painful to remember than they had been even a few weeks ago.

  It was then that Marnie Edwards realized something. Maybe she wasn’t so helpless after all. Maybe she could help her son and, if she was lucky, help herself and Steven as well. There was hope all around, if you knew where to look. Jake was hope. He was here and he was alive. Hope lived inside him, buried beneath layers of pain—he just didn’t know it yet.

  She thought of the woman upstairs, a woman he claimed was just a friend, and her mind wandered, thinking of all the possibilities. Was this Lily St. Clare the key? He cared enough about her to bring her back to Crystal Lake with him. Surely that meant something more than “just friends.” Maybe this Lily was Jake’s hope.

  A plan began to form in her head and excitement rolled in her belly for the first time in months, though she bit her lip as she sprang from the chair. She’d need help from someone who cared about Jake as much as she did, and though her husband Steven was as concerned for their child as she was, Marnie knew he’d never agree to what she had in mind.

  Besides, he had to focus on getting well, not worry about his wife’s plan for their son.

  No, she needed a much more devious kind of mind. A feminine kind of mind. As Marnie headed back into the kitchen to throw her pies in the oven, she smiled, her steps light for the first time in months. She knew the perfect accomplice.

  And she was coming for dinner.

  Chapter 5

  The tube of mascara was more than a little goopy, but it would have to do, because it was all she had. Raine squinted into the mirror and applied it as best she could, taking care not to leave any clumps behind. It had been ages since she’d taken the time to do her makeup. Ages since she’d worn anything other than jeans or sweats. What was the point? Anything more complicated than spandex and cotton was more of a bother than anything else.