Mistletoe Baby

“David?” His mother’s voice, lilting in question, startled him. He’d thought he was alone in the employees-only hallway behind the store.

“Mom.” His arms dropped quickly to his sides, as if she’d caught him reaching for forbidden cookies. “I didn’t know you were in this morning.”

“Brought over some more ornaments for Ari to display. You do a great job running the store, just like your father always has, but neither of you excel when it comes to decorating for the customers.”

Decorating. He thought about his house, which was completely devoid of holiday cheer. Their first year of marriage, Rachel had barely waited for Thanksgiving before she started asking if it was too soon to put up Christmas lights. She’d seemed so happy then, as he’d promised her she’d be if she moved here to Mistletoe, enthusiastic to build their life together.

Susan brought him back to the present. “Why were you growling in the hallway?”

“I, uh, can’t reach the coffee.”

She skewered him with a raised eyebrow, then turned to open the janitorial closet behind her, revealing a small step stool that he’d known perfectly well was there. “God knows I love your brother and how spirited he is, but he was the one more likely to stubbornly pursue the impossible with no real plan on how to achieve it. You were the solution-finder.”

Really? Because David was fresh out of solutions. Feeling foolish, he picked up the stool and retrieved the coffee. “Lack of caffeine makes me grouchy. And stupid.”

Susan Waide’s gaze was steady, all-knowing in that way mothers have. “Want to tell me what’s really wrong?”

“Thanks, Mom, but it’s nothing that can be fixed with a step stool.”

“You and Rachel?”

His pulse pounded. How much of the truth had she guessed? “Is it that obvious that we’ve…hit a rough patch?”

“Oh, darling.” She ruffled his hair, even though she practically had to stand on tiptoe to do it. “I can’t imagine how difficult it was for her to lose that baby, but she’s been withdrawn for months. And you’ve been tense, short-fused. Not at all the boy I know.”

He missed the man he’d been, the one who had never questioned his wife’s love and their ability to work through any problem.

“Every couple has difficulties,” Susan continued. “Lord knows your father and I have. It’s healthy even. Once you work through to the other side, you’ll be stronger for it.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His biggest fear was that for him and Rachel, there was no other side. I shouldn’t have let her go. He could have convinced her to at least sleep on it or maybe see a counselor together. Would fighting for her now be the right thing to do or merely the selfish?

“Mom.” He hugged his mother, his voice ragged. It was nearly impossible to spit out the question. “What if—what if I can’t fix this?”

“Nonsense. You’re my son. Besides—” she smiled up at him “—you’re forgetting that it’s Christmas. The season of miracles.”

“HEREYA GO, Chloe.” Rachel passed the box of business cards over the counter. “Why don’t you take a peek at the first few and make sure they’re to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not necessary.” Chloe Malcolm glanced at the sample card stapled to the outside of the box. “You always do a great job.”

Once, Rachel had helped create regional ad campaigns for a major company. Now, it was an exciting day if she got to help someone lay out business cards—except that Chloe, who ran her own small company as a Web designer, rarely needed help. She’d brought in her file on CD, all ready to be printed. There was nothing at work challenging enough to distract Rachel from her embarrassing encounter with David earlier. Of course, there was the special project she should be working on for Lilah and Tanner’s rehearsal dinner, but she doubted that would improve her mood.

Rachel shook her head. “You couldn’t even have left a formatting error I could resolve?”

“Pardon?” The brunette blinked at her.

“Don’t mind me. Midday blahs,” she told Chloe. “I’m waiting for May to come back so I can take my lunch break. To tell you the truth, the day so far has been pretty monotonous.”

“Not too much action going on in Mistletoe, huh?” Chloe sounded wistful, which was surprising. Gifted with computers, the young woman was also incredibly introverted; she’d always given the impression she might panic at the first sign of “action.”

They both glanced reflexively toward the door when it opened, and Rachel’s co-worker May Gideon swept inside, accompanied by a winter-edged breeze. The pungent odor of a fried fish sandwich wafted from May’s white paper bag, and Rachel’s gut clenched. Her hand shot to her mouth.

“Whoa.” Chloe was blinking again. “You look really pale.”

“I, uh…I—” Terrified that she was about to humiliate herself far worse than she had that morning with the runaway puppy, Rachel bolted for the employee restroom. After splashing some cold water on her face and taking a couple of deep breaths, she managed to quell the intense nausea. It was gone almost as suddenly as it had come. Still, she waited a few minutes to make sure.

When she returned to the front of the print shop, she saw that May had completed Chloe’s transaction and was now arguing with Mrs. Nugent, who wanted them to make a personalized photo calendar as a Christmas present for her mother, but refused to accept that they weren’t allowed to reproduce copyrighted pictures of her kids.

“After what that studio charged me for the darn things, I should be able to wallpaper my whole house with them if I want to!”

May’s patient expression didn’t waver. “So long as you understand that we can’t print the wallpaper for you.”

This seemed like as good a time as any for Rachel to take her lunch hour. With a guilty half wave in May’s direction, she crept toward the door, not wanting to get caught up in Mrs. Nugent’s righteous indignation over the “highway robbery” of professional photography. Once Rachel was outside and contemplating where to go for lunch, she admitted to herself that food was the last thing she wanted.

Finally, something good about stress—it had her stomach so upset it was killing her appetite. Maybe she’d fit into that bridesmaid’s dress after all.

A niggling voice in the back of her head pointed out she’d been stressed all morning, yet hadn’t been in danger of tossing her cookies until that fish smell hit. It was similar to last spring, when…She stopped dead on the sidewalk. What a ridiculous thought. Still, now that she considered it, when had her last period been? Rachel bit her lip, not sure. For the first time in nearly two years, she wasn’t obsessively tracking her cycle, trying hard to let go and reach a healthier emotional state.

Oh, yeah, I’m a picture of mental health. She gave a quick shake of her head. Now that she was off the medications that had regulated her cycles, it wasn’t surprising that she might skip a period—or two?—as her body adjusted. In fact, her bursting into tears at the drop of a hat lately and her sensory overreaction to odors was probably just PMS. She’d start her period any day and feel silly about this.

Yep. An-n-ny day now.

Chapter Four

“Hey, Rach! Come in where it’s warm.” Arianne opened the door of her parents’ house. She lived in a garage apartment these days—Susan kept saying she and Zachariah didn’t need all the space, but they couldn’t bear to put the family home up for sale even though it was just the two of them there. “It’s finally starting to feel like December, isn’t it? David’s inside getting a fire started.”

Rachel had seen his car out front; he’d probably come straight from work. A stray memory broadsided her of her husband wanting to create a romantic scene by lighting their first fire in their new home and making love in its glow on the living room sofa. But it had been a ridiculously warm winter that year, and to make the house cold enough, he’d cranked up the air-conditioning. That was David, determined to control his environment.

Then again, there was something to be said for a man who worked that hard to create a romantic moment for his wife. He’d met her while she was vacationing in Mistletoe, and knowing their time together might be temporary, he’d systematically pulled out all the stops in wooing her. He’d—

“Rachel?” Arianne prompted.

She started guiltily, as if she’d been caught committing a crime instead of daydreaming about her own spouse. “I had to let the dogs out! Winnie’s dogs, I mean. Th-that’s why David and I arrived separately.”

“Yeah, we know.” Arianne studied her, looking perplexed.

Well, subterfuge never was my strong suit. Shrugging out of her coat, Rachel scooted past her sister-in-law to greet the rest of the family, which was segregated along gender lines. She heard Tanner and Zachariah offering unsolicited advice on how to arrange the logs; the women were gathered in the kitchen. Rachel made a beeline for the latter and hung her jacket over the back of a chair. Her black jeans and red scoop-necked sweater certainly fitted in the overall color scheme.

Lilah sat at the table in a casual red dress chopping carrots, while Susan, wearing a white-and-red checkered cardigan over dark slacks, seasoned the pot of stew on the stove. The dishwasher stood ajar. Since Arianne hated to cook, Rachel bet her sister-in-law’s job had been unloading dishes.

“Smells divine in here.” Rachel kissed her mother-in-law’s cheek.

She’d always admired Susan’s aura of balance and domestic elegance. The woman seemed comfortable at home cooking for her husband, but equally capable when she was juggling volunteer work in town and at the store. Rachel’s own mom had fought hard to be successful in the workplace, devoting a lot of energy to her career. Though Rachel hadn’t questioned whether she was loved, Mrs. Nietermyer had never seemed completely, well, motherly. As a girl, Rachel had thought her mother harbored an unspoken disdain for homemakers, as if they weren’t as smart or driven. But Susan Waide was sharp as a tack, and Rachel now wondered if what she’d perceived from her mom had been, in part, jealousy…envy over skills she herself couldn’t seem to master.

What kind of mother would I have made? Her chest tightened at the thought, and she pushed away the painful “what if.” “What can I do to help?”

“We’re pretty well set in here,” Susan said. “Could you go remind Zachariah that he and Tanner were supposed to put the extra leaf in the dining room table?”

“Arianne and I can probably take care of that.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Susan said as Ari resumed putting away pots and pans. “But if the boys plan to eat with us, they have to do their part. It won’t hurt them to work for it, dear.”

Lilah laughed. “That sounds like something Aunt Shelby would say.”

Though Rachel always considered Lilah a Mistletoe native, the woman hadn’t been born here like David and his siblings; she’d moved in with her aunt and uncle years ago after her parents had died in a crash. Lilah’s uncle Ray would walk her down the aisle.

“That’s because Shelby Tierney is very wise,” Susan said approvingly. “You’ll have no shortage of marital advice, if you want it. I’m always here.” She swung her shrewd gaze back toward Rachel in clear invitation.

Rachel swallowed. She’d considered discussing the deteriorating state of her marriage with Susan, but it had seemed somehow disloyal to run to David’s family with their problems. Weren’t the Waides duty-bound to take his side? Well, maybe not Arianne. She regularly labeled her older brothers as pains in the butt.

I’ll miss them all so much. She turned away. “I’ll go see about having the guys set up the table.”

Before Rachel reached the living room, she heard masculine laughter. From the snatches she gathered, David and his brother were teasing their father about a fire he’d once tried to start on a camping trip.

“To this day,” Tanner was saying as she entered the room, “Mom still—Oh, hey, Rach.” He crossed the room to hug her, so like his brother in build and coloring that her return embrace was awkward. It had been such a long time since David had held her just to be close. She used to laugh at the way he’d hug her from behind at silly times—while she was trying to put away groceries or brush her teeth. She missed those embraces, but as their married life had grown more tense, their physical relationship had withered.

Now, David watched her wordlessly from the hearth. Their gazes met, held, as the flames behind him crackled. Her stomach somersaulted, not with nausea this time but jitters. A confusing combination of dread and excitement reminiscent of a teenage crush. Zachariah Waide moved in for his hello, interrupting the visual contact.

Rachel regained her composure enough to smile up at him. “Your wife sent me to remind you about the table.”

He grunted in acknowledgment. “Knew I forgot to do something. Come on, Tanner. You can help me while Rachel and David start opening boxes.”

The tree stood in the corner. Someone had brought down four large containers, two cardboard and two clear plastic, of Christmas paraphernalia from the attic. After dinner, they would all help decorate. She thought of the Our New Home ornament she’d put in David’s stocking their first year of marriage. It had fallen off the tree once, knocking off the chimney and cracking the roof on the little house, but he’d glued it back on, insisting the ornament was as good as new.

“Hey.” He spoke first, not looking nearly as nervous as she felt.

After a moment, she realized she was studying him a bit too intently. He hitched an eyebrow questioningly.

“So.” Boxes, Rachel told herself. Much safer to divert her attention to the boxes. “Where should we start?”

He glanced down, considering. “The lights. Might as well check to make sure they’re all working before we go to the trouble of putting them on the tree.”

Rachel read Susan’s neat handwriting and meticulous labels. Assuming everything had been put away correctly, the lights should be in the cardboard box closest to her. She bent at the waist and unfolded the flaps.

Rachel straightened, saying over her shoulder, “Here they—What are you doing?” she demanded as David hurriedly raised his gaze.

“Hmm?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.

Rachel frowned, the tingles shivering through her making her self-conscious. Was she crazy or had he actually been ogling her butt? “Were you…”

“Just standing here. Waiting for you to hand me one end of the lights so we can plug them in.” But she wasn’t the only one who was bad at subterfuge. Even with his head ducked, she recognized the glint in his eyes—she’d been his lover for five years.

She couldn’t help grinning at how unconvincing he was. “You lie.”

“Oh, really?” He did look up then, his answering smile a challenge. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

They both knew the answer to that, but she wasn’t quite gutsy enough to vocalize it. She’d felt David pulling away physically, had thought for a while that he didn’t find her attractive anymore. So, on the one hand, it was validating to catch him staring, made her feel feminine in a way she hadn’t for a long time. On the other hand, they’d split up, even if they were the only ones here who knew that. Why confuse the issue with flirtatious conversation?

“Never mind,” she backpedaled. “I was mistaken.”

He moved toward her, reaching for the lights. “No, you weren’t.”

Please don’t. She didn’t want to be seduced by the mischievous note in his voice, reminded of everything good they’d shared—sure, the journey had had some high points, but that didn’t change her unhappiness with where they’d arrived. And if he hadn’t been just as miserable, David Waide would have fought for her.

When she’d finally dredged up the nerve to confess she didn’t think their marriage was working, that it had long since become a marriage based on technicalities rather than intimacy, she’d braced herself for argument. He’d always been a man who refused to brook defeat. He’d once planted a tree that didn’t successfully take root in the soil, but he’d come back with some kind of specialized fertilizer and continued watering it for weeks, not ready to acknowledge that it was dead. Rachel had anticipated that he’d tell her she was being melodramatic—whenever she’d tried during the past year to broach the difficult conversation of their not being happy, he’d turned into Mr. Optimism, automatically downplaying her fears and telling her he loved her. That they could do anything together (except possibly have a child). She wanted to appreciate his positive thinking, but it became more difficult over time in the wake of her growing frustration that he was not hearing her. After Thanksgiving, she’d been determined to make him finally listen, but she hadn’t expected him to capitulate so readily. She’d anticipated his saying that things would look better in the morning, his once again proposing immediate solutions before she’d had a chance to fully articulate what she saw as the problems.

Instead, he’d practically shrugged in agreement. He’d expended more effort on the damn tree.

“Why now?” she muttered under her breath.

David paused. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the growing tension.

Not even the small motion got by him. “You need one of my famous back rubs.”

“I don’t think so.” If the mere brush of his fingers this morning had caused a zing, what would happen with her muscles warm under his touch? Annoyed by how tempting the offer sounded, she glared. “Don’t flirt with me. Not now, not after months of…”

“What, not touching you?” He was even closer now, his voice lowered to give them privacy. “You pushed me away, Rach. You made it clear you didn’t want me looking at your body. Unless it was for procreation.”

She flinched. During the hormone treatments, she’d tried to explain to him how the side effects sometimes made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. But David, for all that he paid lip service to “being there” for her, could grow impatient with discussions that didn’t have easy answers. If she tried to tell him that she didn’t feel like herself, didn’t feel sexy, he’d roll his eyes and tell her that she was being neurotic, that she looked just fine to him. Somehow, being called neurotic wasn’t a big turn-on for her.

“If I seemed uninterested,” he continued, “I was just trying to respect your wishes. I wanted to take care of you.”

“I know, David. But that’s not what I wanted.” They were supposed to take care of each other, except that he’d never seemed to need her.

“You don’t consider that part of a husband’s job?” He was looking distinctly irritated now. “Taking care of his wife?”

“It’s a nice sentiment, but you got more and more…” Paternal? That would not sit well with him and wasn’t exactly what she meant anyway. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“You mean you don’t want to talk about it.”

Her hands trembled as she uncoiled lights. “We’re supposed to be having a fun, festive family evening. Why ruin it with accusations that won’t change anything that’s happened?”

“You’re right.” He took his end of the lights toward the outlet, the electric string stretched out between them. A second later, the entire strand began twinkling white in a cheery rhythm.

Rachel sat back on her heels. “Looks like they all work.”

“Yeah. Guess there’s nothing here I can fix.” With that, he spun on his heel and left.

Which was only fair, she supposed. After all, she’d left him first.

DINNER did a lot more to restore Rachel’s spirits than she would have guessed possible. She sat safely buffered between her father-in-law and Lilah. The bride-to-be chattered excitedly about her upcoming wedding. Everyone else was mostly free to nod and enjoy the home cooking. Susan’s food was the old-fashioned, hearty kind that comforted the soul, carbs be damned.

When Arianne finished eating, she pushed away her plate and interrupted discussion of flowers, lace and music with a wicked grin. “You haven’t mentioned the most important part—the bachelorette party!”

Tanner groaned.

Arianne ignored him. “Come on, Li. I’m the maid of honor. It’s part of my job description. I wasn’t even legally old enough to participate in the champagne toast when Rachel and David got married—you’re not going to rob me of my fun now, are you? Besides, it will drive my brother crazy wondering what I have in store, and he picked on me a lot when I was younger.”

Smacking a hand to his forehead, Tanner asked, “Would it help if I apologized for that now?”

“Not so much,” Arianne said sweetly. She turned back to her friend. “You trust me, right?”

Lilah laughed knowingly. “Not even a little. Rach, you’ll help Arianne with the party plans, won’t you? Make sure she doesn’t get too crazy.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rachel heard herself say. “Maybe we could all use a crazy girls’ night.”

“Yes!” Arianne clapped her palms together. “Good to have you on board. Now, Lilah, you have a valid passport, right?”

Throughout the rest of the meal, Rachel and Arianne brainstormed facetious party ideas, each more outlandish than the last. If anyone noticed that David wasn’t laughing quite as much as the rest of the family, no one drew attention to it. Clearing the table went quickly with so many helping hands, and they adjourned to the dining room, where the bare green Christmas tree waited.

“Aunt Shelby always popped popcorn to string on the tree,” Lilah told them, “but Uncle Ray and I usually ate most of it.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.