A Kiss in Winter Page 32

  And Mick—she wanted to lock the image of him striding toward her forever away in her heart. Big and broad. His fluid movement touched a place deep inside. God, he looked good.

  She could tell he didn’t know it was her as he approached.

  Getting out of the car, her knees were a little wobbly. She’d been in areas of guerrilla warfare and stood on steadier legs.

  She closed the door and walked toward him. The instant he recognized her, his face brightened, his step quickened.

  When they were close, he reached out to her. “Caroline!”

  They shared a winter-coat-padded embrace, two friends who hadn’t seen each other in a long while. When she stepped back, she looked into his eyes, searching to see if there was more there still, more than friendship. She couldn’t tell.

  “You look good, Mick.” God, why was she so nervous?

  “You, too. Let’s get you in out of this weather.”

  “Would you mind staying outside for a bit? It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to walk in falling snow.”

  He nodded and they walked around the farm. He told her of the improvements he’d made, of oddities she’d instructed him on that still remained. He said he’d been doing a little volunteer counseling at the juvenile center. That made her glad. He’d finally forgiven himself.

  Their footprints followed them in the snow until they came full circle and met them again.

  “So, I assume Sam and Macie will be home for Christmas,” he said as they began to retrace their original path once again. It had grown dark, but with the snow it was nearly as light as it had been at dusk.

  “Macie and Caleb are flying in from California tomorrow. Sam should be home late tonight. We’re waiting until Macie is here to go buy a tree.”

  “She e-mails me every once in a while,” Mick said. “Seems to really be doing well at school.”

  “Was there ever a doubt?” She laughed. “Still typical type-A personality, but I think Caleb helps keep her balanced.”

  Mick nodded. “And she seems to keep him on the ball. They make a good team.”

  “Yeah. They’re lucky. Sometimes it’s really hard to find a teammate.”

  He looked at her and gave her a smile that looked slightly sad. “Yes, it certainly is.”

  She tried to sound bright and casual when she asked, “So, any prospects in your future?” She’d promised herself that if he’d found someone, someone to share his life and have his children, she’d be happy for him.

  He stopped, and turned her to face him. “I found the perfect teammate. She just doesn’t want to play the game.”

  “Mick—”

  “Sorry.” He took his hands off her arms and lifted them in the air. “Sorry. I really do try to keep that promise I made. But let me tell you, it ain’t easy. I guess I was just hoping that someday…” He sighed. “I know how much you love your work.”

  “I do love it, Mick. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to believe that it’s really happening.”

  The sadness of his earlier smile haunted his eyes. “I’m happy for you. I am. There isn’t anyone in this world more deserving.”

  “I’ve been places I’d never even imagine existed. I’ve met people and discovered things that have changed the way I look at the world.”

  She could tell it was painful for him to hear this, but she kept talking. “And I’ve discovered a few things that I didn’t know about myself.” Her heart did an Olympic twisting dive from the high platform. “I’m ashamed to admit it, for fear of sounding ungrateful for my good fortune, but there are days that I’d rather pull out my fingernails than get on another airplane.

  “After all I’ve been able to do, it’s not enough. There are places in me that can’t be filled with work and travel. I need a teammate. I need you, Mick.”

  It took a second for his expression to register what she was saying. A slow, broad grin brightened his face. “You don’t know how long… how many times I let myself hope—”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” she cautioned. “There’s still plenty that could derail us. I can’t promise that I’ll ever be ready to have children. And I can’t abandon my work. That will mean lots of time apart. I can’t ask you to give up so much—”

  He cut off her words with a kiss. It was a fierce thing that spoke of untapped passion. When he stopped, Caroline actually looked down at her feet to see if they’d melted the snow.

  “Now let me tell you a few things I’ve discovered about myself,” he said, holding on to her shoulders. “Maybe it wasn’t the children I wanted as much as a true partner, someone who stirred the fires deep inside me. You’re the only woman who has ever done that. I was right in leaving my old life. I just don’t think I had the reasons completely straight in my head. I want you in my life, as my partner. Children will come, or they won’t—we’ll share whatever lies in our future. But that’s the heart of it, Caroline. I want it to be our future. I’ve known since you left, but I couldn’t ask you to give up something you’d waited so long for, worked so hard to achieve. I couldn’t… that’s why I sent my heart with you. Hoping that someday you’d find your way back to me.”

  Snowflakes clung to Caroline’s lashes as she looked up at him. She ripped off her gloves and tossed them down in the snow. Then she put her hands on his cold cheeks. “I’ve carried it with me every step of the way. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you mine to keep forever.”

  His smile sent her heart off the high dive again.

  He leaned close, whispering against her lips, “Forever.”

  About the Author

  Susan’s first book, Back Roads, won a RITA for Best First Book and two National Reader’s Choice Awards in 2004. She lives in her native Indiana hometown with her husband, two college-age children, and a menagerie of critters.

  Visit her Web site at: www.susancrandall.net, or contact her at P.O. Box 1092, Noblesville, IN 46061, or susan@susancrandall.net.

  “Susan Crandall is an up-and-coming star.”

  —KAREN ROBARDS

  Enjoy a taste of

  Susan Crandall’s

  On Blue Falls Pond

  Please turn this page for a preview.

  Available in mass market

  on sale now.

  Chapter One

  GLORY’S KEY STUCK in the old lock on her apartment door, refusing to turn; refusing to slide back out. She gritted her teeth, gripped the doorknob, and shook until the door rattled on its hinges, fully aware that her response was overreaction in the extreme. This lock had recently become an unwelcome symbol of her life: stymied in a dull and disconnected present, unable to move toward her future. She knew it was wrong, this hiding, this pretense of living. But she’d buried herself here and couldn’t find a way to claw back out.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to use more delicate force against the lock. Her nerves had been raw and on edge all day long. Her job at the veterinary clinic normally had a soothing effect upon her, allowing her to focus on something outside her own aching hollowness. But today she couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that something was wrong. It was an insidious awareness that she just couldn’t quell. Maybe it was simply her own growing understanding that she was running from the inescapable. But it seemed heavier than that; she was anxious to get inside and call Granny, just to ease her mind that the feeling had nothing to do with her.

  For all of her life, Glory had had an inexplicable connection to her grandmother. Time and again she’d call and Gran would say, “I was just about to call you.” Glory didn’t share that mysterious connection with anyone else. When she was young, Granny would wink and lean close, saying they came from a long line of spooky women. Back then it had made Glory think of witches and spells. But now she understood; there were some people who were knit more tightly together than just by family genetics.

  The telephone began to ring inside the apartment.

  Glory jiggled the key with renewed vigor. Finally, on the telephone’s f
ourth ring, the key turned, and she hurried inside.

  “Hello,” she said breathlessly as she snatched up the phone.

  “Glory, darlin’, are you all right?”

  Granny’s slow Tennessee drawl immediately soothed Glory’s nerves.

  “Fine, I was just coming in and had trouble with the lock.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “You’ve been on my mind today, Gran. How are you?”

  There was a half-beat pause that set the back of Glory’s neck to tingling before Granny said, “Fine. Busy. Had Charlie’s boys here for the weekend.”

  “All of them?” Glory’s cousin Charlie was getting a divorce and had taken to foisting his five little hellions off on Granny when it was “his weekend.” It really burned Glory, his taking advantage like that. Granny was seventy-three, and five boys under the age of thirteen was just too much.

  “’Course. We had a great time. Hiked back to the falls. They can’t get enough swimming. Travis caught hisself a snake.”

  Glory closed her eyes and drew a breath. The very idea of Granny alone with five rambunctious little boys—swimming, no less—a two-mile hike from help made her stomach turn. Blue Falls could have a wicked pull at the base.

  “Everyone all right?” Glory tempered her question; Granny’s feathers got ruffled if you treated her like an old person—overprotection was a sin not to be forgiven. Any allusion to aged infirmity quickly drew pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

  “’Course. Them boys all swim like fish.”

  “Charlie shouldn’t expect you to take the boys all of the time.” Careful, don’t make it sound like it’s because of her age. “They need to spend time with their father.”

  Granny made a scoffing sound. “Keeps me young. It’s only a couple of times a month. Charlie sees ’em plenty.”

  Glory sat on the rest of her argument; she’d be wasting her breath. After a tiny pause too short for thought, she said, “I’m thinking about moving again.” Even as the words tumbled out, she surprised herself. She’d been skirting around the idea for a few weeks now, but didn’t have any solid plan laid out.

  A knowing hmmm came over the line. “Where?”

  “I don’t know yet. I can’t imagine staying in St. Paul through winter. The snow was fun for a while—but the thought of a whole winter here makes me depressed.”

  She heard Granny take a deep breath on the other end of the line. It was a telltale sign of trouble.

  “What? Is something wrong?” Glory couldn’t keep an edge of fear from her voice. She’d known something was happening.

  “Not wrong. It’s just… I had a little episode with my eye—”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Glory’s heart leaped into her throat. Her all-day foreboding now honed in on its source.

  “I just told you.”

  “So have you seen a doctor? What happened? Is someone there with you?”

  “Calm down. I’m fine enough. I saw the doctor this mornin’. He said it should clear up this time.”

  “This time? Have you had other episodes?” A few years ago Granny had been diagnosed with macular degeneration, a disease that would most likely rob her of her central vision, altering her life immeasurably. But so far Granny had been lucky. This was the first time Glory had heard a hint of a problem.

  “It was a tiny broken vein. He wants to see me again next week.”

  Glory forced herself to ask, “Can you see?”

  “Right eye’s fine.”

  “But the left?”

  “Eh.” Glory could see her grandmother dismissing it with the lift of a sharp-boned shoulder.

  “So the condition is getting worse.”

  “Not necessarily. But, darlin’, you know it’s just a matter of time. I been luckier than most. Time’s come to take note.”

  Glory couldn’t swallow; emotion had closed off her throat.

  “I was wondering… could you… could you come home?” Granny rushed on, “Not permanent. I just want to see your face clear one more time.”

  This was the first time in Glory’s memory that Tula Baker had asked anything of another human being. A cold sweat covered Glory from head to foot. “I’m on my way.”

  Twelve hours later, Glory had her car packed with her few belongings and was headed south. She barely noticed the miles and the hours passing as she wrestled with emotions that were quickly becoming a two-headed monster. It certainly wasn’t difficult leaving St. Paul; she’d been inching closer to that decision every day. For the past eighteen months she’d thought of herself as “trying on” different places, like one would search for a new winter coat. She’d left Dawson with the firm conviction that there was a place out there that would act as a balm, a salve to her soul; and she could bask in it like a healing Caribbean sun. But the climates changed, population fluctuated, and Glory still felt as if she were an empty vessel, insides echoing her barren life like a bass drum. East, West, cities, small towns, suburbia… nothing brought peace.

  No, leaving Minnesota was easy—but the very thought of returning to Tennessee brought beads of sweat to her upper lip and a sickness deep in her belly. What if Granny’s sight didn’t return? What if this truly was the beginning of the end of her independence? Glory’s heart ached for lost time and uncertain futures. A part of her could barely force herself to press the accelerator for the dread of seeing her hometown again; yet another part of her could not reach her grandmother’s wiry embrace fast enough.

  Before she knew it, she was a mere handful of miles from the Tennessee state line, less than two hours from Dawson. Her grandmother lived a few miles beyond that, deep in Cold Spring Hollow, nestled in the verdant, misty foot of the Smoky Mountains.

  The rolling lay of the land in Kentucky seemed to be priming Glory for that inevitable moment when she would cross into the lush hill country that had nurtured her for her first twenty-six years. As her car chewed up the rapidly decreasing miles, she assured herself that there would not be a great crashing wall of memory that would overcome her at the state line. Months of therapy had suggested perhaps there would be no memories—ever.

  Still, Glory doubted the professionals’ opinions. True, she had no “memory” of that night. But she did possess an indefinable sense of gut-deep terror when she turned her mind toward trying to recall. Which told her those memories were there, lying in the darkness, waiting to swallow her whole.

  Could she face Dawson and all she had lost there? Could she actually live there again? If Granny needed her, of course she would. Still… one day at a time. First thing was to get home and assess the situation.

  She rolled down the driver’s-side window. The roar of the wind at seventy filled her head. She glanced at the graceful rise and fall of the green pastures beside the interstate. She drew deep breaths, as if to lessen the shock by easing herself home, by reacquainting her senses gradually to the sights and smells of hill country.

  As a child, Glory had loved visiting the wild of the deep hollow where Granny Tula had lived since the day she was born. Life in the hollow was hard, but straightforward—understandable. People of her grandmother’s ilk had no time or patience for dwelling on the superficial. They accepted whatever life handed them with a nod of stoicism and another step toward their future.

  Hillbillies. That’s what her in-laws called folks like Tula Baker. Of course, they would never say anything like that directly about Granny—but the thought was there, burning brightly behind their sophisticated old-money eyes. What they had never understood was that neither Glory nor her grandmother would have been insulted by the term. Glory’s mother, Clarice, on the other hand, would have been mortified. Clarice, the youngest of Tula Baker’s seven children, had struggled to separate herself from the hollow and all it implied.

  As Glory watched the terrain grow rougher and the woodlands become increasingly dense, she didn’t feel the tide of panic that she’d anticipated.

  I’m going to make it. The thought grew stronger with each breath that drew in the mingl
ing of horse manure, damp earth, and fresh grass. I’m going to make it.…

  The instant she saw the large sign that said WELCOME TO TENNESSEE Glory’s lungs seized. All of her mental preparation disappeared on the wind rushing by the open window.

  Suddenly light-headed, she pulled onto the emergency lane of the interstate. As soon as her car stopped moving, she put it in park, fearing that she might pass out and start rolling again.

  The car rocked, sucked back toward the racing traffic when an eighteen-wheeler whizzed by going eighty. Miraculously, the truck was gone in no more than a blur and a shudder, and Glory’s four tires remained stuck to the paved shoulder out of harm’s way.

  She concentrated on her hands gripping the steering wheel—hands that could no more deny her heritage than her green eyes and thick, auburn hair. Sturdy, big-boned hands that somehow remained unsoftened by the cultured life she’d led. Hands that reminded her of Granny Tula’s. That thought gave her strength.

  After a few minutes, the cold sweat evaporated, the trembling in her limbs subsided, and her head cleared. She put the car in drive and rejoined the breakneck pace of traffic headed south.

  Eric Wilson left the fire station in the middle of his shift—something he would have taken any of his firefighters to task for. But he was chief, and as such frequently had business away from the firehouse. No one questioned when he got into his department-owned Explorer and drove away.

  But this was far from official business. This was personal—very personal. He and his ex-wife, Jill, shared amicable custody of their nearly three-year-old son, Scott. But Scott’s increasing problems were something that the two of them were currently butting heads over. In Eric’s estimation, Jill was in denial, plain and simple. And lately, it seemed she was doing as much as she could to prove Scott was just like any other boy. Part of that strategy was not hovering by the telephone worrying if today was going to be the day for trouble.

  Whenever he mentioned the idea that she should get a cell phone, she took the opportunity to remind him that she couldn’t afford one. Which was a load of bull. She worked as a medical secretary and made decent money—comparable to Eric’s fire department salary. It was more convenient for Jill to be unavailable—especially on Wednesdays, her day off.