Page 6 of Festive Faking
Slapping his thigh, Jett declared, “Well, we better get a move on.” To Aspen, he said, “Your mama’s dying to see you, darlin’,and we don’t want to keep her waiting.” The man curled his arm around his daughter’s shoulder and began walking away.
It took me a moment to jolt back to reality and grab our bags to chase after them.
We crossed the walkway into a parking garage, where Jett led us to a red two-door pickup truck with a chipped paint job that looked older than him.
I inwardly groaned, bemoaning the loss of the luxury SUV I’d rented, when it sank in that we’d be riding three across on the bench seat for the next two hours.
This was gonna be one hell of a bumpy ride, and I only prayed it wasn’t a foreshadowing of how this week would play out.
Chapter 3
Aspen
Two hours.
That’s how long my thigh had been pressed flush against Mac’s as we drove from Oklahoma City to Rust Canyon.
The warmth radiating from his body had me close to overheating. How did he run so hot? He wasn’t even wearing a coat, and the temperature control in this old truck hadn’t worked for as far back as I could remember.
He’d tried to make small talk with my dad the entire drive, but Jett Sullivan didn’t mince words. He spoke with purpose, to the point where when he did have something to say, you’d do well to listen because it was usually important.
I should’ve felt bad for Mac only getting the occasional grunt in response to each attempt at conversation, but I kinda liked that he was being brought back down to earth. I had no doubt this week would humble him when he saw there was a whole world out here that he never knew existed. This place might as well be a different planet compared to where he came from.
We passed through the center of Rust Canyon, where Main Street was lined with family-owned shops decorated for the holidays. Then, we took a turn that led us off the paved road and onto that familiar red dirt path toward home.
A calm settled over my soul, a comfort found in the familiar.
No matter where I lived or how far I traveled, this place would always hold my heart.
We passed through the wrought-iron gate of the ranch I grew up on and drove down the drive until we reached the main house.
Dad squeezed my knee. “Go in and see your mama. You know how she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
My head turned from side to side, noting I was sandwiched between the two men. “Um, someone wanna let me out?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Mac sounded slightly ruffled as he reached for the handle, missing on the first attempt. Finally getting the door shoved open, he slid out, offering me a hand as I stepped down from the carriage of the truck.
A jolt of electricity ran up my arm, and I gasped, my eyes locked on Mac’s warm brown ones. His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow as he peered down at me.
Did he feel it, too?
“Door,” Dad’s gruff voice prompted, and it was enough to break the trance.
Pulling my hand away, I cradled it to my chest as I stepped out of the way so Mac could shut the passenger side door.
The truck moved to the side of the house where Dad liked to park it, and I took a cleansing breath to shake off the nerves born from lying to my entire family about Mac and me being in a relationship.
“Let’s get the introductions over with so you can check into the inn in town. I’m sure Tripp can drive you, so you don’t have to be alone with my father.”
Mac extended an arm toward the house. “After you.”
When I walked up the steps leading to the front door, a smile crept onto my face as memories of summer days spent out here flooded back.
The massive wraparound porch on the classic farmhouse provided the perfect shaded place for a redheaded little girl to keep out of the sun but also enjoy the fresh air. I grew up on this porch, going from playing with dolls and coloring to curling up on the ceiling-mounted bench swing with a good book, to planning my future with my best friend, Bex Crawford.
The two of us had been inseparable since kindergarten and left Rust Canyon together to attend college in LA. When I stayed in California for my master’s, she moved to Chicago for law school, where she currently practiced. We both had big dreams that had led us away from the town we called home. But unlike me, Bex wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas. She hadn’t been back since we were eighteen. For her, the memories were too painful, and she refused to face them.
As I gripped the doorknob, I could feel Mac’s body heat at my back. “Ready?” I asked, not bothering to turn around.
