Page 10 of A Cowboy Home for Christmas
“It’s like a Christmas miracle!” Clara cheers.
“Barker, put the tree by the fireplace.” Barker’s eyes meet mine for a long concerned second before he obeys his mama. “And someone take the kids out to play.” Marilyn spins the girls in the direction of the door, and lightly swats their derrières.
“I’ll do it.” Joe rises from the chair, leaning his weight on his cane. “Come on, girls.” He shrugs on his coat at the front door.
“Pawpaw, wanna see the snow maze?” Clara tugs on his coat pocket.
“It’s not real snow.” Lark slips her hand in her grandfather’s free hand. “Because it doesn’t snow in Whiskey Ridge Creek.”
“I’ll tell you a story about when I was a wee lad, and there was the biggest snow storm the south has seen ...”
I wait for the door to close behind them. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I invited her,” Savi answers.
My heart breaks a tiny bit at Savi’s guiltless conviction. I’ve never been anything but nice to Savi. I love Savi like a sister. And for whatever reason, she’s decided to blame Gunnar’s death on me. On me! I wasn’t even with him. He hadn’t even died in the bed we shared. Not that he spent many nights in our bed.
“She’s not welcome.” My glare falls on Alison. She has that mother-to-be glow. Even through her obvious discomfort of standing here. “You’re not welcome.”
“Lauren, can we talk?” I want to slap the sweetness out of her voice. She’s not sweet. She’s a monster.
“I don’t have a damn thing to say to you. Unless the words include home-wrecker, slut, whore —”
“Whoa!” Savi steps into the space between us. She holds up her hands, but her scowl lands on me.
“Let’s be respectful.” Marilyn touches my arm. I know my words bounce back at her, putting the blame on her son. He’d been the home-wrecking man-whore.
“Respectful?” I need to stop there. Have consideration for the mourning mother, the woman who opened her home for Gunnar’s pregnant shotgun wedding wife. But something inside me snaps. It wasn’t me Marilyn opened her home for. It was the twins I’d been carrying. And clearly, she plans to do the same for Alison.
My gaze pierces Alison. “We passed respectful when she opened her legs for my disrespectful, cheating husband.”
Silence stretches across the room, leaving only the crackle of the fake fire, and the television playing Christmas music to fill in the space.
“Maybe this was a bad idea.” It’s the first thing Alison’s said that I agree with.
“No, you’re staying.” Savi picks up an overnight bag I hadn’t noticed.
“Staying here?” My voice cracks with shock.
“There’s an extra room and —”
“No. Absolutely not.” I didn’t haul my girls here for a painfully strained week with her.
“Christmas is about family,” Savi says. “And Alison’s baby is our nephew, our grandson, and the girl’s half-brother.”
My hearts stops. I swear it does. It just stops in my chest, and leaves my body numb. “You’re having a boy?”
She tries not to smile as her hands circle her middle. But I can tell. We were best friends for crying out loud. “Yes.”
The word thunders in my head. It almost takes me to my knees. All Gunnar wanted was a boy. He loved his girls, but he never let me forget I didn’t give him a son.
“Excuse me.” I force myself not to run up the stairs. I want to slam the bedroom door so damn hard. I resist. I storm into the bathroom, flip on the taps, and stick my hands under the cold water. They freeze. I want to splash my face, but if I do, then I’ll have to redo my makeup. Everyone will think I’ve been crying. Crying for a man who never loved me. For a son I never had. For a life I didn’t love, but suffered through for my girls.
“Lauren?” Suddenly sharing a bathroom with Barker isn’t ideal.
I turn off the taps and dry my hands. “I’m fine.”
“There’s a game in the arcade that I’ve played a time or two. You know, if you ever want to hit something. Blow off some steam.” He stands in the doorframe to his bedroom. Hands stuffed in his jean pockets. Tall, bulky muscles for miles, and the sweetest, caring face I’ve ever met. He always has soft eyes for me. Always there when I need him. And I need to blow off steam. But I’d rather ride a cowboy than hit something.
