Page 42 of A Ranger for Christmas
The next thirty minutes was a scramble to dress, grab coffee, and get on the road back to Austin. Lucas dropped her off at her Hyde Park home an hour later. Instead of racing back to his car, he hesitated. “I don’t like leaving you here.”
“I’ll be fine. And it’s time I went through some boxes.”
Boxes that held memories she’d been running from for years. The outside world had barreled back into their lives. Would it tear them apart? “See you soon.”
“Be careful.” She smiled and reached for the door handle.
He captured her arm. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I know.”
He took her hand in his. “I was thinking we could take a vacation.”
She arched a brow. “Really?”
He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Somewhere fun. An island. Just the two of us.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t go anywhere.”
She laughed before sobering. “I won’t if you promise to be careful.”
“Copy that.” He kissed her again and watched her vanish into her home. When he heard her click the dead bolt in place, he drove off, his gaze in the rearview mirror as he wondered if he’d ever see her again.
“Marisa.” Her father’s voice cut through the phone line. “Where are you?”
“Home. I’m home.” She sat in front of the one box she’d sworn she’d never open again. It was the box marked CHRISTMAS. She pulled out strands of old lights, colorful glass balls, and had just reached several handmade ornaments when the phone rang.
A sigh shuddered through the line. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”
She glanced at the box of Christmas ornaments. “I’m fine.”
“This is the Ranger’s fault.”
“It’s not.”
“Ancient languages are not cutting edge. They were the center of your mother’s life, other than you. We agreed on little, but we both loved you.”
Emotion clogged her throat, and for a moment she didn’t speak. She dug into the Christmas box and retrieved a handmade star ornament. Recollections flooded of the day she and her mother and father had made it together. “Remember the year you, Mom, and I decorated a cedar tree along the highway? I was about six.”
“I remember. You and I spent most of the morning making a paper chain to go on our tree. And your mother made the star.”
She held up the star, amazed he’d remembered. Light caught the bits of glitter still clinging to the cardboard. “I remember thinking that chain was a thousand feet long after we’d made all those loops, but in the end it barely wrapped twice around the cedar tree.”
“Your mom loved Christmas when you were little.”
She cut through time, trying to remember the years before the divorce. “I have few happy memories of Christmas.”
“There was a time when she loved the holiday.” A heavy silence settled. “I never meant to end the marriage on Christmas Eve. I lost my temper. I didn’t think beyond my own misery to you or your mother. I’ve always blamed myself for ruining Christmas for you and your mom.”
She cradled the phone close, tears stinging in the back of her eyes. Her father may have been selfish, but her mother had also chosen to hang on to the anger and let bitterness rob her of happiness. That bitterness had spilled into Marisa’s life and she’d allowed it to remain.
She could never gain back the years she’d lost with her mother and father, but she could find a way to embrace the future. “Thanks for saying that.”
He cleared his throat. “Come over for dinner. We’d love to have you.”
“Thank you, I’d like that. I’ve a few chores to do here and I’m waiting to hear back from Lucas. I broke his code.”
