Page 81 of Free to Fall

Laura’s body rocks with suppressed laughter. “Yes, but I refuse to give up my secret to winning.”

“No one expects you to. Right, Buttercup?” Hell, I’d agree to anything at this point.

Bailey obviously feels the same way. “Right.”

I sputter my wine into my glass. “You make the poor fool who loses display whatever piece of trash they’re stuck with in their home for a whole year?”

Laura’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Prominently.”

“What does that mean?”

“It can’t be hidden, nor can it be obfuscated. The item has to be in a place of prominence so any of us—or any visitors—can see it.” Devilishly amused, she recalls, “The best was last year when my father and Uncle Keene ended up with the same entry because they both were too busy to shop.”

“How did that happen?” I’m intrigued, despite myself.

Laura adopts an angelic face. “Both of them asked me to pick up something for them.”

“You sabotaged your own father? What happened to family loyalty?” I howl at the idea of Laura pulling a twofer and taking down both powerful men in one fell swoop.

Her face adopts the fiercest expression I’ve ever seen. “We’re all loyal to one another.”

“I didn’t mean . . .”

Then it smooths out before she teases, “However, just because we love each other doesn’t mean we’re not competitive. It’s war, and no one is safe until Christmas is over.”

I chortle into my wine, holding her captivating gaze even as Bailey’s laughter wraps around us. It’s a moment in time so perfect, I want to memorize every second of it. Especially when a light blush spreads across Laura’s cheeks, bringing more attention to her incredible eyes. My voice is husky even to my own ears when I quote, “‘All’s fair in love and war?’”

That’s when the earth shifts, or maybe it’s just my world. Her voice rings true when she lifts her own glass and takes a fortifying sip before acknowledging her call to her father without saying the words. “Love, if it’s true, involves loyalty, strength, and courage. Therefore, by definition, all love is a war. If you’re not fighting for it, you should be fighting to hold on to it, to cherish it.” With that declaration lying between us, she turns to a wide-eyed Bailey. “How about you wheel into the kitchen with your dishes and bring back the cookies we made yesterday for dessert.”

“Okay, Laura.” Appeased, like most seven-year-olds are with the concept of dessert, Bailey wheels off to do as Laura asks.

She twirls her glass around in her hand before saying, “My call to my father before didn’t mean I was jumping to conclusions about you, Liam.”

“Then what was it about?”

She pauses a moment before admitting, “I’ve had to stick my hand in a person’s chest and manually push the blood through their heart to keep loved ones alive.”

I sit up straighter. “Laura ...”

Her fingers tighten on the stem of her glass. “I’ve also been shot by a man because I told him his father died. In between, there’s a constant war between love and hate, life and death that consumes—consumed—my every day. I couldn’t bear the thought of Bailey ...”

“Of Bailey?” I prompt when she trails off.

“Of her not feeling the same level of love I had growing up after everything that she’s endured. Because she was hurt in the crossfire of me telling two men their father died.” Laura moves to shove away from the table, to escape the emotions swimming inside her eyes. Instead, I stop her by stretching my hand across it and clasping her wrist to stay her movement. The second I do, her pulse leaps beneath my fingers.

Our eyes meet.

Hold.

There’s an inhale—hers.

An expulsion of breath—mine.

The room shrinks to the distance across a farmhouse table. My thumb grazes the silken skin of her inner wrist and I watch her face as the blood thrumming through her sends an electrical surge through my body.

Her lips part but what she says is lost when there’s a squeak of rubber on the floor. By the time Bailey rolls out with the tub of cookies in her lap, Laura’s hands are tucked safely in her lap and mine is wrapped once again around the stem of my wineglass.

As I lay in bed that night on “Firmy,” I think about my whole day from beginning to end. Unsurprisingly, it all begins and ends with Laura and Bailey. I scrub my hand over my face and beard when I realize I was about to kiss Laura without any consideration as to where Bailey might be.

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