Page 12 of Can She Get Home for Christmas?

“Because you’re always using your own money to buy supplies—and you’re always planning projects for the kids.” Before she could jump on that, he went on, “I know you cook instead of bringing in fast food. I know you have shelves full of books. I know you have a flare for decorating your house. And I knew you were going to end up on the road here, but I didn’t know exactly when. I needed more information.”

While she digested that, he got up and moved the pot off the burner before emptying packets of sweetened chocolate powder into two mugs. He added hot water to each and stirred.

When he returned to the table with the hot drinks, her gaze was rigid. “I’m not comfortable with that. I mean, if you were . . . watching me . . . did you see me getting dressed? In the bathroom? What?”

“I . . . didn’t see you in any way that you would object to.”

“Except violating my privacy,” she said, punching out the words.

As if to add power to her observation, the wind outside picked up, howling around the corner of the little building, and he could imagine the snow swirling, obliterating their presence to the outside world. That was good. With the blackout shutters, the cabin would be invisible.

She was still staring at him, and he went on.

“I knew you had left home and were on the road this morning. Of course, I didn’t know you were going to have an accident, but I was worried about you out in this weather. I drove up and down this stretch of road half a dozen times. If I hadn’t been out looking for you this afternoon, you would be wherever that guy was planning to take you.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, then gave a little nod of acknowledgment. But it seemed she wasn’t going to let him switch the subject to his rescuing her. Her lips firmed as she asked, “What else, exactly, do you know about me?”

He felt his insides clench. “I know you’re in some kind of trouble. Or you’re seriously worried about something.”

He recognized at once that his words had been a trigger. He saw her struggling to hold her composure. And then her breath hitched, and she started to sob.

It was the last thing Jax had expected. He saw her trying to get control of herself and failing. Maybe if they’d been in a bigger house, he would have given her some privacy. No, that wasn’t true. He couldn’t stand that he’d cut to her tender core.

Without time to consider, he scraped back his chair, stood up, and rounded the table. Lifting her out of her chair, he sat down, then settled her in his lap. He expected her to resist. Instead she leaned into him and pressed her face to his chest, hiding as she sobbed. When he felt her shoulders shaking, he stroked her and kept telling her everything was going to be okay, although he had no idea why she was in so much distress.

He had been watching her for over a month, and he had thought he had gotten to know her. But actually having her in his arms was different. She felt fragile and at the same time strong. And as he tried to comfort her, he wanted to wipe her tears away and then bring his lips to hers.

For long moments she continued to cry, until he knew she was making a mighty effort to get control of herself.

Finally, the storm raging inside her subsided. He’d left some paper napkins on the table, which she used to blow her nose.

She kept her face down for another few seconds, then raised her wet eyes to his.

“Sorry.” She pushed off his lap, and he felt the loss of her.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said as she settled into the chair across the table.

She swiped her hand across her face. “Okay, I had to get home because we just found out my mom has breast cancer. She’s scheduled for surgery right after Christmas.”

The way she said it stabbed at him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. I know it was stupid to try to drive through the storm, but I kept thinking this might be my last Christmas with her, and I told myself that if I missed it, I’d hate myself for the rest of my life.”

“And now you’re probably going to spend Christmas with me.”

“Better than with him,” she clipped out.

And the family is going to wonder where you are, he thought, debating whether to voice it aloud. Maybe it was better to just leave that alone.

She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Telling you about it helped.”

“Did it?”

“Holding it inside was a horrible strain. And now I’m wondering if I was building it out of proportion. I mean, Mom could end up okay. I know they’ve come a long way with . . . effective treatments.”

“Yes.”

As she let out a long sigh, it looked like weeks of worry were being lifted from her shoulders. She let her gaze flick to the bags he’d brought in. “We can have Christmas Eve dinner.”

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