Page 61 of Montana Bride By Christmas
“I’m going to make some more dough, and we can make whatever we want with it. Not just stuff for Christmas.”
They spent the afternoon rolling and punching and shaping the dough.
Evan made something and looked from Annie to Hugh as if seeking approval.
“What have you made?” Annie asked.
Evan pointed to it.
Annie gazed at Hugh, silently pleading for help. Something about the way she looked at him slipped between the cracks of his inner barriers and exploded like a burst of sparks from a burning log.
He couldn’t tear his gaze from her warm smile and trusting eyes.
“What do you think it is, Hugh?”
His breath rushed out, and he looked at Evan’s creation. “I’d say it was a dog. Am I right?”
Evan nodded and gave him a pleased smile. The boy carefully carried the dough dog to the mat in the corner and placed it beside the stuffed dog.
“How’d you know it was a dog?” Annie whispered.
“It looks almost like Spot.”
“It does not!” She huffed her shock.
“It does except for the ears and the eyes and the nose and the tail and the—” He laughed, pleased when she joined him. Her amusement filled her eyes and flooded his heart.
It became harder and harder to guard his thoughts.
He sobered. He must be careful. Not only was his future peace of mind at stake, but so was Evan’s.
That night, Annie read a story to Evan. Hugh wondered if the boy enjoyed the sense of routine as much as he did. Hugh said prayers with the boy, feeling peace enfold them. Then he took Evan and the pup to the bedroom. They both curled up next to each other and sighed their contentment. Knowing they were settled for the night, Hugh returned to the living room, where he’d built a fire.
Annie sat on the couch, staring into the flames.
And waiting for him?
Of course not. She was simply enjoying the warmth of the fire.
She turned to him as he sat beside her. “Evan is doing really well, don’t you think?”
“He’s come a long way.” He didn’t point out that it was just the beginning. He was only four. He had plenty of time.
“I’ve been thinking of what you told me about your mother.”
He stiffened at her words. Any talk or thought of her made his insides hurt.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the feeling that you think you are to blame for how she treated you. As if you somehow deserved it.”
He didn’t correct her.
“How can you believe that?” Her voice rang with passion. “A mother is supposed to love her children. If she doesn’t, she must have something wrong with her. I know if I had children, I would love them so fiercely that I would fight a band of marauding murderers to protect them. Evan isn’t my own child, but I would do anything for him.”
“You love him.” He meant it as a fact.
She didn’t deny it but looked away, a troubled expression on her face.
“You said you didn’t want to love.”
