it very often, so I don’t keep any here.”
“This is fine,” he said, nodding his thanks to her. “It’s hot, which is the most important thing right now.”
“I didn’t hear you coming. Where’s your car?”
“It’s stuck about halfway up the driveway.”
She sat in the other corner of the couch and wrapped both hands around her cup. “I bet it was a cold walk.”
He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “Where’s Virginia?” He looked around for evidence of the older sister.
“She’s gone back to school early. She rented an apartment up there, and I think Stu might come down from Cincinnati and visit her over break.”
“Ah.”
“You want a sandwich or something? I brought some ham up from Mom and Dad’s house.”
“No, thank you — not right now.” He set his cup on the coffee table and reached for hers, putting it on the table next to his. “Come here so I can say hello properly.”
She laughed and slid over, wrapping her long arms around his neck. “Hello,” she whispered, and kissed him on the lips. He sank into the kiss, pulling her to him and willing her mouth to open under his. He pulled the tie off her hair and ran his fingers through the long, shining, red locks, settling his hand on the back of her head to hold her securely in place. The pent-up emotions of the past twenty-four hours unraveled inside him, and his desperation to make a connection with her was overwhelming. He moaned her name, inching his hands under her sweater.
“Oooh, your hands are cold.”
“Let me warm them on you.” He moved in to kiss her again, and she caught his face in her hands and pulled back to look at him.
“James?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“This visit is a bit of a surprise. You’re here early.”
“Wanted to see you.”
“Mm-hmm. Wanted to see you too.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“When are you going to tell me what’s happened?”
“What do you mean?” he answered, not wanting to talk about it when he was all charged up for other reasons.
“You look . . . happy, yet unhappy — happy that you’re here, but unhappy about something . . . something big . . . something that brought you here two days early.”
He sighed. “I don’t want to go into it just yet.”
She studied him for a moment. Then she shrugged. “You’re the boss, Jim Dandy.” She turned so her back was to his chest and leaned against him, pulling his arm around her. “So, do you want to hear about my Christmas?”
He nestled her head under his chin and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair, her skin, all of her. He felt his pulse quicken but his body relax, which didn’t seem possible, but there it was. “Go on.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The whole Elliot crew gathered round the family homestead for the holiday. My mother planned this elaborate dinner to celebrate Christmas and Ginny and me coming home from school. It was the perfect Christmas feast — ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, rolls, and green beans with ham hocks.”
James shuddered, and she laughed at him. “Buckeye.”
“Hillbilly.”
“Anyway, to go on with my story . . . It was going to be quite a to-do.” She ran her hand down his arm as she might stroke the spine of a cat. James almost purred.
“But then, the big Christmas Day arrives” — she paused — “and Mom spends all day in her room crying.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”
“So, Virginia and I made the dinner. We fix Mom a plate and take it in to her. We open the presents without her, and then late this afternoon, Ginny says she’s done and heads back to Lexington. It’s supposed to snow, and suddenly I can’t stand the thought of being trapped in that house anymore. So I leave my brothers playing on their new Nintendo and Spring with her nose in a book, pack up some leftovers, and hightail it out of there.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“So here’s my question: when I run off up here, what makes me any different than Mom running off to her room? Don’t you think we’re both hiding?”
“No, it’s different, Laurel.”
“How?”
“You’re still changing, still growing, still doing new things — you’re going to school, you’re working on this cabin. Trust me; it’s different than crying in bed all day. You know that.”
“She wasn’t always like this, you know. I mean, she was always quiet and shy, but not like this.” Laurel’s