Sweet Joymaker (Indigo Bay Christmas Romances #3) - Jean Oram Page 0,27
work once we return to Sweetheart Creek.”
“How’s that?”
“The boys. The ranch. Life.”
“Well…” Clint straightened, his brow furrowed in thought. “I’ll have to convince them you absolutely need me in your life.”
“How will you do that?” she asked, curious if he was serious or not.
“I’ll explain how it’ll be a horrible future for all of us without me around. There’ll be no lasagna or cinnamon buns, because you’ll be too bereft to cook. It’s to everyone’s advantage to have me with you.” He closed the fridge and began opening the bottle of wine, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I see.”
He poured three glasses while she thought over the logistics of them continuing a relationship back home.
Clint handed her a glass, then lifted his own. “Cheers to that?”
She sighed and clinked her glass against his. “Cheers.”
She gestured to the stack of vegetables he’d pulled from the fridge. “Are you going to surprise me with those deft skills of yours, master chef? Or do I have to cook?”
“I will always do more than merely surprise you, Maria. You can count on that.”
Chapter 6
Clint had taken over the kitchen, creating a marvelous stir-fry. Afterward, Kit had fallen asleep on the couch and he’d tipped his head toward the door with a finger to his lips, pulling Maria by the hand.
They’d slipped out and were now walking hand in hand past beach houses, admiring the wreaths, lights and other Christmas decorations.
“Thanks for supper,” she said, swinging his hand in hers.
“You know, I’m okay just dating. We don’t need to get married.”
She laughed, peering up into the dark sky. “We don’t?”
“I’m serious.” He stopped walking. “I know your boys and your family are important to you. So is the ranch.”
She swallowed the apprehension swelling inside her. She wanted to talk about this, but was afraid where it might lead, and that she might wind up without Clint.
“Your family needs things from you, and you want to provide whatever it is. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re integral.” He spoke faster so she wouldn’t interrupt. “But what about you, Maria?” Her name rolled off his tongue in that sweet way she loved. “Ignoring everything that pricks at your sense of obligation, what do you want? Really and truly?”
“Really and truly?”
“Yes.”
“For us?” she asked, wanting to unleash all her hopes and dreams, but afraid if she opened her mouth they would all spill out.
“One wish.” They had stopped walking near a yard that was glowing with lights. “But not about you and me. Blurt it out.”
“I want Cole to come home.” The pain was clear to her own ears. “For Christmas, if not forever. He’s been gone too long. I miss him and it’s not right that he’s been away forever.”
Clint was quiet for a moment and she was left with nothing but her own thoughts and emotions, wondering what kind of woman he might consider her to be. What mother allowed her son to run off and stay away for almost five years?
Maybe she wasn’t the woman Clint thought she was.
She knew she’d done things she’d never expected. Life unfolded. Events happened. And sometimes afterward you picked yourself up out of the dirt, pulling emotional shrapnel from your soul and wondering what the heck had just occurred.
But when it came right down to it, a good mother didn’t allow her son to have that much space.
“Well?” Clint asked.
“Well what?” she snapped, immediately regretting her tone. She murmured an apology.
He ignored it and said, “How are you going to remedy this?”
“I thought we were talking about you and me?”
He lifted a shoulder casually. “We got sidetracked by other things you want and need. So what are you going to do? What’s your plan?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You make things happen everywhere you go, and you’re a woman of action.” His tone was persuasive. “I bet you at least have an idea.”
Maria mulled that over, her spirits lifting.
Clint gently nudged her. He was watching her with questioning eyes. “You think maybe you could call him?”
She was already shaking her head. “I don’t think I can.”
“Why not?”
“Words were exchanged, and I’m not sure he wants to talk to me.”
What must her son think of her for not reaching out? For not trying? For letting Roy speak for both of them.
“Call him,” Clint said, placing a hand over hers.
“I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t have his current number.”
“Do you know who does?”
“Brant.” For too long, she had left her middle son, the sensitive one, with that burden. Where had she been in