Christmas Kisses with My Cowboy - Diana Palmer Page 0,91

over the scar on her hip. “It wasn’t his first offence. Hope said he liked nice things but didn’t like to work. He also liked to argue. One night he got into it with a neighbor over a parking spot in front of our house. It didn’t take much to rile him up. The guy refused to move his car, so my dad punctured his tires.”

Faith paused for a moment, listening to the steady beat of Noah’s heart. Finding strength in it. “I was six and had spent that afternoon with him at Coney Island, the two of us. I was covered in cotton candy, so Hope put me in the bath. I heard a crash downstairs and lots of shouting, so I put on my nightgown and ran to see what was happening.”

It was all so strange, rattling off the facts of an event as if it hadn’t happened to her.

“Later I learned the neighbor had called the cops and when they showed up, my dad refused to let them in. But since he was still on parole for a burglary charge, he wasn’t allowed to deny them entry. He also wasn’t allowed to have a gun.”

Beneath her, Noah’s body tightened, his free arm wrapping around her to hold her close.

“All I remember was thinking this man was yelling at my dad, so I ran over to help him. I didn’t know I was walking into the middle of a standoff. The officer was a rookie, so when my dad moved to grab me, Officer John Harding saw he had a gun and fired, hitting me here.” She placed her hand atop his again and he laced their fingers.

Even now, she remembered the searing pain in her side. Red seeping through her white nightgown and staining the carpet beneath her. She struggled to breathe, her lungs frozen from being thrust backward, and the corners of her gaze turned black. Then her daddy was there, standing over her and asking her to open her eyes. His face was contorted in anger and concern, his hands ever so gently holding her.

He whispered, “I’m so sorry,” over and over.

“My dad’s aim was better,” she continued. “Not lethal, but accurate enough that Officer Harding retired shortly thereafter. The man who read to me every night before bedtime and braided my hair when my mom couldn’t be bothered shot a policeman.” Her throat closed on the last word. “And that’s only husband number one. I can tell you more.”

“Baby,” he said, situating them so that they were both on their sides, facing each other. He wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. “There are so many things seriously screwed up about what you just told me, but none of that is on you.”

“I know that now, but for years I played the ‘what if?’ game. What if I hadn’t gone downstairs? What if I hadn’t moved when I did? What if my dad had simply let Officer Harding in? What if he hadn’t had a gun?”

“You can’t go down that road—it will drive you mad. Trust me.”

“The worst part is I still love him,” she whispered, horrified at the admission. “He’s a bad man and I still love him.”

Noah rested his forehead against hers. “He’s your father. Of course you still love him. People aren’t all good or all bad. Some make better choices than others. But none of what you’ve told me changes anything about the way I feel for you.”

And, right then, sitting under a blanket of stars, Faith fell headfirst into every kind of love with Noah Tucker.

Chapter Eleven

Saturday morning dawned early on the day of the Shindig, tapping a steady rhythm on Faith’s eyelids for her to rise and shine.

“Five more minutes,” she pleaded, pulling the covers over her head. That was her Christmas wish. Five more minutes of being horizontal and snuggled under the cozy blanket. Five more minutes to dream about Noah and his magical mouth.

That whole night had been magical. From the minute he took her hand until he helped her to her car—kissing her good-night before she drove off—the man never missed a step. Even when she’d confessed about her family. He’d been so understanding, patiently listening while she went into greater detail about her life with Hope.

She felt safe with him. No, he worked hard to make her feel safe. Every touch, look, and thoughtful word was a testament to the kind of man he was. Nothing about him was impulsive or