they split?”
She swallowed. “Five.” Her eyes glazed over, and she disappeared into a memory. “That first Christmas was hard. I woke up to nothing under the tree, and I cried and cried. My mom held me and said—” Her voice cracked, and she folded in on herself.
Caleb moved without thinking. He pulled Faith into his arms. Hot tears hit his flannel shirt. “What did she say?”
Fighting the emotions inside of her, Faith whispered, “She said that we would have had presents if my no-good father had sent us money.”
Caleb wanted to strangle the woman who was so full of bitterness it had overflowed into her daughter’s heart. “I’m sorry.” He brushed his hand down her back. The lights around his neck creaked.
Faith sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I wonder how many of my memories are colored by my mother’s broken heart.”
“I don’t know. But you should ask your dad about that Christmas. There are two sides. And even if he was heartless and didn’t take care of you—at least you’ll know. The truth has a way of bringing peace.”
She nodded, looking numb.
“Hey,” He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her face. Her gray eyes were drowning in unshed tears that tore his heart out. “Whatever happens, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re an amazing person who can do incredible things.”
She shook her head.
“Faith—I watched you during surgery. You care about Rudy. You care about Dunder and the rest of the herd.”
Her cheeks twitched with the beginnings of a smile.
He took courage. “I don’t think you wanted to—but you do care.”
Her lips spread, but the smile didn’t touch her eyes—yet. He was still working at it. “I didn’t want to.” She choked out a laugh. “Stinking reindeer made me go soft.” She tugged her sleeve over her wrist and used it to wipe at her eyes.
Caleb pulled her closer. “You are a good-hearted person—it’s one of your better attributes.”
Her eyes grew wide.
Caleb reached for that smile. “Your backside isn’t bad either.”
She laughed even as she shoved away from him. “You are such a cowboy.”
He held up both hands. “What? I figure that’s one of my better attributes.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’d walk away, but I’m afraid you’d enjoy it too much.”
“Oh!” His chest puffed up in victory. She was laughing. She was smiling. She was flirting. Three points.
The faint sound of the doorbell floated up to them. He thought fast. “Tell you what: you finish going through this box, and I’ll answer the door. It’s probably my mom anyway.”
“Okay.” Her voice was smaller than it had been a moment ago.
He leaned in and spoke as if talking to a reindeer he was trying to harness for the first time. “It’s just a box.”
She shoved at him. “Go, before your mom freezes on the front porch.”
He hurried down the ladder and to the door.
“Were ya in the back forty?” Mom teased as she handed over a large basket. “This jolly elf is almost a Popsicle.”
“Sorry.” Caleb glanced under the towel draped over the contents. “This is great. Thank you so much.”
“Do you want some help decorating? I have an afternoon open.”
Caleb shook his head. Faith was just starting to open up to him, and he didn’t want to undo the closeness they’d created. Mom was a force of Christmas, and unleashing her on the holiday-skittish woman upstairs would be too much too soon. “There’s not that much to do.”
“Hmm.” She folded her arms. “Why do I feel like a third wheel all the sudden?”
Caleb grabbed the door handle and started shutting the door. “Maybe … because you are.” He winked.
“You remember what I said.” Mom shook her finger at him.
“I’ll remember.” He shut the door and looked back at the wooden ladder in the hallway. Faith had some pretty intense moments up there. He’d done good by holding her while she’d cried, and his manly pride was about bursting over it. Almost all of him wanted to dart back up the ladder and taker her into his arms again, but a part of him was cautious. She needed a moment to gather herself. He glanced into the basket and grinned. Maybe she needed a cookie.
“Thank you, Mom,” he mumbled as he headed to the kitchen and pulled out of bag of Mom’s frozen cookie dough. She made giant batches of it, rolled it into balls, and froze them for emergency cookie situations—which happened more often than he’d care to admit in their family of rambunctious men. He clicked