Christmas at Twilight (8 page)

Ashley was a grown woman. If she wanted to take off with some sketchy character, he couldn't stop or change her. As long as Kimmie was safe and well cared for, that's what mattered.

He could do some digging and find out exactly who Jane Brown was. On the surface, she appeared to be everything she said she was, but underneath she was hiding something. He felt it in his bones. Still, did he really want to stir that hornet's nest? They'd agreed to stay in the house and put on a nice Christmas for the kids. If he started poking around, he had to expect blowback. Was he ready for that?

Or he could fix the fence Jane had knocked down with her minivan and then put up Christmas lights as a surprise for the children when they got home. He imagined their happy expressions, and he smiled a smile that felt rusty, but good.

Yeah. He liked that idea. Christmas lights.

He headed for the garage where he stored the decorations, but before he got there, the doorbell rang. Who could that be? Most likely it was some overly helpful neighbor. For better or worse, Twilight was full of 'em.

His initial impulse was not to answer the door. He couldn't talk and he didn't want to get into explaining the whole mess via Magic Slate.

Yeah, but the sane thing to do was open the door, even if he didn't feel like it. If he didn't have Kimmie to consider, he wouldn't give a damn, but he had to get his head on straight for her.

Suck it up, Hutchinson. Do the right thing.

The doorbell rang again.

He looked around for the Magic Slate, forgot where he'd stashed it. He'd had it at the breakfast table. Not there. Not on the bar. He was helpless without the damn thing. Had he left it upstairs?

A knock sounded on the door this time, a strong, masculine knock.

Where was that Magic Slate? Stalling. He was stalling. Just grab a pen and paper.

He snatched a pen and paper from beside the phone charging station in the kitchen and strode toward the door. Through the blinds covering the window beside the front door, he could see the shadow of three men standing on the front porch.

Hutch faltered. Stopped.

“Maybe he's not home,” one of the men said, and Hutch recognized the voice as belonging to Sheriff Hondo Crouch.

Hondo had been wounded in Vietnam and had come home with a heroin addiction. He'd been one of the lucky ones, who with therapy and community support had turned his life around. Last Christmas Eve, he'd married his high school sweetheart, Patsy Cross, forty years after they'd first fallen in love. Hutch had been a groomsman at the wedding.

“His pickup is in the driveway,” said the second man.

“He could be out fishing, Nate,” Hondo speculated.

The second man must be Nate Deavers. Nate was a former Navy SEAL who'd moved to Twilight the previous year. Nate was six or seven years older than Hutch and they'd formed a good-natured SEAL/Delta Force rivalry. Trash talking each other's branch of the service in jest, getting competitive at pool and darts down at the Horny Toad Tavern whenever Hutch was on leave.

When he first met Nate, Hutch sort of hoped Ashley would hook up with him. His sister needed a strong older man who could handle her mood swings, and Nate would have made a great father for Kimmie. But the SEAL had fallen head-over-heels for Raylene Pringle's daughter, Shannon Dugan. In hindsight it was probably the best thing, for Nate's sake anyway. Nate and Shannon made a cute couple, and he'd heard through the grapevine that Shannon was pregnant with their first baby.

“Boat's on the side of the house,” the third man said. “I saw it when we drove up.”

Hutch recognized his voice too. Former Green Beret Gideon Garza.

He and Gideon had gone to high school together, played varsity football together, bonded over the fact they both had fathers who would not claim them and mothers with mental health issues. If there was one person in Twilight who knew exactly what Hutch was going through, it was Gideon. For eight years, everyone in town thought Gideon had been killed in Iraq. He'd lost a hand in a bombing, lost his memory for a while too, and turned soldier of fortune in Afghanistan. Gideon had come back to Twilight after his biological father died and left him a ranch a few years ago. Life had been tough for Gideon, but he'd reconnected with his high school sweetheart, Caitlyn Marsh, and discovered her son, Danny, was his child. Gideon and Caitlyn had gotten married and now they'd had another baby boy.

It seemed as if all the wounded veterans from Twilight had gotten their happy ending except for him.

“Maybe he's just not ready,” Nate said. “You men know what it's like when you first get back. You feel like you don't fit in, like no one knows what you're going through.”

“Which is why we're here,” Gideon said. “To let him know he's not alone.”

Pity visit. That's what this was. Hutch dropped the pen and paper onto the foyer table.

“If his doc hadn't called me and told me he hadn't gotten his meds refilled, I wouldn't be so damn worried. But he's heading down a dark road, and the sooner we nip this in the bud, the better.”

Shit. This was worse than a pity visit. It was an intervention. And screw Gupta. Who did he think he was interfering in Hutch's life after he'd had the gall to kick Hutch out of the Army? He wished like hell he hadn't put Gideon's name down as a second emergency contact in his files.

One of the shadows on the front porch shifted and Hondo came into his line of sight.

“Hell,” Hondo said, his voice louder than it had been before. “I'm here because I want to hear Igloo's tall tales. He's the funniest son of a bitch I know, and he can talk the hind leg off a dog when he's in a storytelling mood.”

That's when Hutch realized Hondo had seen him too and he was making out like this wasn't an intervention. So Hondo wanted to hear his stories. That wasn't happening. He wouldn't be entertaining them. He wouldn't be cracking wise or pulling practical jokes.

Because the man they'd come to see no longer existed.

“Let's give him some space,” Nate suggested.

“Wallowing in self-pity isn't the answer,” Gideon said. “I know. I tried it. He's hurting and can't see a way out of his pain.”

We might have played on the gridiron, buddy, and knocked back a few beers, but that don't mean you know me.
Hutch knotted his fists, ran his thumb over the stump of his index finger.

“Nate's right,” Hondo said, and started walking away.

“Hold on. I can't just leave him hanging. Anybody got some paper? I'll write him a note.”

There was silence for a minute, presumably while Gideon wrote the note. Hutch felt stupid just standing there in the hallway waiting from them to leave, but he didn't really know what else he could do at this point. Hondo had already seen him, and knew he was hiding out. And it wasn't as if he could open the door, grin, call them all assholes, pound them on the back, and go off to have a beer like everything was normal.

Finally they left, and he waited a good two minutes before he opened the door and retrieved the note tucked under the doorknocker.

Igloo,

If you need to talk, we're here. And if you feel like getting out of your own head, we could use some help with the Angel Tree toy drive.

Below the note, Gideon had listed his, Nate's, and Hondo's names and phone numbers.

The message was simple and to the point. Reaching out. Trying to help.

Without really knowing why, Hutch doubled up his fist, hauled back, and punched the metal front door with so much force it rattled his teeth.

H
utch's pickup wasn't in the driveway when Meredith got back with the kids on Thursday afternoon, but the fence had been repaired, Christmas lights strung from the eaves of the house and down the sidewalk. In the middle of the lawn, Santa's sleigh had been set up.

What a sweet surprise.

Enchanted, Kimmie and Ben insisted that she turn the lights on, even though she told them it wasn't dark enough yet. She helped the children remove their coats and hang them in the front hall closet.

The Magic Slate lay on the foyer table. Hutch had gone off without it. Her curious son toyed with it, lifting the top sheet.

“Leave it alone, Ben. That's not yours.”

The empty house was spotless, and she had to admit she was a little relieved that he was not home. All day at work, she had caught herself thinking about him in the middle of a massage. How mysterious he'd looked stepping out of the mist last night. How sexy his feet were. How he prepared breakfast for her and the kids, cooking pancakes far more delicious than the ones she made, and he'd offered to make dinner as well.

She found herself charmed, and that was a terrifying thing. The last time someone had charmed her, she'd ended up with a sociopath.

Shivering, she closed her eyes. Hutch wasn't Sloane. He was real, genuine, nothing slick or sly about him. Still, that terrible choice she'd made five years ago haunted her. How could she ever trust her estimation of anyone?

Dr. Lily had told her that she couldn't blame herself, that sociopaths could fool trained professionals. They were skilled manipulators, adept at presenting the face society wanted to see, at least until after they'd conned you.

Meredith shoved thoughts of Sloane aside. He'd dominated too much of her life. She'd learned to seize peace, happiness, and contentment in minute slices. The past couldn't be fixed, the future uncertain. All that mattered was right this moment, and she refused to allow him to ruin that.

True to his word, Hutch had left a pot roast simmering in the slow cooker and a bowl of salad, covered with plastic wrap, in the refrigerator.

She sent the kids to change their clothes, and put on a
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
DVD. As a child, it had been one of her favorites, and she made watching it every year a family tradition. She popped some popcorn and went to sit on the couch to share it with the children.

By the time Rudolph triumphantly rescued the misfit toys and saved Christmas, Hutch still hadn't returned. She didn't know his cell phone number so she couldn't text and ask if he was going to be home for supper.

Why was she worried about what he did? They were housemates, sharing child-rearing duties. Nothing more. He'd made the food. She would serve it. If he chose to stay out late, it was none of her business. Although it was a little inconsiderate that he hadn't left her a note. That was just common courtesy, right? He should have left her a note. She might have to add that to her list of rules. Let her know if he was going to be out of pocket.

“Who wants to make candy cane reindeers?” she asked after the show was over.

“Me! Me!” the kids chorused in unison, crawling over Meredith and bringing a smile to her face.

“Okay. Wash your hands and I'll meet you at the kitchen table.”

They made reindeers with candy canes, using red pipe cleaners for antlers, gluing small red pompoms for a nose and black googly eyes she'd picked up at the craft store for eyeballs. The kids giggled nonstop. Ben had blossomed since coming to live here. Kimmie had too.

Such a shame she and her son would be moving on after the holidays.

A cloak of melancholia fell over her, but she gave herself a mental shake and shrugged off the emotion. She enlisted the children's help in cleaning up their craft project and hanging the reindeer over the sides of coffee cups on the bar for Hutch to see when he came home, and set the table for supper.

“Where's Unca Hutch?” Kimmie asked.

“He's out.” Meredith didn't know what else to say.

Ben tugged on the hem of her shirt. “When's he comin' back?”

“I'm not sure. We'll go ahead and eat without him.”

“Did he go to visit Santa like my mommy?” Kimmie worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“No, sweetie. Who wants to help me make iced tea?” Meredith asked. The kids loved putting the cartridges in the single cup brewer, and that got them off the topic of Hutch.

They ate dinner. She sent the kids into the living room to play while she washed the dishes and put away the food. Then she loaded Ben and Kimmie up in the car and they drove around the neighborhood looking at Christmas lights for half an hour. After that, she put them to bed.

The phone rang as she was brushing her teeth, and she thought,
Hutch!
But when she got to the phone Flynn Calloway's name was on the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Jane?”

Meredith paused for a second, thinking,
Who's Jane?
before remembering the alias she'd chosen to go by in Twilight. In the last five years she'd lived in eleven cities and towns. The false names were getting harder and harder to recall. She tried to keep them plain—Mary, Sue, Ann, Sally, Dee—and for the last three moves, she'd kept the last name of Brown just to make things easier, but that was risky. In the next town maybe she would keep Jane, but change her last name. Now that Ben was getting older the name changes were trickier. For his preschool enrollment in Twilight, she'd used his real birth certificate; getting fake documents was complicated and expensive. When Ben was born she'd put down the father as unknown and given him her maiden name of Sommers. She was terrified that Sloane—with his omnipotent power as a police detective—would trace Ben through school records. Although she'd left Sloane before he knew that she was pregnant, he'd learned about their son when he'd tracked her down the first time.

“Jane? Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't wake you, did I?”

“No, I was up.”

“Oh that's good. I saw the Christmas lights were on and hoped you were still up.”

“Wide awake. What's happening?”

“Nothing really. I just wanted to encourage you to attend the cookie swap party. I know you're something of an introvert . . .”

Not really. Not by nature. Not by choice. But Sloane had made her that way. She couldn't afford to get too chummy with people, give too much away. She'd only started attending the local book club because they held it on the same day Ashley hosted a weekly girls-night-in party with her friends, and Meredith hadn't wanted to intrude. Plus, Ye Olde Book Nook where the group met had story time for the kids. While the moms held their discussion, she could take Ben and Kimmie with her. It felt good to get out of the house, and with the topic of conversation centering on books, no one had asked anything too personal.

“I don't want to be pushy,” Flynn continued, “but we really do like you, and the group would love to get to know you better. You'll have fun, I promise.”

“I appreciate the invitation, Flynn. Honestly—”

“Let me just interrupt you right there.” Flynn's voice took on a Mary-Poppins-efficient cheerfulness. “This is where I dispense with all your buts.”

It was flattering to hear that everyone liked her and wanted her to be part of the group. The old desires for love and belonging stirred inside her. The desires she'd put aside in order to achieve the most basic of needs—food, water, a roof over her head, safety, security. She
wanted
to go. Not only for her own mental health, but also to find out everything she could about Hutch.

“I told you Ye Olde Book Nook is our built-in babysitter for tomorrow night, and we're having the cookie swap at Raylene's house not half a mile from the bookstore. So what else is making you hesitate?” Flynn asked.

“Ms. Pringle told me the rules of cookie club and she made it clear ‘no store-bought cookies.' I simply don't have time to whip up a batch of homemade.”

“Oh, is that all?” Flynn laughed. “Pay that rule no mind. People break it all the time. What it really means is no packaged cookies from the grocery store. You can head on over to the Twilight Bakery and pick up a couple of dozen from Christine Noble. She makes the best cookies in town. Half the people at the party will totally be bringing cookies from Christine's bakery.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“So you'll come?” Flynn wheedled.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Great.” Flynn chuckled as if she'd won a bet with someone who'd told her there was no way she could get Meredith to show up. “We're looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Me too,” Meredith said, although she planned to divert all their questions with questions of her own. Questions about Hutch. “See you then.”

Flynn said good-bye and hung up, leaving Meredith to the quiet house.

When Hutch wasn't home by ten o'clock, she locked up and went to bed. Boundaries. She was going to have to add rule #5. For the sake of the children, if Hutch wasn't coming home, he had to let her know. Personally, she didn't care what he did.

Was he out getting drunk? Or maybe picking up a woman? He was a soldier, after all, and she had no idea how long he'd been over there. She should expect it. No one could deny his potent virility. Jesse told her Hutch was Delta Force. Only the best of the best made it into that elite, testosterone-driven group, and they all shared certain characteristics—extreme machismo, keen intelligence, highly driven.

For almost five years, she had slept lightly, one ear always tuned for the sounds of something abnormal, her eyes ready to pop open at the slightest hint of trouble. This was the first time she'd lived on the second floor, and that bothered her too. If an intruder was downstairs, she and Ben would have to go out the window to get away. After she moved in, she bought a rope ladder and stashed it in the compartment underneath the window seat just in case.

Twenty minutes after ten, she heard the front door open. Quietly, she eased from the bed so as not to awaken the children, slipped a housecoat on over her sleep shirt, and padded downstairs, ready to read him the riot act.

From the top of the stairs, she could see a pile of shopping bags in the middle of the living room floor, and Hutch was coming through the door with a fresh armful. He had been Christmas shopping, not drinking or whoring.

Chagrinned, she started down the stairs toward him.

He looked up at her and a convivial smile lightened his craggy face—no, the smile was much more than convivial. It was one of those priceless, spontaneous smiles that bubbled up from deep inside, completely heartfelt and guileless. It landed on her like a caress, locking on her as if she was the only woman in the world that he'd ever gifted with such an irresistible smile. It was a smile that said,
Hi, honey. I'm home, look what your conquering hero brought back for you.
It was a smile that left her completely exposed.

Meredith tightened her belt and her resolve. She wasn't falling for it. “I was worried,” she said. “Why didn't you leave a note?”

His smile ebbed, but hung on.
I did
, he mouthed the words.

“Where? I looked all over and didn't see one.”

He left the pile of packages, returned with the Magic Slate, and held it up for her to read.

She moved forward and noticed his right hand. It was black and blue, the knuckles busted open and swollen. He'd been in a fight.

“What happened?”

He looked down at his hand like it was nothing, shrugged casually, and handed her the slate.

“Who did you punch?”

No one
, he said silently.

She put a hand to her mouth. Should she make a big deal of this? Even though it look like the results of a fistfight, the rest of him looked fine. No black eye. No busted lip. This other hand was fine. She decided not to push the issue. “Let me take care of that injury.”

He shook his head, and mouthed,
I'm fine.
She could tell from the look on his face that in his mind the wound was nothing more than a minor annoyance, no bigger than a gnat on his banana.

Still nervously eyeing his fist, she quickly glanced down at the Magic Slate. The filmy top sheet was empty, but she could still make out trace images of the words he'd written.

GONE XMAS SHOPPING IN FORT WORTH. BE BACK LATE.

“Ben,” she said, feeling embarrassed for having rushed to judgment. “He was playing with the slate and must have erased it. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. I was worried.” Why had she admitted that? She didn't want him thinking she'd lost sleep over him.

He wrote slowly, the busted skin on his knuckles pulling open and dotting with blood. MY FAULT. SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN NOTE WITH PEN AND PAPER.

“We need to exchange cell phone numbers. So we can text each other. And stop writing. It's making your hand bleed.”

He nodded, beckoning her closer, that never-ending smile back on his face and turning Christmas cryptic.

She moved toward him, her breath slipping quicker over her lips. What was it about him she found so compelling?

Hutched fished around in an extra large Toys “R” Us bag, and peeled the paper to reveal a Thomas the Train ride-on toy. His face split into radiant pride, as if he just summitted Mount Everest without a Sherpa or oxygen.

“How did you know Ben wants one of those more than anything in the world?” she asked.

He cupped a hand behind his ear, meaning, she supposed,
I listen
. Her son did have a mad crush on Thomas the Train and talked about the train engine all the time.

“It's too much, it's too expensive,” she said, her heart doing a herky-jerky little dance in her chest.

He lifted a casual shoulder, still flashing that amazing smile that said,
Your boy deserves a good Christmas.