Home for Christmas (27 page)

“Actually,” Hugo Downing said swiftly, “I was thinking tonight would be a good time for me to take everyone out to dinner as a thank-you for the generous hospitality you and your family are showing, not only to us, but to Sergeant Shepard and his family. What do you say?”

Rhonda pouted slightly, giving Owen a sideways glance that made him uncomfortable. “Is there even a restaurant worth going to on this teeny island? I'm sure Owen would prefer a home-cooked meal.”

“As a matter of fact, there's a great restaurant on Sanctuary Island.” Libby pulled her shoulders back, her chin tilting up determinedly. “And I'd love to take Mr. Downing up on his kind offer. As much as I hate to disappoint you, Ms. Friend, I'm not a professional chef. I've been cooking all day, and I have to be honest, the idea of someone else bringing me food while I get to sit down and do nothing is pretty appealing.”

Owen was so proud of her in that moment, he could have kissed her. It went against her grain to stand up for herself and say what she needed when someone else wanted her to do something. But like Owen had been saying all along, Libby had guts.

“The Firefly Café sounds awesome to me,” Owen put in. “Try the fried chicken, Mr. Downing, it'll knock your socks off. But as it happens, I was planning to spend tonight at my sister's house with my daughter. Libby, Caitlin specifically invited you to come along too. I think she's got a gift for you that can't wait until tomorrow.”

Delighted curiosity lit Libby's beautiful eyes.
I want to make her look like that fifty times a day,
Owen caught himself thinking.

“Oh, I'd love to get a look at your sister's house and meet your family,” Rhonda said instantly, the words like a bucket of ice water dumped over Owen's head.

“Sorry.” Owen did his best to actually sound like he meant it. “But my sister's place is tiny. It really couldn't handle all of us. So if you and your crew wouldn't mind having dinner without us tonight…”

Rhonda frowned, sharp eyes narrowing, but Mr. Downing came to the rescue with a bluff, cheerful, “Of course we don't mind! We know we showed up when you weren't expecting us. We completely understand. And we'll meet your sister and daughter at Christmas dinner tomorrow, won't we, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir,” Owen said, resolutely not making eye contact with Rhonda Friend, who seemed to want something from him that he wasn't prepared to give. “But for now, we'd probably better get going, Libby. My sister is expecting us.”

They had almost escaped, shrugging into their coats and wrapping scarves around their necks, before Rhonda said, “Don't you want to wait for Mr. Leeds? Surely he's invited, too.”

Under his guiding hand, Libby stilled like a rabbit scenting a predator. She let out a high, slightly nervous laugh. “Oh! Gracious, I must have inhaled too much powdered sugar earlier. We can wait for Nash, right, Sergeant Shepard?”

“I told Nash about the plan earlier,” Owen said as smoothly as he could. “He's going to drive separately so I can spend the night at my sister's, if I want to. We can play it by ear if we have two cars.”

“Good idea,” Libby said, clearly relieved. She blinked at him gratefully before saying good night to everyone and slipping outside, probably to text Nash and fill him in.

Owen gave one of Rhonda's crew guys the directions to the Firefly Café, then followed Libby with a wave to Downing and Rhonda, who still looked suspicious—or at least annoyed at not getting her way.

Outside, the frigid air was heavy with the scent of an oncoming snowstorm. Owen inhaled deeply, savoring the shock of it in his lungs. He let it out and gestured Libby silently toward the car. Her gaze flicked back toward the house, then she started walking. The only sound was the crunch of their boots over the hard-packed snow on the walkway.

Once inside the car, close and relatively safe from prying eyes, it took every ounce of Owen's hard-won self control not to reach for Libby immediately.

It helped that Libby started babbling the instant her door shut and the engine started up. “Thank goodness you were there! I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been. A whole extra meal with them! All evening having to watch my every move, my every word, in front of that awful Rhonda Friend.”

Owen laughed as he shifted into gear and started driving. “Wow. I don't think I've ever heard you say anything negative about anyone before.”

“All evening to watch her make eyes at you.”

Owen had no idea why the sulky jut of Libby's lower lip made him want to take a bite out of her when Rhonda's perfectly practiced pout had left him cold.

“Good thing we avoided
that,
” he said calmly, the small indication of Libby's possessiveness making him feel warmer than the hot air pumping from the car vents.

“I'd much rather spend the evening with you and Caitlin. But are you sure it's okay to spring this on your sister at the last minute?”

“I'm not springing it on her,” Owen assured her. “Caitlin texted me earlier today, I just hadn't had a chance to talk to you about it yet. She and Andie have cooked up some scheme, between the two of them, and it has something to do with horses.”

“Horses!” Thoroughly intrigued, if the light in her eyes was anything to go by, Libby tapped the corner of her phone against her chin. “I wonder what it could be. Oh, by the way, I told Nash what's going on and he said he had other plans tonight anyway, so it'll be just us.”

“Just us,” Owen repeated, a slow smile uncurling as he let the thought wash over him. Just us. Just him, and Caitlin, and Libby, at his sister's house.

Just family.

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Okay, now you can look!”

Caitlin's excited voice had Libby laughingly pulling off the knit cap that had been tugged down to cover her eyes. The first thing she saw was Caitlin's fiery red hair under a wool hat, with a navy blue duffel coat on over her flannel nightgown and a pair of stout paddock boots on her feet.

Oh,
Libby realized.
Paddock boots instead of snow boots because … we're in the barn.

“We're at Windy Corner,” Caitlin squealed, clapping her mittens together. “You didn't know where we were going, did you? It's a big surprise. No one is usually supposed to be here this late at night, but we have special permission. For a special treat, I mean, a present. A Christmas present.”

“For me?” Libby glanced at Owen, still mystified. The secret smile he gave her didn't clear anything up, but it did send a shock of heat to the furthest reaches of Libby's body.

“Yes, for you, duh,” Caitlin said, rolling her eyes impatiently.

“Tell her why,” Andie prompted from the doorway of the barn, a secretive smile the twin of her brother's curving her lips.

“Oh, right.” Caitlin was all but dancing in place, obviously wanting to get this part over with so she could unveil the present, whatever it was. But she cleared her throat and said, very nicely, “Miss Libby. Tonight is for you, to thank you for the candy houses and the snow ice cream and all the other stuff you've done for us. This has been the best Christmas ever!”

Libby's heart clenched, too much happiness and pleased surprise wrapping around her chest and squeezing tight. “I'm so happy to hear you say that,” she managed, even though part of her wanted to caution the girl, “It's not Christmas yet! Thank me after we get through tomorrow unscathed.”

“It's going to be even more perfect later,” Caitlin pronounced, grabbing Libby's hand and towing her enthusiastically down the empty barn hallway.

Owen followed behind, a bemused look on his face, as they hurried down the hall. Several horses stuck their heads out of their stalls, as if wondering what the ruckus was all about so late at night when the barn was usually silent.

Caitlin stopped in front of the last stall on the left, dropping Libby's hand to do a quick twirl in place. “Ta da!”

Poking her head in, Libby saw that the stall was empty. Clean, fresh hay was scattered across the floor and a couple of large, square bales of hay were snugged up against the walls and covered in a blankets. Glittery tinsel garlands wreathed the walls, and a picnic basket and thermos sat next to the hay bale.

“Surprise!”

Libby blinked. “You … got me a stall at the barn. Thank you?”

She hadn't managed to decide whether to be offended at being equated with a horse—horses were Caitlin's favorite creatures on earth, after all—by the time Caitlin rolled her eyes again.

“No! It's not to live in. It's only for tonight, because tonight is a very, very special night.”

“It's Christmas Eve,” Owen guessed, snapping his fingers as if he'd just remembered.

Caitlin beamed. “Yeah. And Miss Jo says that on Christmas Eve, an amazing thing happens.”

“What's that?” Owen dropped to his haunches, putting him at eye level with Caitlin.

After a conspiratorial glance up at Andie, who was leaning on the stall's open door and smiling, Caitlin whispered, “At midnight, the horses will talk.”

“Wow,” Libby said, her heart thrilling in her chest. “That sounds amazing.”

“It's going to be.” Caitlin nodded confidently as she pulled off her mittens and hat. The barn was warm and dark, Christmas lights and an electric lamp the only illumination in the stall. “I'm going to stay up all night until I hear them. As long as…”

The little girl paused, her confidence evaporating like snow under the sun.

“As long as what, sweetheart?” Owen asked, his voice soft and gentle.

Caitlin pressed her lips together and peered up at her father from under her pale, redhead's lashes. “Aunt Andie has to work tomorrow, the early shift. She can't stay up all night. So. I was wondering … will you stay with me?”

Libby's heart jumped into her throat. She saw the movement of Owen's strong, brown throat as he swallowed down some overpowering emotion that Libby could only guess at. But she knew what a big step this was for Caitlin and Owen's relationship.

Libby backed up a step, meaning to leave the two of them to talk in relative privacy, but Caitlin turned those pleading eyes on her. “You too, Miss Libby! I want you to stay and hear the horses talk!”

Throat too full to allow for speech, Libby only nodded. She could feel her smile trembling at the corners.

“We'd love to stay with you,” Owen said gruffly, standing up and moving to rummage through the picnic basket. “What do we have here?”

“It's an old Scandinavian legend,” Andie explained, her eyes soft as she watched her niece explore their provisions with Owen. “It has to do with Jesus being born in a manger, among the animals. According to the story, the birth happened at midnight precisely, and the Lord gave the animals voices to speak in human tongues. They used their voices to sing praises until the shepherds arrived. And the only ones who heard them were Mary, Joseph, and of course, the baby Jesus.”

“That's beautiful.” Libby's head was full of it, the image of the exhausted, elated mother and her newborn babe, the stoic father standing by, and the magical moment of the horses, cows, oxen, sheep … suddenly opening their mouths and speaking.

“I don't know how popular a myth it is anymore, generally,” Andie was saying. “But apparently the story still thrives among horse people. Jo says everyone she knows who owns a barn has spent at least one sleepless Christmas Eve in the stables, hoping to witness magic.”

Libby glanced back at the two ginger heads bent close together over the open picnic basket, and felt as if she'd swallowed a flock of fireflies. “I think we've already seen our moment of magic tonight.”

*   *   *

After hours of reading aloud to each other from the books packed at the bottom of the picnic basket, sampling the delights of crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and apple slices, and singing carols to keep each other awake, Caitlin had finally given in to her obvious sleepiness and agreed to take a short nap. Of course, she extracted a promise from her father first to wake her up the minute the horses started chatting.

Owen had sworn faithfully, taking this vow as seriously as any other in his life. His daughter had asked him for something, for the first time. And maybe it was a silly promise to give, based on a legend and predicated on a myth, but when Owen looked into Caitlin's deep, wounded, earnest eyes, he remembered what it was like to believe in something with his whole heart. He remembered the hurt of others disregarding or belittling that belief.

And he remembered the way Libby had spoken to Caitlin the night they met, at the Christmas Village nativity play, when she'd reached out to the girl by taking her seriously—and she'd gotten through to Caitlin.

So he'd promised that when the animals spoke he'd wake her, straight-faced and meaning it with his whole heart, and Caitlin had curled up in the red plaid blanket and fallen asleep leaning into his side. The slight, warm weight of her there anchored Owen to the world in a way he'd never experienced before.

From her spot perched on the other hay bale, Libby smiled at them. “She lasted longer than I thought she would.”

A sudden rush of tenderness seized Owen's throat. “She's a fighter.”

“Like her dad.”

They were keeping their voices quiet to let Caitlin sleep, but Owen could still hear the thread of sadness under Libby's soft words. He glanced away, out into the darkness of the night barn. “I guess that seems strange to you, that anyone would want a life like that.”

She didn't pretend not to know what he meant. “The life of a soldier is almost impossible for me to imagine. And I admire you so much for the way you seem to deal with it.”

“Every soldier is affected by his or her service. Of course we are. And I have exactly zero judgment for the ones who come home haunted by what they've seen and done—PTSD is real. It's a problem, and it needs to be taken seriously. But it's not necessarily the default. Movies and books and the media make out like every single soldier comes home from war too messed up to function, and that's not the case. Transitioning back to civilian life has its challenges, sure, but … sorry.” Owen stopped, grimacing. “I don't mean to get up on a soapbox here.”