Rugged Hearts (23 page)

“That I was the son of Santa.”

Aimee clamped her hand over her mouth to suppress her guffaw. Tears trickled at the corners of her eyes. She glanced up, slammed into his solemn expression, and sniffled to regain her composure. “So, you need me to go along with this ruse?”

His brow rose. “Or you can feel free to explain what we were doing.”

Aimee thought about that. “Okay, good point. It’s true your father was Santa, I suppose.” He checked around the wall of the foyer and then pulled her close; his wicked grin conjured all manner of sinful thoughts in Aimee’s brain.

“You’re squishing my bulbs.”

“I’d like to do a lot more than that,” he responded, his voice low.

And by God, she would have let him…probably, had she not felt akin to Mother Hubbard. “These are likely warm enough to test now.” She slipped from his grasp.

A few moments later, assured they worked, Wyatt enlisted the help of a few students to help put lights on the tree, while Aimee received assistance in placing their decorations on the branches. After a time, she stepped back to survey the results and realized there was a line along the lower half of the tree where the majority of the ornaments hung. With Wyatt’s help, they rearranged them obtain a balance, and the result filled Aimee with pride. She gathered her students around her in the dusky twilight and waited breathlessly for Wyatt to plug in the lights.

“Here goes,” he called from behind the tree.

A collective “ahhh” went up from the children as the bright, colored bulbs shone in the darkening shadows

“Merry Christmas!” Aimee said and the children responded enthusiastically in turn. Wyatt stood with his arms folded over his chest and smiled at the sparkling tree. He then slapped his hip and called Sadie to follow him to the kitchen.

After a simple meal of soup and crackers, Wyatt called each child’s home and had them speak to their parents to wish them a Merry Christmas. Roughly two hours and a few tears of homesickness later, they shuffled the children through showers and doled out a round of freshly washed homemade sleep shirts for each child.

Aimee smiled. Despite the separation from their families, it had been Wyatt who’d kept the magic and anticipation of Christmas Eve, not only for her students, but for her as well.

***

When the last child scooted off to bed, Aimee sat down on the couch and enjoyed the view of the softly lit tree against the clear, starry sky visible through the windows. The snow had finally stopped and the clouds parted to allow a brilliant full moon to shed its illuminating light on the new-fallen snow. Principal Kale had called late in the day to say the pass was expected to be clear by midmorning, in time to get the kids back home for Christmas Day with their families.

Wyatt appeared from the kitchen, where he’d opted to load the dishwasher while Aimee tucked the kids in bed. He wiped his hand on a dishtowel, let it fall on the coffee table, and sat down beside her. For a moment, neither of them spoke as they admired the tree.

“It’s really beautiful.” Aimee glanced at his profile, sensing his unease. Perhaps it was the fact this fairy-tale-like existence they’d lived the past two days was drawing to a close.

He shifted and casually dropped his arm over the back of the couch. Her body reacted of its own accord, aware of him, aware they sat in the dark and the children were in bed.

“You remember when I said I should be the one thanking you?”

Aimee shifted to face him, the gesture placing a bit of distance between them. She didn’t trust herself to be close without wanting to touch him, to be held in his arms.

He glanced at the tree, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on her. Maybe this was his way of distancing himself, of making sure she understood where the line was drawn.

“I haven’t had a tree or decorations in this house since Jed died.”

“Oh, Wyatt.” She heard the pity in her voice and hated herself for it. “What I mean to say is, not everyone has to have a tree and decorations.”

He frowned and shook his head. “Don’t—yeah, don’t be like that. Don’t feel sorry for me. It was my choice. I guess I lost all feeling for anything after he died. In many ways, he was the only real parent I ever had.”

“You didn’t know your father?”

His smile was bitter, his response more so. “Nope, though my mother, Eloise—she asked us to call her that.” He shook his head. “She used to tell me I had his eyes. That’s it, that’s all I ever knew. What kind of mother asks her little kids to call her by her name?”

Aimee chided herself for selfishly thinking about herself, her feelings. She had the joy of having a loving, close-knit family. How hard it must have been for him. “I’m listening if you want to talk about it.”

He looked back at the tree as though his thoughts traveled back in time. “She left us, me and Dalton, not long after she married Jed. It wasn’t much more than a year. I only know it was shortly after Jed completed our adoption papers. It should have been our first Christmas as a real family.”

Aimee started to touch his shoulder but held back, wanting him to continue.

He shrugged. “Oh, we were better off with Jed. It didn’t take me long to realize that. He was a fair man, tough, and he worked us hard. Then Rein came along and well, the three of us became as close as brothers.”

“And your mom? Did you ever hear from her?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Last I knew she’d gone to Vegas with a guy who promised her an easier life.” He tossed her a side look. “Eloise spent her whole life looking for the next best thing. I used to think when she found it, she’d have time to notice she had two young boys. That never happened.”

Aimee took his hand then and squeezed it. “Seems to me the best thing she had was right under her nose all along.”

He sighed and toyed with her fingers. “I don’t know, but I do know Jed was the best thing that ever happened to us. I loved him…so damn much. He spent the rest of his life trying to mend the wounds our mother created when she left, but he wouldn’t allow us to feel sorry for ourselves.” He looked down. “I think after Jed died, I wasn’t sure I could follow in his footsteps.”

“From what I’ve heard, he was a very good man,” she said. “And you do take after him, I think. Maybe, more than you realize.”

He met her gaze and regarded her before reaching out to brush the hair back from her bandage.

“You kind of snuck up on me, Ms. Worth, and I lost control when you guys showed up on my doorstep.”

Aimee held his gaze unsure whether this was a joke or not.

“The thing is I think I’m beginning to like this losing control thing.” He brushed his thumb along her jaw. She succumbed to his touch and made a silent wish there might be more moments ahead like this.

From behind the couch, a chorus of titters and quiet giggles invaded the silence—and their privacy.

Chapter Thirteen

Wyatt leaped to his feet and with a thunderous roar, ran toward the startled group. High-pitched screeches and laughter pealed through the house as the children scattered in all directions like billiard balls.

“We need a Christmas story, Mr. Kinnison.”

Agreements of the same went up in a great chorus and rose louder into a unified chant. Wyatt held up his hands. He looked at Aimee. “It’s up to your teacher.”

She nodded. “Okay, one story. Then it’s bedtime, or Santa won’t come tonight.” She ushered them into the room. “Come on over here and sit on the floor while Mr. Kinnison finds us a story.”

Wyatt knew exactly the story he wanted to read. He perused the scores of books lining the library shelves and checked the worn bindings of children’s books Jed had gotten for them when they’d been kids. Of course, he hadn’t seen one particular book in years, but his memory skipped back to the day he’d packed away all of his old toys.

Jed had held up the book with a gentle smile on his face. “You might want to hang on to this one.” That was all he’d said.

As a rebellious young teen, Wyatt could’ve cared less, but now, as his eyes found the familiar binding and he pulled the book with its faded cover from the shelf, he silently thanked his dad again for his wisdom.

Wyatt headed back to the group seated on the floor. The children looked up at him with enthusiastic faces. They’d brought the rocking chair next to the fireplace, in nearly the exact spot Jed used to sit and read the story during the annual Christmas party he’d hosted at the ranch. Aimee smiled from across the small crowd at him.

“Did you find one?”

Her smile touched something familiar inside, something he hadn’t allowed himself to get close to in many years. He was happy.

In that brief instant, he realized maybe he didn’t have to live his life alone. But could he convince Aimee he wasn’t the same man he’d originally painted himself to be? If he intimated that he wanted something more permanent, would she bolt? He had an indescribable need to talk with her. He wanted to know more about her, about her past and her goals. For a man who’d gone for many years with his emotions corked tight, he suddenly wanted to set them free and let Aimee know how he’d changed in these past few days. But in order to do that, he first had to get these kids to bed. “This is not your traditional Christmas story—”

“You mean not the one with the guy in a red suit and his jelly belly?”

Wyatt chuckled. “No, this is a story, in fact, my dad used to read to me at Christmas.”

“You mean…?” Blurting out the words, Rory rose to his knees and then eased back to the floor. “Never mind.”

Wyatt smiled at the boy and glanced at Aimee.

“Is it boring?” Another child raised his hand to ask.

“Does it talk about toys and candy?”

“Is it about baby Jesus?”

He settled into the chair. “How about you just listen and see what you think?”

The brood shifted, edging closer to Wyatt’s feet. He peeled back the cover and his gaze swept over the edges ripped from constant use. A wave of nostalgic sentiment stung the backs of his eyelids. He blinked and grabbed his glasses from his shirt pocket.

“Why don’t you wear your glasses all of the time?” Rory asked.

“Because I only need them to read,” he answered and looked up at Aimee, who’d settled herself at the end of the couch. She had her chin propped in her hand, a quiet smile on her lips.

“Why don’t we let Mr. Kinnison get started and then afterward if you have questions, you may ask them,” she suggested. She looked at him and nodded. Nine eager youngsters turned their attention to him.

Wyatt cleared his throat and channeled his stepfather’s ability to read aloud, something Wyatt was doing for the first time. “This is called
The Cowboy’s Christmas
.” He looked up once more at Aimee. “It’s by an author by the name of P.J. Johnson.

“What kind of a name is that?” Rory asked.

“Rory,” Aimee issued a warning.

Wyatt started reading, “The old cowboy pulled up his collar against the unexpected storm. Many a holiday had he endured alone, but for some reason this year he felt…lonely. Maybe he was getting on in years. Maybe he’d had enough of roping, delivering calves, and branding to last three lifetimes. But he knew nothing else. His life revolved around being a cattle driver. Maybe he should just accept the fact and stop bellyaching about it.”

“This doesn’t sound like a Christmas story.” Rory scowled and plopped his chin atop his doubled fists.

Wyatt glanced at the boy, remembering the first time he’d heard the story. “Be patient.”

He turned his attention back to the book and continued, “He pulled open the door to the one-room cabin that had stood the test of time of the seasons of driving cattle to higher ground to feed. He stomped the snow from his boots and peered through the dark with only a single flashlight to aid him in his search for the kerosene lamps. Striking a match to a wood table, the room became bright with light. The old man was frightened and his hand shook as he held the match high. Squinting through ancient eyes, he gasped, seeing a shadowy figure standing quietly in the dark. Holding the flame higher, there was a moment when he wondered why the match hadn’t burned his calloused fingers. ‘Who is it?’ the man called out. ‘This here’s private property, friend. How’d you get here?’”

“My dad would call that breaking and entering. That’s against the law.” Rory sat up straight and pointed a stubby finger at Wyatt.

Wyatt opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the young girl sitting near to Aimee responded. “Not if it’s Santa Claus.”

Aimee patted the girl’s shoulder and leaned down to quiet her. “Let’s listen to see if it’s really Santa.” Her smile and nod to continue warmed Wyatt’s heart in a way he’d never felt. Was it possible he’d fallen in love with Aimee Worth? The unexpected thought stymied him, and he had to scan the page to find where he’d left off.

“The room grew increasingly brighter and brighter until the old man had to cover his eyes. Maybe it was an angel come to take him to the Promised Land? God willing that’s where he hoped he’d go, anyway.

“‘We were lost and cold.’

“Somewhere in the back of his mind, the cowboy remembered the words. ‘And you gave us clothes for our back.’

“‘We were hungry.’

“The cowboy spoke, recalling with clarity the old Sunday school lesson. ‘And you gave us food to eat.’

“‘We were thirsty.’

“‘And you gave us drink.’

“The old man’s heart eased, as he and the intruder seemed to connect in this strange way. ‘Are you an angel?’ he asked cautiously as he bent to light the lamp.

“Turning the wick higher he looked back to the corner and lost his balance. Grabbing the table to steady himself, he then picked up the lamp and walked to the corner. But there was nothing but an old wool blanket lying on the floor.

“Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door, above the fierce howling storm outside. On shaky legs he managed to get to the door and swung it open not sure what to expect. There was a young man and a woman, presumably his wife, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“‘Our car broke down. I have nothing to give you, but if you will let us rest here, I would very much appreciate it. My wife, you see is about to have our child. We could use your help.’ The woman’s gaze met the old man’s and he smiled. All his life, he’d delivered calves, surely he could do this.”