A Weaver Holiday Homecoming Read online

  “That’s not going to happen,” she said surely, and pulled open the door.

  Ryan and Chloe were bent over an enormous snowball, pushing it together across the yard. The expressions of concentration on their faces were nearly identical.

  Mallory swallowed the unease that whispered through her and stepped outside. Chloe had on her coat, her mittens, a scarf and a cap that Kathleen had knitted for her. Usually, she managed to forget the scarf or the hat. “Gram’s going to be popping the corn soon for garland,” she called out to them, “so we’d better come back with a worthy tree.”

  Ryan looked over his shoulder. His head was bare. He wore no scarf tucked around his neck. His only concessions to the cold were the gloves on his hands and the scarred-up leather jacket zipped halfway up his chest. “Popcorn garland?”

  Chloe straightened away from the snowball that was easily as tall as her knees and held her hands wide as she bounced around, full of energy. “We use Grammy’s needles on long string. It’s fun.”

  Ryan continued pushing the snowball toward the house. “If you say so. Where do you want your snowman, Chloe?”

  “Right here.” Chloe dashed over to a spot near the steps. “I asked him if he’d ever made one and he said he did, and so we’re getting one now,” she provided needlessly. “I never had a snowman before.” She beamed at Ryan when he nudged the ball to a stop. “Can I have a carrot for his nose?”

  The delight in Chloe’s expression would have been impossible to resist, even had Mallory wanted to. “I imagine we have a carrot to spare,” she assured. “But your snowman still needs a little more body before he needs a nose, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” Ryan scooped up a large handful of snow before straightening, and packed it between his gloved palms until it was the size of a healthy grapefruit. “Might as well finish it now, kiddo.” He cast an eye toward the sky. “It’s going to be snowing by the end of today—tomorrow at the latest—judging by the sky and then it might be a while before the snow is wet enough again to pack well.”

  “What about the tree?”

  His gaze skated over Mallory, leaving heat in its wake. “We’ll get to it. Here.” He tossed the snowball toward her and she didn’t react quickly enough to catch it.

  It landed harmlessly against her chest and burst into a spray of clumps.

  “Mo-om,” Chloe groaned. “You were s’posed to catch it.”

  “Sorry.” Mallory went down the steps and scooped up her own snowball. She eyed Ryan, speculatively. He was a perfect target, leaning over, gathering up another handful of snow.

  “Wouldn’t try it, Doc,” he warned, without looking at her.

  She tossed the snowball from one hand to the other. “Try what?”

  He straightened and gave her a glance that succeeded in making her mouth feel parched. It also made a mockery of her innocent claim. “Here.” He handed his latest snowball off to Chloe. “You can do this one on your own. It’s going to be the head, so it doesn’t have to be as large as the base.”

  Chloe knelt down and began scooping snow around her assignment. The tip of her tongue peeked out from between the corner of her lips.

  Before Mallory even knew he’d moved, Ryan plucked the snowball from her hands. “I’ll take that,” he said, and began adding to it.

  Within minutes, both he and Chloe were rolling their snowballs across the yard and right into the neighbor’s property, picking up snow as they went. Mallory smoothed her coat beneath her and sat down on the porch steps, watching.

  But Chloe wasn’t having any of that. “Mom, you gotta help!”

  So Mallory dutifully rose again and walked over to her daughter.

  “Not me,” Chloe said. “Him.” She waved toward Ryan, who, in Mallory’s estimation, needed no assistance whatsoever with maneuvering his snowman-middle even if it were already twice the size of Chloe’s somewhat sausage-shaped head.

  It was only the flash of amusement she caught on Ryan’s face—as if he fully expected her to refuse—that made Mallory move over beside him and plant her hands next to his on the snowball. “For someone who didn’t seem very enthusiastic about today,” she said under her breath, “you seem to be ending up quite entertained.”

  “And we haven’t even left your neighborhood, yet.” His hands steered the snowball toward the left, circling back in the direction of her house and the snowman’s base.

  “Are we really going to find a Christmas tree today?”

  “I said we would.” His shoulder brushed against hers. “When I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it.”

  “Even if you didn’t want to,” she concluded, her voice just as low.

  His jaw tightened. He stopped pushing the snowball, which was easily the size of three watermelons. “What do you want from me?”

  She looked at him. The answer should have been so easy. A father for Chloe. Better yet, an…interested and caring father for Chloe.

  So why wasn’t it easy?

  “Mom. Mr. Ryan. Look at my head!” Chloe stood over her lopsided snowball with pride. “Is it big enough?”

  “Looks great,” Ryan answered. He rolled the snowball he and Mallory had formed the last few yards, then picked it up and settled it on the base before adding Chloe’s to the top. “There you go, kiddo. Your first snowman,” he told Chloe.

  “I wanna get his face now,” Chloe said, dashing up the stairs and disappearing through the front door that she threw open.

  “If I hadn’t wanted to take you out to find a tree, I wouldn’t have offered in the first place,” he told Mallory the second Chloe was out of earshot.

  She shoved her hands inside the side pockets of her coat, hiding the fists they had curled into. “Then why did you tear out of here yesterday the way that you did after offering?” Her voice had risen, and she swallowed, looking around.

  But Chloe hadn’t come back outside, and the houses flanking hers were as still and silent as they’d been since Mallory had come outside.

  The only one around listening to them was the faceless, limbless snowman.

  She sighed and pulled her hands out of her pockets again. “Look. I know I dropped a bombshell on you yesterday. Of course it’s going to take some time for you—for all of us—to adjust to that. But—”

  “It’s not Chloe that bothers me.” He grimaced. “Well, yeah, but not in the way that you probably mean,” he amended.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know.” He looked at her, only this time his focus was turned inward. “And it’s not something I’m going to explain.”

  His choice of words caught her. He wouldn’t explain. Not couldn’t. Not shouldn’t.

  “I got his face stuff.” Chloe reappeared and the door slammed behind her, sounding as loud as a gunshot. She was clutching a handful of items against her coat. “Grammy said we could use these cookies for his eyes.” She dropped the rest of her collection onto the snow next to the snowman, and held up two round, chocolate-flavored cookies. “I guess I want him to have eyes more ’n I want to eat them,” she admitted with a giggle. “Here. Put ’em on.”

  Ryan nearly winced. Chloe was holding the cookies toward him with such trusting faith in her face that it was painful.

  Mallory didn’t say anything. Just continued watching him with an expression that seemed to ride the rails between caution and expectation, hope and compassion.

  He wanted to tell her not to expect anything. Not from him. It would be safer all the way around.

  But he couldn’t make himself do it.

  And he was damned if he knew whether that was because he didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes the same way he saw disappointment in the eyes of his family, or if it was because he, himself, didn’t want to feel the loss when that disappointment inevitably occurred.

  Instead of taking the cookies from Chloe, he simply went over behind her and lifted her up by the waist so she could reach the snowman’s head. “Give the poor guy some eyes,” he told her. />
  She giggled again and worked the cookies into the snow. “What’s his name?”

  “He’s your snowman,” Ryan reminded. “Think that gives you naming rights.”

  “I don’t know no snowman names, though, except Frosty.” She craned her head around to look up at Ryan. “Everyone names their snowman Frosty.”

  Mallory picked up the carrot and handed it to Chloe. “You don’t know any snowman names,” she corrected. “And yes, you do. Use your imagination.” She shrugged. “Besides. Maybe your snowman is actually a woman. Have you thought about that?”

  Chloe screwed the root end of the carrot into the snow. “Nope,” she said surely. “He’s a snowman.”

  Ryan wondered how she made the determination, but figured he was better off not knowing the finer points of how a six-year-old came to such a conclusion. He tipped her almost upside down so she could reach her pile on the ground and she squealed with laughter that didn’t stop even when he turned her upright, again.

  “Didja see that, Mom?” Chloe’s feet swung freely, nearly knocking him in the knees and he swung her to his side, holding her against his hip.

  “I saw,” Mallory assured. “Are those candy canes for his mouth?”

  “Yup.” Chloe reached forward and methodically placed the two red-and-white candies. In Ryan’s opinion, the resulting smile was maniacally cheerful, but Chloe was satisfied. And Mallory was watching her daughter with an indulgent smile.

  “Okay, put me down.” Chloe wriggled and he set her on her feet, only to nearly jump out of his skin when she slid her small hand, mitten and all, into his. “Come here, Mom,” she beckoned. “I know his name.”

  Mallory joined them, taking Chloe’s other hand as they faced the snowman.

  “His name is George,” Chloe announced with great seriousness. “George the Great.”

  George the fat, Ryan renamed silently, for the snowman was seriously rotund.

  “Look this way and smile.” Kathleen’s voice sounded from behind them and he looked over his shoulder.

  She was holding a camera to her face.

  “Gram,” Mallory protested.

  “What? The best way to enjoy a snowman is in pictures,” the woman said as the shutter busily clicked several times. Then she lowered the camera. “Seeing as how they tend to melt,” she added, winking at Chloe.

  “You’re welcome to come with us,” Ryan found himself offering. “There’s room in the truck and we’ll be back before dark.”

  “No, no. You go on.”

  “Are you sure?” Mallory added.

  “As sure as I am old,” Kathleen said wryly, and tucked the camera in the front pocket of the apron that wasn’t completely covered by the shawl tossed around her shoulders.

  “But you’re making the popcorn, right?” Chloe let go of their hands and darted up the stairs to wrap her arms around her great-grandmother’s waist. “Lots and lots so we’ll have garland to string everywhere?”

  “Absolutely.” Kathleen squeezed Chloe’s chin and backed up through the door again into the house. “But only if you get yourselves going.”

  “Call if you need anything,” Mallory reminded. “If the cell doesn’t go through, page me.”

  Kathleen just waved and closed the door, a smile on her face.

  Now that the snowman was faced and named, Chloe wasted no time in switching her interest to the original goal of the day. “How long will it take to get a tree?”

  “Longer, the more we stand around talking about it.” He gestured toward his truck, parked at the curb. “It’s unlocked.”

  She needed no other encouragement and her green boots flashed as she ran toward the truck. With a little finagling, she managed to get her foot up onto the running board and tugged open the door. A second later, she disappeared inside.

  Ryan looked at Mallory and extended his arm. “After you.”

  She took a few, halting steps toward the truck. “Not to sound like Chloe, but how long is this likely to take? I have a patient at the hospital I need to see by this evening, so if the tree farm is really out of the way—”

  “There’s no tree farm,” he cut in.

  Her feet stopped altogether “But I thought you said we were going to cut one.”

  “We are. But not at a Christmas tree farm.” In this neck of the woods, the idea was practically laughable.

  “Then where?”

  He exhaled. “In the woods behind my parents’ place,” he said, naming the best spot within miles. Nearly everyone in the family found their trees there. “It’ll mean one catch, though.”

  “What?”

  “Sunday dinner. With them.”

  Alarm filled her face. “With your parents?” She shot a glance at the truck and Chloe. “But—”

  “Don’t worry.” His voice was short. “They don’t know anything about her. I’m not likely to tell them about her when we’re not even telling Chloe.” He closed his hand around her elbow. He hadn’t even warned his parents that he’d be bringing guests. That wouldn’t be any more of a surprise or shock than his presence would be.

  “But that’s just it, Ryan.” She still didn’t move.

  He didn’t like the suspicion sinking through him like a rock. “What is just it?”

  She moistened her lips, looking pained. “They do know about Chloe. At least your mother does. She has for a, um, a while.”

  He stared at her. “You want to tell me what the bloody hell you are talking about? How long a while?”

  She glanced toward the truck. “Chloe’s waiting. Maybe we should get into this later.”

  “There is no later,” he said flatly. “Later involves dinner with my parents. Who apparently know things about me even when I don’t.”

  “Don’t be angry. There’s a logical explanation.”

  “Mr. Ryan!” Chloe called from the truck. “Aren’t we gonna go yet? I can’t wait to see our Christmas tree!”

  He exhaled roughly and shoved his hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he answered her. But his focus was on Mallory. “I can’t wait, either.”

  Chapter Five

  The tree, when they found it, was indeed “really, really big.” In fact, it was so wide and so tall that it barely seemed to fit in the bed of Ryan’s pickup truck.

  If Mallory hadn’t been so unaccountably nervous about Ryan and his parents, she would have enjoyed the outing as thoroughly as Chloe had.

  When he’d said the woods were behind his parents’ home, she’d envisioned an acre or maybe two studded with trees behind a house.

  Well, she hadn’t even seen a house at all as Ryan had driven the truck off a paved and snowplowed road, onto a gravel, slush-covered one until even that seemed to end, and he’d parked, and told them they’d be going on foot from there.

  Then he’d looped a coil of rope from his truck bed over one shoulder, hefted a chainsaw with his other hand, and led the way into the trees. “Stay close,” he’d warned. “Don’t lose sight of me.”

  She’d rapidly seen the value in that and had kept Chloe’s hand tucked in hers as they carefully tramped through the woods where there’d been surprisingly little snow on the ground. Or not so surprising at all, she’d supposed, given how there was barely any sunlight filtering through the branches that grew overhead and all around.

  They’d walked for maybe a half hour before the immense trees had thinned slightly and Ryan gestured at the fir trees surrounding them. “Take your pick.”

  Chloe had been agog at the choices and even though she’d picked one of the seemingly smaller trees, Mallory was still stunned at how very large it turned out to be.

  And how little effort Ryan had seemed to expend in not only cutting and hauling it, but also tossing it into the truck bed afterward.

  “It’s going to be the bestest tree we’ve ever had,” Chloe said for about the tenth time.

  Foregoing the narrow rear seat, she was instead sitting on the bench seat between Mallory and Ryan, and even fastened securely into a se
at belt, she still seemed able to bounce. “You’re going to help decorate it, right?” She was talking to Ryan, and Mallory couldn’t fail to miss the tormented look that flashed across his face. It was brief. But it was most definitely there.

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  Which most definitely wasn’t an agreement—one of those things that if he said he’d do, he’d do.

  Mallory looked away, staring blindly out the side window as the slushy gravel spit from beneath the tires and the truck rocked wildly.

  Chloe was busy peppering him for details about how many Christmas trees he’d cut like this, and wasn’t this particular one his most favorite? But Mallory’s thoughts were too busy, too disturbing, to listen very closely.

  She wished she’d have just told Ryan the entire story from the first. Or better yet, that she’d have contacted him directly when she’d run into Rebecca at that medical conference just a few months earlier. Instead, she’d been so shocked to learn the man was actually alive that she’d been incapable of making any sort of immediate decision. It had been Rebecca who’d approached her to bring Chloe to Wyoming.

  That Ryan needed something in his life other than fixing his cousin’s barn up for her—and his mother believed the revelation of a daughter he’d never known existed would be that something.

  She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing forehead only to realize that her pager was vibrating, too. She sighed a little and pulled it from her pocket, reading the display.

  Both Ryan and Chloe were looking at her when she pocketed it once more. “The hospital,” she said. “There’s a case coming into the E.R. that they need me for. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short, after all.”

  Chloe’s face fell. Ryan looked…well, his expression didn’t reveal a single thing. “I’ll drive you there now,” he said.

  It was the most expedient way, of course, as opposed to taking her home first and then having to drive to the hospital, but she still found herself wanting to refuse. “Chloe—”

  “I’ll take her home after I drop you off.” His gaze met hers over the little girl’s head. “Your home,” he added, obviously reading her mind.