A Family Christmas. Carrie Alexander
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them,” she said. “One on top of the other. Faster. Faster.”
Lucy laughed as she drew, her ink line becoming loose and free. The first careful leaf became a scribbled pile.
“There, you see?” Rose showed the girl the real leaf again, green mottled with a soft rusty red. “You’ve made your own kind of leaf. But you should color your drawing in. And, see, if you study the pattern of the veins—”
A man’s voice interrupted them. “Luce, where are you?”
Lucy’s head came up. “That’s my dad.”
“Lucy?” With a crackle of branches, Evan Grant pushed through the underbrush. “I heard you laughing—” He saw Rose and stopped. “You.”
She met his eyes. “Me.”
A stiff nod. “Hello.”
“Hello.”
Evan said, “Time to go, Lucy,” in a calm voice, but he stared at Rose, his expression severe.
A blush stained her cheeks. She was furious that he’d made her feel guilty. In spite of her reputation, she was not a criminal.
Lucy went to her father, head down as she tugged at the zipper of her jacket. He put his hand on her shoulder and asked softly, “Why did you run off, Luce?”
“You said I could play in the woods.”
Evan’s gaze returned to Rose. “Yes, I did.” He shrugged. “I didn’t expect her to do it, though.”
Rose realized that he wasn’t accusing her. He was merely…surprised. Surprised at Lucy, for some reason. That put her off-kilter.
“I was drawing leafs, Daddy,” Lucy said. “Rose showed me how!”
“That was kind of her. Did you say thank you?”
Lucy’s solemn little face transformed into sweetness and light when she smiled. “Thank you.”
Rose’s voice came out so rough-hewn it might have been hacked with an ax. “Err…welcome.” She stood, hurriedly tucking the sketchbook under her arm. An explanation poured out of her, despite the raw throat. “I was walking in the woods. Lucy came across me. It wasn’t— I didn’t intend—” She gritted her teeth. Damn. Always on the defensive.
Evan shook his head, telling her he didn’t want a justification. “Lucy, do you want to go on over to the car now? I’ll follow you in just a sec.”
“All right.” The girl threw Rose another shy smile and turned away, her pale hair lifting off her neck as she reached the field and started to run.
Rose stretched her neck to see past the branches. Practice was over; the boys had departed. She tucked in her bottom lip and swallowed.
“Thank you,” Evan said.
Rose blinked. “What for?”
“You made Lucy laugh. She doesn’t do that a lot.”
Rose didn’t reply. She wasn’t accustomed to handling sincerity and appreciation.
Evan spoke haltingly. “Her mother died. Less than two years ago. She’s been very quiet and shy since. Easily frightened.” He looked down, crossed his arms over his chest, kicked up leaves with the toe of one running shoe. “I try to encourage her. But she always wants to stay near me. I didn’t think she’d actually go into the woods. She says the creaking of the trees scares her. You know, as if they’re alive.”
He looked up to the forest canopy. The sun had lowered in the sky. What remained of the filtered, dusky light dappled his face and inside Rose there was a stirring…an attraction. So unfamiliar it startled her.
Logically, she could see that Evan Grant was a handsome man. He had short brown hair that matched his eyes, and an open, friendly, intelligent face. Very clean-cut and vigorous, with his workout clothes and healthy air.
On the surface, he wasn’t the type to look twice at a woman with Rose’s reputation, but she knew that what men said in public and did in private were often very different things. Sixteen years ago, no one had believed that Rick Lindstrom, star athlete and the most popular boy of the senior class, could possibly be interested in awkward, unsophisticated Wild Rose Robbin.
She pushed the thoughts away. Flying under the radar was the only way to survive.
“Well, you know…” She coughed. “The trees are alive.”
Evan laughed, carving grooves into his cheeks. “Please don’t tell Lucy that. I had to cut a branch off the oak beside our house. It was scratching her window-pane.”
“She has imagination.”
“Too much, I think.”
“Uh.” Rose was feeling all choppy again. “Nice kid, anyway. I guess.”
Evan glanced over his shoulder. “I should leave.”
Rose couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to get on her about spying on the practice.
“I promised Lucy we’d go to the diner to pick up some takeout and have our dinner at the picnic tables by the harbor. Maybe you want to come with us?”
Rose had been ready to take off. Instead she froze. The man had to be kidding. Or he was a kindly soul throwing her a pity invitation. She got them occasionally, from the motherly owner of Bay House B and B, or Pastor Mike’s do-gooding wife. Rose almost always said no.
“No,” she croaked, not looking at Evan. “No, thanks. I have work soon. Night shift at the Buck Stop.”
“But don’t you have to eat before you go on?”
“I get something at the store.”
“Shrink-wrapped burritos. Twinkies. That stuff doesn’t make a good dinner.” He smiled at himself. “Listen to me. Lecturing you like you’re my daughter. Who is sure to insist on deep-fried, unidentifiable chicken bits and Mountain Dew.”
Rose was too unnerved to play along. “Do I look like a health nut?”
He was too nice a guy to take the opportunity to check out her boobs in a tank top that had shrunk in the dryer. His gaze stayed on her face, but that was bad enough. She had to meet his eyes. And he had warm, charismatic eyes—not confrontational. Not judgmental.
Which was confusing to Rose. She had little experience in being affable. Her fringe role in the community was established. Nothing much was expected from her, and she liked it that way. If feelings of desolation began creeping in, she always had Roxy Whitaker, who could be called a friend in a casual way. They’d gone berry-picking just a month ago.
“Next time,” Evan said with a shrug. He turned to go.
Rose exhaled. “Yeah.”
Tickled with shivers, she untied the hooded jacket from around her waist and pulled it on. There wouldn’t be a next time if she could help it.
CHAPTER TWO
“DADDY? DADDY…”
Lucy’s high-pitched voice woke Evan from a light doze. He reacted before his brain was at full speed, lurching up from the easy chair and stumbling over the ottoman that had skidded out from beneath his feet. The yammer and glitz of a familiar late-night talk show filled the room. Around midnight, then.
Evan shook his bleary head, coming awake enough to stop and listen, hoping that Lucy would settle on her own. As much as he wanted to reassure his daughter’s every fear, the clinginess and anxieties hadn’t abated as he’d been told they would. Her mother, Krissa, had been gone for a year and a half. More. Nineteen months. Roughly a third of Lucy’s life.
Nineteen months and the worry that his fumbling efforts were hurting Lucy more than helping her still sat in Evan’s gut like a leaden weight. With a tired exhale, he found