Coming Home For Christmas. RaeAnne Thayne
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was so tired from hours of driving but knew he would be too restless to sleep. On impulse, he headed for the front desk, where the same clerk who had checked them in earlier still worked.
His family had run an inn for most of his life. Megan still oversaw the Haven Point Inn. He knew exactly how many little details went into giving guests an enjoyable experience and how hard it could be to accomplish everything necessary.
“Hi. I’ve been sitting behind the wheel all day and need to burn off some energy. Do you mind if I take a shovel and clear off the front walk?”
The woman’s face brightened. “Mind? Are you kidding? Our maintenance guy is up to his eyeballs trying to fix a problem with the swimming pool. We’ve got twenty kids who want to swim and the situation is getting desperate. You would be a lifesaver.”
Luke grabbed the shovel from the closet she pointed to and headed out into the storm, grateful he’d still been wearing his coat when he walked down to use the phone.
In the end, he shoveled the walks all around the small inn. The physical exertion helped calm his brain, almost a form of meditation. By the time he finished, his muscles burned, but he felt much more able to rest.
“Thank you,” the clerk said when he came inside again. “That was so kind of you. The least I can do is give you a coupon for a meal at the restaurant next door. We offer a free breakfast of muffins and fruit, but they have a more elaborate spread.”
“Thanks, but I’m hoping we’ll be making an early start and won’t have time for a sit-down breakfast. There was a nice young couple just ahead of us when we checked in. A couple with a little girl. You could give it to them.”
“I’ll do that. That’s very nice of you. Thank you.”
“Good night.”
He couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to go to the room. Cheeks still cold from the elements, Luke made his way up to the elevator, bracing himself the whole way to deal with her again.
When he opened the door to the hotel room, he found it mostly dark, illuminated only by the bathroom light. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim conditions. When they did, he saw she had picked the bed closest to the window and was under the covers, unmoving. Was she asleep? He couldn’t say. Her breathing seemed regular and steady but she might have been faking.
He grabbed his duffel and headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He hadn’t been planning to stay the night but also hadn’t known what he would face in Oregon. He was glad some sixth sense had prompted him to be prepared for a night on the road. He at least had a T-shirt and gym shorts he could sleep in.
When he came out of the bathroom, he couldn’t see that she had moved.
Odd. She had always been a restless sleeper. He couldn’t count the number of nights he had awakened with her sprawled across him, warm and soft, the comforter somewhere at their feet or on the floor. He used to love wrapping his arms around her and holding her, cherishing the pure perfection of the moment while he counted the moments until he could legitimately awaken her with a kiss.
He pushed away the ache and slipped into his own bed, wishing it were a little farther away so he didn’t have to listen to her breathing.
He had become the restless sleeper now. Since she left, he rarely slept all the way through the night, as if something in his subconscious continued to wake up, looking for her. It made him furious and empty at the same time.
He stared up at the ceiling in the room, tinted red and green from the snow-covered Christmas lights filtering in through a gap in the curtains.
Finally, exhausted from hours of driving and from the emotional tumult of the day, he slept.
He awoke to whimpering coming from the other bed. For a moment when he first awoke, he couldn’t remember where he was. Was that Cassie or Bridger having a bad dream?
He saw red and green lights filtering through the curtains and remembered then. He was in a hotel somewhere in Oregon. That wasn’t one of his kids. It was the wife he hadn’t seen in years.
He rolled onto his side, facing her. He could just make out her features in the dim light, twisted with either pain or fear. As he listened, trying to decide whether to wake her, the sound turned into more than whimpering. She cried out, the emotion in her voice tortured and raw. “No. Please. My babies. I need my babies.”
He frowned, sitting up and scrubbing his face to push away the remaining tendrils of sleep.
“I’m not Sonia. I’m Elizabeth. Why won’t you believe me? Please. Please! Don’t leave me trapped here.”
She said a few more things, her words garbled and unintelligible but the distress coming through with grim clarity.
Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He flipped on the light on the table between the two beds. “Lizzie? Wake up. You’re dreaming.”
“Luke. Oh, Luke.” She said his name on a sob, her eyes still closed. He was fairly sure she wasn’t awake but he couldn’t be sure. He did know he hated her tears.
“Hey, now. Don’t cry.”
Though he knew it was probably one of the more stupid things he could do, he couldn’t resist sliding out of bed and sitting on the edge of hers. She was trembling. He could feel the bed vibrating with her small movements.
“Don’t cry,” he repeated. “You’re dreaming.”
Except this didn’t seem like a dream. She wasn’t here. She was...somewhere else.
He reached a hand out to calm her. That was all he really intended but the next moment she was somehow in his arms.
In an instant, seven years melted away. She was here and she was his.
He had forgotten how perfectly she fit in his arms, how her head nestled against his chest at precisely the right angle and her arms wrapped around his waist. She smelled the same, that mix of citrus and vanilla that always made his mouth water.
He wanted to bury his face in her hair and inhale, to burn that scent into his memory again.
He knew the instant she started to awaken. Her whimpering slowed and then stopped altogether. She sighed, and for perhaps sixty seconds, she relaxed in his arms, her body going boneless and calm before he could feel her muscles tighten and she started to fight against his hold.
“Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. Take what you want but don’t hurt me.”
He hated those words. He had never hurt her. He even hated raising his voice. How many times had he walked away when she would explode at him, lashing out in her pain that he should leave her, that he was better off without her?
“Easy. Easy. It’s me. It’s Luke.”
She scrambled to the other side of the bed, those familiar-unfamiliar features twisting with confusion. In the low light, she looked...haunted.
“Luke. What are you...?” Her blue eyes widened and he watched memory click back. “Oh.”
“You had a bad dream. You were crying in your sleep.”
“Was I?” She blinked, obviously trying to make sense of the last few moments. She pulled the blanket to her shoulders like a shield, becoming guarded once more. “What...what did I say?”
“You begged me not to hurt you. And you also said you were Elizabeth. Not Sonia.”
“I would say...I’m a little of both now.”
“You also said something about being trapped. It sounded pretty frightening. What did you mean?”
She looked away, focusing on the banal artwork in the room. “Nothing. I was rambling in my sleep, I suppose. You know how...dreams can be.” She swallowed. “What time is it? Has the weather cleared?”
His jaw