Housekeeper Under The Mistletoe. Cara Colter
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right. What mattered was being alive.
And everything else could wait.
“Thanks,” she murmured, then saw the wreath of straw flowers in the drawer he’d left open. That Southwestern cluster of turquoise and coral blossoms mingled with twigs was part of the guest room decor, and its absence had puzzled her. “Oh, the desert wreath! I was wondering what happened to—”
But that didn’t make sense, she realized with a sudden jolt of shock, and saw the same incredulity on Rafe’s face before his expression grew softer.
“Beth must have told you a lot about the house,” he observed.
That did make sense. Far more sense than feeling as if she and Beth had somehow traded places.
“That has to be why I know where everything goes,” Anne agreed. And why she felt so very much at home here, as if she belonged in this house. It was the same sense of belonging she had felt when Rafe brought her Beth’s clothes to wear home from the hospital—their luggage from the train was still lost somewhere—and she’d been overwhelmed with a sense of familiar comfort. “We must’ve spent so much time talking, it’s like…well, kind of like she’s still with me.”
He regarded her curiously for a moment, but she saw no hint of doubt in his dark, watchful eyes. “Yeah?”
“I know that sounds weird, but—”
“No,” he said gently, “not for twin sisters. And you two were pretty close. You talked every week.”
They must have, because otherwise she couldn’t possibly have known that Beth kept pencils in the file cabinet.
But how could she be so clear on pencils, on how to jiggle the bedside lamp switch, on the names of her sister’s closest friends, and so vague on the details of her own life in Chicago?
“I wish I could remember more,” Anne told him. “I know it’ll all come back, but so far almost everything I remember is from when we were little.”
“Give yourself time,” he repeated, then sat down on the foot of the copper-varnished bed, facing her with a mingled look of resolve and entreaty. “Meanwhile, is there anything I can do?”
He’d done so much already that she hated to ask for more, but seeing her sister’s wreath had reminded her of the need for a traditional farewell. She would never say goodbye to the memories of her twin, which seemed even stronger here in Beth’s home, but after missing the funeral she needed to make some kind of gesture.
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind…I’d really like to take Beth some flowers.”
Rafe hesitated, and she saw his neck muscles tighten.
“It’s okay,” she said hastily. The man didn’t need any more reminders of what he’d lost. “I can do that later.”
“No.” He stood up, squaring his shoulders. “No, you need to say goodbye.” Then he glanced at his watch. “Let me just—”
“Rafe, not now!” Surely he didn’t think she meant him to drop everything and escort her to the cemetery this very minute. “I just meant, when you get time.”
But apparently he was already recovered from that moment of hesitation, because he asked, “How about tomorrow?”
After more than two weeks since her sister’s death, there couldn’t be any rush about saying goodbye. And yet visiting Beth’s grave might let her start working through the grief, accepting the loss and moving on.
“Well,” she said softly, “if that’s all right with you.”
“Yeah, it’s okay. It’s fine.” He walked back to the door, then turned to face her again, as if he needed to explain himself. “I haven’t been there since the funeral.”
“You don’t have to—” she began, and he cut off her protest.
“No, I do. How about, I pick you up from your session with Cindy and we’ll stop for flowers on the way.”
Suddenly the man was sounding more like an attorney than she’d ever imagined him—more decisive and also more determined—yet somehow she had the impression that his take-charge demeanor was only a facade.
“Is that all right?” she faltered. “I don’t want to put you through—”
“Anne, come on.” Even his posture had changed; he was standing with an attitude of confidence that bordered on defiance. “I can handle it.”
“Well, it’s just…”
“I can handle it!”
“Because you’re Mr. Tough Guy,” she offered, and he responded with a startled expression.
“Did Beth tell you that?”
She must have. But anybody could see from his stance, from the way he held himself ready for battle, that Rafe Montoya would stand alone against whatever challenge came his way—and that an offer of support would only make his determination more fierce.
“You don’t need anyone looking out for you,” Anne observed.
It surprised her when a flicker of remorse crossed his face. “No,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to the carpet. “That drove her crazy.”
And that sounded like the kind of marital problem a sister-in-law had better stay out of. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said hastily, closing the drawer with the wreath, which had started her thinking of Beth. “This is none of my business.”
He didn’t even bother to voice an agreement. Instead, he straightened his shoulders as if dismissing the entire topic. “Anyway, let me know if you want some coffee later.”
“Thanks.” It actually sounded tempting, but she’d already intruded enough. “I ought to get some work done.”
His smile flashed so quickly that she was caught by surprise at how attractive this man could be. “I hear you. The job comes first.”
He was right, Anne thought a little breathlessly. What was the matter with her, anyway? Here she was, wearing her sister’s clothes and living in her sister’s home…but feeling her sister’s appreciation for Rafe Montoya was going way too far.
“Tell me,” she blurted, “how you and Beth met. I mean, the whole thing. How you fell in love with each other.”
Rafe looked taken aback, but he shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorway, as if searching for the right words.
“Because you did love her,” Anne prompted. “I mean, Beth probably told me the whole story at the time. It’s just, I don’t quite remember.”
His guarded expression softened slightly. “Well,” he said, “it was here in Tucson. You’d gone off to Harvard, and Beth was at the U of A.”
“That was after our dad died, right?” She’d pieced together enough scraps of memory to know that their mother had died when they were young, and their late grandmother had raised them without much help from their dad. “So it was just Beth and me left.”
“Right, and she came to this homeless shelter with a bunch of her sorority sisters. Volunteer weekend. I was coming off shift—this was an internship, my last year of school—and when I saw her reading to these kids, it just kind of hit me.”
“Love at first sight,” Anne said. This was what she needed, hearing about Beth from someone else who had loved her. And already the story was setting off chords of memory. “She’d never met anyone like you.”
Rafe gave her a rueful smile. “She didn’t know the half of it…I didn’t want to scare her away. But I kept working extra hours, hoping I’d see her again, and she kept on showing up with dolls for the kids. You remember the dolls, right?”
“Nobody makes dolls who look like they have Down