as strong as gravity toward the face he had no business looking at, the person who was toxic to his best interests.
Jenna caught his gaze this time, pink lips lifting in a tentative grin. Ignoring the jolt he would probably always feel when she smiled at him, he turned away from her and focused on his mother again. Jenna wanted things between them to be the same as they’d always been. She’d made that clear enough in a few letters and during a stilted conversation at the wedding. But their relationship could never be the same.
They were different people. At least he was. He was an adult now, a respected member of the Markston community, not the everyman she’d found so easy to overlook. And this new Dylan Warren refused to allow Jenna Scott to get under his skin again.
Dylan planned to keep his distance from her during this visit just as he had for the past four years, just as he had at the wedding. Although he still felt guilty for using his graduate studies as an excuse to avoid going to Michigan for her father’s funeral nearly two years before, he couldn’t think about that now, not when he needed to focus on giving her a wide berth during her visit. If he could avoid caving in to her attempts to get close to him for the next two weeks, maybe he could finally exorcise her from his heart for good and get on with his life.
His plan in place, Dylan sneaked another look at Jenna to test his resolve. Immediately he realized his mistake. As she listened to his mother’s speech, Jenna had tilted her head to the side, revealing a long expanse of her elegant neck above the collar of her uniform. The impulse to brush her skin there was so strong that Dylan had to fist his hands and turn away to shake it. He was in trouble, and he knew it. If he wanted to have any hope of maintaining his distance from Jenna Warren this Christmas season, he needed to start praying for strength right now and keep right on doing it through the New Year.
Chapter Two
Dylan slipped out of his muddy hiking boots and gave his head a hard shake, sending droplets of water from his hair flying every which way. Dripping less than he had before, he stepped through his mother’s front door.
“I’d like to see a Currier & Ives painting of that precious holiday scene,” he groused.
“I heard that, Dylan Thomas.” His mother came down the hallway and handed him a towel.
“Sorry, Mom.” He toweled off his hair.
He didn’t know how his mother could still call her twenty-six-year-old son by both his names when he annoyed her, any more than he could understand how she was still in a festive mood after such a disastrous tree-cutting outing. It had begun to sprinkle the moment they’d pulled up at the tree farm, and by the time they’d left with that gigantic, soggy Scotch pine, Dylan had been looking around for animals lined up two by two.
Matthew opened the storm door and stuck his head inside, raindrops running down the lenses of his glasses. “Hey, little brother, we could use a hand out here. We’re setting up the tree in the garage so it can dry out.”
Dropping the towel on the tile, Dylan retrieved his boots and followed his brother. So much for his much-needed break from being around Jenna.
“Any chance Mom’s decided to cut festivities short tonight?” Matthew asked over his shoulder.
“Are you kidding? She and your mother-in-law already have the hot chocolate simmering on the stove, and I could hear their bad duet of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ as soon as I walked in the house.”
“I figured we wouldn’t get out of it,” Matthew said. “Never let it be said that a little rain could keep our mom from her holiday celebration.”
“At least you aren’t the newest matchmaking target.”
Matthew laughed the laugh of someone who’d been there. “Stay strong, brother.”
As they stepped into the garage, Caroline and Jenna were holding the tree upright while Logan crouched below, twisting the braces of the tree stand into its trunk.
“Could you two hold that thing straight?” Logan called up from the bottom.
“Come on, Nature Boy, don’t you know how to deal with trees once they’re cut down?” Caroline chided.
“I can with some proper help. Who cut this trunk, anyway? It’s crooked.”
Jenna caught Dylan’s eye and laughed, and even he couldn’t resist smiling at that. Logan, the resident park ranger among them, had cut the tree himself. They rested it on its side so Logan could even up the trunk and remove the lowest branches. Then, with several hands and a lot of grumbling, they finally secured the tree in its stand with only a slight lean.
Their work finished, they filed into the house, leaving their boots and soaked coats near the door.
“Everyone in here,” Trina told them, ushering them into the family room, where Amy sat on the edge of the brick hearth.
Although they’d had only minutes to put the party together, the mothers had risen to the occasion. Now orange and yellow flames danced in the gas fireplace, strains of recorded Christmas carols filtered from the stereo speakers, and a spread of finger sandwiches and snacks rested on the side table. And because no Warren-Scott gathering would be complete without them, two of his mother’s famous cakes were arranged on cake stands.
They were preparing to say grace when the doorbell rang, and Matthew hurried to let Reverend Leyton Boggs and his wife inside. They conferred in hushed voices as they hung up their coats and then made their way into the family room, their faces stoic.
“Is everything all right, Reverend?” Amy Warren asked.
The minister smiled in that comforting way he’d used in every memorial service Dylan had ever attended. Something was wrong.
“Late this afternoon, there was a fire downtown that destroyed a young family’s home,” Reverend Boggs began. “Brad and Kelly Denton were already struggling since Brad was laid off from his job, and their car wasn’t running, so this fire came at a particularly tough time. The home was rented, and they had no insurance.”
“How awful for them,” Jenna said. “Do they have children?”
Lila Boggs nodded. “Two boys. Seven-year-old twins named Connor and Ryan. But praise God, they all got out safely.”
“Yes, praise Him for that.” The minister told how the Dentons had been trying to provide at least a simple Christmas for their sons, only to have their few gifts go up in flames along with the rest of their possessions.
Empathetic murmurs filled the room as the minister told more of the specifics. But Dylan barely heard the details. The story made him so uncomfortable that he found it hard to sit still. A family already limping along through life now had the burden and indignity of being homeless at Christmas. He’d heard dozens of those tragic holiday stories before, but this one touched him in a special way.
It had to be the mention of those two little boys that spoke to him. His heart ached as he imagined the confusion they had to feel after today’s events, after the security blankets of home and safety had been ripped from them. He’d known a day like that once himself: the day his father left. At twelve years old, he’d been older than these boys, but he remembered how powerless and small he’d felt. How frightened he’d been that his world would never the right again. Now he grieved for these children,
