was Beth,” Amy said, standing in the doorway. “She realized I was going to be here for Christmas Day. She invited us over for dinner. They have turkey.”
“We were just there,” he pointed out, something stubborn in the set of his jaw, a shield over his eyes.
“Surely you would have been joining them for Christmas dinner?” she asked.
He said nothing.
“You wouldn’t go and be with your own father on Christmas Day? You’d rather sit here by yourself?”
Again he said nothing.
“I want to go. I have Christmas presents for them.” She went and stood in front of him, folded her arms over her chest.
“How could you possibly have that?”
“I made them something. I already told her we would go.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. I’m not going there for Christmas.”
“But—”
“I’m not arguing with you. And it’s not open for discussion.”
“Oh! Now you sound just like Edwin!”
She could tell he didn’t like that one little bit.
“Look,” he said, his tone cool. “We are not husband and wife. We are not even a couple. So we don’t have to discuss decisions.”
Regardless of the truth in that, Amy was not going to be the woman she had been with Edwin. Never again. Just deferring to him, trying to make him happy, avoiding confrontation, even when the price of that avoidance had been the loss of her own identity and her own soul.
“You’re absolutely right. We don’t have to discuss decisions. I’ll go without you,” she decided.
His mouth formed a grim line. “And how are you going to do that?”
“I’ll take the little sled we used to toboggan with today. And I’ll follow the track we made with the horses.”
“With one hand?” he said with satisfied skepticism.
“That’s all I need to pull Jamey on the sleigh,” she said stubbornly.
His mouth fell open. “What happened to the girl who was afraid of her own shadow?”
Her eyes went to his lips.
He had happened to her. And she was a girl no more. She was a woman, and she was one who knew her own mind.
And this is what her own mind knew, standing there on Christmas Eve having her first fight with Ty Halliday.
The woman she had become was in love with him. Enough to believe, even given the stubborn cast of his features, that a Christmas miracle could still happen.
She went and sat beside him on the couch, covered his hand with her good one.
“Tell me what’s wrong between you and your dad,” she said, again.
She needed desperately to know that he felt he could trust her. She was aware that it was the only gift she wanted from him. And she wanted to give him the gift of not being so alone. That’s what she had wanted to give him from the moment she had set up that tree for him.
And her hopes hung between them, in the silence, waiting for his answer.
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