Page 72 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses
“Faith,” Caleb whispered when he was mostly a faithless man. Sliding his hand in his pocket, he brushed his fingers over her hairclip. Experienced the same ache he did when he watched Rory cross a crowded street; watched Zach head out on patrol with those goddamned shipwrecks. The same ache he’d felt after seeing Noah for the first time in ten years.
Like a sucker punch, love had the power to bring you to your knees when you weren’t looking.
“Get Macy to your house tomorrow. Tell her Rory cut his foot, and he’s bleeding like a stuck pig. That will work.” Caleb rocked back on his heels, making a mental list of what needed to be done. It was, maybe, a decent start to his pleading for her forgiveness. For herfuture. “I need tonight, maybe all night. Don’t bungle this, Professor.”
Noah tipped his head to the ceiling, trying to hide the curve of his lips.Thebastard. “The gift, I’m guessing.”
Caleb was halfway out the door when he remembered to look back. “And…thanks. You know—”
Noah waved away the words. “I know, Cale. I’ve always known.”
Love,Caleb decided as he stalked down the boardwalk, was the best and the hardest of things.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Are you mad? That I don’t need no doctor?” Rory perched his skinny bottom next to hers on the top porch stair. He’d brought the aroma of the holidays with him. Cinnamon and nutmeg. Peppermint, from the sugar stick in his hand. In the other, he held a wooden caboose. He looked like his father, Zach. A spitting image. “It’s one of those lies that don’t hurt anyone. What Elle told me. A yellow lie. But it wasn’t funny, if you ask me. Like a good joke or something.”
“White lie. And, no, I’m surprised. A tad nervous.” She drew her shawl around her shoulders to fend off the gust whipping past them. The air tasted of salt and rain and Christmas, which she supposed was Pilot Isle’s own unique mix. “But not mad.”
“Uncle Cale loves you. So, you gotta stay ‘til he gets here.”
She smiled, casting her gaze to the sky. Brilliant blue. Full of possibilities, a sky this wide open. “Is that so?”
“The out-and-out plan, my pa said.”
“Your family is quite the plotting bunch.”
Rory shoved the peppermint stick in his mouth. Moved it from one side to the other. “Plotting mean crazy?” he asked around the red and white swirls.
She laughed, flooded with hope, wonder, love. Brushing Rory’s hair from his brow, she allowed her hand to linger as the softness of his skin blended with her own. The little boy scent of him aimed an arrow straight at her heart. “Yes, maybe.”
Then Caleb was there. Windblown and rosy-cheeked, broad and tall and wonderful. Striding down the sidewalk and through the gate. Taking her hand and pulling her into his arms. The kiss was swift, child-friendly, but generated enough heat to make her lose all coherent thought.
“She’s not mad, Uncle Cale,” Rory mumbled around the candy, his lips turning a charming pink. “But she thinks we’re crazy.”
Caleb’s brow rose. Just the one, which she found incredibly endearing. And he knew it. “Not angry? Then maybe you don’t want the gift I’ve been busting my—”
“Oh, no. Don’t even! You have so much groveling to do, I can’t begin to tell you. After you made me wait four days in misery, Caleb Garrett, I should never speak to you again.”
“But you will.” He pulled her down the sidewalk with a wave over his shoulder. “Too cold out here for visiting, boy. Get inside. We’ll be back by supper.”
“Thanks for the train, Uncle Cale. Merry Christmas, Doc Dallas!” Rory shouted as the screen door slapped behind him.
She didn’t speak on the hasty walk through town. Christmas morning, so the streets were deserted. Caleb’s fingers were laced tightly with hers when a strong hold wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t goinganywhere. “I sent a telegram. I declined the residency. No matter what—”
“God, I missed you,” he whispered and captured her in his hold, right there in the street. This kiss was unlike the earlier one regulated for Rory’s viewing. This was carnal—and warmed her to her toes. When he raised his head, he was breathing as if he’d run a race. “Your Christmas gift or more of this at the warehouse? We’re gonna do both, but your choice which we do first.” He trailed his knuckle across her cheek. “You know what I’ll say.”
She tapped her finger over her scorched lips, her body vibrating with need so compellingly she truly questioned the decision. While she wanted the warehousemore, she also wanted to make him suffer. “Gift, first. Ripping each other’s clothes off, second. Maybe.”
He pressed his lips to her brow and groaned. “Women.” But he was smiling, his dimple denting his cheek, the wicked look in his eyes making her knees weak.
When they arrived at his warehouse—which she thought meant he’d reneged and was opting for lovemaking first—he circled behind it. To a modeststructure she’d assumed was used for storage as she’d not been invited inside. It was newly painted. White clapboard. Bright blue shingles. Cedar roof. Pristine, solid, and quite appealing standing there in a ripping wind flowing off the sea. The sign,hersign—Elinor Macy Dallas, Medical Doctor—was hanging on a new hook, not yet rusted, the first hint to what she’d find inside.
At the entrance, he halted, blew in his hands, danced from one foot to the other. Struggling, she plainly noted. She laughed and elbowed him aside, opened the door and stepped right back into him as he came through it. “Caleb,” she breathed.Oh, my.
“Merry Christmas,” he said and gave her backside a shove. “Go on, explore. Before you decide about me, about us, I want to sweeten the deal. I’m not fighting fair, I guess. But if you’re not going to have that residency, you’re going to have everything else.”
She orbited the room like a star circling a planet, staying close to her center.Him. Medical cabinets spanned the entire length of one wall, the glass shelves filled with all manner of instrument. Stethoscope, anesthesia inhaler, irrigating syringes, lancets, scalpels. Bottles of antiseptic. Ointment. Jars of cotton balls, pads, gauze. It was as well-stocked as any physician’s office she had ever seen.