Now, being here with him, seeing his face, hearing his laughter again, hearing him say her name, had eroded the wall she had built to keep him out, to make certain that he—that no one—ever came close to her heart again. But it was no use, she knew.
If anything, she thought as she sighed and punched her pillow, the past two days had taught her something she had suspected for years.
If love is deep enough, true enough, it never dies. No matter what
* * *
Chapter Nine
"What are we going to do today?" Evan pounced upon Cale from behind.
"There is nothing to do," Eric whined.
"Christmas is in two days." Evan counted on his fingers. "This is the worst Christmas ever."
"How do you figure that?" Cale asked.
"We're stuck in this dumb cabin. Santa Claus will never find us here." Eric's eyes widened at the realization.
The twins looked at each other in horror.
"No Christmas presents?" Evan whispered.
"We don't even have a tree," Eric moaned.
"I wish we'd never come here," Evan announced. "I want to go home."
"We want to go home," Eric repeated.
Just finishing up washing the breakfast dishes—Cale having made his world-famous gloppy eggs that morning—Quinn paused at the sink, then dried her hands on the towel.
"Get your coats on, boys," she told them.
The boys groaned in unison.
"NO. Not a walk," Eric protested. "Daddy, don't let her make us go for a walk!"
"We are going to build a snowman on the front porch," she told them. "There's plenty of snow. Come on."
Without giving anyone an opportunity to protest further, she pushed the boys to the door and assisted Cale in getting them dressed for the outside. After bundling themselves up, Cale and Quinn led the twins through the front door onto the porch.
"Quinn's right," their father told them, "there's more than enough snow for a good snowman."
Soon the snowman began to take shape, and the boys wanted features for the frosty face. A pile of pinecones found under the snow in one corner of the porch supplied eyes, nose, and mouth. The boys admired their creation, but, cold and bored, now that the distraction had ended, they began to complain again.
"We want a Christmas tree, Daddy," Evan told him solemnly. "If we have a tree and Santa does find us, he'll have a place to leave our presents."
Cale had planned on chopping one of the small pines from the back to bring into the cabin. He hadn't counted on a blizzard. A Christmas tree wasn't too much for his sons to ask, he knew. Of course, if Val couldn't get here with their presents, there wouldn't be anything to put under the tree, but he'd worry about that later.
"Guys, go inside with Quinn and warm up. I'll be in in a few minutes."
"What are you going to do, Daddy?"
"It's a surprise. Go on." Cale opened the door and shoved them through. "Maybe Quinn can make something hot for you to drink."
"Sure, Cale, but what are you… ?" she asked as he scooted her through the door behind the boys.
"You just go on." Cale motioned for her to follow behind his sons, and closed the door. He turned to the snowman and asked, "What would Christmas be without a tree?"
"Well, boys, what do you think?" Cale stood the little tree upon its cut trunk and gave it a twirl.
The boys looked at it in horror.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"What's that?" They frowned.
"This," Cale told them, "is our Christmas tree."
"That's not a Christmas tree!"
"That's a twig!"
Crestfallen, Cale stepped back to take another look at the little tree he had chopped from where it had grown at the foot of the porch steps, trying to see it through his sons' eyes. It had been the only tree he could get to without running the risk of being lost in the storm.
It was a bit… scraggly.
"Why, that tree's just right," Quinn announced, having seen the look of disappointment cross Cale's face. "It'll be wonderful, once we decorate it You'll see, guys. It'll be perfect."
"'We don't have any decorations," Evan wailed.
"Then we'll make them," she told them. "Eric, get out that art kit of yours."
"Oh, brother," the boys moaned joylessly.
"Here." Quinn handed Eric a pair of scissors and a pile of construction paper. "You cut out strips, like this." She folded the paper into strips of equal width, then cut out the first two.
From the art kit, she withdrew a container of paste and, removing the lid, told Evan, "And you can glue the strips together into a chain, see?"
She demonstrated, then held up the two resulting circles. Cutting one more strip, she added the third circle and handed them to Evan.
"We used to do that, Val and I did," Cale said softly from behind her. "With our grandmother. We never had anything on our tree that we hadn't made."
Quinn turned to him, wanting to put her arms around him. From somewhere across the years, the old Cale had come back. She recognized every fiber of him now, recalled all the hurts he had shared with her, all the pain of his mother leaving and his grandmother dying, the shame of having a father who came home only when he had nowhere else to go.
"We made things, too," she told him as she sorted through the pile of colored paper until she found the white. Sitting next to him at the table, she cut wide strips, then folded the strips into squares, over and over until the entire strip was little more than two inches wide. With the scissors, she clipped and trimmed, then unfolded the strip and held it up for him to see.
"It's a chain of hearts," Quinn said simply, holding it out to him.
He met her eyes from across the table, then reached out and took the simple gift she offered, his hand lingering on hers for just a moment.
"Hearts are for girls," Eric said, looking over his father's shoulder.
Cale frowned, and began to fold one of the white strips that Quinn had cut and laid upon the table. When the paper was nothing more than a square, he cut as he had seen her do, then held the paper up so that the hearts unfolded, as hers had done. Smiling, she took his chain and pasted it to the one she had made, and for a long moment, it seemed that time stood still, and they were alone.
"Daddy, are you going to let her hang hearts on our tree?" Eric asked suspiciously.
"I would let her hang whatever she wants on our tree," Cale said softly.
"Boy," Evan grumbled, wondering what had gotten into his dad.
"How might Christmas cookies look on the tree?" Quinn asked.
"Christmas cookies?" The boys asked in unison. Now she had their attention. "Like the ones we made yesterday?"
"Different ones today. Special ones to put on the tree," she told them.
"Yea!" They clapped their hands, and the little demons turned back into little boys again.
"You guys finish the chain," she instructed. "And while you do that, I'll make us some lunch and get stuff ready for cookies."
"How long does the chain have to be?" Eric frowned.
Quinn tried to gauge how long it would take her to make soup from a can and the first batch of cookie dough.
"The chain should reach from the door to the sofa." She nodded, figuring that ought to buy her a little time and keep the boys occupied.
Cale watched her later as she worked with his sons, as she rolled out the dough and patiently showed them how to cut shapes. He watched the small faces of the boys, so intent on learning the new skills, so pleased with their efforts, so eager for Quinn's attention and approval. Their faces were wonders to behold, the boys' and the woman's, and the simple joy of the scene settled around him. As the warmth of the day spread through him, it occurred to him that he could not remember the last time he had been this happy. He wanted to hold on to it with both hands. Instead he leaned against the counter and willed himself not to weep at the sight of the beautiful woman and the two beautiful boys who were busy cutting uneven stars out of
cookie dough.
It was all exactly the way he had dreamed it would be. He wondered if it was true what they said, that it was never too late for dreams to come true.
"The tree looks pretty good, fellas," Quinn commented as Cale prepared to carry one young boy under each arm into the waiting tub of warm water.
"It's a great tree," Eric sang gleefully, "and we made it ourselves."
"It doesn't have any sparkly lights," noted Evan.
"It doesn't need lights." Eric tried to swat at his brother. "It's like a pioneer tree, and pioneers didn't have 'lecticity. Right, Dad?"
"Right, son." Cale hoisted the slipping boy a little higher and headed down the hallway.
While Cale was tending to his sons, Quinn cleared up the kitchen and made two cups of tea, which she placed on the table near the fire. It was all so right, it all felt so right, that she wanted to cry. She felt too much at home here. If things had turned out differently, she might have actually belonged here, been a real part of their lives.
She touched the ornaments gently, one then the next. The boys had been so cute making their little cookie ornaments. Lacking food coloring to make colored dough, they had added cocoa to some of the batter, and from the light brown dough had made little bears and wolves, and deer like the ones they had seen in the mountains. Then, from the plain batter, they had made baseballs and bats to hang on the tree for their father. Lastly, they had made mittens in the shape, of their hands out of red and blue construction paper, insisting that Cale and Quinn trace and hang their hands, too. Then they had hung them all on the tree together.
They looked so dear to her, the four hands of colored paper, like Poppa Bear, Momma Bear, and the two Baby Bears. Dear enough to set her heart to breaking if she dwelled too long on the sight. She wondered what would happen to the decorations once Cale took his sons back to Maryland.
"The boys would like you to come say good night," Cale told her as he came into the quiet room.
"Okay," she said, and set off toward the end of the hall.
It was twenty minutes before she returned to the front of the cabin, the boys having talked her into a story before letting her turn out the light. Cale was stacking wood on the fire and had already made her bed for her.
"The boys had such a great time today," he said without turning around. With the boys in bed, there was little to focus on but Quinn. On her eyes, on her face. On her body. It was only a little less difficult if he couldn't see her. Knowing she was there, behind him, was hard enough.
"I had a great time, too. They are really a lot of fun," she said to his back. "When they're not tying you up, of course."
"I'm sorry about that." Cale laughed, then made the mistake of turning to face her. The nearness of her pierced him to his soul.
His laughter died in his throat and he rested the fire poker against the stone of the face of the fireplace.
"Quinn…" He searched for words, then realized he wasn't even certain of what he had wanted to say, beyond speaking her name. He cleared his throat. "Thanks for all you did with the boys today. I can't remember when I saw them have so much fun. I'll see you in the morning."
Abruptly he turned, and she was alone in the room.
A wave of disappointment rolled over her. She had hoped for some time alone with him, had looked forward to discussing the day, and all they had shared. Everything they had done had seemed so natural. Talking it over at the end of the day felt like the natural thing to do.
And I guess, in a normal happy family, that would be the natural thing to do, she told herself as she changed into the thermal shirt and sweatpants she had slept in the night before. If, in fact, you are a normal happy family. Which we are not. The boys are Cale's and another woman's, and I'm just a… what had Evan called her? An intruder.
With an unhappy sigh, she turned off the light and stared into the darkness, and permitted herself to face with a sinking heart the undeniable fact that, after all these years, she was still in love with Caleb McKenzie.
The temperature in the cabin having dropped another few degrees, Cale thought it might be a good idea to throw a few more logs on the fire. And he might as well take another quilt in for Quinn, just in case she needed it
Quietly, he followed the thirty-two steps to the sofa, then placed the quilt over the sleeping woman. He added some logs to the fire, which had all but gone out, then fanned the flames for a few minutes. Turning back to the sofa, he fought off the urge to awaken her, to tell her that he was still hopelessly in love with her.
There had been a time when he had been certain that he could never forgive her for having hurt him so very deeply. It had only taken her smile to prove him wrong.
Wondering if it could ever be possible to make it right again, if there was such a thing as a second chance, Cale walked to the window and stared out into the winter night.
The blizzard seemed to have stopped, although the wind still whipped the snow around in a powdery swirl. The night was still draped in hazy white, and the faintest trace of moonlight dusted the hills. He was just about to turn away, when a shadow out beyond the trees caught his eye. He leaned closer to the glass. What could be out on a night like this
The figure moved easily through the snow, as if out for a stroll on a summer night. Frowning, he went to the door and opened it, not believing his eyes.
There, there near the hanging rock. He could see her so clearly now. But how… ?
"Are you lost?" He called to her across the night. "Can you make it to the cabin by yourself?"
The figure appeared to move slightly away, toward the trees.
"No, no, don't go into the woods. Wait right there, I'll come for you." But even as he spoke, the figure seemed to disappear into thin air. Confused, he stood in the open doorway, looking out into a whirl of white.
"Cale?" Quinn called to him from the sofa. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he told her, closing out the night as he closed the door behind him. "I guess it was nothing."
"Who were you talking to?" She sat up sleepily.
"I'm not certain that I was speaking to anyone." He hesitated, wondering what he had, in fact, seen. "I thought I saw… I don't know, a figure… but of course, I didn't. I couldn't have. No one could survive out on a night like this____"
"Was it a woman?" she asked. "A woman wrapped in a blanket?"
"How do you know… ?"
"Because I saw her. She led me here, to your cabin."
He stared at her. "A woman in a blanket led you through a blizzard to this cabin and you didn't find that remarkable enough to mention?"
"Not really." She smiled in the darkness and added, "It was Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth?" He frowned. "You mean your great-great whatever?"
"Yes."
"Are you telling me that a ghost led you here?"
"We don't really think of her as a ghost. But yes. I do believe it was her spirit."
"Remind me to thank her," he said in the safety of the darkness.
"I already have," she told him.
From across the room, he could see the way her hair turned to copper flames in the fire's glow, and the way the light played with shadows across her face, and he knew in that moment, without doubt, that they were inevitable.
"Quinn."
He dropped to the floor next to the sofa, and took her face in his hands. Their eyes met, measuring each other for a very long time. He leaned forward and kissed her, tentatively at first, to give her the option of pulling away, just on the outside chance he had misunderstood the message he thought he read in her eyes. Quinn pulled him closer, deepening the kiss as she had in a thousand dreams, while his fingers traced the sides of her face and down the fineboned jawline to her throat and back to her mouth, just as he had longed to do through all those sleepless nights. Sinking back into the cushions, she took him with her, until he half-covered her body with his, and his hands began to explore the body that arched beneath him and drew him like a magnet.
"Quinn," he whispered, hating to stop, but needing to know, "Quinn, why didn't you come that day?"
"What?" Her eyes snapped open. He couldn't possibly have said what she thought he said.
"If you had changed your mind, why didn't you just tell me?"
"What are you talking about?" She pushed at his chest.
"Don't tell me that you've forgotten, Quinn. Even after all these years, I don't think I could take that." He sat up and ran a restless hand through his hair.
"Cale…"
"Did your parents find out that we were planning to elope? Or did you get cold feet? I need to know, Quinn. Why did you leave me waiting here?"
Quinn pushed him away and shot up from the sofa on a bolt of remembered pain. "What are you talking about? I waited. I waited all day. I watched and waited and paced…"
She began to do just that, reliving those agonizing hours.
"Quinn, I was here all day. I stood right there, on that porch…" He stood and pointed to the front of the house.
"Here?" Her face twisted into a frown. "Why would you have waited here?"
"Because that's what we had agreed upon. July 27, at three o'clock. At the cabin."
"At Elizabeth's cabin."
"Elizabeth's cabin?" He frowned. "Why would you have gone all the way up there?"
"Because cabin means Elizabeth's…"
"No, Quinn. When I said, Meet me at the cabin, I meant this cabin…" Cale's mouth went dry. "You were there? At Elizabeth's? You actually were there… ?"
"All day. Until dark." She blinked, not believing. "You were here… ?"
"Till the last possible moment. Until I had just enough time left to catch my plane."
"Oh, Cale. Oh, Cale." The enormity of it overwhelmed her and took her breath away. "All these years, I thought… I thought…" She backed up toward the fireplace, choking on words she could not speak.
"… that I didn't love you? That I'd changed my mind about you?" He spoke as if the very words singed his tongue.
She nodded. "Yes."
"That's exactly what I thought," Cale whispered.