“He’s apparently my brother-in-law. That’s not so odd to spend time with family.”
“You’d told me you were meeting Cordelia.”
Oh. Though on alert, I was still partially offended. “I don’t lie, Holden. Ever.”
“You don’t recall the day leading up to the fall?”
“I think we’ve beaten that particular horse. Let her go.”
Holden pushed up on his hands and stood. “I need to get to bed. Early day tomorrow.”
“Did I tell you why we went to lunch?”
“Yeah. You did. You two were celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?”
“A case I’d handled had finally wrapped up.”
I frowned in confusion. “So?”
“So…” He turned back, the shadows from the dark kitchen slashing against the hard angles on his face. “Wyatt’s divorce was officially final.”
Chapter Fourteen
Whoever said the days were long, but the years were short had never attempted to be a stranger’s wife.
The next few days inched by, with Holden hovering over me like a nursemaid while I tried to surreptitiously track down the elusive Mrs. Claus. Every minute Holden wasn’t doing his lawyerly things or asking me if my head hurt, he was working on the house. Needing an outlet for my frustration, I’d pitched in yesterday and ripped down the dining room wallpaper myself. When Holden had thanked me, I’d found myself strangely proud of my contribution. But I still turned down his offer of “insanely good kissing” as my reward.
“You seem nervous.” Holden blew air into his hands to warm them Tuesday night as we waited on the front porch belonging to his aunt Betsy and uncle Phil. “It’s just dinner.”
“I don’t know these people.” Headlights threw bright shadows against the two-story home as another car pulled into the driveway. “Do I look okay?” I’d only showered twice, ran a flatiron through my hair, and put on my favorite padded, boosty bra.
Before he could answer, the door flung open and Betsy Thomas whooped with unbridled joy. “Holden! Annie! I’m so glad to see you both. Get on in here right now and warm yourselves by the fire.” She captured both of us in exuberant hugs, tossing out compliments and good tidings like confetti. “Annie, I love what you’ve done with your hair today. Holden, those photos you sent me of the house are just beautiful.”
“Let me have your coat,” Holden said to me, hand outstretched.
I made quick work of shucking it, only to find my glove stuck in a sleeve. Holden stepped into my space, easing the jacket from my shoulders, his hand running down the captured arm until it was free. My skin heated, and I took a wide step away from him. “Thank you.”
Aunt Betsy’s bright blue eyes flitted between the two of us before landing back on me. “Annie, I’m so sorry about your fall. Wyatt was telling us all about it.”
Just the name Wyatt sent a lovely ripple of giddy joy through my chilled bones. “Wyatt mentioned me? I mean mentioned the fall?”
“Did someone say my name?” I nearly dropped my scarf as Wyatt Thomas, my One Who Got Away, walked into the living room, his three-year old daughter on his hip. My gosh, he looked all amazing and paternal. Blonde hair disheveled by the winter wind, face glowing from the cold, and lips curved into a smile that could make a nun renege on her vows. And that little girl of his. Bundled like she was ready for a Colorado blizzard with puppy dog mittens and a tipsy stocking cap that covered one mischievous eye.
“I see the family’s all here.” Phil came into the room just in time to hug his son, then dole out more hugs to Holden and me. This bunch sure did a lot of cheek-kissing, back slapping, and squishy embraces. We did not do family displays of affection in the Bristow home. “There’s my favorite granddaughter.” Uncle Phil swooped in and grabbed the little girl, hoisting her over his head until she giggled.
“Once the grandchild comes along, you’re pretty much forgotten,” Wyatt said, throwing an arm around his mom.
I would never forget you, I wanted to say. We could have twenty children, and I could hit my head until I lost all function, but I would never forget Wyatt Thomas.
“How’s my favorite concussion patient?” Wyatt turned those dazzling eyes to me, and my heart did a swan dive toward the floor.
I was so tempted to ask him to walk his capable fingers through my hair again, to feel my brow, and coo medical jargon in my ear. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”
Wyatt looked at me like he had in college—like I was the only person in the room. “I’m sure Holden’s keeping a close eye on you.”
“Always,” Holden said with a pointed look at his cousin, before disappearing down the hall with our coats.
Guilt was a splinter in my conscience—the kind that refused to dislodge and snagged on everything it touched. On one hand, I had been dropped into this incredible, though messed-up opportunity to be reunited with Wyatt. How could I not pursue him while I was here? On the other hand, in Holden’s view, we were married. I did not have a cheating bone in my body, so every glance, every step in pursuit of Wyatt felt cursedly off. I didn’t want to hurt Holden, but the reality was—he wasn’t my husband.
“It smells wonderful in here,” I later said to Betsy, as she led us to the dining room.
“It’s just beef stew and homemade rolls tonight.” She poured water into glasses and gestured toward the bowls. “Nothing fancy, but nice on a cold evening, right?”
My cooking extended to microwavable dinners and scrambled eggs, so my access to fancy food only occurred when I visited my mother’s home in New York or attended a social event for the museum.
Holden pulled out my chair next to his. Wyatt sat on my other side. I was a cute man sandwich, and it wasn’t the worst way to spend a night. In fact, it downright cheered me up. In four days of my own search and rescue, I’d come up empty handed on this Mrs. Claus. Dead ends everywhere I looked.
Betsy ladled soup into bowls. “Holden, how is the house? Are you still putting in those late nights?”
“It’s coming together.” Holden dipped his spoon into his soup. “Exterior paint starts tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to your open house.” His aunt shot her husband a quick look. “In three weeks, everyone will know the name Thomas and Company Construction.”
“It has a nice ring to it,” I said, enjoying the way Holden’s cheeks lightly flushed. “The house has so much character.”
“It always has.” Phil picked up the salt and pepper and gave them liberal shakes. “Holden used to tinker with the place even when he was a kid.”
The farmhouse was his childhood home?
“That doesn’t need more salt, Phil.” Betsy swatted her husband’s hand. “You insult my cooking.”
“A little extra won’t hurt.” But he obediently put down the shaker. “Holden, I ran into Don McCann at the hardware store.”
“Why were you at the hardware store?” Holden asked. “You know if there’s anything you need fixing, you only have to call.”
“Don’s just like you boys,” Betsy said with feigned annoyance. “Can’t sit still.”