Ginny nodded.
“You and I have talked plenty over the past couple of years. Technology can leave something to be desired in terms of dealing with nuance. But I never brought up anything regarding financial or work plans because I assumed you would when you were ready. I thought Caleb had you up-to-date, and you were dealing with other priorities.”
Hell. “You thought I chose to stay away rather than come help?”
Interestingly, Tamara paused, her expression pensive. “You know, I can honestly say I didn’t jump to any conclusions as to why you weren’t coming home. I haven’t spent the past couple of years thinking ill of you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’d made a commitment and you were sticking to it, and I—honestly—admired you for your bravery and the risk you’d taken to go somewhere so far away.”
Ginny took a shaky inhale before confessing, “It was damn far away at times.”
It seemed sister-in-law hugs were just as soothing as big brother hugs, although a lot squishier. Tamara wrapped Ginny up tight and squeezed, holding on for dear life. “You’re home now. This is your home, and I’m sorry that I did something that made you feel even the least bit unwanted or unnecessary.”
“You’re pretty easy to love,” Ginny admitted. “Adding in all the other wonderful things about you, such as you’re in love with my brother and my nieces, and you made a really cute baby. Plus, you can cook like hot damn.”
Tamara laughed even as she grabbed a box of tissue and held it out. “There’s something special about sisters. I can always use another in my life.”
Ginny mopped up her face then sat, finally taking a drink of the tea Caleb had made her, letting it soothe the tension in her throat.
“Next thing,” Tamara said, “before I have to go tuck in the munchkins. I suggest you keep living in the trailer for now.”
Astounded, Ginny lost her words.
“Because I was thinking,” Tamara continued. “I know you used to have the room in the basement here, but I don’t think that’s a good long-term solution. Dustin is in the cottage where I understand Dare used to live. Dustin’s got a friend staying with him for the holidays, so we can’t kick them out yet, but there’s no reason why he can’t move to crew quarters eventually.”
“If Dustin doesn’t mind, I would love the cottage,” Ginny admitted. “Dare and I have been best friends since forever, so I spent just as much time there as I did in this house.”
“I don’t think Dustin would mind. I have a feeling he might be off on the road himself sometime in the near future,” Tamara said. She dipped her chin. “Okay. That gives you a little more grown-up living space for the next couple of weeks. You’re free to stop in any time, though, plus come use the washer and dryer whenever you want. But I’ll tell the girls the trailer is off-limits. That’s your space.”
Ginny opened her mouth to say something about the Tucker situation when Tamara held up a hand.
“Before I forget.”
She reached under the couch and pulled out a narrow briefcase-shaped object and offered it to Ginny.
The package was wrapped in parchment paper that looked age-bleached and faded in spots. The card on top featured Ginny’s name in a handwriting she hadn’t seen for over thirteen years.
“Oh my God.” Ginny traced a finger over the letters.
“I found it while cleaning out boxes that had obviously been packed since the accident. There were a few others all wrapped up, with names on each of them. Your mom was a really good advance planner, so this is from her. To you.”
The weight of it in Ginny’s lap was like an anvil. She looked up and saw compassion on Tamara’s face.
“I don’t think I can open this right now,” Ginny admitted.
Tamara nodded. “Take it with you. Let it sit for a while if you need, and if you want some company when you do unwrap it, let me know. Or Caleb—he would do absolutely anything for you.”
Ginny was getting choked up again. “I know. He’s the best, he really is.”
Tamara smiled, blinking away her own tears. “Kind of partial to him myself.”
“We need to stop this,” Ginny said with mock complaint. “I am the fun sister, and you are the get-it-done head chickie. We are not the weepy girls.”
“Head chickie?” Tamara snickered. “I will take that over many other nicknames you could’ve come up with. Give me a hug before I go rescue Caleb from getting begged into reading just one more chapter for the seventh time.
A final hug, and Tamara disappeared into the back of the house. Ginny picked up the three abandoned tea mugs, washed them and left them in the drainer. She pulled on her boots and coat then carefully loaded the present from her mother into a reusable grocery bag to protect it from the snow falling lightly outside.
She headed back to the trailer, where, because neither of them had done anything about it as far as she knew, she would eventually find Tucker.
One part of the tangled knot regarding coming home had been handily dealt with and completely solved. Thank God. Ginny had hoped it would be that simple. But it had taken a lot of mental and emotional energy to up and confess how she felt, and now she felt drained and so, so tired.
Only with the shock of adrenaline from the ghost from the past present she carried? It didn’t matter how tired she was, energy vibrated through her.
Wired. To. The. Hilt.
She actually snorted in amusement as she climbed the stairs to the trailer. Poor Tucker. He wasn’t going to know what hit him when he got home.
Ashton’s place was compact, only a little bigger than the crew quarters for the hired hands. Tucker looked around the two-bedroom, motel-like space with interest.
Ashton’s bedroom sat to the left, the second bedroom set up as an office space on the right. Between them was the bathroom. In front of all of it was an open living space with a small kitchen on one wall and a kitchen table big enough to seat four card players. Clean and tidy with minimal clutter, it was Ashton to a tee…except for one thing.
Nearly every single bit of space on the wall with the bathroom door had a colourful macramé hanging pinned on it. They were pretty, and well-constructed. It wasn’t that they were gaudy…
Okay, with that many, it was no longer charming, but slightly ridiculous.
Tucker hadn’t said anything the day before, but now it was impossible to resist. “You’ve taken up arts and crafts in your spare time?”
Ashton put the kettle on, pulled out a pack of beef jerky and threw it on the table. “They’re gifts. How the hell do you tell someone to stop giving you things?”
Tucker sat himself at the table. “You tell them thank you, but stop?”
“Sure. Tell me you’d say that to Emma. ‘Please stop drawing pictures to put on my fridge.’”
“Emma did not make the macramé,” Tucker drawled.
“Annoying woman,” Ashton grumbled.
Which answered the next question Tucker would’ve asked. There was only one female Ashton described in that tone of voice. Ivy’s grandmother, Sonora Fallen. Matriarch of the local Fields family and perpetual pain in Ashton’s side.
“You should just admit you like Sonora,” Tucker said.