Winter's End Page 7

  Marc looked as surprised as Kayla felt, but he recovered faster. Sweeping her a look, he stepped in and shut the door against the frigid night. “Someone sick?”

  Kayla clutched McKenna tighter. “No. I came for supper.”

  “Ah.” Marc shrugged off his leather bomber jacket and hung it on a rack of pegs. The ever-present flannel had been replaced by a simple turtleneck in loden green. The soft country shade did wonderful things to his eyes. Why did that seem unfair? “Me, too.”

  The night had disaster written all over it. Kayla jerked one shoulder. “I can come another time.”

  She turned. A firm hand caught her shoulder. Marc stepped in front of her, his hands reaching for the baby. “We’ve eaten together before. No one suffered irreparable harm if I remember correctly.”

  “Still.” She met his gaze. “You deserve a quiet evening with your friends. I’m sure Craig and Sarah had no idea that…” Her voice trailed off.

  “That I give you a hard time because I want the best possible care for my father?”

  Something inside Kayla snapped. “That you give me a hard time because you have a truckload of misplaced anger and should spend the better part of a week, no, make that a month,” she expounded, “with a punching bag, sorting things out.”

  She clapped a quick hand of regret over her mouth. Well, that little tirade should do wonders to clear the air. Nice going, Doherty.

  He stared, long and hard. She squared her shoulders and stared right back until a muscle in his cheek jumped. A sheen of hard-won respect softened his expression. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and nodded. “Probably wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Shall I call the gym, set up a time?”

  His Derek Jeter eyes darkened with amusement. The difference was she liked Derek Jeter, the always-a-class-act shortstop for the New York Yankees.

  “No, thanks. I’ve actually got one in the barn. High school leftover.”

  Marc shifted the baby. In turn, McKenna patted his cheek with chubby hands. He smiled at the little girl, then dropped his gaze to Kayla. “So. What do you think of Division One hockey? St. Lawrence?”

  “I think the coach should duct tape Norwen’s mouth.”

  She surprised him. His eyes narrowed. He switched McKenna to his left arm and walked into the great room. “Because?”

  “The kid’s trouble,” Kayla defended her position. “He shoots off his mouth and brings the team down. I’d cool his heels on the bench until he develops a better public attitude. Or bump him.”

  “Coach says he’s had a tough life,” Marc offered. He sank to the floor and grabbed a waddling plastic toy puppy for McKenna. Grinning, he watched as the baby toddled after the toy, her arms outstretched.

  “That’s no excuse for being a jerk.”

  He sent her a cool look. “You figure he should suck it up, turn the other cheek?”

  “Yup.”

  “Simplistic.”

  She refused to look annoyed. That would give him too much power. “Straightforward.”

  “Perhaps.” He turned his attention back to the baby. “Or patronizing.”

  Kayla sucked a breath. Her heart signaled an upsurge of adrenalin. Marc didn’t seem to notice.

  “Not everyone gets handed a gilded life and a happy childhood,” he advised, his tone nonchalant. He gave her Ann Taylor ballet-neck rose silk sweater a sharp look. “Or designer labels.”

  Kayla bit her tongue. Let him think what he would. He had no clue how she’d worked to be where she was today. The foster homes where she never quite belonged. Hustling tables in a sports bar through college, cranking the books until she fell asleep on top of them in a bug-infested basement apartment requiring bars on the windows.

  Nope, he had no idea and she had no intention of setting him straight. Marc didn’t have to know that working girls could afford Ann Taylor if they waited for half-price online sales. If she could pull off the look of being normal, more power to her. That he thought her uncaring dented her spirit, but nothing that couldn’t be filled with…something. Something that wasn’t Marc DeHollander and his casually cold demeanor.

  “Marc, you’re here.” Sarah Macklin hurried down the stairs and gave Marc a welcoming hug. “How are you? How’s your dad? It’s been way too long,” she scolded, smiling. She looped her arm through his. “And you know Kayla. Craig said she was working with your father, so I knew we’d make a nice group tonight.”

  Marc never missed a beat. He sent Kayla an even look over Sarah’s head. “And you were right.” Stepping back, he motioned to McKenna, who was enthralled with the intricacies of trying on Kayla’s much-too-large shoes. “I can’t get over how big she is. And independent.”

  “Yes.” Sarah beamed. “Her coloring may be mine, but there’s a lot of Macklin in that child. She can charm her way into anything. And obviously has great taste in shoes already.”

  “A trait from her father,” announced Craig as he came down the stairs. “The charming part. Not the shoe thing. I’m sure that’s Kayla’s doing. Marc. Hey.” He reached out a hand to Marc, then turned Kayla’s way. “It’s nice you guys know each other so we could have you over together. Between work, lambs and the baby, we don’t get to do this often enough.”

  “Me, neither,” replied Marc. “It’s nice.”

  Kayla had been just about to beg off the evening and go home. Craig’s words stopped her. He and Sarah had been good to her these past two years. It had seemed odd at first, being Sarah’s friend, since Kayla had dated Craig a few summers back. But a kinship had formed between the two young women that moved beyond petty jealousies and developed into an abiding friendship. There hadn’t been too many of those in Kayla’s life. Her fault, she knew. Ties meant heartache when they had to be broken, and hers were always severed.

  “Kayla? Where are you?”

  She turned, surprised. “Hmm? Sorry. Lost in my thoughts.”

  “I was asking how you like your steak,” Craig explained. “I’m grilling while you girls finish in here, since you’ll be moving south before barbecue season really takes hold.”

  “How masterful.” Kayla gave him a full-fledged grin she bestowed on Marc, as well. “Pete assures me that Marc is a topnotch griller. Right?” She turned the full benefit of her smile Marc’s way.

  Eyes tight, he did a Clint Eastwood jaw twitch, then turned to Craig. “I’ll stand in the cold with you, Doc.”

  “Eight degrees and falling, I hear.” Kayla kept her voice cheerful as she nodded to Marc. “Did you bring a flannel?”

  His eyes sparked. His nostrils flared. Then he relaxed into a full, megawatt smile that had her heart hitching. “You got me.”

  As Kayla quirked her jaw in victory, Marc added, “But paybacks can be tough. And totally unexpected.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” she told him as she headed to the kitchen. “We’ll be in the nice, warm house if you boys need anything.”

  “Right.”

  Kayla felt his gaze as she moved across the carpeted room. Sarah called to Craig, “Honey, there’s an extra flannel in the closet for Marc.” She sent Kayla a knowing look. “L.L. Bean sells flannels, you know.”

  Kayla laughed. “Great.”

  “So does Lands’ End.”

  “Not to mention every Salvation Army thrift store,” Kayla rejoined. She flashed a grin to Sarah. “Actually, Calvin Klein and Eddie Bauer both carried flannels last fall.”

  “Well, then.” Sarah grinned. “I’ll feel quite stylish as I tend the sheep.”

  “Très chic,” Kayla agreed. “What am I helping with?”

  “Mostly keeping McKenna out from underfoot,” Sarah replied. She swept the spacious kitchen a glance. “I did a potato casserole with enough carbs to last us a month, and green beans with garlic and slivered almonds. And rolls, of course, straight from Main Street Bakery.”

  “Best around,” declared Kayla. She scooped up McKenna and gave the baby Eskimo kisses. “Has this little bundle eaten yet, or is she eating with us?”<
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  Sarah grimaced. “I don’t think our single friends are ready for what McKenna does to food. It isn’t pretty.”

  Kayla blew bubbles at the baby and laughed when the toddler tapped her mouth to break them. “So?”

  “I’ve got mashed up stew if you’re brave enough to feed her.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty tough,” Kayla answered. She snugged the baby into the high chair and located the stew. “It looks strangely like dog food.”

  Sarah laughed. “It does, but it’s stew. Although McKenna’s eaten her share of kibble, and it doesn’t seem to do any harm.”

  “Ugh.” Kayla eyed the mop-haired baby. “Stay out of the dog dish, kid.”

  “That’s like telling the snow not to fall,” replied Sarah as she brought the last things to the table. “She likes to float things in Lady’s water bowl. Or dump it.”

  “Sarah.” Kayla laughed up at her. “How do you handle it all and not go crazy? I mean, you’ve got to be tired when you come back from the barns.”

  Sarah’s smile softened. “She’s a new generation, Kayla. A new hope.”

  “Opening strains of intergalactic movie theme music have taken hold of my brain,” Kayla exclaimed. “Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away…”

  Sarah’s smile deepened but her eyes looked thoughtful. “You know what life was like for me. My family. The history here.”

  Kayla nodded. Sarah’s father and two brothers had dragged their family name through the mud. Sarah bore the brunt of that shame a long while. McKenna protested the pause in her food supply with a squawk of indignation. Both women grinned.

  “McKenna’s a symbol of what’s been put to rest,” Sarah added. “The past is buried.”

  “Can you bury it, Sarah? Really?” Kayla didn’t mean to sound desperate. No one knew what she’d seen, what she’d done as a child. There was no reason for them to know. None whatsoever.

  Sarah touched her shoulder. “You know you can. We give it to God and move along, trusting in His goodness and forgiveness.”

  Emotion crept up Kayla’s throat. Her jaw tightened. Her eyes filled. She bit her lower lip to keep the tears at bay. “Maybe some things aren’t forgivable.”

  “As far as the east is from the west, He has removed our transgressions from us,” Sarah quoted. Her voice stayed soft and even. “Maybe it’s not God’s forgiveness causing the problem. Maybe you haven’t forgiven yourself.”

  Kayla’s hand paused, the spoon inches from the baby’s mouth. McKenna chirped. Kayla sighed and fed the hungry girl a hearty spoonful. “Forgiveness isn’t easy.”

  “No.”

  A thick core lay within Kayla’s soul, a hard center that refused to budge despite heart-felt prayers. Wasn’t God supposed to soften those rough spots, ease the harshness that dwelled within her?

  Hadn’t happened. Kayla pushed the feelings aside. It was a maneuver she’d gotten good at over the years. The world saw what she wanted them to see, a cool, classy chick with quick wit and fashion panache.

  Sarah saw through that facade. Always had. Maybe because underneath, they weren’t all that different. Beneath the surface, they both carried scars. Wounds.

  The door to the deck opened with a blast of chilled air. “We’ve got meat, ladies.”

  Sarah gave Kayla’s shoulder a quick squeeze before she moved to welcome the men. Her maneuver gave Kayla time to catch her breath. Firm, Kayla pushed aside the influx of feelings. It wasn’t the time or place for airing old linens. It might never be the time or the place if just thinking of the past dragged her into it so fully.

  She drew her lower lip between her teeth and pressed down hard. Then, saucy smile in place, she finished feeding the baby. She’d eat, she’d smile, she’d chat back and forth like nothing was wrong in Kayla’s world. It was an act she’d perfected over years of practice. No one did it better.

  Marc felt the change as soon as he stepped into the room. His eyes went to Kayla. Her back was to him as she fed the dark-haired child, but her profile was wrong. All wrong.

  The pert jaw had slackened. Her forehead furrowed. She blinked several times, and he had to fight the urge to go to her, wrap his arms around her and soothe the anxieties away.

  She drew him and he hated that fact. She called to his instincts, and he couldn’t control his internal reaction to those summons.

  But he had full control of what the outer world saw. He might have to deal with the inner turmoil of an attraction to a woman too like his mother for safe being, but no one else need know. He squared his shoulders and strode to the table. “Need help?”

  Her profile smoothed. When she turned, her smiling gaze was cool. Unperturbed. “I can handle it, Farmer Boy.”

  “Farmer Boy?” Sarah laughed as she brought the potato casserole to the table. The scent of cheese and onions filled the air. “Almanzo Wilder. He was from Malone, right?”

  Kayla nodded. “Not too far from our farmer here.”

  Marc’s chest loosened. If she was trading barbs, she was doing better. Guilt pricked him. Had he hurt her feelings before they cooked the steaks? Had she taken his brusque act too much to heart?

  He scrubbed a hand across the nape of his neck as she mopped up McKenna’s cheeks. Reaching out, he took the cloth from her. “I’ll clean her up. You go wash your hands.”

  His hand lay over hers, his palm rough against the skin of soft knuckles. For a moment he kept her hand there, resting against his own before he nudged her aside. “Go ahead. I’ve got this.”

  She glanced up.

  His pulse chugged to a stop. His chest tightened. The pain behind the smile stabbed his awareness. Sorrow. Despair. His heart reached out to the vulnerability he read and he fought to push it down.

  She stepped away and the connection was broken. By evening’s end, he was sure he’d been the victim of an overactive imagination. Kayla Doherty was easily the most self-assured, annoying woman he’d ever met. Tough and sassy, with a flair for looking good. Just the kind of woman he’d sworn off.

  He might be a lot like his father. Their similarities ran more than skin deep. Marc recognized that. But he took a lesson by what his father endured for loving the wrong woman.

  No one would have that chance with Marc. Better to choose sane and sensible than obey a rush of indiscriminate hormones. He refused to be at any woman’s mercy. Calm and cool would be the order of the day when Marc was ready for a steady woman in his life. Someone who loved the land, appreciated the farm and knew how to cover her feet in the dead of winter.

  “It won’t start.” Marc couldn’t hide his chagrin as he rocked back on his heels in the Macklin’s entryway later that night. “Mine started right up, but yours chugged and died. I tried to jump it, but got nothing.”

  “No.” Kayla’s look reflected his discomfort. “I have AAA,” she offered. She moved toward the phone. “I’ll call them.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Craig argued. He stood and stretched. “I can take you home and we’ll look at the car tomorrow. How old’s your battery?”

  Kayla shrugged. “Almost five years.”

  Marc exchanged looks with Craig. “And the starter?”

  “Fairly new,” she answered. “I replaced that last year.”

  Craig tugged Sarah to her feet and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll take Kayla home and be back shortly.”

  “I’ll take her.”

  Kayla turned, her chin up, her look defiant. Obviously, she didn’t want to be indebted to him. Or maybe she didn’t want to be stuck alone in a truck cab with him. Oh well.

  Craig looked grateful. “You don’t mind?”

  “Potsdam, right?” At Kayla’s nod, Marc shrugged. “No sense both of us heading out. My truck’s ready to go and I head right through there anyway.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sarah eyed Kayla. “You’re okay with this?”

  “Of course.”

  Marc read the look that said she wasn’t, but that was too bad. He could be nice for the fifteen-minute
trip. Either that or maintain complete silence. He nodded to himself. Quiet might be a better strategy, if the nurse actually understood the meaning of the word. From what he’d witnessed to date, Kayla didn’t do silence all that well.

  He waited while she eased into short, unlined boots and wondered what she did when they got more than an inch of snow. Freeze, probably. It didn’t seem to matter as long as she looked good. That kind of girl could drive a man crazy trying to take care of her, right up until she left him.

  “Ready?” He looked her way, patently ignoring that she always managed to put together a tidy little package.

  She nodded. “Yes, thank you,” then swung toward Sarah. “I’ll be happy to watch the baby next Thursday night. I’m free and you guys could take care of the stuff you want to order for the basement.”

  Sarah and Craig exchanged looks. “Sounds good,” Craig replied. “I’m not on call and we really need to get things organized if I’m going to work on it this spring.”

  “I should be off the road by five,” Kayla told them. “Is six good with you?”

  “Perfect,” Sarah declared. She leaned into Craig’s arm and smiled up at him. “This is our new version of a night out. Picking out paint and carpeting colors from DIY home stores.”

  “When McKenna shops with us, there’s no such thing as browsing.” Craig grinned at his wife.

  “Too true.” Sarah squeezed Kayla’s hand. “We’ll see you Thursday, then. Plan on eating here, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  They stepped into the cold of an early February night. Marc put a hand to her elbow. At her questioning gaze, he nodded to the concrete. “Slippery.”

  “Oh.” She paused, then “Um…thank you.”

  Because he was already holding her arm, it made sense for him to open her side of the truck. Help her up. He watched to make sure she gathered her scarf in before he swung the door shut. As he climbed in his side, she thanked him again.

  He acknowledged that with a gruff nod. “It’s all right. Are you right in Potsdam?”