CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sparkles, Kisses, and Near-Misses.

Cullen wanted to kiss her again, wanted to hold her and make her tears and her guilt go away. But he knew guilt could be sneaky. It didn’t play fair. It clung like tree moss and became a parasite on your soul.

Cullen stood back to admire the tree that held all the memories of this woman’s heart. He’d seen the pain in her eyes each time she held up a different ornament.

If he told her he wanted this house, wanted to make it his own, simply because he could, he’d lose her the same way he’d lost almost everyone else in his life. Did he want her more than he wanted the lodge and this house and a sense of relief and revenge? He had some choices to make, hard choices. It shouldn’t be this way. He’d come here for business and out of a need to find some closure.

Instead, he’d found her.

“Stop kissing me with your eyes,” she said, cheese on a cracker hovering near her mouth.

“You promised me a dance,” he reminded her, hoping to hold her. “I’m in your house, in your kitchen, here by the fire you shared with him. Did you two have such nights—’stay in by the fire’ nights?”

Her eyes flared with anger, then memories. She nodded and put her wineglass down. “Yes.”

“And doing these things with me makes you uncomfortable, right?”

“Very.” She shrugged and stood to go to the fire. “I feel like I’m betraying them. I can hear their laughter in every room, and I can feel my grief weighing me down each time I look at you.”

Cullen stood and moved toward her. “So, you don’t believe they’d want you to continue living? To enjoy life while you still honor them and remember them?”

“No, they’d want me to be happy. And I have to try for Elle’s sake.”

“What about for your sake, Veronica? Who’s taking care of you?”

“I can take care of myself. Now more than ever.”

“And yet, you came to my get-together because you were mad and lonely, and you didn’t want to think about Christmas.”

“It’s not about Christmas,” she said, turning to face him. “I still believe in Christmas, and I believe in love, in God. But—”

“But you have questions, and you punish yourself with each step you take, so you don’t think you’re worthy of a grand holiday and a little bit of happiness.”

Lifting her head, she gave him a surprised stare. “Thank you, Dr. Murdock. I think I’m cured now.”

He put his hands on her arms, the silky crepe material of her suit jacket warm against his fingers. “I don’t want to cure you, Veronica. I want you to want to be of the world again. To be with me.”

“That’s the problem,” she said in a low, husky voice. “I don’t know if I can do both. I need to become me—the me I gave up for love, and marriage, and this image I’d always dreamed of having. I lost the luster on that image a long time ago. I need to find the luster in myself, in my heart, before I can decide what to do about you.”

She studied him, her eyes like twin pools of shimmering water. “I . . . I’m confused and conflicted. You came into my life out of nowhere, and everyone has somewhere, Cullen. I need to know your somewhere. Where have you been, and where do you intend to go? Are we having fun, or do you want more? Do I watch you walk away and then get on with my life? What do you expect from me?”

“A dance,” he said, taking her hand. “I want to dance with you. And I really want you to trust me. Do you think I’d do anything to hurt you or the others?”

“I think you’re a good man.”

“I want to spend Christmas with you. How’s that?”

He saw the war in her expression and in her eyes. Green, fierce eyes and a jutted chin that shouted determination.

“And what about after Christmas?” she finally asked.

He pulled her into his arms and moved with the music, forcing her to follow him. “Ah, that’s the question that’s nagging at me. Can I stand being alone on New Year’s Eve? That’s what you’ve done to me, Veronica. You’ve made me not want to ever be alone again. And that kind of intense feeling sure can scare a man.”

Her gaze held his while he watched her mind spinning, her expression moving from doubtful to determined. Then, with a sigh of surrender, she laid her head against his shoulder, and they danced. Slowly, sweetly, quietly, they held each other and danced.

Cullen closed his eyes and took in the scent of a thousand exotic blossoms. Her hair and her skin smelled like a moonlit island. He didn’t know how the Lord had let him stumble onto such an interesting, amazing, tormented woman, but her soul seemed to fit perfectly next to his.

How could he tell her he’d come here to take over the world, but the minute he’d stepped into her world, all that had changed? She’d taken over his every thought.

The music stopped and she stood back. “I’m going to grab my scarf and we’re going to stroll—not to show off or be seen, but because if I’m going with this, I want to know the man you are before you walk out of my life.”

Veronica had lied. She only wanted to get out of the house so he wouldn’t kiss her again, because, mercy, she wouldn’t be able to stop what might happen next. That . . . and she felt as if she’d cheated on Josh. Outside would make that better. She already had memories with Cullen out on the sidewalk and beyond the house. Not logical at all, but logic had left the mountain.

The air had turned frigid, but his hand on hers was warm. The weather people had hinted at a possible white Christmas. The temperature sure felt snowy. The streets were full of people who’d come to see the neighborhood all lit up with sparkling lights and yard decorations.

“I used to be so competitive,” she admitted, her hand going toward a house that looked like it could signal Mars with its glow. “I wanted to get the prize—Best Christmas Decorations—three years in a row, or something like that.”

“I’m guessing your décor might have been a bit more subdued than this house?”

Veronica laughed. “Maybe a tad. I usually went for understated and minimalist.”

“Did you win?”

“Once.” She lowered her head. “Shock—that’s what went through the neighborhood. I think Sarah got so upset, she burst one of her air-filled snowmen. She slugged him a bit too hard.”

Cullen snickered as they walked along, people mingling here and there. “You have an interesting history with her. Have you two tried to talk this out?”

Veronica stopped so fast, he caught her against him. Something he was extremely good at doing.

“I shouldn’t have to talk anything out. For some reason, our friendship went from being close and having each other’s backs to being frenemies and bringing out the cat claws. I know she liked Josh in high school, but not even she would be so juvenile as to hold a grudge for over twenty-five years.”

“When did things change?” he asked.

“Why do you care?”

“I care about you. That woman riles you.”

“She irritates me.”

“Because?”

“Because . . . competition, and then nothing. After I lost Josh and Jay, other than the obligatory funeral stuff, she went radio silent.” She shrugged and then shivered. “And I let her do it. I chose grief over my friends.”

“People don’t always know how to handle grief.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “Sometimes, they just run away.” She turned to stare up at him. “Is that what you did? Run away from your grief, or did you run away from someone who grieved?”

“My mother,” he said. “She grieved into a bottle of vodka every night. That and good ole Irish whiskey. Then one morning, she didn’t wake up.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t leave her, so I sat there holding her hand. So cold, her fingers stiff and so fragile.” Then he looked into Veronica’s eyes. “Christmas Day.”

Veronica held a hand to her mouth. “You were eight years old. You didn’t have any help?”

“No. I stayed for a long time, crying, thinking I could have helped her, done something for her. It’s hard on a kid, finding a parent dead.”

Veronica’s heart burned a painful path to her soul. “That must have been awful, and I can see it left a definite imprint on you.”

He told her about the neighbor, an older woman who knew his grandmother. “Once I realized Mum wasn’t going to wake up, I finally ran to Mrs. O’Brien’s house, and she called the authorities right away. Made me hot tea and gave me an orange-flavored scone. To this day, I can’t stand the smell or taste of oranges. To this day, I hate fake Christmas trees with silver tinsel hanging off them.”

“Cullen . . .”

“Mrs. O’Brien kept me with her until my grandmother could get there and be with me. Grams stayed and took care of the funeral, then shut down the house and packed up my things. I remember looking at the empty living room, the only thing left that pathetic little Christmas tree.”

I don’t want to be alone on Christmas.

His words, spoken in such a firm, calm manner, now shouted fear and pain and torment.

“Cullen—”

He looked down at his feet. “I turned in the cab and saw my little home for the last time. Grams brought me here, Veronica. Here to Hidden Mountain.”

She took his hands in hers. “I thought maybe you’d witnessed or experienced something traumatic, but this is awful.”

He let go of her hands and they started walking again. “I didn’t like it here.”

“I can certainly understand that. Even though we have a lot of descendants from Ireland and Scotland around the Appalachians, these old hills aren’t for everyone. Tight-knit and hard to break through. I grew up here, but I didn’t belong. I came from the wrong side of town.”

He nodded. “I came from the very wrong side of town. We lived in a little mountain shanty about ten miles out, without indoor plumbing. When I was able, I dropped out of high school and went to work so I could fix that place up for Grams. Made the old cabin bigger, insulated it and got her heaters that worked, then added a small bathroom. Grams thought herself the Queen of England.”

Veronica heard the emotion in his voice. Good grief, this man got to her. He’d been through so much. And a lot of it had happened here. “I never knew you in high school, because you were already gone.”

“Aye, I left soon after I rebuilt the cabin. My gram died three months after I got the bathroom finished.”

Veronica looked up at him. All around them, people walked by and chattered away about the decorations along the streets of Hidden Mountain. But here, on this side street where they’d landed, it was just her with Cullen. They were alone, surrounded by happy people who did normal things.

“We’re not normal, are we?” she said, her hands touching his five-o’clock shadow of a beard. “We’re different. Damaged, flawed, burned out, skeptical, bruised.”

He tugged her close and kissed her, and Veronica felt the lights sparkling to life inside her heart. Could they heal each other?

When they pulled apart, a few people who’d managed to find this same quiet street were staring with big smiles on their faces.

“Mission accomplished,” Cullen whispered. “You’re a show-off.”

“I wasn’t trying to show off.”

“You can’t help it. You shine.”

“Careful, your poetic side is showing.”

“I have many sides,” he said, tugging her along. “I’ll share all of them one day.” Then he drew her close and kissed her hair. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me talk. I’ve never told anyone any of that.”

“Not even a therapist?”

“Not even anyone.”

“No wonder you’re such a mystery. Private, are we?”

“Completely. But I have my reasons. I don’t want my real father to ever find me. I know where he is and I provide for him anonymously. But I do not want that man in my life ever again.”

Veronica stared up at him, seeing all of him. “I understand. And if I don’t do better, my daughter might feel the same one day.”

“You’ve never done what my da did. You didn’t abandon your family.”

“No, I just shut down,” she replied. Then she said, “I’m so sorry, Cullen.” She had to believe this told his real story. He should find the man and have it out, get it settled. But she didn’t suggest that. Who was she to offer advice?

He gave her a sad smile. “You might not always like or understand what you hear about me, but Veronica, I want you to know that whatever happens, I like being with you.”

“I like being with you, too, Cullen.”

She smiled, a real smile, and waved to everyone who passed.

Including The Walkers, who were dressed to the nines and surrounded by their husbands and children, and clearly curious about Cullen Murdock. Veronica, who before would have been in the middle of all that, didn’t even bother to look back. She wasn’t competing with them anymore.

Then she heard someone call her name.

Sarah.

She walked away from the group and motioned to Veronica.

“Excuse me,” Veronica told Cullen. Then she walked up to Sarah. “What’s going on?”

Sarah’s eyes held resolve. “I wanted to apologize for what happened in the boutique yesterday. Freda has no filters.”

“You were both discussing my life, Sarah.”

“Yes, and I’m apologizing for my part. It hasn’t been easy on you, I know. We haven’t been easy, but it is good to see you out and about. I hope you’re doing better.”

Veronica wanted to scream, “Where did you go?” But grace, she reminded herself. “I’m much better. It took a long time, but I’m going to be okay.”

“Maybe we can have coffee together soon?” Sarah said. “Just you and me, and I mean really talk, okay?”

“I’d like that.” Veronica nodded and then turned to go back to Cullen. She would like that.

He took her hand. “Everything okay there?”

She nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

“So this walk turned out to be good all the way around.”

“You could say that, yes.”

Her heart had shifted and opened and changed tonight, for her friend who’d reached out to her, and for the man who’d walked this path with her. For that, Veronica was thankful.