Chapter 7 #2
When they left the cover of the woods, she spoke, managing to keep her voice level and unemotional.
“You’ll never get a cell signal way out here, not in this weather.
You go in and use the phone,” she said, surprised that her voice could remain so even.
“I’ll take care of the horses so you can make your call in private, and I’ll call the Wilkenses when I’m done. ”
“I won’t talk long.”
“Don’t cut the conversation short on my account.”
He wiped his forearm across his brow. The movement brought her attention to the confusion in his eyes. “I won’t.”
By then they were at the barn, where she dismounted slowly, lowering both booted feet to the ground. He did the same, but
she avoided his gaze as she opened the barn door and led the horses through. The wind followed her inside the dimly lit building.
The cold nipped at her heels.
With a heavy heart she lifted the saddle from Pokey’s back before she noticed Slade’s dark form blocking the doorway. Her
hands tightened around the smooth leather. “Is there a problem?”
“No.”
After cross-tying Pokey in the aisle, Shelly turned back to Slade, only to find that he’d left.
Taking extra time with the horses, she put off entering the house as long as possible. Removing the gloves from her hands
one finger at a time, she walked in the back door to discover Slade sitting in the living room staring blindly into the roaring
fire. She walked quickly to the phone and called the Wilkenses. Connie was glad to hear from her and admitted that after a
full day driving neighbors around in the snow, Ted was exhausted.
“I don’t know about you,” she called out cheerfully after hanging up the phone, “but I’m starved.” The tip of her tongue burned
with questions that pride refused to let her ask. She was dying to know what Slade had said to Margaret, if anything, about
his current circumstances. “How about popcorn with lots of melted butter?”
He joined her, a smile lurking at the edges of his full mouth. His eyes were laughing, revealing his thoughts. He really did have wonderful eyes, and for a moment Shelly couldn’t look away.
“I was thinking of something more like a triple-decker sandwich,” he admitted.
“You know what your problem is, Garner?” It was obvious he didn’t, so she took it upon herself to tell him. “No imagination.”
“Because I prefer something meatier than popcorn?”
She pretended not to hear him—easy to do with her head buried in the open refrigerator. Without comment she brought out a
variety of fixings and placed them on the tabletop.
She peeled off a slice of deli ham, tore it in two and gave Slade half. “How about a compromise?”
He looked dubious, as if he were sure she was about to suggest a popcorn sandwich. “I don’t know . . .”
“How about if you bring in the tree while I fix us something to eat?”
“That’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
Singing softly as she worked, Shelly concocted a meal neither of them was likely to forget. Sandwiches piled high with three
different kinds of meat, sliced dill pickles and juicy green olives. In addition, she set out Christmas cookies and thick
slices of fudge that she found sitting around the kitchen.
Slade set the tree in the holder, dragged it through the front door and stood it in the corner. “The snow’s stopped,” he told
her when she carried in their meal.
“That’s encouraging. I was beginning to think we’d be forced to stay until the spring thaw.” Of course, she wouldn’t have
minded, and her smile was wistful.
Sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, their backs resting against the sofa, they dug into the sandwiches.
But she found herself giving most of hers to Ol’ Dan, having discovered that she had little appetite.
Never had she been more aware of a man. They were so close that, when she lowered her sandwich to the plate, her upper arm brushed against his.
But neither one of them made any effort to move, and she found that the contact, although impersonal, was soothing.
She paused, trying to capture this moment of peacefulness.
“This has been a good day,” he murmured, his gaze following hers as he stared out the living room window.
“It’s certainly been crazy.”
Without replying immediately, he reached for her hand, entwining their fingers. “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a day more.”
His dark gaze flickered over her and rested on her mouth. Abruptly he glanced away, his attention on the piano at the far
side of the room. “Do you play?”
She sighed expressively. “A little. Dad claimed that my playing was what kept the mice out of the house.”
He raised one dark brow with a touch of amusement. “That bad?”
“See for yourself.” She rose and walked to the piano, lifted the lid of the bench seat and extracted some Christmas music.
When she pressed her fingers to the keys, the discordant notes were enough to make her wince, and cause Ol’ Dan to lift his
chin and cock his head curiously. He howled once.
“I told you I wasn’t any good,” she said with another dramatic sigh. Staring at the music, she squinted and sadly shook her
head.
Slade joined her. Standing directly behind her, he laid his hands on her shoulders, leaning over to study the music.
“I think I may have found the problem,” she stated seriously. Dimples formed in her cheeks as she tried not to smile. Turning the sheet music right side up, she leaned forward to study the notes a second time and tried again. This time a sweet melody flowed through the house.
Chuckling, Slade tightened his hands around her shoulders and spontaneously lowered his mouth to her cheek. “Have I told you
how much fun you are?”
“No, but I’ll accept that as a compliment.”
“Good, because it was meant as one.”
She continued to play, hitting a wrong note every once in a while and going back to repeat the bar until she got it right.
Soon his rich voice blended with the melody. Her soprano tones mixed smoothly with his, although her playing faltered now
and again.
Neither of them heard the front door open. “Merry Christmas Eve,” Don announced.
Shelly froze with her hands above the keys and turned to look at him. “Welcome home. How’s the Adlers’ horse?”
Her father wiped a weary hand over his face. “She’ll make it.”
“What about you?” He was clearly exhausted. His pants were caked with mud and grit.
“Give me half an hour and I’ll let you know.”
“I can make you a sandwich if you’re hungry.”
“All I want right now is a hot shower.” He paused to scratch Ol’ Dan’s ears. “Keep playing. You two sound good together.”
“I thought we were scattering the mice to the barn,” Slade teased.
Don scratched the side of his head with his index finger. “Say that again?”
“He’s talking about my piano playing,” she reminded her father.
“Oh, that. I don’t suppose you play?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Slade admitted.
“You do?” Shelly was stunned. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? Here.” She slid off the bench. “Trade places.”
He claimed her position and ran his large, masculine hands over the keys with a familiarity that caused her heart to flutter.
His fingers moved over the keys with reverence. Stroking, enticing the instrument, until the music practically had the room
swaying. She felt tears gather in the corner of her eyes. Slade didn’t play the piano; he made love to it.
When he’d finished, he rested his hands in his lap and slowly expelled his breath.
She sank into an easy chair. “Why didn’t you tell me you could play like that?”
A smile brightened his eyes. “You didn’t ask.”
Even her father was awestruck and, for the first time in years, at a complete loss for words.
“You could play professionally. You’re magnificent.” Her soft voice cracked with the potency of her feelings.
“I briefly toyed with the idea at one time.”
“Why didn’t—”
“I play for enjoyment now.” The light dimmed in his eyes, and the sharp edge of his words seemed to say that the decision
hadn’t come easy. And it clearly was not one he was willing to discuss, even with her.
“Will you play something else?” her father asked, his shower apparently on hold.
Judging by the look he shot her father, Slade appeared to regret admitting that he played the piano. She could tell that music
was his real love, and he’d abandoned it. Coming this close again was probably pure torture for him. “Another time, perhaps.”
Except that there wouldn’t be another time, not for them. “Please,” she whispered, rising to stand behind him, then placing her hands on his shoulders in a silent plea.
He covered her hand with his as he looked up into her imploring gaze. “All right, Shelly. For you.”
For half an hour he played with such intensity that his shoulders sagged with exhaustion when he’d finished.
“God has given you a rare gift,” her father said, his voice husky with appreciation. He glanced down at his mud-caked clothes.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go take that shower before I start attracting flies.”
As her father left the room, she moved to Slade’s side, sitting on the bench beside him. Unable to find the words to express
herself, she simply traced the sculptured line of his jaw as tears blurred her vision. The tightness in her chest made her
breathing shallow and difficult.
He lifted a hand and stopped her, then brought her fingers to his lips and gently kissed her palm. She bit her bottom lip
to hold back all the emotion stored in her heart.
A lone tear escaped and trickled down her pale cheek. Slade gently brushed it aside, his finger cool against her heated skin.
He bent down and found her mouth with his. She realized that, without speaking a word, he was thanking her. With her, he’d
allowed his facade to crumble. He’d opened his heart and revealed the deep, sensitive man inside. He was free now, with nothing
more to hide.
Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him in return, telling him in the only way she could how much she appreciated the
gift of seeing his true self.
“Merry Christmas, Shortcake,” her father greeted her on the tail end of a yawn.
Shelly stood in front of the picture window, cupping her coffee mug. Her gaze rested on the sunrise as it blanketed the morning with the bright hues of another day. She tried to force a smile when she turned to her father, but it refused to come. She felt chilled and empty inside.
“Where’s Slade?” he asked.
“The snowplows came during the night,” she whispered through the pain. “He’s gone.”