Chapter Eight #2
“High Noon,” Jillian said with a dramatic eye roll.
“It’s so boring,” Olivia added. “And there’s no color.”
Rhys shrugged, not embarrassed, just not comfortable with the attention. “It’s a story about honor,” he said.
And Cat understood, and perhaps finally understood a little more about Rhys, because at the end of the film, Gary Cooper’s character, Kane, walks into the town square at high noon, knowing help isn’t coming, but he goes anyway because it was the right thing for him to do.
Rhys did want to do the right thing for his family, even when it was hard, even when he was afraid he was failing.
She looked at him for an extra moment, feeling strangely protective. She had only been here four full days and yet already he’d stolen a small piece of her heart. He was a good man. A man she respected. A man she could seriously fall for.
And that was the one thing she couldn’t let happen.
They ate in the sitting room, the girls on the floor in front of the coffee table, Rhys in his chair by the fire, and Cat at one end of the couch.
Everyone had chattered their way through first and second helpings, and now Cat was in the kitchen scraping dishes and washing up while Rhys and his girls lingered in the sitting room, admiring the Christmas tree, reminiscing about the time baby Olivia had smashed an ornament because no one would let her hang it since it was glass.
Olivia made a face, complaining that she didn’t remember doing something so dumb, resulting in Jillian saying matter of factly that Olivia did a lot of dumb things as a baby, but it was okay, she was just a babe before giving her sister a hug.
Cat headed upstairs to gather the girls’ dirty clothes, and damp outdoor wear, and as she came down the stairs, she saw Rhys standing at the bookshelf studying the faded hardback books.
He glanced toward Cat who had paused to watch.
“I loved this one,” Rhys said, drawing a worn book from the shelf and then showing her the faded cover. “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
“What edition is it?”
“1955,” he said, opening the cover. “First edition, second printing.”
She set the laundry basket on the floor to peek at the book over his arm. “You should read it to them. See what they think.”
“They’ll be bored in five minutes, I guarantee.”
“I bet you’re wrong.” She looked up at him, expression teasing.
He held her gaze. “Is that a challenge?”
Heat rushed through her and, blushing, Cat lifted the basket. “Nope. But try. I’d love to be wrong.”
“I think you’d love to be right.”
Laughing, Cat continued on to the kitchen while Rhys walked over to the couch with the book. “Let’s read the first chapter,” he said, settling down between them.
Cat could hear Jillian’s groan. “But, Dad, that’s a little kid’s book.”
“Lucky for you, you’re still technically a kid,” he answered.
When Cat emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, she saw the girls nestled on either side of their father, the fire dancing merrily, the flickering flames throwing shadows and light.
Rhys had opened the book to the first page.
“Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy…”
The rhythm of his voice filled the room—steady, deep, familiar.
Olivia tucked her feet under the blanket, and she rested her cheek against his shoulder.
Even Jillian’s posture softened as the story unfolded.
When Rhys read about the professor’s big house in the country, Cat saw Jillian glance toward the window, as if imagining herself there.
Rhys paused to turn a page, glancing down to find Jillian had edged closer, her shoulder brushing his arm. She caught him looking and made a face but didn’t move away. He smiled faintly and kept reading.
By the time Lucy opened the wardrobe door into the snow-filled wood, the fire had burned low, and both girls were quiet, while Olivia’s eyes were wide, her lips parted in wonder.
A lump filled Cat’s throat, and she was reminded of her own childhood and the evenings when her father read to her. It was something she had loved, and it was one of the things she missed most after her parents’ deaths.
When Rhys finally closed the book, he didn’t speak right away. Neither did the girls.
“Tomorrow,” Olivia whispered, “can you read the next chapter?”
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
Cat had enjoyed the storytelling as much as the girls. She’d stopped working to just sit on the bottom step and listen to the story. She’d been as caught up in the adventures of the children as the Harmon girls.
Cat rose to return to the kitchen to fold whatever was now dry. Olivia came to her and wrapped her arms around her, giving her a hug. “’Night, Cat,” she said, yawning.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Jillian hesitated in the kitchen doorway, looking shy. “Good night,” she said after a moment.
“Good night, and sleep well, Jillian. Tomorrow, let’s do something fun, okay?”
With everyone upstairs, the cottage felt very quiet.
Only the faint crackle and pop of the fire carried through the solid space.
Laundry finished, Cat claimed her laptop, which had been charging on a side table in the sitting room, and sat down in one of the armchairs by the fire to continue going through the list of education jobs in Greater Detroit.
Rhys joined her ten minutes later, his footsteps heavy on the old staircase.
He was still wearing the old gray sweater that had seen better days, his dark hair slightly ruffled, but best of all, he looked happy.
“All tucked in?” she asked, closing her laptop halfway.
He crossed the room to sit in the chair opposite hers.
“Yes.” He hesitated before thoughtfully adding, “You were right about reading. I never had that growing up. But it was the perfect thing to do. Olivia loved it, and even Jillian became engrossed by the end. She pretended she didn’t, but she was smiling when she went upstairs. ”
Cat smiled. “She’s at that age, too cool for magic but still wants to believe.”
“How did you know?” he asked after a moment.
“About what?”
“That they would enjoy a story?”
“It’s not just that they would enjoy a story, but a story read by you. Your voice, your inflection, you.”
“Did your father read to you then?”
She nodded and forced away the lump in her throat, willing herself to not be emotional now.
“Dad read to me virtually every night until he died. I think we started when I was quite little, three or four. And by four I could read books on my own, but it was a ritual we had, him reading to me before bed, and we both looked forward to it.”
“What did he read to you?”
“Everything. We were working our way through all the Harry Potter books when he died. We’d just begun Deathly Hallows—” She broke off, managed a crooked smile even though her insides felt increasingly unsettled. “I never wanted to finish it after he was gone.”
“So, you don’t know how the story ended?”
“I Googled the ending a few years ago, out of curiosity, and I’m glad to know how things resolved, but it’s always been too painful to think about.”
“And the movies?”
She shook her head. “Can’t. I did try, but it made me wish my dad was there with me, so we could talk about it together. Because he didn’t just read, we’d talk about the story as he drove me to school, or while we ran errands.”
“I’m looking forward to reading more tomorrow,” Rhys confessed. “Part of me wants to keep reading now.”
“Oh no, you can’t! That’s cheating.” She flashed a teasing smile. “There are rules to reading a story together. You can’t jump ahead. You can’t read without the other person there. And if your voice gets tired, you can ask the other person to read for a while.”
Rhys expression gentled. “You still miss him.”
“Mmm.” For a moment she couldn’t speak. “I adored him.” But her voice cracked and she was dangerously close to tears. “We were close. I loved my mom, but I was definitely a daddy’s girl.”
“I don’t think I have that kind of relationship with my girls.”
“Maybe, or maybe you just don’t know how they feel.”
He looked down at his hands, flexed his right hand. “Because I’m always working?”
“I don’t think it’s that complicated. Just talk to them.
Give them time every day to talk to you.
Kids love to share what they’re thinking and feeling, and I imagine your girls would both like to hear more of your thoughts, and more about your day.
Not just the safety stuff, or the be good and follow the rules stuff, but all the little things.
Everything that makes one hope and dream. Like Narnia.”
“You’re rather wise, you know.”
“You mean opinionated.” Her smile curved, teasing, but then softened. “Losing my parents made me grow up faster than I wanted. But I had ten really good years with them. The best, actually. I hold on to that.”
He looked up, brow creasing. “You were far too young to go through something like that.”
She shrugged, not wanting sympathy. “Maybe. But you’d be amazed how resilient a kid can be. I learned how to keep going.”
For a moment, he just studied her, something like admiration flickering in his expression.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For being so patient—with the girls, with me. With all of this. These past few days have been … better in every way. The girls are clearly happier, and I am, too.”
Cat closed her laptop, fingers resting on the cool metal. “I’ve enjoyed these days as well. More than I expected.” She hesitated, then added, “Being here has been good for me.”
“How so?”
“I’ve spent a lot of Christmases alone,” she said, but this time there was no heaviness in the confession—just truth.
“This is the first time in ages that feels … festive. Like I’m part of something again.
” She gave him a small, honest smile. “When everyone’s getting along, it feels pretty wonderful. ”
“It does, doesn’t it?” His gaze went to her laptop. “Are you working on something important?”
“No. Well, yes. Working on different things. Earlier today, I was job hunting and tonight I’ve been researching prices of houses in Kalamazoo. I realized it was time I educated myself on the market, see if I can find out what Grandma’s house might sell for.”
“This is the house where you lived with her?”
She nodded. “I hate to sell it, but I can’t imagine living there by myself, never mind the upkeep.
It’s an older house—” She broke off, glanced around and then smiled.
“Well, not as old as this one, but Michigan weather is hard on wood houses, and I can’t afford to replace the roof or make all the repairs it needs. ”
“So, selling it is good.”
“It’s necessary, and I could use the money.”
“Could you lease it? Do you have to sell? It sounds like a family property.”
“My grandmother and grandfather raised my dad there, and so it does have meaning, but in some ways, it’s too much meaning.
I can’t think of the Kalamazoo house without a pang.
The cabin in the Upper Peninsula is just a property I remember, as I didn’t spend a lot of time there after my parents died.
My father loved the place, but it was too far for my grandmother to take me, so she rented it out. ”
“So, you have lots of decisions waiting for you back home.”
“I do, and I just want to get them made. I think I’ll feel better once those decisions are made.” She sighed and rose. “I should go to bed. Tomorrow will be here before I know it.”
“Would you like tea to take up with you?”
“I’m good. But thank you.” She suddenly became painfully aware of him, standing close in what was really quite a small room, warmed by the loveliest golden firelight.
He was so much taller than she was, and he filled the space …
and a little place in her heart that had felt empty and hollow for years.
Frozen, even. And now it was waking up. Thawing.
Which honestly was as exciting as it was terrifying.
Cat didn’t want to hurt again, and she didn’t want to be hurt.
But if she couldn’t control her feelings, if she couldn’t smash this attraction, she would leave here broken—and she couldn’t let it happen.