10. Shay
Chapter 10
Shay
The fresh scent of pine needles from the Christmas tree mingles with the hint of cinnamon from the kitchen, weaving through the air as I stir the pot on the stove. The power came back on in the early hours, and I’m cooking like the end of the world is nigh.
It’s Christmas Day, and somehow, despite the odds, holiday cheer has seeped into the old bones of this ranch house.
I’ve been up since dawn, peeling potatoes and making a feast to feed five on the off-chance Ben and the boys make it back from town. The rhythmic bubble of simmering gravy and the sizzle of bacon-wrapped green beans fill the kitchen, the sounds as festive as any Christmas carol.
“Easy there, girls,” I hear Henry say as he opens the door, letting in a gust of cold air and three overly excited dogs that barrel toward me.
The door slams behind him, and the chill lingers for a moment before it evaporates in the warmth of the kitchen. I laugh as the dogs skid to a stop, sniffing the air eagerly.
“Smells good, Shay,” Henry says, hanging his hat by the door and taking off his coat. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and his dark hair has a dusting of snow that makes him look almost boyish.
“Thanks. It’ll taste even better, assuming I don’t burn anything.” I nod at the stove, my smile firmly in place as I juggle pots like an amateur circus performer.
Henry grunts—his usual way of agreeing with whatever I say—and his gaze drifts toward the window. I catch him doing it several times, staring past the melted snow on the glass. His expression is distant, the lines of his face deeper than usual.
“Hey, you keep looking out the window like it owes you money. What’s going on?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light. The truth is, I know what’s gnawing at him. His family.
He shakes his head, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. “Nothing. Just wondering how the roads are,” he mumbles, almost convincing. Almost.
“Uh-huh. You’re worried about your dad and brothers, aren’t you?” I lean against the counter, arms crossed, giving him that “I’m not buying it” look.
He nods slowly, his gray eyes not meeting mine. “Phones are back on, but no calls or messages.”
“They’re probably out having a merry old time,” I say, reaching out to touch his arm. “Someone would call if something was wrong, wouldn’t they?”
“Right,” he agrees, but I see the lines of worry etched deeper into his face than any winter frost could manage.
I clap my hands and beam at him. “Come on. Let’s focus on dinner. Can’t have Christmas without a proper meal, even if it’s only us two. And who knows? Maybe they’ll show up with bells on. Maybe they’ve been out cow tipping in the snow and have collected a ton of cowbells.”
Henry cracks a smile, and it’s like the sun parting clouds in his brusque demeanor. “You’re impossible, Shay.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking it as the compliment it was probably not meant to be. “Now, have a sandwich while I battle the stove. Then you can come back and rescue me from my cooking.”
“All right,” he says, a little less brooding cowboy and a little more… hopeful partner? Yeah, I could get used to that.
He grabs a sandwich I made earlier, his movements deliberate as he sits at the kitchen table. I catch him glancing at the window again, though, his worry still lurking beneath the surface. I can’t blame him; this is the first Christmas without his mom, and I know that kind of absence leaves a hole no amount of holiday cheer can fill.
“Maybe they’re having too much fun to pick up the phone,” I offer, trying to keep the mood light despite the weight of Henry’s gaze on the frosted windowpane.
He glances at me, his features softening slightly. “Somehow, I can’t picture my father out in a field, tipping cows. Plus, it’s the first Christmas without Mom in the house.” His voice is a low rumble, barely louder than the wind outside. “I think it’s taking a toll on all of us.”
My heart clenches for him, and without thinking, I close the space between us and wrap my arms around his tall, sturdy frame. The hug is awkward at first. He feels like a tree that’s not used to being climbed.
“I’m so sorry you’ve had to endure that loss,” I whisper against his chest.
He hesitates before his arms come around me, enveloping me in a warm embrace that smells faintly of hay and winter air. He holds me tight, his hands firm but gentle, as if afraid I’ll slip away if he doesn’t grip hard enough.
“Having you here…” He pulls back to look into my eyes. “It’s helped me a lot more than I thought it would.”
“I hope so,” I say, giving him a squeeze before stepping back.
The corners of his mouth lift in a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s progress.
“I’m going to try clearing a path to the road,” he says, already turning toward the door, resolve set in his jaw.
“Okay, be careful,” I call after him as he disappears into the cold.
Alone again, I focus on the tasks at hand. I chop, stir, and season, finding rhythm in the repetition. Each dish is a small victory against the sadness threatening to take over the day. I’d like the rest of his family here to have that ideal Christmas we both want, but who needs ideal when you’ve got determination and a dash of creativity?
An hour passes—a long, silent hour with the dogs curled up in the living room—before the kitchen door creaks open, bringing a gust of chilly air and Henry with it.
“The road’s mostly clear,” he announces, brushing snow from his sleeves. “I’m going to check the animals one more time.”
“Need help?” I ask, though I’m wrist-deep in stuffing.
“Nah, you’ve got your hands full. I’ll be quick. Then I’ll help you if you need it.”
“Thanks.” I smile, a real one this time, because I believe him. And even though it’s only us, it feels like we’re winning.
The clomp of boots on the porch pulls me from my culinary reverie. I glance up, expecting it to be Henry returning, but then I hear multiple sets of boots stomping off the snow outside. My heart leaps in anticipation as the front door bursts open, and before I can even process it, Ben strides in, enveloping me in a bear hug so tight it lifts me off the ground.
“Shay! Look at you, cooking up another storm,” he booms, his grin wide enough to rival the Christmas lights strung around the house.
“Ben!” I laugh, steadying myself as he sets me down. The kitchen suddenly feels alive with the noise and energy of his arrival.
Tom and Angus pile in behind him, shaking snow from their coats and grinning like they’ve been let in on some grand joke. They don’t hesitate to give me hearty squeezes, and it’s like being wrapped in the warmth of an electric blanket that’s been turned up a notch too high.
“Got something for you,” Tom says, handing me a small, clumsily wrapped package. Angus follows suit, his gift looking like it’s been taped together in a hurry.
I’m taken aback by their thoughtfulness. “You guys didn’t have to?—”
“Ah, hush,” Angus interrupts with a wave of his hand. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? Besides, we’re not letting Henry hog all the credit for making this Christmas special.”
I glance at Henry, who stands in the doorway, snow clinging to his hair and shoulders. His eyes meet mine, and there’s something there—something warm and unguarded that takes my breath away. He doesn’t say anything; he just nods slightly as if to let me know he’s on board with whatever his brothers are up to.
I unwrap Tom’s gift first, and my brow furrows when I see the contents: a bright pink dog collar. I open my mouth to say something, but Tom beats me to it.
“For when Henry starts acting up,” he jokes with a smirk.
Everyone bursts into laughter, even Ben joining in with a hearty chuckle. I shake my head, holding up the collar with mock seriousness. “Noted. I’ll keep this handy.”
Angus’s gift is next. I tear the wrapping away to reveal a dog bed, plush and inviting but also confusing. I tilt my head at him. “Do you think I need this? I’m not sleeping in the barn, you know.”
Angus claps me on the shoulder. “You’ll see. Trust me.”
Henry steps forward before I can press Angus for an explanation, now cradling something small and alive against his chest. My heart stops as I catch sight of a tiny black-and-white blur wriggling in his arms. It’s a puppy, a border collie no bigger than a loaf of bread, its big eyes scanning the room with curiosity.
“This,” Henry says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard, “is for you.”
My hands fly to my mouth, tears welling up as he steps closer and places the squirming bundle in my arms. The puppy’s fur is impossibly soft, and the little creature immediately licks my chin, its tail wagging like it’s powered by a motor.
“Henry…” I choke out, my voice trembling. “She’s mine?”
“Yours,” he confirms, his eyes never leaving mine. “Merry Christmas, Shay.”
His words hit me like a freight train. It’s not just the puppy—it’s the thought behind it, the understanding of what this means to me. Growing up, I always dreamed of having a dog, but my father’s temper had made it impossible. And now, here’s Henry, giving me more than a gift. He’s giving me a piece of the life I’ve always wanted.
Tears spill over as I clutch the puppy to my chest. “You guys,” I whisper, looking around at the grinning faces of Ben, Tom, and Angus. “This is too much.”
“Nothing’s too much for you, Shay,” Henry says, moving close. He brushes a tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb, his touch as gentle as the promise in his eyes. “You’ve given us so much. I love you, Shay Sutton.”
My breath hitches, and my eyes widen as they lock onto his. I see the truth in those silver orbs and the final piece of my happiness slots into place. “And I love you, Henry Sutton.”
His mouth lifts in a teasing grin that melts my insides. “You’re not just saying that because I bought you a puppy, are you?”
I wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him into the whirlwind of puppy kisses and laughter, and whisper in his ear, “Yep. That and the mind-blowing sex. Merry Christmas, Henry. Having your brothers buy me in an auction is the best thing that’s ever happened to me because it brought me to you. I hope I was worth the fifteen grand.”
Henry purses his lips, considering my words. “No, you’re weren’t worth the fifteen grand.”
My mouth drops open in surprise.
“Because you, Mrs. Sutton,” he continues, his silver gaze full of love, “are priceless.”
The room is filled with warmth and joy, the kind that can’t be manufactured or faked. It comes from being surrounded by people who care—people who’ve become your family.
We all gather around the stove, the puppy bouncing excitedly at my feet as I finish preparing the meal. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and Tom telling some wild story about a Christmas prank gone wrong when they were kids surround me. The energy in the room is electric, a magic I never thought I’d experience.
As we sit down to eat, Ben raises his glass, his voice steady and filled with emotion. “To Shay, for bringing light back into this house. And to family—for sticking together, no matter what.”
“To family,” Tom and Angus echo, their voices overlapping.
Henry lifts his glass last, his gray eyes locking onto mine. “To new beginnings.”
“To love,” I add softly, my heart swelling as I look around the table. I mean it—not only the romantic kind but the love that binds people together and makes a house feel like a home.
The toasts are met with cheers and clinking glasses, and as I take a sip of the warm cider, I realize something I haven’t allowed myself to believe before. This is where I’m meant to be. This house, this family, this man—they’re my future.
The puppy lets out a tiny bark, and everyone’s laughter echoes through the room like a promise of brighter days ahead. This Christmas, I’ve found a place to belong and a reason to hope. And for the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to what comes next.