Bound with Silence (The Gilded Cage Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

Dr. Miles Ellis stood just inside the barn doors, scanning for the nearest escape route that wouldn’t cast him as a total grinch.

His sister Nina and brother-in-law Ryan normally threw their party on Christmas Eve, a Double D Ranch family tradition. But this year, the Kringle town council decided to rotate holiday events, giving each host family an occasional Christmas Eve off.

This meant Ryan and Nina’s party happened two weeks earlier than usual, kicking off the season instead of closing it.

The Rocking F Ranch, owned by Ryan’s sister Jenny and her husband Scott, would close out the festivities on Christmas Eve. Miles decided one party per month was enough, and he promised Nina he’d attend hers.

So begrudgingly, here he was.

Christmas lights blinked from every beam and rafter, casting the whole place in a pulsing red-and-green glow that gave him a headache after only five minutes.

Mason jars dangled from hooks, each one stuffed with twinkle lights. Kids shrieked in delight, darting between hay bales and wrapped gifts stacked beneath a crooked pine tree in the corner. A local bluegrass band with an aggressive banjo played Christmas carols.

Miles hated this kind of thing.

Not because he disliked Christmas. He could appreciate the lights, the music, the sense of community. He enjoyed watching kids spin in circles until they collapsed in laughter. He even hankered for a decent sugar cookie or two.

But this loud, crowded, overstimulating display of cheer shoved against his introverted nature. He was a scientist at heart, not a hedonist.

The truth? He was better with patients than parties. In the exam room, he knew his role. He could fix things, help people, make a difference. But here, surrounded by the cheerful hubbub of community celebration, he felt like an observer studying alien lifeforms.

Growing up as the oldest child of parents who ran Ellis Early Eats, the family bakery, he learned early that Christmas wasn’t just a holiday. It was a full-scale production.

Starting the day after Thanksgiving, his mother transformed every surface into a winter wonderland, orchestrating elaborate displays that made Santa’s workshop look demure.

His father tested new holiday recipes with manic enthusiasm, filling the house with the scent of cinnamon and ginger until Miles thought he would suffocate on cheer.

Christmas music played on loop from November first until New Year’s Day. Every corner twinkled. Every moment relentlessly festive.

His parents loved him and his sister, Nina, but they channeled that love through excessive holiday spirit. Christmas Eve meant being dragged to the bakery to help with deliveries while wearing matching sweaters his mother insisted were “adorable.”

Nina had loved every minute of it. Miles found it cloying.

He escaped to medical school partly to follow his grandfather Gee’s less extravagant path, but also to find some peace during the holidays.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that he’d moved back to Kringle to take over his grandfather’s practice, a town that literally marketed itself as a Christmas destination.

He promised himself he would change his ways, embrace the season, and stop being such a Scrooge, but some habits died hard. He fiddled with his zipper, trying to decide whether to take off his coat or scoot on out the door.

“Don’t even think about it,” said a voice behind him.

He turned, already half-smiling because he recognized that tone.

Jenny Danvers Finley approached with her toddler Adam perched on her hip like an adorable accessory. In her other hand, she carried a paper plate, sagging under the weight of brisket, beans, coleslaw, and three kinds of potato salad.

“I was—”

“About to sneak out? Yeah. Not on my watch.” She shoved the plate at him. “You don’t get to show up for half a second and then vanish like a ghost. You’re family.”

The word tugged at him. Family. He’d been part of the Danvers-Finley clan ever since he moved to town and started treating their scraped knees and broken hearts with equal measure. But some days, especially holidays, he felt like he was borrowing someone else’s life.

He took the plate on reflex. “Jenny…”

“Eat first. Then disappear if you must. I’ll tell the band not to play ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’ until you’re gone.” Her eyes sparkled, and a smile curled her lips.

Miles smiled back.

Jenny had this way of cutting through his defenses without making him feel exposed. She’d been doing it since the day he delivered Adam when she glanced up at him from the hospital bed and said, “You’re stuck with us now, Doc.”

Ever since, he’d been trying to figure out if that was a blessing or a curse.

Adam grinned. “Doc’er Miwes.”

Miles gave the kid a little salute with his free hand. “Hey, partner. You behaving?”

Adam gave a solemn nod and wriggled from his mother’s arms to chase something glitter-covered across the barn floor.

Jenny sighed. “If you see him drinking the whipped cream again, stop him. I swear that kid’s part sugar goblin.”

She headed off to greet someone else, leaving Miles holding the warm, fragrant plate.

He considered setting it down, ditching it, and slipping out before anyone else noticed he was here. He parked close to the road. He could be home in ten minutes, sitting in his recliner with a beer and whatever basketball game was on ESPN, but that would be wasting food.

The scent teased him. The brisket smoked to perfection. One potato salad had sweet pickles, and the baked beans dripped with a molasses-bacon tang that told him Suzannah Delaney was in charge of them again this year. She was a wizard in the kitchen.

He’d missed lunch today. Three flu cases, two sprained ankles from ice-skating mishaps, and one dramatic case of Christmas Eve anxiety from Martha Dalton, who was convinced nerves-induced chest tightness meant she was having a heart attack.

He sighed and stepped deeper into the barn.

Heat slammed into him as soon as he moved away from the doors. Not just the temperature, but the kind of warmth that came from people who knew each other long enough to argue about everything and still show up when it mattered.

He moved through the crowd, offering polite nods and smiles but avoiding invitations to stop and gab. He didn’t want to talk about flu season or cholesterol levels or whether the clinic would be open on the 26th.

Not tonight.

Octogenarian Joe Shipley tried to flag him near the cider station, probably wanting to complain about his gout again.

Miles gave him a friendly wave and kept walking.

Mrs. Jessup smiled at him from across the room, her arms full of wrapped presents, and he could see her calculating whether she had time to corner him about her grandson’s med school applications.

He picked up his pace.

A hay bale at the far end of the barn offered the illusion of solitude. He reached it and leaned against the wooden post, took a bite of brisket, and closed his eyes.

Incredible.

The flavor brought back memories. Christmas Eve dinners with his ex-fiancée Sarah’s family, who ran the best barbecue restaurant in Kringle, back when he thought fitting in was the same thing as belonging.

Movement near the dessert table caught his attention. He glanced over, expecting to see Adam Finley heisting more cookies.

But it wasn’t the toddler.

Rather, it was a woman. A gorgeous woman. One he didn’t know.

She stood near the lemon bars, holding a paper cup in one hand, the other tucked into the back pocket of slim-fitting jeans. She had short blond hair, a clean, elegant cut that framed her cheekbones. Her blouse was white, crisp, collared, and out of place in this barn full of flannel and fleece.

She didn’t appear bored or uncomfortable. Just cautious. Like she was cataloging exits and escape routes the same way he had.

He watched her take in details with the same clinical attention he used to assess patients.

The way she held herself, straight-backed but not rigid.

The careful way she sipped her cider, like she wasn’t sure she trusted it.

The way her gaze moved across the room, not searching for someone she knew but making sure she knew where everyone was.

Where had she come from? She didn’t have that out-of-town sparkle snowbirds wore. But she also didn’t carry herself like a local either. Kringleites relaxed into spaces like this, claimed them. She appeared ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

He wasn’t the type to gawk. But there was something about her. She seemed both polished and weary, poised but alert, like someone who prepared for disaster so long it was second nature.

He glanced around and spotted his sister.

Nina stood near the band, half-dancing with a toddler in each arm, her laugh carrying above the fiddles.

The Rowland twins. She looked happier than ever.

Selling the bakery last year lifted a weight off her shoulders he hadn’t fully understood she carried.

The new owner renamed it Ellie’s in honor of their late grandmother and kept Nina on as manager, but the financial burden disappeared.

Now Nina had time to help Ryan run the Double D Ranch, time to actually enjoy the holidays instead of just surviving them.

Their parents retired to Arizona for Dad’s rheumatoid arthritis, and Gee remarried to Jean Deerling. Everyone in the Ellis family seemed to be moving forward, finding new chapters.

Everyone except Miles.

He made his way toward his sister, weaving around the people.

“Hey,” he said, jerking his chin toward the dessert table. “Um... who’s the woman by the lemon squares?”

Nina followed his gaze and her face lit up. “Oh, that’s Lili Grant. Rose’s sister. She’s a nurse practitioner. She got into town last week.”

“Rose Gleeson?”

“Yep. Lili’s staying with them for the holidays.” Nina’s expression shifted. “She’s going through some stuff.”

Miles frowned. “She okay?”

Nina studied him. “Why?”

“She’s watchful.”

“Yeah. You noticed that too, huh?” Nina glanced back at Lili, then at her brother. “Rose says she’s having a rough time. Divorce, I think. Don’t get your stethoscope in a twist. She’s new. Give her a minute.”

He looked back at the blonde—Lili—scanning the room, like she hadn’t yet decided if she was staying or slipping out the side door.

The parallel intrigued him. How many times had he stood in a room full of people, doing the same thing?

He glanced down at his plate and realized he wasn’t that hungry anymore.

He spotted a trash barrel tucked beside the dessert table and started toward it, planning to dump the food and make a clean getaway.

Perhaps he’d nod to Lili on his way past, let her know she wasn’t the only one who didn’t quite fit in.

But someone bumped into him from behind. An elbow clipped his arm.

The plate jerked.

The brisket and beans held, but the sauce didn’t.

A fat dollop of barbecue sauce launched into the air and landed dead center on the front of Lili Grant’s pristine white blouse. Time didn’t stop. Not for the band, not for the crowd.

But for Miles, everything froze.

He stared at the dark smear soaking into pristine cotton. At her stillness. Her eyes locked on him.

Blue eyes. The kind of blue that reminded him of crisp winter mornings.

He hadn’t said a single word to her.

And now he’d baptized her in barbecue.