The House On The Creek (33 page)

“I make my own decisions, Everett, good or bad. I don’t need you to hold my hand every moment.”

His sigh was a low counterpoint to the bubbling of the Creek. “I didn’t buy a small bit of your company because I thought you needed hand holding, Abigail. I didn’t even buy in because I thought Chesapeake Renovations has promise. Although I do.”

He reached the lip of the roof and fumbled for a solid foothold. “I persuaded Pierce to sell me a whopping twenty-five percent of your baby because I needed to make just a little bit of you mine.”

“Oh.” Abby watched as Everett pulled himself over the edge of the roof and balanced gingerly on the lip.

“You have a way of setting a man right, Abigail. Of setting me right.” He looked down, and his eyes seemed as bright as the sun. “I don’t feel the old man in my house anymore, Abby. It’s only you there now.”

“Me.” Abby whispered. She spoke quickly, spitting out her secret before she could give in to cowardice. “But, Ev. I lied. To you, to Edward. Even to Jackson.”

She was afraid to look up, but when she did he watched her calmly.

“I let Edward believe Chris was your son. I knew it was wrong. Know it was wrong. But he missed you so much, and he really seemed to love Chris. I let him believe what he wanted. “

Everett said nothing.

“He was so sick,” she continued, choosing her words with care. “And really very kind, especially to Chris. I didn’t see how it could hurt. And then, when he changed the will. Edward said you’d never come for the money, that you didn’t need it or want it. And Chris, Chris needed it.”

“You were thinking only of your boy, were you?”

“All right, damn you. I needed that money. I’m his mother and I had to watch him wasting away, stagnating, mind and body. We barely had enough food for the table. Certainly not enough to buy the books he wanted or clothes that fit. College seemed like a crazy dream. And I wanted him to have a chance. To leave this town if he wanted, to become something better.”

“The chance you never had.”

Abby shrugged beneath the heavy fur. “I was a kid with a child. And Mom was fragile. Edward died before the adoption papers could be filed, but the will had already been changed.”

Everett crossed the roof in silence. As Abby held her breath he freed her gown from the tree branch, and dropped back over the edge of the roof, beginning the climb back to the bank.

He didn’t say a word as he struggled on the brick. He didn’t say a word when he finally reached the ground, or when he crossed through mud and handed Abby her gown.

“Well?” She demanded.

“Well, what?’ He replied mildly.

“Aren’t you going to say it?” She clutched folds of soft fur.

“Say it?” A single pale brow rose beneath the fall of his hair.

“‘You’re just like your ma, Abigail, living off an old coot and his wallet. Genes will always tell.’ Go on, say it. Because it’s true.”

But he kept silent. And when she looked at his face she saw that he was laughing. Laughing! Quietly but thoroughly, ribs straining beneath his sweatshirt, moisture beading in the corners of his eyes.

“You’re laughing.” She grabbed his arm with both of her hands. The coat parted and slid from her shoulders to puddle in the mud. “I don’t believe it. You’re laughing!”

He pressed his lips in a tight line to hold back amusement, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her close.

“You’re not your ma, Abigail. No more than I’m Edward. But we certainly deserve each other, stubborn as we are.”

“I’m sorry.”

His warm, calloused hand stroked a line down her backbone, over the curve of her naked hips.

“You should be. For lying to me, even if it was only in omission.” She could feel laughter thrumming through the wall of his chest. “Never do it again. And I’ll accept your apology, as soon as you accept mine.”

His voice was so low, the hand chasing goosebumps away so gentle that she glanced up in surprise, “I should have known better, Abigail. I should have known there’s only the one way to keep you close.”

The laughter was gone. His eyes swirled with something fierce and hungry and sweet. Abby’s breath caught and warmth curled in her belly.

“Marry me, Abby. Marry me and be mine.”

“Ev.”

“I can’t lose you,” Everett continued in a growl that turned to a groan. “I can’t ever lose you. Say yes.”

He took her mouth with a desperation that set Abby’s knees to shaking. She whimpered as he tasted her, devoured her, claimed her. And then she whimpered again when he withdrew.

“You are my future,” he said, hoarse. “My heart and my home. You always have been, and you always will be. I’ve always known it. And this time I’m here to stay. If you’ll have me. I love you.”

For an instant Abby saw a flash of fear and uncertainty across his face, the defiance of the lost and heart lonely teenager she remembered. Then her fingertips brushed his cheek, and that final ghost was laid to rest.

“It’s about time, Everett,” she replied, trying her best to smile past the tears she finally allowed herself. “I’ve only had to wait twelve long summers to hear you say it.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

SNOW CONTINUED TO FALL
until late in the day and only eased off after dark. In Everett’s house the lights still burned, and his guests tucked in for a quiet evening.

Tomorrow there would be walking trips through Colonial Williamsburg, a bus tour to Historic Jamestown, or cross country skiing at one of the local resorts. But for the moment Everett’s guests were more than content to rest their lingering hangovers in the parlor or over a quiet hand of poker in the game room.

Bing Crosby played on in the kitchen, a back drop to muted conversation. The caterers were busy laying out a light supper of cold cuts and soup. And the Seattle Mariners’ latest young super star stood in front of Abby’s fancy stove, pinching spices into what surely was a made from scratch alfredo sauce.

“I’ll admit the party’s worth the price of the tux,” Pierce said from behind Everett. “You’ve got an interesting assortment of friends.”

“Business associates.” Everett turned from the kitchen. Pierce wore a snow covered parka and cap. “You’ve been out?”

“Home, checking on the dogs. Roads are rough but not impassable. Decided to come back and see if Chris is interested in an overnight in the Airstream.”

“Abby’s napping.” He couldn’t quite help the surge of possessive joy. He’d been wakened by the dip in the light or a distant sound, and spent uncounted minutes watching her sleep.

He’d thought to wake her up, tumble her again in the warm sheets until she went limp and breathless beneath him, but she smiled in her dreams and he was loathe to disturb her.

And he, like Pierce, had thought of Abby’s son.

So Everett had slid reluctantly from the nest of tangled linen and showered. Pulled on jeans and a WSU sweatshirt while his love continued to snore lightly into her pillow. Decided he would wake her when he returned, just to make sure she remembered what he felt like.

“Chris is in the library,” Everett said. “Writing a formal apology to his ma. And to Roddy Green’s grandmother.”

“She’s forgiven you, then.” Pierce didn’t mean Roddy’s grandma.

“For now. I expect it will be an uphill battle.”

Pierce couldn’t quite hide the wry turn of his mouth. “I’ll take Chris home and wish you luck in the fray. Say a kind word or two on my behalf.”

Everett couldn’t give the man what he wanted, but he could offer him the next best thing. “You’re her family, Jackson, and you always will be. As much as the boy.”

“Don’t forget it,” Pierce replied, and vanished back down the hall.

Christopher loved Christmastime in Williamsburg. He loved that the Historical Foundation decorated the houses along the Royal Mile exactly as the colonists would have, with real wreathes on every door, fresh garlands hanging from peaked roofs, and beneath every dormer designs made of apples and oranges and pineapples.

It was a bit of history come alive again, during Chris’s all time favorite season.

On the Royal Mile every breath of air tasted of cinnamon and apples. The tourists were all smiling. The interpreters wore sprigs of holly on the lapels of their colonial costumes or carried baskets full of red ribbon and nutmeg.

Chris especially loved the Grand Illumination. He knew he’d never outgrow the torches burning on every corner or the guards parading in ceremonial gear in front of the Governor’s Palace. Fire and drum bands marched up and down the Palace Green, and muskets went off, cracking in the dark, to welcome the Yule.

This year the snow made everything especially cool. The night was cold as hell but this time Chris didn’t mind. He was warm enough in the heat of the torches as he stood on the edge of the crowd and waited for the fireworks.

He would have liked to have edged through Everett’s guests to get a place up front, closer to the show. But he was already on Double Secret Probation, and he didn’t want any of his Christmas gifts returned on account of another misstep.

Besides, he wasn’t quite so old that he could be sure Santa Claus wouldn’t put an orange in his stocking instead of the Nerf gun he was hoping for.

Chris glanced out of the corner of his eye at his mom. She stood just ten feet away in her overalls and the work boots and fisherman’s sweater he knew she really liked. She looked happy. Her eyes sparkled, and she laughed at something one of the interpreters said. She didn’t seem to feel the cold at all.

Most of Everett’s guests were real dressed up for the Illumination, the ladies in long coats and diamonds, and the men in ties. They looked sort of silly and out of place.

“Cold?”

He startled guiltily as Everett nudged past a tall lady in a long leather coat, and stopped so close to Chris that their shoulders brushed.

“No.” He didn’t want Everett to know that he thought some of his friends were kind of dumb.

“Want my coat?” Everett stared straight ahead, but his mouth looked like he wanted to laugh.

“No, thank you.”

“Bored?”

“Maybe.” Not even, but it wouldn’t do to admit he was enjoying the festivities. Just in case Everett thought Christmas was for sissies.

“My favorite part was always the fireworks,” Everett said. “I never could afford a ticket so I’d sneak up Francis Street there, to just behind the old Magazine. Used to be a stump in the ground. I’d sit over there in the dark and nobody ever noticed. I always thought I had the best seat in the house, because they used to light the rockets almost at my feet.”

“Really?” Chris bounced a little on his toes. “I love the rockets! What do they light ‘em with? A really big match? Or one of those gas torch things?”

A shout of laughter interrupted Everett’s reply. One of the party guests, a man Everett had introduced earlier as Dr. Duncan, was talking to Chris’s mom and waving his hand wildly at the unlit tree. Dr. Duncan was pretty old, and covered with wrinkles, and he smelled of tobacco and laughed a little too loud, but he seemed to have an okay sense of humor, and Everett had said he was a doctor of engineering and not medicine, which made him interesting.

Dr. Duncan laughed again, loudly, and waggled his fingers in the air. Chris shifted and glanced sideways at Everett, but Everett was busy watching Chris’s mom. And smiling a real smile. The kind Chris had only seen on his face once or twice before, when they’d been working together on the skiff, or in front of TV, when the Redskins had scored two whole touchdowns in a row.

Everett’s smile seemed to grow even wider when the doctor gave a great big belly laugh and chucked Chris’s mom under her chin. Everett’s eyes, dark green like the needles on the tree, grew all soft and warm. Then he slipped his arm around Chris’s shoulders so casually it was as if he didn’t even know he’d moved.

Chris’s stomach flopped. A silly, gooey feeling spread from his toes to his cheeks. He thought maybe he should feel embarrassed, but instead he felt warm and safe. And for some stupid reason he almost started crying again. Good tears, not bad.

Everett gave his shoulders a quick squeeze. “How about after the show I’ll walk you over and we’ll take a look. Bet the guys would love to tell you just how many times they came this close to loosing a hand on a bad rocket.”

“Cool.” Chris wiped his nose on his sleeve, and instead of squirming out from underneath Everett’s arm he leaned into the man’s warmth. “Maybe next summer we can launch a few out over the Creek.”

“If your mom says yes.” Chris felt Everett take a deep breath. “I’m thinking of moving back into the old house after the holidays. For good.”

Chris’s jaw dropped in surprise. “For good? Really?”

Everett nodded. “It’s been a long time away and I’m ready to come home.”

“Williamsburg isn’t exactly Seattle. We don’t even have a real baseball team. And what about your business?”