A Winchester Homecoming. Pamela Toth
flat-out makes a dumb decision about something, and then she’s got no one else to blame if it ends up a disaster,” Kim mused without thinking.
Robin glanced at Kim’s plate and the food she’d barely touched. Her expression was compassionate. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Sometimes all we can do is learn from our mistakes and move on.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Kim admitted, “but even though my divorce was my idea, moving on afterward is hard.”
As soon as the words were out, she covered her mouth with her hand and wished she could stuff them back inside. The decree had only been final for a couple of weeks, but she hadn’t meant to make a general announcement until after she had a chance to talk to her father.
“You’re divorced? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Even though she’d been talking quietly, she hadn’t heard the sound of his crutches clumping up behind her. From the surprised expressions around her, her father’s comment had been overheard. Embarrassed, Kim ducked her head and stared at her plate.
Hers certainly wasn’t the first divorce in the history of the mighty Winchester dynasty. Her parents had split up, as had David’s. Aunt Rory had been married before she came out here from New York, but she, too, appeared stunned by the news of Kim’s divorce.
Embarrassed, Kim stuck her bare left hand above her head, waggling her fingers for everyone to see.
“Okay,” she cried out, knowing she wasn’t being entirely fair, but past caring. “For anyone who missed my father’s big announcement, yes, I’m divorced, okay? Any other personal questions I can answer while we’re on the subject?”
“I didn’t realize you were having problems.” Aunt Rory’s voice was low as she leaned closer. “Honey, are you holding up okay?”
Kim bobbed her head, feeling immediately ashamed of her outburst.
“What can we do to help?” Aunt Robin asked.
Her aunts’ sympathetic smiles and her father’s firm hand on her shoulder were almost more than Kim could deal with. She looked around, her gaze meeting Emily’s.
Afraid she would cry and humiliate herself further, Kim shot to her feet, bumping into her father so that he staggered before he caught himself.
“I’ll be right back,” she mumbled.
“What’s wrong with Kim?” she heard one of the kids demand in a piercing voice as she fled through the French doors.
Feeling like a fool, Kim kept her head down as she walked quickly toward the powder room. She wished she could hide out for a while, but where would she go? She was staying here at the house, and she didn’t even have a car.
Blinking away tears, she turned the corner of the hallway and barreled into David, who was coming from the opposite direction. Colliding with his chest felt like slamming into a concrete wall.
“Whoa!” He gripped her upper arms to steady her. “Where’s the fire, princess?”
One second David had been walking down the hall, minding his own business and looking forward to his mom’s chocolate layer cake, then the next instant he was nearly taken out by a human dynamo.
Kim twisted out of his grip. He was about to say something sarcastic about people who didn’t watch where they were going when he saw the tear tracks on her cheeks. Like most rough, tough cowboy types, he wasn’t scared of much, but flash floods and crying women probably topped the list.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he looked down at her bowed head. Even hacked boyishly short, the strands of her hair caught the light like threads of silk.
“Nothing! I’m fine.”
He grabbed at her reply with the same sense of relief he might a life ring that had been tossed to him in a rip tide. He had done his duty, now it was on to dessert before the cake was gone.
“Good. Okay, whatever.” He backed quickly away.
Ignoring him, she bolted into the powder room and slammed the door. An instant later he heard water running.
David was eager to get back outside to the company of people who weren’t showing awkward emotions or having embarrassing meltdowns. Kim had told him she was okay and she could have asked for his help if she wanted it. Besides, no one had ever died from crying, not as far as he knew. So how much more reassurance did he need before he could make himself walk away?
The silent argument he was conducting with himself wasn’t working. His feet stayed rooted in place, refusing to move. Knowing that his stepsister, his former best friend and love of his life was in some kind of distress, his conscience just plain wouldn’t allow him to leave.
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