A Husband For The Holidays. Ami Weaver
chill that ran through her had nothing to do with the cold. The farm’s financial situation must be much worse than her aunt and uncle had let on. Why hadn’t he or Marla said anything to her? She’d offered help over the years as her career took off, but they’d always turned her down. She touched the jagged end of the wood, and tears stung her eyes. Her uncle and father had always been so adamant about the appearance of the farm. She swallowed hard as she looked out over the field beyond, with its neat rows of trees. Those, at least, looked well cared for. The wind bit through her fleece jacket and she folded her arms tight over her chest as she walked back to the car.
The farm entrance came into sight up the road and she turned into the drive with a sense of trepidation. She drove past the low-slung barn that housed handmade wreaths and other decorations, relieved to note at least here the fencing here was in good shape and the area was trimmed festively. There were a half dozen cars parked in the lot and she knew inside the barn would be four or five people making wreaths, grave blankets and other decorations. No doubt her uncle was out in one of the fields somewhere, when he should be taking it easy. The road forked just past the barn, and since her aunt had requested she come to the house first, she continued up the driveway.
The house, a white-painted bungalow with green shutters, already sported lights and garlands and little wreaths hung from wide red ribbons in every window. Smoke curled from the chimney and a sense of relief, of rightness settled in Darcy’s bones. When she pictured home, this was exactly how she thought of it. She grabbed her purse and reached for the door handle.
But she couldn’t open the door. She’d been gone for so long, for reasons that seemed to pale in light of the farm’s plight. Even though she knew she’d done the right thing for both her and Mack, she couldn’t stop the wave of guilt that washed over her.
Marshaling her courage, she got out of the car, pulled her bags out of the trunk and trudged across the drive, the snow falling on her face and stinging her cheeks. The weight of her luggage was nothing compared to the weight of the baggage she carried within her. She knocked on the back door and waited. She could see the lights in the kitchen through the curtains, see the shadow of someone hurrying toward the door. Her aunt, of course.
Her breath caught as Marla opened the door, a smile wreathing her ageless face. “Darcy Jane! So nice to see you, honey.”
Darcy stepped through the door into her aunt’s embrace, letting her bags slide down to the floor. “Hi, Aunt Marla,” she said, breathing in her aunt’s familiar scent of Jean Nate. She squeezed her eyes shut against tears. Thank God some things didn’t change.
Her aunt gave her a squeeze and stepped back. “Let me look at you. My goodness, you don’t look any older! You’ve got your mama’s good genes. Come on in, let me shut the door.”
Darcy stepped all the way into the kitchen and rejoiced in the smell of pot roast. She never cooked like that for herself. “Mmm. Smells wonderful in here.”
Marla opened the oven and took a peek. “I try to have a hot meal for us after these long, cold days of getting ready for the opening. This roast is a bit of a splurge, since you’re here. Normally, we don’t eat red meat anymore. Trying to keep Joe on a better diet to help his heart.”
Darcy toed off her boots. “How is Uncle Joe?”
“He’s doing good. He needs to take it easy, which is very hard for him this time of year, but he restricts his working hours and we’ve got some wonderful employees who pick up any slack. Selling is going to be hard, but it’s the right thing to do. It’s time.”
Darcy hesitated. “I see it needs a little work,” she said softly.
Marla nodded. “We’ve focused on the trees, not that fence out by the road. We couldn’t do it all, although—” She stopped, and Darcy could have sworn guilt crossed her aunt’s face.
“Although what?”
Her aunt gave her head a quick shake. “Nothing. We’ve done what we can. Now it’s time to turn it over to someone else.” She nodded at Darcy’s bags. “Why not take those up to your room, honey? It’s all fresh for you. We’ll eat shortly. I hope you’re hungry.”
Her stomach chose that moment to unleash a rolling growl. Her aunt cocked an eyebrow. Darcy gave a little laugh. “Guess that’s your answer.” She’d been too much of a wreck about coming back to Holden’s Crossing to do much more than nibble on a protein bar in the car.
“Good thing, too. We’ve got a lot of food and I don’t want your uncle to eat it all. Here, let me help you.” Marla picked up one of her bags and Darcy grabbed the last two.
As she followed her aunt to the stairs, she noted the decor hadn’t changed much, either. Clean, same plaid couch from when she’d left, same curtains. A large blue spruce stood in front of the big window, lit with hundreds of lights and covered in ornaments. A fire crackled on the hearth, which made the whole place seem homey and cozy.
Sadness gave a little twist under her heart. She’d miss this house when they sold it.
Marla set the small duffel on the bed. “I know it was hard for you to come. I just want you to know how much we appreciate it. And I wish—I wish you hadn’t thought you couldn’t come home.”
Caught, Darcy sank down on the bed. “You know why I couldn’t.”
Marla held her gaze and Darcy saw understanding and compassion there. “I know why you thought you couldn’t. There’s a difference.”
Darcy dropped her gaze to the quilt and ran her hand over it, the slightly puckered fabric cool under her hand. Leaving gave both of them a chance to start over after the divorce. “Not to me.”
“I know that, too. Your dad would be proud of you for coming back. So.” She headed for the door. “Come down when you’re done. Dinner’ll be ready soon. Then we’ve got work to do.”
Darcy stayed on the bed, hearing the stairs creak as her aunt went downstairs. She took a deep, shaky breath.
The memories weren’t going to go away. In fact, being here pretty much ensured she’d be assaulted by them at every turn. So she’d deal.
Determined, she stood up and unzipped the nearest bag. She wasn’t that naive young woman anymore. She’d been to hell and back. She’d lost her baby and her marriage. There was nothing the Lawless family could dish out she couldn’t take.
But she did need to make things right. So she’d apologize to Mack, make him see her intention had never been to cause him any more pain. Maybe then she could forgive herself.
Maybe.
* * *
Two hours later, at the kitchen table, her stomach full of Marla’s excellent roast, she smiled at her aunt and uncle. “Thank you. That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.” And tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Two excellent home-cooked meals in a row. Amazing.
They exchanged glances, and then her uncle spoke, his face serious. “Darcy, there’s something we need to tell you.”
Worry rose so fast she thought she’d choke. “Are you okay, Uncle Joe?”
He patted her arm. “Yes. Oh, yes, Darce, it’s not me. It’s—well, it’s just that Mack has been working here.”
That couldn’t be right. She clearly had her ex on the brain, because she thought she’d heard her uncle say he was working here. At the farm. Which wasn’t possible. Why would Mack be out here? He was a vet. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
He met her gaze. “Mack’s been helping me.”
The air whooshed out of her lungs. She hadn’t misheard. No. Way. “My Mack?” She winced at her mistake. He hadn’t been hers for seven years. “Why?”
Marla laid her hand on Darcy’s arm. “He’s young and strong. He’s been out here for years helping. I know this must be upsetting