Christmas On Crimson Mountain. Michelle Major
all should have died in that wreck,” he whispered.
“You were thrown from the car. It saved your life.”
She didn’t dispute his observation, which he appreciated. Part of why he’d initially cut so many people out of his life after the accident was that he couldn’t stand hearing any more theories about why he’d lived while Margo and Emmett had died. That it was fate, a greater plan, some universal knowing to which he wasn’t yet privy.
Connor knew it was all nonsense. If there had been any sense in the tragedy, it would have been for him to perish while his beautiful wife and innocent son survived. Anything else was blasphemy as far as he was concerned.
“Unfortunately, it did,” he agreed, wanting to shock her. He’d spent hours wishing and praying for his own death in the months after the accident. His whole reason for living had been stolen from him, and he hadn’t been strong enough to save either his wife or son. He’d wallowed in grief until it had consumed him. The pain had become a part of his makeup—like another limb or vital organ—and it pushed away everyone and everything that didn’t make it stronger.
Eventually, the grief had threatened to destroy him, and Connor had shut it down, his will to live stronger than his wish to die. But in excising the pain, he’d had to cut out other parts of himself—his heart, the connections he had to anyone else in the world who he might fail with his weakness. Perhaps even his creativity. The ability to weave stories was so much a part of him that he’d taken the gift for granted. Except, now it was gone, and he had no idea how to get it back.
The feel of April brushing past pulled him from his thoughts. She placed a plate of food on the table at the one place setting and bent to light the candle that sat in the center of the table.
“That’s not necessary,” he told her, his voice gruff.
“I light candles for all the guests.” She straightened. “Would you like wine with your meal?”
“Water, but you don’t have to serve me.”
“Actually, I do,” she said with a wry half smile. “It’s my job, and I’m good at it.”
“Why aren’t you asking me questions about the accident?”
She studied him for a moment, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head.
“That’s why,” she said simply, and walked back to the kitchen to fill a glass from the water dispenser in the refrigerator.
The fact that she wasn’t pushing him made Connor want to tell her more. As soon as people started asking questions, whether it was his editor, the therapist his publisher had hired, or one of his sisters or his mother, Connor shut down.
Yet the need to share details of the nightmare that had defined his recent life with April was almost overwhelming in its intensity. His chest constricted, an aching reminder of why he kept silent. To talk about Margo and Emmett was to invite pain and sorrow back into his life. Connor couldn’t do that and continue to function.
“I’m going to check on the girls,” she told him after placing the water on the table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes—”
“What if I want you to stay while I eat?”
She paused, meeting his gaze with those big melty chocolate eyes. There was something in them he didn’t understand, not pity or wariness as he would have expected. It looked almost like desire, which he couldn’t fathom. He had nothing to offer a woman like April, someone so full of light and peace. The darkness inside him would blot her out, muting her radiance until she was nothing. That’s how the darkness worked, he’d realized, and there was little he could do to stop it.
“Then I’ll stay,” she said.
He let a sneer curl his upper lip. “Because it’s your job?”
She didn’t blink or look away. “Because you asked me.”
A lightning-quick bolt of emotion passed through him, forcing him to take a step back when all he wanted to do was move closer to her. The unfamiliarity of that urge was enough to have him piling the silverware and napkin on the plate, then picking it up along with the glass. “I’m going to eat in my room. I have work to do on an important scene for the book.”
“You can leave your plate outside the bedroom door,” she said in that same gentle voice. What would it take to rattle a woman like April? “I’ll clean it when I get back.”
“Fine,” he said, purposely not thanking her or acknowledging the effort she’d put into the meal that smelled better than anything he’d eaten in ages. His rudeness was another shield, and he’d need as many as he could create to resist the things April made him feel.
April let herself into the main cabin before sunrise the next morning. The girls were still sleeping and, before leaving the caretaker’s cabin, she’d prepared a pan of cinnamon rolls to bake when she returned. She needed to make breakfast for her cantankerous guest but didn’t want to take the chance of seeing Connor again so soon. The previous night had jumbled her nerves in a way she barely recognized.
Connor Pierce was arrogant, ill-mannered and a borderline bully. But the pain she’d seen in his eyes when he spoke of the accident that had claimed his wife and son touched her at a soul-deep level. Just as his actual touch made her skin heat with need. Her reaction was inappropriate at best and, more likely, damaging to a heart she’d learned the hard way to protect and guard.
Thankfully, he hadn’t reappeared last night when she’d returned to clean the kitchen. His empty plate had been left on the counter, the cabin quiet as she’d put everything away. A light had still burned in the upstairs window when she’d walked across the dark night to her cabin but that had been the only indication Connor was still awake.
April was grateful since she wasn’t sure she would have been able to resist questioning him more on the heartbreak of losing his family. There was no doubt the grief had been substantial, and she could use advice on how to guide Ranie and Shay through the sorrow of losing someone they loved, even if the circumstances were totally different. April had thought she understood heartbreak after her divorce but later realized that the scars from Daniel leaving had more to do with rejection and humiliation than love.
She started coffee, preheated the oven and then unpacked the lidded container she’d prepped at the other cabin. There was a nonstick muffin tin in the drawer next to the oven, and she began to dump egg-white-and-vegetable mix into the openings. Each move she made was quiet and purposeful so as not to make noise. Her goal was to get everything ready, then leave before Connor woke.
“You’re up early.”
April jumped at the sound of that gravelly voice behind her, the mixture sloshing over the side of the glass bowl. “Is your goal to give me a heart attack?” She set the bowl on the counter and grabbed a wad of paper towels to clean up the mess.
“You spook easily,” he told her. “It’s the only time you raise your voice.”
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people. It’s rude.” Tossing the paper towels into the trash can under the sink, April turned, planning to enlighten Connor Pierce on what she sounded like when shock turned to anger. The words caught in her throat at the sight of him standing on the far side of the island wearing only a pair of loose gym shorts, his chest broad and hard and glistening with sweat.
Glistening. Oh, my.
“There’s a workout room downstairs,” he said, wiping a small white towel across his face and down his front. April followed the movement, the muscles and smattering of hair across his chest making her mouth go dry. She’d thought herself immune to men and the heavy pull of attraction since her divorce. Many of her girlfriends in