A Wyoming Christmas To Remember. Melissa Senate

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СКАЧАТЬ she’d forgotten what had made her drive away from him the morning she’d crashed her car. He couldn’t take back what he’d said, even if he hadn’t meant it, even if he’d said it in anger and frustration. He had said it—and Maddie couldn’t remember.

      He was going to have to tell her the truth.

      His phone pinged with a text. His rookie, Justin Mobley.

      Hey, Chief. Annie Potterowski’s beagle swiped a hot pretzel out of a kid’s hand by the chapel earlier, and the parents want to file a formal complaint. Apparently, it’s the second time in a month. I’ll handle it.

      Sawyer texted back.

      Just what I like to hear.

      Welcome to Wedlock Creek, where food-snatching beagles accounted for half the crime. The other half was the usual—expired car registration, vandalism, the odd burglary, car accidents, teenagers up to old tricks, fights and occasionally more serious issues. Sawyer had lived in Wedlock Creek his entire life, and very little surprised him. Except what had come out of his mouth the morning of Maddie’s crash. And the crash itself. And the memory loss.

      His wife didn’t remember any of it. The past few months and how hard things had been. Maddie grabbing her cool-gel pillow and stomping from their bedroom to the living room to sleep on the sofa. The conversations that always ended in arguments and then stalemates. She didn’t remember any of that.

      It’s like we can have a fresh start, he thought. Unfairly. Because Maddie was who she was and wanted what she wanted. And she would regain her memory—within a few weeks, if that long. And then what? They would be in exactly the place they were before she’d driven off—and hit the guardrail.

      She came out of the bathroom looking more like herself—her beautiful long light brown hair was out if its ponytail, and she’d exchanged the hospital gown for an off-white sweater and jeans. And her favorite footwear, red cowboy boots.

      “I stared at myself in the mirror for quite a while,” she said with a smile. “I look a lot like my twin. Except for the pregnant belly.”

      For a moment, a hot surge of panic hit him. He thought she’d regained her memory—and that she’d tell him she wasn’t going anywhere with him. But he could tell by her warm, open expression that she had no memory of how she and Jenna had always talked of being pregnant at the same time, new mothers together, new aunts to each other’s babies together.

      She didn’t remember any of that.

      He slung her bag over his shoulder. “Ready to go?”

      “Ready,” she said.

      This had to be so strange for her. Following him blindly, not recognizing a thing about him or her past or anyone.

      He put the bag down and looked directly at her. “Maddie, I want you to know that I love you very much. I’ve loved you since we were both five years old, and I’ll love you when I’m ninety-two. Anything I can do to make you more comfortable, you just say the word, okay?”

      He’d caught them both by surprise with that. She stared at him for a moment, then her expression softened. “I appreciate that. And did you say since we were five years old?”

      “That’s how long we’ve known each other. My family moved next door to yours.”

      “That’s some history we have,” she said. “I wish I could remember it, Sawyer.”

      “In due time, you will.”

      Inside his SUV, they buckled up, and he headed for Wedlock Creek, a half hour from Brewer. Maddie asked some questions on the way—if they went to Brewer, a bigger town, often (no); did they have favorite restaurants (yes—Mexican in Brewer and several in Wedlock Creek); what kind of music they liked (Maddie liked her top-forty hits and ’70s music, and Sawyer had long been all about the Beatles and had a fondness for country).

      Finally, they pulled into town, Maddie staring out the window.

      “Wow, this town is so pretty,” she said. “All the shops and restaurants decked out for Christmas. Wedlock Creek looks like a postcard. Ooh, look at that,” she said, pointing.

      Sawyer glanced up at the Wedlock Creek Wedding Chapel, built a hundred years ago. Even on a weekday at 5:17 p.m., there were tourists walking around the grounds, several brides in white gowns, the food trucks and carts at this end of Main Street doing brisk business even on a cold December day. Annie Potterowski, the elderly officiant and caretaker of the chapel along with her husband, was walking the pretzel-stealing beagle, who had a rap sheet for that kind of behavior. Wedlock Creek residents loved the chapel’s mascot dog, but his habit of jumping up and swiping food out of people’s hands was cute only the first time it happened to someone, then they were less inclined to laugh about it. The beagle was wearing a red-and-green Christmas sweater, and Sawyer had to admit it added to his mischievous charm.

      “That’s the chapel your mom was telling you about,” he said, “with the legend of the multiples.” A big green wreath with a red bow was on the arched door, which was dotted with white Christmas lights.

      “Did we marry there?”

      He nodded. Please don’t ask what I know you’re going to ask next, he thought.

      “But no little multiples of our own?”

      There it was. “No. Ah, this is us,” he rushed to add, turning onto Woods Road. He pulled into the driveway of the last house on the dead-end street, an antique-white arts-and-crafts-style bungalow—or at least that was what she’d called it. To him it was just home.

      She stepped out of the car, stopping to stare up at the house. “Wow, we live here? It’s gorgeous. And the sparkling Christmas lights around the front trees make it look like an enchanted cottage.”

      They day he’d hung the lights, they hadn’t been speaking. He’d needed something to do, something for her, something for them, so he’d spent an hour wrapping the strands around the trees and the porch. Maddie had broken their mutual silent treatment by thanking him. It’s Christmastime, she’d said. We’ve got to get through this so we can have a good Christmas. But they’d done exactly that for a few Christmases now, and Maddie had sounded so unsure of herself.

      “You fell in love with this house when you were a kid,” he said now, handing Maddie her set of keys. “It was built in the early 1900s. You saw it on your paper route and said, ‘Sawyer, one day, I’m gonna live in this dream house.’ And you do.”

      She smiled, seeming lost in thought for a moment. “How long have we lived here?”

      “I bought it for us as a surprise the day I proposed to you,” he said. “My offer was accepted on the house, and I raced over to your condo to ask you to marry me. That offer was accepted too.” He smiled, remembering how she’d flung herself into his arms, kissing him all over his face, completely forgetting to say yes. In fact, it wasn’t until he’d told her he had another surprise for her and driven her over to the house with the Sale Pending sign in front that he reminded her she hadn’t. She’d been sobbing happily over the house and unable to speak for ten minutes and finally took his face in her hands and said, “Sawyer, yes. Always yes.”

      Always yes. Except recently, when there had been so much no between СКАЧАТЬ