A Family Christmas. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ The stone walls were thick and covered in moss and ivy. Along the side that had a southern exposure, climbing roses grew, dressed for autumn in yellowed, curled leaves and the hard red globes of rose hips. Soon the remaining leaves would fall, revealing the twist of thorny vines. Inside, Rose would build a fire in the woodstove and huddle under layers of wool blankets, hibernating for the winter.

      “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Evan said.

      She half laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t get many visitors.” Suddenly she winced, realizing she’d fallen down as a host. “Shi—er, sugar. Pardon my manners. I should have asked you to sit. We can go—” No, not inside. “Can I get you a drink?”

      “No, thanks. Let’s just sit out here.” Evan didn’t look around for a chair. He lowered his tall frame onto the step where’d she’d parked earlier, then glanced up expectantly.

      Of course. She couldn’t remain where she was, standing in front of him. But the step was small and she didn’t like to get too close to strange men, or any men at all, for that matter.

      She plopped into the grass, crossing her legs in front of her.

      He smiled. “You’ll get cold, sitting on the ground.”

      “I’m used to it.”

      “All right.” He had an easy manner that smoothed out some of her hackles. “This won’t take long.”

      She said nothing, waiting. She hoped he wasn’t going to suggest dinner again. Even though, all week, she’d wondered what might have happened if she’d said yes.

      In the end, she’d decided that the only sure outcome was that at least one well-meaning meddler would have made it a mission to warn Evan away from her, and that was too humiliating to contemplate for long. Rejecting his overtures—all overtures—was the only way to stay aloof and protect herself.

      “I have a job for you,” he said.

      “Oh.” A job. That’s all. She stared down at her lap, where her fingers were tightly braided.

      “If you’re interested.”

      “I’m pretty busy, but…” Might as well admit what he must be thinking. “I could always use the money.” She made minimum wage at the Buck Stop, and her mother’s disability checks were only enough to sustain her. Medical expenses unpaid by her meager insurance coverage were mounting. The cottages brought in the bare minimum it took to pay their utilities and taxes.

      “This job isn’t so much about the money. It’s more of a favor, to help me out. But I will pay, of course. Whatever you think. Fifty per session—does that sound good?”

      Rose froze inside, even though a part of her knew that Evan could not be saying what it sounded like. She turned an icy glare on him, the same look that worked on the creeps who came into the Buck Stop thinking she was up for grabs. “Fifty bucks for what?”

      He was momentarily rattled. “Wha’d’you—” He winced. “Sorry—I should have explained up front.” He laughed at himself, a little awkwardly. “I’m talking about art lessons for Lucy.”

      Rose wanted to cringe with embarrassment. Instead she leaned forward and tore out handfuls of grass. Rip, rip. You’re an idiot. Rip. As if a guy like Evan Grant needs you.

      “What do you think?”

      “Uh, I don’t have any training for that kind of…thing.” Her voice was like rust, corroding her throat. She had no social skills at all. A total loser.

      “I’ve seen you in action. You’re a natural.”

      “That was only—” Rip, rip. “Off the cuff.”

      “Exactly. That’s what Lucy needs. See, she doesn’t react well to the pressure of a structured environment. She’s in kindergarten now, but already her teacher is telling me she’s intimidated by the classroom and the other students.” Evan stopped and boyishly scrubbed a hand through his short brown hair. His forehead had pleated with worry.

      Torn blades of grass fell from Rose’s fingers. “But she’s only just started. She’ll be more comfortable when she gets used to the other kids.”

      Rose remembered her own experiences in the classroom. After the freedom at home, where she’d been left to her own amusement most of the time, she’d been ill-prepared for school. The first months had been frightening—the teachers, the children, the strict rules and expectations.

      Although she’d never learned to fit in, she had adjusted. In her own way. Lucy was lucky—she was much more socialized than Rose had been.

      “That’s what I’m hoping,” Evan said. “Except that when I saw her with you, and then saw how excited she was to get home and try drawing, it occurred to me that if she had something special to give her confidence, something she’s really good at, that would help her overall, you know?”

      He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “She’s a bright girl, but she doesn’t know how to shine. Not since her mother passed away.”

      Rose picked at the green flecks on her palms. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

      “Thank you.” She felt Evan’s direct gaze on her, like a hot ray of sunshine. “But Krissa’s death was mainly Lucy’s loss. My wife had left me and we were in the middle of divorce proceedings when she found out she had a brain tumor. When the prognosis wasn’t good, she came back home to spend all the time with Lucy that she could.”

      “Still, I’m sure you—you must have been—” Rose shrugged when the words stalled again. She wasn’t articulate. Too many years on her own.

      “I’m doing okay. It’s Lucy I worry about.”

      “She seems like a normal kid.”

      “Around you, she is.”

      Why me? Rose was truly baffled. She wasn’t even remotely similar to Tess Bucek, whom children flocked to like chicks to a mother hen. The kids that came in the Buck Stop acted as if Rose was a wicked witch who’d seize them for her stew pot if they got too close.

      If she’d ever had them, and her situation made that doubtful, her motherly instincts had withered and died long ago. Wild Rose Robbin was the last person Evan should want near his daughter.

      “I can’t do it,” she blurted.

      “Why not? I mean, if you don’t want to, there’s nothing I can say. I won’t push.” He paused. “But I might beg. For Lucy. She really needs this.”

      “I can’t,” Rose repeated miserably. Part of her wanted to. She identified with Lucy’s fears.

      “Give it a try,” Evan pleaded. “One lesson.” He put out a hand and touched Rose, his strong fingers gripping her shoulder.

      Startled, she pulled away, heart in mouth. She had to stop herself from bolting to prove she wasn’t a total freak. She could deal with normal touching—hand-shakes, pats, rubbing shoulders in a busy supermarket. It was an unexpected male touch that made her adrenaline pump, even when it was a friendly gesture like Evan’s.

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