Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [51]
“No one?”
“Not in my immediate family. My parents, grandparents and sister were all happily married, and it really hurt my pride to admit that I’d made a mistake. I blamed myself because I hadn’t listened when my parents warned me about Douglas.”
“What happened?”
“My husband had a problem—he needed the approval and love of other women. Even now, I believe he loved me to the best of his ability, but Douglas could never be tied to a single woman.”
“I see.”
“I forgave him the first time he was unfaithful, although it nearly killed me, but the second time I knew this would always be a pattern with him. I thought—I hoped that if I got out of the marriage early enough, I’d be all right, but…I wasn’t. I’m not.”
Charles moved closer to her, and Faith looked down, tears blurring her eyes. She blinked them away and tried to compose herself, sipping the hot cocoa.
“Why aren’t you all right? What do you mean?” he asked.
“I can’t trust men anymore. I’m afraid of relationships. Look at me,” she whispered. “Five years later, and I rarely date. All my dreams of marriage and family are gone and—” Resolutely she closed her mouth. What had possessed her to tell him this? “Listen,” she told him, forcing a cheerful note into her voice, “forget I said anything.”
Charles didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Then pretend you have. Otherwise I’m going to feel embarrassed.”
“Why should you?”
She shook her head. She hardly ever mentioned her divorce, not to anyone. Yet here she was, standing in the middle of this vibrant town in the most joyous season of the year, fighting back tears—spilling her heart to a man she hardly knew.
The sleigh glided up to the stop and the bells chimed as the chestnut mare bowed her head. The driver climbed down from his perch and offered Faith his hand. “Just one ticket,” she said, about to give him the money.
“Make that two,” Charles said, paying the driver. Without explaining why he’d changed his mind, he stepped up into the sleigh and settled on the narrow bench next to Faith.
The driver leaped back into the seat and took the reins.
Faith spread the woolen blanket over their laps. “What made you decide to come?” she asked.
He stared at her for a long moment. “I don’t know… I just didn’t want to leave you.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and held her close. Warmth seeped into her blood. She hadn’t realized how cold she was, but now Charles Brewster sat beside her in a one-horse open sleigh, two days before Christmas, and she felt warm, happy…and complete.
TWENTY-THREE
Emily woke the morning of Christmas Eve and stared up at the bedroom ceiling, musing that this was by far the most unusual Christmas of her life.
Not since the first Christmas following Peter’s death had she dealt with such complex emotions during the holidays. For one thing, she’d been forced to acknowledge that Heather was an adult now, making her own decisions without the counsel of her mother.
As if that wasn’t strange enough, Emily was in emotionally unfamiliar territory, living with a man she’d only known a few days. She sat up in bed and reviewed their time together. Ray was a hotshot New York publisher badly in need of a vacation, a career bachelor by all accounts. She was a widow and a small-town kindergarten teacher. Their meeting was accidental, as amusing as it was unexpected. They got along well, laughed together, and enjoyed each other’s company. Much as she wanted to continue the relationship, Emily was realistic enough to accept that in a few days they’d both go back to their individual lives, three thousand miles apart. She decided then and there to make the most of their remaining time together.
After a quick shower, she dressed and emerged from the bedroom to discover that Ray was already up and reading the morning paper. The coffee was made. When she entered the kitchen, he lowered the newspaper and smiled.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” he asked.
Emily wasn’t sure. Back in Leavenworth, she’d be delivering charity baskets in