Forever Wild(14)

He snorts. “I’ve been alone for over thirty years. No reason to change that now.”

I can think of one reason. Three, actually. An impulsive urge strikes me. “Hey, Roy?” I clear my voice to steady it. “So, I was thinking … have you ever given any thought to maybe reaching out to your daughter? Maybe she’d want to hear from you. You never know.”

He stops abruptly and spins around. His eyes narrow as he studies me for one … two … three long seconds. “You been snoopin’ through my things, girl?”

“No.” I punctuate that with a firm headshake but have to avert my gaze to the speckled linoleum floor. Real smooth, Calla.

Roy is a lot of things, but na?ve is not one of them. “Yeah, you have. That’s why you’re being so pushy all of a sudden, isn’t it?”

Shit. There’s no point lying. “I saw the Christmas card on your table yesterday and … I didn’t mean to snoop.”

“Yes, you did.” He stabs the air with his index finger, his face turning beet red with anger. “You’re always pokin’ around, tryin’ to fix things for me. But you can’t fix this!” His deep, grating voice ricochets along the narrow hall.

There’s no point backing down now. “It seems like she’d really like to talk to you, though.”

“That’s ’cause she don’t know me. If she did, she’d figure out pretty quick that I’ve got nothin’ to give her or those two kids.”

I frown. “I don’t think she was reaching out to you because she wants money, Roy.”

“Mind your own business. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you!” He slams his palms against the double doors, throwing them open on his rush to exit. “And don’t be bringin’ over any more goddamn Christmas trees!” he hollers.

I shiver against the gust of frigid that sweeps in. Or maybe it’s because of the layer of ice that’s just coated our relationship.

“Haven’t seen him that mad in a while. For once, it’s not on account of me.” Muriel sidles up beside me, her eyes following his wiry body as he stomps to his truck. “So, his daughter’s finally wantin’ to get to know him.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Jonah’s right. Roy is as temperamental as a wild animal. Whatever trust I’ve earned has disintegrated. An ache swells in my chest with that knowledge.

“Nah.” She waves my concern away as if it’s a mild inconvenience. “Don’t be too bothered by his little tantrum. What Roy wants and what he says he wants are usually two different things.”

“Still.”

Muriel’s lips twist in thought. “Did you get her information?”

I hesitate. “Maybe.”

That knowing smile forms. “I don’t need to tell you what I’d do if I had her number.”

“I know.” She’d be on the phone within the next five minutes, informing Roy’s daughter that Roy is a horse’s ass, but she should fly up here right away to meet him, anyway. There’s no way I’m giving Delyla’s number to Muriel. “Let’s stick with those wool socks you made him. No need to give Roy another heartache for Christmas.” Some say Muriel was at the root of his first one, years ago.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to him about it. We still got that truce, after all, and I don’t need a reason to shoot him over the holidays.” She turns to head back to the hall, but then stalls. “You know, me and that old badger go back decades, through all kinds of hardships. And, sure, we’ve had our disagreements. But I ain’t ever seen him as happy as he’s been since you’ve been around. That says somethin’.”

I snort. “You call that happy?” She heard Roy yelling at me. Hell, everyone in the hall must have heard it.

“Oh, don’t buy none of what he’s tryin’ to sell you. He pretends to enjoy his solitude, but that’s all that is. Pretending, by a chickenshit who’s too afraid to admit that he cares.”

A mental image of Roy, sitting in his quiet little cabin alone on Christmas night, hits me. A lump flares in my throat. “I think that makes me even sadder.”

“Yeah. For a man who doesn’t like pity, he sure draws a lot of it. But enough about Roy for the time being.” Muriel checks her watch. “It’s after four. Suppose we should dig out those costumes. And I need your help figurin’ out what to do with Jessie Winslow’s gingerbread house for the silent auction.”

I fall in line next to her and, while her legs are far shorter than mine, I need to hustle to keep up. “What’s wrong with Jessie’s gingerbread house?”

Muriel gives me a look. “I think it’s what you people call a ‘Pinterest fail.’”





Chapter Five





Our log home in the woods is a welcome sight when I push through the front door that night. I inhale the medley of comforting scents—the burning wood in the fireplace, fresh evergreen boughs I’ve trimmed the tables and thresholds with, and the unexpected fragrant spice of gingerbread.

The glow from a table lamp and the lit Christmas tree draws me into the living room and instantly soothes my tired body.

“Hey.” I smile at Jonah stretched out on the couch with a novel in his hand.