Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(32)

As Grace unwrapped other memory ornaments and watched Maggie hang them on the tree, her heart crept into her throat. When she’d agreed to stay and help with the tree, she’d expected to hang a few pretty glass balls and some tinsel and be done. But this was personal. This was family—a family she couldn’t let herself care about. She didn’t belong here.

She glanced at Sam. He was watching his daughter and seemed oblivious to her own discomfort. Maybe she should leave now, Grace thought. But that would upset Maggie. And now, except for two small ornaments, this box was almost empty. The third box, which was already open, appeared to hold mostly tinsel and glittery balls. She’d stayed this long. She could hold out a little longer.

There were two ornaments left in the box, both of them well padded. Grace chose one at random and carefully unwound the layers of bubble wrap. The porcelain ornament underneath was a small cradle with a baby in it—a baby with red hair.

Grace smiled as she handed it to Maggie. “This is you, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. Mom always said it was her favorite.” Maggie hung the cradle partway up the tree. One angel was missing—Maggie’s mother, who’d clearly loved these little ornaments, just as she’d loved her family. Grace glanced at Sam. She could imagine how much he must be missing his wife, and how painful it must be for him to see these precious tokens of their life together.

It was all Grace could do to keep a smile on her face. Everything about the situation was wrong. She shouldn’t be here, sharing this private grief with a man she barely knew. A man who could, in no way, ever be hers.

There was one ornament left in the box. As Grace unwrapped it, she could feel wings through the wrapping—another angel, but smaller than the others. A baby angel, she realized as the wrapping fell away. Her heart contracted as she guessed what it might represent.

“This little angel is my brother,” Maggie said, taking it from Grace’s hand. “He went back to heaven before I was born. He was only here for a day. But Mom wanted us to remember him. His name was Michael.”

Grace’s heart seemed to stop.

Oh, Sam . . . Sam. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She felt herself breaking apart inside. She had to get out of here before she fell to pieces.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” She pushed to her feet and rushed blindly toward the front door. Her keys were in the pocket of her blazer, and she’d left her purse and warm coat in the car. There was nothing to take. All she needed to do was leave.

“Grace—” Sam was on his feet striding after her, but she reached the door ahead of him and flung it open.

“Thank you for . . . everything.” She stammered out the words before she plunged out the door and closed it behind her. Then she was running down the steps, her way barely lit by the porch light, her tears breaking like a storm.

Behind her, she heard the door open and close again, and the sound of Sam’s footsteps, but she didn’t stop or even look back. All she wanted was to get away.

She had reached her car and was fumbling in her pocket for the keys when he caught up with her.

“You don’t have to go, Grace.” He turned her toward him with a light hand on her shoulder.

She kept her face lowered to hide her tears. “Yes, I do. I don’t want to hurt Maggie, but I don’t belong here. I’m not part of your family. I can’t be part of what you must be feeling.”

“Listen to me,” he said. “I can imagine what you’re thinking. But I needed you in there. I’ve been dreading the sight of those ornaments. But having you to share it with us—it made a difference, Grace. It helped me, and I think it helped Maggie, too.”

Grace shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I feel like I’ve been run through a wringer, and every drop of emotion’s been squeezed out of me. I’ve got enough troubles of my own. I don’t want to care about you and Maggie. But I do. It hurts, and I’ve had all I can take tonight. That’s why I have to go.”

“But don’t go like this.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at him. The faint light from the porch shone on her tear-streaked face.

His gaze softened. “Grace . . .” he murmured. “Oh, damn it, Grace.”

He kissed her, his lips tender but hungrily seeking, rousing a flood of sweet sensations in her. One hand, cupping her face, was his only hold on her, but she was powerless to resist. Heart pounding, she stretched on tiptoe to deepen the kiss. Only now did she realize how much she’d wanted this—his mouth molding hers, the light brush of stubble against her skin, the aromas of woodsmoke and clean soap swirling in her senses, the feel of him, the taste of him, the waves of delicious response that shimmered through her body. Heaven help her, she couldn’t get enough.

But it had to end; and even before he released her, trembling and breathless, she knew the kiss had been nothing but a reckless impulse. Neither of them was ready for a fling, let alone any kind of lasting relationship.

She looked up at him. Sam’s face was in shadow, hiding his expression, but his silence was a sure sign that he felt the same way.

Grace took a breath, struggling to compose herself. “I’m going to forget this ever happened,” she said. “And I’m sure you’ll do the same. Now—” Her voice quivered and broke. She tried again. “Now I have to go. Please explain to Maggie—make up any story you like. Tell her I’ll see her at school.”