Her skin prickled; chagrin washed through her in a cold flood. Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid… She’d never thought to ask him if he was involved with anyone. If he had a girlfriend. Had she just assumed, because he’d kissed her, because he’d been all too ready to jump into bed with her, that meant he was unattached? Why would she assume such a thing when she knew so well from personal experience that not even solemn vows and wedding rings were enough “attachment” to keep some men from taking advantage of any opportunity that came along. She knew better. Why was she so surprised?

Thank God I didn’t knock.

Calmer now, her heart quiet and heavy inside her, Devon tiptoed back to her room and closed the door. She felt no less cold, no less lonely, but at least now she knew. She wouldn’t be so stupid again.

“Eric, just one question-are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do?” Even on the bad cell phone connection, Caitlyn’s voice sounded tense.

He gave a short, uneven laugh as he tried with one hand to rub the ache out of his eyes. “I wouldn’t say it’s what I want to do, no. But I think…I know it’s what I have to do.” He paused, then added, “I’m still hoping I won’t, but I’m kind of running out of time, you know? This reprieve Mom engineered is only good through Christmas. Devon means to haul us both back to L.A. as soon after the holiday as she possibly can-the day after, probably-and at this point I think it’d take a miracle to change her mind.”

“You really think she’s got repressed memories of abuse?”

“I’m almost certain of it-yeah. She’s got no memories of her childhood at all, and she gets tense and scared if you push her on it. But unless I can get her to remember and acknowledge what went on in that house, she’s going to continue to do everything she can to get her clients-i.e., her parents-what they want. What they want is custody of their granddaughter, and…” His voice grew deeper with resolve. “I can’t let that happen, Cait.”

“No,” she agreed softly. And after a pause. “Too bad Emily’s not really yours.”

“You can’t fool DNA,” said Eric dryly. “No, without Devon’s testimony, I’m afraid the law’s on their side.” It was his turn to pause. “Cait, you know I wouldn’t ask-”

“Hey,” she interrupted in a brisker tone, “it’s what we do. Now-it’s kind of short notice…”

“I know-I’m sorry. I should have-”

“Never mind that. Let me get started on this-there’s a lot to do. Where do you think you’ll go, Canada?”

“For starters, yeah, it’s the closest. After that…who knows? Someplace warm.” His smile was wry, though she wouldn’t see it. “I’m not used to these Midwestern winters anymore.”

There was a little silence, and then Caitlyn’s voice, sounding farther away than ever. “Eric? I’m sorry, but I have to ask. What about your mom and dad? They’ve missed you, you know. Your mom’s so thrilled to have you here. I know you’ve been away a long time, but are you sure you’re ready to give it all up? Forever? This is your home-”

Eric interrupted her with a pain-filled laugh. “If you’d asked me that a week ago, I’d have said, no problem. Now…” He took a breath. “Since I’ve been back it seems like everything-the place, my folks-somehow it all looks different to me.”

In the gentle, attentive way that had made her not only his cousin but his best friend, as a kid, and in the years since, so often his confidante, Caitlyn prompted, “Different how?”

Sitting hunched over on the edge of his bed with his elbows propped on his knees, he tried again to rub away the ache behind his eyes. “You know how it was when I was growing up. All I could think about was getting away from this place, getting out into the world. I was scared to death I’d be trapped here for the rest of my life, like Mom. Now, maybe it’s because I’ve seen the world, and I’ve seen how much misery there is out there, but I’m really beginning to realize for the first time, I think, how lucky I was-what a great childhood I had. I keep thinking how great my mom and dad are. Even thinking what a great place this would be to raise a kid.” He smiled crookedly at the floor between his feet. “Ironic, isn’t it? Now it’s impossible…”

“Eric?” Caitlyn’s laugh was gently teasing. “Is this you I’m hearing?”

He tried his best to erase it all with a snort. “Hell, maybe it’s the holidays. Anyway, look-I know it’s not much notice, but do what you can, okay? And I guess I’ll see you here, Christmas Day?”

“You don’t think I’d miss it, do you? Your first Christmas home in ten years? Sure, I’ll be there-with bells on. I’ve even got a present for Emily. Thank you for the book gift certificate, by the way. It came in today’s e-mail.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, don’t think you have to- Wait-hold on a minute, Cait.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think I heard someone…”

Placing the cell phone on the bedspread, he crossed the room in two long, soundless strides, listened for a moment at the door, then carefully eased it open. There was no one in the hallway, but Devon’s door was just closing with a soft click.

His heart gave a lurch and his skin shivered with a whole weird mix of emotions-curiosity and excitement, regret and alarm. Had she come to his door? If so, why? And why hadn’t she knocked? How long had she been there? What had she heard?

He thought about going down the hall and knocking on her door to find out the answers to those questions. The pulse thumping in his belly urged him to. So did the not-so-well-banked embers of earlier fires simmering farther down. But both of those things also told him if he went knocking on Devon’s door this late at night, in a sleeping house, it wouldn’t be because he wanted questions answered. Who was he kidding?

And Caitlyn was waiting on the phone, her very presence there a reminder, and a warning. Getting involved with Devon was a bad idea-for all sorts of reasons. Not the least of which was the fact that he was starting to care about her.

Oh, God. I’m starting to care about her.

He picked up the phone. “Cait? You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay. False alarm. So, all right. You get everything together, and I’ll call you first thing Christmas morning to let you know if it’s a ‘go’ or not.”

“Right. And meanwhile…Eric?” He waited, and his cousin said softly, “Keep hoping for that miracle, okay? ’Tis the season, after all.”

He answered with a huff of laughter that gave him no comfort.

He broke the connection, but sat for a long time with the phone dangling between his knees, staring at nothing while his mind darted from one quandary to another, not knowing which to tackle first. No matter where he looked, his prospects seemed bleak.

I’m starting to care about Devon.

Oh, yeah, there was a happy thought. In fact, the realization that he was developing feelings for the woman who was trying her best to destroy his life had shaken him more than he’d thought possible.

Care about… What the hell did that mean? He’d cared about Susan, for sure, but it hadn’t felt anything like this. His caring for Susan had been that of a friend, a big brother. His feelings for Devon weren’t remotely brotherly, and they were a long way from being friends. He couldn’t even chalk it all up to physical attraction, although he definitely had that. He couldn’t say why or how, but he’d had physical attractions before, and all he knew was that this was different.

So, what are you saying, Eric? Are you trying to say you think you may be falling in love with her?

Oh, hell.

He hoped to God it wasn’t true. Because even if it was, it didn’t change a thing. Except to make it hurt a whole lot worse.

The day before Christmas-Christmas Eve Day, some people called it-dawned clear and cold. It would be a beautiful, sunny day. The snow was melting on exposed southern slopes and the livestock yards were a trampled, muddy mess, but it lay thick and crusty in the shady places, and there was plenty left with which to build a snowman. From her bedroom window, Devon watched Mike and Lucy assemble one in the front yard, working together to roll and lift the heavy parts and between times laughing and pelting each other with handfuls of snow, their chore-buckets abandoned in the driveway. The sight made her smile, even laugh a little. It also made her throat ache.

How happy they are. How is it that they-two middle-aged people-can laugh and play like this? Like children?

The answer came to her, sparkling clear as the day outside: They love each other. Love their lives, their home, this place.

But, she thought, I love my life, too. I love my home, my place. I could never live here-I couldn’t.

The fact that she could even have such a thought shook her to her core.

The day that began on a note of whimsy continued the same way. After breakfast, Mike unearthed a long-handled pruning saw from somewhere in one of the sheds and cut mistletoe out of a tree in the front yard. Lucy tied sprigs together in bunches and hung them from every door casing and ceiling light fixture in the house, and she and Mike took turns “catching” each other standing under them.

Eric, who happened to be passing through the kitchen during the traditional consequence of one of those occasions, paused in the process of shrugging into his coat to roll his eyes at Devon. “Don’t mind them. They get like this at Christmastime.”

“Like what?” Lucy, roused and bristling, was struggling to free herself from Mike’s rather theatrical embrace.

“Nuts,” said Eric, and punctuated it with the growl of his ski jacket’s zipper. Devon caught the grin he tried to hide.

“We’ll have no ‘Bah Humbug’ in this house today,” Mike warned his son’s retreating back as the door banged shut behind him. He looked over at Devon and winked. “Don’t mind him. He has a tendency to take things a tad too seriously.”