His face turns hard and he steps into the room, pushing the door closed behind him, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, “You leave that girl alone, she’s been through enough and doesn’t need you sniffing around her skirts.”
If he knew I already sniffed around and removed her skirt he would be pissed.
Not acknowledging his comment, I say, “But what do you know about her? What has she been through?”
“Her personal life is none of your business.” His voice is deeper with anger.
I huff out a breath and make my attack head-on, “She lives in our house, Dad, did you get references? Where is she from? She seems kind of young to be qualified for a position of this nature.”
His posture changes from relaxed as he takes a step toward me, squaring his shoulders and pointing his finger at me, “You just stop right there. You’ve been here a week, hasshe done something you have a complaint about? She does the job, and she does it well, that’s all I need to know.”
His defense of her is also an attempt to hide something from me. They are both hiding things.
This is typical of my dad, he is always helping people that he probably shouldn’t. For the longest time when I was a kid, one of our ranch hands was a Native American, I think his name was Jika, who was on the run from the law. His wife died when his son was young and he needed a place to hide and work so Dad let him live in the bunk house with his son.
He was a nice guy and his son, Mato, and Tucker became good friends, he was at the main house all the time. Jika died a few years ago from cancer and his son who was about ten years younger than me, moved on. I don’t know what happened to him.
Realizing that I won’t get anywhere with him, Dad was never one to be pushed into doing something he doesn’t want to, I put my hands up in surrender, “Fine, I’ll take your word for it.”
“You’ll do more than that, you’ll back off and leave her alone. No digging.”
Warnings are going off in my head left and right, my Dad and I have a stare-off for a moment. “I’ll leave her alone, but I’m still going to watch her.”
Lie.
I’m way past the point of leaving her alone. Something spooked her and I’m going to find out what’s going on. If someone is threatening her, they’ll need to go through me.
After another moment of intense eye contact, he nods his head and turns to go back to the festivities, “Come on, your sister worked hard to put this together.”
The rest of the evening we listen to Christmas music as we all come together in mind and spirit to celebrate the importance of family. The eggnog and the hot apple cider, bothof which have so much alcohol in them that they could put one of the horses to sleep for at least twelve hours, flowed like water.
We’re all standing around the tree and Tucker turns the lights off so the soft glow of Christmas softly illuminates the room with the sound of the crackling fire in the fireplace. All the girls give oohs and aahs. Tucker rests his arm across Kinley’s shoulders and Marley wraps her arms around my waist.
Breanna is sitting in one of the oversized chairs texting and Lainey Rai is next to Gray with Wilson at her feet.
Hugging Marley to me, I dip my head and mumble in her ear, “Happy Christmas, Sis.” Her arms squeeze me tighter and I plant a kiss on top of her head.
“When will there be presents under the tree?” Lainey Rai pipes up and makes everyone laugh.
Every one of us in this room remembers the excitement of presents and the incredible patience we had to learn to wait for Christmas morning.
Dad laughs and bends to kiss her head, “Don’t you worry sweetheart, you’ll have more presents than anyone else under that tree.”
I scan the room looking for Sloane and just as I find her standing in the background next to the wide arched doorway, her eyes down with an incredible sadness etched across her face, she ducks out and goes to the kitchen.
Squeezing Marley’s shoulders again, I say, “Be right back.”
The kitchen is a mess with all the dishes from dinner and the drinks for tonight all across the counters and the sink is full. But Sloane is not in the room. A small sound, like a sob, pulls my attention to the door to the back stairs.
Sloane is sitting in the dark mudroom nook under the stairs with her face in her hands, crying. Something in me cracks and all I want to do is pull her to me and crushwhatever has made her feel this way. I take a step to her, making sure she hears me and she nearly jumps off the seat as her head swings up.
Her eyes lock on mine and she takes a deep breath, her hands frantically pushing tears off her face. I squat down in front of her and swipe a tear that’s hanging on her chin with the back of my finger, “You okay?”
She fakes a smile and on an exhale, she half laughs, half sighs, “Yes. I’m sorry.”
Resting my hands on her knees, I look at her red nose and red-rimmed eyes, “Why are you sorry?”
She waves her hand in the air, “It’s this time of year, I always miss my parents this time of year and your family is so warm and perfect. I don’t want to ruin your good time, you should go back to the party.”
