Chapter 18
“A little more to the left. Yes, right there.”
Jack tilted the evergreen tree to the left, hoping it was finally in the correct spot. “Is this straight?”
“Perfect,” Callie said. “Now hold it still while I tighten the stand.”
He gritted his teeth at the ache in his ribs. But he’d be damned if he’d appear too weak to hold up a friggin’ Christmas tree. This afternoon when they’d cut it down had been bad enough. Callie and Heather hadn’t said a word, but he’d felt ridiculous and emasculated that he needed help cutting and dragging the tree back to the stand where they paid.
The bright spot had been Jonathan. The boy couldn’t hide how excited he was to have his father with him. His incessant chatter with the tree guy was all about his dad and how he’d cut the tree. The tree guy didn’t need to know the women had helped. Hopefully way up here in Vermont no one knew who they were so being called Jonathan’s dad wouldn’t cause a problem.
“There, all tight. Let it go. Hopefully it won’t fall.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he checked out the tree. “If it does, it’s not my fault. My job was to hold it in place.”
“Oh, you.” Callie playfully slapped at his arm then snuggled into it. He pulled her in with his other and held her tight. This is where he wanted her every second. She lifted her face as if asking for a kiss. A request he’d never refuse.
The kiss was light and playful. He couldn’t do much more in front of Heather and Jonathan. That could wait for tonight. When they were in his bed. They’d shared his bed for the last two nights and she gave no indication she wouldn’t join him again. She and Jonathan were here for five more days before they went back to Connecticut. Five days of bliss, and pretense that his life was normal. If it was all he’d ever get, he’d take it.
Heather snapped a few pictures of the tree and them in front of it. She’d been clicking away on her phone the last few days and sending them to him. He appreciated she was helping him store memories.
“Build no-man, Mama?”
Callie looked down at their son’s hopeful face. “I have to help Auntie Heather put lights and decorations on the tree first.”
“I’ll take him out. You ladies can do all the frou frou stuff to the tree. We men will go out and build a man made of snow and maybe gather some sticks for the fire.” He pounded his fist against his chest and grunted. Jonathan mimicked him.
Chuckling, Callie shook her head. “Do you need help getting him in his snow gear?”
“I may not have been around much, but I think I can manage putting one little boy into snow pants and a coat.”
Helping a small child into snow gear wasn’t as simple as he first thought. There was an order to follow that he hadn’t gotten the memo on. Snow pants did not slip easily over boots, and mittens were best put on before the coat so they stayed neatly tucked inside. He shrugged on his own warm sweater, coat and the hat and gloves Heather had picked up for him at the store yesterday.
“Before we start the snowman, let’s pick up some of the fallen sticks and place them by the chalet door, pal. This way we’ll have them nearby when we’re cold and it’s time to go in.”
“I not told, daddy.”
“You aren’t cold now but later you might be. I know I will be since I don’t have the same warm coat and pants you do.”
They wandered around picking up sticks tossed there from the strong winds that had blown last night. The sound had been eerie and Callie had subconsciously snuggled closer to him in her sleep. He hoped the wind would continue each night they were here.
“Great job, pal. I think we have enough. Let’s get to making this snowman.”
Jonathan nodded and they spent the next half hour rolling and patting snow into place. They kept it small as Jack wanted Jonathan to be able to put some of the face details in place himself. He hated to admit picking his son up still hurt like a bastard.
They’d just shoved the stick arms into the side of the snow figure when a plop landed on his head and ice slid into the neck of his coat. He turned. Callie stood there, an impish grin on her face and another snowball in her hand.
“Why you—” Scooping up some snow, he ignored the twinge in his side and wrist, packed it tight and let it fly at her. She ducked behind a snow-covered rock then peeked out and threw the snow at him again.
“Jonathan, I need help, pal. Your mom is beating up on me. Snowballs. I need some snowballs. Can you make some for me, quick?”
Their son looked up and laughed as he and Callie exchanged projectiles. She was a damn fine pitcher.
“Oh, sure, target a wounded man with a bum wrist.” His hand did hurt but he loved teasing her anyway. She stopped for a moment, her face filled with concern. Using that split second of indecision, he whipped another snowball in her direction, landing on her shoulder. The look she gave him shouted loud and clear: All. Bets. Are. Off.
Jonathan mostly jumped up and down yelling, “Mama, daddy, no-ball.” He cheered each time one of them got a direct hit. It didn’t matter who. The fact he didn’t automatically cheer for Callie meant a lot to Jack. She’d been the boy’s only parent his whole life. His little skips in and out could hardly count.
He bent down to scoop up more snow when several wads of slush hit his head. Callie had moved closer and held another few snowballs in her arms. Rushing at her, he tackled her around the middle, ignoring the pain in his side. She fell back and he landed on top of her, pushing some snow into her neck.
