Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

Peter Samuels couldn’t remember the last time it’d snowed this much. Peaceful, Wisconsin had enjoyed relatively mild winters for several years. Now snow slammed against the front porch windows of his parents’ home in icy blasts. He literally couldn’t see anything beyond the white swirl howling outside.

Unfortunately, I remember all too well the last time it was this cold. The day Lydia died last year. That day, like my life, had been such an oxymoron.

He’d never understood how a day so cold could also be filled with sunlight…nor how a man tremendously blessed in life could lose so much in the blink of an eye.

The sound of a child laughing brought his attention back to the present, and he turned to look behind him. After church on Sundays, the Samuels clan had gotten together as a matter of tradition for a potluck at his parents’ home. His father pastored the small church only two country miles away. With such a large family, their get-togethers were great, loud affairs. Only twenty-four-year-old Jay, his youngest brother who was in the Marines, and Marcus, Peter’s brother closest to him in age and a medical missionary for a Christian organization overseas, missed out regularly.

And Lydia. She loved these weekend bonding experiences, loved how close my family was.

“Wow, it’s really piling up out there!” a voice said behind him.

Kimberly Wolfe—both employee and dear friend—stood in the doorway between the hall and the porch. For an instant, he wondered if she’d come looking for him. Then she smiled, putting an irresistible sparkle in those baby blue eyes of hers, and all he could think about was the way his cold heart warmed at the sight of her. “I bet Josh and Justine are glad to be in Hawaii.”

Peter chuckled.

Kimberly strode into the enclosed porch, coming to stand beside him at the wall of windows. Once again, she murmured in shock at the weather. The pleasant honeysuckle scent he associated with her filled the air around him. She’d worked at the Christian bookstore he owned in town since he’d opened for business fifteen years earlier. His twin sister, Tamara, had married Kimberly’s older brother Robert. Even without that association, Kimberly was family to the Samuels clan. To Peter…

Without her, especially this past year, I would have lost even my bookstore.

She turned, her gaze on him tenderly assessing. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

He’d hoped no one would notice his absence. He should have known someone would. That Kimberly came to his rescue didn’t surprise him one iota.

She reached over to slip her arm through his, looking up at him with the clear urge that he should talk to her.

People are drawn to Kimberly because she’s so easy to talk to. And not simply because her goodness comes packaged in beauty.

He sighed, noting that she shivered slightly against him despite the thick cable-knit sweater she wore. The porch really was chilly. His father had never been very mechanically inclined. When work needed to be done around the house, his mother usually did it, or she’d ask Josh—the real handyman in the family—to help. Peter made a mental note to talk to his brother later about insulating the windows. For now, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and wrapped it around Kimberly’s shoulders.

“Thanks,” she murmured, drawing her arms into the sleeves.

Peter couldn’t help noticing how adorable she looked, utterly drowning in his coat. She crossed her arms over her torso again before glancing up at him. “This can’t be easy for you.”

The gentle tone of her voice surprised him. “What?”

She didn’t need to say it. Kimberly was an open book to him, no doubt as much as he was to her after all this time. She knew what time of year this was. Realized what had happened last year to mark this day forever.

This time last year, I was telling the woman I loved goodbye until I join her in heaven.

Peter smiled, a tight, horror-struck thing that made his mouth hurt. Arms folded over his chest against the reminder of so much cold, he closed his eyes. A blizzard had raged inside him last year, and it’d cast darkness over his entire life since.

Peter inhaled sharply. “I’m doing all right…though not as well as my children.”

James, thirteen, and Brenna, eleven, had experienced a rough time of it. But he’d seen the change in them lately. They were accepting, adjusting—thanks to the efforts on his part and that of his family members. Peter thanked God often for their resiliency. Was he as resilient? He wasn’t sure.

“Why do you say that?” Kimberly asked.

“James and Brenna have begged to spend New Year’s Eve overnight with friends.”

“Ah. Well, that sounds like fun for them. Did you have something else planned for the three of you? A tradition?”

All holidays were family affairs. But his reservations had nothing to do with tradition.

“No. It just seems like we should be together as a family during this time. Lydia died a year ago on New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow.”

Leaning her chin on his arm, she hugged him again from the side. The empathic expression on her beautiful face filled him with relief. The ache retreated a little, sending his worries receding to the back of his mind.

“Oh, honey,” she murmured. “I know it’s hard for you. I understand that it’s even hard for you to see your children healing the way they are.”

“Does that make me a monster?”

“The opposite,” she insisted fiercely. “And it bothers you so much because you’re nowhere near that place yourself.”

Peter ran a frustrated hand through his thick, dark hair. “I thought I was doing well. I believed it. Until I woke up this morning, and my first thought was Tomorrow. As if she’ll die all over again.”

“Because you took down the window display,” Kimberly said in sudden enlightenment.

He’d gone in to work Friday morning, earlier than usual, and taken down the window display he’d crafted a year ago. In the tiny display at the front of his store, he’d folded their wedding quilt and placed on top of it Lydia’s picture inscribed with Psalm 116:15: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.” Taking it down had been harder than he ever imagined it would be. But he’d somehow understood the importance of doing it. Until Kimberly came in and wordlessly hugged him with tears in her eyes that morning, no doubt seeing the empty display window, he hadn’t cried at any time during the process.

Her hands tightened on his arm, and her comfort radiated right to his very soul. He covered her hands with his own, wondering how she always seemed to know exactly what he was going through—even those things he didn’t want to admit to himself.

“I know you know this, Peter,” Kimberly started, “but Brenna and James will never forget their mother. She’ll always be a special part of them. The fact that they’re ready to move on doesn’t change that at all.”

He nodded, realizing that he’d needed to hear her say what he already knew. “And I want them to move on.”

“I know you do.”

After another cleansing breath, he forced himself to grin as he said, “So you’re saying I should let them stay overnight at their friends’?”

“No one could fault you if you didn’t, but it’d be good for them.”

She was right, and he nodded. But the decision didn’t feel any easier. She must have seen the discomfort in his expression because she shifted to put her arms around him. Unexpectedly, Peter became aware of how bulky his suit jacket was between them, preventing him from feeling her warm figure, the way he usually did when they embraced.

Curvaceous figure.

Awareness jolted into shock. What was he doing? Surprised guilt made him rationalize. Anyone who’s ever just seen Kimberly Wolfe knows she’s an unearthly beautiful woman. And she takes very good care of her body. I’d have to be dead not to be aware of those truths.

The scent of honeysuckle mingled with his own spicy cologne. He remembered—perfectly apropros to do so—that he’d changed aftershave brands after Lydia died. Somehow, he could no longer wear the scent she’d so loved when she wasn’t around to snuggle into his neck and breath him in. Kimberly commented on how much she liked the new brand the day after I started wearing it. Said she liked it better.

What am I doing here?

A hot flash roared through his body from head to toe—one that nearly floored him when he recognized it for what it was. Attraction. Desire. Lydia alone had inspired both for twenty years.

Peter forced himself to take a step back. Thankfully, Kimberly didn’t seem the least bit aware of his thoughts. Sweet, lovely Kimberly. Lovelier with each passing year.

“I think it’s time to get going. This weather will only get worse.”

Kimberly nodded. “I was thinking the same thing myself.”

“Did you drive over in your Jeep?”

“Yeah.”

He shook his head. “That little Suzuki Sidekick of yours could easily get stuck in the seven to ten inches out there on unplowed roads.”

Peaceful’s street management was notorious for their lethargy during weekend blizzards. He didn’t like the thought of Kimberly stranded so far from home. “Let me drive you to your apartment. It’s on my way to work tomorrow, and I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe. I’ll pick you up in the morning, and we’ll get your vehicle later.”

“Are you sure? I can make it on my own, but to be honest, I hate driving in this weather. And you do have that monster truck with four-wheel drive.”

Peter grinned. She’d never been late for work, even in terrible weather. He wondered why she’d never admitted to him before that she didn’t like driving when the weather was iffy. He would have happily carpooled since she was right on his way. But he understood she was capable, more than capable, of taking care of herself. She wouldn’t mention something like that unless the subject came up—the way it had just now.

“Lydia hated driving in bad weather too—”

The words escaped his mouth before he could think about them, and then all he could see was that every word out of his mouth today had been “Lydia”. He shook his head once more. “My truck can handle it, no problem. Come on.”

She held back, surprising him until he remembered that her father was still here. Though the man had an open invitation to attend these potlucks each Sunday since Tamara and Robert had married, Charles rarely had over the years. The past several weeks, he’d been coming every Sunday. From the moment he arrived, his presence seemed to unnerve Kimberly. She clearly went out of her way to avoid him.

They found everyone in the living room, Charles included, and said their goodbyes. His parents rose to hug all of them. Peter couldn’t have missed how his mother held Kimberly’s face in her hands and whispered something that made her smile. My family loves her. As much as Lydia did.

When Charles rose, Peter tensed, not sure why he felt he needed to intervene when the man went to his daughter and asked to talk to her.

* * *

Kim turned on her heel and walked out of the room, aware that he was coming after her. Somehow she’d known he would attend the Samuels potluck today, the way he had for too many Sundays. She knew why too. He wanted to make a scene because she refused to acknowledge his frequent phone calls—calls in which he would demand she come home with him to stay. Charles Wolfe was not a man who would put up with being ignored.

She made it as far as the entry hall, where her parka hung on the coat tree. She could barely look at her father. Once upon a time, he’d had his son Robert’s thick, blond hair, his rebellious, easy-going good looks. Today, he looked about a hundred years older than he had the last time she’d seen him.

“I don’t know why you’re bein’ so stubborn about this, Kim. Women in this day and age have no idea how vulnerable they are. Women get raped when they’re out alone at night all the time.”

She whirled on him, slipping into her jacket. “Yeah. And they get raped in their own homes sometimes, too, by their own husbands.”

He gave no indication that he’d heard—or understood—her jab. “You need to come home, girl. It’s for your own good. I can protect you.”

Kim snorted in disbelief. “And who’s gonna protect me from you if not me? It’s not for my own good. It’s for yours. You can’t stand not getting your own way.” She sensed others in the house drifting closer at the heated discussion. “I won’t talk about this again. I’ll never come back home. You’d put me in chains in the basement just to keep me from escaping again, like you did Mom.”

“I never chained your mom up.”

“Liar. In every way except physically you kept her your prisoner.”

Her anger felt like lava inside her, filling her to capacity and then some. It spilled over, hot and scorching as she remembered the words her father would say to her mother. “Forgive me, Cheryl. It’s what Christians do, isn’t it? Isn’t that what you’re always saying? I won’t do that again, all right? But I’m the head of the household, and by God, woman, you need to let me be.”

The pitiful look he feigned only increased her disgust and fury. He glanced away, murmuring, “What if I said I…I need you to come home, Kimmy-girl?”

“What does that mean?” she demanded suspiciously.

“I’m not as young as I used to be. I won’t be around forever.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Even as she said the hateful words, guilt speared through her. She threw a glance at him. In the past year and a half, she’d seen him less than a handful of times. Each time, he looked dangerously gaunt, his skin yellowed and ashen. She remembered what Rob had said every Sunday they’d seen their father in the last month—that Dad looked old. He looked sick.

I can’t deal with this. And I don’t have to. It’s not my problem.

Peter came toward them in the hall, and her father glanced at him skittishly, looking embarrassed.

“Everything all right?” Peter asked.

I hate that Peter probably heard part of what was said here. I hate the thought of what he might assume about me. But I didn’t ask the old man to come here. I didn’t ask to talk to him. I don’t have to acknowledge this conversation at all, not even to Peter.

The muscles in her back went stiff. Turning away from her father, she put on a bright smile. “Nope. I’m ready to leave when you and the kids are.”