Sabra, the following March...
She didn’t know what had come over her, really.
A...lightening. A strange sense of promise where for months there had been nothing but despair.
On the spur of the moment, she took four days off work in the middle of the month and drove up to the farm. Nils and Marjorie were at their house when she pulled into the yard. They ran out to greet her, grabbing her in tight hugs, saying what a nice surprise it was to see her. Meaning it, too.
Marjorie took her out to see the lambs. She also met with Nils for a couple of hours. They went over the books, discussed the upcoming market season. Soon, they would be planting blueberries, raspberries, blackberries and strawberries. They talked about the huge number of turkey orders for Thanksgiving—so many, in fact, that they’d already had to stop taking them. Next year, Nils planned to raise more birds.
Sabra joined Marjorie and Nils for dinner. Later, alone in the main house, she wandered the rooms. A cleaning team came in every three weeks to keep things tidy, so the place was in okay shape. But the greenhouse window in the kitchen needed someone to put a few potted plants in there and then take care of them.
And really, when you came right down to it, a kitchen remodel wouldn’t hurt, either. In time. And a paint job, definitely. The old homestead could do with a general freshening-up if she ever intended to live here again.
Live here again?
Where had that idea come from?
She shook her head and put the thought from her mind.
That night, she slept in her old room, a dreamless, peaceful sort of sleep—or mostly dreamless, anyway.
Just before dawn she woke and realized she’d been dreaming of Matthias, a simple dream. They were here, in the farmhouse, together. In her dream, they went out to the front porch and sat in the twin rockers her dad had found years ago at a yard sale and refinished himself. Zoya snoozed at their feet.
Sabra sat up in bed, stretched, yawned and looked out the window where the pink fingers of morning light inched across the horizon. Shoving back the covers, she ran over there, pushed the window up and breathed in the cool morning smell of new grass and damp earth.
Spring was here. Already. And leaning on the sill she felt...close. To her mother and her father, to all the generations of Bonds before her.
The idea dawned like the new morning.
She didn’t want to sell the farm.
She wanted to move home to stay.
Sabra, that July...
“So just track him down,” insisted Iris. “You blew it and you need to reach out, tell him you messed up, that your head was all turned around over your dad dying. You need to beg him for another chance.”
“I can’t.” Sabra dropped a stack of folded clothes into an open box.
“Can’t?” Iris scoffed. “Won’t. That’s what you really mean.”
“It wouldn’t be right to him,” said Sabra.
“Oh, yeah, it would. It’s the rightest thing in the world, telling a man who loves you that you love him, too, and want to be with him.”
They were at Sabra’s apartment—Sabra, Iris and Peyton, too. Sabra was moving home to the farm and her friends were pitching in, helping her pack up to go.
She tried to make Iris understand. “It wasn’t our deal to go looking for each other, to go butting into each other’s regular lives. If I want to change the agreement, I need to do it when I see him, at Christmas.”
“Who says you’ll see him at Christmas?”
“Well, what I mean is that next Christmas would be the time to try again, if that’s even possible anymore.”
Iris shook her head. “Uh-uh. Not buying. You’re just making excuses not to step up right now and get straight with the man you love.”
Peyton emerged from the closet, her arms full of clothes. “Honey, I’m with Iris on this one.” She dropped the clothes on the bed for Sabra to box up. “You screwed up. You need to fix it.”
“And I will. At Christmas. I still have the key. I’ll show up, as always, and I’ll pray that he does, too.”
Iris put both hands to her head and made an exploding gesture. “Wrong. Bad. You need to act now. He could find someone else in the next five months.”
“He could have found someone else already,” Sabra said, something inside of her dying a little at the very thought. “I told him to find someone else. I can’t go breaking our rules and chasing after him now. If he’s found someone new, I’ve got no right to try to get in the middle of that. I’ve got no right and I won’t.”
Iris opened her mouth to argue some more, but Peyton caught her eye and shook her head. “It’s your call,” Iris conceded at last. “But just for the record, I think you’re making a big mistake.”
Matt, early August...
Friday night at Beach Street Brews was as crowded and loud as ever. Matt was glad to be out, though. Sometimes a guy needed a beer, a bar full of people, and some mediocre rock and roll played at earsplitting levels.
The noise and party atmosphere distracted him, kept him from brooding over Sabra. It had been seven months since she’d made it painfully clear that they were going nowhere. Not ever. He needed to get over her, to get over himself.
It was past time for him to stop being an emo idiot and move the hell on. Life was too damn short to spend it longing for a woman who would never give him more than a holiday hookup. He was ready, after all these years, for a real relationship.
And damn it, he was through letting the important things pass him by.
Jerry, across the table from him, leaned in. “Someone’s been asking to meet you.” Jerry tipped his red head at two pretty women, a blonde and a brunette, as they approached their booth. “The blonde,” said Jerry. “Mary’s her name...”
The two women reached the booth. Jerry scooted over and patted the empty space next to him. The brunette sat down.
The blonde smiled shyly at Matt. “Matt Bravo,” he said.
Her smile got brighter. “Mary Westbrook.”
He moved over toward the wall and Mary slid in beside him.
They started talking, Matt and Mary. She’d gone to Valentine Bay High, graduated the same year as his sister Aislinn. Now Mary worked as a physical therapist at a local clinic. She had sky-blue eyes, a great laugh and an easy, friendly way about her.
No, she wasn’t Sabra.
But Matt liked her. He liked her a lot.
Early November...
Matt sat on the sofa in his brother Daniel’s study at the Bravo family house on Rhinehart Hill. Across the room, beyond his brother’s big desk, the window that looked out over the front porch framed a portrait in fall colors, the maples deep red, the oaks gone to gold. Daniel’s fourteen-month-old twins, Jake and Frannie, were upstairs with their latest nanny. Sometimes it was hard to believe how big those kids were now, and that it had been over a year since they lost Lillie.
A glass of scotch in each hand, Daniel came and sat in the armchair across the low table from Matt. He handed Matt a glass and offered a toast. “To you, Matt. And to the new woman in your life.”
“Thanks.” Matt touched his glass to his brother’s and sipped. The scotch was excellent, smoky and hot going down.
Daniel took a slow sip, too. “I’ve been instructed to inform you that we all expect to be meeting Mary at Thanksgiving.”
Matt chuckled. “Instructed, huh?”
Daniel didn’t crack a smile. But then, he rarely did. “We have four sisters, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Sisters,” Matt kidded back. “Right. I vaguely remember them, yeah.”
“They’re all pleased to learn you’ve met someone special. They want to get to know her. Connor and Liam do, too.” Connor and Liam were third-and fourth-born in the family, respectively. “And so do I.”
“Well, Aislinn has already been after me to bring Mary.” The truth was, he’d hesitated over inviting Mary. “I was kind of thinking it was too soon, you know?”
Daniel said, “It’s never too soon if you really like someone.”
An image took shape in his mind. It wasn’t of Mary and he ordered it gone. “Well, good. I did invite her. She said yes. Mary’s looking forward to meeting the family.”
“I’m glad. And I’m happy for you...”
Two days later...
Unbuttoning his uniform shirt as he went, Matt led the way into his bedroom, Zoya hopping along behind. She stretched out on the rug by the bed and panted up at him contentedly as he finished getting out of his work clothes and stuffed them in the hamper.
That night, he was taking Mary out to eat and then to a stand-up comedy show at the Valentine Bay Theatre. He grabbed a pair of jeans from a drawer, tossed them across the bed and went to the closet for a shirt to wear under his jacket.
When he grabbed the blue button-down off the rod, he caught sight of a corner of this year’s Wild and Scenic Oregon calendar still tacked to the wall. The hangers clattered loudly along the rod as he shoved them back, hard.
Why had he even bought the damn thing this year—and not only bought it, but for several months, continued crossing off the days?
Apparently, for some men, being told to forget it was just never enough.
The calendar was turned to October, with a view of the Deschutes National Forest in fall. Below the beautiful picture of trees in autumn, the calendar page itself showed not a single red X. He’d stopped marking the days the month before.
And why was he keeping it? The calendar was of zero use or interest to him now.
He yanked it off the wall. The tack went flying. He heard it bounce on the closet floor, somewhere he’d probably step on it in bare feet one day soon.
Too bad. He didn’t have time to crawl around looking for it now. Carrying the shirt in one hand and the calendar in the other, he ducked out of the closet. Marching straight to the dresser, he tossed the calendar in the wastebasket there. Then he dropped the shirt on the bed with his jeans and turned for the bathroom to grab a quick shower.
Sabra, early December...
In downtown Astoria, the shop windows and the streets were all decked out for Christmas. Acres of lighted garland bedecked with shiny ornaments and bells looped between the streetlights. Live trees in pots lined the sidewalk, each one lit up and hung with bright decorations.
At the corner, a lone musician played “White Christmas” on a xylophone. Sabra paused with a few other bundled-up shoppers to listen to the tune. When the song came to an end, she tossed a dollar in the open case at the musician’s feet. Pulling her heavy jacket a little closer against the winter chill, she crossed the street and continued on to midway along the next block.
The store she sought was called Sugar and Spice. Like every other shop on the street, it had Christmas displays in the front windows, scenes of festively dressed mannequins, ones that were definitely more spicy than sweet. One mannequin wore a sexy elf costume and another, a red thong sewn with tiny, winking party lights. One had her hands bound behind her back with handcuffs, a Santa hat slipping sexily over one eye while a male mannequin in a leather jockstrap and policeman’s hat tickled her with a giant green feather.
Inside, the girl behind the counter wore a skimpy Mrs. Santa Claus costume and a gray wig topped by a crown of Christmas tree lights. “Hey. What can I help you with?”
“Just looking...” Sabra headed for the racks of revealing lingerie.
Sexy Mrs. Claus followed her over there. “Are you wanting anything in particular?”
Help from an expert?
Really, what could it hurt? “It’s like this,” Sabra said as she checked through the bra-and-panty sets. “I’m in—or at least, I’ve been in—this wonderful relationship. But we aren’t together all the time. We meet up for several days, once a year.”
Mrs. Claus looked confused. “What’s the kink?”
Sabra laughed. “It’s just once a year, over Christmas, no contact otherwise. Is that a kink?”
Mrs. Claus let that question go. “Let me try again. So...there’s a problem in this relationship?”
“Well, the thing is, last year it ended badly and it was all my fault.”
Mrs. Claus made a soft, sympathetic sound. “Oh, no.”
“Yeah. And, see, I don’t want to break our rules. I’m not going to stalk the guy. But this year, I’ll be there at the usual place and time in case he does show. I’m going to knock myself out to make things right, make it...”
“More?” suggested Mrs. Claus.
Sabra paused in her impatient flicking from one panty set to the next. “More. Yes. That’s it. I want more with him. Last year, he was already there in the more department. He wanted to take the biggest chance of all with me. But I wasn’t ready. I said some things that I wish I hadn’t. It’s very likely he took what I said to mean it was over between us. And now, I only want a prayer that he might be willing to give me another shot. I don’t need handcuffs or a latex suit. I just want to feel confident. If he shows up and I get lucky enough to make it as far as taking off my clothes...”
“You want him wowed.” Mrs. Claus had that look, the one a sales professional gets when she finally understands exactly what her customer is shopping for. “You don’t want to role-play or try something new. You just want to be you, the sexiest possible you.”
Sabra grabbed an itty-bitty black satin number, held it up and joked, “You don’t happen to have this in camo?”
Mrs. Claus’s smile was slow and also triumphant. “As a matter of fact, we do.”
Sabra bought the sexy camo undies and several other seductive bits of lace and satin. She knew that cute underwear wasn’t the answer to anything, really. If Matthias was through with her, a see-through bra wouldn’t change his mind.
And yet, she felt hopeful and excited.
She was ready to go all in with him, at last. All he had to do was show up this year and she would pull out all the stops to get just one more chance with him.
December 23, last year...
Sabra’s heart just about detonated in her chest when she turned the last corner and rolled into the clearing. Matthias, in a uniform that looked identical to the one his friend Jerry had been wearing when he stopped by the year before, leaned back against the tailgate of a state trooper patrol truck.
He’s here! He came!
For a few glorious, too-brief seconds, she knew she was getting the second chance she’d longed for, that this year, she was going to make everything come out right.
She pulled her car to a stop several feet back from the man and the truck.
About then, in the silence that followed turning off the engine, she started putting it together.
This was all wrong.
No lights in the cabin, Matthias in his uniform, with a mud-splattered state police vehicle behind him. No Zoya. No gorgeous Christmas tree tied to a rack on the roof.
And he hadn’t moved yet. He remained at the tailgate, big arms across his chest, his hat shading his eyes.
Her hands shook and her stomach pitched and rolled. She sat there in the driver’s seat, her heart hurling itself madly against the wall of her chest, unable to move for a good count of ten.
But this was her show, now wasn’t it? She could already see that he wasn’t planning a tender reunion. If she didn’t want to talk to him, she ought to start the engine again and drive away.
That seemed the less painful option in the short run—and also the one that would always leave her wondering, leave her hanging. Leave her wishing she’d asked him straight out for another chance.
If he said no, well, Goodbye was an actual word. And she needed to hear him say it out loud.
First step: get out of the damn car.
But still she didn’t move. Her mind sparked wildly, impulses firing madly, going off like bottle rockets in her brain, shooting along the endless network of nerves in her body, leading her exactly nowhere.
Grabbing the latch with shaking fingers, she gave it a yank.
The door opened and she swung her legs out, rising without pausing to steady herself. Surprisingly, she didn’t go pitching over facedown in the dirt.
She was on her feet and moving toward him. A couple of yards away from him, she stopped. He swiped off his hat. The pain in her chest was damn near unbearable.
His blue eyes told her nothing. They gave her nothing.
The sun was out, of all things. It brought out the silvery threads in his dark blond hair. He was so beautiful, all square-jawed and uncompromising, with that broad chest and those big arms she wanted wrapped good and hard around her.
Not mine. The two words ripped through her brain like a buzz saw. Whatever they’d had, it was gone now. He was not hers and he never would be.
She’d had her chance and she hadn’t been ready. It was no one’s fault, really. Timing did matter and hers had been seriously bad. “I take it you’re not staying.”
Matt had dreaded this moment.
He’d known that whatever happened—if she showed, if she didn’t—it was going to be bad.
But this—the very sight of her, the stricken look on her face—it was worse than he’d ever imagined it could be.
“I didn’t really expect you to show,” he said. The words felt cruel as they fell from his lips. He’d driven out here feeling angry and wronged, self-righteous. Ready to lay it on her that he’d taken her advice and found someone new, willing her to be here so he could have the final say.
But now, having simply watched her get out of her car and walk over to him, having looked her square in her beautiful face, all that sanctimonious fury had drained out of him. He had no anger left to sustain him.
“I’m on duty,” he said.
“Uh, yeah. I kind of figured that.”
“But I came by just in case you showed up, so you wouldn’t wonder—I mean, you know. Be left hanging.”
“Thank you.” The skin was too pale around her soft lips. He needed to reach for her, hold her, soothe her.
He wrapped both arms across his chest good and tight, the hat dangling from between the fingers of his right hand. It was the only way to keep himself from grabbing her close.
Spit it out, you SOB. Just say it. “I’ve met someone.”
“Ah.” The sound was so soft. Full of pain. And understanding. Two bright spots of color flamed high on her cheeks. He was hurting her, hurting her so bad.
What she’d done to him last year? It was nothing compared to what he was putting her through now.
He needed to explain himself, he realized, needed to say something real to her, something true, from his heart. “Sabra, I swear to you, I never would have moved on.”
She swallowed convulsively and gave him a sharp nod. “Yeah.” It came out a ragged little whisper. “I know that. I do.”
“You were so insistent. So sure.”
“Yes. You’re right. I was.”
“You told me to find someone else.”
“And you did.” She smiled. It seemed to take a lot of effort. “I’m, um, glad for you. I want you to be happy, Matthias, I honestly do.”
“You have meant so much to me,” he said, striving for the right words, the true words, from his heart. “More than I seem to know how to say.”
Kind, Sabra thought. He’s trying so hard to be kind.
So why did it feel like he was ripping her heart out?
Worst of all, she got it. She saw it so clearly. What he was doing to her now was essentially what she’d done to him a year ago.
She’d hurt him, told him outright he would never have what he longed for from her. He’d done what he had to do to get over her. She knew she had no one to blame but herself.
Now she just needed to hold it together, get through this with some small shred of dignity intact.
She was about to open her mouth and wish him well with his new love—and the words got clogged in her throat.
Because she just couldn’t.
If another woman loved him now and did it well and fully, well, all right then. He should be with that woman.
But to completely give up, right here and now?
She just wasn’t that good of a person. “I have a request.”
“Name it.”
“I have the key and I’ll give it to you if that’s how you want it. But I’m asking you to let me keep it for one more year. Let me keep it and I will be here, same time as always, next year. If you’re still with your new love, just stay away till the sun is down. If you don’t show by dark, that will be all I need to know. I’ll lock up and push the key under the door. You’ll never see me again.”
There was more. So much more she needed to say, including the most important words...
I love you, Matthias. I love you and I should have said so last year.
But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d told him to find someone else. And now they were here, in the cold December sunlight, saying goodbye. And she had no right at all to speak her love out loud.
She shut her mouth and waited, certain he would say that he wanted his key back and he wanted it right now.
But he only stood there, holding his hat, arms folded hard against her, his expression blank, those beautiful eyes of his so guarded.
Time stretched out on a razor’s edge of loss and misery. She tried to reassure herself.
He wasn’t asking for the key back, was he? That was a good sign.
Wasn’t it?
She almost let herself feel the faintest glimmer of hope.
But then he broke the awful silence. “Goodbye, Sabra.”
And with that, he put his hat back on and turned on his heel, heading for the driver’s side of the pickup. She just stood there, afraid to move for fear she would shatter.
He got in, turned the engine on, circled the cabin and disappeared down the twisting dirt road.
She held it together, barely, until the sound of his engine faded away in the distance.
Then her knees stopped working. With a strangled cry, she sank to a crouch. “Get up,” she muttered, disgusted with herself.
But it was no good. Her heart was aching so bad and there was really no alternative but to give herself up to the pain.
At least he was gone. He wouldn’t have to see this.
It was just her and her broken heart, the bitter taste of regret on her tongue.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Sabra gave in completely. Slowly, she toppled onto her side. Curling up into herself on the cold winter ground, she let her tears fall.