Lindsay leaned against the side of her brother’s house, tears running down her face.
Her brother was hopeless. It was time she admitted and accepted it.
“Hopeless,” she whispered, unleashing another wave of tears.
“Nothing is hopeless, Lindsay.”
She looked up to see Kylie watching her, compassion clear in her green eyes as she leaned on the white fence separating her yard from Mackenzie’s. “Wanna talk?”
Lindsay took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She pushed away from the wall and shrugged, pulling her coat closer about her as she moved over to the fence. “He’s so sure he’s right.”
“Your brother?”
“Who else? He’s bound and determined to wreck his life, and he doesn’t even see it.”
“Wreck his life?”
Lindsay crossed her arms. “He’s going to ask that woman to marry him.” Her heart felt torn in two by anger and regret.
Kylie’s eyes opened wide. “You mean Amanda Carr?”
Lindsay nodded. She met Kylie’s concerned gaze. “He can’t do it, Kylie! She’s not the right woman for him. I just know she isn’t. But he’s so blind—he can’t see how wrong it would be for him to do this.”
Kylie reached out and took her hand in a warm grasp. “God sees, and he cares about your brother even more than you do.” She tugged on Lindsay’s hand. “Leave it to the Lord, Lindsay.”
“I know I should.” Tears misted her eyes again. “It’s just that Mac’s so wonderful, and I care so much, and I want everything to go right for him.”
Kylie leaned on her arms along the top of the fence. “I’m sure they will. As much as you love your brother, it’s only a fraction of the love of God for him. And he’s at work on Mac’s behalf.” Her lips twitched. “In fact, from what I know about your brother, God’s probably mobilized two or three brigades of angels already.”
“Hey, Kylie! Are we gonna play hide ’n’ seek or what?”
Kylie glanced behind her, then patted Lindsay’s arm. “Sorry, friend. Got to go. The munchkins await.”
Lindsay looked toward Kylie’s backyard and saw a group of neighborhood kids. With a wave of her hand, Kylie went to join them in their game. Zsuzsi dashed and dodged playfully, tail wagging.
Lindsay smiled as she went to her car. The laughter from Kylie’s backyard floated around her as she slid in and reached forward to put the key in the ignition, then let her hand fall into her lap. She closed her eyes.
“Lord, is she right? Have you set a brigade of angels on my brother?” She hoped so. Oh, how she hoped so.
Would even that be enough to get Mac to open his eyes?
The next morning, Mackenzie did the unthinkable. He ignored his five-thirty alarm. Instead of throwing back the covers and getting started with the day, he rolled over and stared at the ceiling.
He hadn’t had a night this bad in years. His eyes felt like they were full of sand, his mouth, like he’d been sucking on sweat socks. He’d tossed and turned, exhausted and in need of sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, Lindsay’s face, so full of disappointment, filled his mind.
He’d hurt her. If only he could understand why.
It’s not that hard to understand, and you know it.
He pulled his pillow over his head. Not again. Not another day of hearing those heart whispers—
The sound of the doorbell brought him to his feet, and he jumped up, pulling on a shirt and jeans as he hurried to the door. It had to be Lindsay. She couldn’t stand a fight between them any more than he could. He pulled the door open, then stood and stared.
“Merry Christmas!” It was Kylie, dog in tow. A brown suede crusher was pulled down over her unruly hair, but rebellious wisps snuck out to frame her face with a golden glow.
She grinned at him, holding out a plate wrapped with brightly colored cellophane and topped with a large Christmas bow. Mackenzie stared at her, then the plate, then back at her. The smile broadened. “May I come in?”
He stepped aside, but looked at the dog at her side.
“Don’t worry, Zsuzsi will wait right her on the mat, won’t you, sweetheart?” She rested her fingers on the dog’s broad, furry head. “Stay, girl.” With that, she sailed into the kitchen.
Mackenzie followed Kylie as she placed the cookies on the counter. He cast one glance back at the dog. It sat there, perfectly content, regarding him with the oddest expression. If he hadn’t known better, he’d swear the beast was looking at him with a strange sort of pity in its dark eyes. He shook his head. This conflict with Lindsay—and a totally rotten night—was making him imagine things.
“Normally I’d never invade someone’s home this early in the morning,” Kylie was saying in that lilting voice of hers. “But Lindsay told me you get up at five-thirty most days—”
“Every day.”
She eyed him at the correction. “Right. Every day. So I figured you wouldn’t mind if we stopped by on the way to work.”
“Not at all.” A tantalizing fragrance tickled his nose. Was it whatever was on the plate? He lifted the cellophane and peered beneath it. “What are these?”
“Christmas cookies. It just isn’t Christmas without them.”
Sugar cookies, from the look of them, all decorated with frosting and sprinkles. He sniffed. Nope, they weren’t the source of the scent.
Kylie leaned her elbows on the counter, cupping her chin in her hands. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you’d be all that thrilled to receive them, but God disagreed, so there you have it.”
God disagreed . . . ?
She went on. “There are Santas, snowmen, stars, reindeer—” she indicated the cookie on top—“even a Rudolph complete with red candy nose. Brendan, my brother, always saved his Rudolph until last. But I couldn’t. He was always the first to go. Rudolph, I mean, not my brother.” She leaned toward Mackenzie. “There was something so satisfying in biting off his nose.”
What kind of response could one make to that?
Fortunately, Kylie didn’t seem to expect one. She straightened up and glanced around. “What a beautiful place you have here. A nice clean palette just ready to be brought to life.” She angled a compassionate look his way. “I know you haven’t been around much. You really do work too much, you know.”
He opened his mouth to inform her it was NOYB how much he worked, but she sailed on.
“Maybe you can take a few days during the holiday to start fixing everything up.”
Mackenzie frowned. “It’s already fixed up.”
Her surprised gaze roamed the spartan room, as though searching for something to confirm his words. He felt himself growing just a bit defensive. “This is how I like it.”
She continued her careful study.
“It’s simple,” he insisted. “Well ordered.”
Her brows drew together, and he had the oddest sense she was pained.
When her wide-eyed gaze came back to meet his, the slight disappointment he saw there took him aback—then annoyed him.
“It’s certainly . . . clean.”
Wow. Had to really dig for that, didn’t you? “It’s perfect for me.” His words came out more forcefully than he’d intended.
She looked away, then her whole face lit up. “Oh! What a beautiful tree!”
Before Mackenzie could respond, she was in the living room and had buried her face in the needles. When she lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes glowed with a kind of relief. “You must have just brought it in. It still smells of the forest and the cold.”
Could the woman be any more confusing? Why on earth should Kylie Hawk care what his home looked—or, for that matter, smelled—like? “I wasn’t aware it smelled at all.”
She stepped back, inspecting each branch, fingering the needles. “Yes, it’s perfect. It quite suits you. Big. Bold. Full of strength and vitality.”
Unexpected pleasure stirred at this assessment of his character.
“I can hardly wait to see it decorated!”
He cleared his throat. Decorated? He was expected to decorate it?
“Well, thanks so much for inviting me in.”
Inviting her in? He didn’t recall getting the chance.
She breezed past him, not seeming the least bit fazed by his pointed glance. “But Zsuzsi and I have to be going.”
He followed her to the door, feeling a bit as though a small tornado had just swept through his house. There was that fragrance again. What was that? Vanilla?
And there was the dog, waiting just inside the door as ordered. Kylie glanced at him over her shoulder and apparently saw how he stared at the beast. “Pretty unique, isn’t she?”
Unique was not the word he had in mind.
“She’s a komondor, a Hungarian breed.”
His brows arched at that. “You mean someone intentionally bred a dog to look like that?”
She laughed—a soft, silvery sound that drifted around him. “Actually, they’ve bred a lot of dogs to look this way. Komondors are growing more popular all the time.” She scratched the animal’s ears. “They’re intelligent, loyal, and protective, which is pretty common for herding dogs, isn’t it, sweetie?”
Zsuzsi gave a deep “Woof!” as though to agree with her mistress’s assertion. Kylie laughed again.
“So the fur is supposed to look like that?” The question came out before he’d realized he was going to ask.
Kylie nodded. “It helps them blend in with the sheep. Can you imagine being a predator moving in on a seemingly defenseless herd of sheep when one of these beasties suddenly jumps up to take you on?” She sounded like a proud mama. “A hundred pounds of protective fury, that’s what she would be. Well, see you later. Time to get to work.”
He moved to hold the door for her, and as she stepped past him, he caught on. The fragrance. It was . . . her.
The realization left him staring after her as she led the happy dog to her car. He closed the door, then turned to study Lindsay’s tree. He strolled toward it, leaned forward, and took a deep breath.
Son of a gun. It did smell like the forest and the cold.
He moved to pour himself a cup of coffee, then sat at his desk, flipped on his computer, and prepared to get to work. December wouldn’t last forever, and he had a lot to accomplish. His to-do list. That shut everything down for a while.
Later he realized he was staring at the blank computer screen in a daze. He pushed to his feet. Why was it so difficult to concentrate? And why did the image of Kylie’s face and the echo of her laughter keep nudging at him? And that fragrance . . .
He smelled it everywhere now.
He flopped down into a wide leather chair, staring into the dark fireplace. Pursing his lips, he went over her visit, recalling the way she talked about God, in those intimate tones, as though he was her close, lifelong friend.
Was that what made her seem so different? So . . . alive?
The longer he pondered, the more he became aware of something nagging at him, deep inside. Some vague sense that he was . . . missing out.
With a whoosh of air he catapulted himself out of the chair and strode to his computer. He knew he was punching the keys with more force than was necessary, but the action felt good.
Far better than sitting around and getting morose over some imaginary lack in my life. He set his shoulders, a decision made.
The next time Kylie Hawk appeared on his doorstep, he would courteously but firmly shut the door—on her and the doggone dog.