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  He reached for her hands. “God, I was so worried. Where’s Cam?”

  The nurse cleared her throat. “I’m taking Maggie back up to the second-floor waiting area. You’ll have to stay here.”

  That sense of ominous foreboding tightened Maggie’s hands firmly around Clay’s. “He’s our friend. I need him beside me. Please,” she added, staring into worried blue eyes.

  “Please, Tamara,” Clay added. “I want to help.”

  Tamara—that was her name. Tamara Coleman, from their high school days. It seemed to take forever but it was probably only seconds later when she nodded, gesturing them forward. “Follow me.”

  Clay loosened Maggie’s grip, immediately placing his arm around her, guiding her down the hallway. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” An enormous lump was lodged in her throat. “But Cameron…”

  He squeezed her. It was he could do, but for now, it helped.

  Everything passed in a blur as they made their way to the small family waiting room off the surgery. Tamara returned and handed her a cup of sweetened tea with the strict order to drink it all. Maggie didn’t have the heart to say she wasn’t thirsty. She wasn’t hungry.

  She was scared to death.

  “Drink.” Clay repeated the order softly as he wrapped her free hand with his. “I’ll stay with you.”

  She nodded and held on tight. “It just happened. No warning, no way to—” Her voice broke as every nightmare she’d ever had swept in and overwhelmed her.

  “Shhh, it’s okay.” Clay twisted to the side, putting aside the cup before pressing her head to his chest, cautiously cradling her. “Cam’s a fighter,” Clay assured her. “You just wait. I’ll stay with you until he’s back.”

  She fisted her fingers in his shirt and held on, tears she refused to let fall filling her eyes. Cameron was going to be okay, he was going to come back to her. Cameron was going to be okay—

  How long they sat there she had no idea, but by the time the door swung open and a doctor stepped forward, her limbs had stiffened to immobility. Yet even after the shock of the accident, more terror threaded through her veins at his expression.

  “Mrs. Ward?”

  Clay helped her to her feet. She kept a tight grip on him as she faced the doctor. “Cameron?”

  The doctor shook his head. “I’m so sorry. There was nothing we could do.”

  The bright lights with the rainbow halos blurred together as the knot of tears in her throat rammed downward into her chest, shattering her heart completely.

  Chapter Two

  Maggie listened to the silence.

  Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as she walked through the house. Before when Cameron had gone out of town without her, it hadn’t felt this lonely because he’d still been there. The signs of him all around—in the book beside his chair, in the dirty plates he insisted on leaving on the counter no matter how many times she’d laughingly demonstrated how to open the dishwasher door.

  None of those things were there. Not even his socks, one on the floor, one dangling from the laundry basket as if attempting to make a breakaway and join its partner.

  She would’ve cried except she had no tears left. All she had was a sense of hopelessness, a sense of being lost, and after nearly a month, a moaning in her ears that refused to go away. So like countless days before, Maggie clicked on the television then left the room, methodically working her way through the entire house turning on radios and setting computers to YouTube stations. Anything to fill the emptiness.

  She dropped onto the bed and stared at their wedding picture. “I miss you, sweetie,” she whispered, “It’s hard to get through each day without you.”

  There was no answer—and she didn’t expect one. Not even a voice in her head, because he hadn’t spoken since the moment he’d teased her about being afraid on the highway.

  She hadn’t cleaned out his closet or begun to remove the rest of his things from the house. Right after he died, when there’d been family around who offered to deal with the task, it had been too painful to consider and she hadn’t been ready. She still wasn’t ready, not for that, but it would be Christmas in a few days, and at some point she had to stop ignoring her friends who kept trying to find ways to support her.

  Maggie picked up the phone and called Carol.

  Her friend’s voice rang with honest happiness. “Hey, good to hear from you. How have you been? You need anything?”

  Even as guilt hit for avoiding Carol, Maggie brushed it off. Nobody, least of all her friends, expected her to be the life of the party. “I’m okay. Feeling a bit of cabin fever,” she confessed. She stood and headed for the kitchen. “Want to go out for lunch today?”

  On the other end of the line her friend made a regretful sound. “I have brunch with the in-laws, but why don’t you come over for supper?”

  Carol’s husband was adorable. A really sweet guy, but the two of them had gotten married this summer and were all newlywed lovey-dovey, and Maggie didn’t think she could stand it. Not yet.

  “That doesn’t work for me. I already have plans,” she lied smoothly, because it wasn’t really a lie. She had plans to do something other than watch them be goo-goo eyed over each other.

  “The invitation is open for you to join us for Christmas,” Carol reminded her. “Honey, I don’t want you to be by yourself. You’re always welcome around here, any time. You know that, right?”

  Maggie nodded. She knew she was welcome, but even as she forced herself to move forward, there were some things she couldn’t handle. Carol was a friend, but joining them for Christmas just felt…off.

  So she redirected the conversation. “When are you free?”

  They set up a time after the holidays, and even though it was days away, Maggie felt a bit better once she’d taken that first step.

  She took down the calendar and placed it squarely in front of her, pen in hand as she wrote in the lunch date. Five days loomed between then and now, so she gritted her teeth and reached for the phone.

  Finding things to fill in the calendar was easier than expected. Between pulling an extra shift at the local food bank and offering to be an extra set of hands in the Baptist Church nursery on Christmas morning, she found a reason to get out of the house at least once a day. The only empty space remaining was Christmas Eve day.

  The forgotten phone in her hand rang, surprising her so much she nearly dropped it.

  “Hello?”

  Clay’s deep voice rumbled over the line. “I’m not taking no for an answer,” he said.

  That reminded her. Maggie paced to the window, glancing outside. Sure enough, her sidewalks had already been shoveled clear of the overnight snowfall. “How’d you sneak over here and get the snow done without me knowing?”

  “It’s not me,” Clay insisted. “I have a bunch of Christmas elves on retainer. They show up every time we get a fresh fall.”

  In spite of the heaviness of her heart, her lips twitched into a smile. “So, what is it I’m not supposed to say no to?”

  “Christmas Eve dinner. Katy wants to know what you plan to bring.”

  Her first response of denying the invite was cut off by the mention of Katy.

  “Damn you, Clay Thompson, for bringing your sister into this.” She’d been working with the young woman, tutoring her on remedial math to help her regain the skills she’d lost in an accident. It wasn’t the usual work she did, but through it she and Katy had become close. They’d taken a break since Cameron had died, but had remained in contact. “You know I can’t say no to her.”

  “Your point is?”

  Her point was she should have expected this from him. Clay had become a bit of an anchor in her life. Someone who was around often enough she’d been unable to sink into absolute wallowing pity for herself and her loss. Still…

  “You need to admit you’re a menace,” she complained lightly.

  “If you insist. I’m a menace. You didn’t tell me what you’re bringing
.”

  Maggie hesitated. “I might not be able to stay the entire evening,” she warned.

  “And everyone will be perfectly fine with that,” Clay conceded. “You say the word and I’ll take you home, but you need to do this, Maggie. You need to…”

  He didn’t say you need to do it for Cameron’s sake, but the words were there, hovering like always.

  Clay was right. Her husband wouldn’t have wanted her to become lost in her sorrows, but knowing that and dealing with it were two vastly different things. “I’ll bring dinner rolls,” Maggie offered. “That sister of yours is constantly teasing for baking.”

  He lowered his voice. “Just between you and me, it’s the one thing she hasn’t managed to excel at.

  The shared secret lightened Maggie’s heart.

  “We’ll leave at four,” he added.

  “I can drive myself,” Maggie hurried to protest. Then she could leave when she wanted without pulling him from his family.

  “No sense in that. I need to look your car over and do an oil change, so I’ll be there a little earlier.”

  “You’re not going to do an oil change on my car and then go straight to your family’s Christmas party.”

  “Of course not. I’m going to do an oil change, wash my hands, then go to the party.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. Arguing with him was like arguing with a brick wall.

  So she’d just be more of a brick. “Take care of my car later. No, wait… Why are you taking care of my car here at all? I can bring it to the shop next week.”

  He grumbled. “The shop is full and it’s time for your next oil change. I’m not talking about doing brain surgery before the party. Don’t be so stubborn.”

  Said the brick wall.

  Maggie gave up. “Fine, but I’m leaving baking on your truck seat as payment, and you’re not allowed to give it away this time.”

  She got off the phone feeling a little as if she’d been pulled through a wringer. He was determined to watch over her, and while she appreciated it most of the time, there were moments his attention just made it harder. She understood, though. He was grieving too, and it seemed he gained comfort from providing for her, even if it was shoveling her sidewalks.

  Thinking about him and Cameron laughing together was bittersweet.

  She glanced down at the table and the empty space on the calendar for December twenty-fourth. “Well, it seems I’ve completely filled my social calendar. Yippee.”

  It wasn’t exactly happiness she felt as she added the dinner invite to the list of activities, but it was something more than being empty.

  It took a moment to work up the courage to get out of his truck and approach Maggie’s house. Part of it was the weight Clay felt every time the painful reminder hit that Cameron was no longer there. His laughing, joking friend was gone, and something inside him ached at the loss.

  He’d lost his mom, true, but as horrid as that had been, he’d had time to prepare for her death. And then he’d been so busy that grieving had been eaten up by surviving. This was the first time he’d faced the sudden death of a good friend.

  But the deeper ache was from the helplessness that rocked him when he looked into Maggie’s eyes and saw her pain. Saw it, and was unable to make things better. All he could do was be there for her like he’d promised.

  Clay forced himself to do the next thing. He marched up the back steps and rang the bell.

  The rich scent of cinnamon and sticky sweetness hit him as she swung open the door, lips curling into a small smile just for him as she stepped back to let him enter.

  “It smells good in here,” he said, taking a deep appreciative breath. “Cookies?”

  “And cinnamon buns. And rolls.” She held her hands awkwardly in front of her as if uncertain what to do with them. That ache in his heart twinged again, and he paused in the middle of loosening off his coat. Gloves and toque in one hand, he opened his arms and pulled her in for a quick hug.

  A quick hug that grew longer as she slipped her arms around his torso and offered a long, steady squeeze in return before slipping away.

  The laughter in her eyes was missing, but her smile was real. “As much as it pains me to say this, thank you for bullying me into going out tonight.”

  Clay finished removing his coat and boots, then laid a hand over his chest. “Bullying you? Me? Never.”

  “What you prefer, steamrolling?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’d prefer a cinnamon roll, if I can steal one while they’re hot.”

  She crooked a finger at him and led him into the kitchen, the scent of Christmas goodies filling the space. “You want a cup of coffee with that?” she asked.

  Clay checked his watch. “If you don’t mind me doing your car next week instead.”

  “I thought it was silly you were going to do it today. Of course.” Maggie pulled a chair back from the table and gestured to it. “Relax. It’ll just be a minute.”

  He sat where she’d directed, examining the full tabletop before him. There were a dozen baskets lined with wrapping paper, some of them partially filled with cookies and fruitcake and other tasty offerings. “Are you setting up a bakery?”

  “Christmas presents for people I want to say thank you to.” She lowered two coffee cups to the counter, her back toward Clay as she worked on their drinks. “So many people have been kind to me. And it’s helped distract me—getting the baskets ready.”

  She spoke easily, but tension held her upper body stiff. There was nothing he could say to lessen her burden, and he was sure she didn’t want admiration, so he did the only thing he could.

  “Do you need a hand dropping them off? We can do that before we go over to Katy’s.”

  Maggie placed the coffee in front of him, settling in the chair kitty corner to his. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s on my calendar for tomorrow.”

  “Then I’ll help you tomorrow,” he said. “The shop isn’t officially open until next Wednesday.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt your plans—”

  “Maggie.” Clay grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers briefly before letting them go. “If you don’t want me along, just say you’d like to do it yourself. But I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to help.”

  She let out a sigh that seemed too big for her body. “I’d love to have your help, but don’t bullshit either of us. You know damn well you would help me even if it were the last thing you wanted to do. If you thought it was the right thing to do.”

  Clay took a drink of his coffee to cover up how accurate her words were. “Then it’s a good thing I want to go for a drive with you tomorrow.”

  They sat quietly for a moment. Maggie’s hands were wrapped around her coffee mug as she stared distractedly at the wedding ring she still wore. Noise drifted around them, and the longer he listened, the more confused he became. “What are we listening to?”

  Her cheeks flushed red. “I don’t know. It’s just background noise.”

  Another turn of the screw in his heart. He remembered that—how silent the house had become after his mother died. It seemed impossible that with five teenagers in the house, it had been one small woman who had actually filled the place with laughter. With life.

  He pushed aside the painful memories and focused on the cooling racks covered with cookies and the pans of cinnamon buns on the stove. “Are you going to feed me before you put me to work, or after?”

  Maggie pulled her attention back to him, eyeing the baking as if measuring it up. “How about during? Any cookies that break we get to eat.”

  “I like the way you think.” Clay teased softly. “Is this one of those rules that says cookies made for someone else have no calories? My sister told me about that.”

  They rose to their feet, and Maggie instructed him how she wanted the remaining goodies placed in the baskets. Clay washed his hands at the kitchen sink then went to work. She vanished for a moment, the sound of chaos in the background fading until only the soft tun
e of a Christmas carol drifted from the living room.

  Maggie offered him a sheepish smile as she reentered the kitchen. “Better?”

  “Much better.” He popped a shortbread cookie into his mouth, the buttery goodness melting instantly. He offered her a rumble of approval. “I’ve changed my mind. We’re not delivering these baskets tomorrow.”

  She paused in the middle of fitting cinnamon rolls into a bag. “What?”

  Clay shook his head before offering her an evil grin. “I’m pirating the lot of them. They’re mine. All mine.”

  “Grinch.”

  He didn’t answer, just stole another cookie.

  By the time they had everything packaged, he’d coaxed a couple more smiles from her. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Give me a minute to freshen up.” She paced past him, pausing to brush cookie crumbs off his chest. “You need to get cleaned up as well. Come on, you can use the guest room.”

  He followed her down the hallway. Maggie gestured to one side then carried on, and he paused before entering, watching her take a few more steps before vanishing into the master bedroom. He stepped into the guestroom and leaned back on the wall. Took a deep breath for strength.

  Because somewhere in the past hour he’d realized exactly what a sick bastard he was. Even as he grieved for his friend, even knowing how much she was hurting, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not about her pain and sorrow, but about the soft curves under the flour-dusted apron.

  Couldn’t stop wanting to reach out and stroke her cheek. Her arms. Her entire body. He wanted to pull her into his embrace and not just comfort her, but make her forget, if only for a little while.

  He wanted to taste her cookie-sweetened lips. Hold her hand and be there for her, yes, but the attraction he’d felt so many years ago—the desire he’d forced away when she’d returned to town in the summer? The craving he’d had no right to feel for his friend’s wife?

  It was back, and he was shocked by the raw strength of it.

  The sound of running water in the distance added to his misery, his imagination sending him images of water droplets slicking down her smooth skin. What he wouldn’t give to use his tongue and follow the same path. Down her shoulders, over the curve of her breast. Down her belly all the way to her sex. Lingering there until sounds of pleasure escaped her lips.