“I’m sure they were worth more. You didn’t mention the snake in your series on San Salvador.”
“No.” Interested, he put down his paring knife. “You read it?”
She arranged chicken in the hot oil. “Of course. I’ve read all your stories.”
He took the potatoes to the sink to wash them. “All of them?”
She smiled at the tone but kept her back to him. “Don’t let your ego loose, Jason. It was always your biggest problem. I’d estimate that ninety percent of the people in Quiet Valley have read all your stories. You might say we all feel we have a stake in you.” She adjusted the flame. “After all, no one else around here’s had dinner at the White House.”
“The soup was thin.”
Chuckling, she put a pan of water on the stove and dumped in the potatoes. “I guess you just have to take the good with the bad—so to speak. I saw a picture of you a couple of years ago.” She adjusted a pin in her hair and her voice was bland. “I think it was taken in New York, at some glitzy charity function. You had a half-naked woman on your arm.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Did I?”
“Well, she wasn’t actually half-naked,” Faith temporized. “I suppose it just seemed that way because she had so much more hair than dress. Blond—very blond if my memory serves me. And let’s say—top-heavy.”
He ran his tongue around his teeth. “You meet a lot of interesting people in my business.”
“Obviously.” With the efficiency born of habit she turned the chicken. Oil hissed. “I’m sure you find it very stimulating.”
“Not as stimulating as this conversation.”
“If you can’t stand the heat,” she murmured.
“Yeah. It’s getting dark. Shouldn’t Clara be home?”
“She’s right next door. She knows to be home by five-thirty.”
He went to the window anyway and glanced at the house next door. Faith studied his profile. It was stronger now, tougher. She supposed he was, too, had had to be. How much was left of the boy she’d loved so desperately? Maybe it was something neither of them could be sure of.
“I thought of you a lot, Faith.” Though his back was to her she could almost feel the words brush over her skin. “But especially at this time of year. I could usually block you out when I had work to do, deadlines to meet, but at Christmas you wouldn’t let go. I remember every one we spent together, the way you’d drag me through the shops. Those few years with you made up for all the times as a kid I woke up to nothing.”
The old sympathy welled up. “Your father couldn’t face the holidays, Jason. He just couldn’t handle it without your mother.”
“I understand that better now. After losing you.” He turned back. She wasn’t looking at him now but bent industriously over the stove. “You’ve been spending Christmas alone, too.”
“No, I have Clara.”
She tensed as he walked to her. “No one to fill the stockings with you, or share secrets about what’s under the tree.”
“I manage. You have to alter life to suit yourself.”
“Yeah.” He took her chin in his hand. “I’m beginning to believe it.”
The door slammed open. Wet and beaming, Clara stood dripping on the mat. “We made angels in the snow.”
Faith raised a brow. “So I see. Well, you’ve got fifteen minutes to get out of those wet things and set the table.”
She struggled out of her coat. “Can I turn on the tree?”
“Go ahead.”
“Come on.” Clara held out a hand for Jason. “It’s the best one on the block.”
Emotions humming, Faith watched them walk out together.
CHAPTER 5
