Free Silver Christmas by Helen Scott Taylor

smile.
"I'll manage the other two boxes. You help Chloe." He cast an
affectionate glance at his daughter. "There's nothing like sharing
the wonder of Christmas with her. Decorating the Christmas tree
together and watching her unwrap her presents are two of the most
magical moments of the year."
    Magical
moments Jennifer had so far missed. Owen must have read her
thoughts on her face because he touched her shoulder. "Sorry, I
didn't mean to make you feel bad. You can't change the past, so put
it behind you and make the most of now."
    How could
Owen be the same man she'd walked out on? Had he changed so much,
or had she not really known him?
    " When did you
get to be so wise?" she asked.
    " The trials of
life will do that to you."

Chapter Ten
    Owen was
thoughtful and a little down as he let the dogs out for a final
time before bed. He'd tested how Jennifer felt about him a couple
of times, and her responses were not encouraging. When he'd lifted
her down from the car earlier, she hadn't even smiled at him.
    Maybe he was wasting his time, and he should
accept that she'd never want to be with him. The hope he'd nurtured
for years that she'd come back to him was just a foolish
dream.
    She'd come back, all right, but only for
Chloe. Nothing Jennifer had said or done since she knocked on the
door of Rosemoor Farm three weeks ago indicated she had any
romantic interest in him.
    "Zack, Heidi, come on, you two." Owen shut
and bolted the back door as he did every night and wandered into
the quiet kitchen. Alone. Once Chloe went to bed, the place was too
quiet.
    Much as he adored his daughter, sometimes he
longed for adult companionship, a woman to share his life with.
There had been women interested in him over the years, but none of
them were right—none of them were Jennifer.
    Tossing a dog treat in each of the dog beds,
he crouched to pet Zach and Heidi, his two loyal companions. "You
won't ever desert me, will you?" They both stared at him with
adoring eyes and wagged their tails. At least somebody loved
him.
    He rose and shut the dog-treat caddy,
glancing around the kitchen to check everything was in its place
before he turned out the light. His mother would be amazed to see
him now, so domesticated. And his father would never believe his
work-shy son had taken over the farm.
    He glanced up to heaven, wishing they were
still here to see he'd grown up and accepted his responsibilities,
and to see what a wonderful girl their baby granddaughter had
turned into. His breath rushed out on a despondent sigh. It was
Christmas in a few days. He should be happy.
    As he headed for the stairs, a rustling from
the sitting room caught his attention. He backed up and glanced
through the half-open door. The glowing embers in the fireplace
illuminated Jennifer kneeling by the Christmas tree.
    He stayed silent and watched as she pulled
some wrapped gifts from a carrier bag and added them to the pile of
presents he'd put at the base of the tree earlier. Not sure what he
planned to say, he pushed the door wider and stepped inside, the
sound drawing her attention.
    "Owen. I thought you'd gone to bed."
    "Just had to let the dogs out."
    "Ah."
    He wandered closer and she rose to face him.
Lifting a hand, he touched the tips of his fingers to the red scars
on her jaw and chin. She tried to hide them with makeup, but by the
end of the day, the concealer wore off.
    "How did you get these cuts?"
    "I fell when I was shot. Lots of sharp stones
on the ground."
    He imagined her face covered in blood and
dirt as she writhed in agony with a bullet in her gut. Anger
surged, sharper because he was powerless to right this wrong. If he
met the cowards who shot her, he'd give them what for—and probably
get killed in the process.
    Owen withdrew his hand and rubbed his eyes.
He didn't have any energy left for this emotional uncertainty. He
needed to lay his cards on the table and get the rejection over
with.
    "I owe you an apology."
    "What for? You've been more than