Silent Vows
Page 18
“I’m so sorry.” She stopped. “It must have been awful.”
He pushed them forward by placing an arm around her waist, and kept it there even after she kept walking. “It sucked. Without a brother or sister to help absorb some of the impact, it made it even worse. Growing up an only child, I thought I had it made. Never needing to share even the simplest of things. TV, bathroom, toys, even the front seat of the station wagon.” They turned the corner to a street that took lighting for Christmas to a whole new level. “I never knew how much I needed a sibling until the day my parents were gone and I was alone.”
“I can’t imagine life without my family.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“There are five of us. Duncan is the oldest, Fin, myself, Cian and Amber. My parents made sure we had each other, so when the time comes, we can bind together.”
“You’re lucky to have such a large family.”
“I am.” Myra leaned her head against his shoulder. They walked in silence for awhile. Todd’s fingers held her waist, sending a shiver down her spine. The touch wasn’t meant to be intimate, yet it was. A group of children stood out in front of one of the homes singing carols. They stopped and watched.
“Todd Blakely? Is that you, lad?” A voice from one of the homes called.
They both turned at the mention of Todd’s name. An elderly man stood in the doorway where the carolers had just been.
Todd smiled and pushed Myra up to meet his neighbor. “Hello, Mr. McGregor. You’ve outdone yourself this year. Has Abby kept you buying lights all year?”
“It gives me something to do, with the kids off and gone. Who do you have here?”
“Max McGregor, this is Myra MacCoinnich, a friend of mine.” He stumbled on his introduction.
Myra smiled, greeted him first in Gaelic then in English. “Happy Christmas,” she said in both languages, as was her custom.
His smile went beyond his eyes and up into the receding hairline. “Ah, lass, I’ve not heard that since my own grandmamma was alive. Happy Christmas to you.”
“Max! Have you lost your manners? Ask them in, it’s cold out there.” Abby called from the hall, “We have warm cider if you like.”
“We’re enjoying the lights, Mrs. McGregor,”
Todd told the aging woman.
Myra warmed into the smile of the older man, thinking how the elderly moved like honey, thick and slow, on a cold winter’s night.
There was no getting out of a few minutes with the McGregor’s. They sipped apple cider on the front porch and enjoyed the crowd gathering around the neighborhood to look at the lights. Myra and Todd listened to the couple banter.
“So, you’re from Scotland are you?”
“Aye, I am.” Myra said without worry. Abby’s smile was sincere and welcoming.
“She spoke in Gaelic, Abby. I didn’t know anyone spoke that anymore.”
Myra smiled and moved closer to Todd on the bench they shared. “If no one speaks it, then how do you recognize it, Mr. McGregor?”
“Good point, lass.”
“Still, it is nice to hear,” Abby added.
“And ‘tis nice to speak,” Myra said in Gaelic, then translated in English for Todd’s benefit.
Todd smiled down at her, taking her hand in his. Mr. McGregor talked about his grandchildren, and how they were going to travel to Texas to visit them over the holiday. Myra heard little of it. She concentrated instead on the way Todd held her hand, how his fingers stroked the inside of her palm.
Small shock waves traveled up her arm, making her whole body tingle. How could so innocent a touch make her body yearn? Make her want? What?
He couldn’t stop touching her. He had given it a college try for a solid five minutes when they first sat down, but with her so close, and her scent taking hold in his brain, he couldn’t help himself. She actually flinched when he first took her hand, but now she relaxed beside him, and spread her fingers so he could weave their fingers together.
He envisioned her opening up to him like a rose did for light. He pictured her beneath him in his bed, and then his physical reaction forced him to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
After promising to come back to visit, Todd and Myra left their hosts and continued their walk.
Lights were strung across the street from one house to another. Some twinkled, others stayed lit.
Several neighbors had small camp stove fires lit in their driveways and greeted the passers-by who came to enjoy the decorations.
They walked in silence, with only the occasional comment on a display or the people they saw.
Todd looked ahead and noticed a couple stealing a kiss under some mistletoe hung beneath a mass of lights. Purposely he stopped when they reached that point and turned to Myra. “Do they have mistletoe in Scotland?”
“Aye, we have mistletoe.”
“Do you kiss under the mistletoe?”
Myra’s ears grew red again, answering his question. “Only if the lad can pluck a berry can he receive a kiss. Once the berries are gone...well, no more kisses for him.”
Todd slipped one hand around her waist. “Well, here in the States our traditions are a little different.” He looked up. “It seems all the berries are gone, but one kiss is still allotted to the lad that catches the lass.”
He liked the wave of color spreading up her neck.
“I suppose since we are in America we should abide by your customs.”
“I think we need to oblige or face the consequences of bad luck.”
She stumbled over her words. “W-well, I wouldn’t want to cause you any bad luck.”
Her eyes were open when he lowered his mouth to hers. Tenderly, he captured her lips, thankful to finally be there. When her lids fluttered closed he moved closer, bringing the whole of her frame up against his. Every curve, hard and soft, molded to him in a perfect fit.
Molten lava rushed into his belly and slid lower.
Her hands crept up into his hair, holding him hostage.
They stood in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by houses and people, oblivious to it all.
Todd came out of the fog first, gasping for air as if he’d been sucker-punched. “I want you,” he whispered in her hair, not willing to break their contact.
She stiffened when his words registered. “I don’t—”
“You want the same thing, Myra. Don’t try and deny it.”
“I don’t know what I want. I’ve not ever...” She didn’t finish her sentence.
He pushed them forward by placing an arm around her waist, and kept it there even after she kept walking. “It sucked. Without a brother or sister to help absorb some of the impact, it made it even worse. Growing up an only child, I thought I had it made. Never needing to share even the simplest of things. TV, bathroom, toys, even the front seat of the station wagon.” They turned the corner to a street that took lighting for Christmas to a whole new level. “I never knew how much I needed a sibling until the day my parents were gone and I was alone.”
“I can’t imagine life without my family.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“There are five of us. Duncan is the oldest, Fin, myself, Cian and Amber. My parents made sure we had each other, so when the time comes, we can bind together.”
“You’re lucky to have such a large family.”
“I am.” Myra leaned her head against his shoulder. They walked in silence for awhile. Todd’s fingers held her waist, sending a shiver down her spine. The touch wasn’t meant to be intimate, yet it was. A group of children stood out in front of one of the homes singing carols. They stopped and watched.
“Todd Blakely? Is that you, lad?” A voice from one of the homes called.
They both turned at the mention of Todd’s name. An elderly man stood in the doorway where the carolers had just been.
Todd smiled and pushed Myra up to meet his neighbor. “Hello, Mr. McGregor. You’ve outdone yourself this year. Has Abby kept you buying lights all year?”
“It gives me something to do, with the kids off and gone. Who do you have here?”
“Max McGregor, this is Myra MacCoinnich, a friend of mine.” He stumbled on his introduction.
Myra smiled, greeted him first in Gaelic then in English. “Happy Christmas,” she said in both languages, as was her custom.
His smile went beyond his eyes and up into the receding hairline. “Ah, lass, I’ve not heard that since my own grandmamma was alive. Happy Christmas to you.”
“Max! Have you lost your manners? Ask them in, it’s cold out there.” Abby called from the hall, “We have warm cider if you like.”
“We’re enjoying the lights, Mrs. McGregor,”
Todd told the aging woman.
Myra warmed into the smile of the older man, thinking how the elderly moved like honey, thick and slow, on a cold winter’s night.
There was no getting out of a few minutes with the McGregor’s. They sipped apple cider on the front porch and enjoyed the crowd gathering around the neighborhood to look at the lights. Myra and Todd listened to the couple banter.
“So, you’re from Scotland are you?”
“Aye, I am.” Myra said without worry. Abby’s smile was sincere and welcoming.
“She spoke in Gaelic, Abby. I didn’t know anyone spoke that anymore.”
Myra smiled and moved closer to Todd on the bench they shared. “If no one speaks it, then how do you recognize it, Mr. McGregor?”
“Good point, lass.”
“Still, it is nice to hear,” Abby added.
“And ‘tis nice to speak,” Myra said in Gaelic, then translated in English for Todd’s benefit.
Todd smiled down at her, taking her hand in his. Mr. McGregor talked about his grandchildren, and how they were going to travel to Texas to visit them over the holiday. Myra heard little of it. She concentrated instead on the way Todd held her hand, how his fingers stroked the inside of her palm.
Small shock waves traveled up her arm, making her whole body tingle. How could so innocent a touch make her body yearn? Make her want? What?
He couldn’t stop touching her. He had given it a college try for a solid five minutes when they first sat down, but with her so close, and her scent taking hold in his brain, he couldn’t help himself. She actually flinched when he first took her hand, but now she relaxed beside him, and spread her fingers so he could weave their fingers together.
He envisioned her opening up to him like a rose did for light. He pictured her beneath him in his bed, and then his physical reaction forced him to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
After promising to come back to visit, Todd and Myra left their hosts and continued their walk.
Lights were strung across the street from one house to another. Some twinkled, others stayed lit.
Several neighbors had small camp stove fires lit in their driveways and greeted the passers-by who came to enjoy the decorations.
They walked in silence, with only the occasional comment on a display or the people they saw.
Todd looked ahead and noticed a couple stealing a kiss under some mistletoe hung beneath a mass of lights. Purposely he stopped when they reached that point and turned to Myra. “Do they have mistletoe in Scotland?”
“Aye, we have mistletoe.”
“Do you kiss under the mistletoe?”
Myra’s ears grew red again, answering his question. “Only if the lad can pluck a berry can he receive a kiss. Once the berries are gone...well, no more kisses for him.”
Todd slipped one hand around her waist. “Well, here in the States our traditions are a little different.” He looked up. “It seems all the berries are gone, but one kiss is still allotted to the lad that catches the lass.”
He liked the wave of color spreading up her neck.
“I suppose since we are in America we should abide by your customs.”
“I think we need to oblige or face the consequences of bad luck.”
She stumbled over her words. “W-well, I wouldn’t want to cause you any bad luck.”
Her eyes were open when he lowered his mouth to hers. Tenderly, he captured her lips, thankful to finally be there. When her lids fluttered closed he moved closer, bringing the whole of her frame up against his. Every curve, hard and soft, molded to him in a perfect fit.
Molten lava rushed into his belly and slid lower.
Her hands crept up into his hair, holding him hostage.
They stood in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by houses and people, oblivious to it all.
Todd came out of the fog first, gasping for air as if he’d been sucker-punched. “I want you,” he whispered in her hair, not willing to break their contact.
She stiffened when his words registered. “I don’t—”
“You want the same thing, Myra. Don’t try and deny it.”
“I don’t know what I want. I’ve not ever...” She didn’t finish her sentence.
