So long ago. She blushed, as if she'd lifted the memory from his mind.
Sensing her discomfort, he changed the subject abruptly. "You were great with the boys today."
"They really are a lot of fun, Cale. I enjoyed them."
And you. I loved being with you again. Loved watching your face and making you laugh, loved seeing you covered with flour, and watching your sons taking turns patting you on the back to make little white handprints on the back of your sweater. It's breaking my heart all over again, but I wouldn't trade a minute of this time with you. I'll carry these days with me forever...
"I've spent more time doing things with them this week than I ever did before," Cale was saying, "and I have to admit, it has been fun."
"I think the secret may be just to keep them busy with something they like to do."
"I'm just starting to learn what they like to do." His face sank into a frown. "I hate admitting that, that my sons are four years old already and I hardly know them at all."
"Some fathers never get to know their children," she told him.
"Daddy, I can't sleep." A very small voice emerged from the dark hall.
"What's the matter, little buddy?" Cale's face softened as Evan appeared tentatively, his face flushed, his fisted hands rubbing his eyes.
"I had a bad dream."
"Oops." Cale walked to his son and picked him up, resting the little head on his shoulder. "Maybe ghost stories at bedtime weren't such a good idea, after all."
"Will you stay with me?" Evan yawned into his father's neck.
Cale looked at Quinn and she nodded. "I'm kind of tired anyway," she told him. "I'll just get ready for bed and turn in."
"Well..." He hesitated for just a second, then nodded slowly, saying, "I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Sure. Good night, Cale." She stood and patted the little boy gently on the back. "Good night, Evan."
" 'Night, Quinn," was the sleepy reply.
Cale's footfall echoed softly on the old pine floor as he carried his son back to his bed. Quinn piled logs onto the fire, and changed into the clothes she had worn to bed the night before. Not stylish, certainly not sexy, she noted, but they were warm. And warm was no small thing in the midst of the storm that continued to rage outside the cabin. She hoped that it would stop tomorrow. She just didn't know how much longer she could stand being here with him. She had held on so tightly to the pain he had inflicted on her that, for years, it had been all she had left of him.
Now, being here with him, seeing his face, hearing his laughter again, hearing him say her name, had eroded the wall she had built to keep him out, to make certain that he--that no one--ever came close to her heart again. But it was no use, she knew.
If anything, she thought as she sighed and punched her pillow, the past two days had taught her something she had suspected for years.
If love is deep enough, true enough, it never dies. No matter what.
Chapter Nine
"What are we going to do today?" Evan pounced upon Cale from behind.
"There is nothing to do," Eric whined.
"Christmas is in two days." Evan counted on his fingers. "This is the worst Christmas ever."
"How do you figure that?" Cale asked. "We're stuck in this dumb cabin. Santa Claus will never find us here." Eric's eyes widened at the realization.
The twins looked at each other in horror.
"No Christmas presents?" Evan whispered.
"We don't even have a tree," Eric moaned.
"I wish we'd never come here," Evan announced. "I want to go home."
"We want to go home," Eric repeated.
Just finishing up washing the breakfast dishes-- Cale having made his world-famous gloppy eggs that morning--Quinn paused at the sink, then dried her hands on the towel.
"Get your coats on, boys," she told them.
The boys groaned in unison.
"NO. Not a walk," Eric protested. "Daddy, don't let her make us go for a walk!"
"We are going to build a snowman on the front porch," she told them. "There's plenty of snow. Come on."
Without giving anyone an opportunity to protest further, she pushed the boys to the door and assisted Cale in getting them dressed for the outside. After bundling themselves up, Cale and Quinn led the twins through the front door onto the porch. "Quinn's right," their father told them, "there's more than enough snow for a good snowman."
Soon the snowman began to take shape, and the boys wanted features for the frosty face. A pile of pinecones found under the snow in one corner of the porch supplied eyes, nose, and mouth. The boys admired their creation, but, cold and bored, now that the distraction had ended, they began to complain again.
"We want a Christmas tree, Daddy," Evan told him solemnly. "If we have a tree and Santa does find us, he'll have a place to leave our presents."
Cale had planned on chopping one of the small pines from the back to bring into the cabin. He hadn't counted on a blizzard. A Christmas tree wasn't too much for his sons to ask, he knew. Of course, if Val couldn't get here with their presents, there wouldn't be anything to put under the tree, but he'd worry about that later.
"Guys, go inside with Quinn and warm up. I'll be in in a few minutes."
"What are you going to do, Daddy?"
"It's a surprise. Go on." Cale opened the door and shoved them through. "Maybe Quinn can make something hot for you to drink."
"Sure, Cale, but what are you... ?" she asked as he scooted her through the door behind the boys.