The Christmas Wedding Quilt: Let It Snow / You Better Watch Out / Nine Ladies Dancing

His work was done. Jo wouldn’t freeze, and she wouldn’t starve. Yet somehow, he was still in the house, adding kindling to a fire that was already blazing merrily.

He heard footsteps on the stairs, then a voice behind him. “Thanks for bringing in my things.”

When he turned he saw she was wearing fleece from neck to ankle, something soft, warm and a pretty shade of green. He was glad she’d had the good sense to bring at least some weather-appropriate clothing in her sleek little suitcase.

“You look a little warmer,” he said.

“I think I’ve stopped shivering.”

“I made coffee. It’s in the kitchen.”

“Perfect. May I get you some?”

He heard the stiff formality in both their voices. How nice of you. Thank you. What can I do? He knew better than to sigh, because what had he expected? That the woman who had been pathetically grateful when he called off their engagement all those years ago would throw herself into his arms tonight?

“I take it black,” he said.

“You never used to.” She immediately looked chagrined, as if remembering a simple preference opened doors.

He examined a speck on the wall to avoid her eyes. “I don’t have time to pretty it up anymore.”

“I guess...well, it’s obvious you still live in the area.”

He wasn’t surprised she hadn’t known. From what he’d heard, she hadn’t been to Kanowa Lake in years. And whenever he had casually asked about her, nobody in the Miller family seemed to have news. Clearly she had never asked about him.

“In the house where I was raised,” he said.

“Your father still has vineyards?”

He took too long to answer. She didn’t know that, either, but—he guessed for a number of reasons—this time he was grateful. “He died. I care for them alone now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

He thought she probably was. His father had liked Jo, and so had his mother. He was pretty sure the feeling had been mutual. Of course nobody, not his parents, not her family, especially not her mother, had ever known how serious they were about each other, how they had planned to marry after they finished school, how they had chosen universities close enough that they could spend long weekends together.

That in his senior year the whole flimsy house of cards had tumbled to the ground.

“So I stayed a local boy,” he said. “What about you?”

“After I got my master’s degree I moved back to California. I’m a systems analyst with a consulting firm in San Diego.” After clipping the words as short as a boot-camp haircut, she left for the kitchen, and he gave the fire one more poke for good measure before she returned with coffee, handing him the mug, handle turned for him to grasp.

“I couldn’t get inside,” she said. “When I arrived, I mean. That’s why I was shoveling the driveway, so I could turn around. The key wasn’t where Great-Uncle Albert said it would be. I was about to head to town.”

“The key’s been in the same place as long as I can remember. The concrete vase by the back door.”

“Back door.” She shook her head. “I missed that part, I guess.”

“You never would have found it. By now that vase is probably buried. I doubt anybody expected you to arrive in a blizzard.”

“You seem to have expected it.”

“I heard you were coming. I manage a bunch of properties around the lake in the wintertime, and I thought I ought to check, just in case you didn’t know any better than to ignore a storm warning.”

She didn’t seem to take offense. “It’s a different world here in the winter. But I should have known better. I just wanted...”

“To be here?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“I heard about your aunt. I’m sorry she’s gone.”

“Me, too.”

Brody realized he hadn’t taken a sip. Instead he had been drinking in Jo’s lovely, familiar face. Her hair had been longer the last time he’d seen her. Now straight and shiny, it just touched her collar. The oval face, dark brows and lashes and straight nose were the same. So was the wide mouth that once had smiled so easily.

Not so much anymore.

“You probably need a good night’s sleep.” He held up his mug. “And I probably can’t drink this fast enough. Maybe I ought to just go.”

Instead of answering she settled on one of the love seats flanking the fieldstone fireplace and motioned him to the other.

“I still have to warm up hash for dinner, and I’m on California time. Keep me company a few minutes, unless somebody at home is expecting you?”

He thought she had managed that neatly. Was there a wife? Kids?

“In the winter I’m here alone,” he said. “Mom goes to Arizona to stay with Kaye. She and her family live outside Phoenix. It gets Mom out of the cold, and she loves being there.”

“How are they? Your mom and Kaye? Kaye was only, what, sixteen when—” She stopped herself. “She must be, what, twenty-six or so, yes?”

“Happily married, with a two-year-old and another on the way. Mom babysits while Kaye’s at school. She teaches third grade. How about your mom?”

She seemed to relax a little, even smiled. “Still wacky after all these years. Sophie’s on her third marriage, but my stepfather is remarkably patient, adamant she stay on her meds, and madly in love with her. Plus he has money, which means she’ll try harder. I think this one might stick.”

“Does that let you off the hook a little?” He realized how personal the question was, how much it said about how well they had known each other, but it was too late to call it back.

“I’m allowed to have my own life, yes.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Does that include a family?”

“I’m not married, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He had always liked the way Jo laid her cards on the table. Of course in contrast, there was another part of her that carefully played the rest of her hand close to the chest. Anything really important stayed deep inside her, but that habit had suited him, since he operated the same way. For survival she had been required to keep a part of herself from her mother. Brody’s traditional upbringing and parents had been very different, but as a boy he had realized that they had many burdens and didn’t need his, as well.

“So why did you come back?” he asked. “At Christmas, too. There must be a hundred better places to spend the holidays.”

She launched into a story about her cousin Olivia’s bridal quilt, her own desire to get away for a while and work on her part of it in peace, and a desire to see if she might find some baby quilts or clothing of Eric’s in the Grants’ attic.

She finished up on that note. “If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it right. I thought the quilt would be that much more special if we had some of Eric’s childhood quilted into it, too. Lydia says there are boxes in their attic I can go through. Once I’m settled I’m supposed to call her about a key. Then I’ll go through them until I find what I’m looking for.”