The Christmas Sisters

“To protect you.” This time he wasn’t smiling. “I hate seeing you like this. I want my Hannah back.”

My Hannah.

Her family, she knew, wouldn’t recognize the Hannah that Adam knew. She barely recognized that woman, either.

“I don’t need you to come with me, but it’s kind of you to offer.” She could just imagine Suzanne’s reaction if she showed up with Adam. She would have booked the church and bought a hat before Hannah had even unpacked.

Above their heads the seat belt light went out and Adam made himself more comfortable. “If Christmas is stressful, why go?”

“I don’t want to disappoint Suzanne.” And that feeling that she was falling short, not delivering, brought back uncomfortable memories.

“Suzanne? You don’t call her mom?”

“She isn’t my mother. My mother is dead.”

She saw the shock in his eyes and wondered what had possessed her to blurt out that fact in these stark, impersonal surroundings. She never talked about her real parents, but there was something about Adam that unraveled the part of her she usually kept tightly wound.

“I didn’t know.” He spoke quietly. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

“It was a long time ago. I was eight.”

“Dammit, Hannah. That’s a difficult age to lose a parent. Why haven’t you told me this before?” He held out his hand, palm upward, and she hesitated for a moment and then slid her hand into his. His fingers closed over hers, strong and protective, and she could feel the ropes of intimacy tightening around her.

I love you, Hannah.

“It’s not the kind of thing that comes up in general conversation. We lost both our parents. They died in the same accident.”

“Car?”

“Avalanche. They were climbers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you weren’t always a city girl?”

She had a feeling she’d always been a city girl.

“So who is Suzanne?” His tone was neutral, as if he’d recognized her need not to be smothered with sympathy.

“Suzanne and Stewart adopted us. Suzanne is American. Stewart is Scottish. After the...accident...we moved back to Scotland to be close to Stewart’s family.” Her heart was thumping. “Can we work now?”

He hesitated. “Sure.” He retrieved his laptop and opened it. “Unless you want to finish that game of chess we were playing?”

“I captured your knight.”

“I remember.” His smile was almost boyish. “I can still take your king. Give me a chance to try. You won the last two games we played and my confidence has taken a severe blow.”

His confidence had always seemed to her to be indestructible.

“I think we should finish the proposal.”

“You’re afraid you’re going to lose.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. “I looked at your presentation. It’s brilliant. We’re going to win this business.”

Relaxing slightly, she leaned across to scan the spreadsheet on his screen. “You need to change that.” She tapped one of the numbers. “Didn’t you get my email?”

“The one you sent at 3:00 a.m? Yes, I picked it up this morning on our way to the airport, but we’re not all as lightning fast as you.” He altered the number. “You have a hell of a brain, McBride, but why weren’t you sleeping?”

“I like work.” More specifically, she loved numbers. Loved data and computer code. Numbers were reliable and behaved the way she wanted them to. Numbers didn’t wrap themselves round your heart and squeeze until the blood stopped flowing. “I wanted to finish this project.”