Sleigh Bells in the Snow (O'Neil Brothers 1)

“No. I fell.”

“You let her fall?” Elizabeth O’Neil turned reproachful eyes on her eldest son. “You didn’t hold her arm? Shame on you, Jackson.”

“It was my fault,” Kayla said stiffly. “I’m not used to walking on ice, but it won’t happen again.”

Elizabeth nodded approval. “Because next time you’ll hold his arm.”

“No.” Kayla had already promised herself she was going to keep physical contact to a minimum. “Next time I’ll be wearing better boots. I’m going to sort that out first thing tomorrow.”

Jackson’s grandmother made a sympathetic noise. “I’m not surprised you fell. It’s so icy. I’m afraid to go out in winter since I had my hip done and as for the cold—” Alice O’Neil peered at Kayla from across the table. “Are you wearing thermal underwear under that sweater? The wool looks thin. And your skirt is quite short. We don’t want you catching cold while you’re here. Jackson, you should take Kayla to buy underwear.”

Kayla felt heat rush into her cheeks. “I—” How was she supposed to respond to that? She was used to small talk that involved observations on the weather or the traffic in Manhattan. Occasionally people touched on the economy. No one ever mentioned underwear. “I’m warm, but thank you for your concern.” She shot Jackson a desperate look, feeling like a deer circled by a pack of hungry wolves. “Shall I begin my presentation?”

“Why do young girls wear so much black?” Walter O’Neil added his contribution from the far end of the table. “When I was young, black was for funerals.”

“I love color. You’d look pretty in green, Kayla.” Alice held out a ball of yarn to Kayla, who stared at it as if she were being offered a grenade.

Jackson’s brother gave a slow, wicked smile. “We’re very pleased to meet you Kayla. And I love the skirt. Don’t change anything about it, especially not the length—unless you want to make it shorter.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a nice skirt,” Alice said stoutly. “I said it was short and with the weather like this—”

“She’s warm, Grams. Don’t worry.” Jackson put his hand on Kayla’s back and urged her into the room. “And she looks smart in black. If people would listen for a moment, you’d discover she’s smart in other ways, too.” He pulled out a chair and offered it to Kayla, who sat gratefully.

They’d done the small talk now, so hopefully they could move on to business.

“I’m really excited to be working with you.” She thought she heard a snort from Walter O’Neil, but when she looked at him he was handing a fresh ball of yarn to Alice. “I’ve prepared a presentation that will give you a better picture of some of the ways in which we can help build your business.” She pulled her computer out of her bag. Just touching the smooth surface helped her relax. It was like suddenly discovering there was a trusted friend in the room. “I’ll start by going through a few of the campaigns we’ve run for other people.”

Glancing up she noticed the photographs lining the walls of the kitchen.

There was Walter O’Neil looking handsome with an ax clasped in his hands in a photo taken at least forty years earlier. One of the family dogs. Another of the three O’Neil boys dusted in snow after a snowball fight. There was Tyler standing on the podium collecting a gold medal, and a man she didn’t recognize—presumably the other brother—at his graduation. It was a visual record of the passage of time. The story of the O’Neil family.

Jackson followed her gaze. “My mother loves photographs. She also loves embarrassing us by displaying them for people to see.” There was amusement in his tone and something else. Love. This man loved his family. That was why he was here and not thousands of miles away in Europe, running his own business.

Realizing she was supposed to smile, Kayla smiled obligingly.

“The kitchen is where I spend my time.” Elizabeth turned on the heat under a pan. “Why wouldn’t I hang them in here? It makes me happy seeing Michael on that sledge. And I love that one of you boys taken right after that snowball fight. Look at their faces, Kayla—you can see what a handful they were. They loved the snow. Show them a slope of any sort and those boys of mine would ski down it. Didn’t matter what was at the bottom. They couldn’t play together without fighting but nor could they bear to be apart. Turned me gray prematurely.” But her face was all smiles, and she was clearly a woman whose life was fed and nurtured by family.

Feeling like an alien from another planet, Kayla hunted for something to say that wasn’t “get me out of here.” “They’re lovely photographs.” There was a thickness in her throat that hadn’t been there a few moments before.

It was this damn place, she thought. This lovely, cozy kitchen all prepared for Christmas. There were bowls of pinecones and vases filled with long branches of forest greenery. Candles flickered on shelves next to handmade decorations and Christmas cards with scrawled messages of love.

She thought about her apartment in Manhattan. Sleek, stark and without a single homey touch. No messages of love.

“Kayla?” Jackson’s prompt cut through her thoughts. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” But it was a lie. She wasn’t all right.

Blocking out her surroundings, she tried to put her laptop on the table and discovered there was no room.

“Move your knitting, Alice.” Elizabeth O’Neil swept a small pile of yarn out of the way. “Have you seen Kayla’s computer? It’s so small. I

sn’t technology fantastic?”

Kayla stared transfixed at the neat rows of gingerbread Santas waiting patiently in line to be iced.

A memory, long buried, awoke in her brain.

Despite the warmth of the kitchen, the chill spread through her. She felt horribly cold.