Cynthia Thomason - High Country Christmas

“Would you like some coffee?” Ava suggested, hoping he would say yes. She needed something to occupy her hands while she thought about how his sudden appearance might affect her life.

He didn’t answer right away. His mind seemed a thousand miles away. After a moment he simply said, “No, thank you.”

“I’ll have one,” she said.

“Suit yourself.”

Ava measured ground coffee into the machine. She really didn’t want coffee. Her nerves were already on edge, her senses heightened, her mind struggling to maintain a rational demeanor in light of this man’s unexpected arrival at her door. What were the odds?

She should be wondering about what she was going to do in her capacity as administrator. The ultimate goal of the Sawtooth Children’s Home was the reunification of kids with their families if at all possible. But allowing Sawyer to go with this man? A man who had lied to her when she lived in Charlotte? There was no way she could see herself letting Walsh remove his daughter from her care. She had resources. She could prevent a father from taking his own child if she sensed something about the relationship wasn’t right.

When the coffee began brewing, she heard the scrape of a chair on the kitchen floor. She turned to see Walsh sitting, his elbows on her table. “Can I change my mind?” he asked, finally settling his gaze on her face.

Those eyes as brown as an acorn. I could never forget...

“I’d like to have that coffee now,” he said.

“Of course.” She brought him a cup and set cream and sugar on the table. He used a bit of sugar and took a long sip. Ava studied his full mouth, the movement of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. She clearly remembered when she’d seen him drink something before. In a dark place, in a city miles away. She sucked in an audible gasp and covered her mouth with her hand. There was little doubt left in her mind now.

“How did she get here?” Walsh said after drinking most of his coffee. “Did she tell you?”

Ava sat next to him out of his direct line of sight. She hoped he would keep staring into his coffee. Convinced now that she knew who he was, she didn’t want him to recognize her. Thank goodness she’d changed a lot since then. “I don’t know about the first two days, but apparently a truck driver brought her from Boone and dropped her off here last night. That’s something to be thankful for. It was past midnight when I discovered her foraging in the refrigerator.”

He nodded, took another sip of coffee. “Yeah, I’m glad that happened.” Just seeing his profile, Ava determined that his face looked drawn, tense. “Do I owe you anything for her care—food, the clothes, whatever?” he asked.

“No. Of course not. This is what I... we do here—take care of children in need.”

He gave her a quick, piercing stare that made her stomach jump, and then looked back at the liquid in his mug. “That’s what you think, that Sawyer is needy?”

“There are many different types of need, Mr. Walsh. No two children are the same, nor do they come from the same circumstances. Besides, your daughter was very hungry when she got here.”

“I get that. But believe me, Sawyer is not needy in the usual sense. If she’d put a quarter of her clothes in a suitcase, she wouldn’t have been able to drag it across the state.”

Ava had to think of Sawyer, not the past, so she asked the difficult question. “Why is your daughter afraid of you, Mr. Walsh?”

“Afraid of me?” His lips curled up into a cynical grin. “She’s not afraid of me. She hates me.”

Ava had spoken with kids who claimed to have difficult relationships with their parents, but few had used the word hate . It just wasn’t in a child’s nature to hate the person they depended upon.

Walsh leaned forward and looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Does that surprise you, Mrs...?”

“It’s Miss...” She almost said her first name and quickly avoided it. “Miss Cahill, and yes, I’m surprised. Your daughter is obviously independent and clever, and she was visibly upset when she saw you, but I haven’t witnessed an emotion anywhere near hate.”

His head jerked up. His stare intensified. “What did you say your name is?”

“Cahill.”

“No. Your first name.”

“I didn’t.” She paused a moment and then said, “It’s Ava.”

“Ava, huh?” He rubbed his eyes, stared at her a moment longer. “The lack of sleep is getting to me,” he said.

“Yes, I can appreciate that this has been a difficult time.”

“I doubt you can know just how difficult. As far as Sawyer hating me, just wait. I haven’t strapped her to the back of my motorcycle yet.” He glanced into Ava’s short hallway toward the bathroom. “Something I’d better do before it gets much later. Even with the windshield attached and both dash heaters going, it could get chilly out there.”

“You’ll pardon me for saying so, Mr. Walsh...”

“You might as well call me Noah,” he said. “I don’t see us becoming pals, but this awkward moment between us entitles us to use first names.”

Noah—the name of the man she’d met six years ago. The man who, in one night had changed her life. The man she’d tried so hard to forget because at the time she’d had no other choice.

She struggled to keep her voice steady, to keep her hands wrapped tightly on her mug. To show any signs of the fierce emotions battling inside her would not help any of them.

“All right, Noah,” she said, her mind grasping for any topic to lead her mind away from the turmoil it was experiencing. “I can’t imagine why you came to get your daughter on a bike. Wouldn’t a car have been more comfortable for a drive back to Chapel Hill?”

He shifted on his chair, crossed his leg on the opposite knee. “Comfortable? Yeah, but I got here in just over two hours, and a car would have taken much longer. Plus I can keep a grip on Sawyer the whole way.” He stared hard at Ava a moment as if there was something he wanted to say. After a pause, he breathed deeply. “I know what you’re thinking. Has this happened before? Well, yeah it has. Gotta say though—” he looked around the comfortable kitchen in Ava’s apartment “—this is one of the better places Sawyer has picked.”

“Ava! You in here?”

The sound of her brother’s voice put an end to further conversation. Ava stood. “I’m in the kitchen, Carter. Come in.”

Carter Cahill, wearing jeans and a casual shirt and jacket, strode into the kitchen. Sunday was his day off, so he’d obviously elected not to put on his official uniform. He stopped a few feet into the room and stared menacingly at Walsh. “Everything okay here?” he asked. “There’s a strange motorcycle outside. You all right, Ava?”

Noah scowled. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Knowing she had to calm the situation and keep it from escalating into a match of words between the two men, Ava put the past—and her roiling stomach—aside. “This is the girl’s father, Carter,” she said, standing up. “Noah Walsh. He’s come to take her home.” Turning to Noah, she said, “This is my brother Carter. He’s chief of police in Holly River.”

Both men nodded, but made no move to shake hands.

“Where’s the girl?” Carter asked.

“I’m here,” Sawyer said, coming into the kitchen. She looked rested and well, her hair combed into a ponytail. She wore the clothes Ava had brought her, jeans and a sweatshirt. With her hoodie covering her, she should be warm enough on the ride back to Chapel Hill. The temperature was going into the upper fifties today.

She stared at her father. “Well, aren’t you going to put me in handcuffs and cart me out of here? I’d like to get home in time to plan my next escape.” Noah started to rise. His jaw muscles tensed.