Delores Fossen - Santa Assignment

She obviously didn’t take his word for it. Ashley grabbed him by the wrist and checked it herself. Her touch was warm. Surprisingly gentle. Too gentle. And the examination put them too close. Practically body to body. It didn’t help when her arm brushed his.

Brayden tugged his hand away and stepped back. “It’s nothing,” he insisted, wondering why that insistence felt as if it had a double meaning.

And why it felt like a lie.

“Should I call the fire department and tell them not to come?” Ashley asked, doing her own share of stepping back from him.

“No. They’re probably already on the way, and they can make sure all the flames are fully out.” For good measure, Brayden took the fire extinguisher and gave the whole area a good soaking.

Ashley went to the window, unhooked the lock and threw it open. The icy air blasted through the room, which was exactly what they needed because it helped thin the smoke almost immediately. It also shook off any lingering effects from her too-gentle touch.

“I don’t understand how this happened,” she said in between gulps of breath. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Probably from the cold, but Brayden figured part of it was a reaction to the near disaster.

Adrenaline was certainly pumping through him. As if he needed more. He’d been functioning on adrenaline and caffeine for days now.

He kept the fire extinguisher ready in case a secondary blaze reignited, and he examined the dresser. Even though he’d knocked off the items that had been on it, he could see the residue that had pooled on the veneer finish. It looked like melted wax.

“Did you leave a candle burning?” he asked.

“No.” Muffling a cough and still rubbing her arms, Ashley walked closer. “I mean, I use candles a lot, but I didn’t light one today.”

He stooped down and used the nozzle of the extinguisher to sort through the still-warm rubble. “You’re positive? Because it looks as if one burned down and managed to catch those dried flowers on fire.”

When Ashley didn’t answer, Brayden looked up at her. It seemed as if she was about to say something. But then she changed her mind. Instead, she shook her head and angled her eyes in another direction. “It’s possible. I guess.”

He stood up and checked Ashley’s recently reangled blue eyes. Nothing like Dana’s pale hazel ones. In fact, for sisters, they had few physical attributes in common.

Which helped this visit considerably.

It would have been much harder if she’d reminded him of his late wife.

“What’s this about?” Brayden demanded. In the distance, he could hear sirens. A welcome sound, except for the fact that he didn’t want their arrival to give Ashley an excuse not to answer.

“What do you mean?” Ashley grabbed a fringed throw from the foot of the bed, slung it around her shoulders and went back to the window. She stared out, once again diverting her gaze.

Oh, man.

That couldn’t be a good sign.

“It’s possible. I guess?” he said, repeating her own vague explanation. “Maybe I’ve been a cop too long, but that just set off the BS meter in my head.”

“You’re right.” And that’s all Ashley said for several seconds. Before she bent down and picked up a damaged picture frame from the floor. She fastened her gaze to it. “You’ve been a cop too long. Eleven years, huh?”

“Twelve. But if you think asking me that totally irrelevant question will distract me, think again.” He went closer, caught her arm and turned her around to face him. “In fact, that’s twice today you’ve set off that BS meter, and the first time was when you asked me the question—so you found out, huh? What’d you mean by that, Ashley?”

“You don’t have a BS meter.” She slung off his grip with far more force than required. “You have a blasted tape recorder. And if you must know, I meant nothing by it. I was simply surprised that’d you found me, that’s all.”

That BS meter went nuts.

Brayden would have called her on that lie if she hadn’t turned the picture frame around. Even though the glass was shattered and smeared with soot, he could still see that it contained a photograph of his son. Not a recent shot but one taken when Colton was just a couple of months old. When his son was still healthy.

Ashley had him cradled in her arms.

“I want to see him,” she whispered, drawing the photograph to her chest. “I want to go to San Antonio.”

Outside, the sirens howled, coming closer. But it wasn’t the sirens that captured Brayden’s attention. It was the woman holding the image of his son, and his future, in her hands. If this was her own version of a distraction so she wouldn’t have to answer his questions, it was working.

Brayden felt a tight fist close around his heart.

It wasn’t the yes he’d prayed for. But then, it wasn’t a no either.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t go back, ever,” Ashley continued. “Not because I don’t love Colton. I do. But going back…well, it could create some problems. I’m talking huge problems.”

“I know. But I’m not asking you to leave behind what you have here. We could work that out. And the baby wouldn’t be your responsibility. It’d—”

“It’s not just that.” She motioned toward her hair. “This isn’t for cosmetic reasons, Brayden. I did this hoping he wouldn’t find me.”

“I know.”

If she stepped away from this place she’d created, she could be stepping into danger. He’d already made security arrangements. He had already worked out ways to keep her safe. Plus, he’d taken into account how to minimize the effects this might have on her life.

But there was no way to minimize everything.

No way to make this even close to perfect.

To save his son, he’d have to ask Ashley to put herself in danger.

“I made the right decision to come here,” Ashley mumbled under her breath.

Again.

And maybe if she repeated it often enough, she’d soon start to believe it.

Well, one could hope anyway.

“Did you say something?” the nurse asked.

Ashley shook her head, took off her coat and draped it over her forearm.

The nurse handed her a surgical mask. “Use this if you plan to make any physical contact with the patient.”

The cheery yellow mask was littered with happy faces. Definitely not a reflection of Ashley’s mood. She felt like one big raw nerve walking around on two-inch heels.

The five-hour trip from Springfield, Virginia, hadn’t done much to soothe her. In fact, it’d done the exact opposite. Since Brayden had seemingly turned mute on the flight and subsequent drive from the airport to the hospital, that’d left her with way too much thinking time on her hands. Yet, she still didn’t seem any closer to making a decision.

A baby, even a hypothetical one, was definitely a lot to think about.

She’d never even changed a diaper—a truly ridiculous thought. And that was the least ridiculous and stressful thought of all the what-if-I-really-do-this? thoughts zipping through her head.

For starters, a baby would require a pregnancy. Specifically her getting pregnant.

By Brayden, no less.

Even if they did the procedure through insemination, which was a certainty, it still had an intimacy to it. Then, there was the waiting and the praying that the baby’s bone marrow matched Colton’s. From the info Brayden had given her to read on the plane, they’d have to wait until the ninth week of pregnancy for the amnio to determine if the hypothetical baby was a donor match.

As if that weren’t enough, then there was the whole after the amnio part. The remaining seven months of pregnancy. The delivery.