A Husband for Christmas: Snow Kisses / Lionhearted. Diana Palmer

She frowned, reaching out to touch her sister’s thin hand. “Abby, make it a month. At least a month. Don’t go back until you feel ready. Promise me!”

      Abby’s eyes closed under a tormented frown. She caught her breath. “I wonder if I’ll ever be ready,” she whispered roughly.

      The smaller hand that was clasping hers tightened. “That’s defeatist talk. And not like you at all. You’re a Shane. We wrote the book on persevering!”

      “Well, I’m writing the last chapter,” Abby ground out. She stood up, moving to the window.

      “It’s been two weeks since it happened,” Melly reminded her.

      “Yes,” Abby said, sighing wearily. “And I’m not quite as raw as I was, but it’s hard trying to cope....” She glanced at her sister. “I’m just glad I had the excuse of helping you plan the wedding to come for a visit. What did Cade say when you asked if it was all right?”

      Melly looked thoughtful. “He brightened like a copper penny,” she said with a faint smile. “Especially when I mentioned that you might be here for a couple of weeks or more. It struck me at the time, because he’s been just the very devil to get along with lately.”

      Abby pursed her lips thoughtfully. “He probably has the idea that I’ve lost my job and came back in disgrace. Is that it?”

      “Shame on you,” her sister replied. “He’d never gloat over something like that.”

      “That’s what you think. He’s always hated the idea of my modeling.”

      Melly’s thin brows rose. “Well, no matter what his opinion of your career, he was glad to hear you’d be around for a while. In fact, he was in such a good mood, all the men got nervous. I told you that Hob had just quit. Too bad he didn’t wait an extra day. Cade’s bucking for sainthood since I announced your arrival.”

      If only it were true, Abby thought wistfully. But she knew better, even if Melly didn’t. She was almost certain that Cade avoided her on purpose. Maybe it was just her sister’s way of smoothing things over, to prevent a wild argument between Cade and Abby. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d played peacemaker.

      She glanced sharply into her sister’s green eyes. “Melly, you didn’t tell Cade the truth?” she asked anxiously.

      Melly looked uncomfortable. “Not exactly,” she confided. “I just said there was a man...that you’d had a bad experience.”

      Abby sighed. “Well, that’s true enough. At least I’ll be down at the homestead with you. He shouldn’t even get suspicious about why I’m here. God knows, it’s always been an uphill fight to keep peace when Cade and I are in the same room together, hasn’t it?”

      Melly shifted suddenly and Abby stared at her curiously.

      “I’m afraid you won’t be staying at the homestead,” Melly said apologetically. “You see, my house is being painted. Cade’s having the old place renovated as a wedding present.”

      Abby felt a wave of pure tension stretch her slender body. “We’ll be staying...here?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then why didn’t you tell me when I asked to come?” Abby burst out.

      “Because I knew you wouldn’t come,” Melly replied.

      “Will Cade be away?” she asked.

      “Are you kidding? In the spring, with roundup barely a month away?”

      “Then I’ll go somewhere else!” Abby burst out.

      “No.” Melly held her fast. “Abby, the longer you run away the harder it’s going to be for you. Here, on the ranch, you can adjust again. You’re going to have to adjust—or bury yourself. You do realize that? You can’t possibly go on like this. Look at you!” she exclaimed, indicating the shapeless dress. “You don’t even look like a model, Abby, you look like a housekeeper!”

      “And that’s a fine thing to say about me,” came a deep but feminine voice from the doorway.

      Both girls turned at once. Calla Livingston had her hands on her ample hips, and she was wearing a scowl sour enough to curdle milk. She was somewhere near sixty, but she could still outrun most of the cowboys, and few of them crossed her. She took her irritation out on the food, which was a shame because she was the best cook in the territory.

      “And what do I look like, pray tell—the barn?” Calla continued, ruffled.

      Melly bit her lip to keep from smiling. Dressed in a homemade shift of pink and green, her straggly gray hair pulled into a half bun, her garter-supported hose hanging precariously just above her knees, Calla was nobody’s idea of haute couture. But only an idiot would have told her that, and Melly had good sense.

      “You look just fine, Calla,” Melly soothed. “I meant—” she searched for the right words “—that this isn’t Abby’s usual look.”

      Calla burst out laughing, her merry eyes going from one girl to the other. “Never could tell when I was serious and when I wasn’t, could you, darlin’?” she asked Melly. “I was only teasing. Come here, Abby, and give us a hug. It’s been months since I’ve seen you, remember!”

      Abby ran into her widespread arms and breathed in the scent of flour and vanilla that always clung to Calla.

      “Stay home this time, you hear?” Calla chided, brushing away a tear as she let go of the young woman. “Tearing off and coming back with city ways—this is the best you’ve looked to me since you were eighteen and hell-bent on modeling!”

      “But, Calla...” Melly interrupted.

      “Never you mind.” Calla threw her a sharp glance. “Call her dowdy again, and it’ll be no berry cobbler for you tonight!”

      Melly opened her mouth and quickly closed it again with a wicked grin. “I think she looks...mature,” Melly agreed. “Very...unique. Unusual. Rustically charming.”

      Calla threw up her hands. “What I put up with, Lord knows! As if that hard-eyed cowboy I work for isn’t enough on my plate.... Well, if I don’t rush, there’ll be no peace when he comes in and doesn’t find his meal waiting. Even if he doesn’t come in until ten o’clock.” She went away muttering irritably to herself.

      Melly sat down heavily on the couch with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, saved! If I’d realized that she was out there, I’d have sung the praises of your new wardrobe.”

      “Still hooked on her berry cobbler, I notice?” Abby smiled, and for just an instant, a little of her old, vibrantly happy personality peeked out.

      “Please tell him,” Melly pleaded.

      “And give him a stick to beat me with?” Abby asked with a dry laugh. “He’s been down on me ever since I coaxed Dad into letting me go to New York. Every time I see him, all I hear is how stupid I was. Now he’s got the best reason in the world to say it all again, and add an ‘I told you so.’ But he’s not getting the chance, Melly. Not from me!”

      “You’re wrong about Cade,” Melly argued. “You always have been. He doesn’t hate you, Abby. He never did.”

      “Would you mind telling him that?” came the cool reply. “I don’t think he knows.”

      “Then why was he so anxious for you to come home?” Melly demanded. She folded her arms across her knees and leaned forward. “He even had Hank bring up your own furniture from the homestead, just so you’d feel more at home. Does that sound like a man who’s hating you?”

      “Then why does he avoid me like the plague?” Abby asked curtly. She searched momentarily for a way to change the subject. “I sure would like to freshen up before we eat,” she hinted.

      “Then come on up. You’ve got the room next to mine, so we