Page 39 of This Broken Heart
I’m not surprised to see Erin in there. Aside from that first morning, she’s always the first one up. She’s always one step ahead of me, looking wide awake despite the early hour. She has all that hair up in a high ponytail. Her turtleneck sweater ought to be modest, but it only serves to emphasize her chest.
“Morning.” She pours me a mug of coffee without needing to ask.
I take it, trying not to stare at those perfect lips.
I’m definitely not remembering the way they felt against mine.
My gaze is anchored to her mouth. She bites her lower lip, sending a zing of hunger through me.
Okay, fuck it. I can’t do this. We need to face this head on. I raise my eyes to hers, trying to form the words on my tongue.
“Is it Christmas yet?” Trace comes pelting into the kitchen. He wears footie jammies and his hair is mussed—defying gravity.
Erin smiles, hands gliding over his shoulders when he dives in for a hug. “Not yet, Trace. But maybe we can decorate.”
He cranes his head, looking up at her. “Can we cut down a tree just like your family does?”
She meets my gaze. “I told him how we used to go to the tree farm.”
Trace backs up. “Can we go with you?”
“To the tree farm? My family probably won’t go this year. That was always my dad’s job.”
She’s smiling, but there’s a hint of sadness in those eyes.
Trace turns to look at me. “Then Erin can go with us. Right, dad?”
“We don’t need to go to a tree farm. There’s a whole pasture full of cedar trees right out back.”
Trace’s eyes light up. “So we can get a real tree this year? Not a fake one?”
We always had an artificial tree because Ana thought real ones were a fire hazard. But if cutting down one of those cedars would make Erin feel better, I’ll gladly do it. It’s the least I can do.
Trace practically vibrates with energy, but Erin forces all three of us to sit down and eat a full breakfast before we can go outside.
Maven doesn’t know what’s going on, but she picks up on Trace’s excitement and by the time we get them bundled up, they’re both spinning in circles.
Erin stands beside me, Maven’s mittened hand in hers, while I unhitch the fence gate. Trace climbs over it and is tumbling over the snow-covered slope before I can even swing the gate open.
“No cows in here?” Erin asks when I leave the fence open.
“Not yet. But soon. Once the heifers start calving, I’ll bring them over here so they’re closer to the house.” I nod at the barn between the house and the pasture. “That’s the calving barn.”
“Aha.”
Maven demands to be picked up, so Erin settles Maven on her hips, ignoring the muddy snow tracks Maven leaves on her jacket. Both kids are decked out for the snow in snow pants and coats. But Erin’s trudging through eight inches of snow in skinny jeans and canvas sneakers.
We’re going to have to get her some coveralls and work boots if she’s going to be sticking around. Don’t want her getting frostbite.
“I found one!” Trace’s voice echoes back up the pasture.
He’s little more than a speck at the bottom of the ravine. I grin, shaking my head. “He’s a fast little devil.”
25.
Erin
Josh leads the way, boots carving a path through the snow. I try to step in his boot prints. I already have a boatload of snow in my shoes, but the air is so crisp and fresh and I can’t help but to feel happy.