The McRae Series 01 - Twelve Days Sam and Rachel

his behalf.
    "He'd be an adult now," she said.
    "Who would still be seeing his whole world fall apart if I told him the truth."
    "Oh, Sam. I love you," she said, looking as fiercely protective of him as anyone had ever been. "And I want you. I want you here with me."
    Sam actually smiled then. He took her chin in his hand and filled his lungs with the sweet scent of her, rubbed his cheek against the side of her face.
    "I've missed you, Rachel. I don't want you to be hurt anymore."
    And he was afraid he was going to hurt her. Maybe if he didn't find the kids' mother. Maybe if no one ever found her.... What a terrible thought. Sam was ashamed of himself for how badly he wanted that to happen, so the kids could stay here with him and his wife and maybe they would all be okay.
    But until he knew, there was nothing to say at the moment.
    "It's late," he said, pulling away from her. "You should go to bed."
    She wavered back and forth on her feet for a moment, as if she'd taken a blow. And he felt like a heel once again. He thought she might argue with him once again. Or even worse, that he might touch her and simply not be able to let her go this time. But she didn't. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and without letting him see the look on her face again, she turned and headed for the stairs.
    He stayed down there, trying to close his mind to everything and everyone. Trying to block out everything but what he had to do.
    Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. He'd go to Shepherdsville, and he'd try to find out something about the kids' mother. And then...
    He had no idea what was going to happen then.

Chapter 14

    On the eleventh day of Christmas, Rachel could have wept when she woke up and found Sam gone with nothing but a hastily scribbled note saying he'd driven to the next county. After all he'd told her last night, he'd turned around and left before she could say another word this morning.
    Two steps forward, one step back. Or maybe she'd gotten the ratios wrong. One step forward, two steps back. They couldn't make it that way.
    Rachel was standing there in the kitchen still holding his note when Emma came downstairs, Emma who looked as sad as Rachel felt. They stood there staring solemnly at each other, and finally Rachel held out her arms and said, "Come here."
    Emma dipped her head and stumbled forward, her arms outstretched, and soon they were standing there holding each other in the cool of the early morning in the kitchen.
    "What's wrong?" Rachel asked.
    "Nothing," Emma said, apparently having learned a thing or two from Rachel. "Where's Sam?"
    "Gone," Rachel said. "Work."
    "Work?" Emma frowned.
    "I assumed it was work. What did you think he was going to do today?"
    The girl looked surprised and then she looked guilty. What in the world? "Emma, do you know something about where Sam is?"
    "Yes. But I can't tell. It's a secret. I promised him."
    Rachel frowned. She would love to believe it was something other than work that had sent Sam out of the house so early this morning.
    She was running out of time. It was Christmas Eve. What had he said that day on the phone about leaving? Tuesday after Christmas? Just her luck, Christmas came on a Monday this year. Two days, and he was supposed to go.
    Merry Christmas, Rachel, and by the way, I'm leaving you.
    "Are you okay?" Emma asked.
    Rachel didn't know what to say, and then she remembered Father Tim and what he'd said. This was the hard part. The faith part.
    So it was going to be harder than she thought. She couldn't shy away from it for that reason.
    "Okay," she said, pulling herself together and looking at the worry on Emma's face. "It's Christmas Eve. We have things to do."
    "What things?" Emma asked skeptically.
    "Things." There must be something. And then she remembered, "Presents? Do we have enough presents? Besides the ones Santa's going to bring, I mean?"
    "I know Santa doesn't bring presents," Emma said. "But Zach doesn't. Neither does Grace. So I pretend."
    "Oh." Of course. Emma was almost twelve. She'd know.
    "You didn't get enough to do Santa?" she whispered, seeming truly worried now.
    "No. It's not that. I was just thinking about Sam."
    "You didn't get Sam anything?" Emma asked.
    "I did."
    She'd gotten him some very practical things. He was a practical man, after all, but some occasions called for more than the practical. Surely this Christmas was one of those times. Months ago, when Will had still been here, he'd been interested in her stained glass. They'd