Wyoming Christmas Quadruplets by Jill Kemerer

Author:Jill Kemerer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-07-05T18:03:55+00:00

Chapter Nine

Ainsley’s arm brushed Marshall’s as she reached for the hymnal the next morning. A skittering sensation rippled over her skin. She scooted an inch away. There was no sense in being closer to the man than necessary. And if an innocent touch was affecting her this much, she’d be smart to move even farther away. She didn’t, though. Flipping through the book, she passed the hymn and carefully backtracked, peeking over at Marshall. He wore a button-down shirt with jeans and cowboy boots. If she had to pick the ideal guy to attend church with, Marshall fit the criteria. He was different from the men she’d known. Different from her father.

Marshall was reliable. Trustworthy.

The piano plucked out a spirited tune, and she focused on the words of the first verse. But her mind wandered to the past. To the days when she’d believed her dad was invincible. He’d been her hero. He’d let her down plenty as a child, but he’d also found ways to come through for her, no matter how small. She’d loved him so much.

As the congregation began to sing, her chest grew tight. She didn’t attempt to sing along. The past was determined to consume her mind today.

When had her father gotten worse with his drinking? By the time she’d turned eight, for sure. Maybe she’d noticed it more, or his circumstances could have been harder. Regardless, things had changed. His weekend binges turned into nightly disappearances. Her mother lost every morsel of joy—her mouth had thinned to a permanent tight line.

Ainsley had known her dad had a problem with alcohol. When he was home and drinking, he turned into a different person. An angry person who frightened her or a sobbing mess she pitied. The guys her father worked with all thought he was great—a stand-up guy who drank too much at times.

After her mother left, Ainsley had been his keeper. She’d lived with constant anxiety, little sleep and the daily fear he would drive home drunk and either kill someone or die himself. She never had friends over. She really hadn’t had friends at all. She’d constantly been hiding his problem.

She’d always thought if she could get rid of all the alcohol—if she could get him to stop drinking—everything would be all right. She’d get him clean. Save him from himself.

What a laugh that had been.

She’d helped him get sober more than once. He’d always gone back to drinking.

The day she’d finally left had been excruciating. For most of her life she’d been convinced he would die if she wasn’t around. The minute she’d driven away, the dam of emotion she’d repressed most of her childhood had gushed out, and it had taken months to get to a point where she didn’t worry about him every minute.

She still worried about him at times.

For the past couple of years, she’d slept peacefully, no longer worried about how to pay the bills, protect herself from his angry words or question if she’d done a good enough job hiding the few things she valued.

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