Amelia
She woke to sunshine and unusual warmth. Usually her sheets in the morning were cold and empty, so it was strange to rise to consciousness with the feel of her husband's leg pressed to hers and his heavy arm resting across her belly.
Yawning, she blinked open her eyes, the events of the previous night rushing back to her. The fire, the long, cold ride home. The warmth of her bed, snug beneath the covers with all that was dear to her close by. With a groggy smile, she turned her head on the pillow.
Rebecca was gone, and she heard the distant sound of her daughter's voice, mingling with Melissa's in the kitchen. Content that her daughter was cared for, she stretched, pointing her toes toward the headboard. In as long as she could remember, she'd never woken with Josh still asleep beside her. Even on their lazy Thursdays, his inner clock roused him well before dawn and he was generally awake and refreshed and chipper by the time she dragged herself to the land of the living.
She ought to keep him up late more often, because she liked the way it felt to drift into wakefulness with him beside her. He was sprawled on his stomach, one hand shoved beneath his pillow and the other tossed over her body, pinning her to the mattress. His breath mirrored the dry soreness of her own throat-- raspy and rough, and there were still smudges of soot beneath his jaw and caked near his hairline.
She rolled up onto her elbow, holding his arm in place as she shifted so as not to lose the contact. He grimaced at the disturbance, but subsided back into slumber when she stroked his hair and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. How had she ever gotten so lucky? All her life she had been searching so desperately, scrambling for somewhere to belong. And here she'd gone and just happened into home.
She never got to watch him sleep, and she lay there for a while with her head propped on her elbow, her fingers ghosting over his face. Her heart was torn in two directions, relief and dread. They had survived the night, yes, but what was in store when they went back out into the world? She had punched his father in the face. The preacher was clearly after them. The whole world seemed liable to burn right to the ground. And yet...
Josh shifted uneasily in his sleep, as if sensing her fears. His brow wrinkled and his arm tightened around her, fingers splaying over her back, tugging her closer with a huff of distress. Smiling, she pressed another kiss to his brow and forced herself to relax into the pillow. Maybe war was on the horizon, but for now it was Christmas and they were safe and together.
Closing her eyes, she snuggled closer into the hollow of his chest, tugging the blankets up to her neck and enclosing them both in a bubble of warmth. She'd just lay here for a few minutes and cherish the peace, because who knew how many more moments like this they would have?
Just a few more minutes..
Josh
He woke to bright sunshine against his eyelids and the smell of fresh bread. As pleasant as it ought to have been, it brought him out of sleep with a start because he had never, in what he remembered of his life, slept so late as to wake up to sunshine...
His alarm offset by intense, dragging grogginess, he rolled onto his back and blinked open gritty eyes. The sheets beside him were rumpled but cool, and the little clock on the mantle read just past noon. In a rush, the previous night's events slammed back into him and he jerked upright, scrambling to extricate himself from the blankets and go in search of his family.
He was saved from his frantic search by Amelia's sudden appearance in the doorway. She looked awfully fresh, considering all she'd been through the night before and how stale and sluggish he himself was feeling. She wore a pretty green dress, with her clean hair wound into a braid and a healthy flush riding high in her cheeks. Her eyes, although framed with shadows, sparkled joyfully.
"Oh, look who finally decided to wake up!" she remarked coyly, coming across the room and settling onto the edge of the bed, blocking his exit with her body.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he grumbled, glancing again at the clock. "You should have woken me."
"Nonsense," she said with a roll of her eyes. "It's Christmas. Plus you heroically saved not one but three lives last night. I figured you deserved at least five hours of rest."
He groaned, slumping back against the headboard. "That's all it's been? Five hours?"
"Yep," she laughed, squeezing his leg. "I suppose it'll be an early night for us tonight."
She waited, chatting aimlessly while he dressed and washed up. Then they joined Melissa and Rebecca in the kitchen. He was relieved his daughter had let him out of her sight, with a parallel rush of gratitude when she gave an overjoyed cry at his appearance and ran into his arms. Together, they ate a Christmas feast of bread, jam, and leftover cookies. Afterwards, stuffed and sated, they laid about in the sitting room, taking turns reading stories.
When it was time to see after the animals, the whole family tagged along. They split the chores and finished fast, with only a slight delay to subtly correct Rebecca's attempt at helping.
There were no Christmas gifts, aside from the one Amelia had given him, which rubbed strangely at his finger and kept drawing his awed attention throughout the afternoon. Rebeccca was sad, of course, but stoic in her acceptance when they explained the way the fire had destroyed what was inside the house. Perhaps there would be a reckoning someday soon, but for the time being she seemed content with no presents, so long as she had her parents.
There was an unspoken emptiness in the air as the sun set and natural light gave way to the warm flicker of lantern and mantle. Somewhere, across the property, Brent and his father were passing Christmas in the bunkhouse, and it felt cruel to be so content while they were without home and family. The feeling was intrusive, and he expressed it to Amelia in the kitchen when they went to refresh their cups of coffee.
"You're kidding me, right?" she hissed with a fierce glare, setting her cup down with a dull thud and crossing her arms over her chest.
"I just wonder if we should invite--"
"No," she snapped. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against his chest, her gentle closeness a strange contrast to the sharp words. "I swear," she murmured into his shirt, "those men could shoot you dead and you'd come back to life just to offer them forgiveness."
Is that what she thought of him?
Hell, was she right?
"It's not like that, Ames."
"It is," she sighed, tipping her head back so she was looking up at him, her chin resting in the center of his chest. "You're a good, generous man. I love that about you, but enough is enough. We're partners, and it's my job to tell you when you're making a mistake. Those men have no place in your life, mine, or Rebecca's. Brent is a self-centered coward who continued to pursue me despite having left me, and despite all the many times I declared my love for you. You've bent over backwards your entire life to look out for him. You've always supported him, and he's never had your back in any way. Do I need to remind you how persistently and blatantly he has tried to steal your wife and daughter, hell your whole damn livelihood, out from under you?"
The thought made his blood heat, and the emptiness of Brent's absence was suddenly very much welcome. She had succeeded, but she only drove on, pushing away from him so she could assume her usual lecture posture: hands on hips, nose to the air.
"And your father is worse," she said. "I understand there are elements at play, grief and the poison of that damned preacher. I'd even be able to forgive him, except I've seen his sanity. He's sane with Rebecca, with Melissa, with Brent. He's even sane with me. You're the only one who suffers from his so called madness, and I won't watch it anymore. It was one thing when he was making you miserable, but he almost got you killed last night, Josh. I thought..." her voice cracked and she held out a hand to stop his coming to her. When she looked up, her eyes were full of tears but her voice was strong.
"I've had enough," she said simply. "He's got you all twisted up. You can deny that it affects you all you want, but the reality is that you left your daughter and I behind to charge into a burning building just because that man told you it was what he wanted."
Guilt raked through him, scraping at his insides, and he slumped into a chair, bracing his elbows on his knees and sinking his face into his hands. What had he been thinking? She was right. She was completely right. What had he been thinking?
"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad," she said softly, sinking to her knees in front of him and wrapping her hands around his wrists. "It's not your fault, love. But that's what I'm saying. It's his fault. He's a bad man. He's awful to you, and his cruelty is completely unfounded. I know you love him, but I think it's time to accept that he... well, maybe he doesn't love you and nothing you do is going to change that."
Pain gripped his chest, like he was back in the fire, unable to draw a breath. It wasn't her words that hurt, but the truth in them. The realization that all these years he had been battling to earn something that had been forever lost to time and tragedy. The agonizing shame of the fact that he'd turned his back on his wife and child to run into certain death and prove... what? That he was worthy of the affection of a madman?
His constricted lungs fought the deep breath he pulled in, a cough tickling the back of his raw throat. "You're right," he said to the floor, unable to look her in the eye.
"I know," she crooned, and he heard her shift to her feet. Her hands pressed on his shoulders, levering him up while she stepped forward. Standing between his legs, she combed gentle fingers through his hair, gazing down at him with far more fondness than he deserved. "You're worth more than this," she said with a smile. "That's all I'm trying to say. You deserve better."
"I deserve you," he shot back, trying to make his tone light, but the words came across severe. Desperate.
"That you do," she agreed, and he raised his hands to her waist and pulled her down so she sat on his leg. She wrapped an arm around his neck and then he was kissing her. His body made the decision without him, yanking her close and bringing her mouth to his. She met him with equal fervor, the weighty echo of their conversation replaced by the sounds of heavy breathing and her stifled, needy little whimpers. He had half a mind to throw her on the kitchen table and take her right there when the sound of a clearing throat broke them apart and snapped their attention to the doorway.
Melissa stood there with Rebecca slung on a hip, one eyebrow raised and an amused smirk on her face.
"They have rooms for that, you know," she said wryly.
"Last I checked this was our house," Josh said, his spirits suddenly very high. "We use the rooms however we want."
"Gross," his sister said, wrinkling her nose.
"Gross," Rebecca echoed, although she was grinning wide and clearly oblivious to the adult undertones of the conversation. "Don't kiss."
"Don't kiss?!" Amelia exclaimed, popping off his knee and rounding the table. She plucked her daughter from Melissa's arms and planted a wet smooch on her cheek. "Don't kiss!? Josh can you believe this? Rebecca said don't kiss!"
"Ew, mama!" Rebecca squealed, giggling madly as she pressed her hands to her mother's chest and pushed her away. "Stop!"
"Okay, okay." Amelia set her down and she ran around the table and extended her arms to be lifted. Josh picked her up and set her in Amelia's vacated spot on his leg.
"So no more kissing, huh?" he asked somberly, tugging on her braid.
"Only for goodnight," she said primly, cackling when he began to bounce his knee. She let out a loud "aaaaaaaaaaa" as he bounced, laughing hysterically when the jostling modulated her voice. As Amelia and Melissa settled at chairs around the table and they sank back into comfortable conversation, it took him a second to realize that the emptiness had evaporated.
Amelia was right. He loved his father and brother, but it was beyond time he accepted that that love and the service that accompanied it was a one way street. He owed them nothing. Not his life, not his livelihood, not his happiness. Not even a place at his table.
It was time to walk away.