Merry Christmas, Lincoln (A Take Care, Sara Christmas Novelette) Read Online Free Page A

pregnant?”
    Lincoln took a deep breath at the laceration that question caused to his heart. “You were going to take this away from me?” he asked in a low voice.
    “I didn’t want you to have to go through any more loss, Lincoln. And with my history of miscarrying, I was scared. I am still scared. I was trying to protect you. I wanted to save you from that. I didn’t—don’t want you to get your hopes up, to be happy about this, and then I lose the baby. I don’t want to cause you that kind of pain,” she cried, pressing a hand to her mouth as a sob left her, tears streaming from her eyes.
    “ You would take the happiness away from me because of the possible hurt?” he said slowly, staring at his wife, feeling like he didn’t know her.
    “ Don’t look at me like that. Please,” she pleaded, reaching for him.
    Lincoln pulled away, turning his back to Sara. “How far along are you?” His jaw clenched as he waited, looking at the hallway beyond the kitchen. It was a blob of nothing due to the tears blurring his eyes.
    “Over four months.”
    He cursed, his eyelids slowly closing against the burn in them. He stood there, not moving, not speaking. If he said anything, he would regret it later. Lincoln wanted to shout at her, to pound his fists against the wall and knock some shit over—anything to take the helpless, wounded feeling away.
    Instead he walked away.
    He faced forward, moving away as she tried to touch him again, ignoring her soft weeping, her cry for him not to go, and he walked through the house. Mason, Spencer, Dana, and Gracie were all there, in the foyer, watching him. No one spoke. He opened the door, walked through it, and softly closed it behind him.
    Their house was miles outside of town and it was cold out, barely in the thirties. He didn’t care. Lincoln walked. He thought of his brother, of their childhood, of all the fun they had and all the mischief they got into. He thought of the day Cole was no longer living; the day of the wreck, and later, the day he took his last breath. He thought of his parents. He thought of the rift between them because Sara had been driving the car that took their son away, because she and Lincoln had dared to love one another, because Cole was dead.
    He blinked his eyes and warm tears fell. So many bad things had happened, always happened during one’s life. It was inevitable. Bad things happened—that was part of living. It wasn’t reason enough to stop hoping, to give up, to expect the worst instead of the best.
    Four months he’d missed of the pregnancy, of his baby’s life, and if that baby only lived in Sara’s womb, and if months was all he got with his child, then he would cherish them. Damn her for taking that away from him. He felt betrayed. There was a life growing inside of her and she’d denied him that. That was four months he could never get back; four months he could have been loving his baby. And what if she did have a miscarriage? Then he wouldn’t have anything. He could have had something, if she’d only told him.
    With a roar, Lincoln looked for something to throw. His eyes landed on a brittle stick and he launched it into the trees along the road. A car zoomed past, honking its horn. He had the urge to flip his middle finger up in the kind of hello that represented his current mood, but somehow refrained. His toes were numb in the boots he wore, as were the fingers of the hands he’d shoved into the pockets of his jacket. The tips of his ears stung when the wind swept through his shaggy dark hair and attacked the sensitive flesh. None of it mattered.
    When he heard the rumble of a diesel truck ambling toward him, he paused, turning halfway to look down the road toward good old Boscobel, Wisconsin. If someone honks again, so help me, they will get a one finger salute. The silver truck slowed, stopping beside him.
    A door slammed shut and Sara was striding for him. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face unusually pale.