Maybe Next Year

Frank Donovan stood in the front yard, watching the people inside through the window mingling near the Christmas tree, listening to music and drinking their holiday spirits. He was supposed to be in there too, but two hours of New Year’s cheer was as much as he could bear for the moment.

The crystal clear southwestern night cleared his head and as he watched the party continue inside the rustic flat-roofed adobe dwelling, he was finally able to relax. The holidays were a trying time for him, even now three years later. Usually, he spent this time of year buried in work or hidden away in his Chicago apartment thinking about all he had lost. This holiday season, however, his friend and former coworker, Ben Walker, had persuaded him to visit the southwest. “Take in some of the New Mexico flavor,” Ben had insisted and Frank had fallen for it, thinking a change of scene would make the holidays easier for him.

He’d been wrong. Nothing would make the holidays easier for him. What he needed was time, not distance, and there just hadn’t been enough time between the past and the present to make him feel right again.

Frank glanced around the landscape, impressed by the rural charm of the Rio Grande River valley. Albuquerque’s north valley had once been a flood plain for the twisting river, now it was home to wineries, horse ranches and sprawling adobe estates like the one Ben lived on. Frank had enjoyed the feel of the southwest, the laid-back climate and ethnically mixed culture, but it had not been enough to relieve his soul of its torment.

He inhaled the fresh winter air, exhaled and watched the plumes of white air billow away from him in the cold. New Mexico was certainly an enchanting place this time of year and he was glad to have experienced its charm. Even now, in the dark of night on New Year’s Eve, every house along the country drive was decorated with luminaria and white lights. It was a southwestern tradition to decorate so extensively during the holidays, and yet nothing looked overdone. The simple paper bags with lit candles burned orange-yellow in the night and their glow was a soft one, easy on the eyes and nothing too bright or ostentatious. It was rustic and traditional, just like everything he’d experienced in this region during his brief stay with Ben, and such a change from Chicago.

Frank again studied the partiers inside, then drank the last sip of his wine. He was tired and was certain he’d find his guestroom instead of returning to the party and it wasn’t even close to midnight.

His plans were delayed, however, as a lone figure exited the house and started down the horseshoe gravel drive. She halted in her steps and looked Frank’s way, then changed course and moved toward him.

Frank had seen the woman before. She was Ben’s neighbor. On several occasions, Frank had caught himself stealing glances at her as she’d ridden her horses in the pasture adjacent to Ben’s. Her hair was long and blonde, her body lean and athletic. She had a sweet smile and a direct gaze and a face that one could only describe as angelic. Frank estimated her age around thirty-two, maybe thirty-three, and he knew from his observations she had a calm disposition and a confident air.

“Hi,” she said, stopping a few feet away from him.

“Hello,” he said back.

“I’m Leigh Atkins. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Frank Donovan, and you’re right, we haven’t.” Politely Frank held out his hand and they shook hands briefly.

“I’ve seen you around,” she started directly. “Are you staying with Ben?”

“Yes, he and I are old friends,” Frank answered.

“I was hoping to see you at the party tonight,” Leigh said boldly. “But I suppose I missed you. Were you even there?”

Frank shoved his hands in the pockets of his black coat and gave a small shrug. “For a while I was.”

“But you preferred the night air?” she inquired.

Frank studied the woman for a moment. Her blonde hair was worn straight and hung to her shoulders around her brown leather jacket. Plain denim jeans covered her legs and Frank would have been surprised to see her in anything else. She was a woman with no airs and no pretense. She was real and honest and he’d figured that out just by watching her interact with the horses she trained next door. She was the type of woman a man could trust…if he were in a position to trust again.

A long sigh escaped his mouth before he could halt it, and Leigh tilted her head to the side to catch his eyes. Her eyes were a piercing blue and once she caught his gaze, he was unable to look away.

“Hey, I know that sound,” she told him. “Care to come next door to my place? I’m a wonderful listener.” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder and gestured in the direction of her small ranch.

She read him like she read the animals she rode with ease. He could respect that in her, and he was tempted by her offer. How long had it been since he’d been tempted by a woman? Certainly too long. And for a moment, he considered going with her. But the memory of his wife and child being kidnapped by a criminal out for revenge and his inability to save them in time still tormented him and he knew he wasn’t yet ready.

“I’m sorry, Leigh,” Frank hesitantly declined.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she said. “I lost my husband two years ago. I know what the holidays can do to a person.”

Frank allowed a small smile to creep upon his lips. Yes, she could read him very well.

“Its been three for me,” Frank revealed, feeling a slight lightening off his shoulders of the burden he’d carried for so long.

Leigh reached out and touched his arm. Even through the thickness of his wool jacket, Frank could feel the heat of her hand.

“Maybe next year then, if you visit Ben again,” she suggested.

Frank again studied her beautiful face, then hesitantly touched the back of his fingers to her soft cheek. Her skin was cool in the winter night but the contact still warmed his heart.

“Yeah, maybe next year,” he agreed.

The End