A/N: Five! Don't worry, I'll do a chapter or two of Letters to Harm before I post more of this. Thanks for all the reviews!

Gone

Chapter 5: In the Bleak Midwinter

1031 Local

Monarch Mercantile

Whitefish, MT

"Look's like we missed one."

"Hmmmmm?"

Uh oh…awkward moment Number 310…

"Sam?"

"What?"

Sam tore her gaze away from the sprig of mistletoe hanging over the entry to the antiques area. It was January 13th and yet the little piece of greenery still graced the shop. She stared blankly at her boss.

"The mistletoe…we missed it when we took down the rest of the Christmas decorations." Sam nodded and looked away from Mary's speculative look. She didn't want her employer to see through to the pain she felt at the sight of that bit of Christmas cheer.

"Oh, yeah…I guess we did," she murmured, returning to the task of restocking the display of historical novels, all written by Montana authors.

It was one of those days again…the kind of day where she felt all the guilt and sadness pressing down on her, the kind of day that would have Mary trying to send her home early. Sam had never accepted that offer; it was so much more preferable to be busy. In the quiet of her home, all she would do was think, and thinking was too painful. Invariably she would give into temptation and pull his picture from her box, wondering if this would be the time she realized she didn't love him anymore.

That hadn't happened yet...

Tears would always come, stealing her sleep from her. Each time, however, an exhausted Sam would show up to the shop with no trace of the agonies of the previous night.

And now there was this errant mistletoe…

Awkward moment number 310…

"Well, I'll go grab the stepladder and get it down." Mary turned toward the storeroom, but then turned her head back toward Sam. "Unless you want me to leave it for when Ian picks you up." She chuckled as Sam felt a blush color her cheeks, then went about her business.

Ian Marshall was one of the 'nice guys' that worked with Mary's husband, Dan. She had met him at the Scotts' annual Christmas party, and the two had struck up a conversation about skiing. She hadn't been skiing in years, and the next thing she knew, they had made plans to go skiing at the Whitefish Mountain Resort the next day.

Sam had to admit she'd had fun. Ian was a good sport about staying with her on the easier trails and they hadn't run out of things to talk about. He had worked for Dan Scott for a little more than three years and, like her, he had essentially been "adopted" by Dan and Mary. He had grown up near Denver, attended college in Seattle, and had two younger sisters, Kate and Cathy. They were a close family, his parents still married and going strong in their retirement. They had a cabin near here and made it a point to visit often.

Sam was initially intimidated by the specter of his family. They seemed like the quintessential All-American family while her family basically started and ended with her.

As they sat in the ski lodge talking over steaming mugs of hot chocolate, she told him she'd grown up in Arizona. She had been an only child, her parents were dead—her mother died when she was fifteen, her father four and half years ago. He had been in the military, so they'd moved around a lot before they'd settled in Yuma, AZ.

Sam didn't go into great detail, artfully redirecting the conversation back to his family; he had so many anecdotes about the tortures he'd visited on his sisters that he very much enjoyed telling. It was easy to get Ian talking again, the focus back on him.

And Sam had truly laughed for the first time in months.

It felt good.

It felt nice.

Ian was nice.

He dropped her off at her house with a friendly hug, promising to call her again soon.

And he did call. From his car. Right then and there, asking her to have lunch with him the next day.

Sam felt the stirrings of something warm growing within her, and to her surprise, it felt like happiness.

0902 Local

Monarch Mercantile

Whitefish, MT

"Good lord, is that thing still there?" Sam looked up from the Valentines Day display she was tearing down and saw that Mary was pointing to the mistletoe that still hung above their heads.

"Oh, dear…I didn't even notice…"

Mary narrowed her eyes at the now dried-out little plant. "Oh, later. I'll do it later." She went back to working on her inventories.

For the rest of the day, Sam couldn't seem to ignore the mistletoe. Her eyes were drawn to it as much as a siren drew hapless sailors to her rocky shores, and it irked her.

It irked her because it made her think of him and the taste the peppermint he'd used to conceal the fact that he'd indulged in a rare cigar before he returned to the Christmas party…

It irked her because it then made her remember a cold night where'd they'd shared another cigar for the warmth…

And it irked her because she remembered that he actually always tasted of peppermint, and when Ian kissed her last night for the first time, all she'd wanted was to taste peppermint again.

"You smoked a cigar," she accused. His hand left the small of her back and reached around to her arm as they stepped over a particularly icy area in the parking lot.

"I did."

"I thought you gave them up."

"Well, I needed something warm, and you weren't there." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows until she laughed.

"Oh, stop, squid."

They were both parked at the far end of the lot and it was slow going with all the ice, not that she minded. He'd kept his protective arm around her and she couldn't resist snuggling in closer. She wondered if he noticed.

It was then his turn to speak. "You had chocolate…and let me guess…one of Harriet's cinnamon rolls."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Try two cinnamon rolls."

He gazed down at her fondly. "That's my marine," he declared softly. They made it to her car and he let her go—slowly, she thought. "Well, here we are."

"Yeah."

"Aren't you going to get in?"

"Oh, yeah."

She didn't move, though, but then neither did he. "You know, we're going to be late to the service if you don't get in the car."

"Uh huh."

"I'll see you soon. Drive safely."

"I will."

Neither moved.

"Come on, Ninja Girl, get in the car." He was grinning so she knew he wasn't actually annoyed with her. Their eyes locked for long moments and then he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, back by her ear. As he did that, he reached around and opened her door for her. "See you at the church."

She breathed in his unique scent and something else that blended with the remnants of the cigar. What was it? Ah…

"Peppermint!"

"What?"

"You always taste like peppermint."

And with that, she was gone.

1922 Local

Monarch Mercantile

Whitefish, MT

"Thanks for stopping here for me, Ian. I can't believe I forgot to fax in that order before I left."

Mac stepped into the office and located the forms she needed, then quickly slid them into the fax machine. As she entered the number, Ian wrapped his arms around her from behind. She leaned back into him, enjoying the human contact.

Things with Ian were going fairly well, she thought. They spent time together multiple nights a week, went skiing a few more times, and had a couple of romantic dinners. They'd kissed, rather chastely, and, though she knew he wanted to move things along a little more, he respected that she needed to take things slow.

Ian's kisses were nice, just like he was. He was tall and strong, with short dark hair. From behind he almost looked like him, and, to her chagrin, it still threw her to see Ian's deep brown eyes when he turned around instead of the stormy sea-colored ones she expected. It was…disconcerting, despite there not being any other similarities to speak of.

Seeing that the fax had gone through, she turned in his arms and kissed his cheek. "Hey, before we go, I want to show you the antique fishing poles we just got in." Ian enjoyed fishing in the summers, and he collected various antique items once used for his hobby.

Together they walked toward the entry to that area.

And that's when she saw it.

That damn sprig of mistletoe above the door.

How had they not taken it down yet?! It was the middle of March!

Ian followed her gaze, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the Christmas plant.

"Uh oh…" he said with a grin.

Awkward moment Number 310…

He pulled her into his arms and pointed upward. "Think it counts in March?"

"What?"

"Mistletoe…I believe we're supposed to kiss under it."

"Oh…" Ian's lips crashed down on hers. This was no soft peck on the lips; he kissed her hungrily, opening his mouth and letting his tongue graze across the seam of her lips. She allowed it, and soon their tongues danced together. A moan escaped him…

You had a cigar…

You had chocolate…

Peppermint…

You always taste like peppermint…

This was wrong.

This tasted of coffee and spice.

As nice as Ian's kiss was, he wasn't…him.

But it could never be him.

She needed to let him go.

She needed to stop getting up in the middle of the night after a date with Ian to look at his picture. To see if her feelings for Ian finally eclipsed her feelings for him.

They didn't. Not yet.

And deep down, she knew they never would.

"No, Ian…" Sam pushed away from him and he stood there, stunned.

"Sam?"

Tears filled her eyes. This was so unfair. For Ian. For her. The beauty and peace of this place has done much to heal her soul, but it would never erase her feelings of guilt nor her feelings for him.

There would be only one way to do that…and she wouldn't do that.

She'd thought about it…during those dark nights after she'd gone to his apartment, after she'd endured one too many disgusted glares for the day.

But, no.

She couldn't do that.

So, she'd found another way.

But nothing was perfect…

"I'm sorry, Ian. I-I can't…I don't feel that way about you…and you deserve someone so much better than me."

"But, Sam…I thought…we have fun together, don't we?

"Yes."

"We enjoy each other's company…"

"We do, Ian, but…"

"No, no buts…"

"Ian…there's always going to be a 'but'. I'm sorry. I've stayed with someone once before, almost married him, even though I knew I'd never love him like that. I hurt him. I hurt…other people, because of it. I won't do that to you."

Brown eyes met brown eyes and Ian must have seen something in her gaze. His shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry, Ian."

He nodded. "I'm sorry too." He surprised her by pulling her back into an embrace. "I'll need some time, but I…I hope we can still be friends someday."

"Me too."

He let her go with a kiss on her cheek, and then he was gone. Just like that.

Sam knew she'd done the right thing, but it didn't stop her from feeling the rage and grief over the whole situation. She angrily yanked a chair over to the little doorway and stepped up on it. It wobbled a bit, but she managed to yank that damned mistletoe off the doorframe and throw it to the floor. Once she got back down on solid ground, the chair tipped over behind her. She ignored it as she stomped on the dry, dead plant. It practically disintegrated under her boot, and as she looked at the remains of it, the sobs came. She was so angry…at herself…at him. Especially at him…

Sam left the chair and scraps of mistletoe where they lay and exited the shop, locking it back up more out of habit than any conscious thought. She raced home and, ignoring the irritated meows from Nicodemus, she stomped into her bedroom. She yanked open the drawer that held her little box, pulled it out, and slammed it on the dresser, gouging the wood. She found what she was looking for, that damn picture, and roughly unfolded it. His beautiful eyes shown above that beautiful smile and she didn't think she'd ever been this angry before.

"You son of a bitch!" she cursed at him, crumpling the picture in her hand. She threw it violently away from her, narrowly missing Nic, who jumped aside with a hiss and a screech.

Her chest heaving, she glared at the little ball now in the corner. Just tossing it aside wasn't good enough. She snatched it back up and stalked back to the living room and her fireplace. Once she had the fire going, she unfolded the picture, damned him to Hell, and tossed it in.

It didn't take long for the flames to start licking at it.

Oh, god.

She couldn't do this.

She couldn't lose this last bit of him.

Carelessly, she thrust her hand into the fireplace, ignoring the searing pain of the heat, and snatched the photo from the flames.

She collapsed on the floor with the singed picture of him, cradling her already blistering hand in her lap, and screamed with the pain of it all.

End Chapter 5