Christmas Lights

by Tanya Hanson

  She wasn't being smart, but wasn’t able to stop herself.

  Her smile was real, her comfort level rose. “Well, you’ll just have to wait until Christmas morning. And Heston?” She sobered. “I don’t want to disrupt your evening. Your dad wants you out there. I’m fine here.”

  “It’ll get done. But right now, I’d really rather sit here with you. Honest. I’d like to know more about you.”

  His carved cheekbones flushed the handsome burgundy she’d noticed before, in the sleigh, and her blood rushed.

  “The writing thing, for one,” he said.

  “Yeah, about that.” She peered at her toes and then met his direct gaze. The Martins knew anyway. “I actually I co-write the books with a friend. We use a pseudonym. She’s the one who enjoys the interviews and headshots, and book signings. Lucky for me. Because I do not.” She cleared her throat. Despite the comfort level, she couldn’t tell him why. “So we are the perfect pair. We write for a small Christian publishing house.”

  “That sounds amazing. I’ve never known a real author before.” The crackling fire reflected in his light brown eyes. She saw admiration, too.

  His scent, somehow of pine and sky, drifted through her nose and she shivered, this time in a good way. She chuckled, had to keep things light. “Well, we aren’t successful enough to give up our day jobs. But I enjoy telling stories.”

  Suddenly, the warm fuzzies faded, and she forced a smile now. She was a hypocrite. Writing characters who depended on the Lord and prayed without ceasing and called upon Him in the day of trouble, while she hardly acknowledged God in the day-to-day. Another secret she’d never tell anybody. But at least she could write happy endings. Even if she couldn’t live one. She shrugged, jolted when their shoulders touched. “And there’s a handful of readers out there who like ’em.”

  Heston stretched his long legs in front of the fire. “I’d love to get a hold of a copy of your book. Or books. And get it signed. Might make a good Christmas present for Elaine.”

  Lori fiddled with her scarf. “I suspect she has them all. My, my co-author has done some book signings for the Mountainview Church women’s groups. That’s how we got Scott to do our book trailers. Cowboy and graphic artist, not a bad combination.”

  “Well, still.”

  “Anyway, you’d really never know it’s me, anyway. We jumbled up our names and came up with Cady Lomax.” A twinge of unease...was she telling him too much about Cate Dyson and Lorinda Maxine Lazaro. Who’d met in a support group getting counseling for PTSD from sexual assault. She’d left the Lazaro completely off the table, making her harder to find.

  Cate’s attacker was in jail...blessed jail. She’d gotten herself whole again. Lori was still in hiding.

  And the man next to her had TV cameras following him. Yet Scott, the man who did know all her secrets, and kept them, spoke highly of Heston. But still. They were stepbrothers. Did Scott have a choice?

  “OK, I reckon I understand.” Heston’s fine voice landed soft on the warm air in the room. “You being shy and her not. But how to you figure out what to write? Do you take turns or what?”

  For a brief second, Lori was reminded of Cate’s peace and healing. Cate’s prayers that, one day, triumph would come Lori’s way. This part of her life she could easily discuss.

  “We pick a setting and brainstorm a plot. Plot leads us to theme—what we want the reader to take from the story.” She stretched, comfortable, next to him. “I’m a nerd—I do the research. We make a private online board to share pictures of people and scenes that fit the story ideas. Then we figure a synopsis of each chapter. I write the even numbered. She takes on the odd. Then we critique each other until it sounds cohesive.”

  A kind of pride gleamed in his eyes. “Sounds very creative and cooperative.”

  “Yeah. We…have a lot in common and get along great.” Lori kind of wanted to close the subject and find out about him. “We...took a creative writing at the community college, then found some romance workshops on writing and finding a publisher. We had a ton of rejections”—she chuckled, recalled a different sort of pain, then smiled—“and fortunately, a ton of helpful criticism, too. We...couldn’t have done it on our own.”

  Most times, you can’t, she mused quickly. And as Cate always professed, God had had the biggest finger in the mix.

  Scott popped in with two moose mugs of nog. “Here you go. Got two new ones.”

  Lori’s skin goosed with relief although...the chances were nil for a forgotten beverage getting spiked in this wholesome, heavenly environment.

  “Stay comfy. Pike’s got the sleigh. Miriam is joined with Ella at the hip. Everything’s good.” Scott’s gaze was special, direct, and Lori relaxed.

  “OK, bro.” Heston took a long gulp and then licked the white foam from his lips.

  Lori held her breath at the sight. Oh, not for herself, but for her next heroine...

  She saw one last question in Heston’s eyes—why was Scott safeguarding her privacy? Heston had proved to be a good sport about being shoved into a room and ordered to wait for eggnog; the man deserved an answer to his unspoken question. She decided she could tell him some of the truth here, too. She took a deep breath as Scott scooted back out.

  “About the cameraman. Yeah, Scott and I are just really good pals now, but one summer we were quite an item. A romantic item.” She swallowed hard, hoped Heston didn't see. Or hear. “The memories are all good ones.”

  Well, most of them. Her skin goosed again for a different reason. Heston’s eyebrows rose, but he smiled. She knew he wanted more. Maybe she’d give him more…if she ever found herself worthy enough.

  “So I guess you’ve spent a lot of time in Mountain Cove?” Heston asked smooth and friendly.

  Relief rushed through her. At least Scott had kept her secrets. This part, though, was public knowledge.

  She managed to relax as his side. “Kind of. My mom grew up in Mountain Cove, fell in love with a rodeo cowboy. Eloped and promptly got herself disowned. She was the blackest sheep in all these parts. I grew up in Texas.”

  Heston rustled against the cushions. “That’s saying something here in cattle country.” He smiled at her. “Sheep.”

  “Oh yeah, those cattlemen do not like those little woolly things.” She laughed out loud and mentally thanked him for rousing her good humor. “Well, in our teens, my brother and I started visiting our grandparents once in a while. I’d help my granddad in the office. The summer I graduated from college, UTEP”—she stretched out her legs next to his; his were a great deal closer to the fire—“I wanted to celebrate, to relax, before I found a full time job back in Texas. So I came here.”

  A silent grumble burbled deep down. Sheep, cattle, the past…pain ran down her back like freezing water, but she forced it to stop. Could Heston see her face closing? Could he hear her heart thump? So much for good humor. Celebrate? Relax?

  A mark of healing was holding off the terrors, the tremors, and she did her best now. Heston’s smiling face was unchanged, and she grabbed onto triumph. Her control had worked. He hadn’t noticed a thing.

  “I can’t think of a better place to be than Colorado,” Heston said softly. “No offense to the great republic of Texas.”

  “None taken. Anyway, that’s when Scott and I met. Officially, I mean. You probably found out how everybody in Mountain Cove knows everybody.”

  He laughed again. “For fifty miles and more. Same in Sunset Hills. Something about small towns.”

  She smiled back, meant it. Meant her words. “Anyway, it was just a summer romance. And we’ve remained friends. His wife is great, and he’s a wonderful dad to his disabled stepson.”

  “Well, it doesn’t sound like he broke your heart. I admit I’m glad about that. And I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

  Me, too. But she didn’t say it out loud.

  ****

  Comfort and a kind of joy soothed him, and the fragrance of the woman next to him settled in a sweet cloud
around them. The Christmas tree in the corner was obviously not artificial. Pine merged quite well with her flowery scent.

  “I like your perfume,” Heston ventured, unsure of how complimentary to get with a woman he’d just met. She might be one who took offense at the notice of her physical appearance rather than intellectual self. But he thought he’d covered the basis of his admiration for her writing career.

  “Thanks.” Lori chuckled, sounded comfortable right back. “It’s actually a hand lotion called holly-berry. Which I never realized had a fragrance.” She stretched easily next to him. “Ah, this is a wonderful room. I hate to leave it, but I really should rescue whoever’s got Miriam and greet my hosts.”

  “In a minute. You know your niece is fine. It’s not like she needs a bottle or a diaper change. She’s a big girl. So”—he needed more time, asked another question to keep her here—“is the rest of your family joining you? I mean, here in Mountain Cove for the actual holidays?”

  He was pleased when she relaxed against the sofa, but wondered if she was only putting off facing the cameras. Her hesitation, almost fear, of the TV production confused him. Wouldn’t an author take every chance to promote her wares? And free publicity to thousands of households? Wholesome faith-filled romance? His dad would be on board in a heartbeat. But maybe she was just one of those reclusive artistic types. Most of his family had jumped at the chance to appear on The Last Real Rancher and mugged and performed accordingly. He hadn’t wanted any of it, so he understood someone wanting privacy and quiet. Hoped he would come across as sympathetic and perceptive.

  He’d tamped down the jealousy that tweaked over her and Scott Martin having had a relationship. The man was definitely off the table, but Heston sensed Scott and Lori’s connection went deeper than a casual breakup. His stepbro was sure in a rush to get her away from the nosy camera...

  As though he knew something. Heston scowled just for a flash and then resumed his smile.

  “My family will be here just for a quick trip Christmas Eve and Day.” Lori’s soft voice and the rippling fire brought him back to the present. “My folks manage a guest ranch outside of Bandera, and if you can believe it, Christmas is a crazy-busy time. And there’s a big New Year’s Eve Party and Rodeo.” For a flash, she twirled her left index finger like a lasso. “My brother rides saddle broncs, and my sister-in-law cooks. Miriam’s parents. With her out of school for Christmas vacation, Miriam and I came ahead of the rest. I can write from here and help out my grandparents.”

  “Kind of ironic. The Martins run a guest ranch, too.”

  Her sideways glance stole his breath.

  She tapped the lariat finger dangerously close to his. In another heartbeat he’d be holding her hand. “Our families have shared some ideas over the years. Texas Hill Country is a sight different from the Rocky Mountains. And of course, Hearts Crossing is a real working ranch as well. Lazy Acres is a hundred percent city-slicker. Our dozen Longhorns are pure pets.”

  He laughed, loud and real. “Not sure how much I want to cuddle up with a Longhorn. And I am a mountain man myself.”

  Their gazes met, and a tingle met his toes. She hurried to turn her glance out the window, so backlit with tiny lights the alpine landscape was impossible to see. Was he flattering himself to imagine she felt something too? Then she pointed to an oil painting hung above the fireplace, its frame swagged by pine cone garland.

  “I’ve never forgotten the first time I saw that picture.” She breathed out the words with an awe he could hear, turned her attention from the two of them, and he didn’t mind at all. The landscape was spectacular—Jesus in the Rockies wearing buckskin and holding a baby bighorn sheep, and had long intrigued him as well.

  “The Good Shepherd in the Wild West. I like it, too. Scott’s grandmother painted it,” he said, although Lori probably already knew. “She sure had an interesting viewpoint as an artist.”

  Lori reached up as if to touch it. “It’s like...how I always want to feel. Safe and warm. In my own time and place.”

  Her mouth twisted, hinting she didn’t often feel the peace of the Lord holding her close through life’s turmoil. And Heston hurt for her. Had been in that place. Wished he hadn’t mentioned Scott. Had the break-up been worse than either let on?

  “Well, that’s pretty much me in a nutshell. Pretty boring.” She sipped her eggnog slowly, but a shudder reached him through the sofa cushions. With the warm fire, she couldn’t possibly be cold. Could she?

  Of course he knew that cold came from other places.

  “So how about you?” Her nails clicked against the cup, but not like she was eager to get away, more like she was calming herself, settling in.

  He settled a little bit closer, “Well, I was born into ranching and fortunately, I like my heritage. Youngest of four, but we’re all real close in age.”

  “Ah, I remember. Cagney.” Lori touched his arm. “Brando and Widmark.”

  “Yep. All true. All married and reproducing just fine, thanks very much. I have six nieces and nephews.” He wiggled fingers of one hand, and the opposing thumb. “Although I am constantly harassed for my late start.”

  “I bet you got picked on forever. For any reason at all. I’ve just got one older brother.” Lori laughed. “I had to do a lot of pouting and whining to defend myself. And even though she’s an only child, I think Miriam takes after her auntie.”

  He chanced a flirt. “Well, I think taking after her auntie is a mighty fine thing.”

  Her blush started those sparkles in his blood again.

  “You Calhouns staying here through Christmas?” Her eyelashes landed like butterflies on cheeks pink from the fire and then some.

  He liked the sight, but couldn’t tell her. Not yet. She was a tad skittish, and until he knew why, he didn’t want to scare her off. “Yep,” he said, kept things light. “That’s how it’s worked since Elaine married Dad. They alternate Christmas and Thanksgiving year by year. Everybody was at the High Noon for turkey day. Next year, it’ll be Thanksgiving here at Hearts Crossing.”

  “Nice! You must bake up a lot of fowl.” Lori grabbed a tiny purse and jumped up, but her smile removed the sting of departure. “Sorry, Heston, but I really do need to find Miriam. Even if it’s OK with everybody else riding herd with her, I’m gonna need to report to Gee-Gee. That’s what Miriam calls her great grandmother.” She rolled her eyes. “I will not get a good auntie grade if I let somebody else do all the wrangling”

  He grinned at her western terminology, and her second smile hitched his breath. Beautiful, smart, and a loving auntie...

  “Well, I reckon you get straight A’s. Just a second, though.” Heston stopped her with one last question. “What kind of books do you write? I mean, other than love books?” He drawled out the last two words with affection, not insult. Romance novels weren’t his thing, but he’d never read one and didn’t dare judge. “What else are they about?”

  “Westerns, of course. How could it be otherwise?” She drawled back in a Texas way he hadn’t noticed before. “First series was contemporary rodeo cowboys. Good people losing their faith and finding it again. Along with love, of course.” That little twisted lip again, but her gaze met his full on. “And the new series, historical outlaws finding love, and redemption. And happy endings, everyone.” Her words slowed and she looked away now. “OK then, off to Miriam.”

  Disappointment flooded him for many reasons. She cradled the moose mug in one hand, looked around the room with something like longing, and then opened the door.

  Heston followed, itching to take her hand but not having any reason to this time.

  She braved the crowd like a politician expecting an assassin, so he stuck close. The kitchen might be less obtrusive. “Want something to eat?”

  Just then Miriam flew against them both, along with a few other little girls including Cagney’s twins in their shiny red-and-green plaid dresses. “Can I, Auntie Lori. Can we stay for the slumber party?”

  “Please
, please.” The gaggle clamored, one or two more grabbing at Lori’s clothes and dragged her into the hallway.

  “Please, Uncle Heston,” whimpered one in particular.

  Heston raised his hands like a stick up. “Ruby, I have nothing to do with this.”

  “First I’ve heard about it, Miriam.” Lori scrunched down to her niece’s eye level. “And I’ve got to say no, honey. Sorry. We aren’t prepared.” She ran hands down her pretty wine-colored dress. “We don’t even have toothbrushes.”

  “But when daytime comes, we want to make snow angels. And build a snowman.” Miriam’s pouting bottom lip dropped low enough to step on. “I can borrow Ella’s clothes. Please!”

  “Do they still call ’em slumber parties?” Lori got to her feet and whispered to Heston.

  He grinned at her helplessness. “You’re the girl, darlin’. Me, I did camp outs in the woods.”

  Her eyes brightened at the darlin’, which he’d dared, but turned to a twinkle rather than a glare of insult. Perfect time to grab her hand in support. Felt the dazzle through his boots.

  Lori’s smile blinded him, but she moved quick to hug away Miriam’s wails of disappointment. “Honey, I can bring you back tomorrow.”

  Talk about disappointment.

  Just then, Heston’s indomitable stepmother burst through the hustle and bustle of the great room, obviously drawn to the commotion in the hallway. Elaine shoved the kids gently away.

  “Lori, darlin’, I didn’t know you were here.” Elaine wrapped Lori in a massive hug.

  Lori’s lovely face flushed. Heston groused, hoped his darlin’ had sounded better. “I got sidetracked.”

  “I see why.” Elaine looked Heston up and down, then Lori. “Nice.”

  He groaned. More matchmaking afoot. One didn’t stand a chance. But he wasn’t a whit unhappy at the possibility, he decided.

  “But I honestly was coming to say hey now. Before...”

  “Before you got sidelined with about a sleepover.” Elaine smiled, large. “It is impromptu, my dear. But all these kids? It’d be a hoot for Miriam. She knows everybody from Sunday School. It’d be good for you, too.” Her eyes narrowed.