Same Time, Next Christmas (The Bravos 0f Valentine Bay Book 3)

by Christine Rimmer

  Why had he even bought the damn thing this year—and not only bought it, but for several months, continued crossing off the days?

  Apparently, for some men, being told to forget it was just never enough.

  The calendar was turned to October, with a view of the Deschutes National Forest in fall. Below the beautiful picture of trees in autumn, the calendar page itself showed not a single red X. He’d stopped marking the days the month before.

  And why was he keeping it? The calendar was of zero use or interest to him now.

  He yanked it off the wall. The tack went flying. He heard it bounce on the closet floor, somewhere he’d probably step on it in bare feet one day soon.

  Too bad. He didn’t have time to crawl around looking for it now. Carrying the shirt in one hand and the calendar in the other, he ducked out of the closet. Marching straight to the dresser, he tossed the calendar in the wastebasket there. Then he dropped the shirt on the bed with his jeans and turned for the bathroom to grab a quick shower.

  Sabra, early December...

  In downtown Astoria, the shop windows and the streets were all decked out for Christmas. Acres of lighted garland bedecked with shiny ornaments and bells looped between the streetlights. Live trees in pots lined the sidewalk, each one lit up and hung with bright decorations.

  At the corner, a lone musician played “White Christmas” on a xylophone. Sabra paused with a few other bundled-up shoppers to listen to the tune. When the song came to an end, she tossed a dollar in the open case at the musician’s feet. Pulling her heavy jacket a little closer against the winter chill, she crossed the street and continued on to midway along the next block.

  The store she sought was called Sugar and Spice. Like every other shop on the street, it had Christmas displays in the front windows, scenes of festively dressed mannequins, ones that were definitely more spicy than sweet. One mannequin wore a sexy elf costume and another, a red thong sewn with tiny, winking party lights. One had her hands bound behind her back with handcuffs, a Santa hat slipping sexily over one eye while a male mannequin in a leather jockstrap and policeman’s hat tickled her with a giant green feather.

  Inside, the girl behind the counter wore a skimpy Mrs. Santa Claus costume and a gray wig topped by a crown of Christmas tree lights. “Hey. What can I help you with?”

  “Just looking...” Sabra headed for the racks of revealing lingerie.

  Sexy Mrs. Claus followed her over there. “Are you wanting anything in particular?”

  Help from an expert?

  Really, what could it hurt? “It’s like this,” Sabra said as she checked through the bra-and-panty sets. “I’m in—or at least, I’ve been in—this wonderful relationship. But we aren’t together all the time. We meet up for several days, once a year.”

  Mrs. Claus looked confused. “What’s the kink?”

  Sabra laughed. “It’s just once a year, over Christmas, no contact otherwise. Is that a kink?”

  Mrs. Claus let that question go. “Let me try again. So...there’s a problem in this relationship?”

  “Well, the thing is, last year it ended badly and it was all my fault.”

  Mrs. Claus made a soft, sympathetic sound. “Oh, no.”

  “Yeah. And, see, I don’t want to break our rules. I’m not going to stalk the guy. But this year, I’ll be there at the usual place and time in case he does show. I’m going to knock myself out to make things right, make it...”

  “More?” suggested Mrs. Claus.

  Sabra paused in her impatient flicking from one panty set to the next. “More. Yes. That’s it. I want more with him. Last year, he was already there in the more department. He wanted to take the biggest chance of all with me. But I wasn’t ready. I said some things that I wish I hadn’t. It’s very likely he took what I said to mean it was over between us. And now, I only want a prayer that he might be willing to give me another shot. I don’t need handcuffs or a latex suit. I just want to feel confident. If he shows up and I get lucky enough to make it as far as taking off my clothes...”

  “You want him wowed.” Mrs. Claus had that look, the one a sales professional gets when she finally understands exactly what her customer is shopping for. “You don’t want to role-play or try something new. You just want to be you, the sexiest possible you.”

  Sabra grabbed an itty-bitty black satin number, held it up and joked, “You don’t happen to have this in camo?”

  Mrs. Claus’s smile was slow and also triumphant. “As a matter of fact, we do.”

  * * *

  Sabra bought the sexy camo undies and several other seductive bits of lace and satin. She knew that cute underwear wasn’t the answer to anything, really. If Matthias was through with her, a see-through bra wouldn’t change his mind.

  And yet, she felt hopeful and excited.

  She was ready to go all in with him, at last. All he had to do was show up this year and she would pull out all the stops to get just one more chance with him.

  December 23, last year...

  Sabra’s heart just about detonated in her chest when she turned the last corner and rolled into the clearing. Matthias, in a uniform that looked identical to the one his friend Jerry had been wearing when he stopped by the year before, leaned back against the tailgate of a state trooper patrol truck.

  He’s here! He came!

  For a few glorious, too-brief seconds, she knew she was getting the second chance she’d longed for, that this year, she was going to make everything come out right.

  She pulled her car to a stop several feet back from the man and the truck.

  About then, in the silence that followed turning off the engine, she started putting it together.

  This was all wrong.

  No lights in the cabin, Matthias in his uniform, with a mud-splattered state police vehicle behind him. No Zoya. No gorgeous Christmas tree tied to a rack on the roof.

  And he hadn’t moved yet. He remained at the tailgate, big arms across his chest, his hat shading his eyes.

  Her hands shook and her stomach pitched and rolled. She sat there in the driver’s seat, her heart hurling itself madly against the wall of her chest, unable to move for a good count of ten.

  But this was her show, now wasn’t it? She could already see that he wasn’t planning a tender reunion. If she didn’t want to talk to him, she ought to start the engine again and drive away.

  That seemed the less painful option in the short run—and also the one that would always leave her wondering, leave her hanging. Leave her wishing she’d asked him straight out for another chance.

  If he said no, well, Goodbye was an actual word. And she needed to hear him say it out loud.

  First step: get out of the damn car.

  But still she didn’t move. Her mind sparked wildly, impulses firing madly, going off like bottle rockets in her brain, shooting along the endless network of nerves in her body, leading her exactly nowhere.

  Grabbing the latch with shaking fingers, she gave it a yank.

  The door opened and she swung her legs out, rising without pausing to steady herself. Surprisingly, she didn’t go pitching over facedown in the dirt.

  She was on her feet and moving toward him. A couple of yards away from him, she stopped. He swiped off his hat. The pain in her chest was damn near unbearable.

  His blue eyes told her nothing. They gave her nothing.

  The sun was out, of all things. It brought out the silvery threads in his dark blond hair. He was so beautiful, all square-jawed and uncompromising, with that broad chest and those big arms she wanted wrapped good and hard around her.

  Not mine. The two words ripped through her brain like a buzz saw. Whatever they’d had, it was gone now. He was not hers and he never would be.

  She’d had her chance and she hadn’t been ready. It was no one’s fault, really. Timing did matter and hers had
been seriously bad. “I take it you’re not staying.”

  * * *

  Matt had dreaded this moment.

  He’d known that whatever happened—if she showed, if she didn’t—it was going to be bad.

  But this—the very sight of her, the stricken look on her face—it was worse than he’d ever imagined it could be.

  “I didn’t really expect you to show,” he said. The words felt cruel as they fell from his lips. He’d driven out here feeling angry and wronged, self-righteous. Ready to lay it on her that he’d taken her advice and found someone new, willing her to be here so he could have the final say.

  But now, having simply watched her get out of her car and walk over to him, having looked her square in her beautiful face, all that sanctimonious fury had drained out of him. He had no anger left to sustain him.

  “I’m on duty,” he said.

  “Uh, yeah. I kind of figured that.”

  “But I came by just in case you showed up, so you wouldn’t wonder—I mean, you know. Be left hanging.”

  “Thank you.” The skin was too pale around her soft lips. He needed to reach for her, hold her, soothe her.

  He wrapped both arms across his chest good and tight, the hat dangling from between the fingers of his right hand. It was the only way to keep himself from grabbing her close.

  Spit it out, you SOB. Just say it. “I’ve met someone.”

  “Ah.” The sound was so soft. Full of pain. And understanding. Two bright spots of color flamed high on her cheeks. He was hurting her, hurting her so bad.

  What she’d done to him last year? It was nothing compared to what he was putting her through now.

  He needed to explain himself, he realized, needed to say something real to her, something true, from his heart. “Sabra, I swear to you, I never would have moved on.”

  She swallowed convulsively and gave him a sharp nod. “Yeah.” It came out a ragged little whisper. “I know that. I do.”

  “You were so insistent. So sure.”

  “Yes. You’re right. I was.”

  “You told me to find someone else.”

  “And you did.” She smiled. It seemed to take a lot of effort. “I’m, um, glad for you. I want you to be happy, Matthias, I honestly do.”

  “You have meant so much to me,” he said, striving for the right words, the true words, from his heart. “More than I seem to know how to say.”

  * * *

  Kind, Sabra thought. He’s trying so hard to be kind.

  So why did it feel like he was ripping her heart out?

  Worst of all, she got it. She saw it so clearly. What he was doing to her now was essentially what she’d done to him a year ago.

  She’d hurt him, told him outright he would never have what he longed for from her. He’d done what he had to do to get over her. She knew she had no one to blame but herself.

  Now she just needed to hold it together, get through this with some small shred of dignity intact.

  She was about to open her mouth and wish him well with his new love—and the words got clogged in her throat.

  Because she just couldn’t.

  If another woman loved him now and did it well and fully, well, all right then. He should be with that woman.

  But to completely give up, right here and now?

  She just wasn’t that good of a person. “I have a request.”

  “Name it.”

  “I have the key and I’ll give it to you if that’s how you want it. But I’m asking you to let me keep it for one more year. Let me keep it and I will be here, same time as always, next year. If you’re still with your new love, just stay away till the sun is down. If you don’t show by dark, that will be all I need to know. I’ll lock up and push the key under the door. You’ll never see me again.”

  There was more. So much more she needed to say, including the most important words...

  I love you, Matthias. I love you and I should have said so last year.

  But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d told him to find someone else. And now they were here, in the cold December sunlight, saying goodbye. And she had no right at all to speak her love out loud.

  She shut her mouth and waited, certain he would say that he wanted his key back and he wanted it right now.

  But he only stood there, holding his hat, arms folded hard against her, his expression blank, those beautiful eyes of his so guarded.

  Time stretched out on a razor’s edge of loss and misery. She tried to reassure herself.

  He wasn’t asking for the key back, was he? That was a good sign.

  Wasn’t it?

  She almost let herself feel the faintest glimmer of hope.

  But then he broke the awful silence. “Goodbye, Sabra.”

  And with that, he put his hat back on and turned on his heel, heading for the driver’s side of the pickup. She just stood there, afraid to move for fear she would shatter.

  He got in, turned the engine on, circled the cabin and disappeared down the twisting dirt road.

  She held it together, barely, until the sound of his engine faded away in the distance.

  Then her knees stopped working. With a strangled cry, she sank to a crouch. “Get up,” she muttered, disgusted with herself.

  But it was no good. Her heart was aching so bad and there was really no alternative but to give herself up to the pain.

  At least he was gone. He wouldn’t have to see this.

  It was just her and her broken heart, the bitter taste of regret on her tongue.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, Sabra gave in completely. Slowly, she toppled onto her side. Curling up into herself on the cold winter ground, she let her tears fall.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sabra, the following March...

  “This kitchen is gorgeous,” Peyton declared from her favorite spot at Sabra’s new chef-quality stove. “You did it all. The farm sink, these quartz counters. Clean white cabinets with all the storage options and inner drawers. I’m so jealous.”

  Sabra, sitting at the island next to Iris, sipped her wine. “You saw it before. A bad memory from the early ’80s. Uh-uh. It was crying out for an update and we’ve been doing better than ever since I finally moved home and started tackling my job here, day-to-day. I’ve hooked us up with two new restaurants, big accounts. It all helps—and you, my dear Peyton, are invited to make your magic in my new kitchen anytime.” The wonderful smell of Peyton’s special pasta sauce graced the air. “You, too.” Sabra elbowed Iris playfully and then raised her wineglass. “Just bring more of this wine with you when you come.”

  An hour later, they sat on the long benches at the harvest table her great-grandfather had built and shared the meal Peyton had cooked for them. It wasn’t until they’d taken their coffee into the living room that Sabra’s friends started in on her about the “cabin guy” and how she needed to get over him.

  Iris insisted, “You can’t spend the whole year just sitting around waiting on a guy who’s with someone else and only showed up last year to say goodbye.”

  Pain, fresh and sharp, stabbed through her at the thought of that too-bright December day. “Who says I’m just sitting around? I’ve got a farm to run.”

  “Please, girlfriend. We’re not talking about work and you know we’re not. We’re talking about your social life, which is essentially nonexistent.”

  “Wait a minute. I have you guys. I have other friends, too, longtime friends I grew up with. We’ve reconnected since I moved home and we get together now and then, meet up for a show or lunch, or whatever.”

  “You do hear yourself,” Peyton chimed in. “Friends, you said.”

  “We are talking men,” said Iris. “And not men friends. Uh-uh. You owe yourself at least a few hot nights, some seriously sexy times.”

  “That’s not going to ha
ppen. It’s not who I am and I’m fine with that.”

  “Just download a few dating apps,” Peyton pleaded.

  “FarmersOnly.com, for crying out loud,” moaned Iris.

  “But I—”

  “No.” Iris shook a finger at her. “No excuses. Even if everything goes the way you hope it will next Christmas, even if it’s over with the other woman, if he drops to his knees and begs for one more chance with you—that changes nothing. You owe that man nothing. From now until then is a long time. You owe it to yourself to make good use of that time.”

  “Make use of it?” Sabra scoffed. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means that you went from Stan the Swine to James the Jerk to once a year with the cabin guy. It’s not going to kill you to step out of your comfort zone and see what’s out there. You need to mix it up a little. You just might find a man who’s as ready for you as you are for him.”

  “But I told you. Matthias was ready. I messed it up.”

  “Don’t you dare blame yourself.” Iris was nothing if not loyal. “You’d lost your dad. That man you’re pining for now could have been a little more understanding.”

  “And you’ve already boxed yourself in,” Peyton chided. “You won’t contact the guy before Christmas.”

  “I told you, that’s our agreement and—”

  “Understood.” Peyton cut her off, but in a gentle tone. “My point is, there’s nothing more you can do for now in terms of Matthias.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s a lot of months until December. Make those months count, that’s all we’re saying.”

  “It’s a numbers game,” declared Iris. “You’ve got to get out there and kiss a lot of toads before you’re ever going to meet the right guy for you.”

  “I’ve already met the right guy,” Sabra said quietly, knowing in her deepest heart that it was true. “I’ve met the right guy—and he’s with someone else now.”

  Her friends shook their heads.

  They sipped their coffee in silence for a few seconds.