by Jill Shalvis
Sam lifted her Santa mug. “To new beginnings.”
Chapter Three
“You want to what?” Ethan stared at his parents as if they had lost their minds. It was a possibility. Winter on a farm could make people a little stir-crazy. Ever since returning from town, Ethan had felt like he’d swallowed a bucket of bees. Of course, that had more to do with Sam Henderson than two hundred acres of farmland.
His mother reached out and patted his hand, which rested on the linen tablecloth his great-great-grandmother had brought over from Germany. “I know this is a shock, Ethan, but it’s not like we’re fallin’ off the face of the earth. We’re just moving to South Padre Island.”
“Just?” Ethan pulled his hand out from under hers and got up from the table, pacing back and forth. “What about the farm? The animals? The folks of Bramble?” He turned and stared at his parents. “Me?”
The weathered skin around his father’s green eyes scrunched up. “You’re thirty years old, boy. You still scared of the dark?”
His mother jumped back in. “Of course he’s not scared of the dark.” She shot Ethan a skeptical look before addressing her husband. “I told you we shouldn’t just drop the news on him, Jeb—especially on Christmas Eve.”
“Hell.” His father got up from his chair. “I thought the boy would be excited to finally get rid of us. I figured that was why he’d never married or brought a girl home besides that cute little Sam Henderson.” He studied Ethan again. “You ain’t one of them…”
“No!” The word came out louder than Ethan intended, and he quickly tacked on a “sir.”
“Then what’s your problem?” his father asked. “You ain’t worried about being able to handle the farm, are you? ’Cause you’ve been doin’ most of the work ever since I fell off that danged ladder and screwed up my back.”
“I just think it’s crazy, is all,” Ethan said. “Why would you and Mama want to live on a beach when you’ve spent your entire life on a farm?”
“Maybe that’s why,” his mother said in the soft voice that had always soothed Ethan. She patted the table. “Come sit down, Ethan, and quit pacing like an expectant cat.”
Begrudgingly, he sat back down in the chair, but couldn’t help crossing his arms and staring belligerently at the toes of his work boots.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” his mother said, “your father and I aren’t exactly spring chickens. We were in our late thirties when God finally blessed us with you.” Since Ethan’s hands were tucked under his armpits, she reached out and patted his knee. “And we couldn’t be more proud of the man you’ve grown into. But I agree with your father. There comes a time in every man’s life when he needs some space. And since you don’t seem to be in any hurry to fly the coop—we are.”
“Fly the coop?” Ethan’s jaw dropped as he stared at his mother. “I stayed for you—for you and Daddy because I didn’t think you two could make a go of the farm without me.”
“Now, don’t lie, boy,” his father said. “You get flustered just walkin’ into Josephine’s Diner.”
Ethan jumped back up from the chair and sputtered out the words. “F-flustered or not, if I’d known how you felt, I would’ve left a long time ago to pursue my own dreams.”
“Now, don’t be gettin’ all upset, Ethan.” His mother stood up and sent his father a stern look. “What your father means is that anyone can see that you were born to be a farmer. It’s obvious in the way you love animals and get so darned excited during harvest. But if you want to sell the farm, your father and I will support that.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s time for all of us to leave the hard work behind and have us a little fun.”
Fun? First Sam and now his parents. Ethan was really starting to hate that word. Fun was something kids had, not grown adults who had responsibilities. He ignored the fact that he wasn’t exactly acting like an adult either.
“We’re not selling the farm,” he said. “I’ll figure out a way to buy you out so you can race off to South Padre and have some fun on the beach.”
His parents exchanged bright smiles.
“That won’t be necessary,” his daddy said. “Back when you was born, we put a little money aside, and since you never used it for college…”
The tires of the truck hit another pothole, but Ethan still didn’t slow down. He had never been the violent type, but he couldn’t help thumping the steering wheel with his fist as he turned onto the highway that led into Bramble.
A college fund? His parents had put money in a college fund and never mentioned a word? Okay, so maybe at eighteen he hadn’t exactly acted like he wanted to go to college. And maybe some of that had to do with being a little scared. But what good were parents if they couldn’t force a shy, backward kid out the door?
Of course, it had worked out real well for them. They had gotten years of free labor and now had a nice, fat nest egg to buy a motor home so they could “have fun” in some South Padre retirement village. Well, maybe it was time for Ethan to have a little fun too. He pressed harder on the accelerator and watched the skinny gauge of the speedometer inch up the miles per hour. Except when it got to seventy-five, the old truck started to shake so badly that he had to ease back down to sixty.
Ethan still made it to Bramble in record time. He’d planned on heading over to Lowell’s barn to check on the animals people had brought in for the nativity scene, but instead he pulled into Bootlegger’s Bar. He’d been to the bar before—every person over eighteen years of age had been in Bootlegger’s at one time or another. Ethan just wasn’t what you would call a regular, which explained the surprised faces when he ambled in the door.
Of course, Ethan was a little surprised himself when he looked at the bar and saw who was sitting there. The beginning line of a joke popped into his head: An angel, a beer-bellied wiseman, Joseph, and a pig walked into a bar…
“Well, hey, Ethan!” Kenny Gene waved him over so exuberantly that his wing clipped Mayor Harley Sutter’s wiseman crown and knocked it to the floor.
Harley sent him an annoyed look before leaning down to pick it up. “So what brings you to Boot’s, Ethan?” He readjusted the plastic crown on his balding head. “I thought you were supposed to be gettin’ the animals over to the church.”
“I am. But I thought I’d have me a beer first.” Or six, Ethan thought as he slipped onto the stool next to Joseph. Even in his sour mood, Ethan couldn’t help grinning at the floral sheets draped around his friend Colt Lomax—especially when the man had once been the biggest bad boy in Bramble. But before Ethan could do a little friendly teasing, the baby pig sitting on Colt’s lap released a squeal of delight and launched himself at Ethan.
Ethan laughed as his face was covered in wet pig kisses. “I’ve missed you too, Sherman. But it looks like you’ve been well taken care of.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Colt said. He took another drink from his long-necked bottle, the pink-flowered sheet sliding up his tattooed arm. “Hope and my sister, Shirlene, spoil that pig rotten.”
Ethan was glad to hear it. Ever since he’d given the pig to Hope as a gift, he’d had second thoughts. Sherman was special—the runt of the litter that Ethan hadn’t expected to live. But the tiny piglet had surprised him. And what Sherman lacked in physical size and strength, he’d made up for in brains. And not just brains, but a sixth sense about people. Even now, he studied Ethan with his intense beady eyes, almost as if he could feel Ethan’s emotional turmoil.
“I’m okay, boy,” Ethan whispered close to his ear. Still, Sherman continued to stare at him until Manny, the bartender, brought over the beer and a bowl of mixed nuts. And food could distract Sherman from just about anything.
While the pig devoured the nuts, Ethan turned back to Colt. “So I guess Darla is responsible for your Joseph’s outfit?”
“I wish,” Colt grumbled. “If Darla had made it, I could’ve gotten out of it. But how do you tell your wife of two weeks—your pregnant wife, no less—that you aren’t go
ing to wear the costume that she went to all the trouble to make for you?”
“Well, I have to admit that the purple yarn belt is a little flashy,” Ethan teased. “But other than that, it’s not so bad.”
Colt grumbled something under his breath about annoying farmers before Mayor Sutter spoke up.
“Well, I think you should be honored, son. It’s not every day that a man gets to be Joseph to our little Hope’s Mary. It just doesn’t get much better than that.” The look on Colt’s face said that he could think of a lot of things that were better.
“Unless you’re Slate and get to be Faith’s Joseph.” Kenny Gene shook his head, causing the halo that was attached to his cowboy hat to wobble. “Man, Pastor Robbins ain’t gonna know what hit him when he sees our nativity scene.”
Ethan figured that was an understatement. The pastor had been in Bramble for only a year and was still trying to adjust to west Texas life. Tonight might just send him straight back to California—or over the edge.
Colt downed the rest of his beer and slipped off the stool. Standing, the floor-length floral robes looked even more amusing.
“Come on, Sherman.” Colt jerked the sheet from under the toe of his biker boots and picked up the staff that leaned against the bar. “Let’s get this over with.”
But the pig refused to budge from Ethan’s lap. Even when Colt reached for him, he grunted out a refusal and continued to lick the nut bowl.
“Smart pig.” Colt patted Sherman’s head. “I wish I could get out of it so easily.”
Ethan laughed. “I’ll watch out for him, Colt. You just watch out for that lightnin’ bolt when God notices who’s playin’ Joseph.”
“Real funny, Ethan,” Colt said before he headed for the door.
“We better get goin’ too, Kenny,” Mayor Sutter said. “Cindy Lynn will have our hides if we’re not there for the big dress rehearsal.” He glanced at Ethan. “You comin’, son?”
Ethan held up his beer. “After I finish this.”
Once they were gone, Ethan sipped his beer and tried to have fun. He failed miserably. Manny was busy closing up the bar for the night, which left Ethan no choice but to watch the Christmas movie on the television over the bar. It was the one where Jimmy Stewart gets to see how the world would change if he’d never been born. And it depressed the hell out of Ethan. Since he didn’t have a brother to save from a frozen pond, wasn’t married, and didn’t have children, he figured the world would do nicely without him.
“Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”
Instead of coming from the television, the words came from just over his shoulder. And Ethan turned to find Sam’s sister, Marcy, standing there. She wasn’t wearing a sheet or wings, just a red dress that revealed more of her large breasts than it covered. She reached up and flicked one of the jingle bells that hung from her earlobes, and the tinkling noise had her laughing.
“What do you know, Marcy Henderson is handin’ out wings to angels,” she said as she slung an arm over Ethan’s shoulders.
“Hey, Marcy,” he said. Since he’d never found Marcy attractive, Ethan had no problem talking to her. Too bad they’d never had anything to talk about. While Sam loved animals, football, the farm, and a multitude of other things that Ethan liked as well, Marcy seemed to like only two things—herself and men. And Ethan didn’t care to talk about either subject. He glanced at the door and wondered how long it would take him to get to it. But before he could even gather Sherman up in his arms, Marcy took the seat next to him.
“Buy a girl a drink?”
Figuring a drink might get her arm off him, he motioned to Manny, who came over to take her order for “Sex on the Beach.” Manny didn’t even blink at the word, but Ethan’s face burned with heat. Or maybe his embarrassment had more to do with the image that flashed into his brain. An image of his parents having sex on the beach in South Padre.
Geez, I really am losing it. He shook the image away, disrupting a sleeping Sherman and causing him to grunt in disapproval. But the sound achieved what Ethan wanted. Marcy removed her arm as she jumped off her stool.
She held a hand to her chest and waved one long red nail at Sherman. “Who let that thing in?”
“Marcy, you know animals have always been welcome in Boot’s,” Manny said as he placed her drink on one of those little napkins. “Especially if they know how to mind their manners.” He reached out and patted the pig’s head. “And Sherman always minds his manners.” He arched a brow at Marcy. “Unlike some people I know.”
Marcy ignored the comment and turned back to Ethan. “It figures that you would have some kind of animal with you. You and that sister of mine can’t seem to stay away from them.” Casting a wary look at Sherman, she eased back onto the stool. “I just had to suffer through two hours of Laverne and Daddy gushing over my sister becomin’ a doctor. Not a real doctor, mind you, but an animal doctor. Geez, what was she thinkin’?”
Ethan wondered the same thing. What had Sam been thinking when she stole his profession? And why hadn’t she ever mentioned the fact to him? Of course, she had written him a few times, and he’d never written her back. He had justified it by telling himself he was too busy with the farm, but in reality he’d been mad at her for leaving in the first place. Hell, he was still mad at her.
As he took another drink of beer, Marcy stuck out a leg and pointed to her red shoe. “Although I got me a pair of New York designer shoes out of the deal. ’Course, now I have to come up with a gift for Sam. Somethin’ that’s never been easy, considerin’ she has the worse taste in clothes of any human I know. Unlike me, who happens to have unlimited fashion sense.”
Ethan glanced over at Marcy. Fashion sense wasn’t the only difference between her and Sam. Marcy didn’t have a cute little button nose. Or a mouth shaped like a rosebud. Or a slim body with breasts that were… perfect. Two perfect swells that looked great in a red sweater. Or a snug Western shirt. Or a tiny, white drill team uniform.
Ethan’s brow crinkled. What the hell? Where had all those images come from? He could understand the red sweater—he’d just seen her in that today—but the other clothes she hadn’t worn since high school. And while he was puzzling over this, some locked chamber in his brain opened up and a wellspring of images flooded his mind. Images of Sam horseback riding, her cute butt nestled against the saddle and her breasts jiggling in a tight T-shirt. Leaning over the corral fence in a pair of tattered cutoffs. Stretched out in a pile of fresh-cut hay in faded jeans and a snap-down Western shirt that showed just a hint of cleavage.
And once those images ended, his mind filled with others. Sam helping him with the birth of a calf and laughing as the wobbly baby cow took its first steps. Sam eating watermelon and spitting the seeds at him. Sam catching her first fish. Sam helping his mother can pickles. Sam sending his father get-well cards when he’d fallen off the ladder.
Sam.
“See anything you like?”
Marcy’s words made Ethan realize too late that, while he’d been thinking about Sam, he’d been staring at her sister’s abundant breasts. As his face heated, she leaned closer.
“It’s a shame, you know.” She tapped his bottom lip with one long fingernail. “You really are cute, Ethan Miller. And I’ve often wondered about those big feet of yours. But as much as I love men, I can’t bring myself to poach on my sister’s property.” She shook her head. “You would think that with all them good-lookin’ college boys, she’d get over you and move on. But nooo, every time she calls she asks a million and one questions. Is he married? Does he have a girlfriend? Is his hair still as blond? His eyes still as green? Even when I mentioned that there was a distinct possibility that you were gay, she wouldn’t shut up.”
Suddenly Ethan couldn’t get his mouth to work. All he could do was stare at Marcy as his heart thundered in his ears. Sam wasn’t over him?
Completely unaware of his stunned confusion, Marcy took another sip of her drink and continued. “I figure it h
as to do with all those reruns of Little House on the Prairie she used to watch. She was obsessed with the episodes that featured that awkward, blond farmer dude. She specially liked the one where Half-pint finally gets him to notice she’s a woman by wearing a pair of high-heeled—”
“Boots.” The word slipped out of Ethan’s mouth without much thought, especially considering he’d never watched that particular television show in his life.
Marcy shot a glance over at him. “I was going to say shoes.” Her eyes crinkled like two squashed spiders. “You actually noticed what my sister was wearin’? What color was her sweater?”
If Marcy’s plan was to confuse the hell out of him, she was doing a pretty damned good job. Between the things she’d said about Sam, Little House on the Prairie, and shoes, he didn’t know what they were talking about. Still, he answered the question.
“Macintosh-apple red.”
“And her eyes?” She leaned closer, her face starting to look intense and scary.
He swallowed. “Deep blue like the sky at twilight just after the last rays of the sun flicker out.”
Marcy plopped back on her stool as if she couldn’t quite believe his words. Ethan knew how she felt. He was pretty stunned himself. Which was why he almost fell off the stool when Marcy reached over and grabbed the front of his Western shirt.
“Now, I realize you like to do things nice and slow, Ethan,” she said. “And I’ll be the first to tell you that, on certain occasions, nice and slow works out real good. But this ain’t one of those times. Sam plans on flyin’ out day after tomorrow.” She smiled slyly. “And if Half-pint is going to get her awkward farmer for Christmas, we have no time to lose.”
Chapter Four
“Y’all!” Cindy Lynn’s high-pitched voice came through the bullhorn she held to her mouth, causing most of the costumed folks of Bramble to cover their ears. “Would you stop yammerin’ and get in your positions? And, shepherds, remember, I said ‘sore’ afraid—that means you’re so scared your muscles hurt. So look hurt!”
