by Dana Marton
Clara had told him about Baku, the Tojolabal shaman, and his strange ways of healing various illnesses. She had begged her father to go and see the man. She couldn’t stand the thought of not trying absolutely everything, no matter how remote the chance of success.
The general was now drinking some “jungle juice” three times a day he insisted tasted like ground-up snake skin mixed with slug slime and eyeball of caiman. The mix certainly smelled revolting. The second he pulled out his bag of green powder, all the Roberts women usually fled the kitchen.
He’d met Walker briefly while visiting Baku, but Walker disappeared right after that. Rumor had it he’d crossed the Chiapas border and went even farther south, into Guatemala or possibly beyond.
Clara bit into the cookie and resolved to chew it with full Christmas cheer if she choked on it. She was not going to ruin the mood of the party for everyone else.
She walked over to Elaine and Grandma Lucy and joined in the conversation that centered on nursing-home love triangles. She tried not to think of the fact that she was envious of her eighty-year-old grandmother’s love life. Seriously, Grandma Lucy had a better love life than three-quarters of the people in the room.
Clara settled in to listen to Grandma Lucy’s advice on how to best avoid a jealous catfight in the cafeteria line.
But, of course, Clara’s thoughts kept drifting back to Mexico, to Walker, as always.
She was in love with Walker.
But she had to face the fact that Walker had serious self-destructive tendencies. She didn’t judge him. She loved him with all his shades of gray. But he had to stop living for revenge. Or they would never have a future together. Not the kind of future they both deserved.
Until he could let go, all Clara could do was pray for him from afar, which she did on a daily basis.
She desperately wanted to talk to him. She couldn’t stop thinking about him as the party buzzed on around her.
Then brunch was over, the guests gone, the family retiring to the living room where the angel on top of the sixteen-foot tree touched the cathedral ceiling. It reminded Clara of being up in Walker’s surveillance tree in the jungle, him holding her through the night so she wouldn’t fall.
God, she missed having his strong arms around her.
Don’t think about that tree. She dropped her gaze.
Opened presents covered the carpet from that morning. Christmas lights glinted off the discarded wads of wrapping paper. All she’d wished for last night was Walker under that tree come morning—wearing nothing but a ribbon.
Probably for the best that she hadn’t gotten her wish. Her parents would have been pretty startled. And Grandma had already been through her share of No-Undie Mondays.
“A lovely brunch, Meredith. Thank you for doing all that work.” Clara’s father led her mother to the sofa, holding hands.
Ever since her father’s condition had been upgraded, the two of them had been acting as if they were on a second honeymoon, touchy-feely to an embarrassing level.
He had come clean about Rosita, Clara’s mission, and everything that had happened. The only thing his wife did was hug him and tell him she loved him and trusted him.
“Where is Bud?” Grandma Lucy asked from her recliner, looking toward the door. Apparently, the lucid part of her day was over, which brought another pang of heartache to Clara’s chest as she sat in the armchair next to her grandmother’s. “He always takes me skating on the pond on Christmas morning after we open presents.”
William “Bud” Roberts, her husband, had been gone for twenty years.
Grandma Lucy narrowed her eyes at the general. “Are you my father?” She looked to the door again. “When is Bud coming?” Then she glanced at her bare fingers. Frowned. “I thought we got married. Didn’t we?”
Her rings were upstairs in the drawer of the nightstand. Since she’d lost so much weight, she couldn’t wear them any longer. They slid off her finger.
“Have you heard from Antonio?” Clara asked, hoping to bring her grandmother back to the present. Grandma Lucy and Antonio were having a “courtship.”
Since Antonio had no children, he’d been invited for the holidays, but he’d broken his hip the week before, falling off the pool table, so he had to stay at Serenity Acres. What he’d been doing on the pool table, Clara had no idea. Probably singing.
Apparently, he’d been a crooner in his youth, determined to follow in Sinatra’s footsteps, and now had a tendency to claim high ground as his stage every chance he got, to serenade Grandma Lucy.
But Grandma Lucy just furrowed her forehead at the mention of his name. “Why do you think Bud is late? Is the weather bad?”
While Meredith began talking about the tree to distract her mother-in-law, the general was watching Clara.
“Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
Was she all right?
“It’s the sweater.” She forced a smile. “Christmas sweaters never look flattering on me.”
But the truth was, she did feel off-kilter this morning more than usual. She’d dreamed about Walker last night. They were back in the river, fleeing from the banditos. But this time they didn’t make it to shore. The current washed them farther and farther apart, while she fought desperately, without success, to reach him.
Clara blinked away the remnants of the dream. Anger filled her suddenly. She had asked Walker to come back to the US with her. But she hadn’t been important enough for him to do that. The truth was harsh, but it had to be faced.
Thousands of hearts have been broken at thousands of airports all over the world. Hers hadn’t been the first. Airports were for departing, leaving behind people and places.
She’d left her heart in Mexico. The empty hole inside her felt no less real, no less painful than if Scarface had gutted her.
“I swear, I’m okay,” she told her father, because he was still watching. “Just chillin’. I think I’m in a sugar coma from the cookies.”
Her father was about to say something, but his phone beeped. He glanced at the screen, then put the phone back on the coffee table. They had over a dozen active cases, since a lot of people travelled outside the country for the holidays. He’d been getting updates all morning.
Clara had taken the holidays off. Her father felt much better these days, but she was still determined to spend as much time with him as possible, make as many happy memories as they could. Both with her father and her grandmother.
He cleared his throat. “One more present for you, Clara.” Then he exchanged a secretive smile with her mother, who seemed suspiciously perked up suddenly, struggling to hide a grin. “It’s out in the driveway.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Like I’m going to fall for that.”
When she’d been sixteen, she spent the entire year lobbying for a car for Christmas. Then the big day came, and after each gift, she asked, “And one more present in the driveway?” Which became a family joke.
She never did receive a car. She had to work and buy one for herself from her own savings. But the “one more present in the driveway” turned into a family tradition. Her parents got a kick out of giving her an annual gag gift, something inexpensive, but something that would make everyone laugh as a capstone to their Christmas morning.
She rolled her eyes, but she pulled a blanket around her shoulders and shuffled outside in her house slippers.
She looked around from the front porch. She didn’t see anything. She turned back for her boots. “You hid it in the snow again, didn’t you?”
But strong arms folded around her from behind.
“Hey—” She turned, startled, and found herself staring into jungle-green eyes.
Her world tilted. For a long moment, she couldn’t talk. Her heart beat so hard, she felt dizzy.
Walker’s hair was shorter than when she’d last seen him, in a neat cut. He wore a gray sweater with camo pants and combat boots. God, he smelled good—some übermasculine aftershave, but light, not overpowerin
g, just enough to make her want to bury her nose in his neck. As if she didn’t want to climb him like a tree already.
His presence swept away her heartache and anger over their parting.
He was here. Nothing else mattered.
He was alive. He was alive and well. Relief should have made her laugh, but instead, her eyes were burning.
She had trouble finding her voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to tell you that your trip to Chiapas wasn’t a failed mission.”
“I didn’t save Rosita.”
“But you saved me.” His voice turned low and raspy. His eyes ate her up.
Her heart stuttered. Heat spread through her, and tingles, and flutters. And then all the Christmas cheer found her all at once. Her inner elf was doing backflips. And pirouettes. While throwing Christmas confetti.
Her mind was silently screaming: He’s here! He’s here! He’s here for me! She could barely string words together into a coherent sentence. “I thought you moved south from Chiapas.”
“That’d been the plan, but somehow, I ended up working for the DEA.”
He’s here! Then she caught up with his words. “What are you talking about?”
“After the Chiapas cartel war, the DEA caught a lot of grief for not preventing it. Half the crew was fired. The powers that be want to start with a clean slate. They reached out to me. Apparently, they had some kind of file on my ‘activities’ in the region.”
He shook his head with a half smile. “Hell, when they grabbed me, I thought they were taking me to prison. Instead, they offered me an undercover job to clean up the place.”
She could only stare, her brain feverishly trying to process the implications.
“What happened to Santiago and Carlos?”
“I caught Santiago and turned him over to the new and improved DEA. He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Carlos escaped to Honduras. For now. That’s why I wanted to go down there. But I’m pretty sure Santiago will give up his boss’s whereabouts sooner rather than later for some prison perk.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You let revenge go, just like that?”
“I realized I had to have my hands free if I wanted to grab on to you.”
She stared at him.
He said, “You can’t cut and paste people from one column into the other. But I realized that people can get off their stubborn asses, and move themselves. You were right. The revenge was for me. Ben wouldn’t have wanted it.”
God, she loved him.
“I cleared up the cartel problem,” he said with a touch of pride but without any detail. “Then I asked for a desk job at the DC office.”
“Desk job?” She squinted. “Who are you again? Walker never mentioned a twin.”
He laughed, a lovely sound to hear. Then he paused a beat. “I wish you’d mentioned that General Roberts was your father. Imagine my surprise when I ran into him in Baku’s village and he told me.”
She sucked in her lower lip. Let it go. “I couldn’t. Due to…circumstances.”
“He said as much.” Walker didn’t move his eyes from her face. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch before now. I had plans for us, but I wanted to wait with contacting you until I had my act together. So I’d have something real to offer.”
That made her heart beat way too fast, so she moved the conversation into another direction to give herself a chance to catch her breath.
“How is Baku?”
“He hooked up with Brunhilda, believe it or not.” Walker grinned.
Clara was grinning too, picturing the two together. “I believe it.”
“How about you? How is work?”
Who cared about work? She wanted to drag him to her car in the driveway, into the backseat and… Probably not a good idea, with her parents and grandmother in the house. Work. Okay. She could talk about work. “I’m on vacation. The last couple of cases have been pretty standard. Tracing credit cards to track people.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What, no cartel wars?”
“No open war, explosions, or crazy people who want to gut me.”
He grabbed the edges of the blanket she had around her shoulders and drew her closer. “You must have been bored.”
She looked into his eyes that held all the heat of the equator. “To tears. I had to help a couple of friends with their taxes for entertainment. Quarterly estimated tax payments from self-employed taxpayers are due on January fifteenth. People who fall in that category must calculate what they should pay so they don’t underpay and get hit with a fine later.” And now she was babbling. She pressed her lips together.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then he dragged it back up to her eyes, slowly, as if it took great effort. “How is your father?”
“The cancer stopped progressing. His diagnosis has been upgraded. He’s in good spirits.” He wasn’t cured, but the six-month prognosis had been extended to a year, and even more time wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
“Anything else to report?”
She flashed him a questioning look. He was so close, she could feel his body heat. She wanted his arms around her, but his hands were still clutching her blanket. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted it so badly, she was going to die if he didn’t. Her gaze dropped to his chiseled lips.
A soft groan escaped him, sounding like, I give up. And then he was kissing her.
Oh God. She sagged against him in relief. His chest was wide and hard with muscles, his strong arms around her at long last. His warm mouth was tasting her, their lips saying hello to each other. Then his tongue swept inside her mouth to deepen the kiss, to take fully, and to give everything she needed.
Liquid desire and heat spread through her all at once, blew through her like flash fire. She let her hands explore his chest, and she pressed her whole body against him, thrilling at the feel of the hard ridge behind the zipper of his pants.
He groaned into her mouth. But then, to her disappointment, he pulled back, breathing heavily.
Okay. Right. They were on her parents’ front porch, in view of the entire street. Jesus, Clara, get yourself together.
“Boyfriend?” He watched her closely for the answer.
“Shouldn’t you have asked before you kissed me?”
“I was going to kiss you either way. If there’s someone, I’m going to run the fucker off. Fair warning.”
She rolled her eyes with a breathless laugh. “When would I have the time for a boyfriend?”
“I want you to make time for me,” he told her. “Why do you think I took a desk job?”
“Temporary insanity?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m done with mortal combat.” Then he added, “I took a desk job because you travel. Both parents can’t be traveling. Somebody has to stay around for the kids.”
Kids? With Walker?
Just when she’d nearly regained firm footing, solid ground disappeared from under her once again. It felt like falling into the well. But a lot more pleasant.
“We are from different worlds,” she said, a little faint, having no idea why she was arguing. Maybe she had some deep-seated thing about not looking too easy.
“Maybe.” He held on to her. “Or maybe we’re both drowning in the same sea.”
She definitely felt like drowning as she looked into his turbulent gaze.
“Maybe we need to hang on to each other,” he said. “That’s my plan. Hang on to you, and never let you go again.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Do you think you could hang on to me?”
For some reason, her eyes filled with tears. “Like a wet suit that’s two sizes too small.”
“Do you think you can love me?”
“I kind of, sort of, have grown fond of you in a way.” She was not going to blurt out I love you, not when he was probably going to say something infuriatingly vague just to torture her.
“I love you, Clara,” he said unequivocally.
The starch went out of her knees. Then Walker murmured, “I love you, Clara Roberts, again,” and her heart did a double lutz, wobbly on the landing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Walker walked into the house behind Clara and surreptitiously adjusted himself, hoping to make his ‘condition’ a little less obvious. No need to completely embarrass himself in front of his future in-laws. Ideally, he would have preferred spending a week or two in bed with Clara before meeting her family, to take the edge off his hunger, but the general had extended an invitation when Walker had contacted him to day before to ask where he could find Clara.
The general stood to greet him, shook his hand. “Walker.”
“General. Thank you for the invitation, sir.”
Next to Walker, Clara grinned. “All the lame in-the-driveway presents are forgiven,” she said, and her father laughed.
After Walker shook hands and introduced himself all around, Clara dragged him to a love seat. Because the love seat was close to the fireplace and the heat the burning logs radiated, he pulled off his sweater.
The grandmother perked up immediately, leaning forward in her seat. “Bud! There you are. I’ve been waiting.”
Walker looked at Clara. She pointed at his T-shirt that had BUD/S written on it. From Basic Underwater Demolition/SEALs training.
“Bud was my grandfather,” Clara explained under her breath. “Grandma Lucy is having a rough day with her memory.”
Grandma Lucy smiled at him with such love on her face. Walker couldn’t help but smile back at her. She looked like a nice old lady. Clara resembled her. The gunmetal-gray eyes had clearly come from that side of the family.
“How is the DEA?” the general asked, and followed up with a few more work-related questions.
Walker answered and soaked up the warm family atmosphere. He hadn’t participated in a traditional Christmas morning since elementary school. He hadn’t realized he missed it.
