by Jule McBride
“I never knew you were interested in solving mysteries, Clive,” she managed to say, turning back to him.
Clive merely raised his eyebrows. “Solving which? The one involving Cheyenne Mining? Or the mystery of our relationship?”
“Both. About us...”
“Yeah?”
Impulsively, she pressed the back of her hand to Clive’s cheek. Staring into eyes that were so like Luke’s, Claire considered the fact that Clive would make a wonderful husband. He was good-looking and kind, great with kids. Someday, another woman was going to be very lucky.
Glancing away, she saw that Luke had disappeared. All that was left was the lone set of his boot prints trekking across the snow. Her heart fluttering, she felt almost as if Luke had wanted to leave her behind, to marry his half brother. And yet, Claire realized, Clive didn’t even know he had a half brother. Would Luke tell Evander? She wondered now. Or would he refuse to claim his father and brothers’ love, just as he’d so often refused to claim hers?
Claire’s eyes returned to Clive. “Clive—” Her voice caught. “We need to talk.”
* * *
“SORRY WE COULDN’T be alone earlier,” said Claire hours later. They’d seated themselves on the couch in the main room of the Stop Awhile, where they’d been alternately talking and gazing at the Christmas tree.
Clive shrugged. His blue eyes that were so like Luke’s settled on hers, and for a second she was tempted to tell him he had a half brother, but she couldn’t, of course, since that was for Luke to tell. If he ever did. Sudden, wishful anticipation made her heart miss a beat, but she was fairly certain Luke would turn away from his father, the way he’d turned and walked away from her today. Ignoring what Evander had said, Luke would probably convince himself he was keeping silent for Evander’s sake, because Evander only wanted to appease his guilt, not really know his son. Dammit, sometimes she thought Luke would rather do anything than accept the love that was all around him.
Reaching beside himself, Clive rubbed a flattened palm absently across the couch cushion. “Well,” he said with a sigh, “it’s not anybody’s fault we couldn’t sit down before now.”
“Things just sort of snowballed,” she agreed. Earlier, Wesley had driven her and Clive here, which meant they couldn’t talk in the car, and by the time they reached the ranch, Mama was serving dinner. After they’d eaten, Tex had monopolized Clive, forcing him to take a trip to the stables to see a new horse. “I can’t believe no one noticed we were such a mess,” Claire said.
Clive shrugged. “They probably figured I was working.”
“And that I was unpacking boxes at the house.” She sighed again. “If Tex ever finds out I was involved in two shoot-outs, he’ll hit the roof,” she continued, glancing guiltily toward the foyer and the darkened staircase. Thinking of Ham and Jack, she felt a prickle at the base of her spine. Wesley had given her until the day after Christmas to come in and give a full statement of what had happened at both Elmer’s stables and the Casper Mining shack.
“Not a creature is stirring,” remarked Clive, following her gaze to the staircase.
Everyone had gone to bed early, to rest up for the big day tomorrow. And now, just thinking about telling her folks the wedding was canceled filled Claire with dread; first thing in the morning, she’d have to do it. She and Clive had already established that much. Her eyes returned to the tree Tex had decorated with multicolored, blinking lights, and then she looked at Clive, now watching how the lights flickered, casting colored spots on his face. He offered a wry smile that made his mustache curl and his Luke-like eyes wrinkle at the corners. “I guess we blew it, didn’t we, Claire?”
She shook her head. “No. Things just didn’t work out the way we thought they were going to.”
“Sure didn’t.” After a long, pregnant silence, Clive said, “I have something else to tell you.”
“That you don’t want to marry me wasn’t enough?” As soon as they were alone, that’s what he’d said.
Clive scanned the room for a second, taking in the Christmas tree, then her. “Be honest, Claire. Would you have gone through with it?”
She shook her head again. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Their eyes met and held, and understanding coursed between them. “I do love you, though, Clive.” She smiled at him in the dim light. “I figure we’ll get wistful from time to time, and wonder what our life together would have been like.”
He nodded, another almost-rueful smile touching his lips. “Maybe after we’ve married other people...”
“And we’ve just had a big fight...”
“And suddenly the grass will look greener.”
She gave a soft, barely audible chuckle because it all had such a ring of truth. “What else did you want to tell me?”
“I don’t know if I should say this but, there’s... someone I’d like to start seeing.” Looking nervous, Clive slicked his hands down the thighs of his threadbare jeans, then he quickly continued, “Nothing’s happened between us, Claire. But over the past couple months, when I was getting Pa’s medicine at the drugstore, I started talking to a woman there....”
Claire tried to sort her muddled feelings. Putting aside her unreasonably wounded pride, she realized she felt relieved. She’d felt so guilty for sleeping with Luke. And wonderful, too. A ripple of awareness pulsed through her at the memory of it. “Have you been staying with her?”
Clive looked as if he were carefully considering what he wanted to say. “Yes, that’s where I’ve been. But, like I said, nothing happened. We didn’t sleep together. I just...wanted to get away from everything, so I could think, and she said I could use her couch.”
Guilt tweaked at Claire again. “And now you want to take her out?”
“Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up, especially not tonight. It may not even matter, but...”
He wanted to assure her before she saw them around town together. “Thanks for telling me, Clive.”
He was studying her. “I figure I’ll run into you and Luke soon enough.”
Her lips parted in surprise, and she knew color flooded her cheeks because they felt so hot. “What?”
Clive shrugged. “I remember that summer, back in high school, when you two used to hang around town together every Saturday. You were inseparable. And then I saw the way you were looking at each other today.”
Was it really that obvious? “Today?”
Clive’s eyes captured hers. “When he was leaving, you looked like it was breaking your heart, Claire.”
It was. “Well,” she admitted, “I don’t know what’s going to happen.” No more than she had years ago, when she’d first told Luke of her feelings. But now things were different. So much more complex. They were older, they’d become lovers, and what was happening between them felt like a last chance. How many times would she be willing to initiate an affair, when he wasn’t ready to share a life? She blew out a long sigh. “I really don’t know what’s going to happen,” she repeated.
Stretching out an arm, Clive pulled her to his chest in a brotherly half hug. “I guess that’s the secret, Claire,” he said. “We never know how things’ll turn out. Now, c’mon. Before we start getting maudlin on Christmas, you gonna help me get my coat?”
“Sure.” They rose and headed to the foyer where she took a shearling jacket similar to Luke’s from the closet. Dusting it off before she held it out to him, she said, “It sure got dirty.” Thinking of Ham and Jack again, she suddenly shuddered. “I’m so glad you’re okay. What possessed you to go after those guys?”
Clive shrugged into his jacket. “That woman at the drugstore I was telling you about?”
Claire nodded.
“Well, she’s been nice enough to ask me about Pa’s health, so we’ve gotten to talking while the p
harmacist fills the prescriptions. Anyway, Sylvie Saunders—that’s her name—started telling me that her family was having some trouble at the Flying Swords, so I figured I could at least try to help out. And then, after our fight, I just wanted to get away for a while, too, so...”
Claire squeezed his forearm as they headed for the door. “You don’t need to explain any more.”
Turning to face her, Clive shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Thanks, Claire.”
“For what?”
“For being you.”
She let her eyes rove over his face, as if for the last time, taking in the curling ends of a dark blond hank that licked his forehead, then gazing into his eyes. Clive really was one of the best men she knew, even if they weren’t right for each other. “You’ll tell your family first thing tomorrow, won’t you?” she said.
Clive nodded. “If not tonight. I figure they’ll still be up when I get home.” He sighed. “Your sisters are going to be disappointed.”
“I know,” she said with a helpless shrug. “But they’ll understand. Mama and I will call all the guests.”
“No,” he said. “We’ll split the list.”
Claire nodded again. “Okay. And maybe you can call the church.”
“I will.”
Somehow, discussing the particulars made everything suddenly seem very real, and she swallowed hard. The wedding she’d been planning for months was simply not going to happen. “The musicians,” she murmured. “And the caterers.” She suddenly groaned. “And what are we going to do with that gorgeous cake, Clive?”
“Don’t worry, Claire. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
She nodded as he swung open the storm door. Turning, he wedged himself between it and the glass outer door. Strange, she thought, shifting her gaze from the snow outside to Clive’s eyes. It was impossible to look at Clive now without seeing he was Luke’s brother. Vaguely, she wondered if she’d been drawn to Clive, in part, because of those eyes that were so like Luke’s. And once more, she found herself fighting temptation. If she told him about Luke, Clive would tell Evander. Maybe the Stoddards, more than she, could convince Luke of how easy it could be to love. To be together, living as a family.
Clive’s gaze had grown intense. “I’ll always have feelings for you, Claire. You know that, don’t you?”
Her heart swelled with warmth. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.” Maybe, if they were lucky, they’d both find the love they deserved. Who knew? Maybe Sylvie was the woman for Clive. And maybe Claire would wind up with Luke, somehow. Edging closer, she laid a hand on Clive’s sleeve and used it to pull him closer. Stretching to her tiptoes, Claire pressed a light, sisterly kiss to his cheek.
He said, “If you need anything...”
“I’ll call,” she assured him.
And then Clive was gone. She watched him walk through the snow to the Explorer, which Wesley and another officer had delivered. Turning, he waved. She waved back, then went inside. Shutting the door, she leaned against it and drew a deep breath. This is it,
she thought. The wedding’s really off.
Her eyes drifted to a phone; it was perched on a stand near the archway that led into the living room. Slowly she walked over and lifted it. Maybe she shouldn’t call, she thought, punching in Luke’s number, but she wanted...to know why Luke had left without saying goodbye. And she wanted to hear his voice and tell him that her and Clive’s wedding was officially canceled.
But he didn’t seem to be home. She frowned as the phone rang, thinking it was too early for Luke to be delivering the gifts to Lost Springs. “He must have gone to give his statement about what happened at the shack,” she murmured.
The answering machine picked up and she felt a rush of pure heat in her veins at the slow, mellow, deep sound of his voice. “Luke,” she said softly when the beep sounded, “I...just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas.” With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, she added, “I wish we were together tonight.”
Gently replacing the receiver, she crossed the foyer, seating herself on a step. Glancing up the darkened staircase, she was glad everybody was already in bed. At least she still had until morning to decide how to break the news. With a sigh, she stared through the archway at the Christmas tree. Tex had gone all out—the tree was covered with decorations, including those she and her sisters had made in school and craft classes over the years.
“Nothing like Christmas,” Tex had said with a satisfied sigh as he put the angel on the top.
“Definitely not this year,” Claire agreed now, and then she simply sat there, drawing her knees up and hugging them, as she began planning the words she’d use when she told her family about the wedding.
* * *
LUKE PULLED THE JEEP under a canopy of trees and stared at the main house at Lost Springs where he’d spent his childhood. Closing his hand over the ignition keys, he glanced down, then he turned over the laminated key chain. The picture was hard to make out in the dark interior, but he could see that Claire looked gorgeous, sitting on his lap, definitely a sight better than he did in a Santa suit.
“It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” was playing on the radio, and somehow, when Luke glanced through the windshield again, the fact seemed strange to him. The digital clock on the dashboard read 2 a.m., and outside, the night really had cleared. It was cold and crisp, the sky star-studded. Emitting a wistful sigh, Luke turned off the motor, got out and circled the Jeep, hoisting two heavy sacks off the passenger seat.
Suddenly, he uttered a soft curse as a neatly wrapped package tumbled into the snow. Leaning over, he tried to retrieve it, only to lose his hat again. It just wasn’t his day. Ever since he’d left Claire in Clive’s arms, Luke had been stewing in his own juices. Spending most of the evening giving the cops a statement about the encounter with Ham and Jack hadn’t helped.
Now Luke lifted the Stetson and fit it back onto his head. Why he was still wearing it he didn’t even know, since the bullet hole through the brim had ruined it. As he lifted the package and dusted off the snow, he recognized Claire’s handiwork. The woman tied a helluva bow. Red-and-green lengths of intertwined ribbon stretched over the gold foil paper, looping gracefully. None of Luke’s bows ever looked like that, and he suddenly wished he knew what she was thinking at this very instant and if there was any chance she’d be around next Christmas to help him. Putting the present back into the sack, Luke headed toward the house, approaching it from the side in case any young, prying eyes happened to be watching.
Reaching the porch, he paused and frowned, kicking a step to dislodge the snow from his boots. Drawing a deep breath, he looked around the place as he often did. Glimmers of the past haunted his mind, and for a second he thought he remembered his mama standing here with him, saying goodbye. Had she really been wearing a camel-colored coat over a yellow dress? And had she really told him to ring the doorbell after she was gone?
Suddenly, the sharp night air was hurting him, somewhere deep inside his chest. Or maybe it was Luke’s heart hurting. Ever since he’d run into Claire again, he was getting used to dealing with unwanted emotion. Shaking off the feelings, he fitted a key to the front door lock, propped open the door with his foot, then hoisted both bags of gifts over the threshold. Once he was inside, he headed straight for the Christmas tree.
White lights ringed the bushy boughs of the evergreen, casting a glow over the worn wooden floors, and for a moment, Luke glanced over the ornaments made by the boys. Tomorrow, this room would be a madhouse, with boys climbing over one another for gifts. Luke’s lips twisted into a wry half smile when he thought of the guys he’d grown up with, so many of whom he’d seen last summer at the bachelor auction. Luke could still remember them on Christmas morning, wrestling and sharing their toys.
Getting down to work, he began quickly arranging gifts under the tree, and as he did, he called
himself ten kinds of a fool. He wondered if he feared Claire would come to know him better and really guess at what it meant to have nothing. To stand on a dark porch, alone on a cold, clear Christmas morning with your mama leaving. Slightly tilting his head, Luke could almost see the long rivers of her raven hair, falling over her shoulders as she leaned down to tell him...
He couldn’t remember. Sighing, he stepped back and stared at the tree again, viewing his handiwork. As he finished folding the two empty sacks, his gaze lingered where red light reflected on some shiny gold paper.
The room was dim and peaceful—reverent almost—and now the soft lights made Luke suddenly think about how he used to watch Claire years ago, even before they’d met at the feed store. He was still in grade school then, and sometimes he and other boys were piled into a bus and driven to the Methodist church off Shoshone Highway for Sunday services, the same church where Claire’s wedding was set to be held. Luke and his friends had gone scrubbed and pressed—all best bib and tucker—dressed in their newest blue jeans and freshly ironed white shirts, and they’d always taken the last pew in back. The front pew belonged to the Buchanans. Even then, in her lace ankle socks and white gloves, with a long tight braid flowing down the back of her frilly dresses, she’d completely captured his attention.
“Luke?”
The voice startled him, and he jerked his head, looking over his shoulder just in time to see a child streak through the dark toward him. Small fists rained down, pummeling Luke’s thighs. “You told me there was a Santa, and he was gonna get my letter!”
“Brady,” Luke whispered simply, leaning and pulling the boy into his arms. Brady was really too big, but Luke held him, anyway, even though the boy kept punching; his tightly balled fists didn’t hurt nearly as much as the pain Luke knew the boy felt. Glancing down, he took in Brady’s white flannel pajamas, which were printed with a sports team logo. Luke figured he’d been fighting sleep for hours, hoping to catch Santa. Unfortunately, he’d seen Luke instead.
