Be Mine at Christmas

by Brenda Novak

Ken felt his muscles tense. “Baker isn’t pretending to be that guy, is he?”

  “He hinted that he’d like to do what he could. But that was the alcohol talking. He wouldn’t even fight me,” his father added with another chuckle.

  Ken was tired of his father’s barroom brawls and was glad this one had been avoided, even if Baker deserved a beating. Ken didn’t need anyone to stick up for him.

  “Keep his pants zipped!” Brent repeated. “Ken hasn’t been sleeping with Cierra.”

  The image of Cierra standing naked in front of him flashed through Ken’s mind. Did almost count? In the hours since the Jacuzzi, there were plenty of times he’d wished that Brent hadn’t come home when he did. Now he was back to being glad.

  “Baker had better shut up before I pay him another visit,” he said. “Cierra doesn’t need him running around, stirring up shit.” Not if, as he suspected, her visa had expired.

  Russ’s eyebrows shot up. “That means it’s true? You’ve got some Guatemalan woman living here?”

  Afraid that Cierra had already overheard most of what had been said, Ken held up a hand. He wanted to send her off to clean the gym or something before they discussed this, so they could speak freely. But that didn’t stop his clueless brother from calling after him.

  “Wait a second! You found the address she was looking for? Why’d you say you didn’t?”

  Now it was too late to keep this quiet. He didn’t know if Cierra was listening, but he felt he had to answer Brent in a way that everyone could hear and understand, just in case. “I didn’t want her there,” he said. “It wasn’t a good place.”

  “But…you told me you didn’t find it.” Brent sounded confused.

  “Because it wasn’t a good place, like I told you. You should’ve seen it.”

  “Why would you lie about that?” Brent asked. “When you’ve been dying to get rid of her?”

  Ken grabbed his brother’s arm. “Will you shut up?”

  “She’s in the kitchen,” Brent snapped. “She can’t hear us.”

  His brother could be so obtuse. “Just shut up,” Ken said again. Then he scooped his keys off the coffee table and stalked out. He didn’t want to deal with his father right now. He didn’t want to deal with Brent, either. And he most certainly didn’t want to see Cierra’s face if she’d heard one word of what they’d said.

  “Where are you going?” his father called after him.

  “I’ve got stuff to do.” He slammed the door on his way out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHILE KEN WAS GONE, Brent gave Cierra a whole pile of new clothes. He said they were a gift from his mother, that his mother expected nothing in return, and kept pushing her to try them on. But she didn’t want to touch them. She wasn’t happy about the clothes or anything else. She felt sick inside. For several reasons. For wanting to be with Ken so badly she’d humiliated herself by believing, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it to herself at the time, that he might be genuinely interested in her. For hoping the situation could be different. For burdening him when he wished to be rid of her…

  “So what do you think? It’s pretty, right?”

  Forcing herself out of her thoughts, she refocused on Ken’s brother. He was waiting for her reaction to the last item he’d taken from the bag—a sweater he laid on the couch.

  “Beautiful,” she breathed, and allowed herself to finger the soft knit. It was beautiful, one of the prettiest sweaters she’d ever seen. But that didn’t change how she felt about accepting such an expensive gift.

  “So try it on!” he said.

  Realizing that he didn’t understand her resistance and was disappointed as a result, she finally nodded and carried the clothing into her bedroom.

  Almost every item fit. She’d come out to show it to Brent, so he could feel he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. He’d tell her how wonderful she looked in it. Then she’d try on the next thing and thank him again. It was an agonizing process for her, but when it was all over he seemed satisfied and eventually left for town to finish some painting for his mother.

  Once the sound of Brent’s engine dimmed, Cierra donned her old clothes and sank onto the bed next to the pile he’d attempted to give her. These garments were so much better than anything she’d ever owned, so similar to what she’d seen Tiffany wear. She thought she might have a chance of capturing Ken’s interest if she could look more…American. More…affluent.

  But she couldn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. New clothes didn’t change who she was or remove her responsibilities.

  Getting his T-shirt from where she’d put it in a drawer earlier, she folded everything into a neat stack and laid his coat across the top. She didn’t want to take any of it. She preferred to leave knowing she’d worked for the food and shelter he’d provided and that he was no worse off for having met her.

  The phone rang, but she ignored it. As of this moment, she no longer worked for Ken, so it wasn’t her place to answer. She was on her way out—but just as she reached the front door, she saw the nacimiento he’d bought for her to enjoy and paused in regret.

  Would it be so terrible to take a small token to remember him by?

  No. He probably wouldn’t even miss it. Christ wasn’t supposed to be in the manger yet, anyway.

  KEN RETURNED TO THE CABIN relieved and excited. He’d spent most of the morning at his mother’s place, calling every associate he could think of, searching for a legitimate position Cierra could fill. And he’d found one. Lawrence Smith, a guy Ken had known in college, was living in Boise. Recently divorced, he had full custody of his three children and ran an import company that specialized in plywoods from Ecuador, the Philippines and Guatemala. His current nanny was getting married and moving to California the first of the year, which meant he needed a new one. And he didn’t mind that, for the time being, Cierra wasn’t a U.S. citizen.

  The only hard part had been convincing Larry to hire Cierra instead of the woman he’d already interviewed, and to do it sight unseen. But Ken had vouched for her and promised to compensate Larry if she didn’t work out. Fortunately, Larry had been mollified when he learned that Cierra spoke English as well as she did. He considered it a bonus that his caregiver would be able to communicate with his children and teach them Spanish, since he frequently traveled to Spanish-speaking countries.

  Eager to tell Cierra the news, Ken had tried to call the cabin, but she hadn’t picked up. And now that he was home, he couldn’t get her to answer when he called her name. Where was she? In the Jacuzzi?

  That would surprise him. She wasn’t the type to relax in the middle of the day. It wasn’t like her to hang out in her room, either, not when there were boxes that needed to be unpacked.

  He checked her room—and saw some clothing stacked on her bed. Judging by the tags, all still attached, these were the clothes his mother had bought. And, of course, he recognized his shirt and coat.

  “Cierra? Hey, you around?” He already knew she wasn’t. That clothing told him as much. But he looked in the Jacuzzi room. And the gym. And the patio out back. He even unlocked the old workroom, where Gabe used to build his furniture. She wasn’t anywhere.

  It wasn’t until he came back to the living room, however, that he realized she was gone for good. That was when he spotted the nativity set he’d bought, remembered how much she liked it and noticed that something was missing.

  AT LEAST IT WASN’T snowing. And this time Cierra had a name; that would make the search easier. The slip of paper she’d brought from Vegas had probably held the same information, somewhere in that jumble of writing. If only Cierra had paid more attention to the details, she might’ve arrived at Baker’s in the first place.

  Almost as soon as she’d started walking, two older women, Darla and Deanna Channing, sisters in their early seventies, pulled over to see if she needed a ride. They were taking advantage of the break in the weather by heading to town for supplies. Apparently, they owned a cabin not far from Ken’s.


  Cierra had planned to start her search for Baker once she reached Dundee. She’d thought she’d have to go there to find someone who knew him well enough to give her directions. But when she mentioned his name, Deanna, the driver, said she used to be Baker’s schoolteacher. Not only did she know him, she knew where he lived and offered to take Cierra there.

  Certain her luck had finally improved, Cierra felt her spirits lift—until they got to his cabin. Then she wasn’t sure what to do. The decrepit old shack looked as if a strong wind might blow it down the mountain. She knew Ken wasn’t impressed with the place, but she hadn’t expected it to be quite so bad.

  “This is it?” she said, stalling.

  “This is it. His mother used to be a good friend of mine, God rest her soul. She lived here, too, before she passed four years ago.”

  Darla, the sister, frowned. “Doesn’t look as if he’s done much to keep up the place.”

  Maybe he couldn’t, Cierra thought. Maybe Baker was poor, like her. If that was the case, she didn’t want to discriminate against him. She knew what it was like to be treated differently because of her economic status.

  But there were the comments Ken’s father had made about Baker. Ken’s family didn’t hold him in very high esteem….

  Grasping the door handle, she paused. “Do you know much about your friend’s son?”

  “No.” Deanna adjusted the wool hat she wore to keep her ears warm. “There were some allegations once—”

  “Allegations?” she interrupted, asking for clarification.

  “She doesn’t understand that word,” Darla cut in.

  Deanna patted her hand. “Never mind, dear. It doesn’t matter. His mother told me he had a boss who was out to get him, that he was falsely accused of some wrongdoing. But I’m not one to pass along gossip so we’ll leave it there.”

  Gossip… Was that what Ken and his family had been reacting to? Cierra hoped that was all it was.

  Thanking the sisters, she climbed out, but turned back when Deanna lowered her window. “Would you like us to wait for a few minutes?”

  Relieved, Cierra nodded, then approached the front door and knocked twice.

  No one answered.

  “I don’t think he is home,” she called back.

  The Channings briefly conferred. “Would you rather go to town?” Deanna asked.

  Why would that help? She’d only been going to Dundee in order to find this location. “No. I will wait.”

  “You’re sure? It’s cold out, young lady.”

  “I am warm enough. And…the sky is clear today, yes?”

  “For the moment,” Deanna grumbled, as if it could change quickly. But she promised they’d stop on their way back to make sure Cierra wasn’t still standing on the stoop, and pulled away.

  Cierra knocked several more times, just because she had nothing better to do, and was surprised when she finally heard a noise from within.

  “Hello? Is anyone at home?” she said loudly. “My name is Cierra Romero. I was…I was supposed to work for a Mr. Baker? His sister sent me.”

  She heard someone say, “Well, what do you know.” Then the door opened and a man who hadn’t shaved in some time squinted out at her as if the sun was far too bright an intrusion into his dark little home.

  “Slick finished with you already, huh?”

  “Slick?” She didn’t know anyone by that name.

  “The big NFL football stud. Ken Holbrook.”

  Clasping her hands in front of her, she resisted the urge to fidget. “I no work for him now.”

  “So…what kind of work did you do?”

  Cierra wasn’t sure she liked Baker’s smile. There was…something about it. “I clean house. Unpack boxes.”

  “And then you cleaned his pipes, right?” he said with a laugh.

  His joke made no sense to her. She hadn’t cleaned any pipes…. “Pardon?”

  “Never mind.” He looked her over carefully. “You are pretty. Just like my sister said.”

  Cierra didn’t respond. Her looks didn’t have anything to do with their arrangement. She already knew she’d never marry this man. Maybe Charlie had been old, but he’d also been kind. He hadn’t reeked of alcohol. And he’d had far more to offer than a filthy dump. She didn’t want to be here. But one of the men with whom she’d hitchhiked had taught her a saying and it definitely fit: Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Come on in.” Stuart opened the door wider to make room for her, and Cierra swallowed hard as the smells drifting out of his cabin hit her nostrils. Was this really what she wanted to do?

  She didn’t budge. “What are you offering in return for my labor?”

  “Ooh!” He laughed as if he thought she was funny. “You’re a businesswoman, huh? Let’s just say that I’ll be happy as long as you give me what you gave Ken Holbrook.”

  “I charge the same for all,” she said, but got the impression that she’d once again missed some nuance in the conversation.

  He grew serious. “Here’s the deal. You keep the place clean and you cook, and I won’t call the INS. Simple enough?”

  She didn’t like that he’d mentioned immigration. “Dishes? Dusting? Vacuuming? Laundry?”

  He gave her a slight bow. “Sí.”

  Was he mocking her? It was so difficult to tell. But she believed Charlie’s ex wouldn’t have sent her here if it wasn’t safe. This was Arlene’s brother. Maybe she hadn’t been nice to begin with, but she hadn’t sent Cierra back to Guatemala, either.

  After Christmas, or in a few months, she’d learn of other opportunities and be able to find a better situation. Or she’d be able to post on that bride website again. “Then…I accept.”

  “I’m so glad I could measure up to Slick.”

  Measure up… Cierra was fairly certain no one could “measure up” to Ken. At least, she’d never met another man like him.

  “I’ve always wanted to earn the approval of an illegal alien,” he added with a wink.

  “You are…being funny?” she asked, confused again.

  “No, no. Just amusing myself. Come on in, like I said.”

  As he stepped back to admit her, she put her hand in her pocket and curled her fingers around the glossy porcelain Christ child she’d taken from Ken’s. The memory of having known Ken would be enough to get her through the next few weeks. And, as soon as possible, she’d find a new place to live….

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHILE KEN PACED in the kitchen of his parents’ house, Gabe sat nearby, in his wheelchair. Hannah stood at the table, wrapping presents.

  “I don’t know where else to look,” he said. “I’ve already driven up and down the canyon three times but didn’t see her. And she was on foot! She couldn’t have gone far by the time I got home and realized she’d left.”

  “I’ve never seen you this worked up.” Hannah took the piece of tape her husband held out. “Do you really think this woman is in danger?”

  “She could be. But she’s not the type to reach out for help. She’s…maddeningly stubborn.”

  A curious expression lit Gabe’s eyes, and he smiled. “That sounds like grudging respect to me.”

  He couldn’t meet his stepfather’s gaze, didn’t want Gabe to misinterpret what he was feeling. It was guilt that had him worked up, nothing more. “I do admire her. I’ve never met anyone with her character. Someone who’s been tested to such a degree and still won’t bend. But enough is enough, you know? I get that she’s decent and willful and independent. I get that she feels responsible for her sisters and will do anything to help them. I even get that she wants to support herself and not be some charity case. What I don’t get is the fact that she’s walking around wearing a thin sweatshirt when she could be wearing a heavy coat, a coat I’d never miss. And I don’t like that she doesn’t have a dime to her name, even though I would’ve happily given her some cash, if only she’d take it.” He pivoted at the stove and headed back toward them. “You should’ve seen how hungry s
he was when I first found her. I don’t think she’d eaten in days. And you know what she did? As soon as the bill came for our dinner, she asked how much she owed me so she could be sure she worked it off. She was determined not to short me a cent.”

  “Sounds rare and admirable,” Gabe said.

  “She is rare and admirable. But…” Grabbing the extra roll of Christmas paper his mother motioned for, he handed it to her. “She didn’t take those clothes you bought her, Mom.”

  Hannah glanced up from her work. “I spent a lot of time picking those out. Didn’t they fit?”

  “Brent said they fit perfectly, but they qualified as a handout, and she won’t accept a handout. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Gabe leaned back in his wheelchair. “So where do you think she’s gone?”

  “Baker’s, I assume. But I’ve been by his place twice, and I can’t get anyone to answer the door.”

  Adding a bow to the gift she’d been wrapping, Hannah pushed it aside and finally gave him her full attention. “Maybe no one’s home.”

  “Stu Baker is a freak,” Ken responded. “He rarely leaves the house. Unless it’s to go to the bar.”

  Hannah sank into a chair. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but Ken thought his mother was more beautiful than most women who were perfectly made up. She had a natural glow about her, an easy smile. He used to hate being compared to her—everyone said they looked so much alike—but ever since he’d grown up, he felt a great deal of pride when someone told him they resembled each other.

  “So what do you want to do?” his mother asked.

  “I want to find her so I can tell her I have another job for her. I want to take her to Boise and know she’s safe.”

  Gabe scowled. “I don’t understand why you feel so responsible for this woman, Kenny. You offered to help her—you did help her—and now she’s moved on.”

  “I’m not taking responsibility for her. I just… I don’t want her to be with Baker. He’s not in it to help her.”

  “Then why is he in it?” his mother asked.