To Santa With Love

by Janet Dailey

  Short of standing there looking lost and snubbed, she had little choice but to return to her booth seat. Choya, a cactus, she thought to cool her growing temper. Prickly on the outside to keep anyone from coming too close. Protective of his son.

  She realized that she wanted him to like her for some inexplicable reason, and felt even angrier about that.

  So much for good manners, Jacquie told herself as she picked up the menu again. They were obviously wasted on Choya Barnett. He had made himself clear: she was not forgiven and he didn’t trust her.

  If that was the way he wanted it, then she would simply ignore him.

  Chapter 2

  Unfortunately, Choya Barnett was not a man who was easy to ignore. He exuded a presence that could be felt even when Jacquie wasn’t looking at him. No matter how she tried not to let him dominate her consciousness during lunch, he did. She could feel the vibration of his low voice despite the clatter and conversation in the restaurant as he responded now and then to his son’s higher-pitched talk.

  And there was something else—both Barnetts looked slightly different somehow since she’d last seen them. Jacquie wasn’t about to stare openly and it took her a while to figure out why. Then she finally got it. Their freshly groomed hair showed they’d both had haircuts. She started to wonder if he was waiting for his wife, but the waitress didn’t bring an extra place setting. Shortly after Jacquie had been served, two blue-rimmed oval plates for father and son sailed by on a tray, each topped with a juicy hamburger and bristling with french fries. A glass of soda over ice and a glass of milk took up the rest of the tray.

  “Can I get you boys anything else?” the waitress asked, setting down the plates and filled glasses.

  “No thanks. We’re fine with this,” Choya said.

  “Looks awesome!” That was Robbie.

  “Enjoy your lunch.” The waitress left them to it.

  “Son, go easy on the ketch—” she heard Choya say, advice that was interrupted by several noisy squirts from a squeeze bottle.

  “Oops.” Robbie giggled.

  Choya gave a low chuckle, which surprised her. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the flash of white napkins he pulled from the dispenser to deal with the mess. Jacquie picked at her grilled chicken salad, forcing herself not to glance their way too often as they ate.

  Unsuccessfully.

  Masculine and virile, he was handsomer than she’d thought at first. Sharing a meal with his son seemed to relax him, but he just didn’t have that average-dad look, even when he was chowing down on burgers and fries. Choya Barnett was definitely intriguing. Jacquie looked around the room. She wasn’t the only woman who seemed to think so.

  The waitress, a plump but shapely older lady, had a ready smile for him when he asked for refills on their drinks and came right over. A few of the female customers looked on approvingly at the two of them, but Choya was focused on Robbie for the most part, looking at his surroundings only occasionally. The tawny gold eyes seemed never to reveal anything of what he was thinking. Eyes were supposed to be mirrors of the soul. Didn’t he have a soul?

  Jacquie chided herself for that ridiculous thought. She was well aware that she was piqued because he never, not once, looked her way. He took the waitress up on her offer of two slices of pie. Apple for him, cherry for his son.

  She ordered coffee and sipped at it, thinking. When Choya made a half-turn, still seated, to signal for the check, Robbie took a chance and gave her a conspiratorial grin.

  Jacquie couldn’t help but smile back. But she shook her head in warning just before Choya turned around again. The Barnetts, father and son, discussed the merits of their different kinds of pie while they waited for the check.

  Robbie had to take after his mother, she decided. His brown eyes were a somewhat changeable color, about all that was reminiscent of his father. Jacquie found herself wondering what kind of a woman his wife was. Choya Barnett would intimidate anyone who didn’t have a will of iron.

  Maybe that was why he didn’t like Jacquie. She had stood up to him, even though she’d made sure his son hadn’t heard her. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself, when the Barnetts finally left. She dawdled over a second cup of coffee. The waitresses didn’t seem to mind, as the lunch crowd had thinned out quickly. The busboy had finished hanging the Christmas garlands and the place had quieted.

  Jacquie was grateful for that. As soon as her car was repaired, she would be leaving town. She vowed silently not to spend the Tombstone-to-Tucson leg of her journey obsessing over what had happened with Choya. As far as the accident was concerned, it wasn’t like it was going to be reported to her parents or anything. But she ought to touch base. She made a mental note to call them so they wouldn’t worry—there had to be a pay phone somewhere in town, since hers was dead until she could buy a charger for it. Jacquie started looking in her purse for quarters. No luck. However, she did have singles. She left a couple of them for a tip under the salt shaker, then rose and went to the register.

  A woman with a nameplate pinned to her blouse was taking pint-size elves out of a box and curling the toes on their red felt shoes around a pencil.

  “Those little guys are cute,” Jacquie offered.

  The cashier beamed. “They sure are. I just love Christmas, don’t you? I can hardly wait to get started on the decorations each year.”

  “Oh—yes. I know what you mean,” Jacquie said quickly. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Would you mind exchanging a few dollars for quarters?”

  “Sure thing, honey,” the woman said, setting the elves aside. She opened the cash drawer and found a roll of quarters, cracking it open. “How many do you need?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess three dollars’ worth. No, make it four.”

  Transaction completed, she went outside, using the jingling handful of coins to reach her parents’ number in Dallas. It rang six times before their voicemail picked up. To her relief. She didn’t want to bawl about the accident or get into her second thoughts about her big plan or apologize again for skipping out on Thanksgiving. She settled for an upbeat message, saying only that she’d taken a side trip to Tombstone as a lark, and explaining about her phone not working. Then she promised to call again as soon as she could.

  She hung up and blew out a breath. She hadn’t lied, just left a few things out. Jacquie sincerely didn’t want her father and mother to worry, and she really was all right.

  The mechanic gave her the unpromising advice—when she returned to the station after making the call—that she should take a walk around town and see some of the sights. He informed her that for sure her car wouldn’t be repaired before five that afternoon. Since it was Saturday, he warned her it was more than likely that he wouldn’t be able to obtain the needed parts for at least two more days.

  Jacquie refused to think about the possibility of being stuck in this town over the weekend. Who would have thought that a visit to Bisbee would have landed her in this mess with her car broken down? She should have driven straight through to Los Angeles and not stopped to see Tammy. Hindsight always was a wiser view.

  Luckily there were plenty of places to visit in the old historic town, pocket-size museums with relics of the town’s Wild West past and gift shops. There was an interesting old theater that had once done double duty as a bordello and a grand old saloon. There was even a barbershop with a rotating red-and-white pole in a steel support outside. The door was open and a bracing whiff of shaving soap and clean-smelling cologne drifted to her.

  Remembering her father’s crack about her becoming a hairdresser, Jacquie suppressed a smile and peeked in the plate-glass window, spying a middle-aged man mostly covered by a snow-white cloth. He’d just had a haircut and was getting a shave. His heavy legs were clad in faded jeans and his roping boots were propped comfortably on the adjustable footrest of the barber’s chair.

  She noted the Stetson hung up on a hat rack near the door. It was undoubtedly his. Belatedly, she realiz
ed that Choya and Robbie must have come in here for their haircuts. There couldn’t be more than one barbershop in a town this small. And the barber was smiling jovially at her, as if he knew exactly who she was. Choya probably gave him and his customers an earful about the blonde who’d smashed into his jeep. Feeling embarrassed but not wanting to cut and run, Jacquie could swear that the barber was mentioning her name to his current client. The middle-aged cowboy turned his foamy face in her direction and gave her a wink before the razor descended. Startled, Jacquie managed a small smile and withdrew, reminding herself that she had other things to do besides explore this little town.

  She considered booking a room in one of the motels just in case, but she was afraid it might be a jinx. She didn’t want negative thinking to automatically keep her in Tombstone over the weekend.

  So she toyed with the idea of phoning Tammy in Bisbee if the worst should occur and she had to stay until Monday or even Tuesday. But she decided against backtracking and not only because she didn’t want to wear out her welcome at her girlfriend’s place. Just why she wasn’t sure. Maybe she subconsciously wanted the solitude of a couple of days spent alone in a relatively peaceful place. She needed to formulate more definite plans for her future.

  The thought—and the sheer size—of Los Angeles seemed suddenly daunting. Even though she’d grown up in a big city, they’d lived in a neighborhood of Dallas that was essentially suburban, a half hour’s drive from its gleaming new skyscrapers.

  It all seemed far away now. On impulse—and an angry impulse at that—she was headed for a huge, sprawling, fast-paced metropolis she’d never been to, where she knew no one. Jacquie had no idea of what she would do when she finally got there.

  Along about four o’clock, she wandered slowly through the streets, making her way in the general direction of the service station. A cool breeze rustled through the remaining leaves of the trees in the small town park and they swayed gently, as if beckoning her to sit on one of the benches beneath them.

  There was no official Christmas display in the park, but she guessed there would be one and soon. If not for tourists, Tombstone wouldn’t exist.

  Preoccupied by her tangled thoughts, Jacquie didn’t see the small blond boy in the far section of the park. In fact, she didn’t even notice him until he came toward her bench. He moved awfully fast for a kid on crutches.

  “Robbie!” she said with genuine surprise. “Hello there. I didn’t expect to see you again. I thought you’d probably gone home.”

  “Not yet. I was at the library.” He shook his head, a pleased grin splitting his thin face at her immediately welcoming smile. “My dad will be coming to get me pretty soon, though.”

  Just when she’d succeeded in pushing Choya Barnett to the back of her mind, his image cropped up again. She inwardly shrugged it away.

  Robbie waved to a thickset man in jeans across the way whom she recognized as the customer at the barbershop. “Hi, Mr. Lewis!”

  “Hey there, Robbie!” The man waved back to him and tipped his hat to her, going into the saloon. It must be nice, she thought, for a kid to grow up in a friendly little town where everybody knew everyone else—so long as you weren’t a stranger there yourself and the story of the day, like her. She distracted herself from that with the thought that it was possible that the Barnetts lived elsewhere. She might as well ask.

  “Where do you live? Here in Tombstone?” she asked.

  “Nope. On a ranch in the Dragoon Mountains.” His tongue drawled out the word dragoon with slight difficulty.

  “I see. I guess your father had business in town today,” Jacquie said thoughtfully.

  Robbie nodded. “He brings me with him sometimes if it’s not a school day. It’s fun to see all the people. My dad says he’ll take me to Tucson soon. I’ve never been. He has, lots of times. There’s even more people there, ’specially before Christmas.”

  “I haven’t been there myself but I’m sure you’re right.” Jacquie smiled at his eagerness. “So, do you like living on a ranch?”

  “Most of the time it’s a lot of fun,” he informed her earnestly. “’Cept now, since I broke my leg. I can’t do much, so I read. I got out two books on animals.” He patted the flat canvas sack hanging over his shoulder.

  She was about to say that the town didn’t look big enough to have a library, but caught herself in time. “Well, reading is a great way to pass the time.” Another question occurred to her. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, there’s just me and Gramps and Dad,” Robbie answered simply.

  “And your mother, of course.” Jacquie was suddenly aware that she was trying to get information out of him, but she was too curious to stop herself.

  The small face suddenly became masked and uncommunicative. “No.”

  Jacquie hesitated, her mind racing with possibilities. If his mother wasn’t around, had she separated from Choya Barnett or had they divorced? Why had she left her child?

  The shuffling of the boy’s crutches brought her attention swiftly back to him. His chin was downcast and his face was hidden by a shock of straight blond hair. As if feeling her gaze, Robbie Barnett slowly raised his head, giving her a long, considering look.

  “My mother died when I was little,” he said, putting an end to her unanswered questions. “I don’t remember her.”

  Jacquie winced. She hadn’t even thought of that possibility and she regretted being so nosy. For all the calmness of his voice, there was a touching wistfulness in his eyes. Jacquie didn’t miss the underlying sadness. Instinctively, it occurred to her that it wasn’t his mother’s death the boy mourned as much as the fact that he didn’t remember her.

  Reaching out, her fingers touched the smoothness of his cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Robbie,” she murmured, and she meant it.

  He stared at her for a long moment, not moving. When she withdrew her hand from his cheek, his gaze shifted to her fingers. Jacquie wanted to say something, to ask what was wrong, but she couldn’t.

  Finally Robbie broke the silence, turning his earnest brown eyes to her face. “Daddy lets me keep her picture in my room. She was really pretty.”

  Jacquie nodded quietly. “I’m sure she was.”

  “You look a lot like her. Your hair is the same color and everything,” he declared fervently.

  Smiling, Jacquie understood now why the boy seemed to have been drawn to her almost from the beginning. He’d seemed fascinated by her hair when he’d first seen her after the accident. So much so that his father had intervened to keep his son from touching it.

  “That’s a nice compliment, Robbie,” she responded, “especially when you’ve already told me that your mother was a very pretty woman. Thank you.”

  His statement brought up another interesting possibility. If she did resemble his mother, could that be the reason Choya Barnett had been so abrupt with her? Some unknown tragedy had taken his wife and the mother of his only child from him, and suddenly, there was Jacquie, an unwitting, innocent, but very much alive reminder of all he’d lost. That would certainly explain his chilly attitude toward her.

  Light brown brows were drawn together as Robbie studied her again. “Are you married, Jacquie?” he asked.

  “No, not me,” she laughed gently, glad that he’d changed the subject. “I’m not ready to be tied down yet.”

  “Oh. Well, are you staying in Tombstone?” He tipped his head to one side in confusion.

  “Only as long as it takes to have my car fixed,” she told him. Adopting a teasing western drawl, she added, “Just passin’ through, pardner. Which reminds me.” Jacquie glanced at her wristwatch, surprised to discover it was nearly five o’clock. “I’m supposed to be at the service station by five. It’s nearly that now.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Robbie mumbled, the corners of his mouth drooping.

  In a way, Jacquie wished she didn’t have to go either. Then she scolded herself for being sentimental. Robbie had a dad who
loved him, and a grandpa, and what seemed to be a happy life, despite the loss of his mother. His little-boy interest in her was fleeting, which was as it should be. She shouldn’t let herself get emotional over him when, once her car was repaired, she would never see him again.

  She quickly gathered her bag from the bench and stood up. Robbie stood in silence, watching her every motion yet not looking up into her face.

  Solemnly, Jacquie offered him her hand in farewell. “Good-bye, Robbie. Your dad will be here in a little while to take you home, right?”

  “Yeah. Bye,” he answered gruffly, briefly touching her hand before he used his crutches to turn himself around to retreat the way he’d come.

  Jacquie stared at the crestfallen figure hopping away, a ridiculous lump rising in her throat. A strong impulse took hold of her to forget about the time and her car and wait with the little boy until his father showed up.

  But a few more minutes together wouldn’t make the parting any easier.

  Resolutely squaring her shoulders, Jacquie turned away toward the sidewalk—and drew in a sharp breath when she saw Choya Barnett standing in her way, his expression impassive. How long had he been there? Jacquie could only guess. Something inside said that it couldn’t have been long or she would have sensed his presence even if she hadn’t seen him.

  “Hello.” She spoke quickly, trying to shake the feeling that she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

  The only acknowledgment of her greeting was a curt nod of the dusty-brimmed Stetson. The mirrorlike sunglasses were again shading his eyes, but Jacquie knew the cat-gold gaze was studying her relentlessly. He started forward, long legs carrying him with supple ease.

  Jacquie turned her head in the direction that Robbie had taken, but her gaze never strayed from Choya Barnett.

  “Robbie,” she called smoothly, but with every nerve tensely alert, “your dad’s here. I told you he wouldn’t be long.”