To Santa With Love

by Janet Dailey

  Jacquie assessed his weary face. He didn’t look like he was lying. She didn’t have to be on guard. “Do you have a headache? Go lie down on the couch. I’ll bring this to you.”

  The microwave beeped again and she took out his mug, holding it close to her. The robe gaped open a little on the top, but she couldn’t close it, not with hot cocoa in her hand. Choya was standing beside the chair, his hand gripping the back, a trace of white around his knuckles. Her breathing changed to a quick, uneven rate. She reached shakily for a chair.

  “Are you trying to tempt me?” he accused in a voice that was soft but harsh.

  “No!”

  Frozen by the mesmerizing quality in his narrowed gaze, she didn’t resist when he took the cup and set it safely down. His hands closed over her arms and drew her toward him. The descending mouth tipped back her head, automatically arching her body toward him. The warmth of his kiss melted her, making her pliant against his hard body.

  It felt so good. It even felt . . . right. For days on end, Jacquie had felt empty inside. Now that hunger was being fed by Choya’s unexpected embrace. She parted her lips, craving more, and his kiss deepened with satisfying passion.

  A tanned hand slid up her shoulder to push aside the collar of her robe. His mouth began a sensual exploration of the exposed hollow of her throat.

  That was almost too much for her. Her hands lifted to strain against his chest, twisting her body to elude the searching caress of his lips. “Not again, Choya. Please let me go,” she begged while she still had some self-control left.

  Smoothly he swung her off her feet into the cradle of his arms. The smoldering gold of his eyes burned over her face. Her heart skipped a beat, then accelerated madly at the promise of possession in their depths.

  “You can’t seem to make up your mind, can you?” His voice was a husky murmur. “I’ll help you decide.”

  And he carried her out of the kitchen to her opened bedroom door. For an instant she was too overwhelmed by his mastery to struggle. Then, at the sight of the turned-down covers of her bed, her resolve came back. “Put me down. I totally mean it.”

  Choya laughed and set her down without releasing her. His gaze moved suggestively over her rigid body, almost physically touching her curves.

  “You wish you did.” He smiled sensually. “I’m not inclined to believe you.”

  “You’d better!” Jacquie tried to pull free of his grip. “Get your hands off me!”

  “Whatever you want,” Choya mocked. He obeyed. But the invisible connection between them seemed stronger than the physical one.

  “Stop driving me crazy,” she cried desperately.

  “Isn’t that your game, Jacquie?” he asked.

  “I’m not playing any damn game!”

  “Then what is it you’re trying to prove?” The sardonic gleam left his gaze as he studied her intently. He seemed to hesitate, thinking over her words and studying her expression to see how much truth they contained.

  “That—that I’m not going to leave. Not yet.”

  “Oh,” he said in a mocking tone. “I guess we can all be grateful for that. Thanks for the update.”

  His reply stung. “I’m staying because of Robbie.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  The angry glitter of proud tears shimmered in her turquoise green eyes. “You read the card he left for me. He would have blamed himself if I’d left then.”

  Choya nodded, but his jaw was visibly tensed. “So how does this work? You decide completely on your own if and when you’re going? Mind if I put in my two cents on the subject? This is my house and he is my son, you know.”

  “Go ahead. I’d love to hear what you have to say. Have you told him or Sam anything?” she said in a choked voice.

  “No. You’ll have to.” Sadness shadowed his eyes. “Sounds like you want to.”

  He reached out and brushed cornsilk hair from her cheek. Jacquie drew back from his touch, leaving his hand suspended in midair.

  “Just so you know, I’m not going to kick you out,” he said quietly, letting his hand fall to his side.

  “Why not? It would make it easier. On me,” she added.

  “Because I don’t want you to go. Believe me, Jacquie, I never intended to back you into a corner with what I had to say about Robbie.” One corner of his strong mouth lifted in a brief, self-deprecating smile. “You take everything so damn personally.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No. Look, I didn’t know what to say or do that night we talked. You’re the first woman since—”

  “We don’t have to get into that, Choya.”

  His mouth quirked. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not that virtuous. I was going to say that you’re the first woman I’ve brought home to the ranch. I don’t know why I expected it to be easy.” He sighed.

  “Let’s call a truce.”

  He hesitated. “The second we get close, things started happening too fast.”

  “Good point,” she said sarcastically, “and neither of us seems to be any good at stopping.”

  “If you do stay,” he began, then paused. “How long do I have? Give me an exact date. So I can prepare Robbie.”

  “I was wondering when you were going to get around to him.”

  Choya frowned at her tone. “Were you?”

  “Yes. I really care about him, no matter what you think.”

  He clamped his mouth tightly shut, paused for an instant, then spoke more calmly. “Jacquie, when you leave, it won’t be the worst thing that ever happened to me. I’ll get over it in good time. But my son”—he broke off briefly—“he’s not that tough. Not that I’d expect him to be at his age.”

  “For God’s sake, Choya, the last thing I want to do is hurt him! I’ll stay until Christmas if you don’t give me a reason to leave. There—that’s your answer. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Choya held her proudly demanding gaze for a long, hard moment, then, pivoting, he walked from the room without giving her an answer.

  After a restless night’s sleep, Jacquie awakened to the strident buzz of the alarm clock. She dressed swiftly, wondering all the while if Choya had accepted her terms. He might be ticked off enough to drive her into Tombstone this morning and tell her she was free to leave.

  There was no sign of him in the kitchen. Jacquie hesitated at the hall leading to the living room. Perhaps she should find him to see if he’d had second thoughts or arrived at some other decision on his own.

  In a few minutes, Robbie would be coming down for breakfast. She started to fix it, her thoughts in turmoil. One thing was clear, though: Jacquie was still sure that leaving immediately was the wrong thing to do.

  The food was on the table. Jacquie, Robbie, and Sam were all sitting down and eating when Choya came in from morning chores. His encompassing good-morning nod told her nothing. She tried to ease the anxiety of waiting with the reminder that he would probably want to speak to her alone at some point today.

  “Dad”—Robbie paused as he finished spreading peanut butter over his toast—“can we go to Fort Bowie this Saturday?”

  “I don’t think so,” Choya replied.

  Robbie grimaced. “But you promised to take Gramps and me way back in summer, and it’s halfway into December.”

  “And it’s cold out and could get worse. Winter’s here.” Choya didn’t look at Jacquie.

  “So?” Boyish brown eyes looked at Choya blankly.

  “You could catch the sniffles. I don’t want you to miss any more school this year. I had to keep you home or with me for nearly a month because of your broken leg,” he explained patiently.

  “It didn’t matter,” Robbie asserted. “I probably got more work done because I couldn’t run around.”

  There was a dubious shake of the dark head. “I’m not even sure the fort’s open this late in the year. And don’t forget that we have to walk there once we park and it’s over a mile. Your leg’s not that strong and it’s rough terrain for
your grandfather.”

  “We can make it, can’t we, Gramps?” Robbie turned to Sam for confirmation.

  “Eventually,” the older man agreed with wry humor, “if we had all day.”

  “So let’s go.” Robbie seized on his grandfather’s words. “Jacquie could pack us a lunch and come along. We could all have a picnic together. Please, Dad?”

  “We’ll see.” Choya lifted a coffee cup to his mouth, avoiding a direct answer.

  “What’s there to see about?” Robbie wanted to know.

  “Where is this Fort Bowie?” Jacquie asked when Choya flashed his son an impatient glance.

  “At Apache Pass,” Robbie answered, forgetting his argument with his father for an instant.

  “It’s the ruins of the adobe fort built back when Cochise was making his raids,” Sam explained. “It was to protect the settlers and traders going through Apache Pass. Later it was the main base during Geronimo’s War. When he surrendered, the fort was abandoned. Now it’s a National Historic Site.”

  “I bet there’s lots of neat arrowheads and stuff,” Robbie declared. “Can we go, Dad?”

  “Don’t keep pestering your father,” Sam warned. “He just might tell you that you can’t go because you asked him so many times.”

  “But Jacquie wants to go, don’t you, Jacquie?” The corners of his mouth sulked downward. “She’s never been there before. Me neither. Not for years and years.”

  “You aren’t that old,” Choya answered dryly. “Between now and Saturday—well, who knows what might happen.”

  He avoided looking at Jacquie. Did he want to exclude her from a family excursion? Was that what he meant by preparing Robbie? She could almost answer both questions herself. Not in her favor.

  “I’ll think about it, son,” he was saying. “But don’t keep bugging me about it or I might do just what Gramps said.” He stood up and moved away from the table.

  “Ah, gee!” Robbie grumbled and dunked a corner of his cinnamon toast into a glass of milk.

  “Where are you goin’?” Sam glanced up at Choya.

  He didn’t answer his father right away. The tawny gaze slid briefly to Jacquie. She held her breath, wondering if he intended on taking her into town and getting her on her way out of it.

  “To check the north fence,” he answered, and set the empty cup back on the table.

  She nodded in his direction, thinking unwillingly that the waiting and wondering was tough for him too. Confusion clouded her eyes as she watched him walk toward the small hallway that led to the back door.

  Quickly, she pushed her chair away from the table and followed him. He was nearly at the screen door when she entered the hall, her lighter footsteps drowned by the firm tread of his.

  “Choya?” she called.

  He paused, one hand holding the screen door ajar as he waited for her to reach him. His aloof gaze read the unvoiced question in her eyes.

  “We need to talk,” he said. “Away from Robbie and Sam. How about we go for a long ride this afternoon—just the two of us?” With that he walked out the door.

  Jacquie stared after him without another word.

  Chapter 9

  Perched on top of the corral fence, Jacquie munched an apple. The buckskin was waiting patiently for his share, nostrils flared, inhaling the scent in anticipation. Sighing, she handed him the core, absently ruffling his black mane.

  Restless and uneasy, she hopped down from the fence into the corral, wiping her palms on her jeans. She grabbed hold of the buckskin’s halter and led him through the door into the barn, then she saddled and bridled the docile horse and was ready to lead him outdoors to mount up.

  Choya had said they would be going for a long ride, without Sam or Robbie coming along. She was sure Choya would bring up the subject of her departure once they were well away from the house and out in the wilderness. Good strategy. The balance of power would subtly shift, given what a novice she was as a rider.

  Shrewdly, she guessed that had to have entered into his thinking before he made the offer. There would be no domestic distractions or business to concern him. Robbie would be cared for by his grandfather, and they would be alone. It was a very male strategy. He would literally lead the way, tall in the saddle, while she and her easygoing horse trailed him.

  As far as the weather, the temperatures were going to plummet by sundown. If they couldn’t get back before nightfall—she dismissed an instant fantasy of being cuddled and wrapped up in his big old blanket jacket by the campfire under a starry sky.

  No matter the time of day, it would be too cold and too rocky to get physical. Her virtue—what was left of it—was safe. Of course, the end result would be the same after Christmas. Good-bye and good luck to him. He was tougher than tough, he’d survive.

  How and when she would say essentially the same thing to his seven-year-old son was becoming more and more difficult to even imagine.

  Impatient, wondering where the hell Choya was, Jacquie left the buckskin tied in the stall and hurried into the house.

  No Choya. Had he phoned to say he’d be late?

  Sam was dozing in an armchair. His gaunt frame looked relaxed and his face was peaceful. If Choya had called, his dad would have taken the message and left it where she could see it. Apparently the younger Barnett hadn’t. There was no message.

  It wouldn’t hurt to practice her riding. She could even head out, stay within view of the house. The dust that the jeep raised on the roads would announce his return from miles away.

  Hesitating in the kitchen, Jacquie considered packing a lunch. It seemed unnecessary. She’d be close enough on her practice ride to double back and slap some sandwiches together for both of them then.

  She did grab a quilted down vest. As a last thought, she helped herself to leather riding gloves that were too big for her and a hat that was too big for Robbie.

  Back astride the buckskin, clutching the reins inexpertly, she had to make another decision: which way to go. Reining the horse away from the lane, Jacquie touched a heel to its flank and set off. Once she was a fair distance from the lane, she would turn and ride so that the ranch house was in sight.

  It was already cold and startlingly clear. Deceptively so. Jacquie still marveled at the odd, almost magical way the clarity of the desert air could make objects seem closer than they were—or conversely, far away. Jacquie rode at a trot for a while before she wheeled her cooperative horse in a wide circle to align herself to look back at the ranch buildings. They were there, but tiny. How had she come so far in so short a time? She headed back toward them, going up and down the rises and hollows of the undulating land.

  The ranch buildings shone white in the chilly sun, seeming larger, now off to her left. Jacquie halted the horse in a dry streambed that meandered in that direction. Maybe it was the stream that Choya had mentioned, the one which watered the cottonwoods by the house in spring. She would follow its course.

  A few small hills and low valleys later, the ranch seemed to have disappeared. Her angle had taken her into the rocky beginnings of the Dragoons instead. Broken pillars of granite thrust up amid boulders and washes of small, tumbled rocks that looked treacherously unstable.

  The buckskin picked his way through it, sure-footed as a mule. Weren’t some horses able to find their way home? Hers certainly seemed to know the way. He must have been out here before. The ranch buildings could appear any minute in the near distance.

  But they didn’t. Disoriented, she told herself that she wasn’t lost. Yet. A feeling of fear made her fingers curl tightly around the reins.

  An animal trail branched off to the right and she decided to follow it for the time being. If the trail turned into the mountains, she would abandon it.

  Although the trail wound and twisted, dipped and climbed, it maintained the general direction that Jacquie wanted to take. The problem was that time was going by and she wasn’t covering as much ground as she’d thought she would. The rocky terrain and her limited horsemanship
forced her to keep the buckskin at a walk.

  Worried about where they were, she absently blamed the buckskin’s uneven gait on the broken path. When they reached a smooth stretch of sand, it didn’t alter. Glancing down, she saw he was favoring his right front leg. She stopped and dismounted, cursing her rotten luck.

  With her hands on her hips, she studied the surrounding land. She had accomplished exactly nothing and was undoubtedly going in circles. She hadn’t reached high enough ground to be able to see the ranch, let alone get back to it. Jacquie surmised that they had wandered into a shallow, irregularly shaped narrow valley beneath the mountains, sloping so gradually she hadn’t been aware of descending into it. Which way was up? She didn’t know. And now she was on foot with a lame horse.

  “Come on, Johnny,” Jacquie sighed heavily and took a short hold of the reins. “We can’t stay here, that’s for sure.”

  Leading the limping buckskin, she continued on the trail, which was becoming more difficult to see. A dry thirst parched her throat, and a hollowness of coming hunger tightened her stomach. She was beginning to realize just how foolish she’d been. She had packed no food and hadn’t thought to bring water.

  When she’d first arrived at the ranch, she’d listened with half an ear to Choya’s warning that the mountain desert was unforgiving terrain, and no place for a novice. Since then, she had become familiar with the unending ruggedness of the landscape, but with that familiarity had come a subconscious disregard for its danger. She was up against it now and all alone.

  The trail forked. The way to the left wound around a hillock toward the mountains; to the right it continued in the direction that Jacquie thought she should take. But when she started that way, the buckskin balked.

  Jacquie took a firmer grip on the reins and tugged. “Come on, feller,” she coaxed, but he refused.

  The instant she stopped tugging, the horse shifted toward the left fork in the trail. Crooning to him softly, she tried to persuade him to change his mind without success.

  Straightening his black forelock, she murmured, “Do you know something that I don’t know?” She tried again to lead him along the right fork and again the buckskin refused.