Cash followed her as she padded among the rooms on the first floor. Her brother was quiet and lost in thought. They moved into the ballroom.
"Are you really all right?" he asked.
She looked at him, her older brother, her beloved brother. She couldn't help seeing Dad in his weary smile, the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes.
Tears welled. "I miss them," she admitted.
Mom would've known how to reach Maverick. She was the best at relationship advice. And if he'd still pushed her away, Mom would have wrapped an arm around Mallory's shoulders and comforted her with homemade ice cream.
Cash's arm came around her shoulders, and he tucked her in for a hug.
"I do, too," he whispered.
He held her for a long time in the shadow of the tree, the scent of fir permeating the air.
When he moved back, he ran a hand through his hair. "I could use some advice," he said. "I messed up. Big time."
She couldn't remember Cash ever asking for advice. And she felt fried, weepy.
"Can it wait for tomorrow?" she asked.
He blew out a blustery sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, it can. You gonna go up and get some rest?"
She nodded. "In a minute."
He bussed a kiss against her cheek and left her. She hoped he was going to catch up with Maverick before the other man left. Maverick needed his best friend, needed to know Cash would always be there for him, even if there meant in Austin and not on the Double Cross.
She walked a slow circle around the tree, letting one hand touch the ends of several prickly boughs.
She should go up to bed. But there was a part of her that knew that once she closed her eyes, the Christmas magic would be over.
She hadn't won Maverick's heart. She could only hope she'd touched him, a little.
She felt empty. Raw.
She'd wake up tomorrow morning and spend a quiet Christmas with Cash. Do her chores, check on Prince. Then the next day, it was back to work. Check the herd in the west pasture, follow up with the assayer about the land dispute.
And Maverick would be gone. En route to his next assignment with the Marines.
And Mom wasn't here any longer to send the care packages he'd loved.
But Mallory could.
And maybe, every time he opened one, he'd know that she hadn't forgotten about him. That she still loved him.
She might not have the chance to tell him in person very often, but she could find a way to keep saying it.
The Christmas magic might be almost spent, but Mom would say she should make her own magic.
So she would.
She didn't want to miss her chance to say goodbye. Probably, he'd come downstairs after saying goodbye to Cash.
From the ballroom, she had a decent view of the stairway, the front hall, and the kitchen and its mudroom exit.
She detoured to the living room and took an afghan off the back of the couch, then returned to curl up on the floor near the Christmas tree.
She'd send her soldier off with a goodbye he wouldn't soon forget.
Maverick hid in the ranch house's office. It used to be Cash's dad's domain, but he could see Mallory's touches everywhere, just like in the barn.
Ignoring the potted Christmas tree on this huge mahogany desk, he saw some kind of violet flower on the windowsill and a rag rug on the wood floor that he didn't remember. Several framed pictures of her parents and the family throughout the years had been added to make one whole wall a huge collage.
It screamed Mallory. The Mallory who would fight fiercely for this place, like she did for everything she cared about.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and perused the photos.
He really needed to get going if he was going to make his flight out of Austin at oh-dark-thirty.
But something held him back. An invisible tether, one that connected him to Mallory, whether he wanted it or not.
Wanting wasn't the problem. He ached for her.
You don't have to be Maverick any more. You could just be Sam.
Recalling her words made the ache worse, the one deep down in his soul where he'd hid away the things he'd really wanted as a child. A house that didn't freeze inside in the winter or roast in the summer. A dad who didn't get drunk and hit him. A wife. Kids of his own.
For so long, he'd been Maverick. Not only the name, but the noun. A loner. Wild card. On his own.
Cash appeared in the open doorway. "Good, you're still here."
Maverick couldn't help a small wince. Had Mallory confessed everything? The kisses?
If Cash wanted to knock him out, he wouldn't defend himself. He deserved what the other man would throw.
But Cash didn't come in the room, didn't seem to be spoiling for a fight.
"What time is your flight?" he asked instead.
"Early," Maverick said. Time was short. Too short.
"The roads are a mess, with all the snow and ice. It's supposed to melt off later."
Maverick shrugged. "My truck can handle it."
Cash stepped forward, holding out something white. An envelope. "Mallory left this on the kitchen counter. It has your name on it."
I really did get you a Christmas gift.
He took it, batted it against his thigh as thick emotion clogged his throat.
"I kissed Mallory," he blurted.
Winced again.
Braced for a punch.
But Cash only looked slightly surprised. "Took you long enough."
He jerked. "What?"
Cash moved forward but only used his fist to nudge Maverick's shoulder. "It's been a long time coming."
Maverick rocked back on his heels. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"She's had a thing for you since high school. And unless I'm totally blind, you've had one for her for nearly as long."
Denial sprang instantly to his lips, but Maverick couldn't quite say the words.
Because he wasn't sure they were true anymore.
He wasn't sure of anything anymore.
"Remember that time—we must've been sixteen—when we were supposed to go to the movies?"
They'd gone fishing instead, the three of them. The fish weren't biting.
Cash had fallen asleep on the picnic blanket—or so Maverick had thought—and he and Mallory had spent over an hour just talking, their lines and bobbers practically forgotten in the farm pond.
Cash had known. Even back then.
Maverick cleared his throat. "I thought you'd be angry. Tell me to stay away from her."
Cash exhaled noisily, laughing a little. It sounded self-deprecating. "I kissed someone tonight too."
Whoa. Cash ran one hand down his face, his eyes a little wild. "I really liked this girl, and I blew it."
Whoa again.
Maverick was usually the impulsive one, not Cash. He was discombobulated by this woman, whoever she was. Cash was normally even-tempered and worked from a plan.
"Who am I to tell you that Mallory's off-limits? She's a grown woman."
"So she keeps saying," Maverick mumbled. Then, a little angry, "You know about my background. Mallory deserves somebody so much better than me."
Cash straightened to his full height. "You're my best friend, Mav. You're one of the best soldiers out there."
"Yeah, but look at what I came from—"
"Do you really think I would've been best friends with a piece of trash? Sure, your trailer was. Sure, your dad was. But not you. You were loyal, and strong, and courageous—"
"Yeah, real courageous to come to you crying when my old man beat me up."
He'd never said anything like that aloud. Never admitted what his pops had done to him to anyone else, though Cash had always known.
"You came here because you knew it was safe."
Cash reached for him, and Maverick met him in a quick brother-hug. They moved back quickly and Maverick wiped beneath his eyes, just in case.
"Open that before you go." Cash pointed to the envelope still clutc
hed in his hand. "And stay safe." He left the room.
Maverick sat in Mallory's chair, fingering the envelope.
She'd said she had a gift for him. It might be a letter. A gift certificate. Something else.
It was already going to be hard enough to leave. Maybe he should wait to open it.
But he slid his thumb under the flap and ripped into the envelope.
It was a plane ticket. Rather, a voucher for a plane ticket, in his name. To be used at any time in the future.
She'd stuck a sticky note to the front of it.
For next time you have leave, she'd written. Come home.
He could still hear her, the word she’d spoken in the passenger seat of the truck. The Double Cross is your home.
He'd denied it. Tonight and for a long time.
Because he was afraid?
Afraid that if Mallory knew the real him, she wouldn't feel the same way.
That he wasn't worthy of her.
That if he let himself find a place here, start to belong, it would get ripped away from him.
But was that any way to live?
You could just be Sam.
Was that even possible anymore?
Chapter 8
Sam stood in front of the open fridge in the Trudeau's super-fancy kitchen. He had a Saran-wrapped hunk of cheddar cheese in his hand when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Cash, the movie starts in an hour, get a move on!" That was Mrs. Trudeau's voice, calling upstairs. Sounded like she was on her way in here.
He shut the door and whirled around, hiding the cheese behind his back.
He didn't know why Cash Trudeau had decided to befriend him, but he wasn't leaving here empty-handed, not after Dad had agreed to let him come over after school.
Cash was the most popular kid in third grade. He never struggled with the reading or math assignments like Sam did.
And two weeks ago, he'd come to Sam's empty lunch table in the cafeteria and sat next to him.
Sam had bristled, sure he was the butt of some joke, but Cash had started talking about his favorite football team as Sam shoveled food into his mouth as fast as he could.
And Cash sat next to him again the next day.
Sam couldn't figure out why. But he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd heard his old-lady teacher say that once.
Mrs. Trudeau came into the kitchen and reached for her purse on the counter. "Oh, Sam. What're you doing in here?"
"I was thirsty. I got a glass of water." Stupid. Why did he choose that lie? She'd see that there wasn't an empty glass out. Dummy.
His stomach gurgled. He felt like his stomach was eating itself from the inside. When he'd opened his tin lunch box today, there'd been nothing inside it. He'd ditched the lunch period, because he hadn't wanted Cash to know he had a loser for a dad.
He edged away. If he could just make it into the living room, he could stuff the cheese inside his shirt.
But Mrs. Trudeau cut him off. "What've you got there?"
"Nothing." He was careful to keep any hint of defiance out of his voice. He already knew he didn't belong in the spotless mansion. He didn't want her to figure it out just yet.
"Sam—"
The back door opened, there was movement in the mudroom, and Cash's dad strode inside. He caught sight of them and drew up short. "Problem?"
Sam froze. Mr. Trudeau was even taller than his dad. He had muscles from working with the ranch animals. If he struck, it would hurt even worse than when Sam's dad hit him.
Heat flamed into Sam's face. Should he run? Maybe he was fast enough to get past Cash's dad and make it outside.
But then he'd have to walk the twelve miles to his house in town.
There was nothing for it. He brought his hand from behind his back, revealing the hunk of cheese to Mrs. Trudeau. He turned his head slightly, because a strike would hurt less if it glanced off his cheek. Or maybe she'd cuff his ear. He braced for the hit.
And jumped when Mrs. Trudeau's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Sam and I were just making a snack before the movie. Wasn't that a good idea?" she said. "If the boys eat a snack here, they might not want as much junk food at the theater."
He dared to glance at her, knew his eyes were wide. She was going to buy the expensive movie theater food? If he'd known that, he wouldn't have tried to steal the cheese.
She winked at him. Squeezed his shoulder.
"The plates are in that cabinet." She pointed. "Grab two while I slice this up." She ruffled his hair when he turned to obey.
And if his eyes watered a little while he ate the cheese and apples she sliced, she pretended not to notice.
Mallory woke slowly. Her lower back ached, and her elbow was pressed into a hard surface.
The Cattlemen's Ball.
Christmas Eve.
Curling up on the floor near the dark, decorated tree.
Maverick.
If she kept her eyes closed, she could stay asleep. The magic wouldn't be over.
Maybe she was still dreaming, because she could smell him.
Then came a brush of lips against her cheek.
Oh, it was a good dream.
"Mal," dream-Maverick whispered. "Wake up, honey."
She smiled. Her dream guy was using endearments. Perfect.
He brushed kisses over both her eyes. The scruff at his jaw caught in her hair, and his dream-hand smoothed it back.
She couldn't help the tear that slipped from her closed lids and down her cheek.
His thumb gently wiped it away.
"Mal," he whispered again. "You're killing me."
That didn't sound much like something a dream would say. She opened her eyes.
It was still dark, silent, and cold outside the ballroom windows. Maverick—the real Maverick—knelt over her, one shoulder brushing the tree that towered above them.
Maverick was still here.
Heart pounding, she pushed to a seated position, brushed her hair out of her face. She was conscious of how disheveled she was. But it was dark. Maybe he couldn't see her makeup from last night running down her face.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Early."
He was close, but he didn't reach for her.
He'd touched her in her sleep. Was he... nervous?
She squinted into the darkness, trying to see his face. Wishing for light, even a little bit.
He was still, the stillness giving away what he couldn't say.
So she reached for him.
He pulled her into his arms quickly, as if he'd been waiting for an invitation. He pressed her to his chest tightly, and she felt him trembling.
What was going on?
She threaded one arm around the back of his neck; her other arm was stuck between them, but she didn't want to move away.
"Maverick," she whispered. "Wh—"
He pressed a kiss to her jaw. "You said I could be Sam."
Sam.
She freed her pinned arm and framed his face with both hands, let her thumbs brush against his cheekbones. "Sam."
He bent his head and took her mouth, kissing her thoroughly and sweetly.
"Sam," she murmured when he moved to press kisses across her cheek.
"Mal," he whispered into her ear, pressing his face into her hair. "Mal, I—"
He stopped.
She waited, but he was still trembling, just holding her.
And all she could think of was the boy with walls so high...
"I love you," she whispered into the darkness.
His breath caught. His arms banded around her even tighter. "Mal, I—" She felt him inhale a shaky breath. "I don't believe in magic anymore. Not for me."
She pressed her palm against the back of his neck. "I believe enough for both of us."
He turned his head, seeking her mouth. She met him eagerly, expressing everything she felt for Maverick—for Sam—through her kiss.
He broke the kiss first, pressing his cheek
against hers. They were both panting for breath.
"I pushed back my flight. I still have to be on base tomorrow, but..." He took a breath, exhaled against the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. "Can I stay? Today?"
Forever.
She held back the word. It wasn't time yet. Soon.
"Stay," she said, squeezing him closer. "I'll run through morning chores, and then we can scrounge up some breakfast. Maybe watch that Christmas movie you and Cash used to love. The one with the BB gun."
He smiled against her cheek. "Deal."
Then he kissed her again.
Chapter 9
It was all of twenty degrees outside, but Mallory didn't feel a pinch of cold.
It wasn't because she was safely in the barn, either.
Or the Santa hat she wore.
It was because of the man mucking stalls beside her.
"It's like riding a bike, amiright?" she asked with a grin. Maverick had never shied from chores when he'd visited their home as a teen. Even when she and Cash had begged off, he'd do more than his share.
He threw a look over his shoulder and grunted.
"Hey, I said you could stay up at the house." She spread clean hay in the stall next to where he worked. The stall he was cleaning was the last one. They were almost done.
Cash had been a no-show this morning, had left a mysterious note on the kitchen table. Something about righting a wrong. Even so, with Sam working side-by-side with her, the chores had gone by in a hurry.
Sam leaned the pitchfork against the stall wall and moved out of the way so she could spread hay in the last stall. "I don't mind chores. There's plenty of them to go around where I'm stationed. At least I'm not the rookie anymore."
She tucked the horse back in its stall, and they moved together to push the wheelbarrow and carry the pitchfork back to their places near the tack room.
"Not minding chores and doing something you enjoy are two different things," she chided him gently as they put away the implements.
As she turned back to him, he took her waist in his hands. "I enjoy being with you."
She smiled into the kiss he delivered. Shivered at the delicious feel of his hands spanning her waist. Then his fingers spread wide and his thumb hit the sensitive place just beneath her ribs.
Soldier Under the Mistletoe Page 6
