A Christmas Affair

by Jodi Thomas

  “Horace, well, he’s Horace. He’s the baby of the family and spoiled. Mom would cook him something different if he didn’t like what the family was eating. He lived on banana pancakes for a few years when he was in grade school.”

  Travis stopped listening to Dice’s latest trip down memory lane and started watching two guys walking toward the grocery.

  Something wasn’t right about them. They didn’t belong. They didn’t really have the clothes of cowboys or workmen on one of the construction sites.

  “You know those two men, Uncle Dice?”

  “Nope.” Dice watched them. “The one in front reminds me of a lean coyote on the hunt. Leading with his nose as if he’s sniffing out prey.”

  Travis had never seen a lean coyote, but he understood what Dice was talking about.

  “I forgot something.” Travis climbed out of the truck. “Be right back.”

  Travis darted across the shadows of the grocery and slipped in the side door of the store. He kept the two men in sight as long as he could, then once inside, he made sure they didn’t notice him.

  They were walking the aisles, not picking up groceries, but glancing high as if looking for cameras in the corners. One moved his leg without bending it. Travis would bet all the money he’d saved that a rifle was hidden beneath the baggy trousers.

  No one else was in the place except Whitman, and he was at the front. Travis could hear the two human coyotes breathe. Heavy, like they were working hard.

  One of the men picked up a Baby Ruth with dirty fingers. From the look of his knuckles, dried blood was mixed with the mud that caked them.

  The other man was shorter but no cleaner. He slowed as if he wanted to stand a few feet back while the first one paid.

  Whitman was running the cash register tally for the day, as he did the last hour of every night. Wanda Lee went home by dark, but Whitman didn’t lock the door until the last customers left.

  The owner was polite, efficient, but not overly friendly. “Will that be all, gentlemen?”

  His stance was relaxed, but Travis knew the boss didn’t miss much.

  Travis sensed that wasn’t all the two strangers wanted. The day’s sales were in that cash drawer, and he figured that these guys wouldn’t mind stepping over Whitman’s body to get it.

  The taller one behind shifted as if drawing something from his pocket.

  Travis felt his nerves shooting off like fireworks just under his skin. He might be new to the grocery business, but he had a feeling he was about to witness a robbery and if he didn’t act fast he’d be listed in the body count come morning.

  Silently, he lifted a can from the shelf. Maybe he could hit one of the guys or maybe he’d just cause enough of a distraction, allowing Wes to act, but Travis had to do something. He widened his stance and waited. The minute he saw a weapon, the tall guy was going to feel a can of beans fly into the back of his head.

  The front door chimed and Travis took in the tiny clank like a cannon blast. He stopped breathing as he stared at the deputy barreling in with the wind.

  Travis’s fingers gripped the can so hard he felt the tin bend slightly.

  “Evening, Wes.” Deputy Cline stomped his feet and brushed snow out of his copper mustache. “Sorry I’m a little late. It’s been a hell of a day with this weather.”

  When he looked up, Cline saw the two men in front of the counter. “Howdy,” he said, and nodded. “Did you two happen to leave your car running? Not a good idea on a night like this. If you’re traveling far you might need the gas.”

  Travis thought he heard the short one breathe out a few swear words.

  Cline kept talking about the weather as if he knew the guys, but Travis didn’t miss the casual way he unzipped his jacket and pushed the coat away from his service weapon.

  Travis relaxed his grip on the can as he realized the deputy was reading the signs just as he had. Something wasn’t right about these two.

  The deputy moved behind the two men as he talked. If the tall guy raised a rifle, he’d be in the lawman’s sights before he could aim his gun.

  The stranger near the counter dug in his pocket for change and paid for the candy bar. “You’re right. We’d better get back on the road. Weather’s hell this far north.” His words came fast in a mumble, as if he couldn’t wait to get back to his car.

  His backup nodded and they almost ran the deputy down rushing out.

  “Strange,” Cline said. “Wonder where they’re going in such a hurry on a night like this?” His words were calm, almost believable, but his body still stood on alert.

  “We get all kinds,” Whitman said as he stuffed money from the register into a bank bag. “I’ll lock this up and be right with you, Jerry. Thanks for agreeing to a late cup of coffee. I’ve got an idea I want to talk over with you.”

  “No problem,” Deputy Cline said, “but you’re buying and I’m having pie. I could use a little more fat on these bones.”

  To Travis’s surprise the deputy glanced back at him and gave a quick salute. He’d known Travis was there.

  He straightened and put the can back on the shelf. He’d just been saluted by the deputy. Travis was part of the team.

  Whitman laughed as he turned out the lights, unaware of Travis hiding between the shelves. “That wife of yours still hasn’t gotten down the art of desserts?”

  “Nope, but she’s perfect in every other way, so I’m not complaining.” Cline stepped out the front door. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Whitman turned the lock and flicked off the open sign.

  Travis slipped out the side door before Whitman locked it. He walked around to the front of the store and noticed an unopened Baby Ruth lying on a mound of snow. The men had been about to rob the place. He was sure of it. And he’d been ready to join the fight. For once he was on the right side of the law and it felt good, real good.

  “Deputy!” Travis walked past Dice’s truck toward the front. “I think you just broke up a robbery. Those two were up to no good.”

  Deputy Cline hadn’t been a deputy long, but he shook his head. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Travis. Those were just working men who got off late. We’ve got a lot of construction sites around town.” He looked directly at Travis and added, “But if it had been a robbery, it was nice to know you would have helped. That can could have knocked a man out. Maybe you should go out for baseball this spring.”

  Whitman stepped out the side door and turned the lock, then joined them.

  The deputy fell in step with the store owner and asked, “Wes, you think those guys were going to rob you?”

  Wes shook his head. “Who’d rob me?”

  “You carry any money out with you?”

  “Nope. I lock it in the safe until mid-morning. That used to be one of my father’s rules. Never walk out of the store after dark carrying anything but supper.”

  Travis turned back to his uncle’s old pickup. Maybe he and the deputy were imagining things. Maybe they were just two bums who like to go into stores, case the place, buy one candy bar and toss it away as they walked out.

  When he climbed into the cab of the truck, the smoke was as thick as a bar at closing time. Travis knew the smell; he’d had to go into bars and get his parents more times than he could count.

  Dice must have smoked his one cigarette of the day while he was waiting.

  “You ready now, partner?” Dice pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward home without waiting for the answer.

  Travis hunched down, suddenly exhausted just from what might have happened.

  “Son,” Dice said after a few minutes, “I heard what you said to the deputy. He’s still new, wet behind the ears. I saw those men go in and you were right. I’d bet my saddle they were planning to rob the place.” He patted a rifle lyin
g across his legs just beneath the steering wheel.

  “What were you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dice answered. “But I planned to protect you, boy. You’re my kin and I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Travis straightened in the seat and tried to think. Dice believed him. Travis hadn’t had time to think that there was a chance they might see him or hurt him. That they might fire at him. All he’d thought about was that the two might hurt Mr. Whitman and he’d have been a witness to it all.

  He’d been worried about Mr. Whitman and the deputy, but he’d never thought of himself. He could have been shot!

  Then it dawned on him that Dice was willing to step into the middle of a robbery for no other reason than to protect him.

  No one had ever worried about him. No one had ever cared like that.

  “Thanks” was all he could think of to say.

  Dice lifted the rifle back into the rack along the back window of the pickup. “Nothing happened. No need to thank me,” Dice said simply. “But you should know that as long as you’re here, as long as I’m able, I’ll have your back. I’ll be on your side in any fight, but when it’s over I’ll give you hell for walking into trouble just the same.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good. Now, let’s go home. I want to see Horace’s eyes when you cook something.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WES WHITMAN WALKED home after he had coffee with the deputy. The snow had turned the little town white, making it look like a scene in a movie. The wind was no more than a whisper and the air was so still he swore he could hear Christmas carols in the air. He could have driven to work, but he liked walking. In the mornings the short three blocks woke him up, gave him time to plan his day. In the evenings they gave him time to reflect.

  He slowed a little as he passed the two little churches in town, both lit up with holiday lights and strung with garland around the doors. It wasn’t much compared to the light shows big cities put on, but the twinkle lights always made him smile. For the first time in years, he wished he could close the store for more than a day and go home for Christmas.

  Only it wouldn’t be the same as his memories. His parents had retired and moved down to Corpus Christi. His brothers were both there, running a small chain of convenience stores in the area. They’d married and already had half a dozen kids between them. Mom loved to babysit the grands, and Dad helped out at one of the stores from time to time.

  For the first few years after he moved to Crossroads, he’d pick a weekend in February and another in October. He’d fly down to the coast on Saturday night and leave a sign that his store would be closed on Monday. He’d have two days to mostly watch his family living their busy lives.

  After a few years, he’d switched to making the trip once a year. After all, they talked on the phone every Sunday. They never came north to see him. They were too busy. He’d bought a three-bedroom house and furnished it thinking they’d come, but that never happened.

  Slowly, the people of Crossroads had become his family. Wes worried about them and often helped them when he got the chance. When one of them lost their job or had a bad year farming, he’d carry their account on credit until things got better. If they needed something on a Sunday from the store, he’d open up for them.

  In turn, they often brought him little gifts. A pumpkin for Halloween. Pies for every season. He was invited to every wedding and attended every funeral. He was fitting in nicely. Wes didn’t need much. Sometimes a friendly smile was enough.

  Only tonight, something had happened that had him thinking about the future. When the deputy had asked if Wes thought the two men were about to rob the store, he’d lied.

  He hadn’t wanted to frighten Travis or worry the deputy, but that was exactly what he’d thought. He’d seen it in their eyes. A hunger to take something. An evil that said they didn’t care what was right or wrong.

  When he reached the porch of his house, all the lights were off. For the first time, he hesitated as he walked up the dark path to his door.

  What was wrong with him? He’d never been afraid. He’d never worried, but tonight he had to consider what might have happened. If the deputy hadn’t stepped through the door when he did? If Travis hadn’t come through the side door? If the men had arrived another night? Wes could have been alone.

  He could have been shot in a robbery, even died. Or worse, Cline or Travis could have been killed.

  The whole world suddenly seemed a darker place.

  Wes unlocked his door and decided he’d put a motion light on his porch that would click on if anyone came close. Maybe he’d leave one light on in the house when he was gone, just so people would think someone was home.

  Maybe he should put some cameras in the store. Or better yet, an alarm that would sound if someone came in the back or side door. Maybe he’d invest in an alarm that automatically called 911.

  As he stepped inside he looked around and really saw his home for the first time. Orderly. Bland. Except for a pile of mail and a few empty glasses, it could have been a hotel room.

  He pulled off his coat and hung it next to his jacket by the door. One fact hit him hard: the rooms reflected him. Plain. Boring.

  Not the kind of man who’d be a great lover. Not the kind of guy Maria should pick for her wild affair.

  He warmed up a cup of chili and sat down in his recliner. Even after he turned on the news, he couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened. They might have been armed. He could have bled out on the floor of his store with no one to wonder where he was until morning.

  Finally, an hour after midnight when he was still wide-awake, he figured out what was bothering him.

  It wasn’t that he might die. We all die.

  It was the fact that he hadn’t lived.

  This was all Maria Anne Davis’s fault, he decided. Until she’d suddenly kissed him, until she’d said she loved him, until she’d told him her wild dream, he’d always been happy, content, satisfied with his life. It might not be exciting, but it was comfortable. He’d settled into it nicely.

  Only now he no longer wanted to be settled.

  He wanted more. No, not just more. He wanted her. He wanted a lifetime with her.

  The next time he saw her, he’d tell her this affair she seemed to think they were going to have would never do. He needed more.

  He needed to live, and being with her seemed to be the only chance to make that happen. He’d give her the wild affair, but she’d have to give him forever.

  The next morning, he asked everyone who walked in if they were ready for Christmas. If they lacked a gift, he talked them into one of Maria’s gift baskets. By ten o’clock he’d sold all six baskets and several of the jars she’d delivered the day before.

  Wes marched to his office and called her.

  Maria answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “We’re out of baskets,” he said, then almost swore aloud. He should have at least started with Hello or How are you, Maria?

  “I missed you, too,” she said, laughing, as if she’d read his mind. “I’ll make some up and have Dakota bring me in after she gets home.”

  “No.” Wes fought to keep his voice calm. “I’ll come get you. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  “All right,” she answered.

  He pushed on. “And there is a choir concert at church tonight. We could go there before I take you home.”

  “Mr. Whitman, are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Yes.”

  She hesitated and he held his breath. Part of him wanted to say he was happy like it was if she didn’t want to be seen in public with him.

  Finally, with her voice lowered, she whispered, “I’ll go with you to the concert, but after you bring me home, you’re coming in
for dessert.”

  He smiled. He’d won the first step to forever. “Fair enough. What’s for dessert?”

  She giggled, then hesitated before she answered, “Me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  MARIA STOCKED HER shelves with baskets and spent the afternoon talking to Travis. He told her how he thought the place almost got robbed the other night, but she didn’t worry. The kid’s imagination was probably taking over. If the deputy and Wes hadn’t thought anything was wrong, it probably wasn’t.

  The day was cloudy, and a wind blew cold, rattling the glass door from time to time as if trying to get in, but Maria couldn’t stop smiling.

  About four, she stopped for coffee and Wes closed the door to his office. She cuddled into his lap and they kissed gently and whispered. There was no hurry, no rush to passion. They had an entire evening to go. They’d sit beside each other in the pew at church, holding hands during the candlelight service. They’d drive back to her place and she’d kiss his cheek while he drove. Then she’d cook for him and who knows what would happen. Maybe nothing but a good-night kiss, or maybe more.

  At six, he closed up early, so they could get what many considered the worst seats in church: they’d be in the back row with a large pillar blocking the last few seats on the side aisle. The perfect place to watch and listen, but not be noticed by anyone else.

  Maria loved the music. She closed her eyes and remembered every detail of the church she grew up in. She loved the smell of candle wax and the rustle of little girls’ Christmas dresses. She even loved the sound of Rose Franklin singing off-key a few rows in front of them. And making tonight even more perfect was Wes sitting so close she could feel his warmth. She laced her hand in his. Maybe tonight he’d become her lover and she’d have that wild affair she’d dreamed of having.

  When the service was over, he bundled her in his arms and rushed her out the back door as if he couldn’t wait to be alone with her. Just the two of them after a day of light touches and whispers.

  Finally, when they were in his car heading back to her place, each seemed lost in their own thoughts. The freezing air held silence like crystal and each gentle brush was magnified.