The Heart of Christmas

by Brenda Novak

  “You’re late for checkout, but I can take care of that now, if you’re ready.”

  His gaze shifted to Ted before coming back to her. “Would you mind if I stayed one more night?”

  Couldn’t anything go her way? “A Room with a View has no openings?”

  He frowned as if recognizing the disappointment in her voice. “I was just over there. They’re booked.”

  Of course they would be—despite their cheesy decorations. Full occupancy seemed to come so easy for them. But they also spent a great deal more on advertising. They always had more to spend.

  She wanted to refuse but Ted was looking on, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to come up with a good excuse for turning away business. Ted and the rest of her friends had been privy to her financial difficulties in the past few years. “That’s fine, I guess.”

  “Thanks. Do you know a good place for dinner?”

  “Just Like Mom’s has delicious home-style food, if you like that sort of thing. It’s down the street.”

  He hesitated briefly. Then he took her elbow and pulled her close so he could whisper in her ear. “I could’ve handled this morning at your place a lot better. I’m sorry,” he said, then headed up the stairs to his room.

  “What was that all about?” Ted asked.

  Eve shut the doors in spite of her usual policy and resumed her seat. “Nothing. He’s just a...a patron.”

  “Do all patrons whisper in your ear like that? It looked sort of intimate.”

  “It wasn’t.” She considered admitting what she’d done, as she had with her parents, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. These days, Ted was happily married and the proud stepfather of a beautiful teenage girl. She didn’t want to be perceived as still struggling. Of course, he’d likely hear the rumor, so there was probably no way to prevent him from finding out. But she’d deal with that if and when it happened. She just hoped no one would bring it up or tease her tonight at her party or at their weekly coffee date. Her friends were wonderful, but they’d been so close for so long that nothing was off-limits.

  “I only have a few more minutes,” she told him, “so we should get on with this.”

  They talked about what Unsolved Mysteries had discovered when they came to town, which was virtually nothing as far as forensic evidence was concerned. Then they discussed the bits and pieces of information that had been recorded in the journals of various people who’d known the Hatfields at the time. These mostly contained venomous recriminations against John Hatfield, who was wealthy and austere and not particularly well liked. Although Eve couldn’t say there were any solid leads in those journals, she’d kept copies of everything she’d come across relating to the history of the B and B. She even had a laminated photocopy of a newspaper from the late 1800s that regurgitated the story, and a box of research material Unsolved Mysteries had given her when they were done with the shoot.

  She went to her office to get the box but she couldn’t find it. So she’d brought back only the things she’d collected over the years.

  “I can’t imagine where I put the stuff Unsolved Mysteries left,” she told Ted.

  “But you’ll find it for me?”

  “I will. I’ll check the attic when I have a minute.”

  He accepted what she did have. “You seem to go back and forth on this, but, for the record, do you think the inn is haunted?” This had always been a difficult question for Eve. She didn’t want to commit herself because, crazy though it sounded, sometimes it did seem as if Mary’s spirit lingered. She told him about the drapes moving without being touched, about various doors closing and other noises she’d heard when there shouldn’t be anyone else about. One time, she was positive she’d heard someone moaning in the basement. That had been chilling. Unless there was something she absolutely had to get, she never went down there alone.

  “I honestly don’t know. But I feel angry with whoever killed Mary and I hope justice will, somehow, some way, prevail, even at this late date,” she told him.

  “Do you think the father did it?”

  “I think Mary’s mother believed he did.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

  “She wouldn’t speak a word after Mary’s death.”

  Ted leaned forward. “I’ve never heard you or anyone else say that before.”

  “I just found out about it. It was in an email I received a few days ago from a couple who come here every summer—a historian and his wife who once had family living in the area. He stumbled across a letter from his great-great-grandmother dated several years after Mary’s death. It refers to Harriett Hatfield and her enduring silence, and he thought I might be interested. According to this letter, Harriett became a hermit and would scarcely go out after that, which is probably why more people didn’t mention it. They didn’t really have any contact with her.”

  “Her silence and withdrawal could be a reaction to her grief,” Ted suggested.

  “True, but she could also have been an abused wife, rebelling in the only way she could without risking her own life.”

  “It’s something to consider.” He stood and slipped his phone in his pocket. “That’s it for today. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

  She gave him a weak smile. “You know where to find me.”

  “Are you looking forward to going out for your birthday tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.

  A trip to San Francisco didn’t sound as enjoyable as it had before last night. Although she’d get to see Baxter, who used to be part of their group but moved to the city two years ago, she’d had about as much of turning thirty-five as she could take. Still, she lied to protect his feelings. There was nothing to be gained from making her friends feel sorry for her. “I am.”

  “You don’t sound too enthusiastic.” He stopped her as she opened the parlor doors. “Are you planning to tell me what’s going on?”

  He knew her even better than the rest of their friends did, since they’d once been lovers. But that was exactly the reason she no longer felt comfortable confiding in him. “No. Thanks, anyway.”

  “Regardless of what you might be feeling right now, Sophia and I care about you,” he said. “We all care about you.”

  He was referring to their entire circle. “I appreciate you saying so.”

  “Hmm...a polite dodge.” He retained his hold on her arm. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

  “No. But answer me this. If you were going to leave Whiskey Creek, where would you go?”

  He dropped his hand. “You’re thinking of moving away?”

  “Probably not forever.”

  “Probably? God, Eve, I hope this has nothing to do with me. I thought we’d gotten past last year, but...you seem angry again.”

  She wasn’t angry so much as frustrated with her loneliness. And the Christmas season only made it worse. “This isn’t about you. It’s just time I figured out what to do with the rest of my life.”

  “Has that been in question? I always thought you’d spend it here, with us.” He gestured at the B and B. “I can’t imagine anyone else running this place. You do such a good job.”

  Cheyenne approached before Eve could respond, a look of wonder on her face. “The baby’s really active!” she said, and pressed their hands up against her belly.

  Eve could feel the child’s foot. Or maybe that was an elbow jutting out. “Oh, wow,” she breathed. “That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t wait to...” Ted’s words drifted off as she glanced up at him, but that sudden catch told her what he’d been about to say. He couldn’t wait to have a child with Sophia.

  “This kid is strong.” Cheyenne filled the awkward silence. “Just like his daddy.”

  She meant his daddy’s brother, who was also her sister’s fiancé, but she would never admit how she’d gotten pregnant. She didn’t want Dylan to face the fact that he couldn’t give her a child, which was why she’d performed the artificial insemination
without his knowledge. Other than Eve, only Presley and Aaron knew how she’d gotten pregnant, because they’d helped facilitate it.

  “You’ve been talking like it’s a boy the whole pregnancy,” Ted said, “but Dylan wants a girl. Do you know something you haven’t shared with us?”

  “No,” Cheyenne said. “It’s just easier to refer to him as one or the other, and flip-flopping feels weird.”

  Eve could have stood there indefinitely, marveling at the baby’s movements. Creating life was such a miracle, a miracle she longed to experience herself.

  She wanted a baby—but she didn’t want to have one on her own. Suddenly she sucked in her breath.

  “What is it?” Cheyenne asked.

  Eve pulled her hand away, but she couldn’t answer immediately. Something was going through her mind, something that hadn’t struck her before and filled her with concern.

  “Eve?” Ted said.

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled, but she wasn’t so sure. This morning Brent Taylor had pointed out the condom wrapper on the floor when he told her they’d used protection. But there’d only been one, and she was positive they’d made love more than once. She definitely remembered that much. And yet...when she’d thrown away that wrapper, she hadn’t noticed any others.

  6

  Eve’s heart was pounding in her throat when she knocked, rather timidly, at Brent Taylor’s door. She didn’t want to bother him again. He’d apologized for his rudeness this morning, and she preferred to leave it at that.

  But if there was a possibility that she might be pregnant, she needed some way to notify him.

  She was actually hoping he could tell her there’d been other condoms he’d somehow disposed of himself, by flushing them down the toilet or whatever. But that didn’t seem very likely. How many men carried more than one or two condoms in their wallets?

  The door cracked open, and he peered out at her.

  “It’s me.” Bracing herself for whatever reaction she was going to get, she drew a deep breath. “I need to speak with you for a minute.”

  He said nothing, just swung the door wide enough to let her in, and stepped back.

  She walked in and closed it behind her. Lord knew she didn’t want anyone else overhearing what she planned to discuss.

  “What is it?” he asked, immediately defensive. “I can’t stay tonight? You want me to move out right now? What?”

  “No.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “You’re fine here until...tomorrow. Or...whenever.”

  His face cleared as he sat on the bed. “You seem nervous.”

  “I am, a little,” she admitted.

  He studied her closely. “If you’re here because...because you want more of what we shared last night, you don’t have to be nervous. The answer’s yes—as long as there are no strings attached. I have certain...limitations.”

  Was he serious? From what Eve could tell, he was. But how could he believe she might come back for more after the way he’d tried to distance himself? And what made him think she’d settle for an offer like that?

  The shock must’ve shown on her face, because a smile slanted his lips. “I guess your expression answers that question.”

  “I’m not...coming on to you,” she explained. “I’m not a ‘no strings attached’ kind of girl.”

  “You’re here for some reason.”

  “Yes.” She wandered over to the window so she could break eye contact with him. “I’m here because...because I was wondering...”

  The bed creaked as he got up. “About...”

  She made herself turn to face him. “You know that condom wrapper?”

  “We’re back to that?”

  “Do you carry quite a few of those?”

  “I can always get more,” he said, eyebrows raised.

  She rubbed her hands on her thighs. “I’m wondering how many you had to begin with?”

  It wasn’t difficult to discern the exact moment he clued in to what she was trying to establish. A distinct wariness entered his eyes. “Why?”

  “Why do you think?” she asked. “I don’t know what you remember about last night, but I remember making love three different times.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes! Did you have that many condoms?”

  When he didn’t respond, she added, “And if you did, did we use them? I mean...maybe you sleep around enough that you carry a whole box. But it wasn’t as if you had your vehicle, so...that means you had only what you were carrying on your person.”

  He bowed his head as he leaned against the wall. “Shit.”

  She winced. “That’s a no, right?”

  “I had just the one. And it was pretty old. But are you certain—”

  “I’m positive. There was—” she lowered her voice “—the first time when we didn’t quite make it to the bedroom, remember? And then the second time, we did find the bed. After that, I’m pretty sure there was one more, when we woke up a couple of hours later.”

  “That was when I had to move you down so you didn’t hit the headboard.”

  She felt her face flush. “Yeah. So at least three.”

  He nodded solemnly. “That’s when I used the condom.”

  Her stomach knotted. “But you didn’t use anything before?”

  “I couldn’t have.”

  “And you didn’t know that?”

  He threw up a hand. “Maybe I was mentally avoiding the possibility of...consequences by assuming they were all one time.”

  She bit her lip. “Oh, boy.”

  “So I take it you’re not on birth control or anything—” He cut himself off. “Never mind. I don’t even have to ask. If you haven’t been sleeping with anyone, you wouldn’t need to.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “So where are you at with your...you know...your cycle? Is there any chance you might have been fertile?”

  She’d already counted the days. She’d wanted to be prepared before she spoke with him. “I’m afraid we couldn’t have planned it any better if we’d been trying to conceive.”

  At that, he went pale. “I see.”

  “That doesn’t mean I am pregnant,” she said. “Chances are just as good that I’m not. We’ll hope for the best. But if I am...I won’t have an abortion or put the baby up for adoption.”

  “Okay,” he said, as if that news was as unwelcome as the possibility of a pregnancy.

  “I’m sorry that disappoints you.”

  “I’m not sure it does. I just...I don’t know what to say to all this.”

  “You don’t have to say anything until we find out. If I’m pregnant, I’ll have and raise the baby alone. But...since you’re in a situation where you’ll be leaving soon, I’d like to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

  He began to pace, head down. “I showed my ID when I checked in,” he muttered, but that was hardly convincing.

  “So you’re Brent Taylor? Or are you Taylor Jackson?”

  He stopped to look at her, his jaw hard. “You’ve been snooping through my things?”

  “Not like you think. But someone had to clean your room, and I noticed the luggage tag.”

  “I borrowed a suitcase from a friend.”

  “Brent Taylor is your real name, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Can I get some contact information, too? Just in case.”

  He rubbed his forehead again, as if he needed a moment to regroup, or didn’t like the thought of giving her what she’d asked. That was more than slightly off-putting.

  “I promise I won’t contact you unless absolutely necessary,” she added, her voice showing her irritation.

  “You don’t understand,” he started, but then he stopped. “Never mind. I don’t have any good contact information right now. I’m in a...transitional period. I’ll have to check back with you. But I’ll do my part. Don’t worry about that.”

  Did he expect her to rely on his integrity when she didn’t even know if he had any? She opened her mouth to tel
l him that was asking a bit much, but he didn’t let her get that far.

  “I realize that requires a great deal of trust,” he said. “But I’m hoping you can manage it if...if I’m also trusting you.”

  Feeling a chill, although it wasn’t that cold in the room, she rubbed her arms. “In what way?”

  He seemed to be thinking fast, trying to come up with an arrangement that would be fair. “Do you have medical insurance?”

  “I do. I provide it for all my employees, too,” she said. That was partly what made it so difficult to stay afloat.

  “The birth would be covered, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s that, at least. But still...there’ll be plenty of other expenses. What if I leave you with some money? If you’re pregnant, you can keep it for the baby. And I’ll send more, of course. Like I said, I’m not trying to dodge my responsibilities.”

  Eve hated that she’d screwed up so badly that her life, in a matter of twenty-four hours, had been reduced to this kind of negotiation. “Does that mean you wouldn’t want contact with the...um, child?”

  He closed his eyes. “I can’t even think about, I mean that right now—what I want. I just need to take care of what you want. We’ll worry about the rest later, if there is a baby.”

  “Then how much are you planning to leave?”

  “Enough that you’ll feel confident, or optimistic if not quite confident, that I’ll follow up. You name the amount.”

  She had no idea how much to request, but there was something very odd going on with Brent Taylor. This proved it, and made her raise the figure that came into her head by several grand. “Five thousand?”

  To her surprise, he didn’t argue. He just got the money—stacks of hundred-dollar bills separated by paper clips—out of his duffel bag. After handing her two of those piles, he counted out the final thousand. “Here you go.”

  “I can’t believe you happened to have this on hand!” She couldn’t begin to guess how he was going to explain that, but she stopped him before he could even try. “Never mind. I don’t want you to lie to me.” He had to be a drug dealer or something, not exactly the type of person she’d want as the father of her baby, so maybe it was a good thing he’d be leaving. She could only hope he wouldn’t want contact.