Yule Be Mine

by Foster, Lori

  Everything male in him went on the alert. “What are we wagering?”

  She didn’t even take a second to consider it. “In a few minutes, you can pull over for gas or a drink or something. If the van pulls over, too, that’ll be proof enough, okay?”

  “I suppose.” He looked again in the rearview mirror, and felt his instincts kick in. They were being tailed, and he hadn’t even noticed. He didn’t like slacking. He didn’t like being so distracted by a woman that he missed something that major.

  “If he is following us, I win the bet.”

  “Not yet, woman.” He wouldn’t agree to anything blindly. “What are we betting?”

  “That you’ll spend Christmas with me.”

  Huh. Had he really thought she’d ask for sex?

  In his dreams.

  “I just inherited a house, and I’d planned to work on it over the holidays.”

  “Then I’ll spend Christmas with you. Either way, you’ll give me some time, okay?”

  That didn’t sound too heinous. But it brought up a new question. “So if he’s not following us, what do I get?”

  The dimple showed in her cheek. “What do you want?”

  Such a loaded question. Ozzie firmed his jaw, flipped on his turn signal to switch lanes, and headed for the nearest exit.

  The damn van followed.

  “I don’t think it matters,” he muttered. “The bastard is following us—and I want to know why.”

  3

  “I haven’t eaten,” Osbourne said. “I’m going to pull in and get a breakfast sandwich. You want one?”

  It fascinated Marci to see Osbourne go into SWAT mode. Oh, he spoke casually enough, but a new alertness straightened his spine and firmed his jaw. He looked everywhere, at everything, as he eased the truck to the right and took an exit.

  The few times she’d dated him, he’d been charming at first, then wary, then finally distant. All because she’d tried to be herself with him.

  When he’d shown back up today, primed and in sexual overdrive, her hope had renewed. But so far he’d been churlish and sarcastic and she didn’t like it. His attitude hurt her feelings when she’d thought herself long immune to the criticism of others.

  Seeing that the van had also switched lanes and taken the same exit, Marci sighed. “I’ll take a donut and orange juice. Thank you.”

  When Osbourne got in the drive-thru lane, the van went past, but pulled into a gas station nearby. No one left the van to pump gas.

  Only someone familiar with Osbourne would note the growing tension in him. Not sexual tension this time, but an angry tension that bunched his impressive muscles and put an anticipatory glint into his blue eyes. It didn’t bode well for somebody.

  He put in their orders without an obvious care, paid, accepted their food, and then handed her the bag.

  “Get that out for me, will you?” He steered the truck out of the parking lot and onto the main road, heading for the exit that’d take them back onto the highway.

  Marci unwrapped his sandwich and handed it to him. He balanced it on his knee while driving.

  “Osbourne? The van is following again.”

  “I know. Normally I’d make a few sharp turns, but I don’t want to alarm the donkey.”

  So considerate. So why didn’t he give her the same consideration? Surely it was as she suspected—that he did care for her but wanted to protect himself.

  The questions uppermost in her mind were: Why? And who had hurt him?

  “In fact,” he said, as much to himself as her, “I’ll just let the idiot follow us all the way to the donkey’s home. Once I don’t have to worry about the animal, it’ll be easier for me to take care of this.”

  After a bite of her donut, Marci licked her fingers free of glaze. “Take care of it how?”

  “Don’t push me, Marci.”

  “It was a simple question.”

  “Yeah, well keep your fingers out of your mouth and your tongue where I can’t see it.”

  Oh. So that’s what he meant by pushing him. Feeling a little devilish, Marci took another bite of her donut. “So…Do I spend Christmas with you? Will you honor the bet?”

  “We never actually shook on it or anything.”

  She wouldn’t let his reluctance bother her. One way or another, she’d wear him down. “So is it that you like being alone during the holidays?”

  “Usually I wouldn’t be.” He bit into his breakfast sandwich with gusto.

  Jealousy prickled up her spine, and Marci said, “Yes, of course. I’m sure you have your pick of women to celebrate with.”

  He laughed without humor, and then, in somber tones, he explained, “I’ve spent every Christmas since my sixth birthday with my grandmother. It’s always been just the two of us. But she recently passed, so this year I’ll be solo for the holidays.”

  Oh, God. “Osbourne, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “Granny was a hoot. And she’d have loved you, because she loved animals and anyone who had anything to do with them.”

  “Even kooks?”

  “Especially kooks, being as she was a little nutty herself. But in a loveable way. When my mom died and my dad took off, she gathered me up and said she’d finally have me to herself, as if it was something she’d always wanted.”

  “What do you mean he took off?”

  “He was young, unwilling to be burdened with a kid. Granny said I reminded him too much of her. But I think that was bullshit, just her way of softening things.”

  “I bet you must have missed them a lot.”

  “With Granny around? Hell, no. She made growing up fun.”

  Fascinated, Marci smiled at him. “How so?”

  “Granny didn’t believe in rules. If I wanted dessert instead of dinner, we’d eat it in the yard, in the rain, while listening to coyotes howl. During my rowdier teens, when I wanted long hair, she offered to dye it blue for me.”

  Marci laughed. “She does sound fun.”

  “Yeah, but she was wily. I always thought she should have been a shrink, because she sure knew how to play mind games.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I was eighteen, I wanted a tattoo. You know, something gnarly and macho around my biceps. Granny thought that sounded cool, and she wanted to go along to get one, too.”

  They both laughed.

  Shaking his head, Osbourne added, “Hell, I was afraid that if I slipped off to get it, she’d find out where, and she’d show up there to get her ass tatted or something, and I’d never be able to live it down. For sure, she’d have told the tattoo artist she was my granny, and word would have spread like wildfire.”

  “Pretty ingenious on her part.”

  “No kidding. I failed a test once because I hadn’t studied. She sat down with it, looked over the answers, and damned if she didn’t know them all! Made me feel like an idiot, all the while telling me how smart I am and that obviously the test was messed up because, hell, what old lady could pass it when a sharp young man couldn’t? From then on, I aced everything, and she’d beam, telling me how much smarter I was than her.” His voice softened. “But I never believed that. She was the wisest, most incredible woman I’ve ever known.”

  Marci touched his thigh. “I’m glad you had her in your life.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” His hand briefly covered hers and gave it a squeeze. “Having Christmas without her just doesn’t feel right.”

  When he retreated again, she felt the loss, both physical and emotional, deep inside herself. “Maybe it’d be easier if you had someone around to…you know, maybe deflect the memories.” Marci knew she lacked subtlety, but she couldn’t bear the thought of him spending Christmas alone.

  Osbourne grunted. “Sharing holidays with women gives them the wrong idea. It puts too personal a slant to things. Women start thinking you’re committed to them, whether you are or not.”

  “Committed?”

  He worked his jaw a minute, then shrugged one heavy shou
lder, as if deciding it didn’t matter what he shared. “I had one friggin’ holiday with a woman, and she thought we’d get married or something. I told her nothing had changed, that I liked her but I wasn’t in love with her.”

  “I take it she reacted badly?”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’d always known Ainsley was a little screwy, but after that, I realized she was certifiable. She did everything she could to harass me. She kept calling me at home and at work. She dropped in unannounced. She stalked me, hoping to catch me with another woman. When I told her to back off, she…”

  “What?”

  “Claimed she was pregnant.”

  “Oh.” Dread settled in Marci’s belly. “You’re a father?”

  “No.” After a deep breath, he said, “It’s a long story, and I won’t go into details, but for months, she put me through hell. She was pregnant, she wasn’t pregnant. She’d had an abortion, she hadn’t had an abortion. It was mine, it wasn’t mine. I had no idea what to think. When I considered being a father…I dunno. I took to the idea. And then she’d say she’d aborted the baby, just to see my reaction. And the next day she’d tell me she lied, that she was still pregnant, but not by me. She ranted and raved and drove me nuts.”

  “How did it finally get resolved?”

  “After a few months, when she would have started showing if she was in fact pregnant, she found some new schmuck to torment.” He shook his head. “She wanted to make sure I didn’t ruin things for her, so she confessed that she’d made it all up.”

  “Dear God.” Marci now understood, but she almost wished she didn’t.

  He thought she was another Ainsley.

  “Since then, I’ve kept things simple. Limited dating—with very rational women.”

  “And no holidays?”

  His frown eased away. “Most of the women I know aren’t the type to enjoy a quiet Christmas at home.”

  Forget subtlety. “I would enjoy it.”

  Mouth quirking in a half-smile, he said, “Yeah, you made that clear.”

  Still, he didn’t invite her to join him, and she slouched back in her seat, disgruntled. “But I’m a vindictive flake, right? Way too cruel to have hanging around.”

  His frown took the chill out of the air. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “Why not? Kooky is kooky, right? You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.”

  “I didn’t—” Osbourne huffed, glanced in the rearview mirror, then at his directions. He switched lanes. “Look, let’s start this debacle over, okay?”

  Now he called their time together a debacle? Worse and worse. “Start over how?”

  “Forget the past. From this second on, we’ll just play it by ear. One thing at a time.”

  She supposed she could do that. “The donkey first?”

  “Right. Hopefully this is where he belongs and we can be heroes by returning him, then we’ll head home.”

  Marci wondered whose home he meant, but she decided not to push her luck. “Deal.”

  “Great.” From one minute to the next, the snow turned to frozen sleet, hammering the windshield and making travel more treacherous. Osbourne eased off the highway on the next exit. “Help me look for Riley Road.”

  The wipers could barely keep the ice off the windshield, even with the defroster going full blast. They’d slowed to a crawl with visibility limited.

  A crooked road indicator came into view. “There it is.” Marci pointed, and Osbourne pulled down a narrower gravel drive.

  The van stayed behind them, but held back when they drove down a dirt road leading to an old, stately farmhouse fenced in and surrounded by towering trees. Osbourne parked in front but left the truck running.

  Back in SWAT mode, he ordered, “Wait here.”

  Orders had never gone over big with her. “Why should I?”

  “I don’t know these people, and I don’t like taking chances with you.”

  Well, the order sounded much nicer put that way.

  “Lock the doors and I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  Her quick agreement earned her a double take. Osbourne’s gaze was fraught with suspicion, but he said nothing.

  Marci watched as he trod through the now ankle-deep snow, up the hidden walk to the front porch. He knocked on the door and seconds later a middle-aged woman, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, answered. As she dried her hands on a kitchen towel, Osbourne spoke, gestured toward the truck, and the woman screamed.

  Even through the thick sleet and snow, Marci could see that he jumped.

  The woman shoved Osbourne aside and went slipping and sliding down the walkway to the truck. Shocked, Osbourne hurried after her. The woman was still yelling excitedly, which brought a tall, portly man charging out the doorway to join her at the truck.

  Over the truck’s idling engine and the blasting defroster, their words were indecipherable. But their expressions were clear enough: naked, tearful, overwhelming joy.

  Grinning ear to ear, Marci opened her door and stepped shin-deep into the drifting snow and ice.

  Struggling against the surging wind, she reached the back of the truck just as Osbourne lowered the hatch. There was a single moment of speechless expectation, then the donkey brayed, the man and woman gave a robust shout, and within seconds, the truck bed was filled.

  The man, overcome with joy, cried, “Magnus! Finally, you’re home!”

  The woman threw herself around the donkey and hugged him tight.

  Wide-eyed and mute with incredulity, Osbourne looked at Marci. Grinning through her tears, she mouthed the words “Thank you.”

  And slowly, Osbourne’s smile came in return.

  An hour later, Osbourne continued to smile, and said again, “I can’t believe it.”

  Marci sipped the hot chocolate that River and Chloe Parson had insisted on fixing for them. They’d also tried to give them a hefty reward, but Osbourne and Marci had refused the money at almost the same time.

  Osbourne told the Parsons that seeing their happiness, especially at Christmas, was more than enough reward.

  It thrilled Marci that he looked at their efforts the same way she did: as simply the right thing to do, not something done for financial gain. After their repeated refusals, the Parson couple gave up.

  After a time, she and Osbourne got on their way with warm hugs, hot chocolate, and a lot of gratitude.

  “It’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it?” Marci asked him.

  “Yeah. That donkey is like a member of their family.”

  “Magnus is a fine creature. I can see why they love him so much.”

  Osbourne laughed. “Yeah, I figured you would feel that way.”

  Toying with the lid on her cup, Marci asked, “So now do you believe me?”

  “That we’re being followed? Damn right.” They’d just reached the gravel road and there sat the van, nearly snowed in, but with the engine running. As they passed, it pulled out behind them.

  Well, shoot. That wasn’t what she’d meant at all, but Marci really didn’t feel like having her ability with animals questioned yet again. Osbourne would either believe her or not, and she wouldn’t try to convince him.

  “Hang on to that cup,” Osbourne told her.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to find out what the hell he wants.” And with that, Osbourne turned the truck sharply, stopping it crossways in the road, blocking both narrow lanes.

  Face set and brows down, he put the truck in PARK, again ordered Marci to lock the doors after him, and got out to stalk toward the van.

  Marci sighed. Releasing her seatbelt so she could climb to Osbourne’s side of the truck for an unhindered view, she watched him.

  The van sat idling, the driver confused. But with Osbourne’s stomping, hostile approach, clear alarm showed on his face. The driver looked to be in his early thirties, average in build and appearance with straight brown hair and shifty eyes.

  To hear their
verbal exchange, Marci quickly rolled down the window.

  With one hand braced on the roof of the van, Osbourne leaned down to the driver’s door and ordered, “Open up.”

  The man pressed back in his seat and shook his head. “What do you want?”

  Rolling his eyes, Osbourne reached inside his coat and produced a badge that he held against the window. “Open it now.”

  The man gulped. His window lowered a mere five inches. “What’s going on here? Why are you harassing me?”

  “You’re following me. I want to know why.”

  “But…I’m not!”

  Osbourne leaned closer, and the man screeched. “Don’t you dare touch me! I’m warning you, I’ll call the cops!”

  “I am a cop, you ass.” Straightening again, Osbourne put away the badge and bundled up his coat against the whistling wind and sleet. “Stop that noise and tell me why you were following me, or we can talk at the station after I have you arrested.”

  The man didn’t ask on what charge, which Marci thought would have been a good question, especially since Osbourne was an Ohio police officer, and they were currently in Kentucky.

  The man glared toward the truck—toward her—and said, “I’m not following you. I’m following her.”

  Rather than appeasing Osbourne, that seemed to annoy him more. “Why?”

  Gaining confidence, the man lowered his window more and offered his hand. “Vaughn Wayland.”

  Osbourne ignored the conciliatory gesture.

  “Right.” Mr. Wayland retreated. “I’m working on a story, actually. I’m a freelance reporter and she’s hot news.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know?” Wayland stared toward her with anticipation. “She’s a psychic.”

  Huffing, Osbourne said, “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Well, Marci thought, so much for him believing her.

  “But it’s true!” Wayland insisted. “I’d heard about her for a few years, but I didn’t believe it any more than you do. Then my neighbor’s cat went missing for months. Everyone sort of figured the mangy thing had gotten run over or eaten by a dog when, out of the blue, Miss Churchill brought it back to her.”