“They’re clients. This is not a pro bono case.”
“Yes, but Phyllis told me in the kitchen that you’re not charging them much at all, and you’ve done all kinds of work.”
He shrugged. “Some cases are more difficult than others. This one required some creative thinking.”
“You, a financial planner, a gas and oil leasing agent, a real estate broker, a banker and who else?”
“Oh, just that new remodeling contractor from Graham.”
“The house is going to look great,” she said, thinking about the plans James and the Holmeses had discussed for their home. When they finished with the mineral leases, the sale of part of the property, the updates and the reverse mortgage, Wade and Phyllis would have enough money to live on and provide care for him. And best of all, by the time they were old and gone from this earth, their estate would be reduced to near nothing and their slimy nephew wouldn’t get enough inheritance to fill his money-grubbing fist.
Poetic justice, Scarlett thought. She’d liked the Holmeses, and they’d liked her. Best of all, she’d learned that although Phyllis had moved to the area after marrying Wade in her hometown of Phoenix, she felt part of the community. She and Wade wanted to live here forever, and with James’s help, they would.
Oh, James. What was she going to do about her growing feelings for him? Scarlett wondered. He was just so darn nice. She wanted to say that he was too preppy, too conservative, too boring for her. When she was with him, though, she kept seeing all of his good qualities. He was intelligent, kind and thoughtful to everyone. He was a good son, a good neighbor and a good lawyer.
She was in so much trouble on such an unexpectedly personal level. Every now and then, there was an awkward moment. A lingering look. A yearning glance. But they were adults. They’d controlled themselves.
The next time he invited her to go for a ride, attend a party or have a meal, she should say no. That would be best for both of them.
But she’d make sure she said goodbye before she drove off into the proverbial sunset. By Christmas Day, she should be basking in sunlight along the Pacific Ocean, sightseeing in Hollywood and finding a new apartment as close as she could afford to Diego’s salon. Now, that would be the life, she told herself with just a bit of forced enthusiasm.
JAMES HAD TO GO to Graham for a meeting at the courthouse on Wednesday, so he took the opportunity to do a little Christmas shopping. There were several stores around the square that offered a variety of gift items his mother might like, plus he needed a few presents for aunts, uncles, cousins and his two nieces. His family had put a dollar limit on gifts years ago, and he’d always chafed at the ten-dollar restriction. But that’s what worked best for everyone else, and he respected their rules. If he couldn’t find what he needed around the square, though, he’d be forced to go to the big discount store down Highway 16. He’d rather spend his money with the local merchants.
The air felt brisk as he walked across the street. The businesses were decorated just like in Brody’s Crossing. Graham, being the county seat, was a lot larger, plus they had a nice-size gazebo near the pale gray courthouse. A Confederate memorial stood out front, plus another veterans memorial off to the side. The place projected an aura of permanence, past oil wealth, and hope for the future despite occasional economic downturns.
As he entered a store that sold candles Aunt Mary might like, he saw a display of silver necklaces. Flashy and funky and fun, they reminded him of Scarlett. He stopped and ran several of them through his fingers, feeling the cool, smooth metal and thinking of her belly button ring. He would never make that little moon and star quiver as he ran his fingers along her waist, her stomach, her ribs. Her breasts.
James breathed deeply. He didn’t want to think of Scarlett. He didn’t want to imagine what they might do together, if only things were different.
No, that wasn’t right. He wanted to think about her all the time. He just knew he shouldn’t. There was no future with her, and he’d vowed that when he decided to get married again, he’d find someone from around the area who understood his feelings for his hometown and neighbors. The future Mrs. Brody would need to understand that he didn’t want to move, become a big-city lawyer again.
So, Scarlett wasn’t a woman he could build a future with. Intellectually, he realized that. For some reason, his body wasn’t getting the message from his brain. He wanted her even though he knew she would be out of here as soon as her car was repaired. He wanted her even though he knew they were worlds apart in goals, temperament and style.
“May I help you?” the lady behind the counter asked.
James let the silver necklaces slip through his fingers. He smiled at the saleslady. “I’m looking for a candle for my aunt. One of those big, squatty ones in the glass jars.”
“I know just what you mean. Right this way.”
He walked down the aisle, but turned back to look one more time at the sparkling jewelry. Would Scarlett be here for Christmas? Should he buy her a gift?
“What fragrance does your aunt like?” the saleslady asked, bringing James’s attention back to the task at hand.
“She likes flowers. She gardens.”
He smelled about six different scents, settling on roses because he knew she liked them, and he really couldn’t remember if tulips had any scent. He thought the candle maker might be cheating a little on that one.
The saleslady wrapped the candle in layers of paper and put it in a bag. The silver necklaces beckoned once more. Should he buy Scarlett a Christmas gift?
Closing his eyes, he decided to go for it. “I’ll take this, also,” he said, choosing a rather wild depiction of the sun that he thought might go with that pesky moon and star. The necklace would look good nestled between her breasts. He could imagine that sight even if he never saw it in person.
“Would you like a gift box for this?” the woman asked.
“Yes.” If he didn’t give it to Scarlett for Christmas, he could always present it to her as a going-away gift. Something for all those sunny, California days in her future. He was not cheered by the thought.
Obviously, Scarlett wasn’t looking for anything permanent in Texas. Maybe she wouldn’t mind a little fling. If he was willing to think only about this week, maybe the next, could they have a good time and part as friends? Why not? If they were honest with each other, no one would be hurt.
He could do this, he told himself as he headed into the next shop. He’d never vowed to wait like a monk for the future Mrs. Brody. He could enjoy Scarlett and let her go. She’d made her plans clear; now he needed to make his intentions obvious with a bold move.
ON WEDNESDAY Clarissa decided they’d close for lunch, since they didn’t have any clients scheduled. Her friends had a meeting planned at the café, and she wanted everyone to attend—including Scarlett, who knew nothing about the subject matter, a farmers’ market. Still, they insisted, so she headed off for lunch with Venetia and Clarissa to meet Ida Bell, Raven York and Bobbi Jean Maxwell.
To Scarlett’s surprise, James’s mother came through the door a moment after they’d sat down. Scarlett didn’t know how she felt about spending time with the mother of the man she lusted after.
“The grand opening of the farmers’ market is scheduled for March 15,” Ida Bell said after they’d ordered lunch. “We need something really spectacular to involve all the merchants downtown.”
They started with ideas for themes and tie-ins for the different businesses. Scarlett got much more involved than she thought she would, imagining how the new market for plants, herbs, fruits, vegetables, nuts and assorted crafts would impact Brody’s Crossing. She thought of something a salon she’d worked at a few years ago had participated in, and hesitated only briefly before jumping in.
“How about a scavenger hunt, or some other kind of activity, where people need to go to a number of businesses to get something or have something signed?”
“That’s a great idea!” Clarissa said. “I lov
e scavenger hunts and no one has them anymore. We could all provide something very inexpensive for the asking.”
“And I’ll bet the bank would give us some of those plastic tote bags with their logo on them for people to put the items in,” Bobbi Jean said.
They worked out details and a list of possible giveaways. Everyone wanted Scarlett to head up this effort, until she reminded them that she would be leaving town next week, as soon as her car was repaired. By March 15 she would be settled in L.A.
“But what are you doing for Christmas? Surely you’re not spending it all alone, in a strange town,” Ida exclaimed.
“I need a little time to get acclimated. My new job starts January 2, and I have to find an apartment. I probably won’t get to do much celebrating this year, but the move will be worth it.”
“Well, I know, but it seems so lonely.”
“She’ll be fine,” Clarissa said, “although we’ll miss her like crazy.”
Scarlett felt touched that the other ladies seemed really sad. Truthfully, she was a bit sad also. The grand opening sounded like fun. They talked about a few more events, then finished their pie and coffee and adjourned the meeting. They all decided to meet after the New Year to finalize the plans.
When she started her job in L.A., Scarlett would be assisting another stylist. She’d have to play gopher and earn the respect of others. But she’d at least be someplace where she would be appreciated for being innovative. She wouldn’t be constantly criticized for not living up to expectations.
She, Clarissa and Venetia walked back to the salon, ready to get to work again. Scarlett felt very much a part of the town today, but knew it was an illusion. Even if she made the ridiculous choice to stay in Brody’s Crossing—which had zero chance of happening because of her great opportunity in California—she knew this sense of camaraderie wouldn’t last. She wasn’t sure why, but nothing good seemed to, no matter how much you wanted it to.
No, it was best to move on before people got tired of her or she got tired of the place. Next week would be soon enough. But she would miss this town, these people.
She would miss James Brody, too, but she didn’t want to think about that.
AT THE END OF THE DAY, as she cleaned up her station, Scarlett heard the door open, and looked up to see James.
“Hi there, hon,” Clarissa greeted him as she completed the deposit slip for the cash and checks in the drawer. “We were just closing up, so I’m glad you’re here. I have to run to the bank and you can keep Scarlett company.”
“I can do that.” At his smile, Scarlett looked away.
Clarissa zipped up the bag. “You two young people have fun.”
Scarlett’s head snapped up. What was Clarissa thinking, making suggestive remarks? James seemed amused by her words. Scarlett wondered why that roused such different emotions in her. She wanted to volunteer to take the deposit to the bank, to run away from James. On the other hand, she really wanted to have fun, lots of fun, even though she knew she shouldn’t find him entertaining. She grabbed a broom and dustpan instead.
“My mother said you came up with a good idea at the farmers’ market meeting today,” he said, settling in one of the chairs across from her station. He stretched out his long legs, covered in neatly pressed chinos, and crossed his feet. His shoes were polished and his socks matched his dark brown sweater, worn over a button-down plaid shirt. Today, he appeared superpreppy, even with his adorably ruffled hair.
“I tried to help. The farmers’ market idea sounds like a good one.” She swept under the chair with gusto.
“I think so. People can get fresh produce, and it gives farmers and crafters a place to sell their goods locally.”
And locally was all-important to James. “How are the Holmeses? Any progress with the money-grubbing nephew?”
“I’ve contacted his attorney. I think he’ll get the message.” James shifted in the chair.
Scarlett could find nothing else to sweep, so she put the broom and dustpan in the long cabinet. “Well, I guess I’m all cleaned up. Time to lock up.”
“I think Clarissa did that on the way out.”
“Oh.” Scarlett felt alarmed that she’d missed the fact that she and James were locked in. Of course, there was a very large window about twelve feet to her left. Anyone could see in, so what mischief could occur? Not that she wanted anything to happen.
“Do you have any plans for dinner?”
“There’s a tuna salad sandwich that Venetia brought for lunch and didn’t eat.” Which sounded even less appealing than it looked.
James grimaced. “How about a home-cooked meal?”
“Whose home?” she asked, thinking of his mother.
“Mine.”
“Is your mom cooking?”
“No, I am.”
“Oh,” Scarlett said, and frowned. “Don’t you live with your parents?”
“No! Where did you get that idea?”
“I…I have no idea. I just assumed, since you never talked about your own place, that you lived at their ranch, where we drove that day.”
“No. I have an apartment over the office. It’s a lot more convenient.”
She thought back to the time he’d admitted seeing her in the little memorial park. She hadn’t realized he meant from his apartment, upstairs.
He stood and walked to where she stood against the cabinet. “So, do you want to try my cooking? I’m not bad, if I do say so myself. A meal at my place will beat an old tuna salad sandwich, that’s for sure.”
“You have a point.” She faced another night of country-and-western music or staticky vintage rock. She had nothing to do, very little to read and a real urge to discover what single, preppy men from small Texas towns would consider home cooking for a female friend. “Okay.”
“Great. Are you ready now? Do you need to…do anything?”
“No, I’m finished, unless you think I should change.” She held out her arms. She wore jeans and her green sweater—again. She was really tired of the same clothes, but she hadn’t packed a lot of cold-weather choices. California was warm and sunny most of the time. She hadn’t expected to need heavy sweaters and boots except for the drive out to L.A.
“No, you look great, as usual.”
Scarlett chuckled. “You’re probably tired of seeing me in the same clothes.”
James scanned her, head to toe and smiled. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
Scarlett wondered why she couldn’t think of double entendres before she opened her mouth and inserted her foot. “Come on, preppy boy. We’ll go out the back so I can lock that door.”
“Sounds good. After you,” he said, sweeping his arm toward her temporary living quarters.
She got the impression he was looking at her backside rather than the old sofa, posters and kitchen area. She grabbed her hoodie and hurried toward the door before either one of them said anything that could be interpreted as more than friendly.
JAMES PLACED THE SECOND thick pork chop on Scarlett’s plate and spooned a little of the drippings over it. He hoped she enjoyed his cooking. He didn’t have a large culinary repertoire, but he’d learned to fix meals in college. He made his own dinner a couple of times a week.
“It’s nice to have someone to cook for,” he said as he placed the plates on the small table near the back door. His kitchen overlooked the little park. There was a small landing and a metal staircase that led downstairs.
“Everything smells delicious,” she said.
James looked down at her before taking his seat. She appeared wide-eyed with anticipation. For his cooking, or something else? He was projecting his own desire, he knew, but as usual had little control over his thoughts of Scarlett.
He sat down fast so she wouldn’t see her effect on his body. “Dig in,” he invited, reaching for the bottle of pinot noir. He added a little to both their glasses.
“Believe me, I will. I can’t believe how hungry I am for home cooking.” She cut a piece of pork chop
, then popped it into her mouth. He almost groaned when she closed her eyes and moaned in bliss.
“My mother makes pork chops,” she said, “but not these thick ones. These are good.”
“We have a new butcher in town. I have him cut them thick and trim off the fat.” Geesh, James, could you talk about anything more romantic than trimming pork chops? “I hope you like steamed vegetables.” Yeah, that’s a lot more romantic. “Bread?” he asked, pushing the basket toward her.
“Thanks, and yes, I like the vegetables, too.” She smiled at him, and he didn’t feel quite as awkward. He dug into his own meal and decided he really was a pretty good cook.
“Do you cook?” he asked her.
“Not really. I lived at home most of the time, and my mother didn’t want me to bother with cooking.” Scarlett shook her head. “Either that, or she didn’t want to be bothered with someone else messing up her kitchen. Basically, she fixed the food and we ate it.”
“I’ll bet you miss some of the meals, though.”
Scarlett shrugged. “Maybe. I’m going to kind of miss Christmas dinner. Mom makes this really good stuffing with sausage and apples and lots of sage. And she gets a smoked turkey from this place—I’m not sure where, but it comes in a foam cooler with dry ice—and we eat every bite of that bird.”
“Sounds yummy. You should get the dressing recipe.”
“Why? I don’t cook, remember?” she replied with a grin, then plopped a slice of carrot in her mouth.
I’ll cook for you, he wanted to say, but didn’t. He shouldn’t put pressure on her. If he didn’t talk about her leaving, and she didn’t say anything about it, then maybe it wouldn’t happen too soon. Maybe she’d decide that Brody’s Crossing would be a good place to spend Christmas, and they could have a great time for a while.
They finished their meal, and then Scarlett reached for the plates. “Let me, since you cooked.”
“I have a dishwasher.”
“I’ll rinse then, and you load.”
They stood side by side at the sink, bumping elbows and shoulders, until James felt as if he’d explode. He wanted to throw the dishes on the floor, grab Scarlett and kiss her senseless. But he wasn’t going to do that. He had more finesse than grabbing and groping a woman he’d invited to dinner.
Texan for the Holidays Page 9
