Texan for the Holidays

by Victoria Chancellor

  He grinned and lowered himself on her. “This was a fantasy I hadn’t even considered. Nice thinking.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “You certainly do,” he murmured before kissing her deeply. In the background, she heard the sounds of the animals moving, munching their feed. The rest of the world seemed far away as James ran his hands over her body, as his kisses became more demanding.

  “Hello! James, are you in here?”

  Scarlett felt him pause, then stiffen. “Oh, no.” He leaped to his feet, immediately grabbing his jeans.

  Just hide, Scarlett mouthed, scooting off the sweater, sweatshirt and mound of hay.

  He shook his head, yanked on his jeans and fastened them. Unfortunately, the sound of the zipper seemed to echo loudly in the barn.

  He shut his eyes, pulled Scarlett close and whispered in her ear, “Demanding Desmond.”

  “James Brody, what’s going on in there?”

  He looked up, just enough to see over the solid wall of the stall. “Oh, I’m just taking care of the ranch while my parents are in Wichita Falls.” He motioned for Scarlett to stay down, which she gladly did as she searched for the pants she’d been wearing.

  “We brought your mother a red velvet cake from the church Christmas bazaar. Myra Hammer said Carolyn might not be feeling well.”

  “No, she’s fine,” James answered. Scarlett listened to their voices grow closer, and resisted the urge to moan. Where were those pants? She had to learn to be neater when she stripped off her clothes.

  “I’ll be out in a minute, ladies. Why don’t you wait for me at the house?”

  “Oh, we don’t mind the barn, do we, Joan?”

  Joan?

  “No, not at all,” another voice answered.

  James looked back at Scarlett and shrugged. Apparently he didn’t know this person, either. He leaned down and pulled his sweater on over his head.

  Scarlett found the pants in the corner, beneath a pile of hay. Now, where was the sweatshirt? She’d just had it!

  “James, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Mrs. Desmond said.

  He popped back up. “Yes?”

  “This is my friend Joan Lindell from Loving.” Mrs. Desmond paused a moment. “Joan, this is James Brody, the attorney who’s going to be filling in for the judge in Graham.”

  “Oh, he’s the one,” Joan said, as if James were personally repulsive to her, which was a very odd reaction.

  Scarlett started to pull on the pants, but just as she stuck her leg in, the most horrible, hairy spider crawled right up the fabric, going for her.

  “Yikes!” she yelled, and threw the pants as hard as she could. Her heart raced and she felt as if a hundred of those horrid things were crawling on her.

  Unfortunately, she discovered when she looked up, she’d thrown the pants right over the wall of the stall. James’s wide eyes followed their path.

  “What in the world?”

  Scarlett hurried over to James, hunkering down so she’d be shielded by the wall in case someone looked over the top and noticed a naked, redheaded woman.

  She probably couldn’t pass herself off as a goat or a horse. And sure enough, that nosy ol’ biddy looked right over the top of the stall to see what was going on. As if it was any of her business.

  James closed his eyes, sighed and pulled Scarlett close. “I really think you should wait for me at the house.”

  “What in the world!” Ashley Desmond’s mother leaned over and looked Scarlett in the eyes as she straightened. She could barely see over the top of the five-foot-something-inch high stall. Mrs. Desmond probably couldn’t see much more than hay-infused red hair and guilty green eyes.

  “You!”

  “I guess I don’t disguise well.”

  “We had no idea we’d be interrupting you and your friend,” Mrs. Desmond sniped.

  James shrugged. “I did suggest you wait for me at the house.”

  Scarlett could practically hear Mrs. Desmond purse her thin lips. “Do your parents have any idea that you have company out here while they’re gone?”

  “Mrs. Desmond, I hardly think that’s any of your business. Now, thanks for the cake. I really have to go. It’s kind of chilly out here, don’t you think?”

  When the ladies had marched away, James turned to Scarlett. “Well, that was a perfectly awful end to a wonderful morning,” he said.

  AFTER THE CHURCH LADIES left, Scarlett’s mood was subdued. James accepted her excuse that she had some laundry to do at the salon, and drove her back to town. Or maybe she didn’t want his parents to know she’d been at the ranch this weekend. He kissed her goodbye, then returned to clean up after himself and Scarlett before his folks arrived.

  He hadn’t planned to keep it a secret from them, although it wasn’t Delores Desmond’s business. She’d taken a particular interest in his personal life, especially explaining who he was to Joan Lindell. Why? He had no idea, except that some people were just meddling biddies.

  After he stripped the sheets from his old bed, he washed them with the bath towels and finished cleaning up the kitchen. The afternoon dragged on as he fed the animals and threw the ball for the dogs, once the day warmed up a little. Just when he was thinking that he’d go on back to town, his parents drove up in his dad’s extended cab pickup.

  Despite the earlier unwelcome visit, James’s mood lifted upon seeing his parents. They appeared happy and rested.

  “We had a great time,” his mother said as his dad unloaded bags from the back seat of the vehicle. James had been warned not to look.

  “I’m glad. There weren’t any problems here. Delores Desmond and a friend of hers brought a red velvet cake from your Sunday school class. Apparently they were concerned about you since you weren’t at church.”

  “Oh, that was nice.” She peered at the white frosted cake. “Apparently red dye and chocolate is a new cure for whatever ails you.”

  “I suppose. Just so you know, when the ladies came out, Scarlett was here. They might mention it, given their penchant for gossip. Also, the other woman, Joan Lindell, seemed curious about me serving as a judge next week in Graham. I’m not sure what that’s all about.”

  “I have no idea, but I’ll find out.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” he said.

  “So,” his mother said slowly, and he knew what was coming, “you and Scarlett. You’ve been quite the item lately.”

  “I like her. A lot.” He shrugged. “It’s not serious, though, Mom. She’s leaving for California. She’s made that clear.”

  “I wasn’t sure about her at first, but I like her now. She’s a very caring person.”

  “Yes, she is, but she’s hell-bent on going to L.A.”

  His mother sighed. “Well, I wish she’d stay. Clarissa is so happy to have her there, and she needs an extra stylist. Of course, I kind of wish Scarlett would tell us her real name. Do you know it?”

  “No, I don’t. I haven’t asked, and she didn’t volunteer.” And yes, not knowing bothered him.

  His mother nodded. “And her hair! Well, I’d like to see her as a brunette or a blonde, maybe. Or even a more natural shade of red. I don’t understand why she wants it so bright.”

  “She’s making a statement, kind of like a tattoo.”

  “Well, I don’t understand those, either.”

  Then he definitely shouldn’t tell his mother about the little symbol of Georgia he’d discovered low on Scarlett’s read end. His new nickname for her should be “peach cheeks,” he thought with a grin.

  “You’re grinning,” his mother said.

  “Sorry.”

  She shook her head. “Would you like to take some red velvet cake home with you? For you and Scarlett, maybe? Your father and I can’t eat all this.”

  He was pretty sure what Scarlett’s reaction would be to a piece of that particular cake. “No, thanks, Mom. I don’t think we could eat a bite of it.”

  He packed up his clothes and toiletries, then vi
sited with his dad while they watched the last quarter of a Cowboys game. Finally, as the sun began to set, he headed back to Brody’s Crossing. He needed to swing by the salon, see what Scarlett was up to, and discover whether she was staying at his place tonight.

  He’d missed his comfortable king-size bed last night, although he had to admit the double mattress beneath the eaves had been cozy and warm because she was with him.

  SCARLETT SLIPPED OUT OF James’s bed extra early on Monday morning, long before sunrise. She wanted to be well away from him before he left for his judicial duties, all dressed in the suit and tie he’d taken out of his closet the night before. Beyond preppy to professional chic. On Sunday night she’d trimmed his hair back to a sedate side part, just like he’d worn before she’d come to town. He looked successful and imposing, not at all small-town and not at all like her playful lover.

  His alarm rang as she was putting on her shoes. She sat down on the side of the bed. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to be old, sedate and stodgy.”

  “Never,” he said, twisting the pillow around and slowly opening his eyes. “You’re dressed.”

  “I need to get going. You have a lot to do today.”

  “I thought we could share breakfast. And I was going to walk you back to the salon. It’s still dark outside.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. There’s no reason for you to get dressed right now. I need to head out. I have a busy day too.”

  He sat up, suddenly all serious and intense. “You’re not doing anything…weird, are you? You’re not going anywhere today, for example?”

  “No, Your Honor,” she said, raising her right hand. “I swear.”

  He seemed to relax. “Okay, then. Would you like to have dinner tonight at Dewey’s?”

  “Sure. About six-thirty?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll pick you up, unless you want to meet me here.” He reached for her hands. “You could help me change clothes. Wash all that judicial atmosphere off my back.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be hungry. I’ll wash your back later.”

  “Okay, then.” He leaned forward and kissed her temple, then the side of her neck. “I’ll miss you during the day.”

  “Hopefully, I won’t do anything to get hauled in front of the court.”

  “I’m sure you won’t. I think everyone has decided not to sue you for anything. I’ll see you tonight, peach cheeks.”

  Scarlett smiled at the new nickname and let herself out the side door, then down the metal stairs to the small garden below. She turned and headed back to the salon, pulling her hoodie tight around her and trying to imagine her day, stretching long in front of her, while James was busy in court down in Graham.

  Somehow, now that he was serving as a judge, their differences seemed all that more pronounced. She’d forgotten them for a while this weekend, out at his parents’ ranch, until the church ladies came with their snippy comments and red velvet cake.

  But they’d reminded her that she was only a liability for James Brody, upstanding lawyer and former prankster. He’d moved on with his life, while she was just getting started with hers. In California.

  One of the things she needed to do today was check with Claude to see when her car would finally be ready. She couldn’t put off leaving much longer.

  JAMES ARRIVED EARLY at the courthouse, since he hadn’t taken time for breakfast with Scarlett. She’d seemed distracted, but trying to put on a good show of support. She was so darn sensitive to his reputation and community standing. Of course, Demanding Desmond and her side-kick, Joan Lindell, could upset anyone.

  It wasn’t easy pushing aside thoughts of Scarlett. The vision of her driving off in that aging Mercedes kept flashing in his mind.

  The image of him chasing after her, calling her name, seemed equally real.

  He sighed and settled back in the judge’s leather chair. There was nothing on the docket this morning. He was supposed to be concentrating on a memo from the district attorney that had been added to the fraud file. James’s mind, however, continued to be on Scarlett. He sure wished he could be certain she hadn’t been doing anything rash—such as leaving while he was out of town.

  The clerk of the court knocked, interrupting his thoughts. With a silent thanks for the diversion, he sat up straight and tuned all his attention to answering a procedural question about potential evidence displays.

  At lunchtime he, D.A. Harve Bennett and County Judge Al Peterson went to lunch at the Italian restaurant just south of downtown. Arriving at the courthouse, James noticed Milton Bastine huffing and puffing up the steps to the second floor, where most of the offices were located. As the county judge excused himself and went to his offices on the first floor, the older attorney glared at them from the staircase. At James, mostly.

  James nodded, but didn’t initiate a conversation as he and the D.A. took the opposite staircase. The last thing he wanted was to be confronted by an angry fellow attorney whom he might face in court, or need to collaborate with on a future case.

  The D.A. went into his offices. In the echoing hallways of the old stone courthouse, James heard Bastine’s heavy breathing. The guy should really take the elevator around back.

  “How’s your girlfriend?” Bastine said in his raspy voice, which sounded oddly threatening in the quiet courthouse.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” James said, turning around.

  Bastine stood maybe fifteen feet away and sneered. “Nothing.” He turned and went into the probation offices.

  James didn’t like the tone of that comment. He didn’t know how the lawyer knew about Scarlett, or even if he did, but he obviously knew that James had a relationship with someone. How jealous was he? James decided to ask the D.A., who probably knew the guy. He changed direction and walked around the corner to Harve’s offices.

  “Bastine seems to have it in for me,” he told him a few minutes later. “He confronted me last week, as you know, but this time, he asked about my girlfriend, as if he knew something.”

  Harve raised his eyebrow. “What could he know?”

  “I’m not keeping any secrets. I’ve been dating a hairstylist from Atlanta who’s on her way to L.A. She had car trouble and got stuck here for a couple of weeks. Her vehicle will probably be ready this week, and she’ll be leaving.”

  Saying the words out loud made her imminent departure seem all too real. “As I said, it’s no secret. She’s met just about everyone in Brody’s Crossing. She even knows my mother!”

  “I know he’s thinking about running for the county criminal court when Arnold retires. He probably resents you, sees you as a threat. Whatever the reason, we can’t have people issuing threats, even veiled, nonspecific ones.”

  “He’s not…unstable, is he?”

  “As in, would he hurt you or your girlfriend?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll make sure, though.”

  “Thanks.” James shook the man’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow if not before.”

  “Right.”

  He pushed Milton Bastine out of his mind and focused on his judicial responsibilities. As for Scarlett…She would be in Brody’s Crossing, safe and sound, when he returned home.

  If he didn’t believe that, he was going to have to chain her to the heavy wood table in the courtroom so she didn’t run away while he was otherwise occupied. Of course, that image led to more sensual thoughts of what he’d do to Scarlett if they had the courtroom to themselves, which shot his concentration all to hell for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Honey, I’m home,” James said as he opened the back door of the salon, just after six o’clock. Scarlett looked up from a recent celebrity style magazine that Clarissa subscribed to and smiled at him. “Look. Diego’s salon is mentioned in this article on a charity hairstyle event.” She turned the publication so he could see the photo of the elegant glass-and-malachite interior. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  He di
dn’t look very impressed, but then, he wasn’t a stylist, and probably didn’t care about how the salon would be viewed by the important clients who entered those doors. “I suppose.”

  “I can’t wait to see it in person.”

  He didn’t say anything, just passed the magazine back to her. Only then did he smile. “Are you ready for dinner? I’m starving.”

  “Sure. Let me get my shoes on.” She felt a little deflated that he couldn’t share her enthusiasm, but then she remembered that this was his first day as a judge. “How was Graham? Did anything exciting happen in the courthouse?”

  He was silent for a moment, as if he had to think about his answer. “Not really.” He walked over and picked up her hoodie from the back of a chair. “Anything exciting happen here?”

  “No, just a normal Monday.”

  He smiled. “Good. That’s good.”

  “Were you expecting something to happen?”

  “No! Not at all. Just making conversation.”

  “Geesh, next we can talk about the weather.”

  He looked contrite. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

  They went to dinner, where conversation seemed to be more normal as James drank a beer and Scarlett had her usual diet soft drink. By the end of the meal, they were holding hands beneath the table, because Scarlett didn’t want people to talk about them. James spoiled all her plans by kissing her as he helped her on with the hoodie.

  “People will talk,” she said, thinking there must be more “Demanding Desmonds” out there in the world.

  “I told you I don’t care.”

  But she cared, and she hurried out to his SUV. Within minutes they were behind his apartment. He put the vehicle in Park but didn’t turn off the engine.

  “Stay with me tonight,” he said.

  She nodded. “You do have a comfortable bed.”

  He turned the key and smiled. “I knew there was a good reason.” He pulled her close and kissed her, and suddenly everything seemed just fine.

  ON TUESDAY, James addressed a women’s social group in a private area of the Graham tearoom. The decor was frilly, with chintz curtains and tablecloths, flowered china cups and covered cake plates. But his audience was attentive.