Breakfast With Santa

by Pamela Browning

  “These will work beautifully for the library at the country club,” Beth told her as she ran her fingers lightly over the satiny finish of the chestnut wood. “How long can you store them?”

  “No problem,” Chloe said, making a notation on the sales slip. “We’ll have use of the warehouse as long as we need it.”

  Chloe led the way outside and back into the store through the rear entrance. They threaded their way through a thinned-out inventory of beds and dressing tables.

  “Have you decided what to do about moving to Florida?” Beth asked her.

  Chloe stopped beside a display of depression glass, her expression serious. “If I don’t make a break now, I never will design the kind of jewelry I really love.”

  “I felt the same way about starting my own design business,” Beth told her.

  “Remember how scared you were? How you worried that you wouldn’t be able to make a living at it? That’s how I feel now.”

  “My fears involved being on my own after five years of marriage.”

  “You’re doing okay,” Chloe said. “That contract for the country club is a big deal. I’m so proud of you, Beth.”

  “Yes, but—” Beth, remembering how supportive Chloe had been when she was in a turmoil over the divorce, suddenly felt the urge to talk to her about Tom.

  Chloe must have sensed Beth’s inner conflict because she studied Beth’s expression, her eyes going solemn and dark. “Hey,” she said softly, “you are doing okay, aren’t you?”

  Beth heaved a giant sigh. “Professionally, yes. But personally, I’m not so sure.”

  “It’s nothing to do with Mitchell, is it?”

  “Oh, no. It’s Tom Collyer.” She winced, waiting for Chloe’s gasp of amazement.

  Beth wasn’t disappointed. Chloe not only gasped, her jaw dropped. “Tom? Collyer?”

  “The same.”

  Chloe appropriated Beth’s arm and slid a dining chair out from under a table. “Sit,” she said, indicating the chair. “I can hardly wait to hear.”

  “We’ve been seeing each other since the housewarming party at his house. We’ve—well, it’s more than hanging out. It’s everything. Eating together, going places together, cooking Christmas dinner together, sleeping together. Don’t look so shocked, Chloe. People do sleep together.”

  Chloe closed her mouth, opened it again. Closed it. “I remember seeing the two of you at the Christmas pageant. I thought you were with Leanne and her family, had maybe splintered off from the group.”

  “No, it was a—a date. Go ahead and tell me what an idiot I am. Maybe that’s what I need to hear.”

  Chloe took a deep breath and grinned. “You’re not an idiot, Beth. The guy is gorgeous. Those gray eyes like smoke one day, silver the next. That abdomen—rock solid, I bet. What woman wouldn’t want a shot at Tom Collyer?”

  “I don’t need a description of his appearance. I need to be told off and pulled back in line.”

  “No, Beth. You should have started dating right away after Richie left.”

  “I wasn’t in the mood for it.”

  “Getting back into the singles life would have done wonders for your self-esteem.”

  “I have a son to consider.”

  “It worried me when you decided that the only man with whom you wanted a relationship was a preschooler.” Chloe delivered this statement tartly, succinctly, making no secret about her disapproval.

  “Don’t be so quick to condemn. Most guys aren’t nearly as interesting to me as Mitchell. Then Tom Collyer comes along, and all my standards go out the window. I fall hard and then find out he’s no better than Richie. My ex-husband left me and his child for another woman. Tom walked out on his pregnant girlfriend. That doesn’t say much about the character of either one. Why, oh why, do I keep finding guys with no integrity?”

  Chloe drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I’m not sure that’s the case, Beth. Has Tom ever demonstrated that he’s untrustworthy?”

  “No, he’s been above reproach from the get-go. He’s seemed like someone I can count on in a pinch, and I can tell from the things he says that he really cares. Mitchell has grown to enjoy his visits—they’re on the way to becoming friends. I considered Tom a good role model for my son. But he’s still the same person who left Nikki Fentress to bear her child alone, and the whole town knew about it.”

  “He could have changed, Beth. Why not ask him about Nikki and give him a chance to explain?”

  Beth shrugged unhappily. “I might learn too much.”

  “Which means?”

  “You’re going to say that I should have confronted Richie sooner about Starla and that I shouldn’t make the same mistake again with Tom.”

  “It’s hardly the same situation, but yes.” Chloe patted her comfortingly on the hand.

  “And if I don’t like Tom’s explanation, I should break it off now before Mitchell’s heart gets broken.”

  “What about your heart, Beth?” Chloe watched her, eyes steady.

  Beth only gazed back at her, unable to reply.

  AFTER ARRIVING IN AMARILLO, Tom spoke to Beth once or twice from his motel, and for the most part, the conversations were unsatisfactory. She tended to be in a rush, uncommunicative and distracted. A few times, he managed to get a chuckle out of her, but it was always short-lived. He was growing resentful that she didn’t respond to his attempts to draw her out.

  The rodeo exhibition took place over a weekend, with shows on both Saturday and Sunday. On Sunday night, he was walking to the parking lot while silently congratulating himself on performing well, when he heard a vaguely familiar female voice behind him.

  “Hey, Tom.” The tone was seductive, which put him on alert.

  He swiveled, squinted into the darkness, then realized that the person speaking to him was a woman who was sauntering along at the edge of a group. She had chin-length dark brown hair and a slightly chunky build, but she walked with the self-assurance of a woman who understood her own sexuality.

  She wore a lightweight coat, thrown open to reveal a tight sweater over her jeans. “You are Tom Collyer, aren’t you?” she asked as she drew closer.

  “Yes,” he said. A name flashed into his head: Dorothy. Dolores? Something like that.

  “We met at a rodeo in Laredo a long time ago. You competed in bronc and bull riding, and I was running the barrels. Dorinda Neville. Or at least that was my name then. I’m Dorinda Hardy now.” She waited expectantly.

  Tom recalled Laredo; he’d gone there when he was a teenager to compete in the annual rodeo. One of those years after all his events were over, he’d sneaked a few beers with Divver and Johnny and become violently sick to his stomach. A girl who had been tagging around after them all weekend had guided him to her parents’ camper trailer at the edge of the parking area, where she’d provided soap and water so he could clean up. Then—oh, wow. He remembered it all now.

  The girl was older than he was. Her parents had been off partying somewhere, and he was woozy from the beer, so she suggested that he sleep it off in her parents’ double bed. When he woke up, she was beside him under the covers. Naked. And eager.

  Dorinda.

  “I—well, I do recall something about Laredo,” he said.

  “We ran into each other a few times after that,” she reminded him.

  “Dorinda,” called one of the guys who had now moved ahead of them, “you going to Poco Loco with us?”

  “Meet you there,” she called back. She flashed a smile up at Tom, and for a moment, he remembered a girl with skin smooth as silk and dark hair that had swung in his eyes when she leaned over to kiss him.

  “Want to go with us?” she asked. “We’re going to knock back a few, then call it a night. I have to drive back to El Paso early in the morning—got to pick up my kids from my mother’s house.”

  He fell into step beside her, thinking that the years hadn’t been particularly kind to her. He noticed that she wore no wedding ring.

  “So wha
t you been doing all this time?” she asked, matching her shorter strides to his long, slow ones.

  “Marine corps, Gulf War veteran, have a new venture going.” He didn’t want to get more specific than that.

  Her car was an aging black Camaro coated with dust. She unlocked it and gestured for him to get in.

  “Me, I’ve been married twice. Got a son from the first one, a daughter from the second. Picked the wrong person both times.” Her eyes, illuminated as they were by other cars’ headlights, reflected sadness.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Tom said.

  “You ever been married?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Seems I remember you had a girlfriend last time I saw you…it was a couple years after Laredo.”

  “Nothing ever came of it,” he said. He’d left Farish because he hadn’t wanted to defend himself or his actions, and he wouldn’t do it now. The pain of what happened with Nikki—and Johnny, of course—had receded to a hard little core deep inside his soul. For a long time that part of him had been like an open wound. After a while it became an ache, then no more than a prickle of discomfort, like a burr under the skin. Now, he realized with a new and surprising awareness, it was merely a scar that he noticed once in a while when something happened to remind him, like Dorinda’s remark.

  He stared straight ahead at the taillights of the car in front of them. The truth was that the Nikki situation didn’t matter to him anymore because of Beth. Because Beth was more important to him than Nikki had ever been. Because he loved Beth.

  “Those relationships don’t always work out,” Dorinda was saying reflectively as they headed down a street lined with strip malls.

  At first Tom thought she was referring to the one he had with Beth, and he was ready to refute her statement. Then he realized that she meant the kind of romance that develops between two young people, like his with Nikki.

  “I married young,” Dorinda said wistfully. “The first time, anyway. He was a bronc rider. I figured we had things in common. It turned out that he fell asleep after guzzling a six-pack every night. We were divorced after a year. My second husband died a couple of years ago. Serious illness.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said, and he was. Dorinda had been a beautiful girl once, full of fire and spirit. Now she seemed discouraged and depressed.

  “Them’s the breaks,” she said, rounding a corner into the parking lot of the bar. She cut the engine and they got out of the car. He slowed his step to accommodate hers, feeling he was out of place walking with anyone but Beth.

  Inside, they were hailed by her friends and invited to join them. He and Dorinda crowded around a small table damp with rings from the bottoms of beer bottles as everyone began to talk about the day’s events, but Tom found his mind wandering before five minutes had passed. He knew that back in Farish, Beth would be tucking Mitchell into bed now. Afterward, she would tidy up the kitchen before settling on the living room couch. She’d watch TV for a while, maybe call her friend Chloe to share a laugh or two. He hoped she might call him. Maybe she had called him already.

  Surreptitiously, he slid his cell phone from his coat pocket and checked for messages. Only one, and it was from Divver. He dropped the phone back into his pocket and drained his beer before signaling for another.

  A wheezy country-western band was playing, and couples were circling the floor. “Let’s dance,” Dorinda suggested. Before a reasonable excuse came to mind, the band started to play “Cotton-eyed Joe.”

  Dorinda brightened. “All right, Tom. No Texan worth his salt would sit out ‘Cotton-eyed Joe.’” A couple of the other members of the group stood up, and before he knew what was happening, Dorinda had tugged him to his feet and he was being led toward the dance floor.

  He forced a smile and took her in his arms. She was well padded around the ribs, and her lipstick was smeared too thick on her bottom lip. Life had not been kind to Dorinda Neville. Yet he couldn’t help thinking about Beth and her hard breaks. Beth had managed to overcome a difficult childhood and an unwanted divorce without becoming cynical or discouraged.

  Dorinda eased closer, her breasts pushing against his chest. She wasn’t much of a dancer—had no sense of rhythm. She stepped on his foot really hard and apologized, and when he tried to hold her farther away from him, she stomped on his foot again.

  He was praying for an end to the task of jockeying her around the dance floor when the band wound up the song and started to play another one, this one much slower. As he prepared to escort Dorinda back to the table, she pulled him closer and rested her temple against his cheek.

  “Just one more,” she whispered. “For old times’ sake.”

  It wouldn’t have been gentlemanly to turn down a lady, especially when she’d asked so desperately, so Tom gritted his teeth and tried to insert more space between them. The heavy scent of her perfume was cloying, and he hated the way she sang the words to the song with her lips beside his ear.

  As the music drew to an end, he was itching to leave, but he realized with chagrin that he didn’t have a way back to the motel.

  Dorinda kept a tight hold of his hand as they walked back to the table.

  “Dorinda, I really have to go.”

  “Oh?” she replied in dismay.

  He began to perspire, thinking that he should have planned his escape earlier. “I’m afraid so. I’ll get a taxi. It isn’t necessary for you to cut your evening short.”

  “I’ll drive you to your motel. Is it nearby?”

  He cringed at her eagerness. “Well, I—”

  “It doesn’t matter. To tell the truth, I’d like to get out of here, too.” She grabbed her purse and told the others that they were leaving. No one seemed too perturbed; they all turned back to their conversations, flirtations, drinking.

  Great. This was all he needed—a woman who wouldn’t give up when he was sending clear signals that he wasn’t interested.

  He flung enough money on the table to cover his drinks and tried again. “Honest, Dorinda, I don’t want you to trouble yourself.”

  She aimed a too-big smile up at him. “No trouble. Let’s boogie out of here.”

  They snaked their way in single file between the crowded tables. Outside, Tom stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked wordlessly beside Dorinda to her car. It was raining slightly, little stinging drops. She kept up an endless stream of chatter, which was totally uninteresting to him. One of the things he appreciated about being with Beth was that when they conversed, they engaged in a lot of give and take. That certainly wasn’t the case here.

  “Tell me which direction,” Dorinda said as they waited in her car at the stop sign for a chance to nose into traffic.

  “Hang a right,” he said brusquely. He knew by this time that he should have insisted on a cab.

  They rode for a mile or two, the noisy windshield wipers stuttering back and forth in front of them, and he caught her shooting little glances in his direction. Perhaps she was assessing his mood, or worse yet, maybe she was trying to muster the nerve to ask him something.

  “I’m at the A-Plus Motel,” he said. “It’s a ways up the road.”

  She wet her lips, braked at a stoplight, drew a deep breath. “We don’t have to go to your place. I have a room at the motel on the next corner. You could stay there if you like.”

  Damn. He hadn’t invited this, didn’t want it. Maybe this was standard operating procedure for her.

  “I—” he began. He shook his head and started over. “Thanks, Dorinda, but I’ll have to pass. I appreciate the offer, though.” Sometimes, he knew, you had to tell little white lies in order to propel yourself over the minor hurdles of life.

  Her face crumpled. “Okay” was all she said.

  “You can let me out here,” he suggested, thinking this might make it easier on both of them.

  She slammed on the brakes and jerked the Camaro over to the curb. A tractor-trailer rig behind them honked, then passed, stirring up a whirlwind of soggy
litter from the gutter.

  Tom heaved a giant sigh and shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No, you aren’t. Guys never are,” Dorinda said bitterly, refusing to meet his eyes.

  He slid out of the car and shut the door. Once he was clear, Dorinda rammed her foot down on the accelerator, and the Camaro shot away from the curb.

  Tom pulled his collar up and hunkered down inside his coat before striking off toward his room. Flickering neon reflected in the puddles on the pavement, and somewhere he heard a siren. It wasn’t such a long way to his motel, and he could use the exercise. As he walked, he checked his cell phone for messages, but Beth still hadn’t called.

  Back in his room, he dialed her number. She didn’t answer. After he’d called her several times, he finally realized that she wasn’t going to pick up. He sat staring grimly at the phone in his hand for a long time.

  He’d been successful in convincing Beth to let down the barriers. But it was clear that now he was going to have to work at weakening her defenses.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her deliberate distancing of herself from Tom didn’t feel right to Beth, especially when it came to explaining to Mitchell.

  His day-care center was in session again, and Beth had settled into her usual work routine, but she was unprepared for Mitchell’s relentless questioning about Tom’s whereabouts.

  “When will Tom be back, Mommy?” Mitchell asked over and over again.

  “I told you, later this week. He’s gone to a rodeo.”

  “I wish he would have took me along,” Mitchell said disconsolately.

  “Had taken,” Beth said absently. She was driving him to day care, her mind on work. She also reminded herself that she needed to phone Richie’s parents and ask them if they still wanted her to visit next weekend.

  “Had taken me with him,” Mitchell said. “Had taken me to ride the pony.”

  “He said he would,” Beth reminded him.

  “He never comes over and lets me ride my scooter.”

  “He can’t when he’s in Amarillo.”