by Bacarr, Jina
Not practical, but who was being practical? Not him. Or he wouldn’t be here, trying to help his buddy’s wife when for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to tell her.
Damn, this shouldn’t be so hard. He mentally gave himself a talking to, but it didn’t do any good. The thick fog inhabiting his brain was as dense as ever.
Not a damn thing he could do about it.
Kristen had no idea what crazy thoughts were going through his mind. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, but not before her little girl asked, “Why are you crying, Mommy?”
“Everybody cries at Christmas,” Kristen said, trying to sound cheerful. She was anything but that. Her eyes red, her nose red, she broke his heart. It took every ounce of his strength not to sweep both mother and child into his arms and never them let go.
He didn’t, but God, he wanted to.
Instead, she looked straight at him, as if apologizing for something.
What, he didn’t know.
Chapter Five
“When are we going to get a Christmas tree, Mommy?” Rachel asked, hopeful.
“Sshh…we’ll talk about it later,” Kristen said, wincing. She should have known it wasn’t over, not with Rachel. She had Scott’s stubbornness and wouldn’t give up. Again the child had asked about the tree. Why? “How about I take you home and we make sugar cookies with lots of sprinkles?”
She was well awake sugar sprinkles weren’t as enticing as a Christmas tree, but it was all she had. She wouldn’t have food on the table if she didn’t get another job quick.
Holding onto her child’s hand as they braved the cold, Kristen felt her cheeks burning, yet she couldn’t dispute the awful truth. That not having a tree was a real disappointment to them both.
“But we’ve gotta have a tree,” cried Rachel. “Where’s Santa going to leave our presents?”
She couldn’t blame her for wanting presents. It was a kid thing, especially when she had to give back the present Santa gave her at school.
Speaking of Santa, Kristen looked over her shoulder at the sergeant with a bemused smile on his face, waiting patiently to see what she’d do next. He’d followed her outside and she made no move to discourage him. She knew why. She liked his company, but Rachel wasn’t helping, acting like a spoiled little girl. That was so unlike her. Why was she so set on having a tree? She didn’t act like this last year.
Kristen had to do something. The little girl was insistent, her young mind believing with her whole heart that Santa wouldn’t leave presents if they didn’t have a tree along with milk and cookies for him.
Cookies, no problem. Milk. Kristen had to stop at the general store on the way home to buy a half-gallon.
Luckily she’d found one of Aunt Gertrude’s old socks stuffed with a five-dollar bill before she left home. This time in the back of the pantry when she was looking for sugar. That seemed like a lifetime ago, seeing what had happened since then. And on Christmas Eve.
Too bad her aunt didn’t hide bigger bills, Kristen thought, pulling up Rachel’s coat collar to keep her warm. Tens, even twenties would be nice.
Kristen smiled at the idea and then grimaced when a big snowflake hit her dead-on in the eye. She wiped it away and looked up. The snow was coming down again, landing on her little girl’s rosy cheeks. Rachel sniffled and made an unhappy face. Long lashes heavy with snowflakes. Lips squeezed tight. Oh, her heart wanted to break. If only she could kiss her cold little nose and make everything better, but she couldn’t.
Even if she had the money to buy a tree, none could be had in Kissing Creek on Christmas Eve. Kristen had checked around just on the off chance she found a bonanza hidden in an old sock, but the local farmer who hauled the trees into town sold out days ago.
Best to take her home, away from the students and parents laughing and wishing each other Merry Christmas in the school parking lot. She didn’t need anything else to make her feel left out. Thank God the sheriff had left without making good on his threat to haul the sergeant in for questioning. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t. She’d tried to tell the hunky Santa about his threat, but the words didn’t come.
Was it because she didn’t want to see him go?
Still, the handsome sergeant hadn’t left her side, even after she finally got the courage to tell him she couldn’t fix him dinner here at the school, but he’d have to wait here for her to bring back his hot meal.
She didn’t explain why.
Kristen buckled her daughter into the car seat in the back of her SUV. “We’ll have a good time making sugar cookies, Rachel,” she said, trying to keep her mind off the Christmas tree. Though she wasn’t doing such a good job keeping her mind off the sergeant. She kept peeking over at him and those broad shoulders. Why was he still hanging around? It was snowing harder and the stable was a heck of a lot warmer than standing here. “First, we have to pick up some milk.”
“Can I help?” he asked, towering over her and leaning his arm on the roof of her van. Why did he have to go and do that? That really knocked her off balance. He’d brushed the flour out of his beard. Now it was flecked with glistening snowflakes, making him appear magical.
And sexy.
Like a Norseman come to rescue her. She imagined him wearing nothing but a furry loincloth, his chest bare, and carrying a long sword.
Dear God, where did she get such thoughts?
“No, I mean, I’m sorry about the meal, Sergeant—”
“Call me Jared,” he said slow and easy. He was in no hurry to leave, which didn’t bother her in the least. After all she’d been through, she needed someone. There, she’d said it. She’d prided herself for being strong all these months, but it was so wonderful to have a man beside her.
Was it so wrong to think that?
“Rachel’s upset because I can’t afford a Christmas tree this year,” she tried to explain. She had no intention of telling him she’d lost her job. She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her. Then with a weak smile, she added, “You know kids.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
Kristen panicked, the chill in the air suddenly colder on the back of her neck. What did he say? A quiet fear overtook her. It never occurred to her he was married and had kids of his own.
His next words soothed her.
“I’ve got four younger brothers at home. Wild and crazy. Like me.” He laughed.
“Where do you come from?” she had to ask.
“South Philly. I come from a big Italian family. My mother makes fresh gnocchi every Christmas with her own secret tomato sauce.”
His eyes lit up with a joy she hadn’t seen before. Home. A sacred place to every soldier, wherever he was stationed. Every fighting man deserved a taste of home at Christmas.
But it was his big, hearty laugh that prompted her to make up her mind. What was she worried about? And where was her civic pride? He was a soldier far away from his family. It was her duty to feed him.
Kristen chuckled. Suddenly she didn’t care what anyone thought. She’d trust her gut. She’d promised the man a home-cooked meal and by jingle she was going to deliver.
“I’d make you spaghetti, Sergeant, but I’m fresh out of oregano,” she said, smiling. So what if she couldn’t afford an extra plate at dinner? She’d worry about that tomorrow. “How about a good old fashioned cheeseburger at my place instead?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at her.
“And please call me Kristen.” She shook the snow out of her hair. “Ma’am makes me feel old.”
For a moment, the joy left her. She did feel old. These past few months since Scott’s death had left her in a lonely limbo. She’d gone from being a young wife and mother with dreams of a happy future with the man she loved, to a widow who some days didn’t want to get up and go on.
Today changed that.
Kristen blushed when she realized the sergeant was staring at her, trying to understand why she’d said such a thing. Men. They didn’t get it that the l
ove a woman had for a man went beyond sex, that it was the sharing and the fun that kept her young.
“Yes, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, Kristen.”
She smiled. “Okay, Sergeant. First, I have to pick up milk and sprinkles for the sugar cookies.” She paused, biting down on her lower lip. She couldn’t resist asking him with a saucy look in her eye, “You do like warm sugar cookies fresh from the oven?”
“What Santa wouldn’t?” he said, teasing her back.
Zing. She’d asked for that, but she was feeling giddy, like she was a kid again. She wanted to make this a great Christmas Eve, fully aware that tomorrow she’d have to pay the piper. She managed to say, “I’ll have to ask you to leave after supper—”
“I could help you with the dishes,” Jared said, leaning closer to her. She felt his hot breath on her face. Tiny tremors wiggled through her, the nearness of him making her want to snuggle up to him. Feel protected and wanted. She wouldn’t, of course, but the thought of it made her feel so good inside she let it linger in her mind a while longer.
“What if we eat off paper plates?” she said, waiting to see how he’d wiggle out of that one.
“Okay, you got me, but with this cold weather, you might need me to fix a broken water pipe,” he suggested, taking her hand. “I’d hate to see your pretty hands get all dirty.” His touch caught her by surprise, sending a double tingle down to her toes in her snug Ugg boots.
She pulled her hand away. Slowly. “Anything else?”
“I’m mighty handy in the kitchen.”
“I bet you’re handy when it comes to a lot of things,” she purred, all but inviting him to stay a while.
Kristen looked away quickly, embarrassed. What holiday spell had possessed her? As if the snow fairies had gotten her tongue, she’d say when she scolded Rachel for talking out of turn. And here she was, tempting him with sweet treats. Including her. Why, she barely knew him, yet that hadn’t stopped her from asking him to dinner.
She noticed her invitation softened the edges around his eyes, making them glow bright with mischief as he threw his duffel bag into the back of the SUV and then climbed into the passenger seat beside her. Her heart leapfrogged, surprising her. She gave him a suspicious look, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake.
She sat up straighter in the driver’s seat, her hormones as jumpy as Santa’s elves, started up the SUV, and pulled out of the school parking lot. The sergeant looked so handsome, so right sitting next to her. As if he belonged there.
For a moment, she pretended she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring. The gold band represented her ties to Scott, so that scared her.
Big-time.
Good grief, what the heck had she gotten herself into?
* * * * *
Dixon & Wynn’s General Store had been a fixture in Kissing Creek since the days of Daniel Boone, or so the locals said. The big, old log cabin building was two stories high with garlands of silver tinsel strung across the rafters and red licorice sticks hanging like icicles from the shelves. It was the only place on this side of town to get the staples she needed.
The doughnut samples, however, were as old as the hills, Kristen decided when Mr. Grover, the clerk, gave one to Rachel.
“It tastes funny, Mommy,” she said, making a face.
“It’s stale, Mr. Grover,” Kristen said after taking a bite. She handed the powdery doughnut back to him.
“So?” Mr. Grover said, putting the half-eaten doughnut back on the cake dish. Kristen rolled her eyes. Didn’t the man know about germs? “They’re free samples, ain’t they?”
“Don’t your customers deserve fresh pastries?” she asked. What this town needed was fresh doughnuts with plenty of sugar and butter and love baked into them, but she resisted the urge to press her point until the sergeant leaned over and whispered in her ear: “Go for it.” His hot breath made her shiver. She smiled. Why not?
“Yes,” the clerk admitted, “but—”
“You could sell homemade pastry instead of these old packaged goods,” she said, pointing to the past “sell by” date on the bag of doughnuts. She turned and saw the sergeant giving her a thumbs up.
“Business has been slow,” Mr. Grover said, throwing up his hands. His bushy eyebrows stood straight up like two exclamation points.
“All the more reason to try something new.” Kristen put down a big plastic jar of blue sprinkles on the wooden counter. Who was he kidding? Business was brisk. They were out of red and green sprinkles. And everything else for the holiday.
“I don’t reckon—” he began.
“I’d be happy to drop off free samples of my cookies for your customers to try,” she pushed on, making her decision. She’d start her own bakery business. Then she wouldn’t have anyone looking over her shoulder criticizing her whipping technique or making her cut corners with the butter. She’d bake up the richest, sweetest cookies in the county.
She sighed. But only if her money lasted.
She was always so practical, until now. Her courage surprised her, or did it? The cheery look on Jared’s face told her he was impressed with her entrepreneurial spirit. That warmed her even more. She wouldn’t have had the courage to ask Mr. Grover if he hadn’t given her the high sign.
She pulled out the five dollar bill from Aunt Gertrude’s old sock and laid it on the counter. Turning around, she could see Jared heading for the back of the store to pick up the milk. Torn between pangs of guilt and a warm fuzzy feeling, she let out a sigh. She had to admit it was nice having a man around, helping out with things. A funny tug grabbed at her heart. She’d better not get used to it. The sergeant was here only as long as Christmas Eve.
Then he’d be gone in a pouf.
“Okay. I’ll give your baked goods a try,” Mr. Grover agreed after thinking it over. The sour look on Rachel’s face sealed the deal, holding her nose and shaking her head. “And they’d better be good.”
She smiled. “They will be. The best you’ve ever eaten.” Anything would be an improvement over his stale doughnuts, but she’d never tell him that.
Kristen picked up her little girl to keep her from putting her sticky fingers in the glass candy jar while Mr. Grover rang up the sprinkles on the old cash register, making the bells ring and delighting Rachel.
“Mommy, listen, it’s a Christmas angel,” she said, clapping her hands.
“Our angel, Rachel,” Kristen said, saying a silent thank you prayer to Aunt Gertrude, and then smiling at Mr. Grover. He didn’t notice the child’s delight. He was paying more attention to the five dollar bill she’d given him.
He held the paper bill up to the light. “Are you sure this is real?”
“Yes. It might be old, but it’s good.”
“Where did you get it? In a time capsule?”
Before she could answer him, Jared came up behind her and set a half-gallon of milk on the counter. “Here’s the milk, Kristen. Last one in the cooler.”
“Who’s he?” Mr. Grover asked, suspicious.
“An Army buddy of Scott’s,” she said without missing a beat. My, how easily the lie tripped off her tongue. Even she was beginning to believe it. She didn’t dare look at the sergeant to see his reaction. Seemed she had nothing to worry about.
“Sgt. Milano, sir,” said Jared, extending his hand. His voice was friendly, respectful.
Immediately the store clerk’s attitude changed. “My boy was over in Iraq,” he said, puffing out his chest as he shook the sergeant’s hand. “We’re mighty proud of you fellows.”
Jared nodded. “Thank you, sir. Just doing my duty.”
He picked up the paper bag with the milk and sprinkles while Mr. Grover gave Kristen her change. Still shaking his head, the clerk started humming a tune as he put the old five dollar bill into the till. Kristen just shook her head. Amazing how the sergeant had a knack for charming everyone he met in Kissing Creek. Including her.
On an impulse, Kristen put her arm through the sergeant’s as they left the
general store with Rachel in tow. She could feel his muscles harden under her fingers. She sighed heavily. She hadn’t meant to start anything, but she just did. And she didn’t regret it.
“I’ve never seen Mr. Grover act like that before,” she said, still surprised. “He’s usually as sour as his pickles.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” said Jared, flashing her a smile that lit up his hazel green eyes like holiday lights. “A lot can happen tonight.”
“You’re right about that.” Kristen looked up at the tall sergeant with wonder. Tall, handsome, and oh so magical. She had the feeling he might be Santa Claus after all.
* * * * *
“I’ve been waiting for you, Mrs. Delaney,” said Phineas Carey, standing next to his silver Mercedes parked in front of her cottage. He didn’t look like a typical banker. Conservative was not his middle name. He wore fancy loafers with tassels even in the snow, a long double-breasted overcoat with a fancy, white silk scarf tied in an elegant knot, and what had to be a gold Rolex on his wrist. He kept tapping on the glass with his black-gloved finger to remind her she was on his time.
Kristen winced. He was totally out of place among the tall pine trees surrounding the old cottage sitting by itself at the end of the road. Inviting and homey. But even Mr. Carey couldn’t stop the snow from coming down like soft lace, layering everything with a pretty design.
Whatever the reason he was here, it couldn’t be a good one. Especially after someone robbed his bank. He had that bah, humbug look in his eye that sent chills through her. It wouldn’t do any good to show fear, though stalling him sounded like a good plan until she could get him off to the side alone to plead her case. She put on a bright smile, and then wiped the snowflakes off her nose as she slammed the door on her SUV. “Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas, Mr. Carey.”
“Green is my favorite color, Mrs. Delaney,” he said, scowling.
Green is also the color of the Grinch, she wanted to add, but didn’t. She didn’t need to antagonize him further.
“What brings out here this far from town?” she asked casually.
“I’m here to collect your back mortgage payments.”
