A Very Merry Christmas

by Lori Foster, Gemma Bruce

  “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 h
is 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, Ms. Churchill brought it back to her.”

  “So she found a lost cat. Big deal.”

  “I located another woman who claims Miss Churchill helped cure her dog of nightmares.”

  This time, Osbourne turned to glare at her in clear accusation.

  Marci glared right back. She remembered that poor dog. A neighborhood kid would torment it while hiding in bushes so that the dog’s owner didn’t know. The dog was a frazzled mess because of that rotten kid. But Marci had ratted out the boy, and not only had the dog owner given him hell but his parents also.

  “I have a file folder full of pet owners she’s helped. They’ve all been more than willing to sing her praises. All I need to finish my piece is an interview with her.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “She’s the kind of human interest story that appeals to readers, especially this time of year.”

  “You’re fucking with me, right?”

  Wayland sniffed. “No, I am not. And you have no right to interfere with my research.”

  “Stalking her is not research.”

  Affronted, he squared his shoulders. “I’m not stalking her. I just need her to share some of her background and history.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “Yes. Twice.”

  Marci didn’t recognize the fellow at all. She yelled out the window, “He could be telling the truth, Osbourne, although I don’t remember meeting him.”

  “I asked over the phone,” the man yelled back.

  “Oh.” Marci thought about it, and then nodded. “I always turn down that stuff, and then I change my phone number again.”

  Osbourne rubbed his face. “Look, she doesn’t want to be interviewed, so leave her alone.”

  “But…” the man sputtered, “I can’t do that. I’ve already promised the story to a magazine and I’m behind on my deadline as it is.”

  Once again, Osbourne leaned down close, and though Marci couldn’t hear what he said, she saw the driver’s face, and knew that Osbourne wasn’t being polite.

  The man cowered back as far as he could, nodded agreement several times, but still, he looked far from resigned to failure.

  Maybe Osbourne realized it, too, because he took the time to write down Vaughn Wayland’s name and license plate number.

  When he returned to the truck, he still looked very put out.

  Marci rolled up the window, unlocked the door, and slid back to her own seat. Without a word, Osbourne got behind the wheel, turned the truck, and headed for the highway.

  For several minutes, they rode in utter silence. Then Osbourne asked, “Does that happen often?”

  “What?”

  “Jerks following you around, pressing you for answers?”

  She shrugged. “Usually it’s people who don’t believe me, who want to expose me as a fake. They think that I extort money from people, or that I prey on their emotions.”

  He shook his head. “You’d never do that.”

  Marci blinked at him. Aha. Maybe he didn’t consider her an Ainsley after all. “No, I wouldn’t. I try to keep people from finding out who I am, and what I know. But it’s not always possible, not if I want to help—and I do.”

  “If you didn’t, Magnus would still be at the funeral home instead of where he belongs.”

  Was that an admission of her ability? A warm glow spread inside her. “True. When an animal has a problem, I can’t ignore it. It hurts me too much. But whenever possible, I help anonymously.”

  “How does that work?”

  “I’ll contact the owners—maybe by a note, or phone if I can figure out their number. Most take my advice or at least listen enough to check into what I tell them. I don’t have to expose myself or leave myself open to more ridicule.”

  “More ridicule?”

  She flattened her mouth and looked out the window. “Trust me, it’s never been easy. From the time I was a little girl, I could sense things. And any time a kid is different…”

  Very quietly, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  Marci turned toward him again, wanting to explain. “It hasn’t been a picnic for Bethany, either. All through school, she got teased about having a loony sister.”

  He winced, probably remembering the times he’d thought similar things. The difference was that Osbourne had never been deliberately cruel. Quite a distinction.

  He’d dodged her, but he hadn’t ridiculed her.

  As if offering another apology, he reached for her knee, settled his big hand there, and stroked her with his thumb. It was a casual touch, yet at the same time intimate enough to feel special.

  And to raise her temperature a few degrees.

  While deciding how much to tell him, Marci finished her hot chocolate. She didn’t open herself to too many people, but right now, in the quiet and cold, with Osbourne, it felt right.

  She laid her hand over his. Despite the weather, his fingers were warm. She loved touching him, and even a simple touch on the hand let her feel his strength. “For as long as I can remember, guys have tried to use Bethany to get close to me.”

  She waited for his disbelief, or his humor. After all, they were identical twins. Most people would wonder why one twin would be preferable to another.

  Osbourne considered her statement. “It’s because you come across softer, less independent.”

  Startled that he’d hit the nail on the head, Marci barely noticed when he turned his hand to clasp hers, then tugged her closer to him on the bench seat, as close as the seatbelts would allow. “That’s it exactly. Men see me as an airhead, and maybe easy.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted, and he returned both hands to the wheel. “I’d say they don’t know you very well.”

  “No, they don’t.” Her spine stiffened. “I’m not an airhead.”

  “Don’t confuse me with any other idiots you’ve known, Marci. Hell, you’re more complicated than any ten women combined. And I know firsthand that there’s nothing easy about you. But you’re definitely smart.”

  �
��You really believe that?”

  “Hell yes. You’re smart enough to figure out that a donkey is unhappy, to steal him without getting caught, and to get him back home safely.”

  A blush of pleasure colored her cheeks. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she pointed out.

  He ignored that little fact to say, “You’re also kind and funny and…caring.”

  The warmth spread, melting her heart. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now tell me more about these idiots you’ve known.”

  It wasn’t easy to admit, but she forced the words out. “With Bethany and me being identical twins, a lot of men consider us interchangeable.”

  “Lucius doesn’t.”

  She laughed. “True enough. Almost from jump, Lucius treated me like a little sister and Bethany like a sex goddess.”

  “That must’ve been a change for you.” Some new inflection entered his tone. “I imagine you have men hot on your heels all the time.”

  “No. At least, not the way you mean.” Her pleasure faded. “Too many times in the past, men have shown an interest only because of my ability. Like the clown following us, they want to interview me, or maybe expose me or use my talent in a way I’d never condone. When I turn them down, they go to Bethany, hoping that they can get closer to me through her.”

  “That’s why you don’t date much, huh?”

  She could feel his heat, and his caring. “I have great intuition with animals, but I’m not that good at figuring out which men to trust.” And after meeting Osbourne, she hadn’t wanted any other men.

  Two heartbeats of silence passed before Osbourne said, “I don’t work tonight, but then I won’t have another day off for a week.”

  She tipped her head, unsure where he was going with that disclosure, but hopeful all the same.

  “What about you?”

  “Like Lucius, I’m on vacation. This close to Christmas, women aren’t that interested in exercise. They’re too busy shopping and baking and fitting in all the holiday craziness. I have the next seven days free.”

  “Good.” He glanced at her, then away. “Will you spend Christmas with me?”

  Her heart soared, her face warmed. But suspicion niggled. “Because you want to spend time with me, or because you’re worried about the guy following us?”