Christmas Getaway

by Anne Stuart, Tina Leonard

  “I’m already out of my comfort zone,” Sam said, pushing his hat down over his eyes and leaning back comfortably, lazily untroubled, “but if you want me to play at being Mr. Right, I’m game.”

  And Molly had always said her brother was so hard to get along with. Sam was being so accommodating, Jean wanted to scream.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SAM WASN’T really asleep. He was giving Jean time to stew over his offer. He’d never thought about settling down. Bachelorhood had only taken on a strange connotation when he realized his baby sister would beat him to the altar—and then he’d begun to wonder if maybe it was time to start reconsidering life as he knew it.

  Life as he knew it was very good—but it was also solitary. He was moody, dark, introspective. Not like Molly, and not like Jean. Jean wanted to analyze and categorize everything; it was the librarian in her. He just couldn’t see himself waking up every morning, getting the newspaper and sitting down at the breakfast table with a woman who wanted to discuss the most recent literary work.

  Of course, if that woman happened to look like Jean, he could consider revising his life’s plans. He certainly hadn’t had a negative reaction to being the Christmas hunk her mother was hoping would drop into her daughter’s stocking. “Hey, I’ll drive for a while.”

  “That was a fast nap.”

  “I was thinking.” He pushed his hat back. “Problem solved.”

  She glanced at him. “That fast? Must not have been world peace.”

  “More like family peace. Pull over at the next stop, please.”

  “Why did you make me drive in the first place? Just so you could look for nonexistent baddies?”

  “A woman driving my car was one of my fantasies, all right?” he said. “And you looked great doing it, so now that I’ve lived the fantasy, I’m ready to drive.”

  “Whew, what a crab.” She laughed and pulled off the road into the parking lot of an abandoned, long-closed gas station. “Maybe you need a little more time under your hat.”

  She was probably right. But he was beginning to realize that fantasies and Jean sort of went together. Okay, so he’d lied about fantasizing about a woman driving his car, but she’d done it so capably—and in bad weather—that sexy had come to mind. And then she was so darn pleasant about everything, coddling him emotionally, badgering him in his crusty moods—why wasn’t she annoyed? Why was she totally sunny…and why did he find that so appealing?

  “Don’t fall,” he said, as she came around to the passenger side. “It’s as slick as hell—”

  He reached out to catch her just as she slipped on ice neither of them saw.

  “Thanks for the catch,” she said breathlessly, but he didn’t need thanks, because he had an armful of beautiful blond woman and somehow he’d gone quite warm despite the twenty-degree weather. She was close enough to kiss since he’d grabbed her tightly to him, and strangely, kissing her was very much on his mind, but he’d already done that once and she hadn’t seemed too happy about it. They had many hours left to travel, and there was no point in having a mad companion.

  “I’m good at catching things,” he said lightly. “Get in the car before you knock both of us down.”

  “That would not be good,” she said, climbing into the cab. He shut the door and headed around to the driver’s side.

  And then it hit him: the strangest sensation that they were being watched. It was impossible, though. He’d kept a careful eye on every mile of the road behind them.

  He was, as Jean liked to say, suspicious.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he got into the car. “You stood out there so long I wondered if you were getting cold feet about your decision to come home with me.”

  “No, I’m still in for Christmas-hunk duty,” he said, unable to dispel the strange sensation prickling the back of his neck.

  “Good,” she said, “my mom’s really going to like you.”

  He turned to look at her. “Is that a good thing?”

  “Oh, yes. She despairs of my love life. Seeing you will let her know that I am totally capable of meeting sexy men with good manners.” She smiled at him.

  “I would think there are tons of guys out there who would make a mother’s heart melt.”

  “Not mine.” Jean shook her head. “My mom and dad have only been married to each other. They don’t argue, they don’t even squabble. If they do, my sisters and I never hear it.”

  “Oh, boy,” he said, “that’s a pretty tough one to live up to.”

  “You’re just playing at being the hunk, you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for Mom’s sake. She’ll just be happy to see that there’s someone I know who’s very…you know, eligible.”

  He hadn’t really thought about his eligibility. Molly had always teased him about girls and whom he was dating. She’d warned him he’d best be careful or he’d get caught by some sweet woman and the next thing he knew, he’d be hanging stockings for a large family—but he’d always known in his heart her teasing was nonsensical. Grouchy Rangers who lived alone in the country didn’t get married. They dated occasionally, but they never gave up their personal freedom. “How does your father stand living in a house with four women? Oh, five, counting Gigi, the golden retriever.”

  “Dad says he’s the happiest man on the planet,” Jean said, and Sam had the feeling he probably was.

  A sudden shot rang through the air. The car lurched and Sam knew a tire had been hit. “Get down!” he barked, crushing Jean to the seat and covering her with his body.

  She was warm, she was still and he could feel her panicked breathing underneath him. And that was the moment he realized that if anything happened to her, he was going to lose his only chance at a woman he was really starting to care about.

  “Get off!” she exclaimed.

  Nothing rattled her. He liked the fact that she wasn’t a nervous ninny. “Someone just took a shot at the car. Stay down.”

  “We’re in the middle of Nowhere, Arkansas. I’d rather stand up and be shot than lie here and cower. Even though you’re nice and warm, I want out from underneath you.”

  Jeez, this woman was fearless. “You’re not going to like taking a bullet. I advise you to stay down.”

  “I wouldn’t have liked it at the wedding, either, so I’m not going to be a crybaby about it. Besides, if they’d meant to hit either of us, they would have done it when we were out in the open. They only blew out a tire, so whoever it is is toying with us. I, for one, do not appreciate being toyed with.”

  She made a good point. Why would someone have shot out the tire and not taken him out so they could have had Jean to themselves, to question and whatever else?

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  An eighteen-wheeler pulled up behind them, and a burly driver with a cheery face got out and walked to Sam’s window. “You’ve got a flat,” he told Sam. “Need help changing it, or could you use a lift?”

  Sam could change his own tire, but accepting a ride in the hauler would preempt any more shooting. Jean was right. Whoever was stalking them hadn’t meant to hit them, just slow them down, make them feel hunted. “Stranger, I’d be obliged,” he said, “but I should warn you we’re being followed.”

  “Figured that by the bullet in your tire,” the stranger said laconically. He shrugged. “Harder to take out a big rig, though, and I don’t mind company at all. We can sing Christmas carols together.” He grinned cheerfully, and Sam looked at Jean, thinking the plan was almost airtight.

  “You’d be taking a lot on by giving us a ride.”

  The trucker stuck out a hand, grinning broadly. “Name’s Len Hughes. You ever see Smokey and the Bandit?”

  Sam nodded, getting a mental vision of car chases and wild truck escapes.

  “My rig and I have a bunch of road-warrior stories to tell,” Len said. “You’ll be as safe as kittens with me.”

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, Sam and Jean were ensconced in the cab with the amiable driver who’d agreed
to haul them as far north as Kentucky. From there, they’d have to get to Satter-bury, Vermont, and the Norville family home, but this was definitely safer than being a sitting duck for a shooter who thought Jean knew enough to implicate Connor O’Bannion. Eventually, the guy was going to slip up.

  “Hitching a ride wasn’t in the plans,” Sam said.

  “My mother doesn’t care how I get home, just so long as I do.” Jean decided being this close to Sam wasn’t a bad thing at all. She was warm and she was with him—her holiday still felt very shiny. And the driver, she had to say, looked an awful lot like Santa Claus. She could just imagine him wearing a red cap with a white ball of fuzz on the end rather than the red gimme cap he wore. His truck cab was even painted red, and he had a sprig of holly hanging from the rearview mirror and a wreath on the silver grill.

  “I like working for myself,” Len Hughes said, in his friendly way. “Means I’m only responsible for me.”

  “It’s a good thing,” Sam said.

  “Which means I won’t mention to anyone that a bullet flattened your tire.” He glanced at them in the mirror. “But I do have to wonder just for the sake of curiosity why anybody would be shooting at such a nice couple. You folks on the run?”

  “No,” Sam said, clearly deciding he could trust their driver, “we’re not in trouble with the law. In fact, I’m in law enforcement, and Jean is a librarian. However, there’s trouble in the family tree.”

  Actually, no, Jean thought, it’s your family tree, not mine that was marrying into trouble. And then she realized he was including her in the Broadbent family, and it felt kind of good.

  “Well, one little pop gun can’t do any damage to my rig, so you two just relax,” Len told them. “I’ve got a place not far from Mom’s where you two can spend the night if you want. We’ll be there by nightfall.”

  Not far from Mom’s? This big man still lived close to “Mom”? Jean decided that any man who wanted to live that close to his mom deserved a medal in his Christmas stocking this year. “We’d like that,” she said.

  “It’ll doubtless be pretty cozy,” Sam said softly.

  “I’m good with cozy.”

  “You might just let Ma think you two are married,” Len said, “just for the sake of propriety, if you know what I mean, because it’s a one-room place. But you’ll be safe, I guarantee you that.”

  “We can go for safe,” Sam said, and Jean told herself that the tingling in her fingertips was because she’d just been shot at for a second time and not because Sam’s warm fingers had briefly squeezed hers when she’d jumped at the word married.

  “THIS LOOKS MORE honeymoon than getaway,” Jean told Sam when they were shown into the “one-room place” of Len’s. “I feel like we’re in a four-star hotel instead of hiding away from someone who’s trying to scare me into having a bad Christmas.”

  “I texted Mom and told her I was bringing home a honeymooning couple who were down on their luck,” Len said, his broad face a trifle sheepish. “I hope you won’t mind the small fib.”

  “Thank you for all your kindness,” Jean said, and Sam shook Len’s hand. “And please tell your mother, as well.” The room was lovely, not a place she would have imagined as Len’s. Beside the bed a pitcher of ice water was placed; nearby was a crystal decanter of wine. A plate of cheese and crackers was set on the table, as well, with mounds of glistening grapes. Just looking at the fluffy bed made Jean want to crawl in and forget the past forty-eight hours.

  “We’re four miles from the road and hard to get to,” Len said. “So no worries that your friend’ll catch up with you. On the property I’ve got a couple of dogs that roam. They’re gentle but not with trespassers, so don’t feel like you’re unprotected. They’ll let you know if anyone’s out there.” Len grinned. “No one would want to meet up with Ma’s shotgun, anyway, but be sure to telephone the house if you get worried.”

  “We will. Thank you.” Sam looked around the room as Len left them in the cabin. “This is great. I want one of these places.”

  “You already have one. You just haven’t decorated it as nicely. Besides,” Jean said, industriously digging into her suitcase and trying not to think about sharing the inviting bed with Sam, “Len said he doesn’t really live here. He uses this place as a bed-and-breakfast hideaway for travelers. You can always come back.”

  “Wouldn’t be the same without you,” Sam said. “You keep things lively.”

  “Because someone keeps shooting at me?” She shook her head. “I’ll be delighted when all the criminals are in jail. Right now, I’m going to bed, and I’m dreaming of nothing but sugarplums. I’ll leave the cop stuff to you.”

  He smiled. “You realize this is the second time we’ll have slept together? We’re two for two.”

  “Yes, but you’re on your own tomorrow night. Mom will have your room a decent distance away from mine.” It was a pity, Jean thought. I should have kissed him thoroughly when I had the chance—I’ll never be able to work up the nerve at Mom’s with my sisters spying around every corner.

  Strange how kissing him today seemed much more tempting than it had yesterday. But today she felt she knew this man better than she had yesterday. In some ways it seemed like she’d known him for years.

  “I didn’t tell you how much I appreciate you putting up the ornaments that Molly gave me,” Sam said suddenly. “It made me sorry I’ve been so stubborn all those years about decorating.”

  She closed her suitcase, glancing at him. “Guys don’t decorate as enthusiastically as women do.”

  “I just didn’t want to. I didn’t want to clean up the mess after the holidays. I didn’t want to feel sad when I packed everything away. Molly has her own life. Why would I decorate just for me?”

  “If you missed your sister so much, how come you just never told her? You’ve always been Molly’s shining star, you know.”

  His heart leapt at those words. “Once you’ve closed the door on the past, it’s hard to reopen it. I’m much better at leaving things closed.”

  “Most men are,” Jean said. “Women, too.”

  “It wasn’t until I saw those framed pictures of the two of us that I realized I do want to remember the past. I want to remember her, not our dysfunctional parents. I’m sure Molly told you there was lots of money in our family but not a lot of fun. Still, Molly was my best friend.”

  “She’d say the same, Sam. Now turn around so I can get in this bed. I’m beat.”

  “How about some wine?” he asked, pouring himself a liberal glass. It was going to be a long night if he had to ward off the temptation of being in bed with Jean, listening for trouble.

  “Not for me. I’m going to click my heels three times, fall asleep, and dream of home and shopping at every department store in town. I haven’t even started my list,” she said sleepily.

  Sam heard the bed shift. He waited a few more moments, then swallowed half the wine he’d poured to give himself strength. He didn’t dare make a move on Jean—she was tired and not in the mood to be swept off her feet. All she was dreaming about was home.

  He heard even breathing and turned around to see she was already asleep. She looked like an angel, a very sexy angel.

  But not for him. He shook his head, and went to sit in the rocker by the window to gaze out into the night. The police had said they’d send some guys to pick up his car and take it back home for him; they’d also told him Molly was fine. But Sam knew that until O’Bannion and Morrissey were found, he wouldn’t be able to let down his guard.

  IN THE NIGHT Jean awakened, and realized Sam wasn’t in bed with her. She couldn’t see much in the dark, but she could see him silhouetted near the window. “What are you doing?” she asked softly.

  “Nothing. Thinking.”

  “Don’t you think you should get some sleep?” To be honest, she wanted him in bed with her. She was getting used to the warmth of his big body beside her.

  “Nah.”

  “The bed’s very soft,” sh
e said, well aware she was luring him, and she saw that he turned to face her.

  “Are you inviting me into your bed, Jean?”

  She giggled. “It’s not my bed.”

  He walked over beside her and her pulse sped up, almost making breathing painful. She wanted him, in the worst way.

  “And ‘Mom’s’ up the street,” he said with a sigh. “As much as I want to get in bed with you, I don’t think I can get over the specter of Mom.”

  Frankly, some good rousing sex would keep her mind off the goons that had decided she was Job #1, but Jean knew she didn’t dare say that to Sam. He’d never relax. “It is daunting,” she agreed. “Let me see if I can massage some of the tension out of you.”

  “I guess that’s okay since we’re supposedly married,” he said, and she laughed.

  “Just lie down so I can help you unwind a little.”

  He did, slowly lowering himself into the bed.

  She admitted that she was a bit disappointed he didn’t bother to take off a single layer of clothing. Since he had on three—a fleece-type jacket, a nice cotton shirt and some thermal underwear—it was pretty obvious he intended to sleep just as he had last night, fully clothed.

  Big hands suddenly cupped her shoulders, kneading the tension from her own body. “That feels wonderful,” she said on a surprised sigh. The best part was the feelings flowing inside of her, womanly feelings, making her glow with desire.

  Of course her Ranger wasn’t about to let himself be seduced. She wanted to cry into the pillow with frustration, then froze as Sam suddenly stood.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Did you hear something?”

  “I’m undressing,” he said, “That’s the only way to test this marriage thing out.”

  Her eyes widened. She heard layers peeling off, clothes hitting the floor. She held her breath, waiting to be enveloped by Sam’s warmth.

  He finally slid in next to her and framed her face gently with his hands, kissing her the way she’d always dreamed of being kissed. “Don’t stop,” she murmured. “Don’t stop kissing me.” She didn’t think she could stand it if he didn’t pull her cotton T-shirt off—okay, it wasn’t romantic, but she’d been going for modest.