Any Given Christmas

by Candis Terry

  It had been a long time since she’d been held in a man’s arms the way Dean had held her. Like he wanted to keep her there for a good, long time. Like he wanted to use those strong hands to possess her and to make her come undone in his arms. It had been a long time since a man had kissed her like he wanted to eat her up. It had been a long, long, time since she’d wanted to tear her clothes off, throw caution to the wind, and just let go.

  Silly thought. Emma knew of the repercussions of letting go. There were lonesome nights filled with tears and regret and heartaches so deep they felt like they might never heal. She’d been a foolish girl the summer she was eighteen. She’d never been a part of the “in” crowd. She’d tried. But most mothers had morals. And her mother’s reputation had prevented Emma from being allowed to associate with their daughters. But that summer, Dean Silverthorne had brought home a football buddy from college, and Emma immediately became smitten. Nick Harris had been cute, and smart, and strong. The times she’d seen him in town, he’d flirted with her. The night he’d invited her out to the bonfire party she’d broken her Memaw’s rules. She’d snuck out and gone to meet her crush.

  She’d learned her lesson that night about the love-‘em-and-leave-‘em type. But that was years ago. And she’d moved on.

  For years she’d been too busy with getting her degree to get involved with anyone. After that, her time had been consumed with building her career and making her mark in the education process in her small town. After that, she’d had to take care of her grandmother.

  Since then she’d only made a half-assed attempt at finding a man to love. She was thirty-two years old and not getting any younger. Maybe she should look into a dating service and get serious in her search. Time to let go of the stigma of her mother’s shameful behavior and subsequent abandonment. It didn’t take a thermonuclear physicist to know she was nothing like the woman who’d given her life. Nothing like the man who’d been the other half of that equation and whom she’d never met.

  She deserved to be happy, didn’t she? A relationship like that wouldn’t just show up at her front door. She had to go out and explore the possibilities. She didn’t want just a one-night stand. She wanted a man who would love her and cherish her. A man who would fill her days with laughter and her nights with passion.

  The very last man on earth capable of that task?

  Mr. Perfect.

  “Oh, that’s a good one.”

  Emma’s head came up at the female voice coming from across the table and she realized she was still standing there with the romance book in her hand.

  “I just finished reading it last night,” the twenty-something woman sporting the boho look said. “The hero? Unbelievable. I never thought the heroine would wrangle him into her way of thinking, but she did.”

  “But this is only fiction,” Emma protested nicely.

  “All fiction is based on a certain amount of truth. At least that’s what my mother always tells me.” The twentysomething grinned as if she had some kind of personal knowledge. “So I’m going to believe that there’s a hero out there for every woman. Someone perfect, just for her. And all she has to do is pay attention.”

  Emma watched the young woman walk away, then she grabbed a roll of dancing-Santa paper and began to wrap Bertie’s books.

  All she has to do is pay attention.

  If only it were that easy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On Christmas night, Dean reluctantly put on his dress pants and shirt and climbed into his mother’s car. Kate and Matt had decided to draw out the holiday by inviting friends and family out to the lake house for a get-together. He’d thought the festivities were over that morning when the newlyweds had bombarded their father’s house with their presence and presents. Kate had dragged him and Kelly out of bed to have an old-style family Christmas. But without their mother, Dean hadn’t felt like celebrating.

  Letty Silverthorne had always gone overboard with the holidays. Christmas had been her favorite. She’d over-decorated, over-cooked, over-bought gifts. She’d been the queen of indulgence. After the opening of the presents, her Christmas breakfasts had been twenty-course meals. Pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, fritters, muffins, biscuits and gravy, and homemade huckleberry syrup and jam for their family and friends and neighbors or anyone who wanted to join in. She’d always woken at the crack of dawn to make sure things were perfect. On this particular Christmas morning, without her buzzing through the kitchen or snatching up discarded wrapping paper or refilling coffee mugs, it just wasn’t the same.

  Dean wished he hadn’t come home.

  Anxious to give Kate a hand, his father had taken the truck and gone on ahead of him. So flying solo, Dean twisted the key in the ignition of the car that still smelled like vanilla. Still had a back seat piled with pastry cookbooks and knitting and quilting supplies. With a heavy heart he headed toward the lake.

  Being Christmas night, the streets were deserted as he drove through town. When he passed Spotted Fawn he thought of a particular schoolteacher who’d managed to avoid him for days. Chances she’d be at Kate’s tonight were good. Chances she’d give him the time of day? Not so good.

  “It’s been a marvelous day.”

  Dean almost ran up onto the sidewalk at the abrupt sound of his mother’s voice. He pulled to the curb and turned around in his seat. Her glow was a brilliant rosy gold tonight and the smile she wore he’d been blessed to see a thousand wonderful times.

  “Merry Christmas, Son.”

  “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

  She laughed. “What? No denial tonight? No ‘I’m losing my mind and need to see a shrink’ babble?”

  “It’s your favorite holiday. I don’t care if I’m crazy,” he said. “I’m just glad to see you.”

  She leaned forward. “And I’m so glad to be seen.”

  He smiled. “Who’d have thought it possible?”

  “Not me.” She planted her transparent hand against her transparent chest. “Though I admit I am kind of used to it now. I seem to be in much better control of my landings. Still occasionally off on my timing though.” She shook her head and grinned as if she had a specific moment in mind. “Are you headed out to Kate and Matt’s?”

  “Yes. Dad is already there.”

  “Oh, I know, honey. The pumpkin pie he made looked wonderful. Just wish I could have smelled it. And Kate has her house decorated so beautifully. Who knew she’d take after me?”

  “You knew,” Dean said with affection. “The only reason you and her argued so much was because you were just too damn much alike.”

  She nodded and a smug smile tilted her mouth. “She’s so happy now. Not like before when she thought she had everything she wanted.”

  “She does seem to be over the moon.”

  “Ha! Understatement. And how are you doing, Son? How’s the shoulder? And before you say anything, I want you to be truthful, not give me the same line of BS you feed everyone else. Don’t forget, I gave birth to you. I know when you’re lying.”

  “What about all those times I snuck out the bedroom window?”

  “Among other atrocities. You think I didn’t know about that stuff? Of course I did. But you had to learn. And you had to grow up. And the only way you could do that was the hard way. I think we just got lucky you dodged the bullet so many times.”

  “Does that mean my number is about to be up?”

  She shrugged. “So how are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “Cut the crap. How’s your shoulder?”

  “Hurts like hell.”

  “I’ll bet it does. Do you remember when you were a freshman at USC and you were chomping at the bit to be the starting quarterback?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you remember all those phone conversations we had of deciphering exactly what your coach was really telling you?”

  “Yes. And your point is?”

  “The answer today is the same as it was then. Patience. Right now it’s tim
e to sit back in the pocket a little longer than you’re used to and look out over the options.”

  “Hard to look at the options when the doctor won’t even let me start working the shoulder out for another few weeks.”

  “What if it doesn’t heal?” his mother asked.

  “It’ll heal.”

  “But what if it doesn’t. What will you do?”

  “You know me, Mom. I don’t think in those terms. I don’t accept defeat.”

  “I also taught you to be a reasonable man. Just because you want something or won’t accept something doesn’t make it any less a fact. Look at me. One minute I was putting on my apron, the next I was looking down at myself, wondering if maybe I should have invested in a little Botox over the years. You think if I had the choice I’d have let that heart attack take me out?”

  “No.”

  “You’re darn tootin’ I wouldn’t have. I wanted to be able to rock away the years on the back patio with your daddy, watching sunrises and sunsets. I wanted to be able to see all my children get married and have grandchildren I could love and spoil rotten. Life is about so much more than football, honey.” She reached up and a whisper of cold air brushed his cheek. “You are about so much more than football. In the days to come, I want you to remember that.”

  “I don’t want to let you down, Mom.”

  “The only way you would let me down, Son, is if you didn’t stay true to yourself. Promise me that you will.”

  Dean sighed. “I promise.”

  “Good. Give your daddy a kiss for me,” she said and was gone.

  His mother had spent years teaching him about life, helping him run through plays, and he’d always accepted everything she said as good advice. But for once his mother was wrong.

  Without football he was zilch.

  “It’s about time you got here.” Kate shoved a bottle of Sam Adams at him.

  “I had a small detour.” Dean accepted the beer, handed her his coat, and gave her pup who’d also greeted him a pat on the head. Then he brought himself up and he scanned the crowded room. From the looks of it, his sister had invited anyone in town who didn’t have a prior post-Christmas engagement. She’d also picked up his mother’s talent for over-decorating. Funny. He knew another Deer Lick resident with the same issue. Must be something in the water.

  “Meaning what?” Kate asked. “You had a flat tire? You hit a deer? You had a conversation with our dead mother? What?”

  Dean whipped his head around. “What did you say?”

  Kate flashed a smile. “I said you need to go mingle or at least stop Edna from holding mistletoe over everyone’s heads. I don’t even want to know what that crazy old woman will be like on New Year’s Eve.”

  “That’s not what you said.”

  His sister folded his coat over her arm. “So how is Mom tonight?”

  He leaned in. “Are we supposed to admit we know about her?”

  “Like we can ignore the facts? Come on, big brother, you don’t want to ride that crazy train all alone, do you?”

  “No. And thanks for giving me prior warning about the fact that she stills pops in even though she’s been gone for four months. I about wrecked the car the first time.”

  “Guess I was lucky then. I was parked in front of the Shack.”

  “Does she ever pop into other places?”

  Kate shrugged. “A few. Mostly her car is a sure thing. I think it gives her some kind of woo woo power.” She gave him a little pat on the arm. “We can talk about the weirdness that is Mom later. Right now I want you to go mingle. Enjoy yourself. Especially since you’re only here on borrowed time.”

  Dean shook his head as his sister walked away. What was weird was that his sister talked about their mother’s ghost popping in and out and giving advice like it was just a normal everyday thing.

  He took a pull from the bottle of beer, then stepped into the living room to be greeted by a round of handshakes and pats on the back. Dean found his father chatting with Woody Blake about the new hunting regulations. When his father reached out to shake his hand, Dean pulled him into a bear hug. Then he gave his father a kiss on the cheek.

  His father chuckled. “What’s that for?”

  “Just passing on the love, Dad.”

  Moments later a hand snagged him by the arm and pulled him into a spirited exchange about his brother-in-law’s chances in the upcoming election for Deer Lick Sheriff. Not that Dean would be around when it came time to cast a vote—and not that he wasn’t behind Matt 100 percent—but Dean found the discussion a distraction from the conversation he really wanted to have. With a blonde who’d probably tell him what elevator he could take straight to hell.

  True, he’d kissed her. But she’d blown the right to complain by kissing him back. As far as he could see, they were even. Then again, he always played his best game when he had to come from behind.

  While the election debate heated up, Dean sipped his beer and nodded his head at the appropriate times, just waiting for the perfect moment to escape. When Edna Price barged in with a sprig of mistletoe, he found his break.

  He wandered through the expansive room, stopping to chat, answer football-related questions, and maintain his good-old-boy status. He’d searched from corner to corner but found no sign of Emma. Maybe she hadn’t come after all. Surely Kate had invited her.

  He turned, and through the corner of his eye caught a flash of white outside the double glass doors. On the deck Emma stood in a creamy wool coat, talking to a tall man with the shoulders of a linebacker. In her mitten-wrapped hand she held a half-empty glass of red wine. On her face was the smile that never failed to kick him in the gut.

  Dean didn’t like the idea that she shared that smile with someone other than him. And he didn’t like the way the man smiled back. On his way out the door, Dean traded his empty beer for a new bottle. In football, timing the pass was imperative. In real life as well.

  Just as the man leaned in to whisper in Emma’s ear, Dean stepped out onto the deck. “Well, if it isn’t Jesse Hamilton.”

  The man turned with a frown as though he’d been interrupted from something significant. Like a kiss? Dean congratulated himself on his skillful stoppage of play.

  “I haven’t seen you for what?” Dean extended his hand. “Ten? Twelve years?” Jesse reciprocated while Emma’s arms folded across her pretty white coat.

  “Heard you were back in town.” Jesse pulled his hand away and settled it at the small of Emma’s back. “Sorry, though, we were just about to go back inside. Emma’s gotten a little cold.”

  If you aren’t man enough to keep her warm, then back the fuck off. Dean leaned a hip against the rail and turned on the magic. “It’s a beautiful night.” He lifted his hand in an arc to draw attention to the way the moonlight glistened on the snow and made it glitter like diamonds. “Emma, maybe you’d like to trade that glass of cold wine for a nice hot buttered rum?”

  “Would you like to stay out here?” Jesse asked Emma.

  “Well . . .”

  “Then I’ll be right back,” Jesse said.

  “You sure?” Dean interjected. “Because I’d be happy to go get one for her.”

  The flash in Jesse’s eyes said he’d caught on to the game. “Nope. I’m good.” He gave Emma’s sleeve a little tug. “I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Emma turned to Dean. “Wow. That’s a first.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve never been caught in the middle of a pissing match before.”

  “What?” He clapped a hand to his chest. “Honey, I just saved you from a boring conversation. Weren’t you bored? I saw you out here and you looked bored. And I said, ‘Now, Dean, there’s a woman who looks like she could use rescuing.’ ”

  She pursed those sexy lips. “Well, aren’t you just a saint.”

  “Sorry. Wrong team. I’m a Stallion.”

  “Among other things.” She looked away toward the lake.

 
; “So what were you and old Jesse talking about that had you looking so vaguely interested?”

  “In case you don’t know, old Jesse owns the farm supply store,” she said, like she was announcing the man owned the universe. “We were discussing brands of cat food.”

  “Wow. Cat food? Really?”

  “Oscar needs to lose a little weight and I was asking Jesse’s advice,” Emma said in a defensive tone.

  “Honey, that cat doesn’t need to lose a little weight. He looks like he’s been eating for three.” Deane took a pull from his beer and licked a drop from his top lip.

  “He’s not that fat.”

  “He’s fat. I’ll bet he can barely squeeze into that elf suit.”

  She shook her head and glanced down at the snow-tipped toes of her boots. “What are you doing, Dean?”

  “Just thought I’d come out and see how you were doing. New coat?” He touched her sleeve, thinking instead he’d like to run his hands up inside that coat and touch her warm skin. Touch her all over.

  “It’s a Christmas gift to myself. And why would you care how I’m doing? You don’t like me.”

  “It looks good on you.” He lifted the beer and took a drink. Smiling he lifted a finger off the bottle and pointed to her. “Want to bet?”

  “Bet?”

  “On whether I like you or not.”

  “I don’t gamble.”

  “Oh, come on. It would be fun. And the prize could be . . . if I win, you go out with me. If you win, I go out with you.”

  “So, you would just win. No matter what.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying to bend the odds in his favor.”

  She tried to fight back a smile.