by Lisa Plumley
Practically pushed outside by the force of her friends’ insistence, Kristen grabbed her purse. She slung it over her shoulder, offered another grateful smile, then bolted for the back door. She only hoped she could make it to her apartment—tucked upstairs above a shoe store-turned-coffee shop a few blocks away downtown—before the bank rep caught up with her.
Chapter 7
Main Street, Kismet, Michigan
Christmas Takeover: Day 8½
She couldn’t do it, Kristen realized a block and a half away. Because although she’d successfully ditched the bank rep who’d come to her diner, there was an unfamiliar car parked outside the coffee shop . . . and the suit-wearing guy loitering conspicuously next to it with his eagle-eyed gaze trained on the stairs leading to her apartment didn’t look like any espresso aficionado she’d ever met. He hadn’t even bothered to bolster his cover by buying a peppermint mocha to go. The two bank reps were very, very obviously working in tandem to flush her out.
Why? Why? Kristen couldn’t help wailing to herself as she spied her theoretical banker/stalker. Why couldn’t the bank at least wait until after the holidays to hound her for her supposedly overdue mortgage payments? Especially since they weren’t even overdue?
Caught, she wheeled to a stop, unsure what to do next.
People passed by her on the sidewalk, most of them still out Christmas shopping and all of them bundled against the wintery weather. A few snowflakes drifted down from the steely skies, lightly piling up on the holiday lights strung across the streets and on the municipal gold and silver decorations affixed to the old-fashioned lampposts. The city’s official holiday music soundtrack—which included several Christmas songs from Heather’s new CD—filtered vaguely into Kristen’s hearing, but most of her attention was fixed on that menacing banker.
She couldn’t go home. Not right now.
She couldn’t stay near the bustling shops and other restaurants, either. It was only a matter of time before someone recognized her and called attention to her position.
Kristen imagined someone calling out her name, pictured the Repo Man/Banker swiveling his head toward her like evil Agent Smith in The Matrix, saw herself trying to run away and instead being caught. Maybe even handcuffed and hauled into custody.
She didn’t know if it was a crime to evade bankers. But if she couldn’t afford a lawyer to defend her record of spotless (if difficult-to-make) mortgage payments, she definitely couldn’t afford a lawyer to bail her out of jail.
Decisively, Kristen turned. Clutching her purse, she strode in the opposite direction. For now, she just had to get away.
A dark-colored Subaru pulled up beside her with its engine idling. Kristen darted a glance at it, then walked faster.
The Subaru’s window rolled down with an electronic hum.
“Hey!” a man shouted. “Kristen!”
Oh God. There were three of them! How had she made the bank’s most-wanted list? She was just a girl-next-door turned struggling diner owner! She wasn’t exactly a criminal.
The car crept forward, keeping pace with her. “Stop!”
She couldn’t. Robotically, she kept walking. Maybe if she pretended to be engrossed in window shopping . . .
“I don’t want a Sherpa. I want you!” the man called out.
A Sherpa? Struck by that, Kristen stopped.
Disbelievingly, she glanced to the side.
Casey Jackson sat behind the wheel of that Subaru, idling beside a festive, candy-cane-style decorated fire hydrant, staring through the open passenger-side window at her.
When he saw her looking back at him, he grinned.
Idiotically, that grin of his felt completely comforting.
“You look like you’re in a hurry,” he observed.
She gestured up the street. “Sort of.”
Another too-observant glance. “Is something wrong?”
Yes. On the verge of admitting it, she gazed across the distance separating them. She caught the expression of concern on his face and longed to spill everything. Which was very unlike her. Sure, Casey was nonsensically appealing. Yes, being near him gave her the remarkable feeling that everything would work out okay in the end. Somehow. But she would have to be a lunatic to own up to any of that. Especially on the street.
“Nope,” Kristen lied. “I’m just busy.”
“Are you too busy to help me find my hotel?”
“Are you that easily lost? Get an atlas.”
“I just changed hotels. So how about it?”
She hesitated. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“No. And I’m sort of in a hurry, too. Get in.”
“For all I know, you’re some kind of homicidal maniac.”
“A homicidal maniac who drives a Subaru?”
“Maybe.” She jerked up her chin. “It takes all kinds.”
Casey gave a carefree laugh. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Who knows? You might even wind up enjoying yourself.”
“. . . said the guy who’s here to make my sister unemployed.”
Without responding to that, Casey leaned over. He opened the passenger-side door, then gave it a shove. It swung ajar. Invitingly, he said, “If you’re going to impugn my character, you might as well do it in here, where it’s warm and dry.”
Apprehensively, Kristen shot a glance at the Repo Man waiting outside the coffee shop. At the same moment, he started to turn his head. Any second now, he’d spot her standing there.
She couldn’t bolt fast enough. Like a shot, she dived into Casey’s staid, responsible, rented Subaru. She slammed shut the door.
He only grinned at her with both hands on the wheel.
“Well? Gun it, why don’t you?” she urged. “Let’s go!”
Casey shot a curious glance over his shoulder. Down the block, the bank rep had to still be lurking there.
“What about your friend?” Casey asked mildly.
She probably shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d noticed her shadow, but she was. His perspicacity was annoying.
Not as annoying as his ability to make her feel overheated when it was a brisk twenty-three degrees outside, but still . . .
Kristen waved. “He’s probably a paparazzo. I’ve been getting hounded by them ever since Heather arrived in town.”
That was technically partly true, so she didn’t feel too bad about misleading him. Besides . . . “Will you just move already?”
Obligingly, Casey did. Ten seconds later, the bank rep dropped out of sight. Whew. Feeling relieved and slightly felonious, Kristen slunk a little lower in the passenger seat.
They drove without incident past the Galaxy Diner, where the other bank rep was probably still lying in wait for her.
“Just keep going,” she improvised with a don’t-stop wave. “We’ll have a tour of Kismet first. You know, see the sights.”
With an agreeable nod, Casey expertly took a corner. They were traveling out of downtown now, headed roughly in the direction of the lake. Casey might like to pretend he was permanently lost, but he seemed to have a pretty unerring sense of direction, especially for a newcomer. He was driving right toward the most picturesque parts of Kismet.
He appeared unimpressed by his own accidental tourism expertise, though. Or unaware of it. Possibly, Casey was so good at everything that he couldn’t be bothered to crow about specific examples.
“So the way I see it,” he said, “you owe me.”
Kristen scoffed. “How do you figure that?”
“I rescued you from that ‘paparazzo’ back there.”
He angled his head toward the area of Kismet they’d just left, drawing her attention to his close-cropped dark hair. In the snow-shrouded daylight, Kristen couldn’t tell if his hair was dark brown, as she’d initially thought, or brown shot through with hints of auburn, which better matched his emerging beard stubble. She also couldn’t tell if he believed her about her stalkerish paparazzo. His tone was decidedly ambiguous.
This would be a
good time to augment her cover story, Kristen decided. “Like I said, those media buzzards have been hounding me ever since Heather came back to town,” she explained. “I don’t know why they’re so interested in me—”
“I’m interested in you. You’re interesting.”
“—but they wouldn’t leave me alone until Heather struck a deal with them. My diner and my apartment are official safe zones now, but—”
“Until today.”
“Huh?”
“Your apartment was a safe zone until today, you mean. It was safe until that ‘paparazzo’ violated the agreement?”
Oh yeah. “Right. Anyway, I’m just glad you happened along when you did. I’m not half as photogenic as my sister.”
Unlike everyone else she knew, he didn’t accept that joke at face value. Casey’s lips quirked. “I bet you hold your own.”
“Sure, I do. I’m not exactly hideous to look at. Children don’t run bawling from me or anything.” At his expression, she laughed. “I’m not saying I’m crippled by self-doubt or anything. I’m a pretty awesome person. But next to Heather, well . . .”
“Anybody would look a little ordinary?”
She didn’t want him to understand. But apparently he did.
“Let’s just say I do my best not to compete.” Kristen gazed out at the Subaru’s window as the town’s lake flashed by, fully frozen over and dotted with ice-fishing shanties. A couple of them sported multicolored Christmas lights. “I thought the days of people expecting me to compete with Heather were behind me.”
“But they’re not?”
No, Kristen thought. They’re back with a vengeance.
She frowned. “Are you always this curious?”
“About people I’m interested in?” Casey shot her an appreciative sideways glance. “Yes.” He stopped at the next intersection, peered at the rural businesses and snow-covered evergreen trees bordering it, then shivered. “You’re your own person. You shouldn’t have to compete with Heather.”
Kristen gave a sardonic grin. “Try telling that to the rest of the world. Including my parents.” She couldn’t believe she was confiding in him, but Casey Jackson had a way of listening that created a sort of instant solidarity. Somehow, she felt he was on her side. “My mom and dad have a serious case of Celebrity Spawn Syndrome. Last week, they were interviewed by E! for an upcoming TV special. This week, they’ve already chatted on camera with Extra, Entertainment Tonight, and Access Hollywood. They’ve even been sending out regular updates on their new @Heather_Hotline Twitter account. They got over a million followers the first week alone.” She cast a wry glance at Casey. “The whole thing has made them rock stars among their friends. I mean, how much more public evidence of your stellar parenting skills do you get than raising a megastar?”
“I know some parents of megastars who’d disagree,” Casey mused. “Sometimes it’s not easy having children who basically outrun you in the race of life.”
Kristen had never thought of it that way. Her mom was a part-time clerk at Reno Wright’s sporting-goods store. Her dad was a retired long-haul trucker. Could they be bothered that their daughter had succeeded beyond their own wildest dreams?
“Maybe they’re overcompensating for that,” Casey suggested. “Or maybe they’re just genuinely proud of Heather.” He shrugged. “I hear it happens—parents being proud of their children.”
Despite his nonchalant tone, Kristen couldn’t help feeling a momentary pang on his behalf. Had Casey really never known what it was like to have parents who were proud of his accomplishments? To have parents who were proud of him?
That was rough. Kristen’s own parents had always seemed over-the-moon pleased with Heather’s achievements: that homebrew sex tape, a Hot Buns workout DVD, a line of shoes and “club clothes,” and a guest-judging stint on Project Runway, included.
Oh, and several wildly successful music CDs and tours, too.
A Nobel Laureate Heather was not. But she was lovable.
Her mom and dad were definitely proud of Heather. Kristen knew it was true, because they let her know about it all the time. They’d gushed about Heather and her success for years.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t done the same for Kristen. But she didn’t need any cheerleading anyway. She was her own person. Her own sense of pride and accomplishment were enough for her.
They would have to be enough, wouldn’t they? Because she wasn’t expecting anything else.
“That doesn’t explain my customers who’ve morphed into junior paparazzi themselves,” Kristen said, sidestepping that thorny issue altogether. “When Heather first showed up at the diner, totally out of the blue”—eight days ago (and counting)—“one of my regulars took a cell phone snap of the two of us reuniting.”
“That was nice of him.”
“It wasn’t for us,” she clarified. “He later sold it to a tabloid for five thousand dollars.”
“I think I see a way out of your money problems.”
Kristen sharpened her gaze. “What money problems?”
Another shrug. “You said your diner was a money pit.”
Oh. Whew. Maybe Casey Jackson wasn’t as clairvoyant as he seemed, despite his knack for bailing her out of trouble at exactly the right moment—and despite his ability to make her want to confide in him. It just . . . made her feel better to do so.
If she hadn’t had so many friends, she would have thought she was starved for someone just to listen to her for a change.
“Since then,” Kristen went on, hoping to evade the issue of her finances, “people have been hanging out at the Galaxy Diner double-time, hoping they’ll score a big payday, too.”
“At least that’s good for business.”
“If they order anything,” Kristen agreed, admiring—despite her intention not to—the way Casey handled that stolid vehicle. In his hands, that four-wheel-drive Subaru cut through traffic like a Ferrari. “I’ve had to be pretty tough on a few loiterers. And that doesn’t even count the way my friends have been behaving ever since Heather came back! We used to have lots of time to hang out together, but now that my superstar sister is in town, people are ‘too busy’ to spend time with me. They’d rather go watch her performing or filming, I guess.”
All she could do was guess. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask outright. Although she had overheard Gareth and Avery discussing the TV taping they’d attended a few days ago. The possibility that her own friends (and her parents) might be choosing Heather over her was too hurtful. Kristen didn’t want her suspicions confirmed. Ever.
Casey gave a commiserating frown. “That’s tough.”
His empathic tone only egged her on. “I can’t really blame them. I mean, for other people, spending time with a celebrity is a thrill. But to me, Heather is just my sister. I love her. I do. But I don’t want to be thought of as Heather’s Mini-Me.”
“If it’s any help, I’ve never thought of you that way.”
“. . . and that’s why you’re famously charming. Because of audacious lines like that one.” With a jolt, Kristen snapped back to reality. She couldn’t let herself get carried away with trusting The Terminator, she reminded herself. It was his job to get people to talk. As proof, she’d just basically copped to the truth: that she’d felt invisible (again) ever since Heather had blown back into town. “So, which hotel are you staying at?”
“Very subtle redirection.”
“Well, I don’t see the point in tiptoeing around things.”
“Touché.” Casey frowned at the modest houses they drove past next, as though resenting their light-and-icicle-bedecked eaves and holiday yard decorations. “I was staying at the Riverside Hotel, but now I’m moving to The Christmas House B&B.”
“Ooh! The Christmas House! Good choice.” Kristen approved. “I love the atmosphere there!”
“You would.” Grimly, he kept driving. “I expect not to, given the name and the likely shtick that goes with it.”
“Oh, that’s r
ight, Scrooge. You hate Christmas.”
“I guess my reputation preceded me?”
“More than you know.” Kristen examined his suddenly tense posture. Beneath his coat and suit, his whole body appeared taut. As Casey drove onward, his thigh flexed, calling her attention to the well-developed muscles there, making her wonder about things she had no intention of exploring any further. Instead, she said, “If the idea of a B&B devoted to the ultimate Christmas experience is such a nightmare for you—”
He made a face. “Tell me it’s not really that bad.”
“—then why are you doing it?”
“Because Shane Maresca is staying there, and I can’t let him get the jump on me. I have to know what he’s up to.”
“I see. Competitive much?”
Casey’s jaw flexed. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand. I spilled my guts to you.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
“Because it was you.”
“Aha. You don’t like to be vulnerable.” Kristen watched his profile, fascinated by the way his easygoingness had just ebbed away. His features were solid. Friendly-looking. He hovered just this side of too handsome to be tolerated. “I get it.”
“I doubt it.” Casey rubbed his thumb over his wristwatch in an undoubtedly unconscious—and undoubtedly comforting—gesture. As though suddenly realizing what he was doing, he glanced down. “Hey, time’s wasting. How about those directions?”
Agreeably, Kristen gave them. She could wait a while to find out about Shane Maresca. After all, Casey would be spending a lot of time at her diner. She could pump him for information there. Or, since it was likely that Shane would come back to the Galaxy Diner—because he was such a fan—she could simply ask him.
Within minutes, she and Casey were zipping around the other edge of the lake, traveling through the snowy, tree-dotted terrain that led to The Christmas House.
“You realize this place is renowned for its holiday atmosphere,” she told Casey as they neared it. “The owners, the Sullivans, are even more crazy about Christmas than I am.”
