With a sigh that was part dismay, part frustration, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his breathing ragged.
“No, I am.”
“We can’t go on like this, fighting until our nerves are raw. We’ll end up saying something one of these days that we can’t take back.”
“I know.”
“Maybe we should put some distance between us, think about this,” he suggested.
“Not again,” she said.
The fierceness of her reaction startled him. “No?”
“Absolutely not. You’re not running and neither am I. We will settle this, Clint. Let’s just take one day at a time. Let’s enjoy Christmas and maybe the rest will take care of itself.” She rested her hand against his cheek, then smiled. “After all, it is the season of miracles.”
9
Angela wasn’t sure what had possessed her to invite Clint along to White Pines. She was asking for trouble, no doubt about it. Maybe she’d been persuaded because she didn’t think she could shake him any easier than a horse could rid itself of a burr under its saddle. Maybe it was simple politeness.
More than likely, though, it had something to do with sentiment. They had spent the previous Christmas together, and despite all her reminiscing the night before about past holidays with her family, Christmas with Clint in Montana had been one of the most incredible of her entire life. She smiled to herself just thinking about it.
They had gone out the day before Christmas, tromped through a foot or more of hard-packed snow until they’d found the perfect tree. Clint had chopped it down and hauled it back to the ranch, grumbling all the way about the size of it. He’d sounded exactly the way her father did every year, which had made her homesick. In some peculiar way, it had also reassured her. Seeing similarities in the two men she cared most about suggested that her judgment wasn’t all bad.
Since an earlier search of the house had turned up not one single strand of lights or an ornament, Angela had gone into town after the tree was up and gathered everything she could think of to decorate the ceiling-scraping monster of a pine. Clint had taken one look at the bags of cranberries, packages of popcorn and yards of ribbon and shaken his head.
“I don’t know, darlin’,” he’d said, his expression doubtful. “This is looking an awful lot like work.”
“You just wait,” she’d promised. “We are going to have the most spectacular, old-fashioned Christmas tree you’ve ever seen. Start popping the corn, OK? I’ll get busy with the cranberries.”
They had sipped hot chocolate and played carols on the stereo as they’d worked. They’d eaten as much popcorn as they’d strung, but by evening the tree was crisscrossed with strands of white and red. Colorful red and green bows added a festive touch. Clint had flat-out balked when she’d wanted to add candles in place of lights.
“Enough’s enough,” he’d declared. “I don’t want the ranch to burn down in the name of having some Christmas decorations straight out of ‘Little House on the Prairie.’ I’ll go get lights, if you insist on having them.”
“The store’s sold out,” she said, disappointed by his reaction.
He’d leaned down and kissed her. “Trust me, Hattie. I never make a promise if I don’t think I can deliver.”
She had started cooking while he was gone, sure that this was one promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. She’d consoled herself by making every dish she remembered from Christmas dinners back home: turkey with corn bread stuffing, cranberry relish, mashed potatoes, gravy and two gigantic pumpkin pies.
It was dark by the time Clint had gotten home and the house was filled with the familiar scents of pine and cinnamon and roasting turkey. He’d stood in the doorway, shaking the snow from his coat, and sniffed appreciatively.
“It smells like Christmas in here.”
She had grinned. “It’s true what they say, the sense of smell does bring back memories, doesn’t it?” She eyed the bag in his hand speculatively. “Lights?”
He’d tossed it to her. “Enough to rival some big-city skyscraper at night,” he declared.
Eagerly she had opened the bag and found a half-dozen strands of tiny white lights, six hundred in all. Her mother would have been in raptures.
“Oh, this is going to be wonderful,” she’d said, already imagining it. “I can’t wait to see it.”
Putting the lights on after the fact had been tedious and at times hilarious as they’d gotten tangled up in popcorn and cranberries, but the results had been worth it. The tree simply glowed, sparkling like a night sky with a million stars.
“You really get into this Christmas stuff, don’t you?” Clint asked, watching her.
“Sure. Don’t you?”
He’d shrugged indifferently. She’d tried to question him about his own holiday memories, but he’d cut the conversation short and won her silence by saying that the memories they made together were the only ones that mattered to him now. The sweet remark had brought tears to her eyes.
Clint had reached in his pocket then and handed her a small, gaily wrapped package.
Surprised, Angela had stared at it. “What’s this?”
Clint grinned sheepishly. “What does it look like?”
“A Christmas present? For me?”
“It is Christmas, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
“You thought I’d forgotten.”
“Something like that.”
“Aren’t you going to open it? Or would you rather wait until morning?”
“No, no, now is fine.” She hadn’t been sure she would be able to stand the suspense until morning.
Her fingers fumbled with the ribbon, which had been so artfully tied it was evident that a store clerk, not Clint, had been responsible for it. “It’s beautiful.”
“If you’re that impressed with the wrapping, I can’t wait to see your expression once you get it open,” he’d said dryly.
“At this rate I may never get it open. My hands are shaking.”
He’d reached out and clasped them between his, stilling her efforts. “Hattie, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a present, a token really.”
Eyes tearing, she had gazed at him. “It’s a big deal to me. It’s the first present you’ve ever given me.”
“Are you worried about my taste?”
“No, absolutely not. Anything you picked out will be special to me.”
He’d let her finish unwrapping it then. The flat velvet box made her heart thump unsteadily and once again she was all thumbs as she tried to lift the lid. Inside, against a white satin pillow, rested a gold pendant, a tiny Christmas tree with winking jewels as decorations. A diamond sparkled at the top.
“I thought maybe it would remind you of our first Christmas together,” he’d said, looking awkward and uncomfortable at the sentimental gesture.
“Nothing you could have gotten me would have meant more,” she swore to him. “Nothing.” Eyes shimmering with unshed tears, she gazed at him. “Help me put it on.”
It was his turn to fumble as he tried to manage the small clasp. When the necklace was secure, she gazed at herself in the mirror. The emerald, ruby and sapphire chips twinkled gaily against the soft gleam of gold as the pendant rested against her bright green sweater. He stood behind her in front of an oval mirror, his hands on her shoulders, as she’d admired the necklace. Lifting her gaze, her reflected glance caught his.
“Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he’d whispered.
“Merry Christmas.”
Now, thinking of that moment and the love she had been so sure she had seen shining in his eyes, she reached up and touched the pendant resting against her skin. She had worn it ever since, no matter the season, because it had reminded her of the man she had fallen in love with one lonely winter in Montana.
; Could they recapture what they had felt that night? Or could they only move on to create new memories? When the new year began, would they still be together or would they have resolved to go their own separate ways, connected only by the child they had conceived together?
Her baby stirred restlessly in her womb as if he, too, was anxious to know the answers to those questions.
“I want us to be a family,” she murmured, admitting it for the first time in a very long time.
Whether that was possible, though, was up to Clint. If he couldn’t love her after what she’d done, if he couldn’t forgive her for pretending to be the mythical Hattie Jones, then she would have to let him go.
“And we’ll be just fine,” she promised her child.
The baby kicked in apparent protest.
“We will,” she repeated fiercely, her hands on her belly. “But I won’t give up without a fight, little one. I promise you that, too.”
* * *
This was the first Clint had actually seen of the town of Los Pinos. It was miles beyond Luke’s ranch and beyond the home where he’d spent the night with Betsy’s family. Gazing at the quaint, unpretentious stores and homey restaurants, he felt immediately at ease.
There was nothing fancy about the Texas town. It was practically a mirror image of the one he’d left behind in Montana. No wonder Angela had gravitated toward Rocky Ridge and felt at home there.
“I know,” she said at a look from him. “I see the resemblance, too. I saw it that first night I stopped in Rocky Ridge. Felt it, too. The people are the same, warm and friendly. I still don’t know why you wanted to stop here, though, instead of going on through to Grandpa’s.”
“You said your family does Christmas up big. I want to contribute my share.”
She regarded him with obvious puzzlement. “You mean like some champagne or a couple of pies?”
He chuckled at the suggestion. “Knowing your grandfather, I’m sure he has the food and beverages pretty much under control. I was talking about presents.”
“That’s not necessary,” she protested. “You don’t even know the family that well. There’s no need to be buying presents. No one will expect it. I only picked up a few last-minute things before I left Dallas.”
“I want to,” he insisted stubbornly. “You can help me pick out the right things.” He glanced at her worriedly. “Or are you too tired? If this is too much for you, you can settle down in one of the restaurants and wait for me. The Italian one looks nice. I can smell the garlic clear out here.”
“You are not sticking me off in some restaurant while you shop,” she retorted. “I love picking out gifts. I can get a few more myself. Where do you want to start?”
He glanced up and down the street. There weren’t more than a dozen stores, all decorated brightly. “You pick. You know what they stock better than I do.”
“Let’s start at Dolan’s,” she decided.
He glanced across the street at the shop with a dusty, ancient display and a forlorn string of colored lights drooping across the window. “The drugstore?” he asked doubtfully. “I’m not settling for cheap perfume and some boxes of stale candy, darlin’.”
“Don’t let the window fool you. It’s been that way since way before I was born. Eli Dolan never saw any need to change it. Sharon Lynn runs the place now and she’s stubbornly stuck with tradition. But it has the best milk shakes I’ve ever had. Made from scratch with real ice cream.”
“Angel, we’re supposed to be shopping, not eating.”
Her expression turned sly. “The baby’s starved and milk is very good for his bones.”
He grinned at the ploy. “Oh, in that case, we absolutely should have a milk shake.”
A bell over the door tinkled as they entered and half a dozen people seated at the old-fashioned soda fountain turned to stare.
“You’re on display, cowboy,” she said with a wink as she led the way to the counter.
Clint endured the stares, nodded at the introductions and stewed when the stares transferred themselves pointedly to Angela’s oversize belly. It was one thing for the family to be watching the two of them speculatively. It was quite another to have the whole darned town ready to spread gossip.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he muttered, just as Sharon Lynn emerged from a back room with a beaming smile.
“Hey, you two,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll bet you’re here for milk shakes.”
“You bet,” Angela said eagerly, “chocolate.”
Sharon Lynn caught Clint’s eyes. “You, too?”
Caught now, he gave in to the inevitable. “Absolutely.”
“I thought you’d be over at White Pines by now. Janet called earlier. She said you were expected any minute.”
“Mom and Dad probably are there. We got sidetracked by a little shopping,” Angela said.
Sharon Lynn leaned over the counter. “I don’t see any packages.”
“Because this was our first stop,” Clint said. “Sustenance for the ordeal ahead.”
“Ah, I see. Then I’d better make these shakes double thick. The stores are jammed and everyone’s patience is frayed. Christmas Eve shoppers tend to be desperate. You’ll need your strength to compete with them.”
One by one the other customers drifted away, either anxious to finish their own last-minute shopping or eager to spread the news that Angela Adams was back home with a mysterious stranger in tow and a baby on the way.
“Don’t worry about them,” Sharon Lynn told him when Angela had left them alone to use the rest room. “They’re harmless. The Adams clan has been giving this town something to talk about for years now. It’s practically a tradition.”
“I should have thought about that before I subjected her to this, though.”
“Forget it. We’ve long since learned to be thick-skinned, since we seem destined to provide so much entertainment. Angela’s not upset. Why should you be?” She regarded him speculatively. “Unless you really care deep down about her feelings?”
“Of course, I do.”
She beamed as if he’d confessed to something far more telling. “That’s a start,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek before going to wait on a wide-eyed customer who was staring at them from the cosmetic counter across the store.
When Angela emerged from the back, he smiled at her ready-for-anything expression.
“You look as if you’re preparing to charge into battle,” he teased.
“Have you ever shopped on Christmas Eve before? It’s full-scale warfare.”
“Even in Los Pinos?”
“Especially in Los Pinos. One of the other traditions around here is that everyone waits until the last minute to shop, so they can brag about how insane it was. I’ve seen people kicking and shoving to get the last electric razor.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” she insisted, then grinned. “But you have an edge. Practically nobody will argue with a pregnant lady.”
“I just knew you were going to come in handy,” he responded, then held out his hand. He studied her intently. “You’re sure you’re up to this?”
“Lead on. I can’t wait.”
Clint had never shopped for quite so many people before, not when he had a decent amount of money in his bank account and a heart that was suddenly full of Christmas spirit. Nor had he ever been accompanied before by a woman with a zealousness for a good bargain and the taste of an aristocrat.
They made four trips back to his pickup to deposit bundles of leather gloves, silver money clips and enough silk scarves to perform the dance of the seven veils. On the last trip, he suggested once again that Angela take time out and wait for him.
“No way,” she argued. “I’m just getting warmed up. There’s a sale at Geoffrey’s we haven’t checked out.”
“You misunderstood,
angel. That wasn’t a suggestion. That was an order. Go have another milk shake. Rest. Gossip with your cousin. Geoffrey’s, whatever that is, will wait.”
“Geoffrey’s is a dress boutique,” she said distractedly. Her gaze clashed with his. “Why are you so anxious to get rid of me?”
“It’s Christmas Eve and I’m shopping. Why do you think?”
Her expression brightened as his meaning finally registered. “Oh.”
He saw her reach instinctively to her neck and guessed that she was wearing the pendant he’d given her the year before. He’d been wondering about that. He had noticed the gold chain and thought it was the same one, but he hadn’t been able to detect whether the tiny tree was on it or whether it had been exchanged for something else. She always wore it carefully tucked beneath her blouse. Her unconscious gesture now was very telling. He gathered she hadn’t wanted him to see that she was sentimental about anything connected to him.
Ah, well, let her have her secrets, he thought with a smile.
“Are you going to wait in the drugstore or in the truck?” he asked.
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Maybe I have shopping of my own to do.”
“Then we’ll meet back here in twenty minutes?”
“Twenty? You can pick out a present for me in twenty minutes?”
He enjoyed the fact that she sounded disgruntled. “I was thinking of grabbing the first suitable thing I came across,” he teased. “Maybe a huge bottle of that perfume I saw Sharon Lynn selling to a customer earlier.”
“I’m sure whatever it is will be lovely,” she said as primly and politely as any child who’d ever anticipated a doll only to receive socks and underwear.
“I’ll do my best,” he said cheerfully. “Twenty minutes, OK?”
“Fine. Don’t get all bent out of shape if it takes me longer.”
He noticed that she pointedly headed off in the direction of the hardware store. He also noticed that she kept glancing back over her shoulder to try to see where he was going. He waited until she finally went inside, her expression grimly determined, before moving swiftly up the block himself and going around the corner to a store he’d spotted earlier. He’d deliberately ignored it then, preparing for this moment and hoping that Angela wouldn’t guess his destination.
The Heart of Hill Country Page 11
