A Dixie Christmas

by Sandra Hill

  Annie leaned back to get a better look at him. Cupping his face in her hands, she gazed at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, with such open love that Clay felt blessed.

  “Annie-love, we’re going to work this out. I’ve talked with my legal department in New York, and they see no problem with my setting up a satellite office in Memphis. Could you live with me in New Jersey part of the time, if I’m willing to live here?”

  Her mouth had dropped open with surprise. “You would do that for me?”

  “In a heartbeat.” It was either that, or suffer a heartbreak. Easy choice!

  “How about the hotel?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. I called a Memphis entrepreneur this morning. This guy has the capital to finance a purchase of the hotel property, and he has the Memphis ties that would make such a landmark attractive to him. But I don’t know if I’m ready to give up the hotel yet. Oh, Annie, I’ve learned some things this week about my mother and father that are going to take me a long time to accept.”

  She pressed a light kiss to his lips in understanding. “We don’t have to decide all this right now.”

  “We?” he asked hopefully.

  “We,” she repeated.

  “Will you marry me, Annie-love?”

  “In a heartbeat,” she said, echoing Clay’s phrase.

  A short time later, they were heading toward the front steps, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, their progress hampered by his limp and their constant stopping to kiss and murmur soft words of love.

  Clay couldn’t stop grinning.

  “You’re looking awfully self-satisfied, Mr. Jessup.”

  “Well, I’m a negotiator, Annie. It’s part of my business as a venture capitalist. I figure I just pulled off the deal of the century. I got you, didn’t I, babe?”

  She laughed. “You had me anyhow, babe. I already talked to my brothers about taking over the farm so I could move to New Jersey. Why do you think I was calling you all night?” She tapped him playfully on the chin in one-upmanship.

  “Well, you little witch, you,” Clay said. But what he thought was, Wait till you see what I bought at the mall. You haven’t had the last word yet.

  He never knew there could be such joy in giving…

  Elvis was singing “Blue Christmas” on the stereo, a fire was roaring in the fireplace, the tree lights were flickering, and Clay was enjoying his first ever family Christmas Eve celebration. If his heart expanded with any more joy, it just might explode.

  It was almost midnight, but still the family members were opening their Christmas gifts. Clay sat on the sofa with Annie on his one side, holding his hand. Aunt Liza was on the other side, keeping an eagle eye on his hands, lest they stray.

  The gifts they gave to each other were simple items, some homemade, some silly, many downright practical. Who knew that people got socks and underwear for Christmas gifts! Johnny raved over his new athletic shoes . . . the spiffiest in the store, according to Annie. Everyone received new shirts and jeans. The pearl stud earrings that Johnny bought for Annie, probably from Walmart, might have come from Cartier’s, for all her oohing and aahing. And the boys exhibited just as much appreciation over cheap card games or music cassettes.

  There were even gifts for Clay from the family, to his surprise and slight embarrassment. When Aunt Liza handed him a small box, wrapped with Santa Claus paper, he almost choked. She wouldn’t!

  Aunt Liza tsked at him till he unwrapped it to find a CD of “Elvis’s Greatest Hits.”

  “Whadja think I bought, you fool?” she said with a chuckle.

  Chet, Roy and Hank pooled their money to get him a pair of low-heeled cowboy boots. Jerry Lee gave him a Wall Street joke book, and Johnny presented him with a tie imprinted with dozens of Holstein cows.

  When it was Annie’s turn, she made much ado over the homemade tree ornament with his name and date stenciled on the back, thus symbolizing his formal acceptance into her family. Finally, with much nervousness, she handed him what he sensed must be a special gift.

  Tears filled his eyes, and he couldn’t speak at first. Inside was a leather album. The words on front, embossed with gold letters, said, “The Works of Clare Gannett.” Annie had somehow managed to gather together dozens of photographs made by his mother. On the last page was a copy of an obituary from a Memphis newspaper, detailing her artistic talent and what she had contributed to Memphis and music history in her short life.

  “Where did you get these?” he asked when his emotions were finally under control.

  “I badgered the museum curator yesterday. When he heard your story, he helped me pull those photos made by your mother and duplicated them at a one-hour photo studio down the street.”

  “Thank you, love,” he whispered against her hair. Then, he decided it was time to reciprocate. “Can you guys help me get some gifts from the Jeep?”

  Annie’s brothers gasped out a single-word curse when they saw how the back of the Jeep overflowed with gaily wrapped packages, some them in huge boxes.

  Aunt Liza could be heard rapping on the kitchen window at that crude expletive. “I heard that, boys. You’re not too old for soap, you know. That goes for you, too, Mr. Jessup.”

  After three trips, the living room was filled with his purchases. Hank closed the door with a shiver—it was turning cold outside and snowflakes had just begun to flutter down in wonderful Christmas fashion—and he asked Clay, “Where’d you buy that spiffy red Jeep?”

  “Oh, he didn’t buy it,” Annie explained. “It’s a rental.”

  “That sure looked like a new car plate to me,” Hank commented as he hung his coat on an old-fashioned coat rack.

  “Clay?” Annie tilted her head in question to him. “Did you buy yourself a Jeep?”

  “Well, no, I didn’t buy a Jeep for myself.”

  Everyone turned to stare at him then. Clay shifted uneasily, and his eyes wandered over to Hank.

  There was a long telling silence. Then Hank whooped, “Me? Me? You bought a car for me?”

  “Clay Jessup! You can’t go out and buy a car for someone you barely know for a Christmas present.”

  “I can’t?” he asked, honestly perplexed. “Well, hell . . . I mean, heck, Annie, Hank distinctly said that first night I was here for dinner that if he had as much money as me, he would buy a fancy new vehicle and be the biggest chick magnet in the United States. I knew you’d be upset if I bought him a Jaguar.”

  “Holy Cow! I wonder what I get if Hank gets a new Jeep,” Johnny commented in an awestruck voice.

  Annie made a low gurgling sound, which he figured was his cue to move on to the other gifts.

  Chet’s Adam’s apple moved awkwardly as he studied Clay’s gift . . . airline tickets for Chet Fallon and son, Jason, for London, dated December 26.

  “At least you show some good sense,” Aunt Liza observed. “It’s about time someone pushed Chet in the right direction.”

  For the entire family, Clay bought a high-tech computer system that would allow them to program in all the statistics on their milk production. Aunt Liza got a microwave which she pooh-poohed at first, stating “What would I do with one of those fancy contraptions?” But she was soon reading the manual exclaiming, “Didja know you can do preserves in a microwave?” By the time Jerry Lee went ballistic over his laptop, Roy had gone speechless over the bank envelope showing a trust fund passbook covering his entire vet school tuition, and Johnny was in tears over a new entertainment system for his bedroom, complete with portable TV, CD player and game system . . . well, by then Annie had given up on her protests.

  “It’s too much, Clay,” she said on a sigh of frustration.

  “No, it’s not, Annie. Generosity is giving till it hurts . . . like you and your family do every Christmas. This is just money I spent here . . . money whose loss I won’t even miss.”

  “But I still think you should take back—”

  “Annie,” Aunt Liza cautioned in a stern voice, “shut up.”


  They all laughed at that.

  “So what did you get for Annie?” Hank wanted to know.

  She gazed at the ring on her finger. “I have my gift.”

  But Hank ignored her. “With all the great gifts he gave us, he must have bought you at least . . . a new barn. Ha, ha, ha!”

  Annie folded her arms indignantly over her chest at the teasing, and Clay’s face heated up in a too-telling fashion.

  “Well, actually . . . ,” he admitted, handing her a gift certificate from a local contracting firm.

  “You didn’t!” Annie scolded.

  He did. It was a purchase order for a new barn roof.

  She punched him in the stomach, but he didn’t care. He could see the love in her eyes.

  There are benefits to being down on the farm…

  A hour later, everyone had gone to bed, except him and Annie.

  “I love you, Annie,” he said for what must be the hundredth time that evening.

  “I love you, too, Clay . . . so much that my heart feels as if it’s overflowing.”

  “It’s hard to believe that so much has happened to us in the short time since we first met.”

  “Maybe you were destined to come to Tennessee . . . for us to meet. Maybe there is an Elvis spirit looking over Memphis.”

  Clay wanted to balk at the idea, but the words wouldn’t come out. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps Elvis really does live,” he finally conceded. “Oh, I forgot. There’s one more gift I bought for you.” He reached behind the sofa and handed her the package.

  “Clay, this is too much. You’ve already given me too much.”

  “Well, actually, this gift is for me.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  Hesitantly, Annie unwrapped the package that came from a costume shop in the mall. Annie laughed when she lifted the lid. It was a Daisy Mae outfit—white, off-the-shoulder blouse, and cut-off jeans that were cut off real high on the buttock. “You devil, you.”

  “So, are you going to try it on for me tonight?”

  “Here?”

  “Hell, no. In the hayloft.”

  Carrying on tradition…

  There is an old legend that says on Christmas Eve on a farm, the animals talk.

  One thing is certain. On this Christmas Eve, on Sweet Valley Farm, the animals in the barn, under the hayloft, had a lot to talk about.

  (Continue reading for Jinx Christmas by Sandra Hill)

  Author’s Note

  If you believe the spirit of Elvis is still “alive,” you’re not alone.

  It’s been more than thirty years since “The King” died, but almost six hundred Elvis fan clubs still flourish around the world. No one disputes the fact that Elvis had a profound impact on the music industry, but his magic lives on not only in his own songs, but those of the many musicians influenced by his talent.

  So, if you are one of those people who can’t help singing along when an Elvis tune comes on the radio . . . or if a smile breaks out when you hear “Blue Suede Shoes” . . . or if you believe some people “live on” after death, then you’re not alone.

  One thing is for sure, the legend does go on.

  Jinx Christmas

  Chapter One

  It’s amazing what you can find in a supermarket today . . .

  Brenda Caslow was standing in the personal products aisle of the

  A & P when she heard the first scream.

  It was immediately followed by another scream, then shouts of:

  “It’s him! Omigod, It’s him!”

  “Hurry, Ralph, buy a camera.”

  “Whoa! He is hot.”

  “Maybe he’ll sign my t-shirt.”

  “Maybe he’ll sign my bra.”

  That’s all Brenda needed to hear. She knew what it was . . . rather, who it was. The louse must have tracked her to the grocery store. Lance Caslow, her ex-husband.

  He sauntered up to her and smiled. Probably figured one smile and she’d be melting at his feet, right here under the suppositories and . . . oh, no! . . . condoms.

  Actually, his smile did make her melt. Always had. Ever since they were kids, riding their tricycles down the neighborhood sidewalk. Lance had shown his competitive spirit even then; he’d always insisted she had to race him, and he always won. She’d had to give up her stash of Tootsie Roll Pops then as a prize. Later, she gave up lots more.

  They got married right out of high school, had been together for nine years before she got pregnant, and were divorced three years later. A lot of history there.

  And, hot damn, giving him a quick head-to-toe survey, she could see why women flocked all over him, and not just because he was a NASCAR superhero. He was tall . . . well, six foot to her five-six. He had dark blond hair, spritzed up right now into one of those silly styles that looked as if it had been combed with a mixer, classic facial features, a golden tan, and a body to die for with not an ounce of fat. She should be so lucky. On a perpetual diet, Brenda had more curves than a Slinky. In fact, she’d been about to buy some diet pills. Not that they ever worked.

  “Hey, babe,” he said casually, as if he showed up in the A & P on a regular basis. More like, never. He leaned forward to give her a kiss.

  She turned her head, and his lips met her cheek. Even that caused little ripples of pleasure to ricochet through her body in anticipation of more. Not gonna happen.

  “Are you stalking me?”

  “Me?” He slapped a hand over his heart in mock affront.

  Then he grew more serious. “It’s the only way I can get you to talk to me.”

  “We have nothing to say.”

  “Yeah, we do.” He tugged at one of the blonde curls framing her face, the bane of her life. “Your hair looks different. Nice.”

  “Highlights.”

  “I like it. Oh, no!” He took the box that she still clutched in her hand. “Diet pills! You aren’t still obsessing over your weight, are you? Believe me, you look great just the way you are.”

  “Hah! I’m always going to be a size ten, when the ideal is a size six. I’m always going to have curves, when slim is in. I’m getting older, and your girlfriends are getting younger.”

  “I’m the same age you are, and thirty-five isn’t old. As for your curves, I love each and every one of them.”

  And he did. Brenda knew that. He had adored her body, with all its imperfections. “Listen, I don’t have time for this.”

  “You still working for that treasure hunting company? Jinxed?” He was stalling for time.

  “Not Jinxed. Jinx, as in Jinx, Inc. And the answer is yes.”

  “You ever gonna come back to NASCAR to work in the pits?”

  Brenda was a top notch mechanic. When Lance had first gone to Indiana to start racing, she’d gone along as a mechanic. Women had been dogging him then, too, but she’d been there to put the kibosh on any hanky panky.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “You rat. You’ve been pumping Patti again, haven’t you?” Patti was their seven-year-old daughter.

  “It didn’t take much pumping.” The little rascal, like many other casualties of divorce, adored her father and wanted them to get back together again.

  Just then, they noticed the crowd that had gathered at both ends of the aisle, craning their necks to see them, creeping closer and closer as newcomers pushed from the back. They were mostly quiet, watching. Some were flashing disposable cameras.

  Damn! I’ll probably see us on the cover of The Star next week.

  “Hey, folks, great to see ya.” It was amazing to watch Lance morph into his celebrity persona. “I’ll sign some autographs if you move yourselves out to the parking lot, in an orderly fashion. I’ve gotta talk to my wife here.”

  Where did he learn to handle a crowd like that? Certainly not growing up in Perth Amboy. He gained polish over the years. I gained weight.

  He put an arm around her shoulders, and squeezed.

  She squirmed out of his embrace. Being that
close to Lance was dangerous. “I’m not his wife,” she yelled out, but no one was listening. The herd was rushing to the parking lot to get the best positions. “Anymore,” she added more weekly.

  “Semantics,” he commented.

  She and Lance had divorced five years ago. It had not been pretty. Lance had to be dragged kicking and screaming into court. Even then, he’d told the judge he didn’t want a divorce. Unfortunately, actions spoke louder than words.