A Christmas to Believe In (23 page)

sole proprietor and owner, proud of his stock, his trainer, and

his hard-earned reputation. No woman had entered the

dream. No sentimental thoughts of children underfoot crept

into the fantasy.

Not until he came home for Christmas and entered his

mother's house to find Jesse smiling at him.

He should back off. Let go before he broke her heart.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Clint looked to the window. Tonight

had been beautiful. A snapshot of what the future could hold

if circumstances were different. He cared for her, but that was

exactly why he couldn't selfishly indulge. They couldn't have a

future. Not for a long time. Nor could he ask her to wait for

the far-away day when he could be what his father had

taught him to become. It could take years for his stables to

succeed. And the distinct possibility it never would was far too

great to dismiss.

Damn. Why couldn't he have discovered the other side of

Jesse Saurs ten years ago? If he had, they might have had a

chance together. As it was, Jesse only faced disappointment.

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Heartache, if he allowed this to continue beyond this one,

fantastic, unforgettable night.

He clenched his fists into the covers and squeezed his eyes

shut tight, holding anguish at bay. He couldn't do that to her.

Wouldn't. Not in this lifetime or a hundred others.

He had to let her go. It would tear him to pieces, but he

refused to be the selfish bastard who broke Jesse's heart with

false promises of things he yearned for, but couldn't fulfill.

They were better off as friends.

At least that way, he wouldn't disappoint her.

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A light rap on his bedroom door yanked Clint from the

heavenly feel of Jesse's body beneath his. He snapped his

eyes open and rolled onto his side with a groan. Not

discounting his stiff erection, every fragment of his body was

as tight as a wire. God, how long had it been since he'd had

such an erotic dream? Ten years? Fifteen?

The knock sounded again, a tad more forceful.

"It's open." He rolled onto his stomach to hide the

evidence of his arousal and turned his head toward the door.

His mother poked her head inside. She looked to the bed,

then surveyed the room.

Resigned to the fact his mother knew the nature of his

relationship with Jesse had taken a drastic turn, Clint sighed.

"She's not here, Mom."

"Oh." With a nod, she let herself inside and pushed the

door shut behind her. "It's ten till. Breakfast is almost ready,

and your brothers are here."

"I'll be down in a few minutes." After he had a chance to

cool his blood with a tepid shower. And if that didn't

work...he'd take matters into his hands. Literally. Every damn

muscle strained with unquenched need. No way would he

brave a family reunion in this condition.

"Um, sweetheart?" Nibbling on her lower lip, his mother

twisted her hands.

"Yes?"

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"Could you... Ah..." She looked away, her eyes skipping

around the room and distinctly avoiding his.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Spit it out, Mom." If this were the

lecture, she better get it over with. The dream, combined with

his devastating resolution to call things off with Jesse, left him

in no mood to deal with his mother's fanciful hope to see all

three of her sons wed.

"Do you think perhaps next time, you might choose

someplace other than my living room floor? It's rather

startling to wander into the kitchen when the room is dark

and stumble onto something mothers don't want to consider

about their sons."

Shit!

Clint choked on his own saliva.

"I'm sorry." Her hands worked faster, twining together in a

fury. "I hope I didn't interrupt. This is uncomfortable. I'm

leaving. I'll see you downstairs."

With that, she was gone.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

All the lingering heat from the vivid dream about Jesse

washed away on a tide of ice. She'd walked in on him. Again.

Jesus. His
mother
had seen him making love to Jesse.

Nothing in the world could be more humiliating. Or sobering.

Worse, she'd felt compelled to mention it. Like she

believed he made a habit of having sex where anyone could

walk in on him. Hell, he'd even suggested going upstairs.

Would have insisted, if he hadn't been so caught up in

staggering desire. And he hadn't even heard her heavy, cast-

laden footsteps.

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Damn, he'd rather one of his brothers had walked through

the front door. They'd give him shit, but they'd sympathize

too.

Letting out another mortified groan, he kicked off the

covers and sat up. He dragged his hands down his face, then

dropped his head into his hands. Maybe Heath would shoot

him and put him out of his misery.

He summoned his resolve and stood. The damage was

done. He couldn't go back and erase last night's events. Nor

did he want to. He'd survived his mother's revelation, and

somehow he'd escaped a lecture on marriage. She wouldn't

mention anything in front of the others—for the time being he

was relatively safe.

He pulled on a clean shirt but skipped fresh jeans and

socks, opting to remain in his pajamas and bare feet. Worse

case scenario: Sydney would be present for breakfast.

Frankly, he didn't give a damn what she might think about his

attire. She wanted to be part of this family. While he couldn't

stand the idea of calling her sister, she'd better get used to

seeing him comfortable.

Limbs heavy from a lack of sleep, he stumbled down the

stairs and into the kitchen. The hubbub engulfed him. Alex

and Heath took turns leaving their chairs to go to the counter

as his mother pulled hot waffles off the iron. The chatter was

hearty, engaging. Normalcy he craved after the torrent of

emotions that had wreaked havoc on his system through the

long night. All except for Sydney who sat rigid in her chair,

her expression pinched.

"Morning," he said on an expansive yawn.

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"Morning," Alex and Heath greeted at the same time.

Sydney looked at him, nodded, but said nothing.

The smell of fresh coffee soaked into Clint's awareness,

and he shuffled to the coffee pot. He inhaled deeply as he

poured a fresh mug, then took a long drink.

"Long night?" Alex smirked at him as he reached across

Clint for a round of sausage.

Clint didn't bother to reply. Anything he said would leave

the door wide open for more of Alex's hounding. Besides, it

wouldn't make a difference once he talked to Jesse and put a

stop to this crazy affair.

He glanced at his mother, waited for her to comment, to

give him one of her famous
you can't hide anything from me

looks. To his surprise, she remained at the stove, tending to

the skillet of scrambled eggs.

The buzzer rang on the waffle iron, and Clint's stomach

growled in anticipation. As his mother hobbled over in front of

the appliance, Heath shot out of his chair. His arm snaked out

in front of Clint, empty plate waiting.

Clint slapped Heath's forearm. "Mine. Back off."

A sliver of Heath's usual good humor broke through

yesterday's silence. He flashed Clint a wide grin and

shouldered him out of the way. "Gotta move faster, Clinty."

At the nickname, Clint narrowed his eyes. "Don't touch

that waffle, Candy."

The use of Heath's childhood taunt earned Clint a grumble.

But Heath sidestepped, allowing Clint to fetch a plate and

swiftly intercept the flip of the iron. The waffle slid onto his

plate. In moments, Clint had it buttered and covered with

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syrup. He edged into the chair across from Sydney. She took

one look at the pool of syrup on his plate and wrinkled her

nose.

His earlier embarrassment replaced by the comfortable

familiarity of brotherly banter, Clint couldn't ignore the

opportunity to harass his soon to be sister-in-law. In his

loudest, most eager voice, he greeted, "Mornin', Sis. Have a

waffle. They're good for you."

Her voice clipped and brittle, she replied, "No thanks."

He shrugged, dismissing her. So much for family warmth.

That woman could freeze vodka. What the hell was wrong

with Alex?

It was then he noticed the strained silence between the

engaged couple. Alex focused on his food, occasionally

engaging Heath. But he said nothing to Sydney. For that

matter, he didn't even look at her. So maybe his baby brother

wasn't oblivious to the woman's cold demeanor. Still...why in

the world would he want to marry the Ice Queen?

"So, Mom," Heath began. "Why the insistence we come for

breakfast?"

His mother clicked off the burner on the stove and moved

the skillet of eggs onto a hot pad holder on the table. She

gestured at the pan, indicating they should help themselves.

Clint grabbed the spatula, scooped a mountain onto his plate,

then tossed it back in the skillet before Alex could lean across

the table.

"Well, boys, it seems to be the only time I can get my

family in one place at one time." She eased into the chair at

the end of the table with a light laugh. "Keeley's coming by

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today. She called me late yesterday afternoon. Asked if I

minded. I've invited her over, and I want to tell you all, at the

same time, I won't tolerate any shenanigans. You'll behave.

Treat her like our family."

The table descended into absolute silence. Even Clint

paused, his fork mid-way to his mouth, to absorb his mother's

firm words. The sister he didn't want. Maybe he could dodge

her visit with a trip to the barn.

Sydney broke the stillness. Her voice laden with sarcasm,

she quipped, "Isn't that just peachy." She pushed away from

the table. Standing, she smoothed her immaculate skirt and

glanced down at Alex. "I'm going into the city for a while.

Remember what I told you."

There was no mistaking the degree of warning her even

tone held. Clint lifted his eyebrow, surreptitiously questioning

his youngest sibling. As Sydney stalked from the room, Alex

shook his head. "She's just stressed about the wedding."

Stress maybe. Still...

Clint dismissed the probable lovers' spat. He had enough

problems of his own to worry about. Whatever Alex had

gotten himself into, Alex had years of experience in dealing

with complicated situations. He could handle his own. And

maybe, just maybe, he might get the hint to keep his nose in

his own affairs, if Clint didn't pry.

"Now, Alex," his mother cut in as she hobbled toward the

living room entry. "I need you to run me over to Margery

Thomas's house before Keeley arrives. I'm on the Kappa's

Annual Association Meeting committee, and I need to go over

venue details with her."

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"Sure thing, Mom," Alex answered with what Clint

considered a little too much enthusiasm. "I'll go ahead and

get ready." His waffle half-finished, he pushed away from the

table and hurried up the stairs.

Clint took a bite of eggs and watched his remaining

brother while he chewed. He washed them down with a swig

of coffee, then set his fork on his plate. "What's going on with

you?"

Heath's head snapped up, but his frown didn't lift. "What

do you mean?"

"I mean you haven't been yourself. What's bugging you?"

His gaze shifted to the wide window overlooking the front

lawn. Absently, he tapped his fork against the edge of his

plate. "Friend of mine's in trouble."

"Is she pretty?" A smirk tugged at Clint's mouth.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Heath reclined in his chair. "It's

Nicolette."

Clint swore inwardly. He should have known. The last time

they'd been here, Heath had run into Nicolette. Then too, he'd

turned introspective and sullen. She'd been a dream in

college, only to lose her to Rudy long before he ever got to

test the water. Loyalty to his best friend kept him from ever

making his interest known.

Clint exchanged knowing looks with his brother. "So not

just any woman."

The way Heath's frown deepened said more than Clint

needed to hear. Sadly, he could echo that sentiment all too

clearly. He let out a chuckle. "Careful there, little brother, that

friends thing can get a little tricky."

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