A Christmas to Believe In (37 page)

to my place."

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"Sure." Why the hell not? What was a few more hours of

torture? It would be better than confronting the silence of her

own house on Christmas Eve.

"Oh, Jesse, thank you! Thank you, so much!"

"Anytime. I'm going to go now. I'll see you later this

afternoon." She didn't give Zoe a chance to comment further

before she hung up and laid her head on her arms. Her life

had fallen apart, and she had to play-act through a wedding

and a disastrous holiday. Things couldn't possibly get any

worse.

Her stomach did a violent upside down roll.

Yes, they could.

Jesse lunged for the bathroom and hit her knees as every

bit of pent-up sour emotion made a vile reappearance.

When her uncontrollable retching finally subsided, she

collapsed against the cold porcelain, panting. Tears stung the

corners of her eyes. She blinked them back and fought for air.

She could do this. Had to. If Ethan found her in the bathroom

in this condition, she'd scare the hell out of him.

She forced her feet beneath her, ordered her body to

cooperate. Find a dress. Buy it. Stumble through the wedding.

That's all she had to do. Tomorrow would be easier. The next

day, Clint would leave. He wouldn't be within walking

distance. She wouldn't see his headlights drive off into the

night. Nor would she know when he returned, several hours

later. He wouldn't be close enough to taunt her with the

promise of his healing arms.

One hand on the wall for balance, she made her way to the

stairs. Her steps steadied the more she concentrated on the

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immediate task at hand. Get dressed. Put her hair in a

ponytail. She donned yesterday's clothes, yanked her hair out

of her way. Searching for a little more clarity to her mind, she

meandered to the bathroom and splashed water on her face.

Convinced she could do nothing more to prepare for a

confrontation with the world, she hesitantly approached

Ethan's closed door.

"Ethan?"

The answering silence sent a new burst of icy fear rushing

down her spine. She turned the knob, pushed open the door,

and exhaled on a long rush of air. Everything still sat in the

same place she'd seen it last. Dirty clothes on the floor. Video

game at the foot of his bed. The only difference being the

framed picture of the two of them lay facedown on his

nightstand.

She turned to leave and collided with his gangly chest.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Looking for you. Where were you?"

With a nonchalant shrug, he edged past her. "In the barn."

"Oh." One hand on the doorknob, she searched his harsh

features. Her heart turned over at the anger etched into his

brow. No child should hurt the way he did. He should be

worrying about girls, grades, making the baseball team—not

whether he had a family or a place to call home.

"Ethan?" she whispered.

"Yeah."

"I love you."

He looked up, mistrust glinting in his steely blue eyes. His

jaw worked as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

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"If you leave, I'll still love you. I don't want you to go."

Ethan's chin quivered. He tried to hide the tremble by

clenching his jaw, but the misting of his eyes only made the

chore more difficult. Jesse rushed inside and threw her arms

around him. He held on tight, the shaking in his shoulders a

testament to all his deep-rooted fears.

"I don't want to go, Mom," he choked out.

She stroked his hair, swayed from side to side. "Oh, baby,

don't then," she murmured. "This is your home. Things are

rough right now, but home is always home. It doesn't change.

I promise you, it doesn't change."

A tiny portion of her heart breathed new life as Ethan

nodded his head against her shoulder. He edged out of her

embrace, his features once again under his control. "Did you

need something?"

"I've got to go into town. Zoe's marrying Alex tonight. She

asked me to be her bridesmaid."

His face scrunched together, perplexed. "I thought Alex

was marrying that other girl. The one we met last week."

Despite all the trauma of the last day, a chuckle worked its

way out of Jesse's throat. "Well, he was. Something changed.

I don't know the story. You want to come to the wedding?"

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Yuck."

The same answer he'd given when she'd invited him the

first time. Jesse smiled. "Well, I have to go get a dress and be

there at four-thirty. I think there's some mac-n-cheese in the

cupboard."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll eat."

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She paused a moment to study this testy teen who

demanded everything she had, and then some. But before

she let her mouth run away with feeling, she backed out the

door and quietly pulled it shut.

Halfway down the stairs she heard it open. A glance over

her shoulder found the door open part way.

It would stay that way now. Now that she'd removed the

element that forced it shut. She'd walked away from Clint for

Ethan... If it kept that bedroom door open, she'd go through

that hell all over again.

Clint woke to a cacophony of noise that sounded more like

Sherman had invaded the bottom half of his mother's house

and brought his full brigade with him. He tossed his pillow

over his head and willed the pounding behind his skull to

cease.

The scent of Jesse's perfume infiltrated his nose.

With a furious hiss, he flung the pillow across the room

and sat up. Christ, he'd drank until he could barely stand,

drove home in a challenge to God, and still couldn't get her

out of his mind.

A barrage of feet pounded down the hall, accompanied by

the shrill squeal of young feminine voices. Clint pressed the

heels of his hands to his temples and bit back a curse. What

in the name of God was going on?

He snatched up his clothes, jerked them on, and yanked

open his door. Scowling, he made his way to the kitchen, only

to walk in on absolute chaos. His nieces danced around his

mother's legs. Flour covered one countertop, something

unidentifiable and sickeningly green smeared the top of the

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table. His mother hobbled in a half-circle, trying to

disentangle her legs while balancing a platter of uncooked

meat.

"Hey," he boomed through the noise. "Girls, leave your

grandmother alone before she falls."

The girls squeaked in unison. As a collective unit, they

shrank back against the cabinets.

He fixed his mother with a displeased frown. "What's going

on?"

"Alex is marrying Zoe today. Keeley offered to help with

the girls, but she had to run to the store real quick. I ran out

of sugar. Alex went into town to pick up his tux."

Through the fog in his head, Clint managed to grasp the

two words that stood out above the rest—tux and wedding.

Shit
. He'd forgotten to pick up his tux.

He blinked as the rest of his mother's statement collided

into his brain. Alex and
Zoe
?

Before he could process the how or when, his mother

broke into his thoughts again. "I need you to get the tables

set up in the dining room. Open the French doors to the

sunroom, I've had the heat going out there since around five.

Put the big table out there—we'll put the food on it. Then, set

up the ones in the garage in the actual dining room."

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and

forefinger. He was dreaming. He had to be. Any minute now,

he'd wake up and find himself under his covers. Cozy and

warm. Tucked away in a quiet house that would let him lick

his wounds in peace.

"You're kidding, right?"

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"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

No. If anything, she looked expectant. Like she couldn't

wait for him to leap into work. He reached for a coffee cup.

Keeley chose that moment to set his head off once again.

She breezed in through the garage door, kicked it shut with

her heel. The slam ricocheted off his brain and drilled into his

skull. He cringed as a burst of white light lit behind his eyes.

"Morning, little brother," she quipped. "You must've tied a

good one on last night. I heard you roll in around four. That

stumble on the stairs was hard to miss."

Not at all impressed with the reminder of his sorry state—

or what had reduced him to drowning in several bottles of

beer—he muttered, "Go to hell."

Coffee in one hand, he left the war zone of his mother's

kitchen for the safety of the front room. But the couch that

greeted him proved to be a bigger mistake. In a mad rush,

the images of the night he'd made love to Jesse on the floor

in front of it flashed behind his eyes. The chasm inside his

chest opened up once again, starting the agonizing ache all

over. She'd left him. The very day he'd planned to give her

forever, she walked away.

He turned on his heel and retreated into the dining room.

Easing down into a chair, he let out a heavy sigh. She

hadn't let him run when he'd tried. She'd made him believe,

made him feel so many things he couldn't describe. And yet,

when he begged her not to go, she walked away.

For her son.

He wanted to hate her. But he couldn't fault her for this.

She'd done what she felt was right for her family. As any

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parent would. He couldn't hate Ethan either, much as he

might like to. The poor kid was probably so mixed up inside

he didn't know how to react any other way.

Nevertheless, logic couldn't overpower the anguish that

rolled through his veins. Every breath he breathed churned it

around faster. Every swallow fought against the closing of his

throat.

"Clinton King!" His mother's uneven footsteps approached

from behind. "What is the matter with you?"

He hunched over his coffee cup and stared into the black

depths. From the corner of his eye, he observed her

approach. Stared at her feet as they appeared at his side.

"The rest of us don't need to pay because you've had an

argument with Jesse. It's your own fault your head's

pounding too. This is your brother's wedding day. I will not

have you snapping at everyone and spoiling it."

Through the tops of his eyes, he watched her hand fall to

the table. When she pulled it away, her wedding ring glinted

in the light. "Now, you fix whatever is going on and get out of

this funk."

He closed his eyes as his chest seized. Fix it... If only he

could. "I can't, Mom," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Sure you can. Apologize. Tell her how you feel, and..."

She clapped her hands. "Voila! Simple as pie."

Clint lifted his head and allowed his mother to see the

sorrow that moistened the corners of his eyes. The punishing

lines around his mother's mouth smoothed. Concern replaced

the scolding in her eyes, and she covered her hand with his.

"What happened?"

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He rolled his tongue around his teeth to loosen the

muscles in his throat. He tried for a deep breath, managed

only a tight gasp. "She called everything off. Ethan can't

handle it. I can't compete with her son. I won't try, either."

Having said more than he cared to, he abruptly stood. "I

need to see to my horse. I didn't check her at all yesterday."

"That horse will have to wait. You might be hurting, but I

still need your help." She slid her hand to his shoulder, gave

it an affectionate squeeze. Lowering her voice, she

murmured, "Get yourself together. Heath and Alex will be

here soon. There's a bottle of Tylenol in my bathroom."

He ground his teeth together as duty loomed before him

once again.

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A Christmas to Believe In

by Claire Ashgrove

At a quarter after four, Clint's patience with the hustle-

bustle of the house, and his mother's constant demands,

splintered. The judge Alex had arranged wouldn't arrive until

five. Heath had come and subsequently left again, but for the

short duration he'd stayed, he'd helped Clint with the tables.

Then they'd moved on to other various projects his mother

pulled out of thin air. The girls were in the bathroom with

Keeley, getting pretty for their mother's big day. With

everything under relative control, he had plenty of time to run

over to Jesse's barn and check his mare, squeeze in a

shower, and stand up for the ceremony.