A Christmas to Believe In (4 page)

will have to run against horses a full year older. Situations

like that don't lead to wins very often."

"But there's a chance, right?"

"Slim."

She turned her gaze back to the mare and fell into silence.

She didn't know much about horses, but the way the mare

grunted as she turned around suggested discomfort. As Jesse

watched, the horse turned her head and looked at her flank.

Her belly moved with the shift of a leg.

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"What's her name?"

When Clint didn't immediately answer, she inched closer

and gave his elbow a jab. "Hey. You in there?"

Clint smiled down at her with a chuckle. He draped his arm

over her shoulder and pulled her in against his side. "Sorry."

At once, the heady aroma of spice and leather seeped into

her awareness. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She

could stand here all night long, soaking up his warmth,

pretending he was someone else. Someone who wouldn't

mind if she rose up on tiptoe and stole a kiss.

Instead, she shifted and nuzzled her cheek into his chest.

One palm over the steady drum of his heart, she let out a

contented sigh. "It's good to have you home, Clint."

His voice reverberated beneath her ear, amplifying his low

murmur. "It's good to be here."

Lord, if he had any idea how the husky quality of his deep

baritone turned her belly into liquid, he'd laugh her all the

way out of the barn. She hid a blush by snuggling closer and

dipping her head. Her fingers twitched with the longing to run

her hand down his expansive chest and over his taut

stomach.

He'd always been meticulous about working out. No doubt,

those muscles would be firm and hard. A playground designed

for fingertips, nails, lips.

She winced at the thought. Nothing good could come from

thinking about Clint sexually. But it had been so long since a

man had held her, so long since she'd even considered

intimacy, she couldn't squelch the fantasy of what he'd look

like beneath his layers of clothes.

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Distance would help. However, she wasn't ready to let him

leave just yet.

Leaning back into his familial embrace, she looked up at

him with a smile. "Come inside for coffee? We can catch up.

You can meet Ethan if I can drag him off his video game."

Clint's gaze fixed on something behind her. "I should get

back to the house. With Mom's broken ankle, she'll need the

help."

As a rule, Jesse admired the way Clint embraced

responsibility. Even as kids, he'd always been the voice of all

their consciences. He'd always helped around the house, in

the yard, worked a little harder at school than the rest of

them.

Tonight, however, his need to step up to the plate and do

what was expected only tweaked her nerves. If he didn't have

his arm around her, she'd swear he wanted away from her.

She turned a goading smile on him. "Oh, c'mon. They can

live without you for a cup of coffee. Come inside with me."

Twisting free, she caught his hand and tugged.

Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze off his mare. Yet, as she led

him out of the barn, he didn't attempt to protest.

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With Jesse's fingers threaded through his, Clint followed

her up the three short stairs to her front porch. He should let

go. Reclaim his hand before the pleasant brush of her skin

against his made the heat simmering in his veins intolerable.

But she'd casually held hands with him a dozen times or

more. Twisting free now would announce his discomfort loud

and clear. And when she asked... He had no solid explanation

to give.

Her keys rattled in the door, the lock shifted heavily. She

leaned a shoulder against the frost-covered wood and gave a

gentle shove. It stuck on the bottom corner, then swung free.

Clint allowed her to lead him inside.

Searching for something, anything, that would steer his

thoughts away from how incredible her body had felt pressed

into his side, he asked, "Your parents moved into the city,

right?"

Jesse plucked her fingers free and tugged off her scarf,

hat, and gloves. She tossed them on the back of what had

once been her father's favorite chair. "Yeah. They decided this

place was too big and went over to The Oaks, a new

retirement community. They really love it there. But they're

in Florida right now."

"Florida?" He shrugged out of his coat and dropped it into

the recliner's seat. Hers landed atop his. A whiff of her

perfume tickled his nose. He turned away, heading for his

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usual spot in the corner of the old plaid couch that faced the

brick fireplace.

Jesse wandered into the adjoining kitchen. "They decided

to travel and escaped this blast of snow down in the sun. You

should see Dad, Clint. He's playing golf all the time. I'd swear

retirement healed the arthritis in his knee."

At the memory of her father's constant complaints about

his arthritic knee, Clint grinned. Retirement hadn't healed

him. He'd just lost the reason to exaggerate his complaints.

"How many times did I tell you he was fooling about that

knee?"

"Oh, I know he was." Her soft laugh rose above the clatter

of cupboard doors. "Ethan," she hollered. "Come down here. I

want you to meet an old friend of mine."

Heavy footsteps moved down the overhead hallway.

Clint watched the stairwell in expectation. Would the boy

be black? White? Was he some misfit Jesse had felt sorry for?

She'd always been prone to adopting strays. Was he tall, or

heavyset? His tread said he couldn't be small. Unless he was

stomping, which would be reasonable if Jesse had pulled him

away from something.

The footfalls descended the stairs, creaking boards older

than Clint or Jesse. A blond head poked around the wall,

preceding the slow, ambling gait of a very reluctant teenager.

Clint stood up and extended his hand. "Clint King. I grew

up with your..." He paused, uncertain how to address Jesse.

"Mom," the boy supplied. Light blue eyes fixed on Clint's

outstretched hand, then narrowed. One hanging heartbeat

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passed. Then, with a shrug, he fit his palm into Clint's and

gave him a firm squeeze. "Ethan."

"Nice to meet you, Ethan."

Shaggy blond hair spilled over one blue eye as Ethan

nodded. Retracting his hand, he wandered over to the narrow

bar between the living room and the kitchen and set his

elbows on it. "Can I have some hot chocolate?"

Clint dropped back into his seat. Not very social. But from

the looks of him, Ethan wasn't a misfit. Approaching puberty,

he was tall for his age. Sinewy muscles poked from beneath a

pair of loose basketball shorts. Clint could remember when

Heath had looked that way—like a miniature giant not quite

big enough for his skin, and yet at the same time, overgrown.

If Ethan followed in Heath's footsteps, by sixteen, he'd be

close to six foot. Strong enough to quarterback or receive,

but nowhere near bulky enough to play defense.

"May I," Jesse corrected. "And yes, you may."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Clint's mouth. Who'd have

ever thought he'd hear Jesse lecture on grammar? She

sounded just like her mother.

"So, Ethan," Clint began. "Do you play sports?"

Ethan shrugged. He didn't turn around. "Some."

"Which ones?"

"Baseball and soccer." He picked a colorful flyer off of the

bar. "Hey, Mom, I forgot to tell you. Sam wants to know if I

can go to this with his folks and him, Wednesday night."

"Wednesday?" Jesse's voice rose with the question. "That's

three nights from now." She dumped the water into the coffee

pot, and pulled an oversized mug down from the cabinet. Not

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pausing in her routine, she wandered to the fridge for the

gallon of milk. "When are we going to put up our tree?

Remember, we'd planned to do it Wednesday because my

vacation starts Thursday?"

"Um. Night before? I really wanna go, Mom. Please? It's

the last night the Mavericks are playing for the year."

Clint resisted the urge to chuckle. How well he

remembered that age. He and his brothers had nearly driven

his mother crazy with spur-of-the-moment activities. "That's

the indoor hockey team isn't it?"

"Yeah." Ethan turned around, and for a minute, his eyes

gleamed with interest. But in the next instant, the mask of

indifference settled over his youthful features, and he turned

his back to Clint once more. "So, can I?"

"Sam's parents are going?" Jesse pressed.

"Yeah."

Jesse shut the microwave door and hit the start button.

She let out an audible sigh. "I suppose."

"Can I, uh..." he shifted his weight, "spend the night

after?"

To Clint's surprise, Jesse's gaze narrowed. She lowered her

voice. "You know the rules, Ethan. You have Sam's parents

call me."

"But, Mom—"

"No buts. They call, or you don't stay."

He kicked the base of the bar with a mutter. "Fine."

Clint cocked his head and studied the boy. Strange. Had

Ethan gotten into trouble with Sam? He didn't really look like

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a troublemaking kid. Maybe he was grounded. Whatever the

case, Jesse didn't seem any more pleased than Ethan.

The microwave dinged, and Jesse handed Ethan his mug of

hot chocolate. Her smile returned, bright and heart-

stuttering. "Here you go."

He looked down into the cup. "Marshmallows!"

At that, Clint chuckled. The sound, however, brought

Ethan's attention back to him, and the grin that had tugged at

his features instantly disappeared. He glanced over his

shoulder at Jesse. "Can I go back to my game?"

She shot Clint a quick glance, then looked to Ethan. "May

I."

"
May
I go back to my game?"

Jesse nodded.

Her gaze followed him around the corner, up the stairs.

When the overhead footsteps ceased with a rowdy computer-

generated bellow, she slowly shook her head. "He's getting to

that age..."

Age maybe, Clint reasoned. But it didn't take a genius to

recognize the boy didn't want to talk to him. Clearly, Jesse

picked up on it too. The apologetic tone to her voice, her

hesitant smile, the way she abruptly turned back to the coffee

pot, all suggested the exchange had been uncomfortable for

her.

Clint rushed to soothe her discomfort. "Don't worry about

it. I was thirteen once."

Her hands flew into motion. She grabbed two more mugs,

a bowl of sugar, pulled the milk closer to the coffee. As she

poured, her words came out in a rush. "He's a good kid.

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Smart. He's just had a rough start. He's got a tendency to

attract the wrong crowd. I don't let him go off with friends

often, and if there's an overnight, the parents have to call and

let me know they're aware of it."

When something bugged Jesse, she couldn't sit still. The

night before the SAT's, she'd almost paced a hole in Clint's

carpet. When she'd expected Christian to ask her to the

prom, she'd spent the whole week bugging Clint and his

brothers to do things with her. Some things didn't change no

matter how much time passed.

Recognizing the sign that she needed to talk, Clint sat

forward and encouraged her. "Did something happen?"

Two mugs in her hands, she came around the bar and

approached the couch. "I trust him, but like I said, he tends

to draw the wrong crowd. One of his old friends, Brandon,

asked him to stay over. Brandon was a few years older." She

passed Clint his cup, then sank into the seat next to him and

crossed her legs. "I found out Brandon's parents were out of

town when the police called me at midnight. Ethan was

driving around the city, in a bad part of town, with a kid who

only had his permit."

Clint cringed. He'd have hated to be in this house when

Jesse brought Ethan home that night. No doubt, she'd given

the boy an earful and then some.

"I don't know where they were going. I don't want to know

what might have happened if that cop hadn't pulled Brandon

over for running a red light."

"Can't say I blame you."

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Jesse gazed down at her cup, silent for several long

moments. Her shoulders lifted as she pulled in a deep breath.

Exhaling, she looked up, her smile once again intact. "Sorry.