A Dixie Christmas (16 page)

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.

“I still feel like your husband. I still wear my wedding band. C’mon, Brendie, let’s go somewhere and talk. I can’t be charming in the middle of fifty types of sanitary napkins.”

She hated that he called her Brendie, mainly because she used to love the way he called her Brendie. He would whisper that name when he
 . . . I am not going there. No way!
“You could be charming in the middle of a pig sty, covered with hog doo-doo, and you know it.”

He shrugged. “Have dinner with me. Or a drink. Yeah, drinks would be good.”

She had to smile. “So you can get me drunk and have your way with me?”

“God, yes!”

“Lance,” she said with a whooshy exhale, “how many women have you made love to?”

“Ever?” He was clearly shocked to be put on such a wide spot.

“Ever?”

“None.”

“Puh-leeze!”

“You said making love. I’ve had sex with lots of women, but I only ever made love with one. You.”

“Semantics,” she repeated his own word back at him. “You and Bill Clinton oughta form a club.”

“You believed everything you read in those tabloids, honey, and they just weren’t true.”

“I know that, but pictures don’t lie. And that blonde bimbo was sitting on your lap with her hand on your butt right smack dab on the front page of the
National Enquirer
.”

“Pictures lie, too.”

“You’re giving me a headache. We have been over this so many times.”

“I never, ever, cheated on you while we were together.”

“Obviously, you and I have different definitions of cheating. And, by the way, I notice your careful choice of words. `While we were together.’ How about while we were married but separated?”

His face flushed. “I was angry.”

“I was angry, too.”

“Okay, I was stupid.”

“That was never in doubt.”

“Give me another chance, baby.”

“No.” She saw the grief on his face, this man that she knew so well. But he had hurt her so badly. Over and over. His celebrity had become more important than her. And the groupies
 . . .
there were all those beautiful women just waiting to jump in bed with the winner of the next Brickhouse, or Daytona, or race du jour.

“I love you.”

Oh, that was a low blow, especially when he said it with tears welling in his eyes.

“I don’t love you anymore,” she lied. “I don’t even like you.”

“Yeah, you do. Give me fifteen minutes in a private room, and I’ll prove it to you.”

“You are such a
 . . .
a toad.”

“Yeah, well, you must have a taste for pond scum because there was a time when you enjoyed licking me all over. It’s a wonder you don’t have warts on your tongue.”