A Dixie Christmas (8 page)

“Think with your heart, not your brain, sonny,” Aunt Liza had urged.

Now the tree decorating was almost complete, except for the star that had been in the family for three generations, the garlands, and the last of the handcrafted ornaments made by Fallon children for the past twenty-five or so years. And all Annie could think about was the fact that the man had said he wanted to talk with her,
alone
. About two thousand red flags of warning went up in Annie’s already muddled senses. “If it’s about your threat to sue, well, you can see we don’t have much.” The Fallons were a proud family, but her brothers were trusting souls, and in the course of the evening they’d casually divulged the dire need for a new barn roof, the money crunch caused by lower milk prices, and Roy’s tuition woes. They’d even discussed in length how every year at Christmastime the Fallons performed one good deed, no matter how tight they were for money. One year it had been a contribution to a local farm family whose house had burned down. Another year, they made up two dozen baskets for a food bank in Memphis, complete with fresh turkeys, home-canned fruits, vegetables and preserves, crisp apples and pure maple syrup. Still another year, when the till was bone dry, they’d donated ten hours each to Habitat for Humanity. This year, they hadn’t yet come up with any ideas. But they would before Christmas Eve. Tradition demanded it.

“You can sue us if you want, but it’s obvious that we barely have two dimes to spare. I’ll fight you to the death if you try to take our farm.”

“What in God’s name gave you the idea that I want your farm?” he snapped. Then his voice lowered. “It’s not your farm I’m interested in, Annie.”

Annie loved the way he said her name, soft and special. But there was no way in the world she would ask what he meant by that enigmatic remark. “Perhaps we could pay for your medical expenses over a period of time.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m insured.”

Okay, he’s insured, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t sue us. Should I ask, or assume that he won’t. Hmmm. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.
“I hope you’re not going to stop us from doing our Nativity scene for the rest of the week. You’ve got to know it’s our last chance to earn some extra cash. And—”

He put up a halting hand. “I’d rather you didn’t go back to that sideshow again, but that’s not why I want to talk with you.”

“It’s not?” Annie’s heart was beating so fast she was afraid he might hear it.

“It’s not.”

“What do you want from us, then?”

“From your family
 . . .
,” he shrugged, “
 . . .
nothing.”

She reflected on his words. “From me?” she squeaked out.

A slow grin crept across his lips causing those incredible dimples to emerge. Annie had to clench her fists against the compulsion to touch each of the tiny indentations, to trace the outline of those kiss-me lips, to—

A low, masculine chuckle emerged from said lips. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, Annie-love,” he said in a husky undertone, “I’ll
show
you what I want.”

Annie-love? Mercy!
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said huffily and backed away before he could tell her exactly how she’d been ogling him and what he would show her.

“You know what I mean, Annie,” he commented to her back. “
You know.
”

She didn’t know, for sure, but her imagination kicked in big-time. It was the fever, of course—that strange malady that seemed to affect only the two of them when they were in the same room. Hadn’t they complained of the heat all night? And they both knew it had nothing to do with the roaring fire in the fireplace. It was a fire of another kind entirely.

After that, in the midst of their decorating efforts, Clay helped Hank with his calculus homework. No one was surprised that a man with his financial background could actually perform the complicated equations. Then Jerry Lee expressed a curiosity about Clay’s electronic planner gadget. He showed him its various gee-whiz functions and answered questions about the stock market. Annie never realized that Jerry Lee was even interested in the investment world.

Throughout the evening, Aunt Liza coddled them all by bringing out trays of hot chocolate and her latest batch of Christmas sugar cookies. “Have another,” she kept urging Clay who swore his jeans were going to unsnap.

Now that was a picture Annie tried to avoid.

Finally, the tree decorating was complete.

“Turn off the lamps and flick on the tree lights,” Aunt Liza advised on cue. The darkened room looked beautiful under the sheen of the multi-colored lights. There was a communal sigh of appreciation from everyone in the room, even Clay.

“Is everyone ready?” Johnny asked, reaching over to turn up the volume on the old-fashioned stereo record player. It had been pumping out Elvis Christmas songs all night.

Her family began singing “Blue Christmas” along with Elvis
 . . .
a less than harmonic but poignant custom that always brought tears to her eyes. It reminded her of her parents, now gone, and the yuletide rituals they’d started that would be carried on by Fallons forevermore. In some ways, it was as if their parents were still with them at times like this.

Annie glanced over to Clay to see how he was reacting to what he must consider a sappy custom. By the glow of the tree lights and the burning logs in the fireplace, she noticed no condescending smirk on his face. He seemed stunned.

Moving to the front of the sofa and leaning forward, she inquired, “What do you think of your first Christmas tree?”

Before Annie could blink, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down to the sofa at his side. One of her brother’s chuckled mid-stanza, but Annie couldn’t bother about that. Clay had tucked her close with an arm locked around her shoulders and his hip pressed tight against hers. Only then did he answer
 . . .
a husky whisper breathed against her ear.

“This is a Christmas I will never forget, Annie-love.”

She wasn’t the Virgin Mary, but…

They were alone at last.

And Clay had plans.

Big plans.

Aunt Liza had gone to her bedroom on the first floor off the kitchen after wishing everyone “Merry Christmas” and giving each a goodnight kiss on the cheek, including Clay, who felt a tightening in his throat at being included in her family. Hank had put another log on the fire for them, winked, then hit the telephone for a long chat with his latest girlfriend. Roy and Jerry Lee had gone out to the barn for a final check of the farm animals. Chet was upstairs giving his baby a last night-time bottle. Johnny was probably asleep already, being among those who’d gotten up by four a.m. today to do farm chores before going into Memphis. Even Elvis had shut down for the night.

Clay turned to Annie. He relaxed the arm that had been wrapped around her shoulders, holding her immobile, and his hand crept under her silky hair to clasp the bare nape of her neck. His other hand briefly traced the line of her jaw and her full, parted lips before tunneling into her hair, grasping her scalp.

She moaned. But she didn’t pull away. She, too, must sense the inevitable
 . . .
the impending kiss, and so much more.

“Oh, Annie, I’ve been waiting to do this for hours.”

“I’ve been waiting, too,” she confessed, turning slightly so he could see her better. “For a long, long time.”

He wasn’t sure if she referred to a kiss or this bigger thing looming between them. By the expression of fear on her face, it was probably the latter. Hell, he was scared, too.

At first, he just settled his lips over hers, testing. With barely any pressure at all, he shifted from side to side till they fit perfectly. Then, deepening the kiss, he persuaded her to open for him. The first tentative thrust of his tongue inside her mouth brought stars behind his closed lids and another moan from Annie. He pulled out and whispered against her moist lips, “You taste like candy canes.”

She smiled against his lips and whispered back, “You taste like popcorn. All buttery and salty and movie balcony naughty.”

Chuckling, he cut her off, kissing her in earnest now. Long, drugging kisses that went on and on. He couldn’t get enough. She seemed the same.

“Annie-love,” he cautioned after what appeared an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. “Your brothers are back.” The clomp of heavy boots could be heard on the back porch by the kitchen.

They both sat up straighter, their clasped hands the only body contact.

“G’night,” Roy and Jerry Lee said as they passed through the living room on their way to the stairs. There was a snicker of amusement in Roy’s tone, but thankfully he said nothing more.

“Were they kissin’?” he heard Jerry Lee ask in an undertone once they were in the upper hall.

“Do pigs grunt?” Roy answered.

“Annie? Our Annie? Yeech!”

“What? You didn’t think she knew how to kiss?”

“Sure
 . . .
I mean, I guess so. It’s just
 . . .
I never saw her lookin’ so pink and flustery. And Clay, he looks guilty as sin.”

“Better not be too guilty, or too sinful,” Roy growled. Their muted voices faded to nothing.

Annie put her face in her hands and groaned. “Pink and flustery! I’ll never hear the end of this. Never. By tomorrow morning, my brothers will be making pink jokes. What’s pink and goes squawk-squawk? A flustered Annie chicken. Ha, ha, ha.”

Clay barely suppressed a smile. Her embarrassment was endearing. “Annie, that’s not a joke. It’s not even funny.”

She raised her head. “Since when do my brothers’ jokes have to be funny? And don’t think you’re going to escape their teasing either. Uh-uh. You are in for it, big-time. How about, `What’s got a scratchy jaw and googley eyes?’“

“An-nie,” he warned.

“A Princeton hog in rut.” At his gaping mouth, she nodded her head vigorously. “See. That’s what you can expect.”

Is she saying I have googley eyes . . . whatever the hell googley eyes are?
Clay shuttered his lashes half-mast and pulled Annie into his embrace again, fitting her face into the curve of his neck. He kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “Oh, Annie. It doesn’t matter what they say when this feels so right.”

She sighed, which he took for a nonverbal sign of agreement, and nestled closer. “I suppose you want to sleep with me.”

Whoa!
That got his attention. “Where did that come from? We were just kissing, Annie.”
Not that other parts of my body weren’t headed in that direction. But talk about getting right to the point!

Annie put her hands on his chest and shoved away slightly so she could look at him directly. “Are you saying you don’t want to make love with me?”

“Hell, no. Of course I want you…
that way
.”

He reached for her, but she squirmed back, keeping her distance.

“Me, too.”

Me, too? What does that mean? Oh, my God! Did she just say she wants to make love with me?
“Annie, this is going a bit fast, don’t you think? I mean, I’m not sure it’s a good idea making love on your living room couch where anyone could barge in at any moment.”
Me, too? Son of a bitch! I do like a woman who can make up her mind. No games with my Annie. No, sirree.

She made a snorting sound of disgust, waving a hand in the air. “That’s not what I meant, you dolt.”

His spirits immediately deflated. She didn’t mean what he’d thought she meant. Damn!

“I’m just trying to tell you that
 . . .
uh
 . . .
um
 . . .”

“What?” he prodded. This was the most disarming, confusing conversation he’d ever had with a woman, and if it got any hotter in this room he was going to explode.

As if mirroring his thoughts, Annie wiped her forehead with the back of one hand and began to unbutton her flannel shirt, revealing a tight white tee shirt underneath.