Christmas Getaway (8 page)

“That's interesting,” Jean murmured, “I never got the sense that Molly loved Connor with all her heart. And I was uneasy from the moment I met him.” She remembered his eyes when he'd stared at her…hard, cold and flat. “He didn't seem like the kind of guy who would want an outgoing woman like Molly.”

Sam grinned. “You're not exactly a shy flower yourself, for a librarian. Shouldn't you be bookish and quiet?”

She looked at him. “Are you saying I'm talkative? By your definition?”

He chuckled. “I think it's fair to say that this Christmas season will be the most lively my ranch has seen.”

“I'm not your Christmas party,” Jean said, her tone un-amused. “Even if this misunderstanding hasn't been straightened out, in forty-eight hours we're either flying or driving to New England to my family.”

Sam was silent, ignoring her demand. Jean glanced out into the darkness. She felt as if they were traveling into a black hole—not a great feeling at Christmas. “So when you said you live out in the country, you meant far-out, uninhabited country.”

“We have a stop sign in our town.”

One stop sign. That meant there must be about ten residents, Jean thought glumly, not even enough for a powder-puff football game. “Is there a reason you live so far away from civilization, Sam?”

“I like it,” he said simply. “It gives me peace.”

She would never be happy with
that
much “peace.” “I should thank you for being worried about my safety. I've just never been good with having my independence hijacked. Even when I was a child, I wanted to do everything myself. At least that's what my parents say.”

“Molly says that's one of the things she admires about you. That go-getter thing you've got going on is energizing to people around you. And it's a warning that I'll have to keep a
very
close eye on you.”

The warning sounded like a sexy promise to her. Jean felt her whole body unexpectedly heat. She reviewed her situation: Alone with a very good-looking man out in the middle of nowhere.

Women dreamed of Santa dropping a dreamboat like Sam under their Christmas tree—but she wasn't daring enough to consider unwrapping him.

S
AM
B
ROADBENT
was well aware that Molly's maid of honor had misgivings about him. It was obvious that Jean was worried about Molly, more than anything. But if there wasn't going to be a wedding—and from what he could tell, there was no way in hell his sister was going to be O'Bannion's bride—Jean clearly wanted to be at home for the holidays with her family.

Being somewhat of a loner, he didn't share those sentimental feelings. He didn't send cards or get a tree. Most times he worked through Christmas, opting to let his fellow Rangers have a day with their families.

He pulled into the garage and helped Jean from the car so she wouldn't trip on the ridiculous gown. “I have a hard time imagining Molly condemning her best friend to that dress.”

“She didn't. Her future mother-in-law did.” Jean got out as gracefully as she could, seeming happy for his assistance.

“Yet another reason to reconsider her choice of groom,” he said. “Poor taste in the family tree.”

Jean smiled. “You and I agree on something.”

“Finally.” Opening the door, he motioned Jean inside. “This is a pretty standard ranch house. Here you have a laundry room, kitchen, family den, bedrooms down that hall.”

She viewed all the rooms as he flipped the lights on, then
slowly turned to him. “You must have been too busy to start your holiday decorating.”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

She blinked. He had to admit that, despite the gown, she was an attractive woman. He'd like to know what her hair really looked like when it wasn't in that overdone shellacked twist. Even running from gunfire hadn't dislodged it. She was pretty, fine-boned and didn't wear a lot of makeup. It was obvious she was built well from the waist up, but the skirt definitely did a great job of hiding her other charms.

“
Nope
what? You haven't been too busy?”

He walked to the fireplace, tossed some logs in, reached for a fire starter. It was a bit chilly in the house; the weather was colder this December than usual. She was going to be very uncomfortable without boots and other warm gear. “I've never put up a tree.”

She looked around the room, turning to meet his gaze. “Oh.”

Her tone was so disappointed that he tried to put himself in her place for a moment. “I work a lot. Never had a lot of time. Plus, I always figured decorating was a woman thing. Molly sends me a box of holiday junk every year, though.”

“Molly would. She loves the holidays.”

He remembered. Despite their lack of closeness now, they had shared a few happy childhood holidays. “Let me get you a pair of my warm-up pants and some socks so you can get out of that costume.”

“Thank you.”

“This will be your bedroom,” he said, leading the way, “and bath. There are towels in the cabinet, fresh sheets on the bed. You'll find new toothbrushes in the top drawer, as well as a hairbrush.”

“I feel like I'm at a nice hotel.”

Her smile was wobbly. He could tell she was trying to be polite. “I like to keep the amenities stocked for my friends.” He disappeared down the hall, returned with some clothes. “This is the best I have that might fit you. It's at least warmer than what you have on, and I would bet more comfortable.”

He handed the clothes to her and disappeared to give her some privacy. A moment later she came out wearing his sweats. She'd taken her hair down, brushed it free of spray, put it into a soft, attractive ponytail. “Better?” he asked.

“Much.”

Nodding, he went into the kitchen to put a kettle on. “Coffee? Hot tea?”

“Tea, please.”

Sam got out some mugs.

“You're not going to give an inch about taking me back to Vermont, are you?”

He shook his head. “Would you prefer something harder? Wine? Vodka and juice?”

“No thanks. I always reach for tea when I'm upset. I'm still rattled by what happened tonight, so I'll stick with my usual routine.”

His cell phone buzzed. “My sister,” he said, “checking on you, if I know Molly.” He read the text, then grinned. “She says to tell you she's fine, which, given the fact that her wedding was ruined, is not entirely the truth. She got your belongings from the hotel and is sending them out tomorrow. She wants you to lie low until everything blows over, and says she's sorry she got you involved in this.”

Jean frowned. “Molly didn't know criminals were going to be at her wedding.”

He put his phone away. “It's pretty typical of Molly to put on a brave face.”

Then he caught it, something he hadn't noticed right off: Jean was trembling. Ever so slightly. He didn't think it was because of the chill in the house. Quietly, he went to turn the heat up a couple of notches. He kept it low out of habit; until lately he'd been working a lot and rarely home. When he returned, he gave her his most unassuming, boy-next-door face. “Jean, are you all right?”

She rubbed her arms. “I thought I was. I think I am,” she added, “but all of a sudden, I feel strangely overwhelmed.”

Shock. She'd finally allowed herself to acknowledge the danger everyone had been in today and shock had taken over. It was a perfectly normal, understandable reaction. “Why don't you sit down, and I'll get you something stronger than tea?”

“No,” she said, “I think I should just go to bed.”

“Good idea. Down the hall, in the back.” She knew where her room was, but he figured it didn't hurt to remind her.

She made it as far as the hallway before turning around to look at him. The expression in her eyes killed him. She was afraid, though she didn't want to admit it.

“I promise you're safe here,” he stated.

“I know. And I appreciate everything you're doing for me. You should be taking care of your sister instead.”

“Actually, since I'm technically not on the force anymore, I'm not part of the team assigned to my sister and her fiancé. Anything to do with this case would not be handled by me.”

“Maybe tomorrow we'll find that everything has been a whopping big mistake.”

He didn't want to give her false hope—there had been too much gunfire to make him believe that matters would be sewn up nicely in one day—but he also didn't want her more upset than she already was.

“So is this a pullout sofa?” she asked, looking at the leather furniture in the fireplace room.

“It is.”

“I was just wondering,” she said quickly, “because you said you frequently have guests, and I figured—”

“You don't want to sleep in the guest room?”

She shook her head. “It feels claustrophobic, for some reason. Not that I've ever had a panic attack, but when I think about going down the hall and being alone, I start to feel strange. Like I can't breathe. Is that a panic attack?”

He pulled out the sofa bed. “Sounds like symptoms of not being real happy that you got shot at when you were expecting to be throwing rose petals at a bride. Also could mean you have a fear of being alone with a man you don't know very well, in a place with which you're not familiar.” Grabbing some pillows from a linen closet, he tossed them on the bed, along with some sheets. “This is a very comfortable bed. You'll be able to relax out here. The stars shine through the drapes, or if you don't like the light, you can close the—”

“Light sounds wonderful,” she interrupted. “Thank you, Sam. I can make my bed.”

“Okay, then. Anything else I can do to make you comfortable?”

She industriously shook out a sheet and spread it on the mattress. “I hate that I'm taking up your time with my panic attack. Please text Molly back and tell her not to worry about me.” She drew a deep, bracing breath. “I'm fine.”

“The only thing I'm worried about is that you might take the notion to leave.”

She raised her head up as she stopped smoothing down the sheet. “The only way I'm leaving here is in your car.”

He briefly made a note to keep his keys on him at all times, then realized she meant when he took her back to the city. He looked at her, gauging her emotions. “The thought seemed to have crossed your mind at the truck stop.”

“Well, yes, but…where would I go? I don't even know where I am.”

“You're in Penn County, Texas, in a town called Penn. Named after Mr. and Mrs. Carl Penn, who settled it with their German family in the 1800s.”

She crossed her arms, unsuccessfully trying to hold in a shiver. “I have faith everything's going to be straightened out in time to get me home for Christmas.”

“I'll drive you to the airport and put you on the plane myself,” he promised.

“I'm holding you to that. I need to call my sisters, by the way. My family doesn't watch a lot of television, but by now they may have heard about the wedding from friends who saw the evening news. I don't want them to tell Mom.”

He handed her his phone. “Maybe you could just reassure them that you've gone away with a friend for a few days until everything blows over a little, to keep them from worrying.”

Jean hesitated, then dialed the phone. He left the room for a minute to give her privacy, knowing how hard this call had to be for her. Ten minutes later, when he couldn't hear the murmur of her soft voice, he went to check on her.

He had to admit Jean looked pretty crushed, and he hated to see her so low. She was reclining on the bed, her back propped up against the pillows, staring out the big window. “The view is so pretty,” she said, her tone dispirited. “Miles and miles of uninterrupted peace.”

He sat nearby, seeing the same landscape that held her focus. “The house faces north, so from this direction I get a
wide view of unoccupied farmland and vast skies. I bought this house just for that reason.”

“What will you do when someone buys that land?”

He shook his head. “I took care of that problem and bought it myself.”

She sighed, then looked at him. “I feel so sorry for Molly.”

He did, too. He felt for Jean, as well, noticing she still seemed unable to relax. He didn't know what to do to help her. “Would you mind if I pull up an armchair and sit here with you? Until you fall asleep?”

She gave him a grateful glance but disguised it by saying, “Keeping a close eye on me, Ranger?”

It didn't hurt to play along, act like he hadn't noticed she was as stiff as a poker. “Gotta do my job.”

“Pull up your chair, then.”

He did. “So what would you be doing right now in New England?”

“Well, at this hour, just breathing in the scents of home,” she said wistfully. “Cinnamon, gingerbread, coffee. I'd be addressing Christmas cards. Wrapping gifts and hiding them in closets so no one will find them before Santa has a chance to put them under the tree. In the morning, my mom and I might go to Macy's looking for gifts and decorations.”

He leaned back in the chair he'd pulled over to the side of the bed. “Sounds like fun.”

She glanced at him, detecting the sarcasm that had accidentally rolled off his tongue. “You really are a Grinch, aren't you?”

He winked at her. “You just told me what the girls are doing. Fill me in on the guy activities, and maybe I'll be less Grinchy.”

“My dad would be watching football on TV. He'd get called upon for various duties, like hanging the star on the tree, wiring the outside lights and unstopping the kitchen drain.”

“That's a Christmas tradition at your house? Clogging the sink?”

She nodded. “The holidays haven't begun until Dad's gotten out the plunger.”

He shook his head. “Go on.”

“We stock the freezer with cookies—”

“You're supposed to be telling me about the guys' part in the festivities.”

“Dad helps with the baking,” Jean told him. “He loves eating cookie dough. Cookies fresh from the oven. All the treats my mom puts in front of him. Santa, she always says, needs his strength.”

“Okay.” He leaned back, closed his eyes. “You convinced me I'm missing out. Tomorrow I'll let you bake me some cookies. I'll eat the batter.”

She gazed out at the stars, not replying. He thought she seemed less tense, so he opted to let her digest her thoughts. After a while, her eyes closed, then she snapped them open and stared at him in the dimness. “Thank you for everything.”

He shrugged, not about to say it was his duty, because it wasn't. It was more like a favor to his sister. Besides, he was enjoying Jean's company.

“You don't really think…”

“What?” He watched her, waiting.

“You don't really think I could be in any danger, right? You're just being overly cautious?”

“It wasn't me being overly cautious. I'm sure you'll be questioned, though, so the appropriate law-enforcement officials can try to figure out exactly what happened.”

“You were there, too. You saw as much as I did, maybe more.”

She was trying to get out of staying for an extended period. “They'll want to be thorough.”

She sat up. “I think I'd know if I heard something, saw something—”

“I understand you're nervous. And a little scared. It's a very weird situation you've been thrown into.”

“This is my last maid-of-honor gig!” she exclaimed, suddenly defiant, shaking a mental fist at her fears. “Something bizarre always happens. I don't even want to think about what might happen if I were ever the unfortunate bride!”

He laughed. “Go to sleep. You'll feel better when the sun comes up.” The moon shone in the glittery cold sky. He focused on that, reminding himself that this view brought him peace. It had always been enough for him: the country air, the freedom, the night sky. But the panicked female in his pullout sofa bed wasn't altogether a bother. She talked just enough—not too much, not too little—and she had grit and a sort of no-nonsense appeal about her. She was feminine, from her soft blond ponytail to her upturned, freckled little nose. “You're okay company.”