Christmas on My Mind (11 page)

“No trouble at all,” Silas said. “My wife's been after me to get rid of 'em. She'll be glad for the extra space. I'd be happy to come along and help unload 'em if you want.”

“Thanks, but I can manage fine.” With a friendly wave at Katy, who'd come out onto the porch, Ben put the truck in gear and backed out of the driveway. This would be the first time he'd been with Jess since doing the background check and learning about her past. How would he feel when he saw her? Could he act as if nothing had changed between them?

He drove slowly through the twilight, struggling to sort out his thoughts. Did he have any right to judge Jess, especially before hearing her side of the story? Everyone was entitled to a few mistakes, and she'd clearly paid for hers. She had no legal entanglements, no record of any trouble since her original arrest. Nothing she'd said or done would lead him to believe that she was anything but a good, moral person.

So why was he tormenting himself?

Now that he thought about it, it wasn't what Jess had done that troubled him. It was the fact that she'd kept it from him. How could he let himself fall in love with a woman who kept secrets—a woman he couldn't trust?

Along Main Street, the Christmas lights had come on. Twinkling through the dusk, they cast dancing patterns of red, green, blue and yellow light along the sidewalks. In the years since coming home to Branding Iron, Ben had always looked forward to Christmas. But this year was charged with uncertainty. Between the custody issue with Ethan and his budding relationship with Jess, it could turn out to be the best Christmas—or one of the worst—of his life.

Near the end of Main Street he turned into the short, narrow one-way street where Jess lived. Her car was parked in the newly cleared driveway. A light glowed through the shuttered front window.

Ben mounted the porch and knocked on the front door. His mother would have told Jess that he'd be delivering the furniture, but she might not be expecting him until tomorrow.

No one answered, but the door was unlocked. He could hear Christmas music coming from somewhere inside the house. Following the sound, he entered, crossed the empty living room and found Jess in the open bathroom. She was standing on the toilet lid, brushing pink paint along the angle between the wall and ceiling. Her hair was tied up in a paint-spattered bandanna. She had paint on her clothes, on her hands and arms and on her face. She looked damned adorable.

“Hi,” she said, glancing down at him where he stood in the doorway. “Don't come in here. There's wet paint all over.”

“I can see that. It's all over
you
. I'll keep a safe distance, thanks.”

“How's Ethan? Kylie told me you'd taken him horseback riding at their ranch.”

“He had a great time, but he's tuckered out. I left him watching PBS Nature with his grandma. How's it going?”

“Take a look at that second bedroom. Francine helped me choose the color. I finished painting it this afternoon, with enough paint left over to do this bathroom.”

Ben stepped back into the hall. Through the open doorway, the newly painted bedroom glowed with fresh color. It was a little bright for his taste. But who was he to judge?

“You've been one busy lady,” he said. “Did you do all this by yourself?”

“Uh-huh. I'm hoping Francine can help me with the other rooms, but I want her room to be ready for her when she gets here.”

Ben looked up at Jess, this small, paint-spattered angel of a woman who was knocking herself out to please the mother she barely knew—a mother who might not even deserve her kindness. Was this the same woman who'd helped her husband cheat people out of their savings, then turned on him to save herself from justice?

Something didn't make sense. And it wouldn't make sense until he knew the whole story.

“I've got your furniture outside in the truck,” he said. “It's not heavy, but I'll need help balancing the bigger pieces. I hope you won't mind giving me a hand.”

“No, not a bit. But I don't want to get paint on anything. Hang on.” She lifted the hem of her baggy, paint-smeared sweatshirt, which he recognized as an old one of his, and worked it off over her head. The black tank top underneath revealed more of her sweet little figure than Ben had seen before, but he made an effort not to ogle her.

“I'll just wash my hands and get a jacket—” She sudsed her painted hands at the sink, then dashed into the other bedroom and emerged wearing the jean jacket she'd had on the first time he saw her. “Ready,” she said. “And thanks, I know you've got better things to do than babysit me.”

With Ben doing the heavy lifting and Jess balancing the load, they managed to get the bed frame, mattress and box spring inside the house and down the hall to the bedroom. The plain wooden frame had some scratches but it was solid quality, and the mattress, as well as the box spring, had been wrapped in plastic sheeting to keep it clean. “I'm sure Francine's slept on a lot worse,” Ben said with a grunt as he heaved the heavy pieces into place.

“Like in the jail, you mean?”

He gave her a grin. “The jail, the trailer, and who knows where else. I just hope she appreciates what you're doing for her.”

“I'm not asking for appreciation.” Jess pushed a corner of the mattress to straighten it. “I just want her to know that someone cares enough to make things nice for her.”

He straightened, meeting her eyes. “I just hope she doesn't end up hurting you, Jess.”

“If she does, believe me, it won't be the first time. I'm a big girl. I can handle whatever comes.”

“Can you?” The fierceness in her eyes and the tilt of her chin made Ben ache to seize her in his arms and kiss her. But the time wasn't right, and she still had a lot of paint on her hands and face. He didn't want any raised eyebrows from his mother when he came home.

“Have dinner with me, Jess,” he said. “Tomorrow night. And I'm not talking Buckaroo's. There's a good steak house outside Cottonwood Springs, forty miles up the road. You've been wearing yourself out. You deserve a decent meal and a few hours to relax before you have to deal with your mother full-time.”

She hesitated, and his heart sank. “What about Ethan?”

“He's friends with a boy down the block. They're having a sleepover at his house tomorrow night.”

“Well . . .” She hesitated another beat. “Sure. Okay. That sounds great. But I should probably treat you and your mother. The two of you have both done so much for me.”

“Nope, that's not the deal. Just you and me, and it's my treat.”

“All right,” she said. “What time?”

“Seven?”

She nodded. “Is it fancy? What should I plan to wear?”

“Whatever you want. I'll be in clean jeans and cowboy boots. Now let's bring that dresser inside so you can finish painting and get some rest.”

They took the drawers out of the dresser and carried them inside. Then they carried the empty dresser, with its attached mirror, carefully up the walk and through the door. There was even a small dressing stool to go with it.

“Thanks again,” Jess said as they surveyed the arrangement of the furniture. “I just need to get a few things tomorrow, and the room will be ready for my mother.”

“I hope Francine appreciates how lucky she is to have you for a daughter.”

“That remains to be seen, I guess.” Jess stood beside him, their shoulders not quite touching. Ben fought the urge to lay a protective arm around her. She was so determined to be strong, but her vulnerability tugged at his heart.

“You'd better go,” she said. “I need to finish painting the bathroom tonight.”

“I'll be working tomorrow morning and spending the afternoon with Ethan,” he said. “But I'll see you at seven.”

“Seven it is.” She walked him to the door and closed it behind him. Ben felt a strange lightness in his step as he walked to his truck. It had felt good to do something for Jess. It felt even better to know that she'd agreed to go to dinner with him tomorrow.

But he'd asked her out for a reason, Ben reminded himself. He hoped to make her comfortable enough to talk about her past. If she volunteered the story of her arrest and the deal she'd made, it could open the way to understanding between them. But he'd need to be on guard. If Jess suspected he'd been checking on her, she would never trust him again.

Chapter Eleven

B
y the next morning the paint in the bathroom was dry. Jess stripped away the masking tape, surveyed the results and congratulated herself on a job well—if not perfectly—done. All it needed was a shower curtain, a mat and some pretty washcloths and towels.

There were plenty of other things she needed as well. As she breakfasted on instant coffee and the last slice of leftover pizza, she began making a list. She hoped she'd be able to find most of the items at Shop Mart.

Besides the things for the bathroom, she wanted to get a pretty bedspread and matching drapes for Francine's room. Maybe a rug too, if she could find one that wasn't too expensive. She was going to need more food and kitchen items—eggs, bread, bacon, jam, and milk, as well as a toaster and a few treats. She would also need laundry supplies—after she made certain the washer and dryer were working. Maybe she should do that now. She needed to go downstairs anyway, to check on the cat.

The dim light above the stairs was on. Closing the basement door behind her, Jess made her way cautiously down the steps. There was another light fixture above the washer and dryer, but the bulb was burned out. She would need to buy lightbulbs—as well as kitty litter and a scoop, she reminded herself, as her nose caught the pungent odor of the litter box. At least the Sergeant was using it.

Sergeant Pepper came running to rub against her legs as she refilled his food bowl. She reached down and stroked his scruffy coat, feeling the rumble of a purr that passed through his tough, old body. He seemed to be settling in. Maybe when she got home from shopping she would open the basement door and let him come upstairs to explore.

While the Sergeant was eating, she checked the connections to the washer and dryer. Hoping for the best, she turned each one on, feeling a rush of relief as the machines responded. One less worry. Now she could wash her things and get the bedding from Francine's trailer and launder it.

Tomorrow, her mother would be getting out of jail and coming here to live. Jess wanted everything to be ready for her. But there was still so much to be done. She needed to shop. She needed to get things from Francine's trailer and arrange for a TV connection. She also needed to paint the front door and shutters while the unseasonably mild weather held.

And at seven o'clock she was going out to dinner with Ben.

The more she thought about tonight, the more aware she became of the alarm bells going off in her head. She should have been eager and excited about a real date with the sexy sheriff. But somehow the thought of a fine meal in cozy surroundings with the man who made her pulse race seemed almost too good to be true. Her instincts told her that Ben wanted something from her—something she might not be prepared to give.

When Shop Mart opened its doors at nine
AM
, Jess was waiting outside. List in hand, she grabbed a cart and started on the nonfood items in the housewares section of the bigbox store—the towels, curtain and mat for the bathroom, then the bedspread and drapes for Francine's room. She found a pink and green floral on sale that would look pretty and might do fine after the house was fully converted for paying guests. Lightbulbs, a bag of cat litter with a scoop, two wastebaskets, a toaster, extra sheets and towels—she checked off each item as she found it. Her cart was getting full when something that wasn't on the list caught her eye.

On the clearance rack was a single cast iron cook set, boxed and complete with lids and basic utensils. It was on sale for less than half price.

Sooner or later, she was going to need something like this. Why not buy it now? The box was large and heavy, but she managed to heft it onto the top edge of her shopping cart. Keeping it balanced with one hand, she steered the cart toward the checkout line. She would load her car and make a second trip inside the store for the food items.

There were two women, both strangers, ahead of her. As Jess pushed her cart into line, the big box cut off her view of them—and their view of her. But their conversation came through loud and clear.

“I hear Francine's getting out of jail this week.”

“And now her long-lost daughter's shown up. From what I hear, they'll be living together in that old Winslow place.”

“Well, there goes the neighborhood.” There was sharp-edged laughter. “Give 'em time. Maybe they'll both end up back in jail.”

“That wouldn't surprise me one bit. You know what they say. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”

“Have you seen the daughter? A little redheaded floozy. She dresses like she's been livin' on the street.”

“Maybe she just got out of rehab.”

“Well, wherever she's been, she hasn't wasted any time goin' after the sheriff. I've seen his truck in front of that old house at all hours. Whatever she's givin' him, it must be pretty darn good.”

Still chatting, the women paid for their purchases and left the store. Thankfully, if the young man at the register had been paying attention and recognized Jess, he gave no sign of it. She ran her credit card, declined any offers of help, and wheeled the loaded cart out to the parking lot.

She made it all the way to her car before her eyes began to sting. Tears spilled over to trickle down her cheeks as she loaded the cookware box in the backseat and the other items in the trunk.

What she'd heard didn't matter, she tried to tell herself. Any newcomer in a small town would be a target for gossip. Neither of those mean-spirited women had ever met her, or knew anything about her, except that she was Francine's daughter. Still, the exchange had hurt her, especially the part about Ben, who was only being helpful. And she certainly hadn't “given” him what those women were implying!

She would have to warn him, of course. Ben's career depended on the people who voted him into office. The slightest breath of scandal could tip the balance against him in the next election—especially if it was intimated that he'd accepted “favors” from the daughter of a prisoner in his custody.

She could tell him tonight—or better yet, she could call him now and get it over with. Given the gossip, it might be best if they didn't see each other alone at all.

Without giving herself time to change her mind, she slipped into the driver's seat, closed the car door and found her phone. But the only number she had for him was his work listing. If she couldn't reach him there, she'd be out of luck.

After a couple of rings, a woman's voice answered, “Sheriff's office.”

“Could I speak with the sheriff, please?” Jess asked.

“Sorry, he's out on a call. Can I help you?”

Jess thought fast. She didn't want to leave her name, and they wouldn't likely give her his personal number. Even if she had it, she wouldn't want to interrupt him if he was making an arrest or dealing with an accident. And if she tried to reach him this afternoon, he'd be off somewhere with Ethan.

She certainly didn't want to worry Clara with her personal concerns. She would just have to wait and talk with Ben tonight. Meanwhile, she had work to do.

After ending the call and dabbing her eyes dry with a tissue, she wheeled the empty cart back to the grocery area and began filling her list, which was far too short for her needs. Jess found herself reaching for pancake mix, syrup, salt and pepper, flour, baking soda, butter, vegetables, cereal, sugar, canned soup and tuna, fresh tomatoes, mayonnaise, paper towels and more. By the time she was ready to check out, her cart was overflowing. As the checker rang up the total, Jess cringed. But it couldn't be helped. These were all things she needed. If she didn't buy them now, she would have to buy them later.

The grocery bags filled the remaining space in her trunk. As Jess drove back to the house, the exchange between the two women played over and over in her mind like an irritating song. How many other people in the town felt the way those two did? Could she prove her worth and change their minds? Or was their judgment already set in concrete?

But why waste time wondering? She'd bought the house and made a commitment to stay. And she'd found a few good friends. In time, she'd find more. But part of her still wished she'd stepped around the cart and given those two gossiping women a piece of her mind.

It took her twenty minutes to unload the car and stow the perishables in the fridge. Leaving everything else inside the door, she headed back to Francine's trailer.

The run-down trailer park looked even more forlorn than Jess remembered, the little camp trailer dingy and cold. If Francine had tried to warm it with the heater, what were the odds she'd have set the place on fire or released deadly carbon monoxide into the small space?

Francine's beloved tabloid magazines were piled on every available surface. Jess weighed the idea of bringing them to the new place, then decided against it. If her mother wanted to keep them, she could get them later. She would strip the bed, get the clothes and shoes, and maybe a few toiletries from the tiny bathroom, and leave the rest.

The clothes, which smelled like a bar, would need airing. At least Francine didn't appear to smoke. That would've been a problem in the bed-and-breakfast, and the poor woman had enough issues as it was. The half-empty bottle of cheap Scotch Jess found in the closet and the fifth of vodka under the kitchen sink attested to that.

She bagged the bottles for consignment to the trash bin next to the trailer park gate. Getting her mother into decent housing would be the first of many hurdles, she reminded herself. Helping Francine recover was going to take patience, understanding and plenty of tough, tough love.

Back home, she unloaded the car again and laid Francine's clothes out in one of the upstairs rooms with a window open. Then she found the laundry detergent she'd bought, took the sheets and quilts downstairs and started the first batch of washing. Sergeant Pepper seemed eager to follow her back upstairs, but she would need to leave him in the basement a little longer while she painted the open front door—which would have to be done right away if the paint was to dry before nightfall.

Rushing back to her room, she changed into her painting clothes, gathered gloves, tape, brushes, newspapers, and the half-gallon can of dark teal enamel paint and headed for the front door.

* * *

Ben's half day of work included filling out forms, testifying in a juvenile drug case, and breaking up a fist fight between two young hotheads after a fender bender in front of the high school. He was looking forward to an afternoon with Ethan. They'd made plans for cheeseburgers and shakes at Buckaroo's, then plinking at tin cans with a lightweight .22 out on the sage flats. He'd have his cell phone in case of a true emergency. But his staff knew how much he valued time with his son. He could count on them to handle routine matters while he was out.

Before leaving, he decided to check on Francine. Her release was set for tomorrow. He wanted to make sure she understood what was expected of her. The woman had been in and out of the jail so many times that Ben suspected she viewed it as a refuge. But this time would be different. This time she had a daughter waiting—a daughter who'd laid everything on the line for her.

“Hi, sheriff.” Francine glanced up from her lunch, a tuna sandwich with a carton of milk and a bag of chips. “Guess we'll be partin' company tomorrow, won't we.”

“Guess we will,” Ben said. “And this time I want to make sure you won't be back here.”

“Hey.” She gave him a grin. “I got my little girl back. We're gonna be a team, me and her.”

“Can you really be part of a team, Francine? Can you pull your weight and hold up your end? Jess is knocking herself out to make things nice for you. But she can't do it all. You're not elderly, and you're healthy enough to work. You can't expect her to take care of you, physically or financially.”

“Hell, sheriff, I'm not stupid. And I'm not lazy either. I can work if I got somethin' to work for.”

“But can you behave yourself? Your probation requires you to show up at AA meetings every week. We've been through this drill before—you go for a while, then you start slacking off, and pretty soon you're right back to square one. If this was anything but a small town where people know you and cut you some slack, you'd be locked up for months at a stretch, not weeks.”

Francine's girlish pout would've done justice to a three-year-old. “Now, sheriff, honey, we ladies got our weaknesses. My weaknesses just happen to be good, cheap whiskey and handsome men like you.”

Ben had heard it all before, and not just from Francine. At least he knew this woman was only joking with him. “I'm leaving now,” he said. “But I've got one thing to say to you. You have a loving daughter out there who believes in you, a daughter who's willing to do anything to help you change. Don't break her heart. If you do, you'll answer to me!”

Francine stared at him through the bars. Suddenly she burst into hearty laughter. “Glory be, sheriff, it's as plain as the nose on your face! You're in love with my little girl, aren't you?”

“I'll see you tomorrow, Francine.”

Ben turned away to hide the rush of color to his face, but Francine's question stuck with him as he walked outside to his truck. True, he was right fond of Jess. Kissing her had felt like a sky full of fireworks on the Fourth of July. But was he really in love with her?

The answer to that question could well depend on what happened tonight.

* * *

Jess stood at the foot of the front sidewalk, studying the effect of the newly painted door and shutters on the drab old house.
Not bad
, she decided. The combination of dark green on the shutters and frame harmonized with the deep teal on the door, lending the entrance a fresh, inviting air. She could hardly wait to see how it looked in broad daylight with the masking tape stripped away, but that would have to wait until tomorrow, when the paint was dry.