Christmas on My Mind (2 page)

Chapter Two

B
en cast a sidelong glance at his intriguing passenger. Jessica Ramsey was huddled into his leather jacket, gazing out the windshield as she wrestled with what he'd just told her. She looked like a woman who'd reached the end of her rope—road-weary, cold and in a mild state of shock. Even so, she was a pretty thing—delicate features, with a sprinkle of cinnamon-hued freckles, framed by a mop of amber curls that fell to her shoulders. Her faded black tee, denim jacket and threadbare jeans looked good on her. But between her clothes and the car she was driving, he'd bet the lady was hard up for cash.

If she was looking for her birth mother to help her out, she was in for a big letdown.

Following protocol, he'd checked her car's license number when he pulled up behind her. The car was registered to Jessica Ramsey. No outstanding warrants, so she didn't appear to be running from the law. But the revelation that she was Francine's daughter had come as a shock. He'd known Francine a long time, but it had never occurred to him that she was a mother.

The lady didn't look much like Francine—except for her striking violet blue eyes. Eyes like that were almost as good as a DNA test. Ben had dealt with his share of con artists claiming to be who they weren't. But he'd bet next Friday's paycheck she really was Francine's daughter.

Not that she'd have much to gain by it.

“Tell me about my mother, sheriff,” she said. “Why's she in jail?”

“Drunk and disorderly. She punched a cowboy in the local bar, claimed he was feeling her up. The punch started a brawl in the place. And you can call me Ben, by the way.”

“Does she have a lawyer?”

“No need. She pled guilty in exchange for dropping the assault and battery charge. The judge gave her three weeks plus six months' probation, with mandatory attendance at AA meetings. She's got about a week left of her sentence.”

“I see.”

“Sorry. I know this isn't what you were expecting,” he said. “Francine's a good-hearted woman, the sort who'd give her last crust of bread to a stray dog. She just can't seem to stay out of trouble. She's been in and out of jail for as long as I've been sheriff. I'm guessing that, for her, being locked up might be warmer and more secure than being on the outside alone.”

Jess gazed silently out the window. As he drove, Ben gave her a furtive side-glance. Maybe she was thinking that her long drive had been for nothing. Maybe she was about to change her mind, turn around and hightail it back to Kansas City as soon as her car was fixed. Knowing what she was about to face, he wouldn't blame her if she did.

They were nearing the outskirts of town when she finally spoke. “I want to see my mother. Will you take me to her?”

“Now?”

“Is there a better time?”

“I guess not, if that's what you want,” Ben said. “There's no telling how Francine will take this. I'd be willing to talk to her first and tell her you've come.”

“No. I'll tell her myself.” She spoke with calm determination. “This won't be like I'd planned. But at least I've found her. It'll have to do.”

The steel in her voice surprised Ben. When he'd first seen her trying to push her car, she'd appeared as fragile as a lost kitten. But now something told him Jess Ramsey was tougher than she looked.

* * *

The clouds had released a cold, misting rain, just enough to turn the dust on the sheriff's SUV to muddy streaks before it stopped. Gazing through the dirt-speckled windshield, Jess watched Branding Iron come into view. Since she'd warned herself not to expect much, she wasn't disappointed. Surrounded by smaller farms and modest ranches, it was right out of
Mayberry R.F.D.
, just large enough for the basic needs of the scattered community. There was a hardware and feed store with a Christmas tree lot on the outskirts of town, and a newer strip mall with what looked like a Super Shop Mart, the parking lot crowded with Black Friday bargain hunters. “That store's the biggest thing in the county,” the sheriff said. “Until this past summer, when the company expanded it, it was just groceries. Now it's got clothes, housewares, electronics, you name it. It's brought in a lot of business—for the rest of the town as well. Hank's Hardware, where you saw the Christmas trees, used to be just a feed store. It's doubled in size in the past year.”

He turned onto an old-fashioned main street where Christmas lights were being strung between the light poles. Branching off it were streets with schools, a bank, a couple of churches, and a low red-brick building that housed the library, the city and county offices and—her pulse quickened as she saw the sign outside—the jail.

“Isn't that where my mother is?” she asked as Ben Marsden drove past the place without even slowing down.

“It is. But I need to run a quick errand first. I promised Francine I'd stop by and feed her cat.

“Feed her cat?”
She stared at him. “But you're the sheriff! She's in your jail!”

“I know. But her place isn't far, and Francine's right fond of that old cat. Somebody's got to look after him while she's doing her time.”

“I can't believe this!” she said.

He chuckled. “Well, you're not in Kansas City anymore, Jess. As I said before, welcome to Branding Iron.”

He drove to the end of the street and made a right turn onto a graveled lane. At the end of it was what looked like a run-down campground. As they drove in through the open gate, Jess could see rows of concrete pads with hookups for camp trailers. Most were empty, the spaces between overgrown with tall, dry weeds. The half-dozen scattered trailers that remained were small and dilapidated. Some showed signs of being lived-in. Most did not.

“My mother lives here?” Jess asked, dismayed.

“Right here.” Ben pulled up to the nearest trailer, this one so small it looked as if a Volkswagen Beetle could pull it. Its aluminum sides were dented, and the screen door had a hole in it, low down, where someone might have kicked it in.

“You wanted me to see this, didn't you?” Jess said.

“Maybe you should. Come on.” He opened the door of the SUV and climbed out. Jess opened her door and swung to the ground without waiting for him to come around and help her. Catching up with him at the trailer, she saw that he'd taken a set of keys out of his pocket and was unlocking the door.

“She gave you her keys?”

“She wanted me to check the place. Besides, I need to get the cat food. Take a look if you want.” He stepped to one side, giving Jess a view through the door. Her heart sank but she forced herself to step inside.

The interior of the trailer wasn't dirty or smelly. But how could anyone live in such a cramped and cluttered space? One end was taken up by the bed, which was covered by a ragged quilt. The storage shelf below the ceiling was stuffed with clothes. The tiny bathroom had the toilet inside the shower. The only sink was in the kitchen, which had a microwave, a camper-sized fridge under the counter, and a couple of open shelves, cluttered with mismatched dishes and canned food. The rest of the trailer was taken up by an old-style TV and a sagging armchair. An electric space heater, unplugged, sat near the front, surrounded by stacks of magazines.

“This place could burn down in a heartbeat!” Jess said. “Nobody should have to live like this!”

“I know. Francine was renting a studio in somebody's basement before an old friend died and left her this trailer. She told me she needed to save money, but I'm not letting her come back here till the place is cleaned out and made safer. Not even then, if there's someplace else she can go. For now, she's better off in jail.” Ben found a half-empty bag of cheap store-brand kibble behind the door. Stepping back from the trailer, he shook it, making a rattling sound.

Within seconds, a huge, scruffy-looking ginger tabby came bounding out of the weeds. Ben reached down to scratch its ears. “Come on, boy, it's chow time,” he said, filling an old metal pan with kibble.

Jess liked cats. As the burly creature chomped down his food, she crouched to stroke his back. A rusty purr rumbled through his battle-scarred body. Glancing under the trailer, she could see a filled water bowl and a sturdy wooden box lined with a tattered blanket. Somebody cared about this cat.

“Does he have a name?” she asked Ben.

“He does. It's Sergeant Pepper.”

“Like the Beatles?”

He answered with a shrug of his masculine shoulders. “I'm guessing your mother's a fan.”

“So am I,” Jess said. “At least we'll have something in common.”

“You're sure you want to meet her, after seeing how she lives? Right now, you can walk away, and she'll never know the difference. Once you're in her life . . .” He let the words trail off.

Jess shook her head. “I've come too far not to do this.”

“Then I have no right to stop you. But if it turns out badly, don't say I didn't warn you.” He set the bag of kibble back in the trailer and locked the door. “Let's go,” he said.

* * *

Silence hung in the cab on the short drive to the jail. Jess's hands twisted the handle on her leather purse. Ben was tempted to say more to her. Francine had a lot of baggage and a lot of needs. Taking on her problems could be an emotional drain. And, if it came to that, walking away could be a gut-wrenching ordeal. But no, Jess had already made up her mind. If the sight of that trailer hadn't deterred her, nothing would. It was time for him to back off.

He tried to imagine what it would be like, meeting a mother who was a total stranger. Ben's own mother had always been there for him, especially after his father died in a small plane crash. Ben had been nine then, his younger sister, Ellie, not much more than a toddler. His widowed mother had gone to work as the city librarian and managed to raise two children on her own. But now her health was failing. Last winter, after she'd suffered a bad fall, Ben had moved out of his apartment and back into the old family home to be with her. After all she'd sacrificed for him, it was the least he could do.

So far, things seemed to be working out. His mother was glad to have him, and not needing to rent made it easier to keep up the monthly child support he paid to his ex-wife, Cheryl.

It also gave his eight-year-old son, Ethan, a room of his own and a big yard to play in when he came to visit. In three weeks, when school was out, Ethan would be here for the holidays. For Ben, being with his boy was what made Christmas worth keeping.

Turning into the county lot, he pulled the SUV into his reserved parking place and turned to his passenger. “You're sure you want to do this.” By now it was no longer a question.

“Let's go.” Jess unfastened her seat belt, slipped his jacket off her shoulders and thrust it toward him. “I'm tempted to keep this lovely, warm thing, but you'd probably miss it. Thanks for the loan.”

“Anytime.” Ben took the jacket, swung out of the driver's seat and made it around the vehicle in time to help her out and escort her into the building. The double doors to the sheriff's office and jail were only a few steps from the curb. The check-in counter, where they stopped, was just inside.

“Sam.” Ben spoke to the sixty-year-old deputy who had the shift. “This is Miss Ramsey. She's here to see Francine. Is the lady up for visitors?”

“I reckon so. She already ate her lunch and woke up from her nap.” Sam slid a clipboard across the counter toward Jess. “You'll need to sign in and out, Miss. It's policy. And you'll have to leave your purse here.”

“No problem.” Jess picked up the attached ballpoint and wrote her name and the time. She seemed calm enough, but Ben couldn't help but notice how her hand shook.

“Have somebody bring Francine to the interrogation room,” he said, knowing it would be easier on both women to meet there, rather than see each other for the first time through the iron bars of a cell. “Oh, and don't bother cuffing her,” he added. “She'll be fine as she is.”

“Sure thing.” Sam pressed a button on the counter and relayed the request. Ben turned to Jess.

“I'll have to be there with you,” he said. “I won't get involved unless you want me to, but I can't leave you two alone. It's policy.”

Jess's nervous chuckle sounded forced. “What's the matter, are you afraid I'll slip her a weapon?”

“That's not funny, Jess. Come on. Let's go back.”

* * *

He ushered Jess through a set of locking doors. A motherly looking woman wearing a khaki uniform and a deputy's badge waited for them in the hall. “Raise your arms, please, Miss,” she said, and proceeded to pat Jess down for hidden weapons. Jess tried giving her a friendly smile. The woman didn't smile back.

Ben stood by, his expression unreadable. “Sorry, it's procedure,” he said.

“I know. It's fine.” Jess could've mentioned that this wasn't exactly her first rodeo. But the past was the past. She was a different person now.

“She's in here.” The deputy nodded toward a closed door. “Buzz me when she's ready to go back.” She disappeared down the hall.

Ben paused outside the door. “Ready?” he asked.

“How much time will I have with her?” Jess could feel her pulse galloping.

He shrugged. “That depends. For now, let's say you can be with her till one of you calls it quits. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jess got his meaning. If, after learning who she was, her mother wanted nothing to do with her, the reunion would be over—at least for now.

“Then here goes.” Ben opened the door, allowing Jess to step inside before he closed it behind them. The room was harsh and dim, with cement walls, a flickering fluorescent ceiling light, and a plain table with four wooden chairs. On the far side of the table sat a woman in a rumpled orange jumpsuit.