Christmas on My Mind (7 page)

Jess was grateful for the dim interior of the truck cab, which hid the rush of heat to her face. “It's just that this is the first time I've seen you out of uniform.”

“Oh? And which way do you like me better?” he teased.

“No comment.” He was mouth-wateringly gorgeous either way, but something told her the wretched man was well aware of that. “Where are we going to get the tree?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Only one place. Hank's Feed and Hardware on the road out of town opens a Christmas tree lot every year. Since we're early, there should be plenty of nice trees to choose from.”

A moment later he braked at the stop sign and swung the truck onto a familiar-looking road. After an instant's puzzling, Jess recognized the two-lane highway where her car had quit. A quarter mile ahead was a low, wooden building with Christmas lights strung in front and off to the side. Cars and trucks were clustered along the shoulder of the road.

“Looks like Hank's already busy. Glad we didn't get here any later.” Ben pulled the truck behind the line of cars and switched off the engine. A makeshift chicken wire fence surrounded the Christmas tree lot, which was filled with fresh, bushy pines and firs. Couples and families wandered among them, inspecting the trees and listening to the Christmas music that blared from a speaker mounted on the side of the hardware store. All that was missing was snow.

“Let's get looking. The best trees will go fast. They won't last long.” Ben climbed out of the truck and strode around to open the door for Jess. The pickup was high, with oversized tires. When Jess hesitated to climb down, he reached up, clasped her waist and swung her to the ground, leaving her slightly breathless. “Come on,” he said, guiding her with a hand at her elbow.

“I must've gone tree shopping when I was little.” Jess stretched her legs to match his eager strides. “But I know my mother and I never got a tree after my father left us. We couldn't spare the money. I haven't had one since—there just didn't seem to be much point.”

Her words stopped him midstride. He turned to face her. His eyes reflected the glow of the Christmas lights strung above them. “You're kidding, right?”

“Would I kid about something so pathetic?”

“I don't suppose you would. But never mind, because we're going to change that. This year you're getting the full Christmas tree experience, starting now!”

Circling her shoulders with his arm, he ushered her into the Christmas tree lot. Several people turned to stare. Maybe they weren't used to seeing their sheriff with his arm around a strange woman. But Ben seemed oblivious to the gossip he was likely causing. Jess found herself liking him for that.

A familiar figure waved and beckoned them over. Kylie Taggart was tree shopping with two cute middle-school-aged children and a tall, dark, strikingly handsome cowboy who was holding a tree up for her approval. He had to be her husband, Shane, who was Ben's best friend.

“Hi, Jess!” Kylie's coat was buttoned tight over her burgeoning belly. “I was hoping I'd run into you. I see Ben's taken you in hand.” She introduced her husband and her children, Hunter and Amy.

“I commandeered Jess to help me get the tree up,” Ben said. “Ethan is coming early, and I worry about Mom not being strong enough to take it on.”

Shane grinned down at Jess. “Ask Ben to tell you about Kylie's Christmas tree hunt last year. It was quite an adventure.”

“Yes!” Kylie laughed. “I ended up in jail for trying to cut down a tree on city property. That's how I met your mother, Jess. She was there, too, a friend when I needed one. I came to like Francine. I still do.”

“Thank you for that,” Jess said. “I can only hope more people feel the way you do.”

Kylie reached out mittened fingers and gave Jess's hand a squeeze. “I know you might not have an easy time ahead. If you ever need to talk, I'm here.”

“That means more to me than you can imagine.” Jess gave her a smile as Kylie's family pulled her away to look at more trees.

Ben was already checking out a nearby tree, inspecting all sides, then putting it back in the row. Since they needed to get the tree set up and decorated tonight, Jess knew they didn't have much time. But she held her tongue as Ben inspected, then rejected, the next dozen trees he saw. None of them, it seemed, were good enough for Ethan's Christmas.

“Over there!” Maybe the thirteenth tree would be the charm. Ben headed for a row of the most expensive trees on the lot. There were only a few of these, probably because few people in Branding Iron could—or would—pay out that kind of money for a tree. But they were beautiful—tall, straight, lushly green, and perfectly shaped.

“This one!” He stood the tree on the end of its sawed trunk and turned it slowly. “What do you think?”

“It's beautiful. But do you really want to pay that much for something you'll be throwing out in a few weeks?”

“Hey, it's for Christmas!” He motioned the husky teenage lot boy over. “Take this out to the black pickup. I'll pay up front—careful now, don't break any branches.”

“Don't worry, I won't, sheriff,” the boy responded as he shouldered the tree and headed out of the lot.

Jess walked with him to the checkout line, where they waited their turn behind the other customers Anxious to get going now, Ben fished his credit card out of his wallet to have it ready. Standing beside him, Jess felt an odd, prickling sensation at the back of her neck, as if someone was staring intently at her from behind. She'd never credited herself with psychic powers, but the feeling was too strong to ignore.

She wheeled around, abruptly enough to catch the disapproving glare on Maybelle Ferguson's face before the woman turned and walked away.

* * *

“I'm afraid we may have triggered some gossip,” she told Ben as they drove home with the tree in the back of the pickup.

Ben had been humming along with “Blue Christmas.” He stopped. “Gossip? What gossip?”

“You know—the county sheriff hanging out with the new scarlet woman in town.”

His laugh was warm and belly-deep. “Scarlet woman! Hey, I kind of like that.”

“I'm serious. When we were in line, I caught Maybelle Ferguson giving me this
look
. It was like being stabbed in the back.”

He turned the truck off the main road and back onto the street they'd taken from the house. “This is a small town, Jess. As a newcomer, you can expect some of that. But as long as we're both single and not doing anything more scandalous than buying a Christmas tree, I say, let them gossip. They'll soon get tired of it, or find something juicier to talk about.”

“But—” Jess bit back the rest of her argument. Ben wouldn't understand how much she needed the friendship and approval of the people in Branding Iron. He'd grown up here, in a respected family. Everybody seemed to look up to him. He'd have no idea how it felt to be an outsider, branded before she even had a chance to prove herself.

Ben parked the pickup in the driveway and helped Jess to the ground. They crossed the porch and opened the front door to be greeted by the smell of savory beef-and-bean chili. Clara, wearing an old-fashioned apron over her sweater and slacks, greeted them from the entrance to the kitchen.

“Come on in, you two. Supper's on the table. And I've already cleared out a corner for the tree.”

Ben gave her thin shoulders a hug. “I told you not to overdo, Mom. You'll wear yourself out. But that chili does smell good.”

“Just the thing for a cold night,” Jess said. “Don't worry about cleaning up. I'll do that. And then you can supervise from your rocking chair while we decorate the tree. We're depending on you to tell us exactly what to do.”

While they sat at the kitchen table, feasting on chili, green salad and skillet corn bread, Jess told Clara about the house and her idea for making it into a bed-and-breakfast.

“That's a wonderful idea!” Clara exclaimed. “The town needs a place for people to stay over. But such a risk, dear. Doesn't it worry you, the idea of all the things that could go wrong?”

“Of course it does,” Jess said. “That's why I haven't made a final decision yet.”

“Don't think you can talk her out of it, Mom,” Ben said. “I already tried that. The more I argued against her taking on that house, the deeper she dug in her heels.”

“I'm sure Jess has the wisdom to make the right choice,” Clara said. “I know that old house. One of my grade-school friends lived there. We used to play dolls in her upstairs room. Then her mother left and took the three children with her. I never saw my friend again.”

“So the old man who lived there alone was your friend's father?”

“That's right. He never remarried after his family left. I've heard that he became quite strange in his old age—but who am I to judge the poor man?”

“And the woman who showed me the house?”

“His granddaughter. She moved back to town with her husband about ten years ago. I've never gotten to know her, or had a chance to ask her about my friend. People move on.” Clara's voice had taken on a wistful note.

“Hey!” Ben broke into the conversation. “If we're finished eating, what do you say we get that tree in?”

“Let's do it,” Jess said. “Do go in the living room and sit down, Clara. I'll finish up here while Ben does the muscle work. Then I'll come in and help.”

As Ben charged out of the kitchen, Clara gave Jess a knowing smile. “Ben insists that he only does the tree for Ethan. But he's loved Christmas all his life. When it comes to getting that tree up and decorated, he's as eager as a little boy!”

“I'll keep that in mind. Now please go relax and enjoy the show.” Jess guided Ben's mother gently but firmly to the living room and saw her seated in her favorite chair.

While she was clearing the table, Jess heard the bump and rustle of Ben hauling the tree into the house. She was loading the dishwasher when he came into the kitchen, his hair mussed, his eyes dancing, his skin and clothes giving off the spicy scent of fresh pine. “Water for the tree stand,” he explained, as he found a two-quart pitcher in the cupboard and filled it from the tap. “Are you about finished in here? I just need to get the decorations out of the closet upstairs. Then we'll be ready to hang them on the tree. That's when I'll need your help.”

Jess couldn't help smiling as he rushed out of the kitchen with the water. Moments later she heard his footsteps on the stairs and the intermittent rummaging in the overhead storage closet. Clara was right. When it came to Christmas, Branding Iron's steely-eyed lawman was like an enthusiastic boy.

Jess shook her head as she rinsed the dishes. How could any man be so adorable—as well as chivalrous, brave and equipped to handle anything?

Heaven save her, was she falling for a blasted Boy Scout?

Chapter Seven

J
ess added detergent to the dishwasher and switched it on. By the time she'd finished wiping off the counter, she could hear music from the living room. Someone must've put a CD in the boom box that sat on one of the shelves. A soft Christmas melody, a jazz piano version, drifted to her ears.

Drying her hands on her jeans, she crossed the open hallway. The stately tree stood in front of the window—lush, emerald green, and almost as tall as the old house's nine-foot ceiling. Ben had made the right choice. It was perfect.

Ben stood next to the tree, surrounded by a fortress of boxes. With a glance at Jess, he opened the nearest one. “This might take a while. These lights go on first—but not until after we've untangled them. Here, take the end and back up while I try to unravel this mess.”

As he passed Jess the string of lights, Clara rose, yawning. “Just thinking about you doing all that work wears me out,” she said. “If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll toddle off to bed and leave the decorating to you youngsters. Good night—and have a good time.”

With that she made her way down the hall to her bedroom and closed the door.

“Do you think she's all right?” Jess asked.

“I'm guessing she's just tired and wants to curl up in bed with a good book,” Ben said. “I'll check on her before I turn in. I always do.”

“She's lucky to have you.”

“I was lucky to have her growing up. I could say it's payback time, but I could never repay her for all she did.”

“You mentioned your father when we were in the old house. What happened to him?” Jess straightened the cord he fed her, leaving the untangled part lying loose on the floor.

“My dad died when I was nine,” Ben said. “He taught science during the school year. In the summer, he raised hay on some farmland he owned south of town. But his real dream was to fly. He got his license, bought a used plane and started a crop-dusting business to pay for it.”

“And . . . he crashed?”

“That's right.” Ben finished unsnarling the light cord and plugged the end into an outlet behind the tree. The long string lit like magic, bathing the room in a soft glow of color.

“I don't think Mom ever forgave him for flying and getting himself killed,” he said. “But she never stopped loving him. She was a pretty woman, and smart. She had chances to get married again, and maybe make life easier for us. She never did.”

“But you must've managed all right.”

“We were lucky. Dad had a little insurance, and we sold the farmland. The house was already in Mom's family, so there was no mortgage to pay. And she managed to get a job at the library.” He studied the tree with a thoughtful frown. “Mostly we did fine. But I never stopped missing my dad. That's why I do my best to be there for Ethan, even if it's by long distance a lot of the time.”

He shrugged, dismissing the conversation. “Stand over there, on the opposite side of the tree. We'll wrap the lights from my side to yours and back again.”

“You're in charge.” Jess took her place. “Tell me what to do. I don't remember decorating a Christmas tree before.”

He laughed, with that belly-deep resonance that tickled her to her toes. “Trust me, there's nothing to it. By the time we're finished, you'll be an expert.”

The string of lights was long, the tree very tall, but Ben knew exactly where the lights should go. By the time they reached the last of them, he was standing on the kitchen step stool to twine the end of the cord around the topmost part of the trunk.

“Oh—” Jess stepped back to admire the lit tree. “It's so pretty this way. We could stop now.”

“No, you don't. We're just getting started.”

He climbed down from the stool and opened another box, this one stuffed with glittering garlands of gold tinsel. They shook them out to fluff the metallic strands and draped them over the branches.

“Now for the ornaments.” He began opening box after box, all of them lovingly packed with tissue or bubble wrap to protect their contents. There were shiny glass balls, and small figures of angels, Santas, reindeer, birds, and other animals. Some of these looked very old, as if they'd been passed down in the family for years. As Ben told her the story of one, then another and another, Jess couldn't help thinking of how different her own life had been from his—with no family history, no holiday traditions, nothing but the unending struggle to survive.

When the last ornament had been hung, Ben went to the dimmer switch on the wall and turned the overhead light down to a faint glow. “How does it look to you?” he asked, stepping behind her. His hands lingered on her shoulders as he turned her to face the tree.

“It's . . . magical,” she whispered, and it was. The shimmer of colored lights on tinsel, reflecting in the shiny glass balls, cast a halo around the tree. The small, traditional ornaments appeared as silhouettes, softly lit from behind. The fragrance of pine and the tinkling piano music made Jess feel as if she'd stepped into a fairy-tale setting.

Releasing her shoulders, Ben reached into the last box. “One more thing,” he said, lifting out a glistening gold star. “This always goes on last, right at the top of the tree. Since this is your first time, you can do the honors.”

He handed her the star. Crafted of thin metal, faceted to reflect light like a jewel, it looked old, well used, and very precious.

Jess gazed up at the top of the tree. Even from the step stool, she wouldn't be able to reach high enough. “Unless you have a handy ladder, you'd better take this.” She thrust the star back toward him.

“No, we can do it. Hang on.” He positioned the step stool about eighteen inches from the tree. “Okay, climb all the way up. If you get shaky, I'm right here.”

Jess mounted the three steps. Even standing on the highest one, the top of the tree was almost an arm's length beyond her reach.

“All right, I'm going to lift you higher,” he said. “Ready, on the count of three. One . . . two . . . three!”

Crouching slightly, he wrapped his arms around her legs below the knees and heaved her upward. Jess had seen more graceful versions of the lift in Olympic pairs skating. But what Ben's move lacked in elegance, it made up for in power, raising her high enough to stretch for the treetop with her hands.

As she struggled to position the star, a vision flashed through her mind of the whole decorated tree toppling over and crashing to the floor. But Ben was holding her steady—for the moment. “Got it?” He grunted with effort.

“Almost . . .” Holding her breath, Jess maneuvered the hollow base of the star over the top of the tree. “Got it!” she breathed as the star settled into place.

With a mutter that sounded like
Thank God!
he began easing her down toward the step stool. He was making an effort not to drop her, but a shift in her weight threw him off balance. He stumbled backward toward the tree. Twisting himself to one side just in time, he fell to the carpet with Jess on top of him.

For the space of a few heartbeats, they lay still. As the shock of the fall wore off, Jess became aware of his warm, solid bulk beneath her and his arms wrapping her to cushion her against the tumble. That devilish tingle she always seemed to feel when he was physically close surged through her body like a warm spring flood.

He stirred against her. “Are you all right?”

She pushed onto her forearms, looking down into his concerned brown eyes. “Yes, and so is the tree. How about you?”

“Right now I feel like I've been tackled by a three-hundred-pound halfback. But nothing's broken. I'll live. Wow, that tumble was spectacular.”

“I can't believe you didn't crash into the tree.” She looked down at him, a giggle rising in her throat. She knew it would be smart to get up, but something made her want to stay.

Was it because she really, really wanted him to kiss her?

He must have wanted the same thing, because in the next instant, he did.

His hand moved to cradle the back of her head and pull her down to him. His firm mouth was like warm velvet, his kiss sensual and lingering, setting off fever waves of response. She parted her lips, deepening the contact, tasting his faint, sweet saltiness, filling her nostrils with the clean aroma of pine. From the moment he'd rescued her on the road, some secret part of her had wanted this man to kiss her. Now it was happening, and all she could think of was wanting more.

But no—this was the first step down the road to getting her heart trampled. Ben Marsden didn't know who she was, or
what
she was. Once he learned the truth, the upright lawman would turn his back and walk away. If she wanted to make a life for herself in Branding Iron, she couldn't afford to give him that chance.

Pulling back, she sat up. “Something tells me this isn't a good idea,” she said.

“Maybe not.” His eyes twinkled. “But you can't say it wasn't a helluva lot of fun.”

The man was incorrigible—and appealing enough to melt a heart of granite. But she couldn't let him get to her. Jess forced herself to stand, cross the room to the boom box and switch off the Christmas music.

“You've got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow,” she said. “Now that the tree's finished, maybe we should call it a night.”

“Spoilsport.” Still teasing, he rose to his feet. “Go ahead. Since we're sharing a bathroom, the rule is ladies first. I'll unplug the tree lights and check on my mother.”

Jess retreated up the stairs. Ben gave her plenty of lead time. By the time she heard his footsteps in the hall and the sound of water running, she was in bed.

In bed but not asleep. Her churning emotions were liable to keep her awake for the rest of the night.

Kissing Ben had been a dream, but Jess knew she'd crossed a forbidden line. And the longer she remained in this house, imposing on Clara's hospitality, the greater the danger of it happening again. Tomorrow Ben would be driving to Dallas to pick up his son. By the time he returned, she would need to be out of here.

As things stood, she had two days—and two choices. She could buy the house and move in, or she could pack her car, say good-bye to Francine and leave town.

She considered that she could come back and get Francine when her jail time was up. But being on the road with her unpredictable mother was a scary prospect. Francine needed stability and support. The best way to provide that support would be to buy the house and stay in Branding Iron.

For what seemed like hours she tossed and turned, weighing one option, then the other. She heard the shower running in the bathroom, heard the creak of Ben's footsteps in the hallway as he passed her door on the way to his room. If things were different, she could fall in love with the man. Maybe she already had. But there was no happy ending written into this story.

She had to get Ben Marsden out of her head and out of her heart. For that she was going to need some distance from him. But running away would be nothing more than a temporary fix—worse, her disappearance could prompt him to check on her past. She'd made a few friends in Branding Iron and found the prospect of a future here. If she didn't take a stand and put down roots now, when and where would she find a better chance?

The night hours crawled past. By the time the first dim fingers of dawn filtered through the ruffled curtains, Jess had made her decision. Now was the time for the bigger challenge—carrying it out.

* * *

After stopping by Francine's trailer to feed Sergeant Pepper, Ben had arrived early at work. He'd spent the first hour catching up on messages and reports, mostly routine. Then he'd spoken with his deputies and checked the jail roster. The mayor's twenty-year-old son was in holding again, picked up by the deputies on a DUI charge. Despite his father's influence, the kid would undoubtedly lose his license and do some serious jail time. Maybe that punishment would straighten him out, but that remained to be seen, and right now Ben had other things on his mind.

He'd planned to look in on Francine, but she was taking her morning shower, and he was anxious to get on the road. Reminding himself that Jess would probably stop by and see her later, he made one last check of things and left.

He'd hoped to see Jess at the house that morning, but her bedroom door had been closed, and there'd been no sign of her downstairs. Now, as he drove out of town toward the freeway, Ben savored the memory of kissing her last night. Nice, he thought as he recalled those soft, willing lips. Better than nice. Too bad he couldn't have kept her there all night.

True, he'd broken his own rule against romancing a woman in his mother's house. But Jess had been so alluringly close, and he could tell she'd wanted that kiss as much as he did. Their bodies had fit together as if each had been molded to the other; and when their lips met and clung, that single kiss had felt so right, so perfect....

Guilt? No way. He wasn't feeling as much as a twinge of regret for what had happened. He was a red-blooded male, damn it, and it had been far too long since he'd held a sweet, sexy woman like Jess in his arms. The only issue facing him now was finding the right time and place for it to happen again.

Maybe next time he could take her out on an actual date—dinner, not at Buckaroo's but somewhere nice, out of town, with a long drive home in the dark....

Turning up the radio in his pickup, he sang along with the Chipmunks, not caring that he couldn't match the pitch of their silly voices. Christmas was coming, he was on his way to pick up his boy, and he'd met a woman who looked like an angel and kissed like . . . well, never mind. His life wasn't perfect, and probably never would be. But right now he had no complaints.