A Perfect Bride For Christmas (44 page)

Odd though, Mom had mentioned something about

the Saurs moving. Did that mean Jesse still lived in 2

A Christmas to Believe In

that old house on the hill?

His spirits brightened at the thought. If Jesse were around, things would be like old times. Too bad they were all too old for car-hood sledding—she’d been the best driver out of the whole gang. They weren’t, however, too old for a good, old-fashioned snowball fight. And if his memory served, he still owed her for an ice-ball in the nose.

A grin quirked the corner of his mouth. That girl knew how to throw. His nose had bled for almost an hour.

Man, if he had to have a sister, why couldn’t it have been her? Instead, he had to deal with some stranger. Keeley Jacobs might be his father’s

daughter, but Clint was pretty damn certain she didn’t know how to cheat at arm wrestling like Jesse did. He was also pretty certain neither of his

brothers would put up with a strategically placed toe in the ribs from her either.

Guess he’d find out. As much as he didn’t care to meet his new half-sibling, Mom made it clear she intended to welcome the woman with open arms.

Which meant this family get-together would come with strangers.

He shifted into second to climb the steep

driveway. The trailer skidded, threatening to pull him back onto the road. Scowling, Clint dropped the truck into four-wheel drive, and gave it a bit more gas. The rig jumped as the trailer bounced forward.

Slowly, he inched up the gravel drive.

At the top, he pulled straight into the yard. He still had to find stabling for his horse, and turning around up here wouldn’t be easy. Mom could deal with the tread marks. She’d wanted him to come.

Insisted on it. She could deal with the fact his prize mare was due to foal any day. If he were lucky, the trailer ride hadn’t stressed her, and she wouldn’t choose tonight.

3

Claire Ashgrove

He opened the door to her sharp whinny.

Jumping down into the snow, he tromped to the rear of the trailer and threw open the top half of the loading doors. She twisted her elegant neck around to give him an expectant look.

“Not yet, Angel.”

Clint closed the door and made his way around

to the escape door. The hinges creaked as he pulled it open. He stepped inside, kicked his way through the loose bedding, and moved up to her head to give her an affectionate pat. She rode free, not tied to anything, in the event sudden labor set in. Not familiar with her foaling habits, he didn’t dare take the risk she might try to lie down, despite the unlikelihood.

“Eat your hay while I run inside. We’ll get you settled in soon.” He scratched her behind the ears, ran his hand down her mane, and patted her

shoulder. “No foals, Angel. You gotta cook that one until January.”

She answered his order with a lazy blink.

Satisfied they were in agreement, Clint climbed out of the trailer and secured the door. He crossed behind his bumper, stepped over the hitch. His gaze fell on the house. Bright lights flooded the snow-covered porch with a warm yellow glow. The

Christmas tree twinkled behind the front window.

Through the frosty panes, he glimpsed Alex seated on the couch. Alex laughed at something, and though the sound didn’t filter outside, Clint could hear the rumble of his voice.

Maybe coming home wouldn’t turn out so bad

after all. He hadn’t seen his brothers in years.

He made his way to the porch, stopped in front

of the door to stomp the snow off his boots. Bells jangled as he opened the door.

A chorus of laughter greeted his ears. Alex

looked up with a broad grin. But what caught Clint’s 4

A Christmas to Believe In

immediate attention was the flash of movement near the hearth. He glanced over in time to see a woman punch Heath in the arm. She tumbled back into her chair, giggling, then turned bright blue eyes on him.

Jesse.

“Clint!” Her excited greeting blended with his

brothers’ hellos.

Her smile, however, made his breath catch.

Something deep in his gut tripped as he took

another step inside and Jesse eased to her feet. Long black hair tumbled to her waist, just as she’d always worn it. He’d seen those raven locks a thousand times, but they’d never shone quite like they did as she crossed the room.

To his shame, his gaze skipped down to her toes, taking in curves he’d never noticed, and a waist so tiny he could span his hands around it. She wore jeans that hugged thighs he knew were muscular.

Only, five years ago, they’d just been Jesse’s legs.

Now, they belonged to a…

He caught the sweet scent of lilacs as she

slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Soft curves melted against his chest.

A woman.

When in the hell had Jesse grown up? She’d

been thirty when they’d last spent any time

together. Even as an adult, he’d still seen the tomboy she’d always been. His little sister. But damn… She felt good. All feminine.

He collected himself enough to return her hug.

“I’ll be damned, Jesse. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Is that Clint?” his mother called from the

kitchen.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m here.”

Jesse pulled out of his embrace, leaving his skin tingling where they’d touched. Good grief, what was the matter with him? He’d
wrestled
with her, for 5

Claire Ashgrove

God’s sake, and hadn’t ever been affected by

touching her. For that matter, they’d all skinny dipped in Longview Lake one summer. And those

breasts hadn’t been anywhere near as compelling as they were beneath her light blue sweater right now.

Shoot, he hadn’t even known she’d had breasts

back then.

Well, he’d
known
, but there was a distinct difference.

“Clinton, come give your mother a kiss.” His

mother’s call jarred him back to sense.

Thankfully, it also offered a means of escape. He glanced about the room, offered a short nod and said,

“Be right back.” Avoiding eye contact with those disturbingly unsettling blue eyes, he followed the aroma of apples and cinnamon into the kitchen.

****

feet tucked beneath her and trained a smile to her face. Though she pretended interest in Heath and Alex’s conversation, her gaze followed Clint’s retreat.

Loose blue jeans pulled around firm buttocks,

tapered down thick thighs to bunch at the neck of his tan hiking boots. He ducked his head as he

stepped under the doorframe, and thick dark waves touched the neck of his beige sweater. Wide

shoulders hunched to shorten his long frame.

She could not be staring at the same Clint who

she’d grown up with.
That
Clint’s one-dimple grin made her want to poke her finger in his cheek.
This
Clint’s lazy grin had temporarily stopped her heart.

Where had this one come from?

“Dontcha think, Jesse?” Alex gestured her way,

his look expectant.

She blinked. Not knowing what to say, she

stammered, “Oh. Ah, yeah.”

“See, little brother?” Alex tossed a rolled up

paper at Heath. “No way can Arizona beat K-State.

6

A Christmas to Believe In

Don’t you know Jesse’s never wrong about football?”

Once upon a time, maybe. But until right now,

she hadn’t even known her Alma Mater had made it to the bowl. Or which one, for that matter. However, now wasn’t the time to clue the King brothers in on the fact she’d given up her tomboy ways years ago.

That would require conversation. Until her heart stopped this ridiculous hammering, she didn’t dare brave her voice.

Clint’s deep laughter rumbled from the kitchen.

Her gaze pulled back to the open doorway. A strange tingling sensation tripped down her spine. Somehow, he’d changed his laugh too. It no longer made her want to join in. Instead, the urge to giggle set in.

Giggle
, for heaven’s sake.

How come that hadn’t happened when he came

back earlier this year for his father’s funeral?

Because he wasn’t laughing, dummy.

Well that logically explained the prickling of her skin. Yet, it didn’t reason why she hadn’t noticed the
man
in July. He’d worn a suit and tie, but even all dressed up, she hadn’t really seen him. What did jeans and a cable-knit sweater have over formal wear?

Why in the world did she care? This was Clint.

Clint, who lived in Kentucky. Clint, who liked

horses, and she didn’t know the first thing about them. Clint who knew the embarrassing secret that at sixteen, she’d let Mark Hammond, the school

nerd, put his hands up her shirt in exchange for the right to copy off his Algebra quizzes.

Of course, she hadn’t told Clint. He’d found out when Mark asked if Clint could barter up a better payment for answers. Still. Clint knew things about her no man should.

His heavy heel squeaked the board just inside

the kitchen doorway. He stepped through carrying four small plates of homemade apple pie. His gaze 7

Claire Ashgrove

flicked to her, and to Jesse’s shame, her stomach clamped into an anxious ball.

Lord, he was handsome.

Amelia King hobbled to her chair beside the

twinkling Christmas tree, her recently broken ankle slowing her usually quick pace. She bent over to set her plate and a coffee cup down on the end table and paused. With a tip of her head, she peeked out the front window. “Sweetheart, is that a horse trailer in my front yard?”

His arm half-extended to offer Jesse her plate, Clint froze. His amber eyes locked with hers. A touch of color flushed his cheeks as he answered, “Ah, yeah.”

Amelia sat down and frowned at her oldest son.

“Why?”

“Well…” Clint handed Jesse the plate. Their

fingers brushed, sending a jolt of pleasant energy rippling up Jesse’s arm. Clint’s gaze flashed with something she couldn’t define. He pulled his hand away so fast he nearly dropped the pie in her lap.

She caught it at the last moment, then lowered her gaze to stare at the sugar-dusted crust.

He eased himself into the couch cushion closest to her and fixed his stare on his mother. “I was going to ask you if old man Jameson still ran that boarding stable on the north end of town. I had to bring my mare along. She’s due to foal any day.”

Jesse’s gaze strayed sideways to his knee. It

rested close enough that if she unwound her legs they’d touch. Solid, sturdy—she could almost feel the way his leg would lean into hers in a silent

expression of affection. She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking? Clint would never do something like that. At least not with her. She had no business even letting the thought register. He might be handsome, but he was still Clint, and she was still his little sister. The way he’d jerked his 8

A Christmas to Believe In

hand away said more about his thoughts on touching her than anything.

Blinking, she pushed aside the thoughts that

clouded her mind and focused on the conversation.

All three raptly discussed who might have a

boarding stable, who might be willing to take on a pregnant mare on short notice, and how far Clint would have to drive to tend to his horse.

“Clint.” His gaze pulled to hers so quickly she stumbled over her immediate thoughts. Swallowing, she willed her voice not to shake. “Why don’t you use the old barn? I put a new roof on it last year, so it should be watertight. I use half for storage but there’s a stall we could fix up. You’d be close to your mother and your horse.”

“Hey good idea. I can help you fix it up

tomorrow, Clint,” Alex offered.

Clint’s gaze held Jesse’s, spreading unfamiliar warmth through her veins. The urge to move, to

somehow extract herself from that rich, amber

intensity, gripped fierce. A woman could get lost in those expressive eyes.

Dangerously lost.

9

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