Be Mine at Christmas (20 page)

“How’d he die?”

“A…stroke?”

Ken had expected an accident or a gang shooting, the type of death more common to younger men. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard of someone under thirty dying of a stroke. “Was it some…rare disease that caused it?”

“He had a bad heart, and—” she struggled to remember the word “—diabetes?”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How old was he?”

“Seventy-four.”

Ken made no effort to conceal his surprise or his disgust. “No…”

Her eyes flashed with anger.
“Sí.”

“You were going to marry a seventy-four-year-old man? What are you,
twenty-five?
That’s sick!”

Moving toward him instead of away, she lost the demure expression she’d adopted the past twenty-four hours—that of a housekeeper staying in the background, doing her work—and pounded a finger into his chest as if she was every bit his equal. “It is easy to judge when you have always had everything, is it not?” she snapped, and presented her back to him as she once again resumed cooking.

“W
HAT DID YOU DO
to her?”

Ken looked over at his brother. They’d eaten dinner and were back in front of the TV, but since the game was over, they were channel-surfing, looking for a movie or some other show to entertain them. “Who?”

“Cierra.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but he did. During dinner, Cierra had been far friendlier to Brent and had positively beamed when he complimented her cooking. But, other than to set a plate in front of Ken, she’d barely acknowledged him.

“I think she’s mad,” Brent explained.

Reclining his chair, Ken crossed his feet at the ankles. “She’s tired. And too proud for her own good.”

Brent punctuated his response with a laugh. “And you’re not?”

Ken clicked to a different station. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Sure it is. And maybe pride is all she has. Did you ever think of that? Why else would she guard it so fiercely?”

For once in his life, Brent had made a profound statement. Ken knew that comments like this stemmed from his little brother’s sympathy for Russ, and his bitterness over the fact that Ken didn’t share that sympathy. But just because he expected people to eventually get control of their lives didn’t mean he had no empathy for their struggles. He was tired of being disappointed, that was all. How many chances did a person deserve? How many had Russ already wasted?

“She’ll be fine in the morning.” Tossing his brother the remote, he got out of his chair. “I’m ready for bed.”

“What are you going to do about her?” Brent asked before he could leave the room.

Ken hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“She needs help.”

“I know she needs help. What do you think I’m doing? I don’t typically have the average homeless person move in with me, even at Christmas.”

Lowering his eyes, Brent fidgeted with the remote. “But…this might not be a quick fix. I’m worried that you’ll run out of patience. You’re always so big on getting everyone to quit enabling others. And it’s not like
I
can do anything for her. I’m just a starving student. I’ll be heading back to school after the holidays.”

They weren’t really talking about Cierra, or not entirely. They were back to Russ again, the one subject they needed to avoid. So how did he respond? Most of his life he’d spent trying to figure out where caring and helping crossed the line to become detrimental to the recipient—and he still didn’t have all the answers. “Dundee’s fairly small,” he said. “We’ve got to be able to find the place she was supposed to go. Now that I’ve gotten settled, I’ll head to town in the morning and get it sorted out. Want to come along?”

Brent frowned. “I do. But I’ve already arranged with Gabe to paint that extra room in Mom’s photography studio. It’s a surprise for Christmas. Do you think you can handle it alone? Or maybe wait another day?”

Ken didn’t want to wait. There was something about this woman that threatened him in a way he couldn’t define. Maybe it was fear that he’d become even more responsible for her than he already felt. Or that he’d be tempted to enjoy more than her cooking and cleaning… “No, it’s fine.”

Brent stopped him again. “Ken?”

What now? Sometimes, Ken didn’t like seeing himself through his younger brother’s eyes. Brent perceived him as an authority figure, someone who was too old for his years, too disciplined,
too unyielding. But Ken had had to be tough to survive, to be what their mother had needed him to be before she met Gabe. Brent had needed him then, too, although he didn’t fully understand the dynamic that had created the differences between them. “What?”

“What if it isn’t possible? What if you can’t find where she belongs?”

“I will.” Russ was enough of a challenge. With any luck Cierra would be staying somewhere else by tomorrow night.

H
E FOUND WHAT HE WAS
looking for so easily Ken almost couldn’t believe it. Assuming he’d have a long day ahead of him, he’d left Cierra at the cabin where it was warm before dropping Brent off in town, but the search had taken only two hours. For one, thanks to the steepness of the mountain, there hadn’t been as many turnoffs as he’d expected. He’d tried two or three, the ones closet to town, and eventually found the fork in the road someone had mentioned to her. Than,
bam,
the numbers she’d recited to him were there, affixed to a battered mailbox dangling from a wooden post.

Snow covered the driveway, left so long it’d hardened. Ice crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the front door. But just because the walks hadn’t been shoveled recently—maybe never?—didn’t mean anything. The cabin was more of a shack, in poor repair, but that could be the very reason the owner needed to hire help. Perhaps he or she planned to clean it up….

Or…maybe this wasn’t the right place, after all.

It fit all the parameters he’d been given, but Ken hoped there was another house in the mountains surrounding Dundee with 11384 in the address because it didn’t appear that anyone was living here. A small, one-car garage leaned into the cabin. Assembled out of various building materials from bricks to corrugated metal to fencing material, it looked like a junkyard creation, a haphazard afterthought. And, judging by the snow piled against it, the door hadn’t been lifted in some time.

Heavy drapes, closed tightly over the windows, made the cabin itself seem dark and empty. There were no Christmas lights, no
decorations at all. But it was a remote location, a small outpost built on the same mountain as the property he’d just bought from Gabe. It didn’t really make sense to decorate when there wasn’t anyone around to see the result.
He
didn’t have any lights up, did he?

As soon as Ken raised his hand to knock, the curtain moved, telling him someone was home. Whoever it was had peeked out at him. But that same someone seemed reluctant to open the door.

Trying to be polite, he waited a minute or two before knocking again. Then he called out, “Hey, I know you’re in there. I’m not here to bother you or cause any trouble. I just need to talk to you about a young Latina woman who’s been looking for this place.”

“What’s her name?” a male voice responded.

Whether or not he’d be admitted seemed to depend on his answer. “Cierra Romero.”

There were several thumps and other noises. When the door eventually opened, Ken realized it’d taken so long because the gaunt, fifty-something man staring out at him had been busy shoving stacks of junk out of the way so he could reach the entry.

What kind of person barricaded himself inside his own house? Ken wondered. Then it dawned on him that he’d met this man before—many times, although he hadn’t paid much attention back then. Mr. Baker had been the janitor when he attended Dundee High School. According to town gossip, he’d been fired several years ago for cornering a female student in the bathroom and trying to feel her up.

Was that true? The question itself was enough to give Ken pause.

“My sister called me, said she was coming.” Deep-set, bloodshot eyes peered out of a skeletal face as Baker craned his neck, searching for Cierra in Ken’s SUV. When he didn’t see her, he did what he could to smooth down his hair, which was standing up as if he’d just rolled out of bed. “Where is she? It’s a cold winter. I could use the company.”

Company… The scents emanating from the cabin threatened to turn Ken’s stomach. Alcohol. Urine. And cats. Lots of cats. “She, um, she—” Somehow Ken couldn’t bring himself to divulge Cierra’s location. Not yet. He had too many questions that needed answering. “You mentioned your sister,” he said, changing gears midsentence. “Where does she live?”

“Vegas. Her ex was going to marry this girl. Brought her all the way from Guatemala. But he croaked the night before the wedding, and then nobody knew what to do with her, so I said I’d take her.”

How magnanimous of you.
But what did it mean? She wasn’t a piece of secondhand furniture. “You…you were thinking of…
marrying
her?” Envisioning Cierra stuck in this cabin with this man created mental pictures Ken did not want to see. Someone so young and beautiful couldn’t possibly be happy here, especially if she had to service this disgusting person.

“Arlene didn’t say that was part of the deal.”

“Arlene?”

“That’s my sister. Charlie’s ex-wife.”

“And Charlie is…”

“The man who was going to marry this girl, then died.”

“Why was someone so old planning to marry someone so young?” Ken asked.

“Are you kidding? What man wouldn’t love that?” he said with an appreciative laugh.

His response made Ken’s skin crawl. “So you plan to…what?”

“Maybe I’ll marry her,” he responded with a shrug. “If we hit it off, eh?”

Stuart Baker would never bother with marriage. Why would he? That would require a trip to town, and it looked as if he avoided public settings at all costs.

Or maybe he
would
go to the trouble. As his wife, Cierra would have even less chance of escaping him.

“I see.”

“So…where is she?” he asked again.

Ken masked his inner turmoil with a pleasant smile. “I’m
afraid I have some bad news. She wanted me to make sure you received word that she won’t be coming.”

“
What?
Why not?” He sounded indignant.

“She, uh, she changed her mind. Decided to go home.”

“To Guatemala.”

“Yeah.”

Baker’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What about her sisters?”

Oh, God—there was more? “What about them?”

“Arlene told me they’d starve if she went back. Her parents are dead. Her brother’s in prison. There’s no way for her to support what’s left of her family.”

And it gets worse.
“You were going to help her do that?”

“Me? You kidding? I don’t have the money to support a whole family, but I can make sure she has a place to stay and gets a meal now and then. At least she won’t starve with them.”

Ken wondered if Baker had made his demands, and his limitations, clear from the beginning. Cierra had come a long way in hopes of reaching this location. She wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t believed she could find legitimate work
and
save her sisters. After only two days in her company Ken knew that much. “Fortunately, you don’t have to worry about her.” He rubbed his hands together to warm them. “She’s taken care of.”

Baker leaned close. “You went to a lot of effort to tell me she’s gone.”

Ken met his gaze. “She asked if I’d pass the word.”

“Because you two are friends?”

“We bumped into each other in town.”

“Sure you did.” His eyes swept down to Ken’s boots and back up again. “You’d think a handsome football star like yourself could get enough women in bed without taking from the rest of us.”

Ken hadn’t necessarily expected Baker to recognize him, but he wasn’t surprised. Even the folks in Dundee who didn’t know him personally knew
of
him. Around here, being a professional athlete made him something of a celebrity. But he wasn’t pleased by the implication.
“What did you say?”

He noticed that two teeth were missing as Stuart stretched his lips into the approximation of a smile. “No offense, Slick. Just keep me in mind when you’re done with her, huh? I’m not going anywhere.”

Ken’s hands curled into fists, but he couldn’t say what came so readily to his lips. If he threatened Baker, told him to stay away from Cierra, the INS, now called ICE, which stood for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, would likely show up at his door. Then she’d be on the next flight to Guatemala. His coming here had obviously betrayed her presence. “Sorry but we’re both missing out.
Since she’s gone.
”

“Right. She only came north to go south again.”

“Apparently.”

“Just keep me in mind, like I said.” And he shut the door.

W
HAT NOW
?

Ken drove up and down Main Street while trying to decide. He couldn’t turn Cierra over to ICE, not after hearing about her situation. If she and her sisters couldn’t survive in Guatemala, sending her back there wasn’t an option. And no way in hell would he ever allow Stuart to be around her. He had more of a conscience than that.

But he couldn’t let her stay, either. She was too close to his age, too attractive, and that meant, as a single man, he couldn’t have her living with him. Last night he’d lain awake thinking about what it might feel like to touch her, to kiss her. And that wouldn’t do. Not if he was planning to see Tiffany again. After having dated for so long in high school and college, they’d always expected to end up together. Now that it was time to settle down and start a family, he needed to get serious about finding a wife—not have a wild fling with some Latin American beauty. Especially when he knew that wouldn’t help Cierra at all.

Someone honked. Blinking, Ken focused on the traffic around him and realized his father had just spotted him.

Shit…
Bumping into Russ was the last thing he wanted.

Ken waved, hoping that would suffice, but his father motioned for him to pull over and Ken couldn’t ignore him. He felt too much of an obligation toward Russ, who’d alienated everyone else in his life; all he had left were his sons.

After parking in front of the hardware store, Ken got out and slogged through the slush as Russ rolled down the window of his old Camaro. This Camaro didn’t have any heat, so Ken had bought Russ a new truck last Christmas, but he must’ve sold it
or given it to someone he owed money because Ken hadn’t seen it since he’d unveiled the big surprise.

“Hey, what are you doing in town?” Russ asked. “Your mother told me you were at the cabin getting settled in.”

Feeling guilty for not having returned his father’s call a few days ago, Ken shoved his hands in his pockets. A pale blue sky stretched in all directions, but the air was bitterly cold, and he hadn’t yet replaced the coat he’d given to Cierra. “I had to pick up a few things,” he explained. “It’s just a quick trip. I’m heading right back.”

“That’s too bad. I was hoping we could grab lunch.”

“Not today. I’ve got a lot to do. But…soon,” he promised.

“Let’s set a date. I have a business opportunity that’ll blow your socks off. Now that you’re not playing ball, you gotta start looking at investments, you know? That money you earned won’t last forever.”

Ken already had investments that were performing quite well. He owned a video-game store in town and the dude ranch and didn’t want to squander any more money on his father’s latest network marketing scheme. It wasn’t as if giving Russ an infusion of cash ever really improved his situation. After he lost whatever amount Ken had provided, he simply came up with a new business idea and asked for yet another “loan.”

But Ken didn’t want to get into an argument on the street. “Maybe we can talk about it after the holidays.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. January sometime.”

“Give me a date, and I’ll call up this guy I want you to meet.” As usual, Russ pretended to be oblivious to his reluctance and kept pushing.

“After the holidays,” he said again.

“Right. But we’ll get together before then?”

“Of course.”

“Hey, did you see the Jets get their asses handed to them by the Cowboys last night?” Russ chortled. “I tried to call you, but it went straight to voice mail.”

Ken hadn’t checked that message yet, or any others. He’d been
too preoccupied. But he wasn’t surprised the game had triggered another call. The Dallas Cowboys had always been his father’s favorite team. It still grated on Ken to hear him talk about them. The entire time Ken had played for New York, Russ had badgered him to see if he couldn’t arrange to be traded. “My boys had a bad night,” he admitted.

“Bad night,” Russ repeated, laughing. “Now that you’re not there, the Cowboys could beat them
any
night.”

Ken could’ve brought up their record against Dallas, which wasn’t as one-sided as Russ suggested, but he knew that wouldn’t help. His father wouldn’t drop it no matter what. He’d just talk about rushing yardage or passing yardage or some other statistic where the Cowboys reigned supreme.

“I still can’t believe you quit ball before playing for Dallas,” he lamented.

Other than not being good enough to play himself, this was his father’s greatest disappointment. But Ken had a few disappointments where Russ was concerned, too. His alcohol addiction was one of them. “Yeah, well, they’ll be fine without me.”

“You sure you don’t have time for lunch?” he asked, and as Ken stared into the banged-up Camaro, with its torn seats and missing door handle on the passenger side, he knew he couldn’t refuse. Difficult though his father could be, he was still his father.

“I guess I could squeeze it in.”

A
S THE HOURS PASSED
, Cierra grew so nervous it was hard to continue working at her usual pace. She hadn’t heard a word from Ken or Brent since they’d left after she’d made breakfast. Had they found the address on that paper she’d had in her pocket? Would she have a permanent place to stay, a good job, a chance to make everything that was wrong in her life right?

She prayed she would. Finding a job without some kind of introduction or sponsor would be practically impossible in Dundee, which seemed so…white. She stood out here. She’d probably have to move to a bigger city, where it was easier to blend in. But that would require time and the money to survive until she found
work, and she had
no
resources. Her sisters had to be getting low on money, too. It’d been three weeks since she’d sent them anything. If she didn’t land a paying job soon, they could lose their home despite her efforts.

The minute she heard the grind of the motor that raised the garage door—now that they’d cleaned out so many of the boxes, Ken could park inside—she hurried to the living room to greet him.

“So?” she asked as soon as he came in. “What did you find?”

Both arms full of sacks, he brushed past her on his way to the kitchen. “Nothing. I searched and searched but—” he put what he carried on the counter “—I finally had to give up. It’s a waste of time. We don’t have enough of the address.”

She tried not to reveal the despair that settled over her. “I see. Of course. You did…all you could.
Gracias.
You were…good to look so hard.”

The way he immediately turned his attention to the items he’d bought made her wonder if he was upset. “I don’t want you to worry,” he said tersely. “We’ll figure out…something.”

But she didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. Especially a man she found as appealing as Ken. “Where’s Brent?”

“Working on a project for my mother. He’ll be staying in town for a few days.”

“Oh.”

He looked up at her. “I said not to worry, okay? You’ll be fine.”

“But my work here is almost done—”

“No, it’s not. I still need your help.”

“For what?” She waved around them. “Already I dust and vacuum and straighten cupboards. And I—I clean your room. Iron all your clothes.”

“You did?”

“Sí.”

“Even my jeans?” She nodded.
“Sí.”

He didn’t act as if that was normal, but he didn’t complain.
There’s the Jacuzzi room and the gym. But you can do that later. It’s time to get started on this.” He gestured at the bags.

He’d bought tons of Christmas decorations—glittery rope, tinsel, red and gold balls and other ornaments, fresh pine boughs, lights. “You want me to…put this up?”

“That’s right.” He pulled a nativity set from one of the bags. “Christmas is in less than a week.”

She’d been in the States long enough to know that most Americans decorated for Christmas. A lot of people in her country did, too. Guatemalans had Christmas trees and
nacimiento
—nativity sets—and presents under the tree. Although they focused more on Christ than Santa Claus, and the adults exchanged gifts on New Year’s, their traditions weren’t too different. But, other than buying presents for his family, she hadn’t expected Ken to bother with any of the usual Christmas trappings. Was his family coming for dinner? “Is it company?”

“Company?” he repeated.

“Company…it is coming?”

The nativity set he’d bought looked expensive. She liked the sight of his large hands removing the fragile porcelain figurines from the packaging, which had
Lladró
written on the side.

“No.”

“And yet you spend…so much money?” That seemed completely impractical to her. After getting to know him, at least as well as she had the past two days, she couldn’t imagine that he was truly concerned about Christmas decorations.

He set the porcelain manger on the counter with the rest of the stuff. “Why not? Women like this sort of thing, don’t they? Look, it’s pretty. You like it, don’t you?” It
was
pretty. But as far as she knew, she was the only woman who’d see it. Had he bought all of this for her sake? To cheer her up because he’d known she’d be sad that he hadn’t been able to find where she belonged?

Although he’d deny it, she suspected that might be the case. Christmas decorations, no matter how beautiful or expensive, didn’t solve her problems, but the gesture was so thoughtful she
didn’t want him to feel he hadn’t pleased her. Especially because it
did
please her. “
Sí.
Of course.” She fingered the Christ child that would remain absent from the
nacimiento
of her fellow Guatemalans until placed there on Christmas Eve. “This is…pretty, as you say.”

“Cierra…” A serious expression claimed his face.

“Yes?”

He hesitated as if he didn’t know how to say what was on his mind. Instead of trying, he ran a finger down the side of her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

At his touch, her disappointment vanished beneath a giddy excitement the likes of which she’d never experienced before. She couldn’t breathe. At first, she’d tried to tell herself that she preferred Brent to his more complex brother, but it wasn’t true. Brent just seemed safer. And he probably was—because she wasn’t attracted to Brent in the same way. “You—you have nothing to be sorry for,” she managed to say. “You have been very…generous to me.”

When his finger reached her chin, his gaze dropped to her lips. “You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No.” But she was afraid of how he made her feel. She couldn’t fall for a man with whom she had a far better chance of getting pregnant than getting married. In her situation, she had to make sacrifices, had to trade her youth, beauty and sexual favors for marriage, money and citizenship. Maybe what she had to do was too mercenary for most Americans to understand, but that was her reality. And there was no way that deal would hold any interest for Ken, who could have any woman, even the gorgeous blonde from the diner. Marrying another man like Charlie was the best Cierra could hope for. She had to be practical, understand her limitations. Her sisters were counting on her.

“I think maybe I’m a little afraid of you,” he said.

She would’ve laughed, except she was pretty sure it wasn’t a joke. “Do not worry,” she said. “I will be gone soon. I promise.”