Be Mine at Christmas (24 page)

K
EN LEFT
B
AKER’S HOUSE
with the knuckles of his right hand scraped and bleeding.

His mother and Gabe both opened their doors when they saw him. “What happened?” Hannah called. Gabe said nothing. He simply waited until Ken climbed behind the wheel for an explanation.

“The bastard told me she never came here,” he said, smacking the steering wheel.

Two thuds sounded as they shut their doors. “You don’t believe him?” Hannah asked.

Straightening his leg so he could reach inside his pocket, he pulled out the porcelain Christ child he’d found on the floor and handed it to his mother in the passenger seat. “This proves she did.”

She studied it. “This is her figurine?”

He didn’t explain that it was actually his. He didn’t care about the decorations; he’d bought them for her. “Yes.”

Hannah motioned toward Baker’s shack. “So what happened in there?”

Ken shook the pain from his hand, then started the car. “Nothing much. One punch and Baker was ready to tell the truth.”

Hannah put the Christ child in the tray on the console. “And that is?”

“She was here, but now she’s gone.” Making a U-turn, he drove toward the main highway.

“You’re sure she’s gone?” Gabe asked.

Ken sighed as he drove. “I searched the whole place. Baker said she came for a couple of hours but decided not to stay.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell you that from the beginning?”

“That’s what has me worried. I’m guessing he doesn’t want me to find her, doesn’t want me to talk to her. Maybe I won’t be happy about what I hear.”

Hannah turned on the heat. “So where did she go?”

“Who knows?” he replied. “Supposedly, she left with two old women. But that’s probably a lie, too. She doesn’t know anyone else.”

“Did you ask Baker for any names?”

“I did. He said he didn’t get a close enough look to recognize who it was.”

His mother frowned. “What were they driving?”

“A red ’57 Chevy. But I’ve never seen a truck like that in Dundee.”

“I have,” Gabe said. “It belongs to Deanna and Darla Channing.”

The pain in Ken’s hand suddenly vanished.
“Who?”

Gabe smiled. “Two old women. They live up the canyon from my place—your place now.”

They’d reached the main road, but Ken didn’t turn. Letting the engine idle, he used the rearview mirror to look at his stepfather. “You’re positive about that? There aren’t a lot of those trucks on the streets anymore. I would’ve noticed it had I seen it around here.”

“You haven’t been home long enough. They just inherited it from their father, who lived in Boise. They haven’t had it more than six months.”

Feeling a resurgence of hope, of purpose, Ken glanced at the Christ child Cierra had taken and lost. “How do I get to their place?”

“Just head on up the hill. I’ll give you directions from there.”

K
EN HAD EXPECTED
finding
Cierra to be the most difficult part of his day; he hadn’t expected her to refuse to see him once he did.

“She’s here, but…she won’t come down.” Deanna shrugged
apologetically when she returned to the living room, where he and his parents were waiting.

Ken blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

Deanna moved closer. “She’s pretty upset,” she whispered. “She was running down the street when we came upon her, with Stu Baker chasing her. She won’t say what happened but…judging by the bruise on her cheek, there was a tussle.”

“A
tussle?
” Ken repeated.

“That’s how it appears. We didn’t get to hear Stuart’s side. As soon as he saw her get in the truck with us, he took off for the house.”

No wonder Baker wouldn’t open his door and had tried to hit him with a lamp. He’d probably assumed Ken knew Cierra had been hurt and had come for retribution.

The look on his face must’ve revealed his rage, because Deanna lifted her hands in a placating gesture. “From what I can tell, it didn’t go too far. Cierra’s strong, determined. She got away before anything…
serious
could occur. But…she’s understandably rattled.”

Attacking her wasn’t serious? “I want to see her,” Ken said.

“I can’t
force
her to come down,” Deanna responded. “Maybe if you give her some time, come back in the morning—”

“I’m not leaving. I have a job for her, a position in Boise, with someone I know and trust. Unless you can offer her as much, tell her to come down.”

Deanna’s older sister walked into the room. Ken had the impression she’d been listening while working in the kitchen. “You should have her go with him,” she murmured to her sister. “The way things are now she’ll only run away the minute we’re not looking. You heard her when we got her in the truck. She kept saying Baker was going to call the immigration people, that she had to leave town right away.”

Ken’s mother got to her feet. “Do you think he really called them?”

Gabe wheeled his chair forward until he drew even with her. “He’d better not have.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Ken said. “We need to get her out of here.”

With a nod of agreement, Deanna went back upstairs and eventually returned with Cierra, whose sweatshirt was stretched out, as if someone had been yanking on it. The deep scratch on her neck and the bruise on her cheek made Ken wish he’d done a lot more damage to Stu Baker than he had. “You okay?” he asked.

As usual, she raised her chin, daring the world to bring her to her knees.
“Sí.”

Although Ken was dying to know the details—so he could hold Baker accountable for what he’d done—he didn’t ask about her ordeal. Cierra was a private person and the situation at Baker’s had no doubt embarrassed her. She wouldn’t want to talk about it in front of anyone else. Instead, he introduced his parents, whom Cierra met with as much polite reserve and dignity as if they were royalty.

“Ken has some good news for you,” his mother announced.

“I found you a job,” he said. “A good job.”

Cierra lifted a hand. “I know you…are trying to be nice. You have been kind to me, and I am…grateful,
sí?
But I will go my own way now.”

“Just hear me out,” he said. “It’s in Boise, which is an hour and a half from here. Even if Baker called ICE, they won’t find you. Not if we leave right away. And my friend really needs you.”

It was obvious she hadn’t planned to let him sway her, but when she heard that his friend
needed
her, she hesitated, and Ken realized how important it was to her that the need be legitimate. “It’s true,” he continued. “This is no favor. His wife, the mother of his three children, left them last year to pursue a modeling career. He’s a busy man, trying to run his import company, and he could use a housekeeper and caregiver for his children. Since many of his imports come from South America, he’s very excited that you speak Spanish.”

“The children…their mother
left
them for a career? She could no do both?” From Cierra’s expression, it was clear that she
couldn’t conceive of making such a choice. “Who is watching the children now?”

“A nanny who’s getting married and moving away.” Ken was getting through to her, he could tell. “So what do you say? Will you at least give it a try? I know you’ll like Larry. He’s a good guy who’s been through a lot and could really use a break. And he’s offering room and board and fifteen hundred dollars a month.”

It was a fair offer. Ken hoped her pride wouldn’t keep her from accepting it.

“But your friend has not even met me,” she said.

Forever the skeptic. “I told him how wonderful you are.”

She blushed at the compliment, and her eyes shifted to his parents before returning to his face. “I will help him. Of course I will help.”

Relieved, Ken smiled and felt his heart skip a beat when she smiled back. “Good. Let’s go.”

T
HE HOUSE WAS BEAUTIFUL
, a mansion. Cierra had never seen anything like it. At five foot seven and at least two hundred and fifty pounds, Larry wasn’t nearly as handsome as Ken, but he was nice. She immediately felt safe around him and, as far as she was concerned, the children—three girls ages eight, six and four—were a bonus. They had to take her to the Christmas tree first thing to point out all the brightly wrapped packages that waited there for them.

Their innocence settled on her like new-fallen snow, helping her slough off the memories of Baker—what he’d said, what he’d done and what he’d attempted to do. The hours spent dealing with him, the fight that had erupted when she refused to disrobe, didn’t matter anymore. He hadn’t got what he wanted. And she already felt like someone else, someone stronger and better than the poverty-stricken immigrant she’d seen through his eyes.

Maybe that was partly because she now wore one of the dresses Ken’s mother had given her. Hannah had said Cierra could pay her back out of her first check if she wanted to, but that she should look presentable for her job, and she’d been right. Cierra liked the way the dress floated around her knees, the
stylish tights that went underneath and the ankle-high boots Ken had insisted they buy. She hadn’t felt so pretty in a long time.

Glancing up from where she sat on the floor, admiring all the Christmas gifts with the girls, she found Ken watching her and couldn’t help grinning back at him. On the drive, he’d told her he’d come to Boise often to see her. But she didn’t believe him. He’d probably get together with Tiffany as his family expected. Then he’d forget all about her. But she was glad to have known him for the week she had. She’d always treasure the memory of their kiss in the Jacuzzi. That was the best Christmas present she could think of.

He surprised her by staying longer than she’d thought he would—for dinner and a movie. She guessed he was trying to help her make the transition, to be sure she felt safe and happy, and that made her love him all the more.

When the movie ended, Larry said his goodbyes to Ken. Then he went in search of the children’s current nanny, who’d been on the phone with her fiancé most of the night, so she could get the children to bed.

“What happened with Baker?” Ken asked as Cierra walked him to the door.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He lowered his voice. “Did he attack you?”

“Ken…”

“I’m calling the police.”

“No! He told me I cannot…press charges? Is that the right words?” When he nodded she went on. “They will send me back to Guatemala if I try.”

“Then I’ll handle it on my own.”

“By fighting? You will go to jail, and I already have a brother in prison. It is not worth it. I am fine now.”

“Only because—”

“Please…let it go,” she broke in. “He did not hurt me. You see I am fine.”

He blew out a sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

She tilted her head. “Please?”

Finally, he jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

“You like it here okay?”

“Yes. This is a good place, a good job. And I thank you for it. You have been very kind. I will send the money for this dress and these shoes and the other clothes. Please thank your mother, too.”

He cupped her face. “This isn’t goodbye, Cierra.”

He said that now…. “
Sí,
but…even if it is, I want you to know that…I understand. There is no—how do you say—obligation? It is okay if you do not come back. Just…be happy. Always.”

The wind had picked up. When she shivered, he pulled her into his arms to warm her, and she felt his lips brush her temple. “You know what would make me happy?”

Unable to resist, she rested her cheek against his chest. “What?”

“Knowing you’ll be here waiting, excited to see me when I return.”

She angled her face up. “You think I should wait? For how long?” she teased.

“You don’t believe I’ll come.”

“I am sure you mean to. But…who knows what will happen on the ski trip? You might change your mind, eh?”

He touched the tip of her nose. “I’m not going on the ski trip.”

“Why not?”

“Because I asked Brent to take my place, and Tiffany agreed. I’m not interested in her.” Chills traveled down her spine as he pulled her even closer and his lips moved against the rim of her ear. “I’m interested in
you
.”

Was he making fun of her? If so, it was cruel. “An illegal immigrant from Guatemala?” she said doubtfully.

“I might be a dumb jock but I know when I’ve found someone special,” he said, then he kissed her like he meant it. “When I’m with you I don’t miss football. I don’t miss other women. I don’t miss anything. I feel…content. I’m coming to take you to Dundee for Christmas, Cierra, so be ready.”

As he left her standing on the stoop, even the chill wind
couldn’t diminish the warmth that radiated from somewhere deep inside her. He was coming back. She could trust him. But she wasn’t sure she
really
believed that until he turned around.

“Oh, you dropped this.” Reaching into his pocket, he held something out to her.

Curious, she met him halfway down the walk to see what he could possibly mean.

Tears filled her eyes when he set the Christ child in her palm and closed her fingers around it. “We’ll need that for the manger, so don’t lose it.”

“I won’t,” she breathed, and she didn’t. She kept it safe in a drawer in her new bedroom until he returned for her on Christmas Eve. Just like he promised.

Dear Reader,

I grew up on a street famous for its Christmas Card Lane. Every year the city created dozens of gigantic “cards” and displayed them for miles along the bay walk, complete with lights and music. Hundreds of cars rolled down the street each night, curly-topped heads thrust out the windows to get a closer look.

It was sheer magic. Or so I thought at the time. I was too young to ask how the cards were created, much less how they were trucked out and erected and electrified, taken down, stored or paid for.

Later, when I had my own home and saw how vexing even a few icicle lights could be, I looked back on Christmas Card Lane with new eyes. I understood that real people gave up their holiday time to create that wonderland for us. And the idea for this story was born.

Old Duke Araby’s Christmas Joyland is beloved by all in his little Virginia town—all but his own two grandsons, who always hated the festival that cheated them of the attention they craved.

Nate has been estranged from Duke for twelve years. When he hears Annie Browning’s radio SOS for help at Joyland, he returns to the ranch to check things out. He’s not looking for reconciliation, and he certainly isn’t looking for love. But, as we all know, you can’t ever tell what you’ll get for Christmas.

I hope you enjoy their story. And I hope your Christmas is full of love and unexpected gifts of joy.

Warmly,

Kathleen O’Brien

P.S. I love to hear from readers! Visit me at

www.KOBrienonline.com, or write me at

P.O. Box 947633, Maitland, FL 32794.