Christmas on My Mind (8 page)

* * *

By eight-thirty that morning, Jess had telephoned the woman who owned the house, made a verbal offer and gotten an acceptance. The price, a little lower than what she'd been quoted, was within the range of fairness, and the terms would leave her enough cash to make at least the basic improvements on the house.

The process was eased by the woman's husband, who happened to be the loan officer at the bank. Jess hadn't been sure she could finalize the contract on a Sunday, but he'd had copies of the necessary forms on his home computer. He'd helped draw up the contract and set up the transfer of Jess's funds from her Kansas City bank for first thing Monday morning. He'd even phoned the utility companies and arranged to have the weekend crew turn on the lights and water by the end of the day. The gas would be on tomorrow.

He'd also taken Jess's application for a line of credit she could use in the remodeling—the loan to be secured as a second mortgage on the house.

Jess walked out of his home on shaky legs and feet that could barely feel the sidewalk. She was a homeowner—or at least a house owner. When she thought of the hard work and possible pitfalls ahead, it almost made her nauseated. But she felt pleasantly giddy as well. She'd done it. She'd taken the first step toward having her own bed-and-breakfast.

The next step would be telling Francine. She hoped her mother would be enthusiastic about the project. But knowing Francine, there was no telling how she'd take the news.

Last night as she'd wrestled with the decision to buy the house, Jess had remembered Ben's wise advice:
Ask yourself this question. What if you were on your own and Francine wasn't in the picture? Would you still take on this project? Would you do it for yourself?

Jess had asked and answered that question in the night. She really did want this for herself—something of her own that would be part of the community, something she could grow and take pride in. If Francine wanted to be involved, so much the better. If not, Jess would have to find other ways to help her mother.

With the plan in place and moving forward, it was time to tell Francine.

She arrived at the jail, parked her car and went inside. By now, Ben's staff knew her. After leaving her purse at the front counter, she was admitted without the customary pat down. She found Francine in her cell, eating breakfast off a plastic tray.

“Well, hello, honey.” Francine looked up with a grin. She was dressed in fresh clothes, her hair newly washed and combed. “I was starting to wonder if you'd come to your senses and given up on me.”

“No way am I giving up on you,” Jess said. “I told you I had a plan, and now that it's under way, I want to tell you about it.”

Francine listened, shoveling down her scrambled eggs and pancakes as Jess described the house. “I know that place,” she said. “Some of the kids think it's haunted. For all I know, they may be right.”

“Well, whoever's haunting the place, they'd better move over and make room for the new owner,” Jess said. “I plan to clean it up from attic to cellar, get it looking spiffy and open it as a bed-and-breakfast.”

“And you're expecting me to help you.” Francine sounded less than enthusiastic. “And here I was hoping for a beauty makeover and a trip to Vegas.”

“I can't force you to help me,” Jess said. “But it would give you a better place to live than that old trailer. And you could share the income once we open the place up and start making a profit.”

Francine's eyebrows knotted in a thoughtful frown. “Sounds a lot like work to me. And I've never been big on scrubbin' floors and swabbin' toilets. I'll have to think on it.”

Jess's spirits plummeted. She'd tried to prepare herself for this kind of response, but she hadn't realized how much the letdown would hurt.

“You've got five days to make up your mind, Francine,” she said, knowing she wasn't ready to call the woman
mother
. “If you don't want to be part of this, you can go back to your trailer and do whatever it is you'd rather do than be with me. It's up to you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a house to clean.”

Blinking back tears, Jess turned away from the cell. She didn't like herself right now, but maybe tough love was the only way to deal with an impractical, overgrown child like Francine.

She'd gone a half-dozen steps when she heard her name called. She turned back to see that Francine had put her tray aside and was standing at the bars.

“You'll come back and see me again, won't you?” She looked like a sad-eyed puppy in the pound.

“Of course.” Jess reached through the bars and squeezed her mother's plump shoulder. “I'll try to come every day. If I don't make it, you'll know I'm just busy with the house. But I hope you'll think about my offer. If you're willing to come on board, we could make a great team, the two of us.”

Had she meant what she'd said? Jess wondered as she collected her purse and went out to her car. Would she and Francine really make a great team, or would the woman prove to be nothing but a millstone around her neck?

Never mind, she told herself. She'd come to Branding Iron in search of her birth mother. Now that she'd found her, and made a commitment to stay, she had little choice except to play out this drama, wherever it led.

Now what? Jess started the car. She couldn't do much in the house until she had lights and water, which wouldn't be turned on until later in the day. She was also going to need tools, work clothes, and some basic supplies.

Also, she hadn't forgotten her promise to Clara and the Christmas Ball committee. More than half the numbers on the list still needed calling. She would go back to Clara's and get that done now, Jess resolved. With luck, she'd be able to start on the house by late afternoon.

Her tentative plan was to begin with the bathroom and one bedroom. That way she'd at least have a place to clean up and a place to sleep. The sleeping bag she'd brought in the car would have to do for a bed until she could find some furniture. After that would come the kitchen—a huge job. Once it was done, she'd be able to get some pans and a few dishes and cook her own meals. Next on her list would be the second bedroom for her mother—if Francine decided to move in.

Once the downstairs was cleaned, furnished and decorated, she and Francine could move upstairs and leave the two bigger bedrooms for their paying guests. The plan seemed like a sensible one, but the thought of the time and work involved left Jess weak in the knees.

If she was to make the payments on the house, she'd need to be open for business by Christmas week. In view of all there was to do, that seemed impossible. But she'd taken this project on. She would make it work or go down fighting.

Jess parked the car in front of Clara's house and went inside. She found Ben's mother standing at the stove, warming up the chili for lunch.

“Hi, you're just in time.” Clara stirred the chili and lifted the pot off the burner. Only then did she turn around.

“Good heavens, Jess!” she exclaimed. “You look like you just climbed on a bucking bronco about to go out of the chute! Are you all right?”

With a nervous laugh, Jess pulled out a kitchen chair and sank onto the edge. “Never better. I just bought myself a house.”

“So you did it!” Clara clapped her hands. “Good for you! But my, you're one brave girl!”

“Maybe too brave. It's just sinking in how much there is to be done, and how easily I could lose the place.”

“Have you told Francine about it?”

Jess sighed. Her shoulders sagged. “I did. I asked her to move in and help me, but she wasn't the least bit excited. She said that it sounded like a lot of work and that she'd think on it. All she really seems to want from me is a trip to Las Vegas—and now that I've bought a house, I certainly can't afford that. I don't understand her. This is a chance to rebuild her life. It's almost as if she's too lazy and indifferent to care.”

Clara ladled chili into two bowls. “I'm sorry things didn't go better. You're probably too worked up to be hungry, but you'll feel better if you eat something.” She set one bowl of steaming chili in front of Jess, along with a glass of milk and a slice of buttered corn bread. With the other bowl, she sat down at the place she'd set across the table.

“Your mother isn't a bad person,” she said. “But after your father died, she went to pieces. She was such a wreck that she didn't even feel capable of caring for her own baby. After all these years, nothing much has changed. She's lived on welfare, hung out in bars, been in and out of jail, again and again. . . .” Clara reached across the table and laid a cool, thin hand on Jess's arm. “Nobody, least of all Francine herself, has expected her to be responsible for anything—not until today, when you asked for her help.” Clara's warm brown eyes, so like Ben's, met Jess's. “I don't think your mother's lazy and indifferent, dear. I think what she really is, is scared.”

“I'll remind myself of that next time I see her.” Jess blinked away the tears she'd been holding back since leaving the jail. She'd come to Branding Iron hoping to find a mother like the woman sitting across from her—someone cultured, understanding and kind. Instead she'd found Francine, and a whole new set of challenges. But the reality was what it was. All she could do was buckle down and try to make the best of it.

“You look exhausted,” Clara said. “I'll bet you didn't sleep a wink last night. Maybe you should go upstairs and take a nap.”

“Not yet.” Jess finished the last of her chili and rose to help clear the table. “I promised myself I'd finish calling the people on the list you gave me.”

“Oh, heavens, don't worry about that,” Clara said. “I can do it. I've got plenty of time—and you're worn out.”

“Thanks, but what would the ladies on the committee think of me if I dropped the ball as soon as something came up? I need to make the calls.”

“Oh, I suppose you're right. But after that, dear, you really do need to get some rest.”

“After that, I'll need to go shopping for some tools and cleaning supplies. As soon as the utilities are turned on, I want to start on the house.”

“But there's no need for that!” Clara pointed to a door at the back of the kitchen, one Jess had scarcely noticed before now. “I have all kinds of tools and mops and cleaners in the basement. Please feel free to take them to your house. You can bring them back when you're finished.”

“You're sure? I hate imposing on you, but that would be great.”
And it would save me so much money over having to buy new supplies,
Jess thought.

“No trouble at all,” Clara said. “I have a cleaning lady who comes every two weeks. She brings her own things, so my old brooms and mops and buckets are just sitting in the basement, along with my husband's old tools. Once in a while Ben uses them to fix something, but he won't miss them for a few weeks, especially now, with Ethan here. Feel free to take anything you need.”

“You just saved my life!” Jess gave her a careful hug—Clara felt so fragile. “I promise to keep track of what I take and to replace everything when I'm finished.”

“I'm happy to help,” Clara said. “Now run along and make your phone calls. I can finish here in the kitchen.”

Jess sat down at the small desk in the living room and found the list in the drawer. Her finger shook as she punched in the first number and waited for the ring. This was really happening. She'd bought a house, and in a few hours she'd be walking through the door as the new owner.

She was scared to death.

Chapter Eight

B
y the time the pickup swung off I-20 and onto the exit ramp, Ben's hands were cramped on the steering wheel and his knee was throbbing. He never looked forward to the daylong drive from Branding Iron to Dallas, but it was the price he gladly paid for time with his son.

Through the murky twilight, the lights of Dallas sprawled to the horizon. Ben had spent the most miserable years of his life here, after the shattered left knee, which still pained him sometimes, had ended his hopes of playing in the NFL. In the long run, the accident had ended his marriage as well. Cheryl had wed him with the dream of being married to a pro-football superstar and enjoying the glamorous lifestyle that went along with it. Instead she'd ended up tied to a broken man who worked for her father's insurance company and hated every minute of it.

Ben had never blamed her for the affair that had put an end to their doomed marriage and sent him home to Branding Iron. But that didn't mean he enjoyed dealing with her on these visits to pick up Ethan. Tomorrow when he arrived at her fancy gated condo, she'd be waiting, as always, to twist in the knife and collect her pound of flesh. By now he'd grown to expect it.

Taking the familiar street, he pulled up to the Holiday Inn that was twenty minutes away from Cheryl's place and checked into the room he'd reserved earlier. He was ready for a decent meal, a shower and a good night's rest, but his first priority would be to let Ethan know he was here and planning to pick him up for breakfast in the morning.

He made the call and waited four rings before Cheryl picked up. “Hi, Ben.” Her voice was flat, neutral. She had company, he surmised.

“Hi.” He tried to sound upbeat. “I just wanted to let you and Ethan know I'm in town. Could you put him on?”

There was a beat of silence. “Oh, I'm sorry. He's at a sleepover.”

Why was this not surprising? “Didn't you know I was coming to get him in the morning—and that I wanted him packed and ready to go?”

“Yes, I did. But it was his cousin's birthday. How could I not let him go, especially when he begged me? I was hoping you'd understand, but I should've known better. All you ever think of is your own agenda.”

Ben fought the urge to grind his teeth. In the background he could hear a man's voice. The accent, even over the phone, sounded Bostonian. If Cheryl's new love was in town, it made sense that she'd welcome the chance to have Ethan gone for the night. Ben was annoyed, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing it.

“I'd be happy to pick him up at his cousin's in the morning,” he said. “Just give me the address and let them know I'm coming.”

“That won't be necessary,” she said. “My sister-in-law will be dropping Ethan off here around ten. I'll call you when he's ready to go.”

“Fine.” Ben ended the call before his temper could boil over. He'd learned from sad experience that losing his cool with Cheryl would just backfire on him. When it came to Ethan, she was holding the strings and she knew how to pull them.

At the time of the divorce, Ethan had been a baby who needed his mother full time. Ben had agreed to give her custody with visitation rights for him. Now that his son was growing up, he wanted more time with the boy. But good lawyers cost money, and Cheryl's wealthy family had the best. Maybe if she was serious about marrying Nigel, he could talk her into letting him have Ethan for the school year. He already knew it was what his son wanted.

If he intended to negotiate with Cheryl, he'd be smart to keep the peace between them.

In the motel coffee shop, he ordered a hot beef sandwich and forced himself to eat it. Back in the room, he showered, crawled into bed, switched on the TV and clicked through the channels. There was nothing on worth watching, but at least some mind-numbing entertainment might relax him enough for sleep.

As his eyes glazed over a silly sitcom rerun, Ben's thoughts wandered back to last night and that stolen kiss at the foot of the Christmas tree. He hadn't planned it, hadn't even meant for it to happen. But in that brief moment when Jess's soft lips pressed his, he'd felt magic swirling through his body—as sweet as Christmas and as sensual as sin.

Jess was a special woman. She might not make it as a supermodel, or even a college homecoming queen like Cheryl had been. But her spunky nature and caring concern for other people lent her an inner beauty that stunned him at odd moments. He barely knew her, Ben reminded himself. But if he wasn't careful, he could find himself falling for the woman.

Not that he was about to let it happen. Right now, he had too many complications in his life to even think about a relationship—his job, his mother, his son, his ex-wife—all demanding his attention. Adding a girlfriend to the mix would be unfair to everyone involved, especially to the girlfriend.

As for marriage . . . That wasn't even in the picture. He was in no condition, emotionally or financially, to start a new family. Jess would make some lucky man a great wife, just not him.

But, damn it, he could really use more of those kisses.

Holding that thought, Ben switched off the TV, rolled over and went to sleep.

* * *

Jess stripped off her rubber gloves and massaged her aching back. She had spent most of the last two hours on her hands and knees, scrubbing away layers of unspeakable grime and grit. But she'd done it. The bathroom was actually clean and usable.

Reaching for the handle, she flushed the toilet just to hear it work. The sound was music to her ears.

The floor, which had been covered by a layer of dirt, had turned out to be blue ceramic tile—a nice surprise. The walls would need fresh paint. The naked lightbulb in the ceiling and the cracked mirror above the vanity would need to be replaced. But all the fixtures worked, the water was running clear and the whole room, from floor to ceiling, had been scrubbed with disinfectant. Jess ached in every bone and muscle, but the thrill of accomplishment was worth the pain. This was her house, and little by little she was going to make it into something charming, if not beautiful.

The electricity and water hadn't come on until the end of the day. Before starting on the bathroom, Jess had taken time to gather the needed supplies and check out the rest of the house with the lights on. By now it had to be almost ten o'clock.

Spending the night here was out of the question. The gas company wouldn't be sending a man to turn on the furnace till tomorrow, so the house was cold—to say nothing of what could be crawling around in the dark. But by tomorrow night she'd at least have one bedroom shipshape, even if she had to sleep on the floor. She wanted to be out of Clara's house before Ben returned with his son. After that sizzling kiss, there was no way she'd feel right about staying under the same roof.

Sooner or later, she was going to need a bed for herself, and, she hoped, one for Francine, to say nothing of tables, chairs and other things, once the house was ready. Maybe in one of the bigger towns she could find a secondhand furniture store and pay them to deliver. There was no guarantee she'd get the line of credit she'd applied for at the bank. She would need to make every cent of her own money go as far as possible.

Giving the place a last-minute lookover, Jess turned on the front porch light, locked the door and went out to her car. Early tomorrow she'd be back, ready to start on the rest of the house. A mountain of work awaited her, but the most vital task of all was the one she dreaded most—convincing her mother to come and help.

* * *

“Let's hit the road, buddy.” Ben tossed Ethan's duffel bag into the backseat of the truck cab and helped his son buckle the seat belt. After the usual grilling Cheryl had given him, all he wanted was to be out of Dallas and heading home.

“So how was the sleepover?” he asked as he started the truck.

“Okay, if you like baby stuff,” Ethan said. “My cousin is six. I was the only kid my age at the party. I didn't want to go, but Mom made me.”

“Well, it doesn't matter now. We're on our way, and we're going to have a great time.” Ben kept his reaction to himself as they headed up the on-ramp onto the freeway. Cheryl had made a point of mentioning that their son had begged to go to the party. But it would serve nothing to tell Ethan his mother had lied.

With the late morning hour and the need to get on the road, Ben hadn't had a chance to talk with Cheryl about taking their son for the school year. But he'd met Nigel, a pale, lanky fellow with an affected accent and a formal manner that reeked of old money. The fact that he was wearing designer sweats and a slightly rumpled look confirmed that he had, indeed, spent the night in the condo with Cheryl.

As for Cheryl, she'd changed little from the honey-blond homecoming queen he'd married—except that she was nastier. “Ben is sheriff of Podunk, Texas, or whatever they call the place,” she'd told Nigel when she introduced them. “He might've been another Peyton Manning, but after his knee went out, he couldn't make a go of it anyplace but his hometown. I don't suppose he ever will. He's even living with his mother these days.”

Ben had returned Nigel's cold handshake, bitten back a snarky retort and left with his son. Cheryl always did her best to make him feel like a failure. Mostly he tried to ignore her jabs, but sometimes, like today, she got to him.

In high school he'd been voted most likely to succeed. In college he'd been a hero on the football field—until the last game of his senior year, when he'd gone down under a three-hundred-pound tackle and ripped out the ligaments and tendons in his knee. After that it was all over.

He and Cheryl had married the summer before, when they discovered she was pregnant. Their dreams of NFL glory had lasted less than six months. After Cheryl's miscarriage and Ben's accident, they'd struggled on for four more years while he finished his degree in sociology and went to work as a claims adjustor for his father-in-law's big insurance company. Between his own discontent and Cheryl's, even having Ethan hadn't been enough to save their crumbling marriage.

After the divorce, Ben had returned to Branding Iron, mostly because his mother was alone and unwell. He'd tried to tell himself his law enforcement career was making a difference, even if it didn't pay much, and even if hauling drunks off the street, scaring a few misbehaving kids and making the occasional drug bust weren't exactly big-city crime drama material. By now he'd put down roots. But in staying, he'd given up hope of ever becoming more than what he was—a small-town lawman with no bragging rights except the respect of his community.

“Is the Christmas tree up?” Ethan's voice broke into Ben's thoughts.

“You bet it is!” Ben said. “We got it in and decorated it last night.”

“You and Grandma?”

“No. Grandma needs to rest these days.”

“Who, then? You said ‘we.'”

“A friend. You'll meet her. She's staying at your grandma's house for a few days while she finds a place to live. I think you'll like her.”
Now why had he said all that? It wasn't as if Jess was going to be a long-term part of his son's life.

“You won't find any presents under the tree yet,” he said. “For one thing, it's still early, and for another, you haven't told me what you want.”

“I'm still thinking about that,” Ethan said. “I guess I'm waiting to see if I get to stay with you.”

That would be the best Christmas present ever,
Ben thought. But he still hadn't talked to Cheryl about it, and he didn't want to get the boy's hopes up. “I guess we'll have to see what happens with your mother and Nigel,” he said. “But I promise you one thing—I won't sit still for your being packed off to some fancy eastern boarding school.”

“Thanks.” Ethan gazed out the window as the city thinned to suburbs, then to open fields and farms. “Hey, can we stop at the reptile showplace for lunch?”

The off-freeway roadside exhibit, a relic left over from the 1950s, served greasy hamburgers and hot dogs on stale buns, but Ethan had loved the place since he was old enough to make the drive to Branding Iron with Ben. Stopping there had become a tradition.

“Sure,” Ben said. “Meanwhile, you'll find a couple of chocolate nut bars in the glove box. Pass me one and take the other one for yourself. Then let's think about some things you'd like to do when we get home.”

* * *

Jess braced herself for frustration as she walked into the jail. What kind of mood would she find her mother in today? Would she be willing to help with the house, or had she already closed her mind to it? As Jess walked down the row of cells, she tried to remember Clara's wise advice—Francine wasn't dragging her heels because she was lazy. If she was holding back, it was most likely out of fear.

Jess had started her day early, making coffee at Clara's, then leaving for the house before dawn. In the first hour, she'd pried the boards off two windows, then managed to sweep out the main floor, raising dust and a few spiders, but at least no cockroaches. Tearing up the carpet would be a backbreaking job. Maybe Clara would know a couple of husky local boys who could use a few hours of work to earn Christmas money.

Deciding to take a break, she'd walked out back to the garage and used one of her keys to unlock the door. Wonder of wonders, the garage was crammed full of
furniture!
The pieces were old and dusty, some of them broken; but much of what was here could be salvaged. She could even see some bed frames against one wall.

The find was a godsend. But she would need help hauling things out of the garage and into the house—a job that couldn't be done until the place was clean.