Sweet Christmas Kisses (56 page)

The nun wheeled out of sight.  Jackson considered getting up, but his body was aching and it felt good to be horizontal, even if it was a hard wood floor.

“Welcome to the convent.”  Tiffany blew out a ragged breath as if she’d just survived a harrowing ordeal.  “You’ve been invited to dinner, but you might want to clean up first.  Do you need–”

“I’m not helpless.”  Anger jolted him to a sitting position.  His head spun.

“I’m sorry.  How should I say this?”  Tiffany grimaced, then babbled in that non-stop way of hers.  “Your clothes are wet and muddy.  We have a bathroom down the hall where you can wash up and change.  You can rinse out your clothes, but they may take a day or two to dry in this weather.”  She drew a quick breath, avoiding meeting his gaze.  “What I was trying to say before was
do you need
to borrow some clothes?”

The anger drained out of him, replaced by humility.  “It’s my turn to apologize.  People tend to treat me like I’m an invalid.”

“Really.”  Tiffany stood.  She’d changed into black yoga pants and a baby blue button-down.  “No one who knows you would do that.” 

“That’s what you think,” Jax muttered.

She waved aside his sentiment.  “You underestimate yourself, Tree-Hugger.  We’ll wait to eat until you’re clean.  It’s safer for your toes if you keep a pair of shoes on while you’re inside.  I don’t suppose you have a pair of flip-flops or slippers in there.”

“No house shoes.  I’ll wear my boot.”  Using his arms for leverage, he got his real foot beneath him and stood.  Tiffany handed him his cane.  She still wasn’t looking at him. 
Why not? 
 “Just out of curiosity…”  He waited until Tiffany met his gaze, and then gave her a mischievous smile.  “What clothes would you have loaned me?”

Snake Bait didn’t disappoint.  One corner of her mouth turned up.  “A nun’s habit, of course.”

Jackson had been here less than two hours, and was already winning over the nuns.  He’d changed into basketball shorts and a T-shirt.  The nuns had helped him hang up his rinsed clothes, including several thin sleeves he put over his amputated limb.

Sister Mary Rosa patted his hand when he passed her the salt.  Sister Mary Lucia kissed his cheek when he carried his dinner plate to the sink.  And Sister Mary Ofelia?  She smiled at the man as if she was sixteen, not sixty.  All because he’d produced a small bottle of wine from his backpack.

Tiff should have gotten the nuns tipsy weeks ago.

“It’s not a competition,” Jackson whispered in Tiff’s ear as they sat next to each other on a bench at the dinner table. 

How did he know what I was thinking? 
Tiff sniffed, ignoring the wisp of man-to-woman awareness that encouraged her to lean closer, to smile and let him know through the tilt of her chin and the batting of her eyelashes that she was interested.  Because she wasn’t.  Despite the fact that they were in a poor-man’s marriage.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“They’re only pretending to like me best to make me feel welcome.”  One blue eye twinkled (the other being swollen shut).  He stretched out his arms and yawned.  “Must be the
unido
blessing.”

“Must be,” Tiff muttered.

“
And now, you will take him to bed
,” Sister Mary Ofelia announced, rising. 

Tiff nearly fell backward off the bench.  “
But
–”

The old woman tsked.  “
He cannot sleep here alone
.”  She gestured for the other nuns to follow her down the hall.  “
We go to pray.”

“
You are unido now
.”  Sister Mary Lucia pressed her freckled cheek briefly against Jackson’s.  “
It is a good thing.
” 

“
I was right.  He is your destiny.
”  Sister Mary Rosa blew them a kiss as she wheeled her walker away.  “
He is also your responsibility now, as you are his
.” 

Tiff swept a stray crumb from the table to the floor.  Her body felt heavy and cumbersome.  She turned to Jackson.  She’d bound herself to this man–this stranger–out of kindness.  Granted, it was in a ceremony unrecognized in her culture.  But in the eyes of three holy women, they were married.

This is my wedding night.

She gazed down at her wedding trousseau.  Flip-flops, yoga pants, and a wrinkled button down.  She finger-combed her hair, encountering tangles.  According to the society pages, the Bon-Bon Heiress was quite a catch–a fashion icon, millions in her trust fund, and a lifetime supply of luxurious chocolate.

Those were the days.

Jackson stared at her with that half smile.  “What’s up?”

“It’s time for lights out.” 

“Sure.  Yeah.”  His smile faded.  He must have picked up on her nervousness.  How could he not?  She was a wreck.  “Just show me where I can bunk down.  The floor out here works for me.”

“No!” 
Tone it down a notch.
  “You need to come with me.”  Tiff handed him his cane, picked up his prosthetic, and then shouldered his backpack.  She led him down the short hallway, and into her room.  It was the same room she’d stayed in as a child.  “This is it.”  She put his stuff in the corner next to her cot with her pink sheet on it.  “It’s not exactly Trump Towers.  It’s not even the bed and breakfast my aunt runs in Cedar City, Utah.”

Stop babbling.

“Is this your room?  Am I putting you out?”  Jackson leaned against the doorframe.

Across the hall, Sister Mary Rosa peeked at them, flashing her gap-toothed smile before closing her door.

“We need to talk.”  Tiff should have explained when he’d first come to.  She indicated he sit on a small folding camp stool in the corner.  All the luxurious trappings her grandparents had imported to Ecuador had been sold off long ago.  She closed the door and flipped the privacy latch.  “
Unido
means we’re…
friends
.”  She was such a chicken.  “We have to share a room.”

Jackson pushed to standing.  “Hey, no disrespect, but I’ll sleep in the common room.”

“You can’t.”  She kept her back against the door.

He quirked a dark eyebrow over his good eye.  “This is starting to get weird.”

“I know, right?  First the storm, then the snake, and now…
marriage
.”  She tried not to cringe when she said it.

He didn’t move, but his entire body tensed, like a boxer posing for a picture who was suddenly confronted with a real threat.

Tiff rushed to clarify, ending with, “So, if you can’t share a room with me, you’re out.”

“I’m out.”  He moved with a hitching gait to collect his possessions.

Thunder boomed across the valley.

He sagged against the wall, his one good eye hooded.  “On second thought, maybe I’ll wait until they’ve gone to sleep, then sneak out to the common room.”

“They’ll hear you.”  She lowered her voice.  “They’re like ninjas.  Silent feet.  Ears like supersonic spy satellites.  And don’t get me started on their sense of smell.  You can’t get anything past them.  Trust me, I’ve tried.” 

A few weeks back, one of the local farmers had offered to give Tiff a ride to the market in Guayaquil early one morning.  Not wanting to wake the sisters, Tiff had gotten ready quietly.  Sister Mary Ofelia had stopped her at the front door, asked her where she was going (and, more importantly, with whom), and saved her from all kinds of unpleasantness from the local pervert.  She’d learned more than a few things about the nuns and the local farmers that day.

The thunder continued to roll.

Jax cleared his throat.  “I’m trained in stealth tactics.  I think I can get past three old women.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose, lost his balance, and fell against the wall. 

Tiff helped him up.  “Look, I’m not going to jump your bones, and I’m willing to take you at your word that you won’t jump mine.  I need the nuns, because I need to be here.”  She had nowhere else safe to stay.  “
Please
.”  She patted the folding stool.  “Sit down, Jackson.”

He sat, closed his eyes, and propped himself in the corner.  “I prefer Jax.” 

“And I prefer Tiff.”  Before she realized what she was doing, she’d reached out and smoothed the furrow on his brow with her thumb.  “We’re going to go lights out,  Otherwise the bugs, who have superpowers, will work their way through screen or cracks in the wood.  But first, I need to know a few things about you.”

He cracked one eye open, a mere slit of Caribbean ocean blue.  “Such as…”

“I’m not asking for your name, rank, and serial number.”  Or your cell number and social media addresses.  “If I’m going to get any sleep tonight, I need to know something about
you
.  Something…personal.  It’s not like we’ve just boarded a flight and I’ve strapped myself in for a little snooze while flight attendants watch over me.  I’m going to sleep on the cot and you’re going to sleep on the floor next to me.”

“You want to put the stranger-danger issue to rest?”  At her nod, Jax sat up straighter.  “I reserve the right to refuse to answer.”

“Fine.”  She perched on the edge of her cot and used her chirpy-cheerful voice, the one that said she had little in the brain department and was no threat to big, strong he-men.  “What brings you to Ecuador?”

“I have a list of things I want to accomplish.  Item one is a trek along the Andes.”

He had a list of life goals.  She had a daily to-do list.  And most days she didn’t even finish that.  “You’re hiking alone?”

“Obviously.”  His sarcasm was almost palpable.

Chirpy and cheerful morphed into serious and solemn.  “How long have you been down here?”

“A week.”

“And where do you call home?”

“Phoenix.”

This was starting to feel like a police interrogation with a savvy, career criminal.  She might have gotten more information if the storm hadn’t moved on, because thunder clearly had an effect on him.  “Any family?” 
Wife?  Kids?
  Why hadn’t she thought about that before railroading him into marriage?

“Just my parents and my kid sister.”  His eyes had a faraway look as he added solemnly, “My parents are disappointed in me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

His gaze time traveled back to the present, pinning her.  “Explain.” 

“I know what kind of
cajones
it takes to come to Ecuador.  And I’ve got two legs.”  It was the truth, and she wouldn’t take it back, although his expression turned grim.  “My dad nearly had a coronary when I announced where I was going.”  And the reason.  “Why would your parents be disappointed that you’ve taken on this challenge?”

“My family thinks I should be in a program for…a condition most vets are diagnosed with nowadays.  It comes with four initials–starting with a P–and a slew of prescription meds.  I don’t want any part of it.”  Jax fell silent.  He looked like a football player putting on his game face before the Superbowl.  Tiff had no doubt that whatever was on his list of goals, he’d accomplish them all.  “My parents think I’ve come down here to disappear.  Or kill myself.”

She nearly fell off the cot.  “They may be your parents, but they seem to have misjudged you.”

“All due respect, ma’am.  You don’t know me at all.”  His suddenly rigid shoulders.  His suddenly formal speech.  They both said:
back off
.  But there was a sadness in his one open eye that contradicted all those boundary markers.

“
Au contraire
.”  Tiff waggled a finger at him, attempting humor.  “I know you want to avoid killing.”  Even a grumpy, hungry snake.  “I know you can conquer those initials you refuse to acknowledge.”  P.T.S.D.  “And I know you have a high pain threshold.”

“Maybe not so high.”  That lopsided grin re-appeared.  “I passed out on your threshold.”

Honest, brave, attractive.  She’s always wanted to marry a man like that.

Oops. I just did.

“Okay, let me try another one.  I know you’re a gentleman.”  They may have just met, but she trusted him. 

Tiff retrieved a rolled, woven reed mat from beneath her cot, shook it out, and spread it on the ground.  “Thank you for making me comfortable.  Lights out.”  She pulled the chain on the overhead light bulb and lay down on her cot, feeling very much like half of a couple in a 1950s sitcom, the kind where husband and wife slept on separate single beds.  “Good night, my friend.”

“Good night…
wife
.”

A convent.  Nuns.  An angel.

If his knee hadn’t been an achy mess, Jax would’ve thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

The more he thought about it, the less upset he was over the
unido
ceremony.  He certainly wasn’t as upset as Tiff.  Local customs meant nothing other than a roof over his head.  It wasn’t as if they were legally married.  These ties wouldn’t be binding.

Jax lay on the reed mat.  He’d been in bathrooms larger than Tiff’s bedroom.  The shutter on the window was open, but no breeze came through the screen.  The sounds of a passing storm rumbled in the distance drawing every nerve in his body taut.  Angelic Snake Bait shifted restlessly on her cot and sighed.  He could swear he’d seen her somewhere before.  Her sweet scent reached him.  Calm, comforting, sleep-depriving.

He had the oddest image of Tiff in his arms, smiling and whispering confidences.  He could almost feel her body’s warmth and the gentle press of her soft lips on his. 

A pipe dream.
  All that pink and her dainty dinner manners.  What would a woman like her see in someone like him?

He hadn’t dated since his injury.  How could he?  He hadn’t felt like a whole man.  He’d never considered being anything less.

He’d been a rough-and-tumble kid.  Hunting?  He’d load the rifle and take aim.  Four-wheeling?  Point him in the direction of the steepest trail.  Sports?  He was a sacrifice-your-body type of guy.  Stitches.  Sprains.  Broken bones.  Those injuries had made him feel
more
–stronger, more balanced, more masculine.  A partial loss of a limb shouldn’t make him feel deficient.  With his prosthetic and time, he could do anything.  But he did feel lacking, despite the fact that the rest of him worked just fine.  If he didn’t count the thunder-induced flashbacks, his slower pace, and his own self-doubts.