A Dundee Christmas

by Brenda Novak

  Her door opened slightly. “Cierra?” It was Ken, speaking in a low voice so Brent wouldn’t overhear.

  Was it too soon to pretend she was asleep? She knew it was, and yet she didn’t want to discuss what had happened. She preferred to forget it, chalk it up to the general insanity and misfortune she’d encountered since her parents died. “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sí. I am fine.” Would he come in, expect to be welcomed into her bed, despite Brent’s presence?

  She hoped not, and yet she had mixed feelings when he didn’t even try. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. It—it won’t happen again,” he said, and the door clicked shut.

  * * *

  A KNOCK AT THE FRONT door woke Cierra the next morning. She assumed Ken or Brent would get it but, when they didn’t, she began to wonder if, as their housekeeper, that was her job.

  Climbing out of bed, she rubbed her eyes and checked the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was barely eight. Who would drive up to the cabin so early?

  She put on her only pair of jeans, smoothed down Ken’s T-shirt, which she’d worn to bed, and ran her fingers through her hair to make herself as presentable as she could in ten seconds. Then she hurried to the living room. She was just reaching for the door handle when she heard Ken behind her.

  “Who is it?” he asked with a yawn.

  “I don’t know.” She stepped back in case he wanted to answer it, but he stayed in the hall and motioned for her to go ahead.

  A second later, she was facing Tiffany Wheeler, who was doused in the same perfume she’d had on at the diner. Her hair, makeup and clothing were as perfect as ever, too.

  “Hi.” Tiffany’s smile faltered when she saw that Cierra was, once again, wearing Ken’s clothes, especially when she spotted Ken and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  Cierra knew that, at first glance, it looked as if they’d been in the same bed. But she shouldn’t have worried that Tiffany might suspect any such thing. A second later, Ken’s ex-girlfriend shrugged and broadened her smile as if this couldn’t possibly be what it looked like. Ken would never be interested in someone like Cierra. Cierra had nothing to compete with.

  “You’re getting all settled in, huh?” She spoke to Ken as though Cierra wasn’t standing there and held up the plate she carried so he could see it. “I made you some homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast.”

  “Come on in. You caught me sleeping but I’ll grab a shirt.”

  Cierra dutifully took the rolls and closed the door behind her.

  “Place looks great,” Tiffany said while Ken was gone. “Did you do all this yourself?”

  Cierra and Ken had done it together, but she didn’t think he’d want her to mention that. He hadn’t told Brent last night. She’d heard him say she’d done it all. “Sí.”

  As Cierra put the rolls on the dining table, Tiffany noticed the nacimiento displayed between the couches and Ken’s chair and crossed over to it. “Oh! I saw this at Gerdy’s Boutique and wanted it myself,” she said, her eyes wide. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  Maybe she’d get it someday. She wanted Ken, too, didn’t she? “Sí.”

  Tiffany studied her for a moment. “You know, you have really pretty eyes. If you’d like to come over sometime, I’ll help you put on a little makeup. It wouldn’t take much. Your skin is already flawless. A bit of mascara on those lashes and you’d be stunning.”

  Stunning. Cierra didn’t feel she could ever be stunning. Not compared to Tiffany. But she had to give Ken’s ex-girlfriend credit for trying to be nice. Or was Tiffany merely making it clear that she didn’t view Cierra as any kind of threat?

  Mom thought you were perfect for each other. Brent had said that about Tiffany and Ken. And they probably were. They even looked like they belonged together. So what would one half of that equation want with a blue-collar illegal immigrant from Guatemala who had three sisters to feed?

  Ken reappeared, looking as good as if he’d taken the time to shower. He hadn’t. He’d merely put on a pair of jeans with a sweater and house shoes, and combed his hair. But he didn’t need to do much. With his rugged face and muscular body, he was attractive no matter what. “How about one of those rolls?” he said.

  “I will make coffee.” Cierra ducked out of the room as soon as she felt it was safe to do so without appearing rude. But the kitchen opened onto the living room and, even though they’d lowered their voices, she could hear Tiffany and Ken talking about her after she’d left.

  “Your housekeeper is so sweet, Ken. How old is she?”

  “I haven’t asked, but I’m guessing she’s about twenty-five.”

  “How long have you had her? Was she with you in New York?”

  “No. We met when I flew in to Boise.”

  Cierra peered out through the crack in the door. Tiffany stood close to Ken, and touched his arm at every opportunity. “You’re lucky to have someone like her. It’s got to be nice having help. Does she cook?”

  “She does. She hasn’t made a lot yet, but what she’s served has been terrific.”

  “Mexican food?”

  “Guatemalan.”

  “You’ll have to ask her if she’ll teach me a dish or two.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  “Awesome! That would be fun!”

  “Hi, Tiff!” When Brent joined them, Cierra returned to the stove to prepare eggs and bacon. She wasn’t certain whether additional food was expected with cinnamon rolls, but she preferred to keep busy. That made it easier not to obsess about Tiffany.

  “You drove all the way up here just to bring my bum brother some rolls?” Brent’s voice carried back to Cierra, but she knew Tiffany’s response wouldn’t be as loud. Wanting to hear it, Cierra tiptoed over to the door.

  “Actually, I came here because I wanted to ask him a question.” She seemed a little nervous despite her usual confidence.

  “What is it?” Ken’s face was filled with curiosity.

  Tiffany glanced from Ken to Brent and back again. “Some of my friends, three different couples, are going skiing at Silver Mountain Resort tomorrow, then staying over at a cabin. I was hoping you’d be my date.”

  Ken’s mouth dropped open. “Uh, that sounds good, but I’m not quite settled in—”

  “I’ll be around to take care of what’s left,” Brent said. “Me and Cierra. Go, have a great time.”

  Hands in his pockets, Ken cleared his throat. “Right, it’s the holidays, after all. So…sure, I’ll come.”

  “Thank you!” Tiffany threw her arms around him, then hugged Brent. “Can you pick me up at my place first thing in the morning? Around six?”

  “Sure.”

  “Because of the storms, I think we should take your Land Rover, if that’s okay.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m glad you can come,” she said, and started for the door.

  “You’re not staying for breakfast?” Brent asked.

  “No, I’ve got a lot to do today so I can be away from the flower shop. But enjoy the rolls. Smells like the coffee’s ready.”

  “Thanks.” Ken showed her out, then turned back to his brother. “That came out of nowhere, didn’t it?”

  “Are you kidding?” Brent replied. “You know Tiffany’s been waiting for you to come home for years. How can you be surprised?”

  Ken didn’t respond.

  “You’re going to have a blast,” Brent added.

  “Yeah, should be fun,” Ken muttered.

  Cierra hurried to the stove but could still hear Brent’s booming voice. “This is the beginning of the end for you, bro. You’re going to make the big commitment soon. I can feel it.”

  Again, Ken didn’t reply, but Cierra agreed with Brent. Why wouldn’t Ken want Tiffany? What was there not to like?

  Nothing. Tiffany had everything a man could want.

  * * *

  KEN COULDN’T HELP wondering what Cierra had thought of Tiffany’s visit. She wouldn’t look at him
as she served breakfast, so he knew she’d heard their conversation. Was she mad?

  She must think it was weird that, after saying he wanted to make love to her, he’d accept an overnight invitation from another woman. He knew it made him seem shallow and insincere, as if he’d attempted to use her, and he hated that. He wanted to explain that he’d only accepted Tiffany’s invitation because he didn’t want to embarrass her by refusing. The whole community had expectations for them that made him feel obligated. But maybe it was better to forget what had happened last night rather than address what had happened today.

  Of course it was. Cierra didn’t expect anything from him. So why did it bother him so much that she might be upset? What was it about this dark-skinned beauty in her ill-fitting clothes that affected him on such a gut level? Was it just that she was different, unique, a challenge because of that damn pride? If so, he couldn’t be sure the attraction would last. He’d never met a woman he couldn’t forget with a little time. And Tiffany was…Tiffany was the woman everyone had always thought he’d marry.

  “What’s going on around here?” Brent broke the silence.

  Ken peered at his brother over the rim of his coffee cup. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re both so quiet.” He motioned to Cierra, who had her back to them as she loaded the dishwasher.

  “I think we’re all tired.” Predictably, Cierra said nothing. She was blending into the background again. But Ken knew her feelings weren’t as neutral as she pretended.

  Brent slapped the table. “You should be jazzed, man!”

  Ken couldn’t bring himself to agree, because he wasn’t. “It’ll be okay,” he said with a shrug.

  “Why are you acting so weird?” Brent asked.

  A knock interrupted them, relieving Ken of the need to reply. Someone else was at the door.

  “Hey, if that’s one of Tiffany’s friends coming to invite me, I’m in,” Brent said, and jumped up to answer it.

  Ken followed him into the living room. But it wasn’t one of Tiffany’s friends. It was Russ.

  What could their father possibly want now? Ken had already caved in and given him some money just to get him to stop asking.

  “What’s up, Dad?” Brent asked.

  “Not much.” Taking off his baseball cap, Russ shook the snow from it onto the mat. “I just came up to meet the new housekeeper.”

  Ken thought he must’ve misunderstood. Had Russ just mentioned the housekeeper? How did their father know about Cierra? Ken certainly hadn’t talked about her. He’d figured the fewer people who knew, the better, at least until he could decide what to do. “Did Gabe say something?” he asked in confusion.

  His father pulled his cap back on. “No. Stuart Baker showed up at the bar last night complaining to everyone who’d listen that you’d stolen his future wife.” Russ laughed as he said it, but Ken didn’t find it funny.

  “He what?”

  “Who’s Stuart Baker?” Brent asked.

  No one answered him.

  “He was pretty pissed about it,” Russ went on. “When he wouldn’t quit bitching about you, we nearly went at it. I told him I’d know if you had a woman up here. But he was so adamant, I began to wonder. Especially when he said you should learn to keep your pants zipped or someday you’d run into someone who’d make you sorry you didn’t.”

  Ken felt his muscles tense. “Baker isn’t pretending to be that guy, is he?”

  “He hinted that he’d like to do what he could. But that was the alcohol talking. He wouldn’t even fight me,” his father added with another chuckle.

  Ken was tired of his father’s barroom brawls and was glad this one had been avoided, even if Baker deserved a beating. Ken didn’t need anyone to stick up for him.

  “Keep his pants zipped!” Brent repeated. “Ken hasn’t been sleeping with Cierra.”

  The image of Cierra standing naked in front of him flashed through Ken’s mind. Did almost count? In the hours since the Jacuzzi, there were plenty of times he’d wished that Brent hadn’t come home when he did. Now he was back to being glad.

  “Baker had better shut up before I pay him another visit,” he said. “Cierra doesn’t need him running around, stirring up shit.” Not if, as he suspected, her visa had expired.

  Russ’s eyebrows shot up. “That means it’s true? You’ve got some Guatemalan woman living here?”

  Afraid that Cierra had already overheard most of what had been said, Ken held up a hand. He wanted to send her off to clean the gym or something before they discussed this, so they could speak freely. But that didn’t stop his clueless brother from calling after him.

  “Wait a second! You found the address she was looking for? Why’d you say you didn’t?”

  Now it was too late to keep this quiet. He didn’t know if Cierra was listening, but he felt he had to answer Brent in a way that everyone could hear and understand, just in case. “I didn’t want her there,” he said. “It wasn’t a good place.”

  “But…you told me you didn’t find it.” Brent sounded confused.

  “Because it wasn’t a good place, like I told you. You should’ve seen it.”

  “Why would you lie about that?” Brent asked. “When you’ve been dying to get rid of her?”

  Ken grabbed his brother’s arm. “Will you shut up?”

  “She’s in the kitchen,” Brent snapped. “She can’t hear us.”

  His brother could be so obtuse. “Just shut up,” Ken said again. Then he scooped his keys off the coffee table and stalked out. He didn’t want to deal with his father right now. He didn’t want to deal with Brent, either. And he most certainly didn’t want to see Cierra’s face if she’d heard one word of what they’d said.

  “Where are you going?” his father called after him.

  “I’ve got stuff to do.” He slammed the door on his way out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHILE KEN WAS GONE, Brent gave Cierra a whole pile of new clothes. He said they were a gift from his mother, that his mother expected nothing in return, and kept pushing her to try them on. But she didn’t want to touch them. She wasn’t happy about the clothes or anything else. She felt sick inside. For several reasons. For wanting to be with Ken so badly she’d humiliated herself by believing, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it to herself at the time, that he might be genuinely interested in her. For hoping the situation could be different. For burdening him when he wished to be rid of her…

  “So what do you think? It’s pretty, right?”

  Forcing herself out of her thoughts, she refocused on Ken’s brother. He was waiting for her reaction to the last item he’d taken from the bag—a sweater he laid on the couch.

  “Beautiful,” she breathed, and allowed herself to finger the soft knit. It was beautiful, one of the prettiest sweaters she’d ever seen. But that didn’t change how she felt about accepting such an expensive gift.

  “So try it on!” he said.

  Realizing that he didn’t understand her resistance and was disappointed as a result, she finally nodded and carried the clothing into her bedroom.

  Almost every item fit. She’d come out to show it to Brent, so he could feel he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. He’d tell her how wonderful she looked in it. Then she’d try on the next thing and thank him again. It was an agonizing process for her, but when it was all over he seemed satisfied and eventually left for town to finish some painting for his mother.

  Once the sound of Brent’s engine dimmed, Cierra donned her old clothes and sank onto the bed next to the pile he’d attempted to give her. These garments were so much better than anything she’d ever owned, so similar to what she’d seen Tiffany wear. She thought she might have a chance of capturing Ken’s interest if she could look more…American. More…affluent.

  But she couldn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. New clothes didn’t change who she was or remove her responsibilities.

  Getting his T-shirt from where she’d put it in a drawer earlier, she
folded everything into a neat stack and laid his coat across the top. She didn’t want to take any of it. She preferred to leave knowing she’d worked for the food and shelter he’d provided and that he was no worse off for having met her.

  The phone rang, but she ignored it. As of this moment, she no longer worked for Ken, so it wasn’t her place to answer. She was on her way out—but just as she reached the front door, she saw the nacimiento he’d bought for her to enjoy and paused in regret.

  Would it be so terrible to take a small token to remember him by?

  No. He probably wouldn’t even miss it. Christ wasn’t supposed to be in the manger yet, anyway.

  * * *

  KEN RETURNED TO THE CABIN relieved and excited. He’d spent most of the morning at his mother’s place, calling every associate he could think of, searching for a legitimate position Cierra could fill. And he’d found one. Lawrence Smith, a guy Ken had known in college, was living in Boise. Recently divorced, he had full custody of his three children and ran an import company that specialized in plywoods from Ecuador, the Philippines and Guatemala. His current nanny was getting married and moving to California the first of the year, which meant he needed a new one. And he didn’t mind that, for the time being, Cierra wasn’t a U.S. citizen.

  The only hard part had been convincing Larry to hire Cierra instead of the woman he’d already interviewed, and to do it sight unseen. But Ken had vouched for her and promised to compensate Larry if she didn’t work out. Fortunately, Larry had been mollified when he learned that Cierra spoke English as well as she did. He considered it a bonus that his caregiver would be able to communicate with his children and teach them Spanish, since he frequently traveled to Spanish-speaking countries.

  Eager to tell Cierra the news, Ken had tried to call the cabin, but she hadn’t picked up. And now that he was home, he couldn’t get her to answer when he called her name. Where was she? In the Jacuzzi?