A Dundee Christmas

by Brenda Novak

  That would surprise him. She wasn’t the type to relax in the middle of the day. It wasn’t like her to hang out in her room, either, not when there were boxes that needed to be unpacked.

  He checked her room—and saw some clothing stacked on her bed. Judging by the tags, all still attached, these were the clothes his mother had bought. And, of course, he recognized his shirt and coat.

  “Cierra? Hey, you around?” He already knew she wasn’t. That clothing told him as much. But he looked in the Jacuzzi room. And the gym. And the patio out back. He even unlocked the old workroom, where Gabe used to build his furniture. She wasn’t anywhere.

  It wasn’t until he came back to the living room, however, that he realized she was gone for good. That was when he spotted the nativity set he’d bought, remembered how much she liked it and noticed that something was missing.

  * * *

  AT LEAST IT WASN’T snowing. And this time Cierra had a name; that would make the search easier. The slip of paper she’d brought from Vegas had probably held the same information, somewhere in that jumble of writing. If only Cierra had paid more attention to the details, she might’ve arrived at Baker’s in the first place.

  Almost as soon as she’d started walking, two older women, Darla and Deanna Channing, sisters in their early seventies, pulled over to see if she needed a ride. They were taking advantage of the break in the weather by heading to town for supplies. Apparently, they owned a cabin not far from Ken’s.

  Cierra had planned to start her search for Baker once she reached Dundee. She’d thought she’d have to go there to find someone who knew him well enough to give her directions. But when she mentioned his name, Deanna, the driver, said she used to be Baker’s schoolteacher. Not only did she know him, she knew where he lived and offered to take Cierra there.

  Certain her luck had finally improved, Cierra felt her spirits lift—until they got to his cabin. Then she wasn’t sure what to do. The decrepit old shack looked as if a strong wind might blow it down the mountain. She knew Ken wasn’t impressed with the place, but she hadn’t expected it to be quite so bad.

  “This is it?” she said, stalling.

  “This is it. His mother used to be a good friend of mine, God rest her soul. She lived here, too, before she passed four years ago.”

  Darla, the sister, frowned. “Doesn’t look as if he’s done much to keep up the place.”

  Maybe he couldn’t, Cierra thought. Maybe Baker was poor, like her. If that was the case, she didn’t want to discriminate against him. She knew what it was like to be treated differently because of her economic status.

  But there were the comments Ken’s father had made about Baker. Ken’s family didn’t hold him in very high esteem….

  Grasping the door handle, she paused. “Do you know much about your friend’s son?”

  “No.” Deanna adjusted the wool hat she wore to keep her ears warm. “There were some allegations once—”

  “Allegations?” she interrupted, asking for clarification.

  “She doesn’t understand that word,” Darla cut in.

  Deanna patted her hand. “Never mind, dear. It doesn’t matter. His mother told me he had a boss who was out to get him, that he was falsely accused of some wrongdoing. But I’m not one to pass along gossip so we’ll leave it there.”

  Gossip… Was that what Ken and his family had been reacting to? Cierra hoped that was all it was.

  Thanking the sisters, she climbed out, but turned back when Deanna lowered her window. “Would you like us to wait for a few minutes?”

  Relieved, Cierra nodded, then approached the front door and knocked twice.

  No one answered.

  “I don’t think he is home,” she called back.

  The Channings briefly conferred. “Would you rather go to town?” Deanna asked.

  Why would that help? She’d only been going to Dundee in order to find this location. “No. I will wait.”

  “You’re sure? It’s cold out, young lady.”

  “I am warm enough. And…the sky is clear today, yes?”

  “For the moment,” Deanna grumbled, as if it could change quickly. But she promised they’d stop on their way back to make sure Cierra wasn’t still standing on the stoop, and pulled away.

  Cierra knocked several more times, just because she had nothing better to do, and was surprised when she finally heard a noise from within.

  “Hello? Is anyone at home?” she said loudly. “My name is Cierra Romero. I was…I was supposed to work for a Mr. Baker? His sister sent me.”

  She heard someone say, “Well, what do you know.” Then the door opened and a man who hadn’t shaved in some time squinted out at her as if the sun was far too bright an intrusion into his dark little home.

  “Slick finished with you already, huh?”

  “Slick?” She didn’t know anyone by that name.

  “The big NFL football stud. Ken Holbrook.”

  Clasping her hands in front of her, she resisted the urge to fidget. “I no work for him now.”

  “So…what kind of work did you do?”

  Cierra wasn’t sure she liked Baker’s smile. There was…something about it. “I clean house. Unpack boxes.”

  “And then you cleaned his pipes, right?” he said with a laugh.

  His joke made no sense to her. She hadn’t cleaned any pipes…. “Pardon?”

  “Never mind.” He looked her over carefully. “You are pretty. Just like my sister said.”

  Cierra didn’t respond. Her looks didn’t have anything to do with their arrangement. She already knew she’d never marry this man. Maybe Charlie had been old, but he’d also been kind. He hadn’t reeked of alcohol. And he’d had far more to offer than a filthy dump. She didn’t want to be here. But one of the men with whom she’d hitchhiked had taught her a saying and it definitely fit: Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Come on in.” Stuart opened the door wider to make room for her, and Cierra swallowed hard as the smells drifting out of his cabin hit her nostrils. Was this really what she wanted to do?

  She didn’t budge. “What are you offering in return for my labor?”

  “Ooh!” He laughed as if he thought she was funny. “You’re a businesswoman, huh? Let’s just say that I’ll be happy as long as you give me what you gave Ken Holbrook.”

  “I charge the same for all,” she said, but got the impression that she’d once again missed some nuance in the conversation.

  He grew serious. “Here’s the deal. You keep the place clean and you cook, and I won’t call the INS. Simple enough?”

  She didn’t like that he’d mentioned immigration. “Dishes? Dusting? Vacuuming? Laundry?”

  He gave her a slight bow. “Sí.”

  Was he mocking her? It was so difficult to tell. But she believed Charlie’s ex wouldn’t have sent her here if it wasn’t safe. This was Arlene’s brother. Maybe she hadn’t been nice to begin with, but she hadn’t sent Cierra back to Guatemala, either.

  After Christmas, or in a few months, she’d learn of other opportunities and be able to find a better situation. Or she’d be able to post on that bride website again. “Then…I accept.”

  “I’m so glad I could measure up to Slick.”

  Measure up… Cierra was fairly certain no one could “measure up” to Ken. At least, she’d never met another man like him.

  “I’ve always wanted to earn the approval of an illegal alien,” he added with a wink.

  “You are…being funny?” she asked, confused again.

  “No, no. Just amusing myself. Come on in, like I said.”

  As he stepped back to admit her, she put her hand in her pocket and curled her fingers around the glossy porcelain Christ child she’d taken from Ken’s. The memory of having known Ken would be enough to get her through the next few weeks. And, as soon as possible, she’d find a new place to live….

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHILE KEN PACED in the kitchen of his parents’ house, Gabe sat nearby, i
n his wheelchair. Hannah stood at the table, wrapping presents.

  “I don’t know where else to look,” he said. “I’ve already driven up and down the canyon three times but didn’t see her. And she was on foot! She couldn’t have gone far by the time I got home and realized she’d left.”

  “I’ve never seen you this worked up.” Hannah took the piece of tape her husband held out. “Do you really think this woman is in danger?”

  “She could be. But she’s not the type to reach out for help. She’s…maddeningly stubborn.”

  A curious expression lit Gabe’s eyes, and he smiled. “That sounds like grudging respect to me.”

  He couldn’t meet his stepfather’s gaze, didn’t want Gabe to misinterpret what he was feeling. It was guilt that had him worked up, nothing more. “I do admire her. I’ve never met anyone with her character. Someone who’s been tested to such a degree and still won’t bend. But enough is enough, you know? I get that she’s decent and willful and independent. I get that she feels responsible for her sisters and will do anything to help them. I even get that she wants to support herself and not be some charity case. What I don’t get is the fact that she’s walking around wearing a thin sweatshirt when she could be wearing a heavy coat, a coat I’d never miss. And I don’t like that she doesn’t have a dime to her name, even though I would’ve happily given her some cash, if only she’d take it.” He pivoted at the stove and headed back toward them. “You should’ve seen how hungry she was when I first found her. I don’t think she’d eaten in days. And you know what she did? As soon as the bill came for our dinner, she asked how much she owed me so she could be sure she worked it off. She was determined not to short me a cent.”

  “Sounds rare and admirable,” Gabe said.

  “She is rare and admirable. But…” Grabbing the extra roll of Christmas paper his mother motioned for, he handed it to her. “She didn’t take those clothes you bought her, Mom.”

  Hannah glanced up from her work. “I spent a lot of time picking those out. Didn’t they fit?”

  “Brent said they fit perfectly, but they qualified as a handout, and she won’t accept a handout. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Gabe leaned back in his wheelchair. “So where do you think she’s gone?”

  “Baker’s, I assume. But I’ve been by his place twice, and I can’t get anyone to answer the door.”

  Adding a bow to the gift she’d been wrapping, Hannah pushed it aside and finally gave him her full attention. “Maybe no one’s home.”

  “Stu Baker is a freak,” Ken responded. “He rarely leaves the house. Unless it’s to go to the bar.”

  Hannah sank into a chair. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but Ken thought his mother was more beautiful than most women who were perfectly made up. She had a natural glow about her, an easy smile. He used to hate being compared to her—everyone said they looked so much alike—but ever since he’d grown up, he felt a great deal of pride when someone told him they resembled each other.

  “So what do you want to do?” his mother asked.

  “I want to find her so I can tell her I have another job for her. I want to take her to Boise and know she’s safe.”

  Gabe scowled. “I don’t understand why you feel so responsible for this woman, Kenny. You offered to help her—you did help her—and now she’s moved on.”

  “I’m not taking responsibility for her. I just… I don’t want her to be with Baker. He’s not in it to help her.”

  “Then why is he in it?” his mother asked.

  “To use her, and the thought of that turns my stomach.”

  Both his parents stared at him.

  “She’s not that type,” he explained, trying to counter the level of emotion with which he’d responded. “She won’t sleep with him if she has a choice, but…I’m afraid he won’t give her one. So, you see? She could be in danger.”

  Gabe and his mother exchanged a knowing look. “That’s what I thought,” his stepfather said.

  Ken looked from one to the other. “What?”

  “You’ve got it bad.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “That fear gnawing at your gut?”

  “That has nothing to do with…with what you’re inferring,” Ken snapped.

  His stepfather smiled. “It doesn’t?”

  “No!” he said. But then he remembered how it had felt to touch Cierra in the Jacuzzi and how panic-stricken he’d been since finding her gone. “I feel guilty that Brent made her think I didn’t want her around,” he said, but he knew Gabe wasn’t buying his denials. Neither was his mother.

  “Sure you do,” Hannah said with a laugh. Then she stood. “Come on. Let’s head back to Stu’s. I’ll go to the door this time. It won’t be as intimidating to open up to a woman. I’m less likely to break his face for stealing my girl.”

  “Stop it,” Ken grumbled, but he couldn’t deny that he felt relief at the prospect of finally being able to talk to Cierra.

  * * *

  FROM WHERE HE SAT, parked down the road and out of direct view of the windows, Ken watched his mother approach Baker’s door. She knocked, waited, knocked again. Then she turned to face them and shrugged as if to say she wasn’t having any luck.

  A third knock brought no better result. Finally, she started back.

  “Shit,” Ken grumbled, and got out before she could reach the Land Rover.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as he stalked toward her.

  “I’m going in.”

  She tried to bar his path. “You can’t do that! You could go to jail for breaking and entering.”

  “Then I’ll go to jail.”

  “Gabe?” she called, glancing past him to her husband.

  Gabe had opened his car door when Ken got out. “Let him go,” he advised. “Maybe he’s right about this girl’s safety.”

  “I’m worried about his safety,” she muttered, but stepped out of the way, “Be careful,” she added.

  “I’ll be fine,” he told her. “Stay with Gabe.”

  Fortunately, she seemed to understand that he didn’t need anything more to worry about and did as he asked.

  Stu Baker’s house looked as empty as it had on his previous visits. The only thing different was the tire tracks. Two lines cut through the snow on the drive—evidence that he’d left last night and possibly today.

  Ken didn’t bother with the front door. That was a waste of time. Instead, he went around to the back and checked every window. He was hoping to see inside, to get some idea of whether or not Cierra was there, but the windows were covered so completely they might as well have been blacked out.

  With its low-ceiling and tacked-on look, the room at the back was more like a shed or a storage area. But this door was warped and far flimsier than the one in front. Ken felt he’d have a greater chance of forcing it open.

  Lowering his shoulder, he rammed it, and wasn’t too surprised when the lock popped. He’d spent years in football perfecting his ability to hit. He was good at it. But it hurt a lot less with pads.

  “Baker!” He stood in the open doorway, rubbing his shoulder.

  No response.

  “Hey, Baker?” He’d been right about the room. It had a dirt floor, black plastic covering the windows and smelled like a cellar. Maybe there was a door to a cellar in here somewhere but, if so, Ken couldn’t see it. Stacks of magazines and newspapers, empty soda bottles and beer cans, old clothing, cat hair and God knew what else covered the floor and various, worn-out furniture.

  “Cierra?” Wading through the mess, Ken headed for the next room. An accordion-style partition led into the regular part of the house. When he opened it and peered through, he could see light in the front and moved toward it—until he heard a noise from one of the side rooms he’d already passed. Whirling around, he dodged a blow that probably would’ve cracked his skull.

  As he feinted to his left, the lamp Baker held came down on a wooden chair, s
hattering the glass middle section. “What are you doing in my house?” he screamed. “What do you want from me? How dare you come in here without permission!”

  As Baker raised the lamp again, Ken prepared to take further evasive action. “I’m looking for Cierra. Did she come here?”

  “No! Get out!”

  Hoping to forestall another swing, or give himself more room to maneuver, Ken backed up. But he wasn’t leaving, not until he had Cierra. “I’m talking about Cierra Romero. The woman from Guatemala you were expecting. She left my cabin this morning. I think she was on her way here.”

  “If she was, she never showed up. Now get out.”

  Ken wasn’t sure whether to believe him. But she didn’t seem to be here now, and that made him wonder if he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. “You’d tell me if she did, right? Because if I find out you’re lying, I’ll be the one taking the swings.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  Ken didn’t bother denying it. “Damn right.”

  “You don’t see her, do you?” A scrawny cat wandered into the room to see what all the fuss was about. Baker moved it to one side with his foot—a none-too-gentle motion—but he seemed to be calming down and he’d lowered the hand with the lamp. “Because she’s not here. I don’t even know what she looks like.”

  What did that mean? Had she already left the area? Hitchhiked out? Possibly. She’d hitchhiked here to begin with, hadn’t she? But the idea of her alone on the road again upset Ken. It was so dangerous. And how would he ever find her? “Shit!”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” The smugness in Baker’s voice irritated Ken but at least the idiot had put his broken lamp on the table. “Now, will you go? I shouldn’t have to point out that you’re trespassing.”

  “Sorry.” Suddenly Ken felt foolish for strong-arming his way in without proof that Cierra was here. “I’ll pay to replace your back door. The lamp’s on you. If you’d answered when I knocked, this could’ve been avoided.”

  “I don’t have to answer your knock if I don’t want to. There’s no law that says I can’t ignore you. But I can fix the door myself,” Baker grumbled. “Just get out and leave me alone.”