“I’m trying to apologize here.”
“It’s too late, Jase.” Marisa raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “You’re only making an excuse for why a guy like you is found shooting a pageant that’s sole purpose is to showcase pretty women and the causes they care about.”
He stared and took a few steps closer. “You think that? You think I’m apologizing to save face for my part in this?”
“Aren’t you?”
He crouched in front of the coffee table. Good thing it was between them. “No. I care about you, Marisa. I’d give anything to have a chance with you again.”
She stared hard into his eyes for a long moment. “Anything?”
He hesitated.
She’d caught him in a lie. Marisa shook her head. “Nice try, Jase. Just this afternoon you were arm-in-arm with Avalon. She entered the pageant, too. Did you tell her the same thing? That you believe in what she’s doing and care about her? Make up your mind. I’m not stupid.”
“I’m not seeing her any more. Dating her even once was a mistake.”
“You make a lot of them with women, don’t you?”
He reared back. She’d hurt him, but he deserved it.
“In the past. I’m wiser now.”
She laughed. “Wiser than you were this afternoon?”
“Is this a bad time to come in?” Mom’s voice came from the kitchen doorway.
Marisa tore her gaze from Jase’s smoldering eyes. “No, please, you have perfect timing.” She couldn’t let Jase hurt her again. She couldn’t fall for his smooth lies.
Mom glanced from one to the other. “Why don’t you have a seat, young man?” She pointed at a vacant armchair and set a candy-cane-striped mug and cloth napkin on the nearby side table. “Do you like homemade shortbread?”
Jase took another long look at Marisa before taking the proffered seat. “Thank you.” He helped himself to two cookies.
Mom settled into her favorite chair, cloaked in Gran’s afghan. “Now tell me about yourself, Jase. How long have you been living in Helena?”
~*~
Jase took a deep breath and a sip of the hot chocolate through the mounds of whipped cream. It probably left him with a milk mustache, but nothing the napkin wouldn’t cure.
“I moved here in July. My parents bought the Grizzly Gulch Resort about a year before that.”
“You’re Kristen’s brother?”
Did he mistake Marisa’s eye roll?
“Yes, I am.”
“Such a lovely young lady.”
This wasn’t going too badly. Until he looked at Marisa and saw her staring at a spot on the floor, her jaw clenched.
“Kristen’s a great sister.” Maybe he could tell Wendy everything he wanted to tell Marisa. “She’s married to a nice guy, and they live in Salt Lake City. Two little kids.”
“You like children, then?”
He laughed. Even to him it sounded strained. “Sure do. Charlotte is six, and Liam is four. They tell interesting stories and love tickles.”
“A delightful age, for sure. My daughter likes children, too.”
“Mom. Enough.” Marisa surged to her feet.
Wendy turned a bland face at her daughter. “Enough of what? I’m just engaging in pleasant conversation with our guest.” She took a sip from her mug and turned back to Jase. “So tell me how you met Marisa.”
He ignored the strangled sound as Marisa collapsed back onto the sofa. “I freelanced as a photographer for several modeling firms in New York. I shot Marisa many times, but we didn’t get to know each other until a trip to Kenya about three years ago.”
“Two and a half years,” Marisa cut in. “Not that anyone is counting.”
His heart soared. “My apologies. You’re right. It was springtime. We worked on the beach for days. Swimsuits, loungewear, sundresses, hats.” He paused while a dozen Marisas paraded through his memory, all of them radiant. “Spent our evenings in the hotel lounge.” He looked Marisa in the eye. “Talking. Getting to know each other.”
She had the most striking brown eyes with golden highlights, perfect with her glistening brown hair. It was her natural color, or close to it. He’d never seen roots or a different shade that he could recall.
With a start he remembered her mother was in the room. He took a bite of the cookie. It all but melted in his mouth.
“And then?”
Marisa pulled to her feet. “Mom, do we have to go there?” She strode to the window.
Wendy took a sip. “I think we do.”
Marisa whirled back to face them. “What happened is that I’d made an arrangement with Greg and Tammy from the mission to deliver some vegetable seeds for the orphans our last night there. You know they’re always struggling for funds. Funds for them to live on, funds for them to run the ministry with.” She stared hard at Jase. “I had this idea—”
“She asked me to join her, Wendy. To take photos of her with the orphans. Of her showing them how to plant and tend the seeds.” He took a deep breath, still focused on Marisa’s face. “This was after work, you understand. Not part of our contract.”
“I just wanted to help. I thought if people could see the needs, they’d give more generously.” She wrenched her gaze from his and looked at her mother. “Jase is a talented photographer,” she ground out. “He could have done a fine job. He could have helped me make a real difference for those kids. Instead—”
“Instead I accused her of wanting to look good.” Jase parked both elbows on his knees and ran his hands over his bent head. “I thought she was as selfish as other models I’d worked with, trying to further her own career by seeming to have a philanthropic streak.”
She stalked closer to him, but he didn’t look up. He heard the muffled sound on the braided rug until her pink bunny slippers stopped in front of his own gray socks.
“I went that night anyway, you know.” Her tone had turned conversational, but the ice behind it hadn’t completely melted. “Those kids were so excited for the seeds. We planted them together. Later Tammy sent me snapshots of the kids watering them as they grew, and enjoying the harvest.”
Dear Lord, now was a good time for him to man up. Right now, while she was so close to him. Mere inches away. He stood and looked deep into her eyes, his hands somehow finding hers. “Marisa, I’m sorry. I’m the one who was selfish. I was wrong. Can you please forgive me?”
From the corner of his eye he saw Wendy slip out the doorway.
“I’ll consider it.” Marisa squeezed his hands but stepped back.
For the moment, it was enough, though he hadn’t told her everything.
CHAPTER 8
“But what if you win?” Bren Haddock planted both elbows on the kitchen table. “From what I hear, you’re going to be way too busy to do everything on the farm for an entire year.”
Marisa slid a plate of Mom’s gingerbread men on the table.
Davy and Lila hesitated until their mother nodded then each selected a cookie from the plate.
“Here, let me put on a DVD. How about Veggie Tales, or do you want Charlie Brown Christmas instead?”
“Veggie Tales Christmas!” Davy shouted then bit the head off his cookie.
Marisa laughed. “Come on then.” She led the way into the living room and turned on the program. “Do you want the Christmas tree lights on?”
“Yes!” Davy bounced on the sofa.
Marisa flipped the switch, and Lila’s eyes widened. “It’s pretty. So many colors.”
Marisa hugged the child to her side. Would she ever have little ones of her own? Time was slipping by, even though she and Jase had started to talk again. She couldn’t count on him.
Bren already nursed a mug of black coffee when Marisa returned to the kitchen and poured her own.
“Nice way to put off my question.” Bren grinned. “I’m concerned about the farm and your mom, you know. Because I finally got one of those pageant books and read the whole thing. Those other girls don’t have th
e chops to beat you.”
Marisa sat and pulled her coffee toward her. “Mom and I talked about the farm before I agreed to do it. Plus it’s Bob who pushed me into it.”
“I know. But maybe they didn’t think you’d win.”
Interesting thought. Nah. Marisa laughed. “My mother is bedazzled. She’s certain I’ll take the tiara. Our ancestor won and gave it up to build a family. My mom respects that, for sure, but I can see the gleam of glory in her eyes all the same.”
“But who will run the farm? I know she used to, but she leased most of it out until you came back. Now the CSA is counting on you guys.”
“Bob said he’d send someone over to help when Mom needed it. He’s invested, being as I’m representing the CSA and the local food movement in general.”
“Yeah, but who is he going to send? Some high-schooler who doesn’t know anything and doesn’t show up half the time?”
Good question, actually. Marisa eyed her friend. “Any suggestions?”
Bren stabbed her thumb at her own chest and raised her eyebrows.
Marisa’s cup, halfway to her mouth, paused then resettled on the table. Could Bren really pull it off? Under Mom’s guidance, she probably could. Davy and Lila would have to come, too. There wouldn’t be money for daycare on top of wages from the CSA.
“I don’t know if we can pay you enough to make it worth your while, although I totally appreciate your offer.” Marisa took a sip of coffee. “If I should win — and, in my eyes, that’s a big if — they don’t pay me for the time I devote. I’ll still be here, working at least part time on the farm in between events all over Montana and the West talking about the many benefits of local food.”
“Marisa, I’m not in it for the money. Sure, I need to pay my rent somehow, but the kids and I have been eating way better since we hooked up with you. I know several of my friends say the same. You’ve taught us how to grow and cook real food. Davy and Lila have hardly had any colds in the past two years. And you know how many germs go around the schools. It’s not just luck they’ve been so healthy.”
Tears dimmed Marisa’s eyes. This. This was what she was born to do. What she’d wanted to do in Kenya. Simply to make a difference. Was it too much to ask?
Bren’s voice softened. “I thank God every day for you and your mom. And I want to give back. I can’t bear the thought that, if you’re busy, things will suffer here.”
“Bren, I don’t know what to say.” It wasn’t that Marisa hadn’t thought about it, but with the pageant culminating the day before Christmas, and the planting season on the farm not getting into full swing for several more months, even in the greenhouse, it’d been a discussion she and Mom were leaving until later.
“I don’t know as much as you do. I don’t have a fancy degree in agriculture.” Bren grinned. “I don’t have a fancy degree in anything, but I do have my GED, and I can take a course this winter by distance ed.” She twisted the mug on the wooden farmhouse table. “It’s the first thing I’ve found that really interests me.”
Happiness leapt inside Marisa. “I’m so glad.” She eyed Bren speculatively. “You thinking of doing something like this as a career choice?” Because that made all the difference. Opened up tons of possibilities.
“Maybe.” Bren met her gaze. “Is that dumb? I know I can’t afford a piece of land and don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. So I probably shouldn’t even think about it.”
Marisa reached across the table and squeezed Bren’s hand. “There’s nothing wrong with having dreams. Everyone needs them.”
“But you’re living yours. Aren’t you?”
How much should she tell this woman who must be several years her junior? Some poor choices had given Bren two kids and no one to help her raise them, to say nothing of a life of poverty. No wonder Marisa’s life must look golden to her.
Thank You, Jesus. I keep forgetting to be grateful for all the blessings I do have while I pursue the things I want. Forgive me.
“There’s a funny thing about dreams,” Marisa said carefully. “Whenever you achieve one, you see more dreams, more goals, on the horizon.”
“I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
“Being back and helping Mom on the farm has been awesome. We’ve definitely kicked things to the next level by joining the CSA. And I’m her only child, so it’s not like anyone else will inherit the farm when she dies. But if you haven’t noticed, she’s only fifty and not ready to retire or deed me the property. This is her home, and I don’t want to stay living here as her kid indefinitely.”
“Oh. That makes sense. You were away for a long time. It must seem weird to live with your mother again.”
“Seven years. College, then my modeling career. Yeah, it’s strange. I mean, we get along great, but…”
“No, I get it. But she can’t run the farm without you, can she? It seems to take both of you plus some.”
Marisa took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve cornered myself.” It hadn’t seemed so bad at first. After all, she’d worked on an organic farm in Vermont two summers during college. Her passion for fresh, local food had only grown since then. When she’d come home to lick her wounds after that horrid fight with Jase, joining the CSA with Mom had seemed so right. Safe.
That didn’t make it the wrong choice. Did it?
Sure, she was making a difference for Bren and other struggling young moms. She helped provide fresh produce for dozens of wealthier families in Helena, too. But was this really what she wanted to do for the rest of her life, when needs were so great elsewhere?
Kenyan kids clamored in her brain, thrilled beyond anything she’d ever seen by the simple act of watching seeds grow.
“Marisa?”
Africa faded as the bright farmhouse kitchen came back into focus.
“I don’t know, Bren. I’m not sure what God has for me long term.”
Voices came from outside. Boots stomped on the deck. The farmhouse door opened, and Mom’s laughter sounded, followed by a low voice.
Marisa’s gaze met Bren’s.
Her friend shrugged.
A second later Mom breezed into the kitchen, followed by Bob and Baxter.
Bob? What was he doing here?
~*~
The Parrot Confectionery beckoned Jase with its bright colors and promises as he hurried down the Last Chance Gulch walking mall, collar turned up against the howling wind.
He ducked inside, the sweet aroma of dozens of kinds of candies mingling with the scent of buttery popcorn from the theater-style popper in the corner. He brushed snow off his coat, stamped it off his boots, and felt the warmth of the confectionary begin to absorb into his frozen skin.
Jase doused a bowl of chili with a shot of vinegar and another of Tabasco before sliding into a vintage booth with its worn wooden benches and metal-rimmed tabletop. He crumbled a package of crackers on top and had a sip of hot black coffee before spooning up a bite of chili. He couldn’t resist arrowing through the thumbnails on the back of his camera.
The photo shoot of the Simpson family in historic Reeder’s Alley had been fun, if freezing. In a few minutes, once he’d thawed out some, he’d sprint across the walking mall to his studio and see what he’d captured. Hopefully his shots would look as good — or better — on the computer as they did on the camera.
A shadow loomed over his table and Jase glanced up. “Mr. Penhaven! What brings you down to the Gulch today?”
“May I join you?”
Jase turned the camera off and slid it over. “Absolutely. Please do.” Not for the first time, he examined Avalon’s father’s face without a clue what went on behind the shuttered lids.
The older man dug into a bowl of chili with gusto.
Jase took the hint… and the opportunity to eat his own lunch, though it didn’t sit as well as he’d thought it would. What had Avalon told her father?
After a few minutes Mr. Penhaven pushed his empty bowl aside and leaned back in the wooden booth. “Avalon tells me y
ou two had some words.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“She’s a fine woman, young man. She just needs a strong hand to keep her in line. Do you have what it takes?”
Jase blinked. “Sir? It will take more than a strong hand. I think it will take love.”
Mr. Penhaven waved his hand. “Love is a fine thing, but you know there are considerations just as important. Breeding. Education. Placement in society.” He winked. “Net worth.”
Jase resisted the impulse to leap to his feet and scramble out. He clenched his hands together under the table and prayed for wisdom. For grace. “So I’ve been deemed an acceptable suitor for Avalon based on my family’s money?” He supposed they were fairly well off. His dad’s years working in New York as an investment banker had certainly been lucrative.
Mr. Penhaven chuckled. “That would be one way to put it.”
It seemed so old-fashioned. So… cold. “I’m sorry, sir. When I marry, it will be for love.”
“Love often follows.”
Jase had once thought he could come to love Avalon. Closer inspection had proven him wrong. “It could, I suppose. But why not start with it and be sure?”
“Ah, Jase. You’re thirty now, aren’t you? And still a romantic at heart. You’re not getting any younger, if you don’t mind being reminded.”
The man’s condescending tone was far more abrasive than the words themselves. Jase shrugged, trying to appear casual when he felt anything but. “Thirty’s a fact. God has blessed me with a wonderful career.” But while he’d thought he could be happy living in Montana and running a portrait studio, the travel bug had begun to itch again.
Would he be content here with Marisa? Surely. But Avalon? The thought made him twitch in his seat.
“The other thing about love.” Mr. Penhaven leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “People fall in and out of it all the time. It’s not something you can count on. It’s just hormones talking, after all. You need something more. Shared goals, for example.”
More Than a Tiara: A Christian Romance (Christmas in Montana Romance Book 1) Page 6