Christmas at Bravo Ridge

by Christmas at Bravo Ridge (lit)

  "Daddy, I'm here!" Kira warbled.

  "Hi," he said, looking over their daughter's head, his gaze on Corrine, unsmiling.

  "Hi," Corrine answered.

  Kira went in, already babbling about what a good time she'd had the day before. "Gramma came to our house to decorate the Christmas tree. We had so much fun!"

  "'Bye." He shut the door.

  And Corrine was left standing by herself on his wide front porch, bereft, her heart numb in her chest. She blinked, hard, to wipe the image of him, in old sweats and a worn-out college T-shirt, from her mind.

  Then she turned, stiffly, and went down the steps to her waiting car.

  Sunday night, when he brought Kira home to her, Corrine made herself stay in the living room. She called "Come in!" just like always when he rang the bell.

  But really, it was nothing like always. He came in, he carried Kira up the stairs, he went back out. They didn't share so much as a glance. Corrine heard the door click shut as he left.

  And for some sad reason, she thought of his dad—of the parallels between her and Matt and Aleta and Davis. Aleta had left Davis because she doubted his love. And Davis Bravo went after her. Corrine had to hand it to him. Davis never gave up until Aleta took him back, until she was totally convinced he did love her absolutely, without reservations. Until she had no doubt she was the woman for him.

  Unlike his son. Who turned and walked away at the first hint of rejection.

  Corrine almost smiled. Well, okay. She'd given Matt more than a hint. And he hadn't walked away, she had.

  But still. When it came to love and passion and never giving up, Davis had Matt beat, hands down.

  Then again…

  Well, okay. She was lying to herself and she knew it. Davis had actually betrayed his wife. He damn well better have gone after her and bent over backward proving to her that he loved her to distraction and he knew he'd done wrong and would never, ever do such a thing again.

  Matt hadn't betrayed anyone. He simply…hadn't loved her. Not in the way she wanted to be loved.

  * * *

  Monday, while Kira was at school and dance classes, Corrine went Christmas shopping. Everywhere she turned, there were Christmas carols playing and bright decorations. At home, her living room was a winter wonderland. Christmas would be there before she knew it. Friday was the annual invitation-only Christmas party at the Rose.

  But before that, she needed to get through the anniversary of her mother's death. It had happened a week and a day before Christmas. On that day two years before Kathleen Lonnigan's car had been broadsided by a drunk driver as she drove home from North Star Mall with a trunk full of Christmas gifts.

  Corrine hated that day. Nobody's mother should die eight days before Christmas. It made the joy of the season a little less so somehow. Corrine knew, realistically, that every year the pain would diminish. But it would never completely fade. Always, for the rest of her life, the holidays would include a certain grief, a certain sorrow. She missed her mom the most at this time of year.

  I'm always with you, baby—there, in your heart. Never forget that I love you, that you're my beautiful, special girl.

  "I know, Mom. But damn it, I still miss you. I always will."

  The dreaded day came. Aleta called that morning and invited her to lunch. Corrine went. They ate at a place on the River Walk. Corrine felt the spirit of her mother, so close, smiling down on them. They talked of nothing important. It was just what Corrine needed on such a tough day.

  The phone rang at five, as she was dishing up Kira's dinner.

  She snagged the cordless off the counter and put it to her ear. "Hello."

  "How you holding up?" Matt.

  Her heart lurched to her throat and got stuck there. She swallowed, frantically, to make it drop back into her chest where it belonged. "I'm okay. It's, um, hard."

  "Just checking on you."

  It meant so much. Everything. That he remembered the worst day, the day she needed a friend. That no matter what happened between them as a man and a woman, he would always care, would always be there. She told herself she would focus on that and try to stop wanting to beat the crap out of him for not loving her enough, not loving her in the way that she wanted him to. "Thank you. Truly."

  "No problem. Call if you need anything."

  What if I need you? "I will. You want to talk to Kira?"

  "Nah. Tell her that her daddy loves her and I'll see her on Saturday."

  A click. And he was gone. She wanted to shout, No! You can't go. I have so much to say to you….

  But she only gave Kira Matt's message and then got the food on the table.

  That night at the Rose was a living hell. What was it about the holidays? It brought out the crazies.

  Little Joe and his two-man crew had a busy night escorting a chain of drunken fools to the door. Four fights broke out—topping the Black Friday record of the month before. Corrine had a bottle of beer poured on her head by some SOB who didn't think she'd served him fast enough.

  And it wasn't even the weekend yet.

  She was never so glad to lock up and go home as she was that night. Plus, by then it was technically Thursday. Once again, she'd gotten past the dreaded day of the year when her mom died.

  Thursday night was better. Only one fight. And she made it through her whole shift without anyone pouring beer in her hair.

  By the time she got home in the wee hours of Friday morning, she was telling herself that Friday night would be even better. After all, it was the holiday party and you could only get in if you had one of those specially made invitations Lauren Evans had sent out. Because everyone Corrine invited was reasonably sane and not prone to drunken brawling, it was usually much more fun, and not nearly as stressful, as other nights. All the bartenders wore red and green in honor of the holiday and either Santa hats or cute cloth antlers.

  Marilyn came early that night and Corrine went to work at six wearing red satin jeans and tooled suede boots to match. Her red cami was trimmed with faux white fur. When she got there, she slapped on a Santa hat, one with nice printed in glitter on the front—and naughty on the back.

  By nine the place was packed. The band played good and loud, rock-and-roll versions of just about every Christmas song known to man. The crowd was getting frisky. All the regulars were calling for the girls to do what the Armadillo Rose bartenders were famous for—which was to get up and dance on the bar.

  One by one, the girls got up and busted their favorite moves as everyone clapped and whooped and hollered. It was fun and the place was rocking. For the first time since she walked out on Matt, Corrine was feeling the spirit of the season. She sashayed from table to table, her drink tray held high and the furry white tassel at the end of her Santa hat swaying in rhythm to every beat of the music.

  Her bartenders were having a ball. Once the last one finished her solo on the bar, she signaled the rest of them. They all got up there, in a line, and linked arms across each other's shoulders. Those women could dance. You couldn't work at the Rose if you didn't know how to dance. Their booted feet pounded the bar, keeping rhythm with the drummer in the band, in a dazzling combination of grapevines, kicks and tapping feet. As a finish, they did the cancan, kicking high, stomping hard.

  And then, someone was yelling, "Corrine! Come on, Corrine! We want Corrine!"

  The chant was picked up and all at once everyone was clapping, including her bartenders, calling her name.

  "Cor-rine, Cor-rine, Cor-rine, Cor-rine!"

  She thought about the baby growing inside her, about how, soon enough, she wouldn't be able to dance on the bar. Not for months and months.

  And she rarely danced on the bar anymore anyway. Back when, she'd been one of the best. The regulars used to call her name nightly. But since she'd had Kira, she'd given it up, left it to the other girls—except for on special occasions.

  "Cor-rine, Cor-rine, Cor-rine, Cor-rine!"

  Well, all right. Why the hell not? If this
wasn't a special occasion, what was? One last time. Because it was Christmas. Because she still could.

  She handed her tray to a big guy with a bald head. And then she wove her way through the packed room to the bar. When she got there, she shouted, "Gimme a hand up, ladies!"

  Everyone burst into catcalls and whistles and loud applause.

  Corrine raised her arms. Eager hands reached down. She braced a foot on a bar stool and gave a push and she was up there. The line parted in the middle, the other girls moving sideways to give her some room.

  The band launched into George Thorogood's "Rock n Roll Christmas."

  And Corrine danced.

  It was a fast, fun song. She laughed and threw her arms up in the air. She shimmied and shook and tapped her red boots, stomping furious rhythm with the fast, rocking beat, swinging her head from side to side, making her hair fly along with her Santa hat, really letting loose.

  She heard shouts of encouragement. Everyone in the place was clapping in time. Loud whoops and whistles punctuated every move. Corrine danced on, lost in the joy of it, in the fun. In the freedom.

  The best thing about dancing was how the world fell away. All her worries and cares, her hurts and her sadness. They were lost in the music, in the beauty of sound and her body's eager response to it.

  She felt the last bars of the song approaching and turned to give the room her back, raising her arms high, shaking her hips for all she was worth, letting a shimmy slide through her, shoulders to toes. And then spinning, with a lift of one boot, arms high, around once and then again, stopping finally when she faced the room, throwing her arms wide and dropping into a low bow as the band hit that final note.

  Breathless, she stood tall again, bowed again, smiling wide, accepting the wave of appreciative applause, the shouts of "Oh, yeah! That's the way you do it!" the whoops and whistles and excited, approving cries.

  She pressed her hand to her heaving chest and held the other arm high, then dropped forward from the waist a third and final time.

  And it was then, as she started to rise again, lifting her head and gazing out over the crowd, that she saw him.

  Matt—right there, front and center, between a tall brunette and a hefty man with a red beard.

  Matt. Oh, God. What was he doing here?

  Yes, she always sent him an invitation. But it had never occurred to her that he might come. Not this year.

  Not after last Sunday night.

  Matt. He stared in her eyes. Heat flared. And it was six years ago, all over again. That first night she ever saw him, the night they made Kira.

  The night that started it all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  No!

  Corrine was not going there with him. Not tonight. Not ever again. She tore her gaze away from him.

  Somehow, she'd ended up alone on the bar. She needed to fix that, and fast. She caught the eye of Lacy James, one of her bartenders, arguably the best among a crew of excellent dancers. Corrine gave her the signal—the slightest tip of her head.

  Lacy knew the drill. With a loud, "Yahoo!" she jumped up beside Corrine and started to shimmy. Corrine gave the high sign. The band struck up the next tune.

  Corrine jumped down onto the wooden slats on the business side of the bar. She clapped, her hands high, until the sound caught on and everyone was clapping and shouting encouragements at Lacy, who was knocking their socks off up there on the bar.

  That gave Corrine the opening she needed. In seconds, she was under the flap of counter at the end of the bar and then slipping through the swinging door to the back room.

  With the beat of the music pounding through the concrete floor under her boots she made for her office, where she could shut the door and lock it—and what?

  Wait, she supposed. For what she wasn't exactly sure. Maybe for Matt to give up and leave.

  She ducked into her office and swung the door shut—only it didn't quite close.

  Because Matt had his hand out, stopping it. She'd thought she'd escaped him, but no such luck.

  Fine. She flung the door wide, braced her hands on her hips. "What?"

  He didn't say anything, only stepped forward and pushed the door shut behind him, trapping her in the room with him.

  "Matt…"

  He still didn't talk. What he did was reach for her and pull her into his strong arms. She should have resisted, she knew that. He had no call to hold her. Not now. Not ever again.

  But the feel of him—the scent of him—so beloved, so well-remembered. It was too much for her—he was too much for her. His nearness, his touch…it all made her weak. She clung to him, sighing, lifting her mouth for the kiss he offered, a kiss of equal parts heat and aching tenderness.

  When he lifted his head, he said, "I do love you, Corrie. You're everything to me."

  And then he let go of her.

  And as soon as he let go, he turned and left her.

  She stared at the empty doorway where he had been, raising her hand to touch her lips, where she still felt his kiss, the heat in it. The longing.

  It began to seem possible that she had misjudged him.

  * * *

  The next day was Saturday. She took Kira to him.

  He was polite. Reserved, even.

  She could almost wonder if that kiss the night before had really happened. If those words he'd said were only in her mind, a delusion of her yearning, aching heart.

  "See you Sunday night," he said, as she turned to go.

  "All right, then."

  And he shut the door.

  Sunday night was the usual. He rang the bell, she called, "Come in!" He carried their sleeping daughter up the stairs.

  The only difference came as he was leaving. He paused in the arch between the living room and the entry way.

  "About Christmas this year…"

  She made her lips form a smile. "Yeah?" As a rule, she had Kira Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. Matt would pick her up before noon and take her with him to the ranch for the gift exchange with his family and then the Bravo's Christmas dinner.

  "We'll do it the same as always?"

  Her heart sank. But she spoke in a friendly tone. "Yeah. Sure."

  He rapped his knuckles on the inner wall of the arch. "Well. Guess that's it then." And he left.

  She sat up late that night, wrapping presents, thinking about what he'd said to her Friday night at the Rose.

  I do love you, Corrie. You're everything to me.

  Those words meant a lot. Maybe he thought the ball was in her court now.

  Maybe it was.

  Although what she ought to do next, she wasn't quite sure. Yes, she was too proud. She knew that. She still felt she needed more from him than "I love you," however sincere he had sounded when he said it. But exactly what more did she want?

  She couldn't say.

  * * *

  She didn't see or hear from Matt in the next couple of days.

  And then suddenly it was Christmas Eve. The Rose would be closed until the twenty-sixth. She had all day, all evening and the next morning to be with her daughter, to enjoy the holiday as a family of two.

  They shared a leisurely breakfast of Kira's favorite, French toast. Then she helped Kira wrap her gifts for Matt's family. They went to a movie at noon, had ice cream after and got back home at a little past three.

  Corrine kissed Kira and told her to go on upstairs for her nap.

  Kira drooped her shoulders and stuck out her cute little chin. "Mommy. It's Christmas. I don't need a nap…"

  Corrine shook her head. "You're sleepy. You can hardly keep your eyes open."

  Kira whined some more and then Corrine offered a compromise. She let Kira get her favorite blanket and rest on the couch, where she could see the Christmas tree—and where she fell asleep almost before Corrine finished tucking her blanket around her.

  Corrine was turning for the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She hurried to answer, in hopes of avoiding a second ring and the chance that Kira
would wake up again.

  It was Davis Bravo, of all people. "Merry Christmas, Corrine."

  "Uh. Well." What could he be after? It couldn't be good. "Merry Christmas to you, Davis."

  "I wonder if I might have a word?"

  A word. He wanted a word with her.

  What word? Why? She remembered all the cruel things he had said to her in the past. She didn't need that. Not on Christmas Eve. Not ever.