Be Mine at Christmas

by Brenda Novak

  Ken shoved a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew.”

  “Should we have offered her some money?”

  He’d already considered that. “She wouldn’t take it. She’s nothing if not proud. Didn’t you see how she reacted when I gave her the coat? She didn’t even want to borrow it, let alone keep it.”

  Brent got out and climbed into the passenger seat. “So what can we do? It’s not like we can tell her we were about to throw away our boots.”

  The thought of her feet in those wet shoes bothered Ken. So did the memory of that brief moment when she’d slipped her hands up his shirt and burrowed into him. She’d only been hoping for a few minutes of warmth, but a woman didn’t take that kind of liberty with a strange man unless she was too young or naive to know better—or too desperate to care. And Cierra wasn’t naive. Although he doubted she was quite as old as he was, she’d seen a lot of hard living. That much showed in her large, stunning eyes.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” he said, trying to convince himself.

  “And if we don’t leave now, the roads could become impassable,” Brent reminded him.

  Giving the Land Rover some gas, he eased into the street. But he didn’t get very far before his conscience dictated that he go back and do some more research.

  When he drove around the block instead of heading up the canyon, Brent glanced over at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I just want to see what she does next.” Parking the Land Rover where she wouldn’t be able to spot it should she emerge from the store, he got out.

  Brent climbed out, too, and jogged to catch up with him.

  With Christmas lights adorning almost every building in town, from city hall to the bowling alley to Jerry’s Diner, and a Salvation Army bell ringer outside Finley’s Grocery down the street, Dundee hadn’t changed much over the thirty Christmases Ken had been alive. His ex-girlfriend had found his hometown the epitome of dull and boring. She hated the close-knit community, hated the feeling that everyone was a little too eager to get involved in their business. But Dundee’s Norman Rockwell charm appealed to Ken. This was home to him. He wanted to raise his children where they could see his mother, stepfather and brother. His real father wasn’t as much of a draw but, with his heavy drinking, Russ would need someone to look out for him in a few years. He was already having liver problems. Ken figured that, as the eldest, caring for Russ would fall to him.

  Before reaching the entrance to the drugstore, he grabbed Brent’s arm and peered through the window.

  Cierra stood in the candy aisle holding something she obviously hoped to purchase—a Snickers bar?—while counting out change in the palm of her hand. But she didn’t seem to have enough money. She searched her purse, checked every pocket, even the pockets of his coat and the floor, but eventually put the candy bar back.

  “Oh, God,” he muttered.

  “What’s the matter?” Brent asked.

  “Why didn’t we feed her?”

  “She’s hungry?”

  “Of course she’s hungry.” But he’d been too worried about getting her wherever she needed to go to think about food. Efficiency had taken precedence over humanity.

  “It’s not as if we have bags of groceries at the cabin,” Brent was saying. “Just those steaks we were planning to grill tonight. Feeding her would’ve meant asking her to stay for dinner.”

  And, had they waited, the storm could’ve made leaving impossible. But…he hated knowing she couldn’t buy food. How long was it since she’d eaten? Walking from Dundee to his cabin would take all day. Unless she’d carried a sack lunch, she hadn’t eaten since early morning, if she’d eaten then.

  “So…she’s broke?” Brent said.

  “That’s my guess.”

  Cierra wandered around the aisles, probably hoping they’d be gone by the time she came out. Staying inside, where it was warm, beat wandering the streets, in any case. It wasn’t as if she seemed to have anywhere to go….

  Suddenly, her head jerked up and she looked over at the cash register. The clerk must have asked if there was anything he could help her find, and that was enough to drive her into the cold. She gave the candy section one final glance, pulled the hood of Ken’s coat over her head and started for the exit.

  “What are we going to do?” Brent asked.

  “Feed her,” Ken said, and left the window.

  When she stepped outside and saw them coming toward her, she turned the other direction. And when they followed her, she began to walk faster and faster until she broke into a run.

  Afraid they were frightening her by chasing her down, Ken slowed and motioned for Brent to do the same. “Cierra!”

  She turned. “Did you…did you want your coat?” she yelled above the wind as if she couldn’t imagine any other reason they’d be following her. If he’d been wearing a jacket, she probably would’ve continued to hurry away.

  Ken blinked the snowflakes out of his eyes. “No. We were…heading over to the diner to…get a bite to eat and thought…you might like to join us.” He’d certainly never lacked for female companionship, but thanks to his football career, he’d always had the cards stacked in his favor. He couldn’t remember meeting anyone, at least in Dundee, who didn’t appreciate his background. So he wasn’t sure how to handle this woman, who was so prickly and suspicious and unlikely to be impressed with what he’d achieved in professional sports.

  “It has really good food,” Brent added to entice her.

  She was tempted. Ken could tell. But just when it seemed she’d agree to join them, she threw back her shoulders. “I am not a prostitute. I will no trade sex for money. Or…or food. Or coat.”

  “Oh, we don’t expect that!” Brent said. “We only want to make sure you—”

  Ken cut him off before he could put his foot in his mouth. Brent didn’t understand that their help couldn’t come across as a handout any more than it could come across as an attempt to get laid. “We’re not asking for sexual favors. We were actually, ah, wondering if…” What could he have her do that she’d find acceptable? “If you could clean the cabin so I could get settled in.” Now that they’d lost so much time driving her to town, they really could use an extra pair of hands. And it would be a fair trade. She’d work for what he gave her, which would keep her dignity intact. And she’d have food and shelter until he could figure out where the hell she was supposed to go, which would appease his conscience. “What do you say?” he asked.

  “You are offering work for me?” she clarified.

  The hope in her face put a guilty knot in his stomach. Even when his mother was primarily raising him and Brent on her own, with their father making life a lot more difficult than it needed to be, he’d never lacked the necessities. “Yes. In exchange for food and shelter.”

  “I clean. You will see no one speck of dirt,” she assured him.

  He managed a smile. He had no doubt she’d take as much pride in her work as everything else. “Great. That’s what I’m looking for. Do we have a deal?”

  When her gaze strayed to the diner down the street, he felt a fresh pang of remorse for not giving her a bite to eat at the cabin. “Sí. A deal,” she said. Then she thrust out her hand to shake on it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TWO WOMEN WHO ARRIVED after they were seated kept staring at the three of them while they ate, but Cierra didn’t care. She was too hungry to be distracted. She’d never had a meal, not in America, that tasted better than the meat loaf and mashed potatoes she’d been served. And just when she’d finished everything on her plate, Ken decided he couldn’t eat all his steak. He’d said it would go to waste if she couldn’t eat it for him, so she’d polished that off, too.

  His actions proved how spoiled he was. Who ordered an expensive entrée and ate only a few bites of it? Brent had no trouble downing his lasagna. Like her, he seemed to be hungry.

  But she didn’t mind saving Ken’s meal from the trash. She could’ve eaten five steaks. Or…maybe not f
ive. By the time she’d swallowed the last bite, she actually felt full, but was able to make room for the banana cream pie Ken ordered for dessert.

  It wasn’t until Cierra had scraped every delicious crumb off her plate that she realized she’d eaten her pie even faster than Brent had eaten his. Self-conscious again, she lifted her gaze to find Ken watching her, his fork dangling halfway between his mouth and his plate, only a small portion of his pie gone.

  “What? It is no good for you?” she said to cover her breach in etiquette. Throughout dinner she’d been careful to eat slowly and calmly, as a lady should, but when the pie arrived she’d grown sleepy and relaxed and wound up embarrassing herself.

  “No.” He pushed it toward her. “Go ahead.”

  She picked up her fork—then imagined how she must’ve looked shoveling that pie into her mouth a moment earlier. “I am…satisfied. Thank you.” Pushing it away, she put her fork back on the table with a determined clink.

  “It’ll go to waste if you don’t eat it,” he threatened.

  He said that about everything, and she was beginning to understand why. “Like the steak?”

  “Like the steak.”

  “And the coat?”

  He shrugged.

  “Do you always throw away good clothes and food?”

  “Easy come, easy go,” he mumbled.

  She probably would’ve given in, despite her fear of looking like a pig, but Brent spoke up before she could respond. “I’ll eat it,” he said, then yelped. Cierra guessed his brother had just kicked him under the table.

  “Or…actually, no,” he said. “I’m stuffed. You have it.”

  Cierra studied Ken, then Brent. Brent reminded her of the dog she’d had as a child. He was big and kindhearted, but a little goofy and oblivious to nuance. He had nothing to fear, no reason to be wary, because the world had always been a safe place for him. That was probably true of Ken, too, and yet…Ken noticed things. He’d given her his coat because she needed it, just as he’d had her eat his meal because he knew she was still hungry.

  She’d have to be careful around him, watch her every word, every move, or he’d soon know far too much about her business.

  “Please, let him eat,” she said, deferring to Brent.

  “Fine,” Ken responded, and she smiled as she moved the pie over to Brent, who ate it with the same gusto with which he’d eaten everything else. Meanwhile, Ken took a plastic card from his wallet and reached for the bill.

  “How much?” Cierra asked.

  His eyebrows slid up in question.

  “Dinero?” She held one hand to her chest. “For me?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’ll work it off, remember? I’ve got it.”

  “I just…need to know.” How could she make sure she kept her end of the bargain if she didn’t know how much she owed him?

  He waved away her concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She was about to insist he tell her when the two women she’d noticed earlier walked over. One, a blonde at least five inches taller than Cierra, was the prettiest white woman she’d ever seen. The other, a curvy brunette much closer to her own five foot three, was almost as pretty.

  “Ken, it’s so great to see you again,” the blonde crooned as they embraced.

  “It’s been a long time,” he responded. “How’ve you been, Tiff?”

  “Fine. Busy with my new flower shop. And you?”

  “I’m in transition right now, but…hanging in.”

  Eyes filled with avid curiosity, “Tiff” looked at Cierra, then flashed a brief smile at Brent before returning her attention to Ken. “Are you home for the holidays or…”

  “I’m home for good.”

  “Really? When did that happen?”

  Cierra was so taken with this woman’s light eyes and hair, she didn’t immediately notice that Brent seemed equally impressed with her beauty. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. He put his hands in his pockets, took them out again, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tugged on the bottom of his shirt….

  “Just this week.”

  Cierra knew that these women found Ken as attractive as she did. Any woman would. Again, she remembered the feel of his smooth skin against her cold hands, the solidity of his body, and felt an uncharacteristic twinge of jealousy…

  “Where’ve you been staying?” she asked.

  “My parents’ house.”

  A crease marred her otherwise smooth forehead. “Not Russ’s…”

  “No, he and Roxanne have split up again. I’ve been at Mom and Gabe’s. But I’m moving into Gabe’s old cabin today.”

  She gestured at the snow coming down outside. “If you plan on going up the canyon, I hope you have four-wheel drive.”

  This woman was obviously quite familiar with Ken and his family. Was she his girlfriend? She couldn’t be, or she would’ve known he was coming back to town. But they had some history. Cierra could sense it.

  “I’ve got a Land Rover,” Ken was saying. “Hopefully, we’ll make it.”

  “Tiff” finally bestowed a polite smile on her, but Cierra got the feeling she’d been leading up to her next question the whole time. “And who is this?”

  After Ken cleared his throat, he made a formal introduction. “This is Cierra. Cierra, Tiffany Wheeler and Stephanie Jernigan.”

  Stephanie nodded and smiled but it was Tiffany who continued to speak. “Cierra what?”

  Assuming Ken had forgotten her last name—she didn’t even know his—Cierra filled in the blank. “Romero.” Then, feeling woefully inadequate and homely by comparison to these sparkling creatures, especially in her damp and dirty clothes, she added, “It is a pleasure to meet you,” in formal English, just as she’d rehearsed with her tutor.

  The crease in Tiffany’s forehead deepened. Cierra’s response had somehow confused her. “Likewise,” she said. “So…where are you from?”

  The question elicited a pang of homesickness, probably because Cierra couldn’t even say her village’s name. She had to call the place where she’d been living with Charlie Spanos home—a sprawling metropolis she considered brown and ugly by comparison. The colorful lights that glittered at night served as its only redeeming feature. She’d liked it when Charlie drove her down what he’d called “the Strip.”

  “Las Vegas.”

  Tiffany turned to Ken. “Is that where you met?”

  Cierra became conscious of the fact that she was wearing Ken’s coat. Because it hung past her fingers and went down to her knees, and Brent was wearing his own coat, Tiffany would be unlikely to mistake its real owner. Cierra almost removed it and handed it back. She suddenly felt she was in the way of something happening, something she didn’t understand, and didn’t want to be. But it was too late. Returning Ken’s coat would only make wearing it seem more significant.

  “No,” Ken said. “I…I have a friend who…recommended her to me, as a housekeeper.”

  Cierra wasn’t sure why he’d lied, but she was grateful he hadn’t embarrassed her by telling these women that she’d fainted on his doorstep.

  “I see.” Tiffany leaned toward her and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Well…good luck with that. I hope he picks up after himself better than he did in high school.” Straightening, she gave them all a charming smile. “I’ve got to get back to the shop. Brent, you’re looking good, as always. Ken, call me when you get the chance.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Nice seeing you.”

  They basked in the wake of her perfume for several seconds after she’d left. Then Brent seemed to snap out of his earlier hypnosis. “Man, she’s gorgeous! Are you going to ask her out again or what?”

  That flicker of jealousy bothered Cierra again—inexplicably—but Ken didn’t answer. He walked over to the cash register and paid their bill. Then he waved them out ahead of him. But Brent kept talking. “I’m still not sure why you two ever broke up,” he said. “You were so in love with her. Even Mom thought you were perfect for each other.�
��

  Ken pressed some button that unlocked the Land Rover. “I wasn’t ready for marriage, and it didn’t seem right to string her along if we weren’t going to make the big commitment.”

  “She’s had plenty of opportunities to get married since then and she hasn’t,” Brent said. “Word is she’s been waiting for you.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me that,” he said. “Get in.”

  They were climbing in when a big red truck stopped beside them.

  “It’s Gabe,” Brent said.

  Ken lowered his window and so did the driver of the truck. Although older, in his fifties, Gabe was a startlingly handsome man. Other than a touch of gray at the temples, he had hair that was even darker than Cierra’s—black—but his eyes were as blue as Tiffany’s.

  “What’s up?” Ken had to shout over the wind and the engine noise of both vehicles.

  “Your mother sent me to the store,” Gabe hollered back. “She didn’t want to come out in this mess.”

  “Sure is ugly,” Ken acknowledged.

  Gabe shielded his face with one hand. “I thought you were at the cabin, getting moved in. What are you doing in town?”

  “Errands.”

  Cierra saw a wheelchair fastened to the side of the truck but was distracted when she realized Gabe had spotted her—and was looking at her curiously.

  “Where’s Brent?” he asked.

  Ken jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In back.”

  “Here, Gabe,” Brent called, and stuck his arm between the seats to wave.

  “Hey.” Gabe waved in response, but the way he used the handholds above him to adjust his position afterward suggested he was crippled, as Cierra had begun to suspect.

  “Then, who is…”

  Ken leaned back to accommodate his stepfather’s attempt to get a better look at her. “Dad, meet my housekeeper, Cierra Romero.”

  Gabe’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you say housekeeper?”

  “Yep.”

  “I see. But…you’ve never mentioned a housekeeper. She from around here?”