“Of course I do. But I didn’t actually sew—”
Before Lucinda could finish, Sarah Jane whirled around to her mother. “Can I have the suit, Mother? Better yet,” she said, her voice suddenly squeaking with excitement, “can Lucinda design a few more things for me to wear on my honeymoon?”
Dee cast her daughter a doubtful glance. “The cost, Sarah Jane. We’re already spending so much for the wedding.”
“I’ll leave something off,” Sarah Jane quickly suggested. “Like the band and the champagne. We can dance to recorded music and drink fruit punch.”
Dee groaned helplessly. “I’m sure the men will all love fruit punch.”
“We’ll give the men beer. That’s what all of them are used to drinking anyway.”
Dee laughed. “You’re right about that. But serving beer at a wedding? People will say we’re uncouth.”
Sarah Jane picked up a green silk dress and waltzed over to a cheval mirror. “Since when have we Delacroix worried about what other people say? And James certainly won’t care, especially when he sees how beautiful I look in the clothes Lucinda designs for me.”
Tossing the dress over her arm, Sarah Jane went to kneel beside Lucinda’s chair. “You will design some things for me, won’t you? I’d be forever in your debt!”
How could Lucinda say no? Chance had rescued her from a potentially dangerous situation and his mother and sister had already gone out of their way to make her feel at home. Besides all of that, Sarah Jane was so young and beautiful and excited about getting married that Lucinda didn’t want to be the one to spoil anything for her.
“You’d have to find your own seamstress. I’m not that good at it,” Lucinda told her.
“There’s Margie. Over by Friona,” Dee said thoughtfully. “She’s very professional. And in the end, we’d probably save money having the clothes made, rather than buying out of those expensive boutiques in Amarillo or Fort Worth.”
Lucinda smiled at Sarah Jane, who was breathlessly waiting for her answer.
“I’d be glad to do it. On one condition,” Lucinda added.
Sarah Jane clapped her hands together gleefully and Lucinda wondered sadly if she would ever feel that lighthearted and happy. Would there ever come a time in her life when she’d be planning her own wedding to a man who really loved her?
“What’s the condition?” Dee asked.
Lucinda looked at the older woman. “That I do a dress for you, too, Dee. And that you’ll accept my work as a Christmas gift.”
“That’s asking too much!” Dee began with a shake of her head, but Sarah Jane was already flinging her arms around Lucinda and smacking a kiss on her cheek.
“Oh, thank you, Lucy, you’re wonderful!” Sarah Jane exclaimed.
Lucinda had been praised for her work before. Coming from paying customers, the compliments had meant much to her. But seeing the genuine joy on Sarah Jane’s face, the gratefulness on Dee’s, stung Lucinda’s eyes with tears.
Clearing her throat, she warned jokingly, “Maybe you should see how the clothes turn out before you call me wonderful.”
Sarah Jane went back to the bed, held up the Wedgwood jacket and sighed with pure appreciation. “Just wait till Chance hears what you’re doing. He’ll probably kiss you, too, for saving him so much money.”
Lucinda couldn’t stop the blush she felt creeping across her cheeks. The idea of kissing her would more than likely never enter Chance’s head. But it had definitely gotten into hers and she couldn’t seem to get it out.
“That would be the day,” Dee said glumly. “As far as I know it’s been years since Chance kissed a woman.”
The happy glow on Sarah Jane’s face suddenly vanished. “That’s true, Mother. I guess he—well, with everything that happened with Jolene. He doesn’t want anything to do with women.”
With a deeply resigned sigh, Dee swiped her tousled red hair off her forehead. “Well, he’s wrong and I’ve told him so. But hearing it from me hasn’t done any good.”
Lucinda’s gaze swung curiously from mother to daughter. Who was this woman they were talking about? And why had she ruined Chance’s interest in women? The questions whirled around in her head, demanding an answer.
“Was Jolene an old flame of Chance’s?” she finally asked.
Dee shook her head. Sarah Jane said, “Jolene was Chance’s wife.”
*
Later that night, Lucinda sat quietly in her room near a window overlooking an east pasture. A sketch pad lay open on her lap, while several colored pencils were scattered atop a table beside her chair. For the past hour she’d been trying to concentrate and do a little work toward the clothes she’d promised Sarah Jane. But her mind refused to cooperate. All she could think about was Chance and that he’d once been married.
Where was Jolene now, she wondered. And why had the marriage ended? Lucinda had been about to ask those very questions this afternoon, but the phone had rung, interrupting the moment. Sarah Jane had rushed out of the room to answer it. Dee had quickly fled, too, saying she had to check on the beans she’d left cooking on the stove.
By the time things had quieted back down, Lucinda had decided not to bring up the subject again. Sarah Jane and Dee would probably think it odd that she would be that interested in Chance’s past life.
And it was odd, she told herself as she looked up from the sketch pad for the umpteenth time. Chance was none of her business. Nor would he ever be. The sooner she got that through her head, the better off she’d be.
A light knock suddenly sounded on the door. Grateful for the interruption, Lucinda called, “Come in.”
To her surprise it was Chance who strolled into the room. He’d changed from the denim shirt he’d been wearing this morning. Now a plaid flannel shirt of reds and greens flapped open against his thermal undershirt. The battered hat was gone. Without it, she could see that his black hair was shiny wet and combed neatly to one side. Lucinda could only think how solid he looked, how strikingly male, and how just looking at him made her stomach flutter.
“I wanted to see if you’re ready for supper,” he said.
Quickly Lucinda placed her sketchbook on the table with her pencils and reached for the cane Dee had given her. “I hadn’t noticed the time. I hope you haven’t been waiting on me.”
Chance watched her hobble toward him. She seemed determined to get around on her own steam and he liked that independence about her. Especially when he knew how much pain it must be costing her to walk.
“It’s only you and me,” he said.
A look of utter surprise came over her face. “It is?”
Chance’s mouth twisted wryly. The last thing he’d wanted was to be left alone with Lucy. Or so he’d thought. Now that he was looking at her, he was glad the house had emptied, except for the two of them. “James has taken Sarah Jane over to his parents tonight.”
“On these roads?”
“It’s not that far and he has a four-wheel-drive vehicle,” Chance explained. “As for Mother, she just left with Doc. It seems they have a mutual friend who needs his medical attention.”
So it was just the two of them, Lucinda thought, trying not to let the idea of being alone with him shake her. After all, she wasn’t afraid of him. On the contrary, she instinctively knew she could trust her very life with him. But what about her? She couldn’t even look at him without going a little bit crazy!
“I see. Well, I’ll be perfectly fine making myself a sandwich. You don’t have to go out of your way for me.”
He took her arm and guided her from the bedroom. “Supper is already on the table. Chili beans, corn bread and apple cobbler.”
“Did you cook it?”
He chuckled and Lucinda decided the sound was as warm as the feel of his fingers on her arm.
“No. My cooking is limited to opening cans or frozen dinners.”
Because of her ankle, she was forced to walk slowly toward the kitchen. Chance seemed content to go at her pace and lend he
r the support of his arm. Last night he’d told her he was used to taking care of women. Tonight she realized he’d probably been speaking the truth.
“I guess it wouldn’t be the macho thing for a cowboy to cook,” she replied.
“The reason this cowboy didn’t learn was because he never had time.”
They reached the kitchen, but Chance didn’t release his hold on her until she was securely settled in one of the chairs.
As she waited for him to take his own seat, Lucinda thought about the tiny apartment she’d had in Chicago. She’d rarely cooked there, and when she had, it had been simple things. There hadn’t been much point in cooking a meal just for herself. Most of the time she’d simply settled for something from a nearby deli. But being here with Chance like this made her realize how lonely and isolated her life had become.
“What about you, Lucy? Can you cook?”
She shrugged one shoulder then the other as he filled her bowl with chili beans. “A little. The nuns in the orphanage would take us into the kitchen at times and teach us basic things.”
He handed the bowl to her. “I remember you said you didn’t have family. You grew up in an orphanage?”
She nodded. “I can only guess that my mother must have been Catholic. When she was killed in an auto accident, I was placed in a Catholic orphanage in Chicago.”
“How old were you then?”
“Going on five, I think.”
Surprised, he glanced at her. “So you can remember your mother?”
Nodding, Lucinda took a square of corn bread from a cloth-lined basket. “I can remember a few things about her. She was blond and pretty. She always smelled like flowers and at bedtime she sang lullabies to me.”
Chance couldn’t imagine how sad it must be for her to only have those few precious things to remember her mother by. He’d had years with his father and with them so many wonderful memories. He’d been young when he’d lost his father. Yet compared to Lucinda’s life, he’d been very blessed.
“What about your father?” he asked after he’d taken a few bites from his bean bowl.
Lucinda’s eyes dropped to the tabletop. “As far as I know, I never had one. My mother was never married.”
Sensing her awkwardness, Chance said, “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. You were just an innocent child.”
The gentleness in his voice brought her eyes up to his. She smiled wanly, “I’m not ashamed. I’m just not used to talking about these things with anyone.”
There was an insulated pot of coffee on the table. Chance filled two cups and pushed one over to her. “What about your friends back in Illinois? You didn’t talk to them about growing up in an orphanage?”
Lucinda took a bite of the beans, then tried the corn bread. Maybe if she kept her mind on the food, she could forget about how good he looked sitting across from her with the dim light throwing shadowy angles over his face. Maybe if she kept talking, she wouldn’t think about how quiet the house was and that the two of them were completely alone.
“Chance, except for Molly, most of my friends weren’t family-oriented people like you. Whether I had a father, or grew up in an orphanage didn’t really interest them.”
“Some friends,” Chance muttered.
“At least they didn’t judge me because of it.”
“And you think I do?”
As her eyes connected with his, Lucinda felt something inside slipping away, leaving a part of her exposed to him. “No. I think you’ve never known anyone like me before.”
She was right about that, Chance thought. None of the women he knew would take off driving across the country by themselves. None of them were as beautiful. And certainly none of them stirred him the way she did.
“You mean someone who doesn’t have a list of aunts, uncles and cousins a mile long?” he asked.
She nodded and he grinned at her. “Well, think of all the money you save each Christmas by not having to buy ties and fruitcakes for them.”
He truly wasn’t looking down on her because she didn’t come from a long family lineage. Knowing that warmed Lucinda’s heart and drew her to him in spite of all the warnings going off in her head.
They continued to eat and talk of the weather and the stress it put on the cattle. Afterward, Chance carried their coffee into the living room, where the lights were twinkling brightly on the Christmas tree.
Standing beside it, Lucinda breathed in the faint scent of pine and took pleasure in looking at all the ornaments hanging from the branches. Many of them were obviously old and a little ragged. A little brown teddy bear had a missing ear, and a toy soldier had lost the end of his rifle, but she knew that being perfect had little to do with finding a place on the Delacroix’s Christmas tree.
One particular glass ball had been glued with rows of colored rice and macaroni. She glanced over at Chance, who’d taken a seat in a recliner. “I’ll bet you made this when you were about eight years old.”
He rose from the chair and came to look. “That’s my work all right. I was a trusty Cub Scout then. We made those ornaments to give to our mothers. I guess it’s pretty obvious that Dee is sentimental.”
She was beginning to think that he was sentimental, too, but she didn’t say so. On the outside he was a tough cowboy, and she didn’t expect a man like him would appreciate her insinuating that he had a soft spot.
“If I’m ever lucky enough to have a child who gives me an ornament for Christmas, I’ll be just as sentimental about it as your mother,” Lucinda told him.
As Chance watched a wistful sort of yearning come over her face, he felt ashamed of himself. Which didn’t make sense. It wasn’t his fault that Lucinda had grown up without her mother or any sort of family to share Christmas with. Still he couldn’t help thinking of all the times he’d felt bitter about losing Jolene and their newborn daughter. Many times he’d felt as if he were the only person who’d ever suffered that much loss and loneliness. Lucinda was making him see just how wrong he’d been.
“Mother told me about the clothes you’re planning to do for her and Sarah Jane. It’s a very generous thing for you to do.”
He was standing so close to her that her shoulder was brushing his chest, and even though she wasn’t looking directly up at him, Lucinda knew his eyes were gliding over her lips and throat and downward to where her sweater clung to her breasts.
The feel of that hot gaze traveling over her left Lucinda’s knees spongy and made her voice unusually husky when she spoke. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’m not an Anne Klein or Liz Claiborne.”
One corner of his mouth curled in a half grin. “No. You’re Lucy. Maybe someday we’ll see that name on a famous perfume.”
Lucinda was trembling inside, and she wondered if Chance could see the pulse pounding at the side of her neck. Did he have any idea of the chaos he made of her senses?
“Then you don’t mind about the clothes? Sarah Jane actually thought you’d be pleased because it will save you money.”
His expression was suddenly full of amusement. “I’m sure she probably made me out to be a miser.”
“No,” Lucinda replied, then felt her face growing warmer with each passing second. “She didn’t say anything of the sort. She said you’d probably kiss me.”
Disbelief widened his eyes. “Kiss you? She said that?”
He sounded incredulous and Lucinda couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. Was the idea of kissing her that horrible to him? “Uh—yes, because you’d be so grateful. But then your mother said no, you wouldn’t kiss me because of Jolene.”
Lucinda bit down on her lip, but it was too late. The words were already out.
His expression remained oddly fixed as he stared at her, then finally his eyelids drooped until he was watching her through two narrow slits. As she waited for him to say something, anything to break the crackling silence, Lucinda’s heart began to pound so loud it roared in her ears.
“Well, she was wrong,” he suddenly growled.
“Wrong? Who?” she asked breathlessly.
“My mother.”
Before she could untangle the meaning of his words, Chance grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him.
“If she thinks I won’t kiss you, then she’s going senile.”
“Chance—”
His name was all she managed to get out before his head bent down to hers. Knowing he was going to kiss her, Lucinda braced herself for a quick smack on the lips. It didn’t happen.
Long seconds began to tick away as his arms moved around her, drew her against him, then locked her there.
While his lips tasted, feasted on the full softness of hers, Lucinda felt herself being tugged to a place she’d never been, a hidden, exciting place where a mystical, intoxicating warmth seeped into her bones.
She clung to his shoulders as though he were the only solid thing in the world and moaned silently with regret when he finally lifted his lips from hers.
Chance had only meant to take one sweet, little taste of her lips. Now as he looked down into her flushed face, he felt dazed, rocked to the very soles of his feet by what had just happened between them.
“Do—uh, you always make a point of proving your mother wrong?”
Her voice was husky and trembling and he realized the sound of it was as alluring to him as the closeness of her just-kissed mouth.
“What do you think?” he murmured, his arms still anchoring the soft warmth of her body against his.
She thought if he really hadn’t kissed a woman in years, then his memory of how to do it had certainly come to life a few moments ago.
“I think you’re the sort of man who’d take on any challenge.”
His brows lifted with wry speculation. “And you think kissing a woman is a challenge for me?”
“Yes. From what your mother said—”
Without warning, he released his grip on her waist and stepped back. “Dee had no business saying anything about Jolene to you!”
“And you think what you did to me a few moments ago was your business?” she asked, incredulous that he was displaying such anger over a wife who had obviously been out of his life for a long time.
A Cowboy for Christmas Page 6