To Santa With Love

by Janet Dailey

  Choya glanced toward his son. “I will. Unless you want to be first.”

  “No,” Robbie replied absently. “I want to read.”

  Choya rose and settled into the barber chair, putting up his weathered boots on the footrest and relaxing. The barber whipped a protective white cloth around the upper part of his body and fastened it at the neck.

  “The usual?” Floyd asked.

  “Yup.”

  The older man got to work with a pair of sharp scissors, holding the clippers in readiness in his other hand. Choya bent his head, casting a sideways look now and again at his son. Robbie seemed completely engrossed in the magazine, even though it wasn’t about animals or geography, but carpentry. Choya smiled to himself.

  “So what do you want for Christmas, Robbie?” the barber asked, glancing his way. “A workbench?”

  “I have one. My grandpa made it for me.”

  “Does Sam still do his own carpentry, Choya?”

  Choya answered without nodding, trying to keep his head still against the clippers. “Sometimes. Robbie’s in and out of his workshop all the time. When I was a kid I used to love to hang around and watch Sam cut lumber and build things.”

  “My boy used to watch me cut hair,” Floyd said amiably. “But I couldn’t say he was interested in it—he went into the army. Now he’s a medic.”

  “What’s that?” Robbie asked.

  “They take care of the hurt soldiers, son.”

  The boy looked up, interested, and the barber chuckled. “The army ain’t ready for you yet, Robbie. Stick with the carpentry.” He took a brush to whisk the back of Choya’s neck and finish up. “You’re done.”

  The white cloth removed, Choya sat up and looked toward his son. “Robbie, your turn.”

  The boy was perusing the ads in the back of the magazine and didn’t reply for a moment.

  “You can take that home with you,” the barber told him. “Just hand it to your dad. Up you go.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Simmons,” Robbie said. He quickly turned down a corner of a page and rolled up the magazine, giving it to his father before he clambered into the barber chair. His haircut was over with in a few minutes because he sat so still, staring straight ahead with a serious expression.

  The boy was growing up fast, Choya thought, standing to one side to watch. Floyd whisked the back of Robbie’s neck more gently, but Robbie wrinkled his nose, fighting the tickling sensation. “Almost finished,” the barber said. “There.”

  Choya reached for his wallet to pay, adding a healthy tip and tucking the bills under a tall jar of blue disinfectant in front of the mirror. Their monthly haircuts were a father-son ritual that both Barnetts enjoyed.

  “Thanks, Floyd,” he said. He tapped Robbie on his newly shorn head with the rolled-up magazine. “Your ears are going to freeze if you don’t put your hood up before we go outside.”

  Robbie slipped on his down jacket and obeyed. The hood came down nearly over his brown eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind. “When can I get a hat like yours, Dad?” he asked. It wasn’t a complaint, just a request.

  “When you’re old enough not to lose it,” Choya replied with a laugh. He took his Stetson from the hat rack and put it on, then unhooked his own jacket, an old one of battered denim lined with striped wool material. One of its metal buttons caught on a tinsel garland hung along the wainscoting. Choya carefully disentangled it. “Oops. There go the decorations,” he said.

  The barber only laughed. “Don’t worry. I can always get more. What are you doing for the holidays, by the way?” The question was routine.

  “Nothing much. We’re just going to celebrate at home.”

  “Yeah. Jacquie and Gramps got the ornaments and lights out already,” Robbie said eagerly. “But we don’t have a tree yet.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s something to look forward to then,” Floyd replied. They left with a wave to the barber, making the old-fashioned bell hanging above the door jingle loudly on their way out.

  “Is that what sleigh bells sound like?” Robbie wanted to know when they were outside on the board sidewalk. “There was a picture of a sleigh on that Christmas card from your friend in Michigan. It had bells. Can we go on a sleigh ride?”

  Choya smiled with a shake of his head. “We don’t get snow that deep around here, son. You know that.”

  “I was thinking we could go to where he lives.”

  “Not this year. Maybe the next.”

  Robbie nodded, satisfied with that answer. “We could take Jacquie too.”

  Choya looked down at his son’s face as they walked toward the jeep. He seemed convinced that Jacquie would be around next year. There was nothing Choya wanted more. He was feeling optimistic about that, and a lot of things, as he opened the door on Robbie’s side and let his son scramble in. He handed him the carpentry magazine and closed the door.

  When he got in on the driver’s side, Robbie had unrolled it to the page he’d turned down. “Dad, look at this,” he said, pointing to an ad. “I didn’t know houses came in kits.”

  Choya put the key into the ignition but he didn’t start the engine. He looked at the ad for prefabricated structures from sheds to Southwest-style cottages. “So that’s what caught your eye,” he said, adding indulgently, “nothing doing. We have a house. Your great-grandpa built it.”

  “I didn’t know that. By himself?”

  “I expect he had help. But we don’t need to build another one.”

  “But it would be a really great Christmas present for Jacquie,” his son said enthusiastically. “She’s still stuck in that little back room.”

  “Ah”—Choya wasn’t expecting his son to say that. He collected himself—“she told me she likes that room just fine, Robbie.”

  His son didn’t seem convinced.

  “But you know, I bet she’d like to redecorate. You and I could take her to a mall and let her pick out new curtains and a rug and a matching bedspread and some pretty knickknacks—anything she wanted.”

  Robbie pondered the idea. “I think she’d like this little house a lot better,” he argued, studying the ad again and reading it aloud. “Model shown has one bedroom and a kitch-en-ette.” He sounded out the unfamiliar word.

  “Hmm,” Choya said. “Let me see that.” He made a show of looking it over.

  Robbie leaned into him and pointed again. “Look. It even has a living room that opens into a screen porch. She could watch the sunset and stuff.”

  “Well, now,” Choya hedged, “she probably would like that. But don’t you think we should ask her?”

  The boy shook his head. “It oughta be a surprise. Surprises are more fun.”

  “Not when they’re that size,” his father said dryly.

  “I bet it comes in a giant box.”

  “Nope. It comes on a flatbed truck. Kind of hard to sneak that under a Christmas tree.”

  “We could do it, if the tree was outside,” Robbie reasoned.

  Choya rolled up the magazine and stuck it in the cup holder. “I like the way you think, son. But we wouldn’t have time to build it before Christmas.”

  “We could so, if Gramps was in on it,” Robbie insisted. “And I’d help too. We have plenty of land.”

  “That’s true. But your grandpa isn’t strong enough to be raising walls,” Choya answered.

  Robbie looked a little disappointed as he sat back.

  “We’ll think of something for Jacquie, don’t worry. I know you want to give her something special.”

  The boy wasn’t sulking, just thinking hard. “We don’t have to have it done by Christmas. We could build it for her birthday.” He looked around the side of his down hood at his dad. “When is her birthday?”

  “I don’t know,” Choya said after a beat. He started the engine. “I never asked her that.”

  Robbie wriggled as he pulled out his seat belt and clipped it. “I can ask her if you want.”

  “Okay.” Choya’s gaze was on the rearview mirror as he pulled o
ut. The cold weather meant there were practically no tourists in Tombstone, but there were still local people out, crossing the streets without looking. “If she wants to move out of the back bedroom”—something he very much wanted to happen, for reasons he couldn’t share with a seven-year-old—“we probably should plan in advance.”

  “You mean we’re going to buy the house kit?” The boy’s eyes shone.

  “I didn’t say yes to that.”

  Robbie slumped inside his jacket, grumbling almost inaudibly.

  “And I didn’t say no either,” Choya responded. “Now sit up. Let’s not argue over nothing.”

  “Sorry.” The boy straightened and both of them fell silent, Choya driving at a steady speed and Robbie looking absently at the road unrolling in front of them.

  Choya thought of the present he had in mind for Jacquie—it was a whole lot smaller than a prefab house kit but just about as expensive in the model he wanted, complete with a little velvet box. He hadn’t picked it up yet. But he was going to, soon as he could get away to Tucson. By himself.

  The other day, when he’d come home late, the three of them—his son, his father, and Jacquie—had been sitting around the kitchen table, laughing and talking. Robbie’s homework was done and set aside, and Jacquie’s textbook was closed. They’d all finished eating and the dishes were in the sink. There was a plate in the stove filled with plain, good food prepared by Sam, kept warm for his return.

  No sight in the world was ever more welcome to Choya. He’d paused to savor it, when Jacquie heard him come in and turned to look his way. The thoughtful look she’d given him made him uneasy for a moment—a feeling that was instantly erased by her warm smile and the quickness with which she rose from her chair and came to greet him.

  She’d almost kissed him on the cheek, but Choya gave an infinitesimal shake of his head, looking toward Robbie, and she’d understood.

  The day would come when it was all settled. Jacquie Barnett—the name had a fine ring to it. But he couldn’t rush her until she knew her own mind. This would be her first Christmas away from her parents and she had to have mixed emotions about that. Emotions that might get the better of her. He wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation.

  He glanced over at Robbie, who had dozed off, lulled by the unvarying sameness of the scenery and the warmth of the jeep’s interior. It was kind of funny that his son assumed Jacquie needed her own little house to be happy. As far as Choya could tell, Robbie had picked up on the difference in the relationship between himself and Jacquie, but still had no clue as to the details. He knew that she wasn’t a paid housekeeper but that was about it. He hoped that his son thought of her as a family friend. Just in case. But she sure as hell wasn’t obsessing over floorwax and feather dusters.

  Not that she’d ever been good at cooking and cleaning anyway. Choya wouldn’t let Sam do it all either—his father was too creaky to keep the ranch house in order, no matter how willing he was to do it. Lately he and Robbie rotated the household chores with Jacquie doing some too, keeping to a schedule marked on a calendar, and Sam did most of the cooking again.

  The arrangement seemed to agree with everyone. Of course, they’d soon be able to hire a real housekeeper—someone in sensible shoes and a permanent apron, who could take care of everything in half the time it took for Jacquie to burn dinner and clean up afterward. The business deals he’d been working on were being wrapped up in a Tucson lawyer’s office, and there would be plenty of money when the contracts were signed.

  They needed an influx of cash. Sam was frugal by nature and smart about money—he’d managed to hang onto the ranch and live on the investment income from the land near Tucson he’d sold more than twenty years ago for a record price. It was worth triple that now, Choya thought with a frown. Couldn’t be helped. Lately they’d taken financial hits like everyone else. Stocks were down, taxes were up, funds kept fluctuating. But the copper the mining company expected to find on the Barnett ranch was worth a fortune. Leasing mineral rights was a fine way to make money off land that wasn’t much good for grazing livestock.

  He thought about that back bedroom. Choya had been good about not going into it. But Robbie was right—she deserved better.

  He didn’t want to tell Jacquie about the pending deal until every last clause in the mining lease and contracts was nailed down. He didn’t want to give her a false picture of what she could expect with him. Choya drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. New Year’s Eve didn’t seem too soon to ask her to marry him. Choya began to whistle, then realized it was a carol.

  The sound woke up Robbie, who rubbed his eyes. “Are we home yet?” he asked drowsily.

  “There’s the ranch.” Choya raised one finger from the wheel and pointed into the near distance. A slender figure in jacket, gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat was riding in the corral. “And there’s Jacquie on Johnnycake. I guess he talked her into taking him out of the barn.”

  “Horses can’t talk, Dad,” Robbie remonstrated. He leaned forward to see better. “She’s riding good now. You taught her a lot.”

  “She learns fast.”

  Robbie’s hand rested on the seat belt clasp. Choya knew he was ready to unclip it the second they stopped in the ranch yard so he could get out fast and run to see Jacquie.

  He swung the jeep into the rutted track that led to his home. No, he thought to himself. Our home. His and hers. He had a whole different feeling about it lately.

  That afternoon, Choya was in the barn, cleaning tack and inspecting it for worn spots and ripped stitching. He’d liked doing it as a youngster in the winter months and he still did. The familiar, slightly spicy smell of saddle soap brought back pleasant memories of working beside his dad as a boy, just the two of them, killing time and being together. Sam had instructed him in basic repairs to bridles and reins, and when they were done with that, taught him a bit of fancy leathercraft. Choya had worked for weeks on a bookmark for his dad, gussied up with curlicues and leaves. Sam probably still had it somewhere.

  He set aside the piece of tack he was soaping when Jacquie opened the door to the barn. “Choya? You in here?”

  He grinned at her wide-eyed expression, knowing it would take her several seconds to adjust to the dim light. He wasn’t going to sneak up on her, though it was tempting. She was wearing a sleeveless, tightly fitting ski vest over a turtleneck that showed off her curves.

  “Over here,” he called. She spotted him and came over, closing the wide door behind her. It groaned in protest, dried out in the winter winds. Brilliant sunlight speared through cracks in the walls he hadn’t gotten around to chinking, making her pale hair glow like a halo. She turned to latch the door so the wind wouldn’t blow it open and walked toward him, smiling.

  “Is Robbie with you?” she asked.

  “Nope. He’s with his grandfather in town. Sam’s buddy Garth gave them a ride in and he’s bringing them back.”

  “Oh. What are they doing in Tombstone?” She leaned against a beam and smiled at him.

  “Buying woodworking tools, for one thing. Robbie wants to make you a Christmas present.”

  “Oh my. I won’t ask what it is. But I haven’t bought anything for him. Have you?”

  Choya shook his head. “He usually gives me a list. A long list. I pick two or three things from the top. But I don’t think he’s made it out yet. He’s concentrating on you.”

  Jacquie straightened away from the pole. “I know. He hardly lets me out of his sight when he’s home from school.”

  “Can’t blame him. You’re worth looking at.” He gave her a wink. “Of course, Robbie and I see you very differently.”

  “Oh, hush.”

  He was close enough to encircle her and quick enough to do it before she could step back. “The best way to do that is to let me kiss you.”

  Her smile agreed with that statement. She relaxed in his close hold and bent her head back. He moved a hand into her flowing hair and cupped her head, then just touched hi
s lips to hers. Jacquie responded eagerly, and he kissed her with passion, stopping only to nip the sensitive skin of her neck, producing tiny gasps of pleasure from Jacquie. “Like that?” he growled.

  “Whew.” Her face was rosy and not from the cold air inside the barn when he let go. “Yes I do. It’s been a while.”

  “You’d be surprised how much fun you can have with your clothes on. After you, girl.” He gestured to the ladder that led to the hayloft and Jacquie climbed it, laughing with anticipation.

  He was right behind her. When she stopped and turned around, he swept her up in his arms and they tumbled down together.

  His jeans-clad leg slid between hers, the hard muscle of his thigh pressing sensually as he settled above her, resting his upper body on his forearms so as not to crush her while they kissed again and again. Jacquie curled her hands around his biceps, testing their strength with gentle caresses, then sinking her nails into his shirtsleeves as he moved against her. Their closeness kept them from noticing the cold in the barn, and the heat between them intensified to a fever that threatened to consume them both. A cascade of sensation rushed through her, ending with a final, tender kiss that left her wanting nothing more.

  They lay for a long time in each other’s arms, not hearing a car on the road and so close to being dressed it would take only a few buttons to restore them to respectability when Sam and Robbie did return.

  Her hand drifted lazily over the warm flannel of his open shirt, moving into his springy chest hair. “Bet this keeps you warm in the winter,” she said with lazy amusement.

  “You do a much better job,” he answered.

  “I guess we should get up,” she said after another minute. It was bliss to lie with him and think about nothing but how good it felt. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that crisscrossed the barn. She took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious scent of dry hay mixed with warm man.

  “Not yet.” He was stroking her hair with slow warmth. “This is heaven. Just stay with me.”

  “For how long?” she asked playfully.