by Jodi Thomas
A shy soul and an adventurous heart. As the holidays approach, can they find happiness together?
Maria Anne Davis was on her way to an exciting career as a chef in Dallas, until a terrible car accident left her blind. Ever resilient, Maria has reinvented her life on her own terms, starting a business out of her home kitchen, selling her jams and jellies to the local grocery.
Maria loves romance novels, and despite her bold spirit, she fears she’ll never have a big love affair like ones her heroines experience. That is, until she realizes how much she cares about the quiet Wes Whitman, the owner of the grocery.
Wes can’t keep Maria’s wildly popular jam on his shelves—just like he can’t keep the fierce, beautiful Maria out of his thoughts. But how could a firecracker like Maria come to love a shy, nervous man like him? Maybe all they need is a grand affair. Wes needs to convince Maria that some affairs last forever, though—just in time for Christmas.
A Christmas Affair
Jodi Thomas
www.millsandboon.co.uk
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author JODI THOMAS is a fifth-generation Texan who sets many of her stories in her home state, where her grandmother was born in a covered wagon. She is a certified marriage and family counselor, a Texas Tech graduate and writer-in-residence at West Texas A&M University. She lives with her husband in Amarillo, Texas.
www.JodiThomas.com
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Title Page
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
TRAVIS FULLER TURNED UP the collar on his jean jacket and tried to slide farther down into the backseat of the sheriff’s cruiser. He hated the way cop cars always smelled of vomit and stale coffee. He hated cold days. He hated little towns and he hated the deputy who picked him up from the Lubbock airport like he was a rescue dog going to a new home.
Hell, he thought, if he ever reached his sixteenth birthday, he’d probably hate being on his own, too. He’d learned a long time ago that the next place was usually worse than the last, and Crossroads, Texas, looked to be touching the bottom of the barrel.
Travis had made up his mind when he was seven that as soon as he turned sixteen, he’d run away and never look back. He couldn’t do a worse job of raising himself than his parents had. Both were drunks. His mother was mean and his father was stupid. Their last fight ended with her in the hospital and him in jail.
“And me?” he mumbled. “I have to go to hell in Texas just because I’m their offspring.”
The deputy turned his radio down and glanced back. “You all right, kid?”
“I’m not a kid. I’m almost sixteen.”
“Right,” the deputy said with a laugh. “Well, Mr. Fuller, welcome to Crossroads. Looks like you’ll be staying with us for a while. You’ll love it here. The three uncles you’re bunking with are real nice guys. One was a teacher for almost forty years, one is still working as a real cowboy, and the third one, Horace Fuller, no one knows what he did for a living but he always paid his bills. He’s sort of the town hermit, and that’s not an easy title to have in a small town.”
“They are not my uncles,” Travis grumbled.
“Oh, right. Great-uncles. Longevity must run in your family. I’m guessing all three are past their seventieth birthday.”
“I don’t care. Not one of them had any kids or a wife so I’m guessing they are not long on social skills.”
Deputy Cline didn’t argue, but added, “They’ve been fixing up a place at Horace’s for you to stay. Up high, almost like a tree house. I wouldn’t be surprised if you can see the lights of town from there.”
“Great. Another cage.” Travis looked out the window as the deputy pulled off the highway. The town was all brown and deserted in the winter morning light. Most of the buildings were built square and low to the ground.
“You ever had an architect live here?” Travis frowned.
“Nope. Not that I know of.”
“I could have guessed that. Frank Lloyd Wright would have a heart attack here.” Travis could spend hours looking at Wright’s work in the books at libraries. To him the buildings were art, every one a masterpiece.
“Wright? He’s that famous architect who built all those strange buildings?” Deputy Cline chimed in, as if he thought he was on a game show. “I’ve done carpentry work, but would have no idea where to start on something like his designs.”
“He was a genius,” Travis mumbled, not really wanting to have a conversation with the deputy. Cline was so new at the job he didn’t even know he wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone riding in the backseat. Travis had had enough rides to know that rule.
As the cruiser circled round, Travis asked, more to change the subject than from interest, “What’s that, a barn for tumbleweeds?” He pointed to an open-air building on the land left when streets crossed in the center of town.
Deputy Cline laughed as if he thought the question was a joke. “That’s our town square. The structure in the middle was going to be a grand gazebo, but the project kind of got dropped. Maybe some committee will pick it back up in the spring.”
Travis sat up straighter. “Anyone ever tell you that the town square is a triangle?”
“Nope,” the deputy answered too quickly to be telling the truth.
Travis had a feeling Cline had heard the question one too many times. He was doing like folks do to anyone too young to vote when they don’t want to answer a question. Kind of like parents do when the world falls apart and they tell you you’re lucky. Yeah, Travis thought, he was real lucky. Mom was half dead, Dad would probably never get out of jail this time, and he had to go live with three crazy old uncles not even one woman thought worth marrying.
Three weeks to Christmas and all he wanted was a bus ticket out of his life.
CHAPTER TWO
WES WHITMAN WATCHED Maria Anne Davis move silently back and forth from the farm pickup parked just outside the side door to her display in his general store.
Every Wednesday she restocked the shelves with Davis Delightful Jams and Jellies, and every Wednesday he kept an eye on her from ten feet away. Standing ready to step in and help if needed, but never smothering her.
The small woman couldn’t be much into her thirties, and there was a calculated grace about her movements. She counted her steps, touched familiar points along her path, made sure everything was in place before she carried in each crate. Maria Anne Davis might be blind, but she used her other senses and her brain.
Watching her move was poetry in motion, he thought, and then laughed at himself for being almost romantic.
Wes made sure everything was exactly the same as it had been the week before. Nothing was ever in the aisle to block her path. In the silence of the early morning, she stocked and he watched.
She might be petite, but she was strong. She always dressed in jeans and a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Nothing fancy. Never showy. But pretty, just the same, with her long hair tied back at the base of her neck and the dark curls drifting down to her waist.
At first he’d tried too har
d to help, then he realized Maria Anne didn’t need any help. She needed to be alone in the stillness of the dawn hours before any customers came in.
If he left her to her work, the shelves would be stocked, all the labels facing forward, all in order.
Every week he tried to talk to her. He liked her shy ways and the grace in her slender movements. He’d probably like her voice, too, if he ever heard it in more than a whisper. She was too shy, too beautiful for the likes of him. Folks said if she hadn’t been blinded in a car wreck five years ago, she would have been a great chef in Dallas now.
She’d never be interested in him, no matter how hard he tried. Nothing would ever be between them but a business relationship.
He had to be content to stand back and watch her, never getting in her way, never talking too much for fear of distracting her. Now and then over the years, he’d offered to help her and she always shook her head and whispered no. But if he just stood and waited, she’d eventually finish, turn in his direction and say his name.
He’d step forward and offer his arm.
Maria’s small hand would glide across the air until she brushed his starched shirt. Then, with her fingers resting on his arm, he’d direct her to his office, where they’d settle up for last week’s sales.
Wes knew she could have found her way to his office without trouble but they both seemed to like this simple ritual each week. In an odd way he felt almost like a knight escorting a lady fair.
He suspected, after more than four years, he still frightened her, but had no idea why. After all, the only person shier than her was him.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” he said as they walked the ten feet to his office.
Nodding, she added, “Almost Christmas.”
“That rain the weatherman promised for next week might turn to snow, and we could have a white Christmas.”
She smiled and he decided he was an idiot. A white Christmas to a blind person wouldn’t matter. It would just bring cold.
He opened his office door and she stepped inside, gliding her fingertips over the boxes that lined the left wall. He made sure they were always there, always the same height so she could find her chair in front of his desk without trouble.
Maria always sat on the edge of her chair, waiting for him to write her check. Then she’d touch the corner of her cell, number 3 on her speed dial to call her sister, and say simply, “I’m ready.”
Their fingers might touch as he passed her the check, but nothing more personal.
She’d whisper a thank-you and stand.
He’d follow her out, but on the return journey she didn’t take his arm. She knew the way. The touch-points where she brushed a display or let her hand slide along the glass doors of his frozen foods section were all she needed.
She would hurry away as if he were a stranger and not someone she knew. Her sister, Dakota, would be waiting for her just outside.
Wes usually followed Maria out the side door. He’d watch as she climbed in the old pickup. He’d wave as her sister, Dakota, backed up. Maria’s window would pass within a few feet of him. She’d often be turned as if looking right at him, but she never saw him wave at her. She had no idea he was there.
He wished Maria had an ounce of her sister’s confidence. It was hard to believe they came from the same parents. Dakota was as outgoing as Maria Anne was quiet. She ran the town’s only real estate office half a block down the street from his store.
He’d figured out that Maria wanted to stock the shelf herself, so Dakota would walk over to her office to open up and check emails, then drive Maria home when she called to say she was finished.
Only today, Maria had finished early, and she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave his office. She’d made no effort to pull her phone from her pocket to call her sister.
Watching her as she perched on the edge of her chair, he asked, “Got time for a cup of coffee?” The words were out before he thought.
To his surprise, she smiled. “I’d like that.”
He didn’t miss that she checked her watch with a brush of her finger. She’d probably stay a minute or two, no more, but it seemed a gift just the same.
Wes thought of saying that he wasn’t likely to attack Maria Davis, or anyone else for that matter. The only weapon he’d ever handled was a broom. Owners of grocery stores usually didn’t show up on wanted posters in the post office.
Maybe she still thought of him as an outsider. After all, he’d only lived in Crossroads for seven years. She’d been living in Dallas when he moved to town, so he’d never known her before her accident. Small-town people are sometimes slow to accept strangers, and maybe her being blind made it harder still.
But Wes sat across the aisle from her in church every Sunday and they sometimes ate at the same cafeteria table during the potluck suppers for singles. That didn’t exactly make them friends, he guessed.
He set a cup of coffee down in front of her but didn’t move around to his desk.
“We sold out of the apple jelly last week,” he said, proud of himself for thinking of some way to start the conversation. “With Christmas coming, you might want to think about restocking on Saturday, or you could leave a case and I’ll take care of it.”
“I will.” Her slim fingers brushed the heavy mug and circled the handle. “I could wrap a few gift baskets. They’d be expensive, but people might buy them as Christmas gifts.”
“It wouldn’t hurt. Last-minute shoppers are always looking for something unique.” That was it, he thought. The limit of their conversation.
He didn’t blame her for not wanting to know him better. They were simply polite acquaintances. Both too quiet. And even though she couldn’t see him, someone had probably told her he was homely. He might be only thirty-four now and considered himself passable, but in a few years he’d get that buzzard look his father and grandfather had aged into. Too tall, too thin, hawk-nosed and big-eared. The few women he had dated years ago must have seen the future the moment he took them home.
A rattle sounded at his open office door.
The Franklin sisters, who owned the bed-and-breakfast down the street, poked their heads in and interrupted his torture. They used to brag that they put up their own jams, but since Maria had started selling her jams and jellies, the sisters had decided to buy from Wes.
“Morning, Maria,” Rose Franklin said as she waddled past Wes like he was a post in the center of the office. “You got any of the apricot jam? I make a great chicken bake with it.”
“Yes ma’am, I made some more up from the apricots I froze this fall. You might want to stock up because what’s on the shelf will be the last until next summer.”
Maria grinned for the Franklins. Something she never did for him. She had a sunbeam smile, he thought, a slice of beauty peeping through her normally cloudy-day expression.
Daisy Franklin leaned close to Maria. “We’d buy it from you wholesale, Maria, if you’d let us.” She glanced over at the six-foot-two post named Whitman and must have decided he wasn’t listening in. “Cut out the middleman, you see.”
Wes didn’t move or comment. He’d heard the sisters try this trick before. Maria’s jars might not bring in much income for him, but her product brought in customers. All it took was one jar and they stopped by for more every time they passed Crossroads.
“No, thank you, Miss Franklin,” Maria said as she carefully sipped her coffee. “I have an agreement with Wes. He buys all I can make and I sell only to Whitman Grocery.”
Wes smiled. She’d said his first name in front of someone. Like they were friends. They’d made a deal and she’d stuck to it.
Half the store was regular supplies, but the other half was specialty items, all locally grown or canned or baked or brewed. She’d walked in with her sister leading the way and asked if he wanted to stock her jel
lies. Wes couldn’t have said no even if he’d had to eat every jar.
Now folks stopped in to buy the small jars that had red bandannas tied with ribbons on the lids. Every week, Wes watched her stock empty off the shelf, counting down the days until she’d be back.
Rose Franklin frowned as she looked around his office. Two chairs. Walls lined with boxes and Wes standing at the door. “I understand if you two have some kind of private agreement, just between you.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve had a few of those myself over the years.”
Neither Wes nor Maria looked up. Arguing with Rose was like fighting a case at the Supreme Court. You’d better be ready to brawl, or stay out of the court.
Wes saw Maria’s cheeks redden. Rose seemed to be hinting there might be more between them. Much as he wished there could be, he knew the chances were zero.
“Everyone who has your peach preserves on our famous nut bread at breakfast wants to buy both. If the bed-and-breakfast carried a stock of the preserves, it would save them a trip over here.” Rose straightened, prepared to wait it out for the answer she wanted. “You’d only up your sales.”
Wes stepped into the line of fire. “Now, Miss Franklin, I’ve heard of that homemade bread of yours. Folks say it’s straight from heaven. Have you ever thought of marketing it? I think it would be cute with both of you ladies’ pictures on the label. Franklin Sisters Famous Breads. I can see it on the shelf.”
Daisy clicked her tongue almost like a little drumroll. “Oh, no, no, we can’t do that. We’ve got far bigger irons in the fire.” She glanced at her sister for permission. With Rose’s slight nod, Daisy continued, “Rose and I have decided to open another business. What with the town growing, we’re going to become wedding planners. And though our first clients are keeping it a secret, we’re planning a huge wedding, bigger than this town has ever seen.”
Rose nodded. “Once we establish our name, folks from big cities like Amarillo or Lubbock, or even Abilene, can call us. We’ll put the wedding party up in the bed-and-breakfast, plan the wedding, bake the cake, and all they’ll have to do is show up.”