Twelve Dates of Christmas: The Ballad of Lula Jo (Lonesome Point)

by Jessie Evans

  As he stepped out into Lula’s front garden, the urge to flee abated, but he didn’t stop to admire the poinsettia display or examine the faces of the garden gnomes peeking from the bare rose vines. He needed to get back to his hotel room and regroup before tonight.

  Obviously, Lula’s heart was as raw and unhealed as his own. He’d hoped she’d be in a place where she could look back on their failed romance with nostalgia, a nostalgia he could use to his advantage as he fought to win her love all over again. But clearly her soul still hurt, too. It simultaneously gave him hope—she must have loved him as deeply as he’d loved her—and made his own pain even worse. He hadn’t suffered alone these past eleven years. Lula had suffered with him, all because he’d been too stupid to realize that the greatest treasure in the world was the heart of the woman who had cared for him so deeply he would have never reached the end of her love.

  He vowed, as he crossed the sunny street beneath the Christmas garland bobbing in the wind, that he would find a way to take her pain away, no matter what the cost.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lula

  Lula lay on the counter, blinking up at the ceiling, too shocked to care that half the influential women in Lonesome Point had just witnessed Carter’s plea and the kiss that followed.

  The kiss…

  It had only been a fleeting moment, the barest press of his warm skin against her cheek. But their entire love affair had flashed before her eyes, filling her with so many conflicting emotions that she still couldn’t form words long minutes later. It wasn’t until Mia’s wild red curls popped into sight above Lula’s head that she finally felt life returning to her shell-shocked lips.

  “Tallulah Josephine Watson,” Mia said, her eyes wide in her flushed face. “Who the hell was that?”

  “Don’t curse, Mia.” Lula pushed into a seated position on the counter and took the glass of orange juice Dr. Kemp pressed into her hand. “Carter is just…an old friend.”

  “Why don’t my old friends look like that?” Dr. Kemp asked, summoning murmurs of agreement and giggles from the rest of the women.

  “Seriously,” Mia agreed, still looking like she couldn’t be more shocked if Lula had given birth to a muskrat in the middle of the cookie exchange. “That man was gorgeous, Lula. It was so romantic I almost passed out.” Mia let out a dreamy sigh. “What’s the story with you two? I never knew you had a serious boyfriend, let alone a tall, hunky—”

  “You met him when you were younger,” Lula said, voice trembling. “But you clearly don’t remember and I don’t want to talk about Carter Bryce.”

  “Oh, come on,” Mia pressed. “You have to tell us something. Are you going to let him have a second chance? I hope so, because the poor man looked—”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it, Amelia Louise,” Lula snapped, downing the rest of her juice before forcing a smile for the rest of the group. “I’m so sorry for putting a damper on the festivities, but I’m feeling much better now. I think we should get on with our party. Should we begin with holiday trivia for prizes or with the balloon antler contest, since we’re already on our feet?”

  After an awkward moment, in which Mia tried to apologize, Lula shushed her repeatedly, and everyone else stared uncomfortably at their shoes, their coffee, or their neighbor, the women divided into teams. Ten minutes later, five of the partygoers had enormous balloon-filled pantyhose antlers on their heads, and everyone was laughing so hard you would think nothing had disrupted the fun.

  But Lula’s laughter was forced, and she couldn’t think of anything but Carter. He was the one who got away, the only man she’d ever loved. And now he was back, declaring his intentions to fight for a second chance.

  Ten years ago, Lula would have been thrilled. Even eight years ago she had still clung to the hope that Carter might show up on her doorstep one day. But it had been eleven years, during which Lula had erected scaffolding around her heart and declared the area permanently condemned. She had no idea if she was capable of loving someone again, no matter how intensely something inside her had reacted to Carter’s kiss.

  She had gone without love, lust, or even the comfort of someone’s arms for so long. She was a confirmed spinster, and it would be best if she told Carter as much, and they went their separate ways.

  But even as the thought plodded through her head, something light and hopeful danced behind it, blowing kisses at the stars the way she had one December night, long ago.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Carter

  Carter was on Lula’s doorstep—the front one this time—at five minutes until six, a bag of groceries in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other.

  He stood staring at the door for several long moments, sweat beading on his lip despite the unusually cold Texas night. He was even more nervous than he’d been this morning. He’d had eight long hours to stress about this second meeting, beating himself up for being such a fool and wondering if he was crazy for thinking Lula could forgive a man who’d been missing in action for over a decade.

  He’d decided to spill the entire crazy story as soon as possible, but when Lula answered the door in a pair of khaki pants and a gray-green sweater that dropped past her hips, all his words drifted away.

  In the casual clothes, with her hair loose around her shoulders and her make-up free face peering up at him in the soft light of the antique street lamps, she looked like she had when they’d first met. When she was twenty and in the middle of her first year as a business owner and he was a cocky twenty-two-year-old, embarking on his first solo treasure hunt.

  “You look really nice,” he said with a smile.

  “This is what I wear on a normal night,” she said, pausing to nibble nervously at her bottom lip. “I didn’t get dressed up. I thought about it, but…” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other but didn’t move from the doorway or motion for him to come in. “I honestly don’t know how to do this, Carter. I don’t know how to be with you or what to say. It’s just been so long.”

  “I know, and I can explain part of that, but first I—”

  “And the thought of giving us a second chance.” She shook her head as she crossed her arms. “I don’t know you anymore, and you don’t know me. I’m a different person. That girl you used to love doesn’t exist anymore.”

  Carter’s brow furrowed. “I’m different, too, but it doesn’t change the way I feel. And I’m smart enough now to realize what a dumb kid I was back then. I should have stayed. If I could go back and do it all over, I would.”

  “Well, we can’t go back,” Lula said softly. “And I can’t move forward. I can’t imagine being your friend, let alone…” She waved one arm in a small circle near her shoulder, her fingertips barely peeking out from the bulky sweater.

  The gesture was so familiar, so Lula, that it revived Carter’s flagging hope. The girl he loved was still there, locked inside the cautious woman standing before him. If only he could get her to relax her guard, just for a little while.

  “What about twelve dates?” he said, pushing on when she frowned. “Like the Twelve Days of Christmas, but we’ll have the twelve dates of Carter and Lula. Just give me until Christmas Eve. We can take the time to enjoy each other’s company without any expectations and see where we are on the twenty-fourth. Maybe we’ll end up friends, maybe more, but I’m sure the path forward will be clearer by then.”

  Lula studied him. “And what if there is no path?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if we get to the end of the twelve dates and there’s just a brick wall with a bunch of ugly graffiti on it?” she asked. “What then?”

  “I’ll get out my paintbrush,” he said with a smile.

  “No, you’ll go away,” Lula said, banishing the smile from his face. “This is my place in the world, Carter. You gave up any claim to Lonesome Point when you drove away. If we get to the end of the twelve days and I want you to go, I need you to promise that you will.”

&n
bsp; “All right,” he said, nodding somberly. “I’m not here to make you unhappy, L.J. That’s the last thing I want. Come Christmas Eve, if you tell me to go, I’ll go. No questions asked.”

  Lula’s lips pressed together, but after a moment she stood back and opened the door. “Then come on in. I made fresh bread.”

  “That’s perfect,” he said, moving inside to see that Lula had set one of the tea shop tables with a checkered tablecloth and two place settings. He crossed to the table and began laying out his offerings. “I brought salami, prosciutto, the stinky cheese you like, three kinds of olives, roasted red peppers, a salad, and a cabernet I think is good. It’s been a while since I was in a liquor store with a wine selection. Up in Dad’s part of Alaska, they make do with beer and moonshine.”

  “You’ve been in Alaska with your dad?” she asked as she fetched wine glasses and a wine key from the china cabinet near the counter and brought them back to the table. “Is that why you switched back to the cowboy hat?”

  “I switched back to the cowboy hat because I’m too old to play dress up,” he said as he opened the wine, laughing at his younger self’s obsession with his prized wide-brimmed fedora. “And yeah, I was with Dad, taking care of him and running the ranch while he was doing chemo. But the treatments only held the cancer off for a little over a year. He passed six weeks ago.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lula said, laying her hand gently on top of his. “I know you two were close.”

  Carter turned his hand over and curled his fingers around Lula’s palm. It felt so good to touch her—so electric and right. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  They stood that way for a moment, with longing thickening the air between them before Carter continued in a soft voice, “I started back to you five years ago, Lu, and I’ve been fighting my way to your door ever since. I know that’s still too much time with my head up my ass, but I’m hoping you’ll let me explain why it took so long.”

  “Pour me a glass of wine,” she said, her head tipped down as she studied their joined hands, her long curls falling around her face. “It sounds like the kind of story that needs wine. And maybe some chocolate, too.”

  “I’ve got some in the bag,” he said, lifting his free hand to wind one of her curls around his finger. “I love the long hair, by the way. It suits you.”

  Lula looked up at him, her breath rushing out between her parted lips. “I’m willing to give you the twelve days, Carter, but I’m out of practice with this. I can’t go from zero to sixty. I need to take things slow.”

  He nodded and his hand fell from her hair. “I’ll pour the wine; you grab the chocolate from the bag. We can have dessert first.”

  For the next half hour, they sipped wine and ate squares of dark chocolate while Carter told her about the rare meteorites he and his partner, Shane, had found in the Moroccan desert. The find had come at the perfect time, after a depressing year in Italy he’d spent regretting the poor choices he’d made. He was on his way back to Lonesome Point to beg for Lula’s forgiveness when he and his partner learned the meteorites had been lost in the mail.

  In a last ditch attempt to refill his empty coffers, Carter had signed on for one final expedition—a dig to locate the lost tomb of an ancient Ethiopian king that he’d sworn would be his last. Either he hit the jackpot and came back to Lula a rich man or came crawling back with nothing but his heart in his hands. One way or another, he planned to be in Lonesome Point before that summer. But only days into the excursion, his team had been captured by Somali warlords and held captive for eight months.

  Carter told Lula about their escape one cloudless night when their captors were celebrating victory over opposing forces. Carter’s team ran through the desert under a full moon, certain they were going to step on a mine and be blown to pieces any second. He told her about the long journey on foot to Mogadishu, only to find there was no U.S. Embassy in the capital city and no way for the American members of their team to get replacement passports for the ones the warlords had stolen. The following eighteen months were an exercise in survival and hope against all odds, as he and two friends survived selling black market moonshine, made with stolen potatoes, as they waited for their appeals to the U.S. government to bear fruit.

  They finally got help from one of their old treasure hunting buddies who had family in the New Zealand government. They were granted visas to New Zealand and began to appeal to the U.S. Embassy there. This time they only had to wait six months before they were granted passports and permission to reenter the U.S. By the time the request came through, Carter had saved up enough money working the docks in Auckland to pay for his plane ticket, but on the day he and his friends were due to fly home, he came down with the flu. He spent nearly a month in a New Zealand hospital, and when he was finally well enough to be discharged, his job and his friends were gone.

  For years, he’d been writing and calling his father with no response. He was pretty certain Dad was dead, but on the day he left the hospital, Carter tried calling Alaska again. He was out of money, barely strong enough to shuffle down the street from the supermarket to his apartment, and losing hope that he would ever see home. Finally, his dad—who had just returned home after one last treasure hunt with his old team—had answered. His father bought Carter a ticket to Anchorage; he arrived on the day his dad was diagnosed with cancer.

  “So the next year and a half was spent taking care of Dad,” Carter said, taking a sip of his wine, knowing he’d never take luxuries like this for granted again. “I still had money in a U.S. account I hadn’t been able to access while I was abroad, but it was barely enough to pay the medical bills. If Dad had lived much longer, I don’t know what we would have done.” Carter looked up at Lula with a smile. “Talk about a tale of woe, huh?”

  She shook her head, a stunned expression on her face. “I don’t see how you can still smile after all that. That sounds like hell, Carter.”

  “It was, but maybe it’s what I deserved.” He set down his wine glass and met Lula’s searching look. “I’m just glad I’m finally back here, having a drink with you. But I think we’d better get to the meal, or I’ll end up falling asleep on the table. I’m more of a light weight than I used to be.”

  “Me too,” Lula said. “I hardly ever drink anymore.”

  “We’re so old,” he teased. “What would our younger selves think of us?”

  Lula smiled. “Oh please, you look exactly the same. The ladies at the party couldn’t stop talking about how handsome you were. You nearly broke my poor cousin’s brain. She didn’t remember meeting you and couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the idea of a mouse like me having a history with someone like you.”

  “You’re no mouse,” he said, indignant on her behalf. “You’re beautiful without even trying. Anyone who can’t see that doesn’t have a brain to break.”

  “Well, Mia never was the sharpest knife in the drawer.” Lula giggled but immediately covered her mouth with her hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. I love Mia, I’ve just been mad at her since she put panties on my gnomes.”

  Carter laughed. “What?”

  “She pantied my gnomes,” Lula said, still giggling. “Gave them all these horrible neon green thong hats, covered downtown with underwear, and put bras up the flag pole. It was awful.”

  “This sounds like the next story that needs to be told,” he said, grinning. “But first I’m grabbing the meat and cheese from the fridge.”

  They spent the rest of the night telling silly stories and laughing over memories of old times. But when Lula walked Carter to the door at eleven thirty, he didn’t try to kiss her goodnight. He only pulled her in for a hug and whispered against her hair, “I like going slow with you,” before stepping outside in the crisp night air.

  It was true. For now, it was enough to hear her laugh, see her smile, and know she didn’t hate him. Baby steps, true, but he appreciated every one and was willing walk a thousand miles at a snail’s pace if that was the only way to get
close to her again.

  He just hoped twelve days would be enough to convince Lula that he belonged in Lonesome Point and, more importantly, by her side.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lula

  Lula woke Sunday—the one day she didn’t open the tea shop until noon—and rolled over in bed, feeling like she was six years old on Christmas morning. For a moment she couldn’t remember why she was so excited, then memories of last night with Carter came rushing back.

  She jumped out of bed and dashed into the living room, peering through the curtains at the hotel across the street, wondering which room was his.

  Watch it, crazy. It was just a night spent catching up with an old friend. His story is a tough one, true, but he brought most of it on himself. And he still spent six years gallivanting around the globe, not sparing you a second thought.

  Lula wrinkled her nose. She had no intention of getting involved with Carter. She was too practical for romance anymore. But it was nice to have something different going on for a change. She’d fallen into such a rigid routine. There was no spontaneity in her life anymore. This was the first time in a long time she’d woken up excited to get out of bed.

  And Carter was the reason why.

  It made her heart soften toward him even before she went downstairs to get coffee and found a letter slipped under the front door:

  Good morning, beautiful L.J.,

  Thank you for the amazing night. I won’t be forgetting it anytime soon.

  I know we said we’d meet after you close the shop for the day, but if you’re up early, come over to the hotel restaurant. I have a surprise I think you might find interesting.