A Legendary Christmas

by Jan Scarbrough

  A little tan dog yapped at his ankles. Clint scuffed a booted foot forward, shoving the dog gently aside.

  “Quiet, Bits. Hush!” Dawn ordered. “It’s just Clint.”

  The offending canine stopped barking, but shadowed Clint’s red Santa leg sniffing. Dawn shut the door, and Clint turned, trying to ignore the dog and focusing on his former girlfriend.

  He had never seen Dawn in pajamas. He had seen her in much less during the summer reunion when she had worn a sexy black dress and then skimpy shorts and a halter top. There was nothing revealing about these red and green plaid, flannel pajamas and green fuzzy robe tied at the waste with a belt. He swallowed hard. Sure, nothing showed, but she was wearing nightclothes and he was a man. A man with a very active libido. He hadn’t known how active until he realized the object of years of his affection was standing in front of him ready for bed.

  It’s just Clint, she had said to the dog. That didn’t set right.

  He drew himself up, remaining in character. “And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?”

  She grimaced.

  Okay, sick joke. He may be small town, but he was proud of being willing and able to help out his neighbors.

  “Santa has brought you a lovely Christmas dinner,” he said in a booming voice.

  Dawn fisted a hand on her hip. “Cut it out, Clint. Why are you here? Why did Graham tell you where I was?”

  Her blond hair wasn’t all gussied up, and it was longer than when he had seen her last. Wisps fanned her face, but the rest of it hung long, past her shoulders, tied back with a piece of red yarn. Her face wasn’t made up either, but was smooth and perfect, her complexion like that of a teenager. How old were they now? Thirty-five? Lord, it hardly seemed possible. Where had time flown?

  “Graham thought you should have company for Christmas, and I don’t have anyone to eat with,” Clint said in his normal voice and strode straight into Aunt Harriet’s kitchen.

  “Wait a minute!”

  She scurried to catch up and so did the little dog. Clint disregarded them and put his bag on the countertop. He dug into it, pulling out takeout boxes of food. “Get the dinner plates. I’ll warm everything up.”

  “Hold on!” She grabbed his sleeve.

  Sparks ignited where she touched him. Clint paused and glanced down. She felt it too. He could tell. A delightful blush turned her cheeks pink. Dawn raised her eyes under thick eyelashes, and their gazes collided in a room full of heavy silence and strange electricity. If he thought about the moment, he would have laughed. Here he was dressed as Santa and Dawn Smith, famous Hollywood actress, was gripping his arm, dressed only in her pajamas.

  She breathed deeply. “I don’t want to eat. I want to be left alone. I told Graham that.”

  “I, I, I,” Clint said unable to stop himself with a harsh retort. “Sometimes, darlin’, it’s not all about you.”

  Dawn gasped and snatched back her hand.

  Of course, he wouldn’t say what he thought, but she must have read the contempt in his eyes. For, suddenly, he felt contemptuous, and he had never felt that way about Dawn in all the years he had known her. Where had her spirit gone? That enthusiastic drive and determination? This wasn’t the woman he had always loved.

  “You’re right, of course,” she said softly.

  She turned away. Damn! Had he made her cry? He cleared his throat. “Graham is worried about Jane who’s worried about you. Jane is about to have a baby, and I told him I would check on you.”

  “Oh,” Dawn whispered. “I’m sorry. But please take that stupid suit off while I set the table.”

  Clint yanked off his hat and fake hair all at once. Cool air fanned his scalp. He hadn’t realized how hot he had been. Hot under the collar, mostly.

  He removed the beard and plopped all of the Santa trappings on the countertop. “The dinner came from Suzie’s B&B.”

  “I’m sure it’s good.”

  “She’s a great cook.”

  Small talk. At least it was talk.

  He unbuttoned the Santa coat and took it off. Underneath he wore a red and black flannel shirt. No wonder he was hot. No wonder he was simmering, and it was more than anger for knowing he shouldn’t be here. Much more.

  As he stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, the same sizzle he had experienced from the moment she fluttered those lashes at him senior year came rushing back full force. Dawn, who had her back to him setting the table, was making him hot.

  Fortunately, he wore blue jeans under his Santa pants. He unlaced his boots, tugged them off first, and then striped off the red flannel Santa pants. He left his boots off and padded back to the countertop in his wool socks.

  “I ordered this spread from Suzie at Thanksgiving,” he said, softening his tone of voice, “and forgot all about it until her sister showed up on my doorstep this afternoon.”

  “Chelly?” Dawn turned to glance at him. Even she knew the sordid tale of Suzie’s divorce ,and Chelly running away with her sister’s husband.

  He shrugged. “I guess she’s back in town. I don’t know.” He concentrated on one thing, warming up the sliced turkey and dressing and tamping down the irritation he felt at his inability to put Dawn out of his head.

  Suzie had given him everything: green beans and mashed sweet potatoes, her famous blueberry muffins and a pecan pie. It was a dinner fit for a king, but he felt more like a rat forcing Dawn to do something she didn’t want to do. Dawn didn’t help matters. She remained silent as she folded a red cloth napkin and placed it on the kitchen table.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  Clint glanced up at her question. She had come up beside him. He looked down at her and another connecting ribbon of tension snapped between them. He nodded.

  “Graham stocked my pantry for me.” She offered a tiny smile. “I asked him for a few bottles of California Merlot.”

  “Red wine is good for you.” That was a lame thing to say, but she smiled and turned away from him, reaching for the wine glasses in an old-fashioned oak buffet.

  Yip, yip, yip.

  The little dog bounced around the room. His nails clicked on the tile floor.

  Clint reached down and scratched behind the corgi’s ear. “How are you, partner?” The stub of a tail wagged furiously, setting the dog’s whole backside quivering.

  For the first time he sensed Dawn relenting. Her shoulders sagged.

  “Do you want to go out, Little Bits?”

  The dog twirled and yipped. Dawn shooed him toward the back door and let him out.

  “Why a corgi?” Clint asked when she returned.

  Her face relaxed. “He needed a home. I got him from a corgi rescue group.”

  Clint studied her.

  She grinned guiltily. “I know what you’re thinking,” she came back. “‘Dawn always hated Jane’s cats and dogs.’ I did.” She shrugged. “I still do. I just couldn’t let this little dog be put to sleep.”

  God, how he loved the smile on her face and the gentleness in her eyes. At least he had distracted her for the moment.

  When he didn’t say anything, Dawn went on. “I got lonely with Randy gone. I needed the company.”

  Clint turned back to the counter. Thinking of Dawn lonely disturbed him. He placed the potatoes and green beans into the microwave. “Being single has its advantages, but it is lonely some times.”

  “Of course it is.” She crossed the floor and touched his arm again. A look of hopelessness passed over her face. “And you’re right about me being self-indulgent.”

  That was a strange admission from Dawn. His mouth tightened with shock and sadness. A rumble of longing reverberated through his rigid body. How he yearned to take her into his arms and comfort her. His fingers itched with desire. But this was Dawn Smith, and she was as untouchable as she had been when they were both eighteen and played at being in love.

  Clint’s black hair spiked up in a crazy, misshapen tangle from the Santa hair and hat. Dawn found it endearing. She
laid her hand on his arm. The muscles beneath his flannel shirt felt solid and strong. There had always been something safe and comforting about Clint. He never once made an issue of her leaving town or forced her to decide between the love they once shared and her career. His mere presence eased the tension in her shoulders and relaxed her as she had not been in years.

  But there was something else going on. An undercurrent. Dawn removed her hand from his shirt, sensing his discomfort. She had said stupid things, and he was right calling her out. It was just that she had wallowed in her own misery for so long she didn’t quite know how to react to him. She wasn’t playing a part now. Covering up her insecurity was hard with her movie star persona stripped away.

  Dressed in her robe and fuzzy slippers, she didn’t look much like a glamorous actress. And he didn’t look much like Santa Claus. Dawn smiled. Clint’s olive complexion and dark eyes were better suited for a leading man role. In fact, he had lost weight since the last time she saw him at the reunion. He looked the picture of athleticism and good health. Randy had been a smoker and grown a bit paunchy over the years. Come to think of it, his hair was thinning on top. Seeing Clint, alive and vibrant, right here in Aunt Harriet’s kitchen, caused Dawn to step back and stare.

  She didn’t need to dwell on the past, did she? Not with Clint here. Not at Christmastime.

  Maybe losing Randy wasn’t so bad after all.

  Dawn turned away from Clint and poured a glass of Sonoma County merlot. She filled a second glass and, calling on all her courage, turned back to hand the wine to Clint. He took it from her, deliberately holding her gaze with his.

  When had his eyes started to twinkle like Merry Old St. Nick? She didn’t remember the tiny dimple by Clint’s mouth.

  He raised his glass in salute. “To the future.”

  Dawn tapped his crystal goblet with hers. “To our years of friendship.”

  His gaze locked with hers over the rim of his glass as he lifted it to his lips. She saw a tenderness she didn’t expect. Tenderness and something more. A hot flare of sexual desire burned brightly in Clint’s eyes. It surprised her for a moment, and then she felt strangely thrilled. Flattered. He wanted her.

  Dawn brought her glass to her lips and slowly sipped the wine. Soft flavors of cherry, oak and caramel slid down her throat, making her glow richly and warm. Silence filled the room. Something intense flared between them amid the aroma of turkey and dressing and the stillness of the kitchen.

  The microwave dinged. The food was hot. But all Dawn could think about was the heat that circulated within her body. She took another sip, savoring the moment along with the wine.

  A-roooooo!

  Saved by the bell, ‘er dog. Dawn smiled and set down her glass. “Little Bits is one demanding pain in the butt.”

  “You’re not kidding,” Clint said, turning back to the microwave.

  By the time Dawn had collected a wet and snow-covered corgi from the back yard, Clint had served them each a plate of steaming turkey and trimmings.

  “It’s really snowing outside.”

  Clint pulled out her chair. “I guess I’d better eat and run.”

  Dawn sat down. “They predict a bad snowstorm tonight.”

  “We’ve had our share of snow this winter.”

  “There hasn’t been much rain in Southern California.”

  God, what were they doing? Talking like they’d been married twenty years. Dawn forked a bite of mashed sweet potatoes and shoved it into her mouth. This wasn’t how she had expected to spend Christmas Eve. She had wanted to be alone with Little Bits. Instead she was eating dinner with this big hunk of a man who suddenly appeared more interested in his plate of food than in her.

  But she didn’t care that he was avoiding her. She didn’t want another man. She’d had enough men to last a lifetime. They were too much work. Too much trouble. Too much heartache. Men were good for one thing, and it had been a long time since they had been good for even that much.

  Dawn looked at Clint with new interest. Would he be interested?

  Shame hit her. Clint was right. All she thought about was her wants and needs, never about anyone else. She had been self-indulgent for so long, always the pampered star, the charmed sister, the perfect one. Dawn picked up one of Suzie’s signature blueberry muffins and took a bite. It was still warm. Not hot enough to melt butter, but not cold either. She chewed the bite slowly and then savored another bite, watching Clint out of the corner of her eye.

  He had a big man’s appetite. “You’ve lost weight.” She put her thoughts into words before realizing it.

  Clint looked up. He tipped his head, embarrassed. “After the Legend football team won the championship, football became even more popular. Coach Hood needed someone to coach the middle school team. There’s nothing like a bunch of thirteen-year-olds to keep the weight off.”

  Dawn smiled at him. “You like coaching, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I like football. The kids are fun.”

  Clint should have his own kids by now. Dawn picked up her wine glass and drank deeply, trying to hide her growing embarrassment. Clint should be married. She knew why he wasn’t. For the first time, she considered his unspoken plight. Everyone said Clint had always loved her, but she had taken him for granted. He deserved a family but not wife who was barren like her.

  Setting down her glass, Dawn folded her napkin, laying it beside her plate. She wasn’t hungry. Not for food. But for something more. And it wasn’t sex.

  A great wave of misery swamped her. Dawn struggled not to cry. She lifted her chin. Never had she been so scared and unhappy. Never had she second-guessed herself as completely as she did now. She was thirty-five and divorced. Her last boyfriend had killed himself, and her damn ex-husband had run off with a pregnant teenager. To top it off, she was an actress without a part, not even a cameo or a walk-on.

  Without being Dawn the movie star, Dawn Smith was nothing. Had nothing. And she didn’t know where to begin to create another life. Jane had been good at making a life for herself—teacher, bookstore owner, founder of the Legend pet rescue. When she wanted Graham, she had gone after him, even switched places with Dawn to make him believe he was taking Dawn out instead. Graham hadn’t been fooled. And now look at them. Happily married with little Franklin on the way.

  What did she want? The bright lights had lost their allure. She failed miserably at the one thing that had been important to her—acting. Swallowing quickly, Dawn fought back a rush of self-pity. She didn’t know how to be anything different from what she had always been. She wasn’t sure there was anything under the façade she had created.

  Clint looked at her with a curious light in his eyes. Was he concerned about her? She was too quiet. That wasn’t like her. She was always bubbly and vivacious. Extroverted, unlike her shy twin. But not tonight. Not on this Christmas Eve. Dawn simply wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

  Damn, Clint, for forcing her to come out of her shell! Damn him for caring and being so predictable.

  Her hackles rose again. “What’s the matter?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said.

  “Oh, nothing’s the matter!” Dawn stood and swept around the room waving her arm dramatically. “My whole life is in shambles. I have nowhere to go. No role to play. I’m an outcast, blackballed, a loser.”

  She was acting, and it felt good. Energy gushed through her veins, giving her a heady feeling almost as if she had finished the glass of merlot. Little Bits scurried under the kitchen table just in time to avoid being trampled.

  “You’re not a loser.”

  “Of course you don’t think I am.” Dawn’s accusing voice rose. “You’ve always been there for me, haven’t you, Clint? My old boyfriend. It’s your claim to fame here in Legend. Everyone knows you as Dawn Smith’s high school steady.”

  He came to his feet. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

  “Okay. Run away, everyone else does. Leave me. I don’t care.
I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody!”

  She was hysterical. On the verge of losing it. Dawn gulped. Her head swam with fear. What was happening to her?

  He towered above her. Dawn was forced to look up at him. Clint stared down at her, condemning, questioning. “What’s wrong with you? Are you on drugs or something?”

  “As hard as it may be for you to believe,” she said raising her chin in what was left of her dignity, “I never do those things. Not every actress in Hollywood is a party girl.”

  Her head spinning, Dawn searched his eyes. She blinked away the lump growing in her throat. “Oh, my God, Clint,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean all those things I said.”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “I know you didn’t.”

  “I’m not totally selfish.” She said aloud more to make herself believe it.

  He lifted a finger and smoothed back a wisp of hair. His touch was a shock. It sucked the breath from her. Dawn reached up and caught his hand, drawing it down to her cheek. She shut her eyes, resting against the palm of his hand, against the strong feel of his fingers.

  A small part of her heart wanted Clint and all he represented. Home, family, a strong man to care about, to love. She couldn’t give Clint what he ought to have. Getting involved again wasn’t fair to him, but tonight she needed him more than ever.

  “I want you to take me to bed,” she said in a voice so low even she had trouble hearing it. “I want you to make love to me.”

  Chapter Four

  Aunt Harriet’s Kitchen

  Christmas Eve

  Astounded, his eyes widened. Clint stared at Dawn, watching her gaze shift away in embarrassment. Her flushed cheek was silky smooth against the palm of his hand, and her soft breath stroked his fingers. Her scent, subtle like a bouquet of roses, dazzled him.

  He longed to turn her down, walk away and remain detached, but he couldn’t turn down the woman he had been in love with for most of his life.

  What hurt, though, cutting deep like a sharp blade, was that she had to beg him. Dawn was no longer the self-confident, radiant woman he once knew and that troubled him.