A Legendary Christmas

by Jan Scarbrough

  Once in the parking lot, Clint hoisted Dawn into the Escape and circled around front to his door.

  “You can’t run. Now that I know she’s here, I’ll find you. I’ll get my story,” the reporter predicted, coming within spitting distance of him.

  It was too much. Clint spun to face the jerk. He hated the gloating look in the reporter’s eyes and the slick, elitist attitude in his voice. Without thinking, Clint shoved the guy hard, and the man toppled backwards into a soft snow bank, his camera flying high into the air and landing on a pile of shoveled ice and dirty, blackened snow.

  Clint climbed into the front seat, turned the ignition and backed slowly out of the parking spot. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw the reporter crawl out of the snow and stand staring after them. Unable to help a self-satisfied smile, Clint turned to survey Dawn. Whether from the cold or as a defensive gesture, she hugged her body with her arms.

  “You okay?”

  “Where are we going?” she asked in a hushed voice. “We can’t go back to Aunt Harriet’s.”

  “No, but we can go to my house. That creep won’t find us there.”

  Chapter Six

  Clint lived north of town on five acres of land in a rustic log cabin. Dawn had never seen it. With the mountains as backdrop and the snowfall swirling around it, Clint’s home looked as if it belonged in a charming snow globe.

  The drive from the hospital had been dangerous, requiring all of Clint’s concentration. That was fine by Dawn, for she had nothing to say, her mind numb. The ride had been strained for more reasons than the blizzard.

  Coming inside the house from Clint’s attached garage and standing in a dark mud room, Dawn felt cold and brittle, more because of her raw emotions than because she had left the hospital without a coat.

  “Here, let’s get the lights on and fire going.” Clint followed behind her and flicked on every light switch to bathe the rooms in welcoming light. Then he led her through a large, family kitchen and into a forest-green great room with vaulted ceilings and a limestone fireplace dominating one wall.

  Dawn looked around while Clint triggered the gas logs, and a fire whooshed into flames.

  “Beats bringing in wood on a night like this,” he said with an awkward grin.

  Dawn remained paralyzed in the middle of the room, unable to move her stiff legs.

  He shot her a worried glance. “I’ll fix something to drink. What do you want? Coffee, wine or something stronger?”

  “Coffee will be fine,” she managed to say although she didn’t want anything.

  “Okay.” He started back to the kitchen. “Pull your boots off, and stick your feet up on the hearth. That will get them warm.”

  Dawn did as she was told, sitting on a leather ottoman and removing her boots. The simple action made her feel much better.

  Clint’s home was comfortable and masculine, filled with overstuffed leather sofas and chairs and decorated with male things from an honest-to-goodness stuffed deer head on one wall to some sort of rifle over the mantle. His football trophies were displayed on a shelf by the window along with several team photos. An orange and white University of Tennessee blanket was thrown over one of the sofas.

  Here clearly was the home of a man who knew himself and what he wanted. A man comfortable in his own skin.

  What had Clint said about attitude? It was up to her to change her life. She wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to do it. All she knew was she was tired of being afraid and depressed.

  Suddenly chilled, Dawn snatched the UT blanket and draped it around her shoulders. She sank down onto one of the sofas and pulled her legs up on the cushion. The fire popped and crackled, casting cheery warmth throughout the room.

  Clint joined her carrying a tray with two mugs of steaming coffee, a few packets of artificial sweetener and a carton of Half and Half. He sat the tray on the ottoman.

  “Nothing fancy, I’m afraid,” he said with a shrug. “What do you take in it?”

  “Just cream, thanks.”

  He poured the cream and then offered her a stoneware mug. “This should warm you up.”

  “Thanks.”

  She met his gaze when she took the mug from his outstretched hands. Bless his heart. There was something honorable and old-fashioned about this hunk of a man. She loved the way he had rescued her. Cradling the mug with her hands, she smiled as she let the steam from the coffee stroke her face.

  “What’s so funny?” He settled back into the easy chair next to the fireplace.

  “I was thinking about the look on that reporter’s face when you pushed him into the snow.”

  “Served the sucker right.” Clint sipped his coffee. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  She let out a sigh. “I’m used to it.”

  “But you shouldn’t be. It’s not right for people to act like that and disrespect people.”

  “It goes with being in Hollywood.”

  “Why do you stay there then?”

  His question was blunt and at the same time personal. He probably didn’t mean it that way, but it was. Why did she stay? Because she had no place else to go. It was a hell of a thing to realize that her whole life was a sham.

  Exasperation jarred him. Clint took another sip of coffee to hide his ire. Why didn’t she leave Hollywood if she wasn’t happy there? Why didn’t she come home? Folks weren’t so fancy in Legend, but they were real folks, honest and sincere. They stuck together and liked each other, for the most part.

  But then again, Dawn had always been different. Aloof. Special. For a long time he had thought it didn’t matter and admired that quality in her. However, seeing her so unhappy, he wished she would be satisfied with Legend’s humble ways. Damn! He wished she would be satisfied with him.

  Shame slammed him hard. He had told her he loved her. It was a stupid thing to have done, but it was how he felt.

  Clint sat his coffee mug on the tray and rose. Looking down at her, he reminded himself of his earlier resolve. Loving Dawn Smith was his problem. Where had it gotten him? Years ago she inspired him with her ambition, and he had a thriving car business, in part because he wanted to be able to support Dawn if things ever worked out. But he was lonely. Time was passing him by. He had loved her so long it was hard to give up the dream.

  But he would. He hated marking time. Hated the obsession that clawed at him. He didn’t want to be mad at himself or Dawn.

  Turning his back on her, he stared at the fire with the blue natural gas flame almost hidden under a fake log. That’s what his love for Dawn was like. Fake. Not the kind of love he wanted.

  He turned to face her. “I told you I loved you tonight.”

  She looked up, curiosity in her eyes and something more. Fear? He wasn’t going to press her again, and he wasn’t going to stick around forever.

  He shook his head and continued, “Real love must be give and take. It’s useless to love somebody and never get anything in return. I’m done with it, Dawn. I can’t continue loving a dream.”

  She didn’t say anything, just gazed up at him like a wounded child. His heart sank. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he was taking action for himself. And he meant it this time.

  “I’m going to get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

  Full of rage and disappointment by her lack of reaction, but also filled with a sense of resolve, Clint left Dawn on the sofa. He climbed the steps to his bedroom loft, never looking back.

  Where had that come from? Dawn gaped at Clint in surprise, the first shards of anger splintering her heart. How dare he? He couldn’t drive her home. That was Aunt Harriet’s house, not hers. Was he going to drive her all the way back to Malibu?

  But the sterile, silver and black decorated house she had shared with Randy wasn’t home. Not like this bachelor pad of Clint’s. Real life happened here, unlike the pretense of love and devotion she had put up with for years.

  Dawn frantically clutched the orange and white
blanket around her. Cold. Scared. Heart sick. She had been divorced from Randy for two years, and their home remained the same. Still perfect and neat as if a photographer from HGTV would show up any minute for a photo shoot.

  She never put her feet up on her sofa at home. At Jane’s house, her family home on Oak Street, she had always been allowed to put her feet on the furniture.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and this time she didn’t hold them back. They spilled down her cheeks, a torrent of misery finally set free.

  For so long, her life had spun out of control. She couldn’t stop Randy’s fling with the teenager, or prevent Chris’s overdose. Her career was probably over. She was alone. How had the illusion of being in control and playacting sustained her? The dream was no longer enough. She wanted something solid and real. Something—or someone—like Clint.

  If she went to him again, she would be admitting she couldn’t make it on her own any longer. She would be admitting defeat. The loss of her dreams.

  The truth was a harsh bedfellow.

  Dawn scrubbed her cheeks dry with the palms of her hands. Tossing off the blanket, she uncurled her legs and jumped to her feet. Her gaze strayed up the steps, and she bit her lip, the last of her indecision vanishing.

  Tonight she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted more than a dream.

  Lead by the noise of a shower running, she walked upstairs and opened a bathroom door, met by a wall of steam and the sharp, woody fragrance of men’s soap. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Clint’s nude shadow against the frosted glass shower door caused her to pause.

  What were the consequences of tonight? Somehow the only thing that mattered was that she knew this was right. This time. This man. Making love. In fact, it was the only thing that made sense.

  Hastily stripping off her clothes, she padded across the tiled floor, opened the glass door, and stepped into the shower stall.

  Water hit Clint’s face and sluiced over his body. He lifted his head suddenly and spun around, bumping into her. He stared at her, water striking the back of his head, droplets cascading down his face.

  The steam made it hard for Dawn to breath. Or was it Clint? His very maleness tempted her. A sweet burn began between her thighs. They stood staring at each other, transfixed.

  “What does this mean?” he said, his voice croaking.

  “It means I want you.”

  “Now?”

  Dawn nodded and glanced down at the proof of his desire. She smiled in victory and took the bath sponge from his hand. With soft strokes, she circled Clint’s wet nipples and chest hair with the soapy sponge. He sucked in a quick, ragged breath.

  Spurred on by his obvious desire, her need flared. It was like she burned with fever. Air had trouble finding her lungs. Clint crushed her to him, and took her mouth roughly against his. He was slick and slippery, the whole length of him hard. Dawn responded like a woman—teasing him, touching him, urging him on.

  “Damn!” he said against her lips. “Why do you do this to me?”

  He hit the faucet with his hand to turn off the water and scooped her into his arms, carrying her into his bedroom, both of them streaming wet. He dropped her to her feet and yanked a navy comforter from his bed, leaving a vast sea of crisp navy sheets on the massive king size mattress. Then he pulled open a bedside drawer.

  “This time I’m prepared,” he said with a forced laugh.

  Slipping on protection, Clint wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down with him on the bed. She settled on top of him, straddling his thighs, and rubbed her fiery spot against him. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  He groaned.

  With her hands by the side of his head and her arms locked for balance, Dawn lowered her mouth, capturing his lips like a woman possessed. His response equaled hers, surpassed it, and he conquered her tongue like a warrior knight.

  She was as wet inside as she was outside, and hot with passion. She wanted it—fast and furious—almost as if to signify the reality of their lovemaking. Positioning herself, she directed him inside and pushed down on him, letting him fill her with a satisfying fullness.

  “Ah, Dawn.”

  Clint’s gaze caressed her, bathing her with love, and then his eyes grew pained with desire. Dawn gulped air, watching him, enjoying his torment. Slowly she moved up and down, undulating with the power of her womanhood. He writhed beneath her. She broke out in sweat, her breath coming in quick gasps.

  She selfishly managed his growing excitement. It felt good to be in control again. Clint thrust into her, and she pressed harder on him, causing him to moan her name.

  “Dawn! I can’t stop!” he cried out in panic, his eyes flying open.

  “Me either,” she laughed in triumph.

  “No!”

  Dawn shut her eyes as Clint shuddered beneath her, and bearing down, rubbing harder, she brought her own passion to its culminating peak in a soft groan of exploding release.

  Her arms were suddenly incapable of holding her. She collapsed along the length of him with him still inside.

  “Oh, Dawn, I love you,” Clint murmured into the tangle of her hair. “Marry me. I don’t care where we live. I’ll go with you anywhere.”

  “Shush.” She kissed his ear. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Get some sleep.”

  By the time Clint’s breathing had grown regular, Dawn’s heart had stopped beating wildly. She turned her head to look at his relaxed face, the angular plane of his cheekbones, and the soft pout of his mouth.

  Snuggling up near his neck, she whispered, “I love you too.”

  And she was filled with deep fear.

  ****

  Hours ticked by on Graham’s blue digital clock, but Dawn couldn’t sleep. She sat up in bed, threw off the sheet and quietly slipped away. In the bathroom she found a man’s navy terry cloth robe. She put on the oversized robe, relishing its heavy softness and the familiar smell of Clint. Padding across the hall to where she ha seen an office, she turned on the overhead light and sank into the desk chair. Wiggling the mouse, she brought Clint’s computer to life.

  It was Christmas morning, and she was at the biggest crossroads of her life. No one had ever loved her like Clint. She knew that with the certainty of equal love. But if she married him, her life would never be the same.

  What did she really want? Fame in Hollywood or marriage to Clint in Legend?

  What’s more, there was no way she would drag this small town guy with her to the bright lights of Hollywood. It wasn’t fair to subject him to the paparazzi. The reporter from Gossip Magazine was just the tip of the iceberg. More importantly, it wasn’t fair to Clint because she couldn’t have children. He was good with children. He would be a great father. She couldn’t do that to him.

  Fine time to develop a conscience.

  Dawn clicked the shortcut to launch Internet Explorer. She often surfed the Internet when bored or troubled, checking blogs and online magazines like Gossip. Tonight a sense of contrariness made her Google Candice Price’s name. The bitch was pregnant again. Not much of a surprise.

  As she read the screaming headlines of Gossip’s online site, Dawn sat forward and squinted at the monitor. Another scandal was raging and Candice was smack dab in the middle of it. She was pregnant again, with twins. Ironic. And the father was actor Ballard Romaine who was also the father of her first son.

  “What?”

  Dawn slapped her hand across her mouth. Old randy Randy was the father, wasn’t he? What was she missing? Scrolling down she read about the dirty little triangle, Randy crying foul, denouncing his teenage bride as a whore and begging for Dawn to return.

  Life sure had a way of taking funny turns. Why wasn’t she laughing?

  The phone beside the computer rang, and Dawn snatched it up, afraid the sound would awaken Clint.

  “Clint?”

  “No, Graham, this is Dawn.”

  “Thank goodness! I was worried about you.”

  “How are Jane and the baby?”


  Nothing else mattered she realized. All this drama surrounding her ex and his wife were meaningless. Suddenly Hollywood seemed shallow and obscene.

  “Jane’s fine. She’s sleeping now. The delivery was easy.”

  “And the baby?”

  “A healthy eight pounds, three ounces and nineteen inches long.”

  Dawn heard the pride in Graham’s voice. “Congratulations. That’s a fine baby.”

  “He’s perfect, Dawn. I can’t wait for you to see him.”

  “I can’t wait either.” She clung to the receiver, overpowered by a surge of love.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “We heard about the ruckus that reporter caused. Good for Clint for taking care of him and you.”

  “Yes, Clint takes care of me.”

  “He’s a good man, Dawn. You can’t do much better.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  Graham hung up, and she replaced the receiver. Her heart ached from so much turmoil and indecision. She was tired of it. Tired of her life. Tired of being lonely. She wanted a future, and she wanted to do this new life differently.

  “Did I hear the phone ring?”

  Dawn looked up to see a tousle haired, ex-football player standing at the door. He was naked except for a pair of white boxer shorts with “ho, ho, ho!” written across the front in red lettering.

  In that split second, Dawn gave up her past.

  Slowly rising to her feet, her hands flat on the surface of the desk, she stared at him as a rush of understanding rocked her. She had spent her whole life pretending to be someone she was not and as a result, she had lost herself. But she no longer needed to make herself over into someone else, because Clint loved her just the way she was.

  “Are you okay? Was that Graham? How’s Jane?” Clint fired off questions in quick succession, finally coming awake.