The Christmas Rose

by Pam Crooks

  “Juliette.”

  The husky rumble in his voice protested her leaving him just yet, as if he, too, was reluctant for the night to end. She sensed the churning of emotions inside him, the clashing of the past with the present, the old yearning, the ugly hurts, the fiery passion which still smoldered between them.

  The want.

  Juliette had no right to want anything from Tru, not after all Father had done, after all she’d done, too. But tonight, this moment, she wanted him to kiss her again. Just one little kiss she could keep tucked inside her heart forever.

  To savor when she missed him most.

  His head lowered. He felt it, too, this want, and Juliette rose slightly on tip toe to meet him, her pulse quickening in anticipation of the feel of his lips touching hers.

  And then they were. Soft, incredibly gentle, they stirred the longings she’d worked so hard to dismiss over the years, stirred them high and free, and made her forget to breathe. To think.

  She melted into him. Right there, in the hotel lobby. The kiss deepened. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her to him, keeping her against his hard body. It was one of the things which always excited her about him, that barely restrained wildness which shucked the bindings of polite society and spurred him to take what he wanted, when he wanted it.

  “Juliette,” he murmured again, her name rough and hungry against her mouth. “Juliette, Juliette.”

  She knew his need, for it matched her own. Her mouth parted, and his tongue plunged inside to sweep with hers. She tasted his beer. She had only to take his hand, lead him up the stairs to her room, the bed that stood empty and ready for them. They’d be alone. This fire between them...they could sate it before Camille and Ryan came back—

  Someone coughed, and the distant sound shattered her lust with a rude reminder of where they were. She dredged up every shred of will within her to end the kiss, though her fingers clung to his shirt, his arm still banded her waist. She had to let him go, but she couldn’t.

  What if she never got another chance to be held in his arms? What if Tru never kissed her again?

  His head lifted, then, and for several long, pulse-pounding seconds, he gazed down at her, those dark eyes of his smoldering with the passion he fought to keep in check.

  “Go on up, Juliette,” he said. “With what I’m feeling, I could take you right here in the lobby if you don’t.”

  “Tru...”

  “Go on.” He released her with a gentle nudge toward the stairs. “We’re both wanting what neither of us can give just yet.”

  Her ardor fast cooling, Juliette stepped away. Maybe he was right. Things were happening too fast. The differences between them—the land she needed but he refused to sell, the discord between their families, Ryan and Camille—how would they be resolved?

  Would they ever?

  Juliette didn’t know. But their kiss proved one thing hadn’t changed and most likely never would.

  She was still in love with Tru.

  Chapter 6

  Juliette stood at the window with her nose only inches from the glass, keeping Tru in sight. He strode down the boardwalk in that lithe, graceful stride of his, walking with his shoulders hunched and his head down. The image of him in her mind, his gaze somber and unwavering after she left him to go to her room, tormented her with the distinct feeling he’d been reluctant to let her climb the stairs without him.

  It had been best to leave him down there. She wouldn’t have had the willpower to keep him out of her bed, not when his kisses left her weak-kneed and lusty.

  But now he was on his way back to Gaylene, still waiting for him at the opera house. He’d sit with her and enjoy the evening’s entertainment of Christmas songs and music—while he had Juliette’s kisses on his mouth.

  What was his relationship with her? Perhaps he’d overstepped his bounds in kissing Juliette with such fervor, and yet the thought didn’t ring quite true. Tru was a man who loved deeply. She’d learned it herself four years ago. If he was in love with Gaylene, he would never have kissed Juliette.

  Could it mean that Father’s betrayal—and her own—hadn’t destroyed all the feelings Tru once had for her? Dare she hope an ember of their love still burned?

  Their betrayal so long ago should have cooled his ardor to ashes. If the story Tru and Stan Parsons told her was the truth—and she had the sick feeling it was—what Father had done was unforgivable. What right did Juliette have to want Tru to continue loving her? Why would he bother?

  Tru had established his life here in Omaha. Juliette had done the same with hers in New York. If not for her need for the McCord land, she might never have seen Tru again.

  Except somehow Camille managed to nurture a love affair with Ryan. How could Juliette have been blind to it? Had she been so absorbed with her resort hotel that she’d ignored Camille’s loneliness?

  Obviously.

  Her sister’s refusal to confide in her about Ryan cut like a knife through Juliette’s heart. Juliette’s selfishness had driven Camille to keep silent, and the thought of losing her was absolutely terrifying.

  Juliette would be completely alone, except for Aunt Louise, and she didn’t much count.

  Juliette wanted their old lives back. She didn’t want Camille in love with Ryan. She didn’t want them married. She didn’t want to return to New York without her.

  But most of all, she didn’t want to spend Christmas without the only real family she had left.

  Juliette jerked the drapes closed. Tru was long gone, swallowed up in the night. He’d be with Gaylene anyway, having fun with their friends, his spirits lifted by the joy of the season and oblivious to the turmoil battling inside Juliette’s head.

  The room’s silence closed in on her, and left with very little to do, the night stretched interminably. She tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. She reviewed the accounting for her hotel in its ledger but the numbers blurred. Every small sound, every muffled voice outside the room raised hopes that Camille had returned.

  But she didn’t.

  She should have.

  Eventually, Juliette had little choice but to ready herself for bed. She sat at the vanity, removed the pins from her hair, and shook the blonde tresses free. When she reached for her porcelain-handled brush, a cold chill slid down her spine.

  Camille’s toiletries were gone.

  Everything. Her perfume, combs, soap. Juliette bolted toward the armoire and flung open the doors. All her dresses were gone, too. Her shoes and coat. Juliette yanked at drawers and found them empty of stockings, underwear, and nightgowns.

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth in horror. Camille had eloped and was probably married at this very minute.

  Juliette sucked in long, calming breaths. She had to ride out to Tru’s place. He’d know what to do about their siblings. He’d get to the bottom of this fiasco. He’d find a way to make everything right again.

  She only hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Shirtless, barefoot, and ready to shuck his Levi’s to climb into bed, Tru slid a final, frowning glance toward Ryan’s side of the small cabin. His room was empty, the bed untouched, his things missing.

  Considering how late it was, Tru was pretty sure his brother wasn’t coming home. He was sure, too, Ryan was still with Camille. Had a wedding followed their dinner plans?

  He cast another glance toward the old clock on the mantle. Juliette would be frantic. Tru admitted to a few worried moments himself. Wasn’t like Ryan to go off without letting Tru know where he’d be and when he’d be back.

  But then, Camille hadn’t been part of the circumstances before. Funny how a woman could make a man do things he wasn’t prone to do.

  The sting of envy deepened his frown. Tru would give his eye teeth to be in Ryan’s boots right now—away late at night with the woman he loved. And married to her.

  Not that he’d ever be in the same situation with Juliette. At some point, he’d gotten over her. He even prided himself on putting her o
ut of his mind. Mostly. But tonight, kissing her like he did...didn’t take long to realize he’d never stopped loving her. And what a waste of time that was, when they didn’t have a ghost of a chance in being together.

  His senses lurched toward a sudden sound outside the cabin, and he strode toward the door. Ryan deserved a few choice words for keeping Camille out this late. He might be crazy in love with her, but Juliette deserved the courtesy of knowing his intentions. For that matter, they both did.

  Tru pulled the door open, bracing for the night’s cold, and his heart dropped to his toes. Juliette had been riding hard, and she was out of the saddle before her mount came to a full stop.

  “I think they’ve eloped, Tru,” she said, breathless and clearly frantic. She half ran toward him, and he caught her in his arms, her coat cool against his bare chest. “Have you heard from them yet?”

  Her hair was wild about her face, windblown and thick, and it was all Tru could do to keep his hands out of it.

  “You rode all the way out here? Alone?” he demanded, hustling her into the cabin and out of the night’s chill.

  “I’d have come sooner,” she said. “But I had a difficult time rousing the livery owner out of his bed. He charged me a fortune to rent a horse.”

  Tru muttered an oath. “It’s nearly midnight, woman. Can you blame him?”

  She whirled out of his arms, her cheeks flushed in the glow of the only lamp he had burning. “The time doesn’t matter! Ryan and Camille aren’t here, are they?”

  “No.”

  “They may have eloped.”

  “I know.”

  Her breaths came in quick pants. “But I don’t want them to be married!”

  “They do, Juliette.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “I can’t lose her, Tru. Can’t you understand? She’s all I have. I need her with me in New York.”

  “Why?”

  At the point-blank question, she stared at him, her violet-blue eyes pools of sad dismay. “Because I’ve built us a life there. My work will support us if my hotel succeeds, and if I were to become a partner with Waite and Caulkings, it’s even more imperative that she be there to share—oh, Tru.”

  She covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders slumped. She could burst into tears next, and what would he do then?

  “I’m not thinking of her at all, am I?” she said, her voice muffled and hoarse.

  “No.”

  The realization had cost her. Voicing the words out loud had a way of making the truth painfully obvious. He clenched his fists to keep from taking her into his arms just yet. She had a few more ‘truths’ coming.

  “I want you to do something for me, Juliette,” he said quietly.

  Her hands lowered, and she straightened, her eyes shimmering. “What is it?”

  “Think back to the first day you arrived in New York. Remember what Camille was feeling. How she acted.”

  Juliette stood very still. “She was grieving for Mama and Father. We both were. She still hadn’t regained her strength from her illness yet, and she was...often sad.”

  Tru nodded. “Now think about the year after that. The next two years. Was Camille happy then?”

  “Some of the time, I suppose. She didn’t socialize much. Her studies consumed the majority of her days.”

  “What would make her happy? Name one thing.”

  “Tru.” Juliette appeared frustrated at his persistence. “I can’t think—no, wait.” She held up a hand. “Her friend, Sarah Evans, made her happy. Sarah wrote constantly, and whenever Camille received her letters she would smile for days.”

  Bingo.

  “There’s something I need to show you,” Tru said.

  He strode to Ryan’s room, then returned with a plain wooden box. He removed the lid and indicated the envelopes stacked neatly inside. “Letters, Juliette. Every letter Camille ever sent Ryan he saved.” He paused. “Because Ryan was Sarah.”

  Juliette paled. “I don’t understand.”

  Tru removed one of the envelopes. His finger tapped the front. He didn’t need to say anything more. Juliette could see for herself.

  “Camille’s handwriting,” she whispered. “I never questioned the Omaha address as anything but Sarah’s.”

  “That was the idea. We swore the postmaster to secrecy. He made sure that letters from a Blanchard in New York sent to Sarah Evans at the McCord address got to us. Ryan never missed anything Camille sent him.”

  Juliette pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “I think you already know.”

  “After my relationship with you ended, I forbade her from mentioning the McCord name ever again. She knew how upsetting it was for me. There’d been so much ugliness between our fathers. Just hearing your name hurt.”

  “I know.”

  Oh, he knew all right. Juliette Blanchard had torn him apart for years. He’d hated her and loved her, all at the same time.

  “Even when we were in Europe, the three of us without Father, Mama refused to discuss any of you,” Juliette continued. “Looking back, I can see it was how she coped with her guilt. By burying her feelings and pretending her affair with your father never happened.”

  “Would’ve been best to get what happened out in the open.”

  She inclined her head. “How differently things might’ve turned out for us if we had. Mama would’ve stayed married to Father, of course, but Camille and Ryan...” She inhaled, exhaled. “How had they met? School? Even then, they were smitten?”

  “Yes. Even then.” Tru took a step closer. He didn’t want to talk about Ryan and Camille anymore. All that mattered right now was Juliette, what they once had, what they lost. What did their future hold?

  “Does hearing my name, or saying it, still hurt?” he asked roughly.

  Her gaze lifted to his. Straightforward. Bold, even. He knew that look, what it meant, and took satisfaction in that whatever she’d say next would be purely honest.

  “I never stopped loving you, Tru. With all that happened between our parents, I wanted to believe you and I were different. That what we had was genuine and precious and would last forever.”

  She still loved him.

  The knowledge sucked at his breath.

  “So what made you change your mind?” he demanded though he had a pretty good suspicion already.

  “Father.” The corners of her mouth dipped. “He couldn’t say enough terrible things about the McCords. After a while, I suppose, I started to believe they were true.”

  Tru took another step closer. It was all he could do to keep from taking her into his arms. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when so much remained between them, so much needed to be said.

  “Do you remember the last night we saw each other?” she asked, her eyes shimmering again.

  “How could I forget?” The memories reared up, but strangely, the old bitterness didn’t. Had being with Juliette, talking with her tonight, somehow allowed it to fade?

  “You stole into my room,” she said, shaking her head a little, as if even now, his recklessness astounded her. “You climbed the tree outside my window and crawled right in. It was nearly two in the morning.”

  “Couldn’t come to call on you in the normal way.” He scowled. “Your father wouldn’t allow it.”

  “I know. You wanted me to defy him and run away with you.” Her mouth softened. “I found it all most exciting, you know. Very romantic.”

  “Yeah?” It hadn’t been his intent to be either, but his need for her overrode all else, including his good sense. “I had nothing to give you at the time, but I would’ve found a way to take care of you.” He paused, remembering. “Though I know now I wasn’t being fair to you. I wanted you for my wife more than anything, even at the expense of ostracizing ourselves from your father.”

  “He despised you for it. He heard us talking and came in—”

  “—I had you in my arms—”

  “—and I was wearing my thin summer n
ightgown—”

  “—damn, but you felt good—”

  “—I was allowing you far too many liberties—”

  “—and I paid the price for taking them.”

  “You did.” Suddenly, she flung her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry for what he did to you after that. Setting your father up to be killed was purely horrid of him.”

  She buried her face in his neck, her face cold against his skin, and Tru’s arms tightened around her. His own world tilted from the old hurts, and he held onto her to keep from being buried beneath them.

  “He threw me in jail on false charges of burglarizing the Blanchard home. I hated him for it, but it was worse when you didn’t come,” he said.

  “Jail?” Her head lifted, her expression stricken. “I never knew! You’ve got to believe me, Tru. When I didn’t hear from you, I thought Father scared you away, that I wasn’t worth defying him for. And Mama wouldn’t let me out of her sight. She was so frightened of what Father would do to us both if I met with you against his wishes.”

  In retrospect, maybe Elizabeth had been right to keep Juliette away from him. No telling what Avery would’ve done to retaliate. “Pa managed to scrape up enough money to bail me out of jail the next day. He was killed that night.”

  “Then we left for Europe,” Juliette said, miserable. “I never saw you again until yesterday.”

  She didn’t send condolences on Pa’s passing. Neither had Elizabeth. But Tru refrained from reminding Juliette as much. Young, impressionable, overwhelmed by her father’s hate and whatever part she felt she had in it—well, Tru had to cut her some slack. If he’d been in her shoes, he might’ve reacted the same way.

  Juliette cupped his cheek with chilled fingers. “I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am for allowing Father to influence my thinking on you and James. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Tru hesitated. Forgive? Once, he didn’t think it was possible.

  But now?

  “We have to put all the wrongs behind us,” he said finally and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Some days, I suppose it won’t be easy, but we can’t change what happened. Best not to dwell on it. Important thing is to learn from the mistakes so they don’t happen again.”