Christmas on My Mind (10 page)

But once again, he wasn't about to go there. Despite last night's gasket-blowing kiss, he and Jess were a long way from becoming lovers.

Weren't they?

He remembered the moment before he'd kissed her, remembered what she'd said.

It was true. Jess had volunteered little about her recent past except that she'd come from Kansas City and that she'd been married before. Before he let things go any further, he'd be a fool not to learn as much as he could about her.

When he'd pulled up behind her broken-down car, he'd run a scan on her plates. Nothing had come up—no outstanding warrants, no indication that the car wasn't hers or that she wasn't who she claimed to be. But the fact that she had access to money and that she seemed to be hiding something were red flags.

Tomorrow he was due back at work. It would only take him a few minutes to run her name and the information on her driver's license through the FBI's National Instant Criminal Background Check System. If any kind of record came up, at least he would know about it and could decide what to do.

Across the table, Jess was laughing at something Ethan had said. Her eyes were sparkling, and she had a tiny dab of mustard on her upper lip. Ben ached to get her alone and kiss her till she went molten in his arms. But he couldn't be swayed by emotion or desire. Not until he'd found out what he needed to know.

He was a lawman. Suspicion came with the job. He was also a man with a man's heart. He didn't like himself for what he was about to do, but he couldn't rest easy until it was done.

* * *

Jess had taken some photos of the house with her phone. Now she held them up to the bars of the cell to show her mother. “This is the bathroom. Everything works, it just needs some paint and a few touches to make it look nice. And here's the kitchen.”

Francine responded with smiles and nods. Was she truly interested or just being polite? Jess wondered. In a few more days her mother would be free. Would she settle in and help, or would she get the full treatment at the beauty shop and go back to her old ways without a backward glance?

“Here's your room.” Jess showed her another photo. “At least it'll be yours till we move upstairs. It doesn't look like much yet, but I plan to paint it and have it ready with a bed for you.”

Francine frowned and nodded. “The bed in my trailer's built in. But if you can get a frame, the mattress and bedding should be okay to use.”

“Great.” Jess wasn't sure she wanted bedding that had been in that trailer, but at least the sheets and blankets could be laundered. “Here are some paint chips I got at the hardware store,” she said. “What color would you like for your room?”

Francine accepted the paint chips through the bars and fanned them like a hand of playing cards. For a long moment she studied them, as if overwhelmed by being given a choice. “They all look pretty, honey,” she said at last, thrusting them back at Jess. “You decide.”

“How about this one?” Jess held up a soft shade that blended feminine tones of pink and peach. In fact, that's what it was called—Peachy Pink.

“That's lovely, dear. Kind of like the sky in the morning, just before the sun comes up. It'll be fine.”

“Great. I'll get to work.” Jess wanted to have a nice room waiting for her mother, even if it took time and money from more urgent needs. It was important that Francine feel welcomed and cared-for.

After leaving the jail, she drove home with the electric Weedwacker she'd bought at Hank's Hardware. Since Hank, an affable, middle-aged man who walked with a limp, didn't rent tools, she'd been left with no choice except to buy it, along with a pair of safety glasses and the heavy-duty extension cord needed to reach the tool from the nearest outlet in the house. The items had cost more than she'd expected. But at least she'd have them when she needed to clear the yard again next spring.

Would she still be here by then, with a thriving business, a recovering mother, and an amazing man dropping by? Or was the whole rosy picture destined to shatter and blow away on the winter wind, like so many other things in her life?

At the house, she strung the extension cord to an outlet inside the front door and connected the machine. For a moment, she stood looking at the house, realizing that cutting back the weeds wouldn't be enough. The place looked so drab and run-down. There had to be something she could do to make it more inviting.

Not much could be done about the siding till spring, at least. But if she got right to it, she should be able to paint the front window shutters and the door. A few touches of bright, cheerful color would do wonders for the place. But what color? Green? Blue? Even orange?

She'd need to do it while the good weather held, which meant that, as soon as she got the weeds cut down, she'd have to run back to Hank's for paint supplies. She was going to be the man's best customer.

Pressing the trigger on the Weedwacker, she waded into the rank, dry growth that had taken over the gravel driveway. It took a few minutes to work out the technique of sweeping the machine ahead of her, back and forth in wide arcs. Once she'd mastered it, the knee-high weeds went down fast. But her hair and clothes were covered with flying weed fragments. Sneezing, she paused the machine long enough to wipe her face. She was going to need a shower and a change of clothes when she finished.

She'd just started again when she felt a touch on her shoulder. Startled, she gasped and swung around. Ben was standing behind her, an amused expression on his face.

“Whoa, there.” He grinned down at her as she released the trigger and raised her safety glasses. “That machine's for cutting weeds, not fighting off visitors. You could've mowed me down like a bramble.”

Jess recovered with a little laugh. “After lunch, I figured you were done with me for the day. Where's Ethan?”

“He's home watching TV, pretty tuckered out after the long trip yesterday. My excuse for showing up now is that my mother tried to call you. When you didn't answer your cell, she got worried and sent me to check on you.”

She willed her pulse to stop its crazy fluttering, not that it helped. “My phone's in my purse, in the house. And even if I'd had it with me I wouldn't have heard it. Did your mother say what she wanted?”

“She just wanted to remind you that the Christmas Ball committee is meeting at her house tomorrow at three.”

“Oh, dear.” Had Clara told her about the meeting? Jess couldn't remember, but how could she go with so much to do on the house, especially since she'd have to drop everything and get cleaned up.

“I know you're busy here. Should I tell her you can't make it?” Ben asked.

Jess thought fast. She was tempted to make her excuses and skip the meeting. But in including her, these ladies had offered a hand of friendship. If she let them down, she might not be given another chance. Busy or not, she'd be wise to show up and contribute.

“No need. Please thank your mother for the reminder and tell them I'll be there—even if I'm up to my ears in paint.”

“Will do. Is there anything I can get you? Any help you need?”

Jess knew better than to take him up on his polite offer. Under different conditions, she would have welcomed his help; but Ben had better things to do—and she had her pride. “Thanks, but I'll be fine,” she said. “After I finish these weeds, I'll be going for paint. Hank's going to get a lot of business from me.”

“Hank's a good man. If you asked him to spread the word about your bed-and-breakfast, he'd probably be glad to. He might even let you put up a poster in his window.”

“Good idea. I'll remember to ask him when I'm closer to opening.” Turning away, she lowered her safety glasses and pressed the trigger on the Weedwacker. The electric motor whirred, then abruptly stopped.

“Blast!” She checked the connection and pulled the trigger again. Nothing.

“What's the trouble?” Ben was headed for his truck. He turned around.

“I don't know. It just stopped, and it won't start.”

“Maybe the plug's loose. Let's take a look in the house.” He strode ahead of her, up the porch steps and through the door. “The cord's still plugged in,” he said. “Let's try something.” He flipped the light switch next to the door. The lights didn't come on.

“You've probably thrown a breaker switch,” he said. “Come on downstairs with me. I want to show you how to check it. Got a flashlight? If the basement lights are out, we'll need it.”

“I do.” Jess had bought a small flashlight at the hardware store. She picked it up as they walked through the kitchen to the basement door. “Watch out for Sergeant Pepper. We don't want to let him out while the door's open,” she said.

A long string hung from a bulb above the stairs. The dim light had been left on for the cat. There was no sign of the Sergeant, but his food dish, at the bottom of the stairs, was partly empty, so Jess figured he must be all right.

Ben led the way to a metal box mounted on a wall with an electrical conduit leading out of the top. “Move in close and shine the light up here,” he said. Opening the hinged door on the front, he showed her the array of switches and pointed out the one that was out of line with the others. As he turned the switch off, then on again, Jess was achingly aware of his closeness. She battled the urge to stretch on tiptoe and tilt her face for a kiss—a kiss that would go on till she was hot and dizzy with yearning. Was Ben fighting the same urge? Was his pulse racing like hers?

Closing the cover of the breaker box, he shifted away from her. “Damn it, Jess,” he muttered, “if I don't keep my hands off you, we'll both be in trouble! Now let's get back upstairs and see if we fixed the problem.”

Turning away to hide her burning face, Jess led the way up the stairs. He followed her, checking for the cat as he closed the door.

“The living room light's on!” she exclaimed as they came out of the kitchen. “It must've worked.”

“If the breaker switch was the problem, your Weedwacker should work too. Probably a good thing it happened. Now you know what to check for and what to do if it happens again.”

Outside, Jess gave the machine's trigger an experimental squeeze and felt the motor whir to life. “Thanks, I'll be fine now,” she said, slipping on her safety glasses. “Tell Ethan hi for me, and tell your mother I'll see her tomorrow.”

“You're welcome to show up for supper,” he said. “We eat around six.”

“Thanks, but I've got a lot to do. I'll warm up the pizza.”

Still smarting, she watched him walk out to the truck. At least she hadn't made a complete fool of herself. But she'd come close. Too close. If Ben wanted to cool things between them, she was a girl who could take a hint. From now on, the sexy sheriff was strictly off-limits.

Turning on the Weedwacker, she tore into the remaining weeds. When she looked up again, the black pickup was nowhere in sight.

* * *

Ben turned the corner with a long, slow exhalation. In the warm darkness of the basement, with Jess just inches away, it had been all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms and kissing her till they were past the point of stopping. She'd wanted it as much as he had, he could tell.

But he'd known the woman only a few days, and he was already getting in too deep. If the attraction had just been hot chemistry, he could've handled it. The trouble was, he really cared for Jess. With her courage and spunk she was like a feisty, adorable little kitten. And her determination to help her mother showed a good and generous heart. The last thing he wanted was to create a situation that would only end up hurting her.

Should he follow his heart or slam the brakes on the relationship right now? How could he make that decision when he knew so little about her?

He'd planned on checking the NICS at work tomorrow. So why not do it now, while it was on his mind? He already had her driver's license information. It shouldn't take long to run a check of police and court records for her, and maybe for her ex-husband.

As long as he had the tools to run a background check on Jess, didn't it make sense to do so? Of course it did—but that didn't mean it was a nice thing to do, especially to someone who trusted him. She'd be furious if she knew. But he'd be a fool not to do it.

Feeling lower than a snake, Ben changed direction and headed for his office.

Chapter Ten

J
ess finished cutting down the weeds, cleaned up and drove back to Hank's Hardware to buy paint. The store, which had been crowded earlier, was cleared of customers. She found Hank in the plumbing aisle, scanning the shelves with a clipboard in his hand.

“Back so soon, young lady?” He appeared to be in his early fifties with graying hair, a nice smile and a few extra pounds around the middle.

Jess returned the smile. “I'm afraid you're going to see a lot of me. This time it's paint. I've got a sample of the interior semi-gloss I want. Then I'll need some color suggestions for the shutters and front door—and of course I'll need the brushes and things for the job.” She could imagine what all this would cost. Her poor Visa card would be taking some heavy hits by the time the house was ready to open. She could only hope she'd have enough money in her account to pay off all the charges.

He took the Peachy Pink paint chip Francine had chosen. “I can mix this for you while you look at exterior colors. For an average bedroom, one gallon will do a single coat. I'd recommend two.”

“Fine. Two, then.” Maybe she'd have enough left over to do the bathroom. The color would be nice in there too.

He carried two gallons of color base over to the paint mixer. “I hear tell you're Francine's daughter,” he said.

“That's right.” No use asking who'd told him. By now the news would be all over town. “Do you know her very well?”

“I've known Francine most of my life,” he said. “She broke my heart when she ran off with that redheaded cowboy. From the looks of you, I reckon he was your dad.” He pried open the first paint can and squirted jets of red and yellow into the pale base, then replaced the lid, attached the can to the mixer and turned it on. “At the time, I wanted to marry the girl—I was older than she was and ready to settle down. But she wanted bright lights and thrills. I guess that's what she got. I married another gal who left me a few years later, after I lost my leg in a farm machine. Took our boy with her.” Hank added color to the second paint can while he waited for the first to finish mixing. “I'm sorry, girl. You came to buy paint. You didn't come to hear an old duffer tell you his sad story.”

“No, this is something I need to hear,” Jess said. “So you never got together with Francine.”

“Nope. I was already married when she came back to Branding Iron. Then, by the time my wife left, Francine was hitting the bottle pretty hard. I figured that even if she wasn't, she wouldn't want to be stuck with a one-legged man. What woman would?”

Jess left the store twenty minutes later with the Pontiac's trunk full of paint, brushes, rollers, masking tape and plastic drop cloths for the floors. Hank had also given her a pile of the old newspapers he saved for projects like hers.

Hank struck her as a good man who'd gotten a raw deal in life, just like Francine. Both of them had suffered tragic losses. But he'd loved her once. Maybe it wasn't too late for them to find some happiness.

She'd have to get her mother off the bottle, of course. After hearing what Hank had said, Jess knew he wouldn't want to deal with a woman who drank. But miracles had been known to happen.

Maybe a miracle—a Christmas miracle—was what she needed.

* * *

Alone in his closed office, Ben stared at the computer screen. The young woman in the police mug shot looked dazed and scared in the harsh light, her hair slicked back, her eyes huge in her colorless face. Reluctant to believe what he was seeing, he studied the image and the name below it:

Denial was useless. The woman was Jess.

With a sinking heart, Ben forced himself to read on. Jess had been arrested in St. Louis five years ago and charged as an accessory to fraud. However, she hadn't gone to trial or served time. Instead she'd made a plea deal—immunity in exchange for testimony against her husband, Gilbert McConnell.

Was this the woman who'd shared his mother's roof? The woman he'd kissed and come close to falling in love with? Numb with shock, Ben read the online file again. It appeared she'd helped her husband commit fraud, then betrayed him to save herself. From what he knew of Jess, he would never have believed the sordid story. But the evidence was there on the computer, right in front of him.

Feeling like a man walking into a dark labyrinth, Ben brought up the file on Jess's ex-husband. Smiling, even in his mug shot, he looked like the blond, blue-eyed all-American boy next door. His wholesome, movie-star features were the sort that would inspire trust. But this man had defrauded dozens of people, most of them elderly, by selling life insurance policies and pocketing the money. He'd deserved his seven-year prison sentence, and worse.

Had Jess been taken in by this man's obvious charm, or had she been a willing partner all the way? At least she knew enough to testify against the bastard. Maybe a call to the prosecutor on the case would clarify the picture.

Ben found the number in the file and made the call, but he learned nothing. The prosecutor had passed away two years ago, and most of the other people involved in the case had moved on. There was no one available who could tell him about Jess's part in the crime and the trial that followed.

Which left Jess herself.

Ben switched off the computer and sank back into his chair. Was it fair to pass judgment on Jess before he'd heard her side of the story? He owed her that, at least. But she'd be furious if he told her how he'd learned about her past. Anything she told him would be tainted by defensive anger. Worse, if she was innocent, she would never forgive him. He would lose a woman he truly cared about.

His best chance of learning the truth would be to bide his time, win Jess's trust and hope that she'd volunteer her story. But he'd be gambling with his heart. If he lost—if she didn't tell him, or worse, if she lied—he'd feel duty bound to confront her, and they'd both end up wounded.

After leaving his office, he walked out to his truck, climbed inside and turned the key in the ignition. “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas,” the Burl Ives version, came blasting out of the speakers. Ben turned the radio off. He didn't feel very jolly right now. In fact, right now, he didn't even feel like Christmas.

* * *

By the next afternoon, Jess had finished painting Francine's bedroom. It wasn't an expert job, but at least the room looked clean and bright—maybe a little too bright. The color had looked more subdued on the paint chip than it did on the walls. Perhaps when the time came to turn it into a guest room, she could paint one wall and the ceiling a different color. For now, she could only hope Francine would like it.

She had yet to paint the bathroom. But she planned to do that after the Christmas Ball committee meeting at Clara's. The door and shutters would have to wait till tomorrow. On Hank's advice, she'd chosen forest green for the shutters and door frame and a deep shade of teal for the door. The combination had sounded strange at first, but when she'd held the chips side by side, she had to agree that the rich colors would give the house a welcoming look.

After washing the worst of the Peachy Pink paint spatters off her hands and face, she changed into clean jeans, a red sweater and her good shoes. She still had paint in her hair and on the backs of her hands, but if she wanted to get to the meeting by three o'clock, and avoid Maybelle's scathing comments, she didn't dare spend any more time on her appearance.

She arrived at three and pulled up behind Kylie Taggart's station wagon. Kylie, balancing a covered tray and her purse, was just stepping out onto the curb.

“Here, let me take that!” Jess rushed to grab the tray, which was about to tip. Kylie gave her a friendly grin. “Thanks. I almost spilled sugar cookies all over the road.”

“Just don't spill yourself.” Jess took the pregnant woman's arm with her free hand as they mounted the curb and came up the sloping sidewalk.

“Ben and Ethan are out at the ranch, riding horses with my crew,” Kylie said. “Ben tells me you're fixing up the old Winslow place on your own, and doing a great job. And Ethan talks like you hung the moon. I think he was impressed when you didn't freak out over the spider he caught.”

Jess laughed. “Believe me, that took some self-control. The thing was a monster!”

“Well, whatever it took, you've made a conquest.” Kylie rang the doorbell, then opened the door without waiting for an answer. “Here we are! I even remembered the refreshments!”

Maybelle looked up from her notes. “It's about time. I was getting ready to call the meeting to order without you.”

“Oh, you're fine.” Clara rose to greet them, taking the tray. “My, don't these cookies look delicious, Kylie. So Christmas-y. Have a chair, dear. Katy can pass them around while we visit a few minutes. Then we can start the meeting.”

Maybelle frowned but didn't object. There was no question of who was really in charge here. With an eager smile, Katy took the tray, along with the napkins Clara had given her, and began serving the iced sugar cookies.

Connie looked Jess up and down. “My goodness, it looks like you've been painting up a storm,” she said. “I hope you got as much on the walls as you've got on yourself.”

“Almost.” Jess laughed at the exaggeration. “My mother's coming home in a few days. I'm trying to have a comfortable room ready to welcome her.”

“That sounds like the nicest thing anybody's done for Francine in years,” Connie said. “Say, could you use a bed and a dresser? We've got an old set that's just taking up space in our backyard shed. I've been after Silas to haul it off to give us more room. You'd be welcome to it.”

The offer was like an answered prayer. “That would be wonderful!” Jess said. “Can Silas bring the pieces by? I don't have anyway to move them.”

“Oh, don't bother Silas about it,” Clara said. “Ben can haul them in his pickup. I'll ask him when he gets home. It'll be no trouble at all.”

Ben again.
It's almost as if Clara is matchmaking,
Jess thought. Not that it would make any difference. The last time they'd been together, when Ben had shown her the breaker box in the basement, she'd sensed he was distancing himself from her. Sooner or later, he was bound to suspect she was hiding a secret past. He would run a background check on her and decide to back off—fast. Maybe it had already happened.

She should've been up-front and just told him. But Jess had a feeling that it was too late for that now.

“Excuse me, ladies, but it's past time to get started.” Maybelle cleared her throat. “I call this meeting to order.”

The committee got down to business, with every member reporting in. Jess was glad she could say that every person on the calling list had been contacted and reminded of the dish they'd promised to bring. Kylie was in charge of the decorations—an easy job, since the same decorations were used every year. Except for the Christmas tree, which Hank always donated, they were stored at the school, to be put up, and later taken down, by students who'd volunteered to help.

The Cowboy Christmas Ball was a big production. Security would be handled by the sheriff's department, which meant that Ben would likely be on duty. It would be his job to confiscate any alcohol and drugs and ensure that everyone had a wholesome, trouble-free experience.

The mayor's office had arranged for the Badger Hollow Boys, a well-known Nashville band, to entertain and play as people danced. Most of the proceeds from ticket sales would go to pay the musicians.

“I hope you're planning to go, Jess,” Clara said. “It's great fun, and the whole town will be there.”

At Clara's suggestion, something shrank inside Jess. She wanted to fit in, but she'd never had the self-confidence to walk into a party, mingle, and have genuine fun—especially this kind of party. “It sounds lovely,” she said. “But I don't have a date or anything to wear. And I don't know any of the dances.”

“You don't need a date,” Connie said. “It's not that kind of party. You just show up and have a good time.”

“My daughter Ellie's Christmas ball gown is packed away in my sewing room,” Clara said. “She's about your size, and she'll probably never wear it again. You're more than welcome to borrow it. And the girls' gym teacher at the high school teaches a class before the ball. If you want to learn the dance steps, just come early. So no more excuses. Just say you'll be there.”

Still, Jess hesitated, thinking how awkward she'd feel, walking into the ball alone.

“Maybe you could volunteer to help with something.” Kylie came to her rescue. “That way, you'd have a reason to be there and something to do.”

“I could use some help with tickets at the door.” Maybelle surprised Jess by speaking up. “You'd have to get there early.”

“That shouldn't be a problem,” Jess said. “Thank you, I'd be happy to help.”

As the meeting continued, Jess tried to pay attention. But doubts were already creeping into her mind. Why had she agreed to go to the ball and help? What would she do about Francine? What would she do about the bed-and-breakfast? And what about the people who didn't know her but who might already have judged her? What would she do if they made her feel unwelcome?

But she'd already agreed to show up and help out; it was vital that she keep her word. Whether she liked it or not, this reluctant Cinderella was going to the ball.

* * *

Ben secured the bed frame, mattress and dresser in the back of his truck and climbed into the driver's seat. “Thanks,” he told Silas, who stood outside. “I know these things will be used and appreciated.”