Yule Be Mine (14 page)

After a time, she and Osbourne got on their way with warm hugs, hot chocolate, and a lot of gratitude.

“It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it?” Marci asked him.

“Yeah. That donkey is like a member of their family.”

“Magnus is a fine creature. I can see why they love him so much.”

Osbourne laughed. “Yeah, I figured you would feel that way.”

Toying with the lid on her cup, Marci asked, “So now do you believe me?”

“That we're being followed? Damn right.” They'd just reached the gravel road and there sat the van, nearly snowed in, but with the engine running. As they passed, it pulled out behind them.

Well, shoot. That wasn't what she'd meant at all, but Marci really didn't feel like having her ability with animals questioned yet again. Osbourne would either believe her or not, and she wouldn't try to convince him.

“Hang on to that cup,” Osbourne told her.

“Why?”

“Because I'm going to find out what the hell he wants.” And with that, Osbourne turned the truck sharply, stopping it crossways in the road, blocking both narrow lanes.

Face set and brows down, he put the truck in PARK, again ordered Marci to lock the doors after him, and got out to stalk toward the van.

Marci sighed. Releasing her seatbelt so she could climb to Osbourne's side of the truck for an unhindered view, she watched him.

The van sat idling, the driver confused. But with Osbourne's stomping, hostile approach, clear alarm showed on his face. The driver looked to be in his early thirties, average in build and appearance with straight brown hair and shifty eyes.

To hear their verbal exchange, Marci quickly rolled down the window.

With one hand braced on the roof of the van, Osbourne leaned down to the driver's door and ordered, “Open up.”

The man pressed back in his seat and shook his head. “What do you want?”

Rolling his eyes, Osbourne reached inside his coat and produced a badge that he held against the window. “Open it
now
.”

The man gulped. His window lowered a mere five inches. “What's going on here? Why are you harassing me?”

“You're following me. I want to know why.”

“But…I'm not!”

Osbourne leaned closer, and the man screeched. “Don't you dare touch me! I'm warning you, I'll call the cops!”

“I am a cop, you ass.” Straightening again, Osbourne put away the badge and bundled up his coat against the whistling wind and sleet. “Stop that noise and tell me why you were following me, or we can talk at the station after I have you arrested.”

The man didn't ask on what charge, which Marci thought would have been a good question, especially since Osbourne was an Ohio police officer, and they were currently in Kentucky.

The man glared toward the truck—
toward her
—and said, “I'm not following you. I'm following her.”

Rather than appeasing Osbourne, that seemed to annoy him more. “
Why?
”

Gaining confidence, the man lowered his window more and offered his hand. “Vaughn Wayland.”

Osbourne ignored the conciliatory gesture.

“Right.” Mr. Wayland retreated. “I'm working on a story, actually. I'm a freelance reporter and she's hot news.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don't know?” Wayland stared toward her with anticipation. “She's a psychic.”

Huffing, Osbourne said, “Don't be an idiot.”

Well, Marci thought, so much for him believing her.

“But it's true!” Wayland insisted. “I'd heard about her for a few years, but I didn't believe it any more than you do. Then my neighbor's cat went missing for months. Everyone sort of figured the mangy thing had gotten run over or eaten by a dog when, out of the blue, Miss Churchill brought it back to her.”

“So she found a lost cat. Big deal.”

“I located another woman who claims Miss Churchill helped cure her dog of nightmares.”

This time, Osbourne turned to glare at her in clear accusation.

Marci glared right back. She remembered that poor dog. A neighborhood kid would torment it while hiding in bushes so that the dog's owner didn't know. The dog was a frazzled mess because of that rotten kid. But Marci had ratted out the boy, and not only had the dog owner given him hell but his parents also.

“I have a file folder full of pet owners she's helped. They've all been more than willing to sing her praises. All I need to finish my piece is an interview with her.”

“I don't believe this.”

“She's the kind of human interest story that appeals to readers, especially this time of year.”

“You're fucking with me, right?”

Wayland sniffed. “No, I am not. And you have no right to interfere with my research.”

“Stalking her is
not
research.”

Affronted, he squared his shoulders. “I'm not stalking her. I just need her to share some of her background and history.”

“Have you asked her?”

“Yes. Twice.”

Marci didn't recognize the fellow at all. She yelled out the window, “He could be telling the truth, Osbourne, although I don't remember meeting him.”

“I asked over the phone,” the man yelled back.

“Oh.” Marci thought about it, and then nodded. “I always turn down that stuff, and then I change my phone number again.”

Osbourne rubbed his face. “Look, she doesn't want to be interviewed, so leave her alone.”

“But…” the man sputtered, “I can't do that. I've already promised the story to a magazine and I'm behind on my deadline as it is.”

Once again, Osbourne leaned down close, and though Marci couldn't hear what he said, she saw the driver's face, and knew that Osbourne wasn't being polite.

The man cowered back as far as he could, nodded agreement several times, but still, he looked far from resigned to failure.

Maybe Osbourne realized it, too, because he took the time to write down Vaughn Wayland's name and license plate number.

When he returned to the truck, he still looked very put out.

Marci rolled up the window, unlocked the door, and slid back to her own seat. Without a word, Osbourne got behind the wheel, turned the truck, and headed for the highway.

For several minutes, they rode in utter silence. Then Osbourne asked, “Does that happen often?”

“What?”

“Jerks following you around, pressing you for answers?”

She shrugged. “Usually it's people who don't believe me, who want to expose me as a fake. They think that I extort money from people, or that I prey on their emotions.”

He shook his head. “You'd never do that.”

Marci blinked at him. Aha. Maybe he didn't consider her an Ainsley after all. “No, I wouldn't. I try to keep people from finding out who I am, and what I know. But it's not always possible, not if I want to help—and I do.”

“If you didn't, Magnus would still be at the funeral home instead of where he belongs.”

Was that an admission of her ability? A warm glow spread inside her. “True. When an animal has a problem, I can't ignore it. It hurts me too much. But whenever possible, I help anonymously.”

“How does that work?”

“I'll contact the owners—maybe by a note, or phone if I can figure out their number. Most take my advice or at least listen enough to check into what I tell them. I don't have to expose myself or leave myself open to more ridicule.”

“
More
ridicule?”

She flattened her mouth and looked out the window. “Trust me, it's never been easy. From the time I was a little girl, I could sense things. And any time a kid is different…”

Very quietly, he said, “I'm sorry.”

Marci turned toward him again, wanting to explain. “It hasn't been a picnic for Bethany, either. All through school, she got teased about having a loony sister.”

He winced, probably remembering the times he'd thought similar things. The difference was that Osbourne had never been deliberately cruel. Quite a distinction.

He'd dodged her, but he hadn't ridiculed her.

As if offering another apology, he reached for her knee, settled his big hand there, and stroked her with his thumb. It was a casual touch, yet at the same time intimate enough to feel special.

And to raise her temperature a few degrees.

While deciding how much to tell him, Marci finished her hot chocolate. She didn't open herself to too many people, but right now, in the quiet and cold, with Osbourne, it felt right.

She laid her hand over his. Despite the weather, his fingers were warm. She loved touching him, and even a simple touch on the hand let her feel his strength. “For as long as I can remember, guys have tried to use Bethany to get close to me.”

She waited for his disbelief, or his humor. After all, they were identical twins. Most people would wonder why one twin would be preferable to another.

Osbourne considered her statement. “It's because you come across softer, less independent.”

Startled that he'd hit the nail on the head, Marci barely noticed when he turned his hand to clasp hers, then tugged her closer to him on the bench seat, as close as the seatbelts would allow. “That's it exactly. Men see me as an airhead, and maybe easy.”

The corners of his mouth lifted, and he returned both hands to the wheel. “I'd say they don't know you very well.”

“No, they don't.” Her spine stiffened. “I'm not an airhead.”

“Don't confuse me with any other idiots you've known, Marci. Hell, you're more complicated than any ten women combined. And I know firsthand that there's nothing easy about you. But you're definitely smart.”

“You really believe that?”

“Hell yes. You're smart enough to figure out that a donkey is unhappy, to steal him without getting caught, and to get him back home safely.”

A blush of pleasure colored her cheeks. “I couldn't have done it without you,” she pointed out.

He ignored that little fact to say, “You're also kind and funny and…caring.”

The warmth spread, melting her heart. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now tell me more about these idiots you've known.”

It wasn't easy to admit, but she forced the words out. “With Bethany and me being identical twins, a lot of men consider us interchangeable.”

“Lucius doesn't.”

She laughed. “True enough. Almost from jump, Lucius treated me like a little sister and Bethany like a sex goddess.”

“That must've been a change for you.” Some new inflection entered his tone. “I imagine you have men hot on your heels all the time.”

“No. At least, not the way you mean.” Her pleasure faded. “Too many times in the past, men have shown an interest only because of my ability. Like the clown following us, they want to interview me, or maybe expose me or use my talent in a way I'd never condone. When I turn them down, they go to Bethany, hoping that they can get closer to me through her.”

“That's why you don't date much, huh?”

She could feel his heat, and his caring. “I have great intuition with animals, but I'm not that good at figuring out which men to trust.” And after meeting Osbourne, she hadn't wanted any other men.

Two heartbeats of silence passed before Osbourne said, “I don't work tonight, but then I won't have another day off for a week.”

She tipped her head, unsure where he was going with that disclosure, but hopeful all the same.

“What about you?”

“Like Lucius, I'm on vacation. This close to Christmas, women aren't that interested in exercise. They're too busy shopping and baking and fitting in all the holiday craziness. I have the next seven days free.”

“Good.” He glanced at her, then away. “Will you spend Christmas with me?”

Her heart soared, her face warmed. But suspicion niggled. “Because you want to spend time with me, or because you're worried about the guy following us?”

“Both.”

At least he was honest. She looked at his mouth—and wanted to melt. “And because you want to have sex?”

“Definitely.”

Her toes curled inside her shoes. She gave it quick thought, but really, the way she saw it, it was a win-win situation. She smiled, and said, “Okay.”

T
hey returned the rental truck first, then went back to Marci's apartment so she could throw some clothes and other things into an overnight bag. He should have been exhausted, Ozzie thought, but instead, anticipation sizzled inside him.

While he waited impatiently, his mind abuzz with what would soon happen, he called the station and explained that the donkey was now at his rightful home. Someone else would take over, to figure out how the funeral home came into possession of the donkey in the first place.

When he finished that, Ozzie roamed the living room and kitchen of Marci's tiny apartment. Everywhere he looked, he saw surprising little clues to her personality. Tidy surfaces. Organized drawers. Light, feminine touches.

Even her bathroom was devoid of the clutter typical to women. Everything had a place, and was in it.

It seemed his sentimental, whimsical little elf was a neat freak. He'd honestly expected her to be scattered and somewhat disorganized. Ainsley had been so chaotic all the time, in her emotions and in her surroundings.

But then most of what he'd learned of Marci today had proved she was not only different from Ainsley but from most other women he'd known.

Her incredible vulnerability, combined with her compassionate tears when Magnus finally reunited with his family, had pushed Ozzie right over the edge. Marci was one of a kind.

He'd have her today, and to hell with what Lucius had said.

To hell with his own misgivings, too. Getting too involved with her might be a bad idea, but he couldn't resist the sexual lure any longer.

As he left the bathroom, he thought he heard her muffled chatter. Cocking a brow, he called out, “Marci?”

“Be right there.”

Curious now, Ozzie wandered to her bedroom door and silently pressed it open. He found Marci on her knees beside the bed, looking under it.

The position elevated her sexy backside and put thoughts of sex on the fast track in his brain. “Damn, I love your ass.”

Laughing, she looked over her shoulder at him. She balanced herself on one hand, and with the other she held a phone to her ear. “Sorry. I can't find my car keys. They're here somewhere. The donkey sort of bumped things around so I think they must've fallen off the nightstand—”

“Who are you talking to?”

“My sister.”

“So your sister
knew
you'd stolen a donkey? Does that mean Lucius knew?”

Suddenly Marci blushed and whispered into the phone, “No, Bethany. No, that's
not
what he said.”

She cast an uncomfortable look at Ozzie, but he wasn't about to budge.

In an even lower tone, her face red-hot, she said, “Not
me
, my ass.”

Ozzie grinned. So, Bethany had heard his comment about Marci's backside.

“It's not at all the same thing,” Marci argued while turning her back on him. “I have to go. Yes, I know. You, too.” When Marci faced him again, she wouldn't meet his gaze, and that bothered Ozzie enough that he decided not to tease her.

“You don't need your keys. I'll drive.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. You'll be at work at night and I don't want to be stranded.”

That made sense, so he let it go. “Then let's find the keys and get out of here before the roads get any worse.”

As he started to bend down to help her look, she straightened with the keys in her hand. “Got 'em.” Still flustered, she started to close her overnight bag, and Ozzie noticed the thermal pajamas she'd included.

“You won't need those.”

She nudged him aside and shoved the bag shut. “Maybe not tonight, but after that…Um. I
am
staying more than one night, right?”

Damn, but her uncertainty got to him. Catching her shoulders, Ozzie drew her toward him and kissed her soft mouth. “Through Christmas, if you like.”

“I like,” she whispered back.

She tried to kiss him again, but he leaned out of reach. “If we start that, we'll never get out of here.”

Her tongue came out to slick over her lips. Her big blue eyes darkened. She laid one hand lightly on his chest. “Well, my bed is right—”

“No.” She'd be the death of him. From one second to the next, he got so primed he hurt. “I don't want to start anything here, because I haven't been to bed yet. Let's get to my place so I can sleep afterward.” If she objected to his third-shift lifestyle, better to find out now.

Her touch went from seducing to soothing. “I bet you're pretty exhausted, huh? You've been up so long now.”

He was horny, not sleepy, but he didn't say so. “If it'd been a normal day, I could just stay up and sleep tonight. But it's been nonstop since I got to work.”

“How come?”

He shrugged. “We had a barricade/hostage situation with lots of gunfire. Everything worked out, but that kind of situation gets the adrenaline pumping. When it fades, so does the energy level.”

“And then I dragged you into my donkey adventure.” She looked up at him with apologetic eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“Actually, returning Magnus to his rightful owners was nice.” The highlight of the day—if he discounted the intimacy he'd shared with her.

He kissed her again, quick and hard, then hauled up her bag. “Let's go.”

On their way out of the bedroom, she said, “I just need to let the others know where I'll be.”

That stalled him. Telling her sister was one thing, but, damn Lucius, the apartment building overflowed with busybody women. He didn't want them all privy to his business. “You're going to advertise what we're doing?”

She looked up at him, saw his discomfort, and laughed. Catching him by the front of his shirt, she towed him along.

“I won't shout it from the rooftops, but all the tenants are close and I don't want anyone to worry when they don't see me around.”

“Why would they worry?”

“We're all single women, so we look out for each other. Now, come on, quit dragging your feet.”

A minute later, Ozzie stood still in the hallway, surrounded by curious female gazes. After the first knock on her next-door neighbor's door, every other door opened.

Marci said, “I'm going to spend Christmas with Osbourne,” and that started a barrage of questions, accompanied by several skeptical glares in his direction.

A lesser man would have withered under such scrutiny, but Ozzie held tough. When the babbling finally calmed, he said, “Ladies,” and he took Marci's arm to lead her outside.

It was like walking the gauntlet.

Women of various ages and professions watched them every step of the way, some of them whispering, some laughing, one whistling, and overall acting bawdy and suggestive.

When they were out of sight of prying eyes, he allowed himself to grin. It pleased him that Marci had such close friends. She often seemed so dreamy, that he'd worried about her. But she was obviously very well liked.

“I'll follow you,” she said, breaking into his thoughts, “since I don't know where you live.”

“All right, but stay close. And keep your cell phone on. The road crews might not have gotten out yet and the streets could be bad.”

She put a wool-covered finger to his mouth. “I know how to drive in the snow, Osbourne. Don't worry. I'll be careful.”

Snowflakes gathered on her nose and lashes again. He shook his head, opened the driver's door to her blue Dodge Neon, and set her overnight bag on the passenger seat.

Marci got behind the wheel to start the engine and turn on the heat. Ozzie went to his truck, got a windshield scraper, and came back to clean away the ice and snow so she'd have a clear view.

Rather than sit in the car as it warmed, Marci got out with her own scraper and helped. It was a good ten minutes before her car was drivable.

The roads weren't as bad as he'd feared. They made decent time, all things considered. He drove cautiously, constantly checking on her and at the same time watching for that idiotic reporter. He thought he spotted the van once, but with so much blustering wind and drifting snow, he couldn't be sure.

The house his grandma had left him sat on an isolated twelve acres, surrounded by woods and overgrown fields. Not since her early days had she done any farming, but she'd been too content with her privacy to sell the land. She hadn't been rich, except in spirit and love, but she'd never really wanted for anything, either.

When they reached the long driveway, Ozzie pulled over and instructed Marci to precede him. He wanted to make sure no one followed them. She looked at him curiously through the frosty window, but did as he asked. No other cars came into view, so after a few minutes, Ozzie joined her under the sloping carport roof.

In the gray light, the house showed its age. All along the foundation and walkway, dead, brittle weeds and wild shrubs poked up from the snow. Stark, multipaned windows were in desperate need of cleaning. Ancient patio furniture had all been moved to one side of the porch, giving the appearance of a salvage yard.

He'd have to explain to Marci, to make her understand that he'd wanted to update his grandmother's house, but she'd refused to let him spend a dime of his own money. As he stepped out of his truck, she got out, too, and she looked around with awe.

“Osbourne,” she breathed, “it's incredible.”

Explanations died on his tongue. He retrieved her bag, saying, “It needs some work.”

“It's charming. And look at all that land. How much of it is yours?”

The temperature hung in the twenties, and Marci had her arms around herself. Yet she still stood staring out at the vast expanse of snow-covered acreage.

“All of it. In front of us, it goes all the way to the road. To the sides, it includes the woods, and some into the clearing, up to the fence line. Behind us it runs to the creek. Twelve acres in all.”

“A creek.” She whirled to face him. “Maybe tomorrow you can show me?”

His mouth, half-frozen, lifted into a smile. She was the charming one, so delighted with everything, so nonjudgmental. “Sure. We'll make a snowman. Come on. It'll be a lot warmer inside.” He led her to a door on the other side of the carport. “I usually park in the barn, but this is closer.”

She stared down at the bottom half of the door. “Is that a doggie entrance?”

“Yeah. Grimshaw uses it. He was Granny's dog, but now he's mine.”

The carport opened into a heated mudroom, so that when Ozzie worked, Grimshaw could get into the warmth of the house or outside to run, as his mood led him. Another doggie door opened into the main house, and when Ozzie was home, he kept it unlatched. But for reasons of safety, he secured it whenever he was away from the house. He'd had everything from raccoons to skunks try to enter and root around.

Expecting Grimshaw to come greet him as he usually did, Ozzie unlatched the door. But there wasn't a single sign of the dog.

“He must be out playing. He does that. And with me being late, he probably got tired of waiting for me. The area is all fenced, but even if it wasn't, he knows his perimeters. He's safe enough. And I've found out that he loves the snow.”

Stepping from the mudroom into the kitchen, Marci asked, “What kind of dog is he?”

“I don't know. A mixed breed. That was the only kind Granny ever had. I grew up with all kinds of animals, but now there's only Grimshaw.”

Marci turned a circle to take in the spacious country kitchen with lots of wood trim. As she tugged off her boots to leave by the door, she said, “Wow.”

“When I find the time, I plan to refinish all the wood trim, replace the cabinets and countertops, and install new appliances.” Never taking his eyes off her, he removed his snow-covered boots, too.

“It's amazing.”

At the end of his tether, Ozzie relocked the main door, set her bag on the table, and put his arms around her from behind. “My restraint has been amazing. But no more.” While kissing the nape of her neck, he deftly began opening her coat.

At first, she melted, but she quickly rallied. “Osbourne, wait.”

“Can't.” He pushed his groin against her bottom and wanted to groan. “I need you.”

“I'd like to shower first.”

“I hope you're joking.” He got her coat free and stripped it off her.

She turned to face him, her cheeks rosy, her eyes bright. “But…I smell like a donkey.”

Anticipation growing in leaps and bounds, Ozzie looked her over. “Trust me, Marci, you could smell like the donkey's…”

“Osbourne!”

“Foot.”
He smiled at her. “And I wouldn't care.” She giggled, and that was enough to send him into a frenzy of lust. Scooping her up and over his shoulder, he said, “I'll shower with you. After.”