Our First Christmas (7 page)

 

Marisa blinked as she stared at the lights. Whereas her stepmother chose white lights, this home was decorated in bursts of bright color. Each twinkling light winked an invitation, beckoning her inside. Despite her headache, her spirit lightened.

She got out of the car, and with Lucas at her side, climbed the three steps to the front porch. Lucas rang the bell and seconds later the thunder of feet echoed in the house. The door snapped open to three boys, all with dark hair and gray eyes much like their uncle's. The boys—the youngest looked to be about six, the oldest three or four years older—were wearing cowboy hats and vests.

Their faces split into grins when they saw Lucas and they dove into his arms. He gave them a bear hug and lifted all of them up off the floor. They laughed and kicked and tried to wrestle free, but Lucas held tight until he set all three on the floor.

She couldn't imagine her brothers jumping and yelling like this. They were more subdued. That was one of the reasons she'd taken her stepmother's suggestion and bought the trucks.

“That's Billy,” Lucas said, pointing to the boy on the right. “The other wranglers are Nate and Zeke. Where's your mom?”

“In the kitchen.” They turned, each yelling
“Mom”
as they scrambled around a corner.

The house smelled of cookies and bread and cinnamon, and drew Marisa in like a welcoming embrace. The large, open room had a vaulted ceiling made of roughly hewn beams. The furniture was large, overstuffed, and looked as if it had been well used. She imagined the boys plopping on the sofa, eating a snack while they watched television or diving into a pillow fight with the cushions. The walls were filled with family photos. Most featured the boys, but she saw a few that featured a young Lucas. She resisted the urge to study each more closely.

Lucas pulled off his hat and tossed it on a table. “Sherry!”

“Lucas!” A woman appeared. Tall, she wore an apron over well-worn jeans and a T-shirt. Her raven hair was pulled up in a loose topknot. Wisps framed an oval face. Faint crow's-feet feathered out from her eyes, a sign she smiled often.

She hugged Lucas. “Boy, I didn't think we were going to see you this year.”

“I wasn't sure myself.” He pulled away and angled his body toward Marisa. “I'd like you to meet Marisa Thompson. She's helping me with a case.”

Sherry wiped a floured hand on her apron and extended it. “Well, I'm pleased to meet you. Lucas told me he was on the trail of an expert to help him.”

“It's great to meet you.” Sherry's soft welcoming energy melted some of Marisa's nerves.

“You must have been the gal in the car accident.”

Marisa touched her bruised cheek with her fingertips. “I was. But I'm on the mend.”

Sherry studied the dark bruise on Marisa's cheek. “Well, give me your coat and let's get you both into the kitchen. Looks to me like you could use some real TLC.”

“That cookies I smell in the kitchen?” Lucas asked.

“It is, but I'm going to serve you two up some stew first. I made a big pot, hoping you could make it, Lucas.”

“Bill working late?”

“He is so he can have the holidays off. I'm keeping dinner simple tonight. Hope that's all right.”

“Smells great,” Lucas said.

Marisa's stomach rumbled. Lucas had been right. The fruit cup had not cut it.

The kitchen was a large open room. To the left was a huge island, complete with a stove and sink. Beyond the island stood a double refrigerator covered with pictures and art projects. The granite counter behind Sherry was covered with cooling racks filled with cookies. A loaf of bread cooled on the counter.

To the right stood a long rustic table flanked by two long benches and capped by two chairs at the ends.

“Sit,” Sherry ordered. “I'll grab you two a couple of bowls. You do eat meat, don't you, Marisa?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Never know these days. I can always whip up a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“No, stew is perfect.”

Lucas pulled out the chair at the end of the table and she sat, not relaxed enough to ease back. No one had cooked for her since her mother had died, and those meals had been haphazard at best. Her mother, like her, preferred to work rather than cook. Lucas shrugged off his jacket, the muscles in his wide shoulders flexing under his shirt as he hung it on the back of the chair next to her. He unfastened his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscled forearms.

Sherry quickly appeared with a tray that held two heaping bowls of stew, silverware, and glasses of lemonade. She set the tray on the table and served a bowl to Marisa and Lucas. “Go ahead and eat. I'm going to grab a coffee. Marisa, I know Lucas will take a cup, what about you?”

“That would be great.”

Marisa took a bite of stew and marveled at the rich tastes of beef, potatoes, and rosemary. For several minutes, she and Lucas sat in silence. With each bite she could feel her headache ease.

A loud crash boomed in the other room as the boys yelled. Sherry, shaking her head, said she'd be right back before disappearing into the other room. Seconds later silence returned.

“Those three rattle like thunder when they get going,” Lucas said.

“It's nice. They add life to a house.”

“Chaos is more like it,” he said, grinning.

Sherry returned, shaking her head. “Marisa, tell me about your work.”

“I work at the university. Ancient studies. I just returned from Mexico a few days ago after a six-month dig.”

“Mexico,” Sherry said. “Lucas was just in Mexico.”

Marisa could feel her face warm, but if Sherry noticed she didn't say anything.

“Find anything interesting in Mexico?” Sherry asked.

Marisa cleared her throat. “A portion of a stone tablet covered in glyphs. It tells the story of a Mayan ruler, I think.”

“Think?”

“The language shares similarities with the Mayan language that has been deciphered for the most part. But there are other glyphs that don't fit.”

“Your boss says it could be a huge find,” Lucas said.

She arched a brow. “My boss? Bradley? So far, he's dismissing the find. He thinks I'm overestimating it.”

“What do you think?”

She carefully scooped more stew. “I think it's going to be huge.”

Lucas chuckled.

“What's so funny?”

“I'd like to see his face when you get his job. He's not going to like it.”

She grinned. “I don't want his job. Too much paperwork.”

“So are you two going to spend the night?” Sherry set coffee mugs in front of Marisa and Lucas.

“Is that all right?” Lucas asked.

“Of course it is. I'll put you in the boys' room and Marisa in the spare room.”

Marisa scooted to the edge of her seat, her unease returning. “You don't have to host us tonight.”

Sherry, sipping her coffee, waved away Marisa. “Too late to go anywhere. And you look like you could use a good night's sleep.” When Marisa considered a protest, Sherry said, as if the matter were settled, “So tell me about this work you're doing for Lucas.”

Marisa hesitated, not sure what she could or couldn't say about the work.

“It's a code,” Lucas said. “We've had a team on the case for months with no luck, and she cracked it in a day.”

“I don't remember what I did,” Marisa said. Symbols skirted on the edges of her mind. She had the sense again that time was running out, but she couldn't grasp facts to articulate.

“It will come in time,” Sherry said. “A good night's sleep and a country breakfast and you will be good to go.”

“I hope it's that easy.”

“Do you have any information on the second car?” Sherry asked.

Lucas set his coffee cup down. “We did get surveillance of a driver stopping and changing a tire. He's in the shadows and it's hard to make him out much. Our computer tech guy will be back from holiday in a couple of days and can enhance the image.”

“Marisa, did you see him?” Sherry asked.

“No. I was just a little freaked out.” More memories swirled in her mind, rolling in and out like the lapping waters of the Gulf. For a moment, one memory skittered nearly close enough to grab. No words or thoughts. But a sound.

“Are you getting another headache?” Lucas was staring at her hard.

“I thought I was remembering. No words but a sound. Like a ringtone on a phone. I have this odd feeling that whoever ran me off the road approached my car, but stopped when his phone rang.”

Lucas set his spoon down. “What was the sound?”

“A song. It was classical. Mozart, I think.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No. I don't think I could open my eyes. But I heard the crunch of brush under boots and the song.” She shook her head. “That's all I have. Why can't I remember more?”

“Don't push it.”

“Lucas is right, hon,” Sherry said. “You'll remember and Lucas will find the guy who did this. No one gets away from Lucas Cooper.”

Color warmed Marisa's cheeks as she lifted the cup to her lips.

No one gets away from Lucas Cooper.

 

Lucas had insisted Marisa go to sleep. He'd declared her pale and exhausted, and when Sherry had agreed, she'd gone to the spare room. By the time she'd changed into a gown and slipped under the covers, sleep had taken her swiftly.

But even the deepest sleeps can be penetrated. Most nights when she awoke it was with worry over work. Tonight, it had been to the scrape of metal, car against car, and the sound of her own beating heart hammering in her brain. Damp palms gripping the steering wheel, she'd dreamed of a car swerving into her as fear ripped screams from her lungs and her car careened over the embankment. So helpless.

Marisa woke with a jerk, hands covering her face as a cry escaped her lips. Her breathing labored as if a weight rested on her chest.

She'd had plenty of bad dreams as a kid after her parents had divorced. All left her weeping in the middle of the night, alone because her mother, lost in her own grief, had turned to sleeping pills and rarely heard Marisa's cries.

She glanced around the unfamiliar room, trying to anchor herself in the present just as she'd done as a child. Catalogue. Analyze. She searched for her belongings, but when she didn't see her battered backpack, muddied hiking boots, or her clothes strewn in careless piles on the floor, panic flared. Sweat dampening her brow, she reminded herself to breathe. Breathe. In and out. Finally, sleep's haze evaporated like the morning mist, and she could analyze the room's puzzle pieces—a cherry dresser and mirror, pastel curtains, a rocking chair, and a handmade quilt warming the bed. Sherry's house.

A light clicked on in the hallway and after a soft knock on her door, it opened. The light illuminated a man's large, broad-shouldered frame. “Marisa?”

She recognized Lucas's deep voice and sat taller, ashamed that she'd cried out in her sleep. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

His shirt open over worn jeans, he hovered in the doorway as if he approached uncharted territory. “I was awake. Not much of a sleeper.”

She pushed the hair back from her eyes, realizing the sound of his voice had slowed her runaway pulse. “I'm sorry.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, in no rush to leave. “Don't be sorry. You've had one heck of a week.”

“It's one for the record books.” A ghost of a smile tugged the edges of her lips as she rose up out of bed. She needed to stand on her own two feet and prove to Lucas and herself that she was just fine. Her gown brushed her ankles and billowed around her small frame. “Did anyone else hear me?”

“No. Just me. I'm bunked with the boys and those three rascals sleep like the dead.”

“That I envy. I've not slept through the night in years.”

His head tilted a fraction, as if she'd piqued his curiosity. “Why's that?”

“Who's to say?” Of course, she knew. It was the constant feeling that if she didn't keep working and pushing, that she'd somehow be left behind. The feeling had stalked her since the night her father had moved out of the house. Reinforced when her mother died. Sleep was an unaffordable luxury.

A shake of his head told her he didn't believe the evasion, but he was too polite to call her out on it. “I can brew us a pot of coffee.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after four.”

As much as a cup of coffee tempted, if she drank it now, hope of any sleep would vanish. And she needed to rest and give her body time to mend. “Thanks, but I better not. Still a little early, even for me.”

She'd refused him but remained rooted in the same spot, not willing to return to her bed alone or act on a rising temptation to move closer to him.

He pushed away from the doorjamb, but instead of taking a step back, he moved toward her two steps. One single step would have put him within an arm's reach of her. He flexed and unflexed the fingers of his right hand before he stilled them, as if recognizing the nervous gesture. “There's no rush tomorrow. We can leave whenever you're ready.”

“I'll be ready early. I'm not much good at sitting around. And I want to remember the accident and the key to the code.”

“You will. Just takes a bit of time.”

“You sound sure.”

“I am.”

“Are you always this confident?”

“For the most part.” A twinkle in his eyes softened the arrogance of his tone.

“Good to know.”

“What did you dream about?”

A frown furrowed her brow. “I remember hearing the scrape of metal and feeling a hard jolt when the other driver hit me.”

A scowl darkened his face.

She thought for a moment. Until now, she could not say it. “I tried to speed up to get out of his way, but he gave chase. When he pulled beside me, he swerved into me.”

The twinkle vanished, replaced by a dangerous fire. “We'll find him.”

“Like a needle in a haystack.”

“Finding people is what I do.” No doubt lingered under the words. “I found you. Twice.”

She edged a little closer, afraid if she didn't take the next step that he would leave. He'd met her more than halfway, but the rest was up to her. Dark gray eyes studied the way she moistened her lips, the drape of a stray lock of hair, and her pulse beating in her neck.

She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to taste his lips again. Feel his hands on her body again. Her gaze lowered to her hands and the shorn nails that had been digging in dirt just a week ago.

A jolt of electricity drew her closer. With Lucas, the kissing wouldn't be polite. It would be primal, hot, and as dangerous as a rattler, as it had been in Mexico.

She wanted to taste dangerous again, knowing that it couldn't last and that one day, life would pull them apart and in separate directions.

Moistening her lips, she looked into his darkening gaze. Inches separated them, but still he didn't move. He wanted her to come to him. Really living was exciting and terrifying.

She took another half step and could feel the heat of his body. Inches to go. She stared up at granite features made all the sharper by the light cutting in from the hallway. He looked at her as if no other person in the world existed.

Could a kiss be any riskier than what she'd survived? The answer came easily. With Lucas, loving would indeed be a hazard.

She laid a hand on his chest and felt the drumming of his heart. He might look as still as a mountain, but underneath, his energy stirred like a volcano.

He put a hand on her shoulder, using his thumb to trace the bone along her shoulder. Her nerves danced and her senses sharpened. “I never forgot how smooth your skin felt.”

She thought of the callouses marring her palms. “You remember?”

“Every detail.”

“When you woke up in Merida, I was gone.”

Gray eyes darkened with a mixture of anger and passion. “Roses have thorns. That's what makes them interesting.”

He raised his hand to her cheek and grazed his knuckle along her cheekbone. “You're interesting. Intoxicating. Frustrating. I like the challenge.”

He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. The touch reminded her of butterflies skittering across her skin. Again, he kept the pace slow, as if he wanted her to set the tempo.

She wrapped her hands around his neck and, rising on tiptoes, pressed into the kiss. His arms immediately banded around her narrow waist, and he lifted her off the ground as he deepened the kiss.

The moment swept over her like a tropical storm and she found herself longing for the touch of his hands on her body. In the house, footsteps creaked on the second floor. His hand, moving from her shoulder to her breast, stilled. He pulled back and allowed a sigh of frustration. “This is not how I pictured our reunion.”

She moistened her lips, trying to push back the wave of desire that had come with the force of a twister. “You imagined?”

He cupped her face with his hand, coaxing her to open her eyes and look at him. “More times than I could count.”

Heat warmed her cheeks. “Oh.”

Another creak echoed in the house, reminding them both where they stood. His hands glided over her arms. “We'll wait until we have a proper bed and more privacy than my sister's house can give.” His voice deepened with a promise he sounded determined to keep.

Disappointment circled around and howled that promises were meant to be broken. With an effort, she released her grip. “I don't know what to say.”

His head cocked a fraction. “Mind, this is no rejection. It's an admittance the timing is bad, and we will return to this. That's a promise.”

A nervous laugh bubbled in her throat. “I'm supposed to sleep now?”

He glanced back at her, a lightness humming under the remaining passion. “I did try to offer you coffee.”

With his scent still lingering on her, she crawled back into bed, quite sure she would never sleep again.