Red-Hot Santa (18 page)

“No, you’re not.”

They shared a fond glance.

“And that’s okay. That’s you. It’s what life—your life, my life—has made you.”

Max narrowed her eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. However…” Max waited.

“There’s so very much more I’m afraid you’re not seeing, that your experiences have prevented you from seeing…?.”

She grimaced. “What? Like love?”

Her mother smiled brightly, warmly. “Yes.”

She put her cup down. “Sorry. Not interested.”

She hated saying it so abruptly, her words like a slap that knocked the happiness out of her mother’s face. But she had to.

Cindy grimaced. “You’ll excuse me for saying you’re dumb as a doorknob then?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “Then don’t. Because you are.”

Max pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

“Baby, don’t you see? That’s what we’re put on this earth to do. To love. Without it, well, nothing makes sense. And you deny all the beauty. It’s almost like tramping on a flower instead of stopping to smell it.”

“I never was a flower girl.”

Her mother laughed. “No, you weren’t, were you?”

Max smiled and rested her cheek against her legs, looking into the fire.

“And now those flowers are men.”

She lifted her head again. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m afraid you’re viewing men the same way you would flowers: as unnecessary. Worthless.”

“No, I’m not…?.”

“May I finish?”

“Depends. Will it take long?”

Her mother’s face fell.

She took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“What I’m trying to say, Maxi, is that the lessons your life, and my life, have taught you… It’s not to distrust all men. It’s to trust them until they give you reason not to.”

Her ribs bit into her heart as she remembered Jackson’s face earlier. He’d given her reason not to trust him. Oh, he hadn’t raised a hand to her, as her father had to her mother. But he’d hit her with an emotional blow that left a mark just as lasting.

The kitchen door opened. “Girls? You planning on helping?”

Max and her mother sat like that for a few moments more. Then Cindy got up, rested her hand briefly on top of Max’s head, smoothing her hair back. Max closed her eyes, absorbing the emotions stirred by the soothing gesture.

“Think about it, baby? Please? Love isn’t something you fight against—it’s something you surrender to. That’s the one lesson your father never learned. I’d hate for you to inherit that legacy.”

Max’s heart nearly stopped at the comparison. It was a vivid one to be sure. And she knew she wasn’t talking about her father’s violent acts, but rather what may have been at the heart of them…?.

“There was one thing I learned from my experiences,” her mother whispered, leaning closer to her ear. “It’s not to shun love, but to look for it. You know why? Because my love for you proves there’s a neverending supply so long as you know where to look.” She smiled at her. “I pray that you find that.”

21

JACKSON’S ONLY PLAN was to avoid everything and everyone for as long as he possibly could.

He shoveled the parking lot and the front of The Barracks for the third time that night, even though the falling snow covered the path as quickly as he uncovered it. He leaned on the shovel in front of the door, considering the fat snowflakes. The street was quiet, most everybody home for the night, where they should be.

Where he should be.

Gram had called no fewer than five times before he’d finally taken her call, telling her he had to work that night.

“Bullhockey. Your brother’s here with his girl. We’re waiting on you.”

He’d told her he’d be there most likely in the morning.

The longer he put off seeing his brother, the better.

The more he pushed Max out of his mind, the better yet.

While his delaying his visit to the farm was effective with dealing with Jason, avoiding Max… Well, merely thinking her name made him wince, remembering her face when he’d climbed out of bed earlier and practically run away from her.

It had taken nearly every ounce of willpower he had to drag himself away from her. Had he not summoned it, he might very well still be lying in that bed with her.

He was surprised by his immediate arousal at the thought.

Damn it, why was this happening now? Why had Max come back and opened fire on his plans? Why had he given himself over to base physical needs when it came to his best friend?

He winced again, recognizing the harshness of his thoughts. But when bullets came to firing, that was the barrel through which they were shot, wasn’t it? He blamed himself.

Hell, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Except that everything he’d thought he’d wanted? Everything he’d been working toward? It had been completely obliterated.

The door opened. He stepped out of the way to allow an unfamiliar patron of the bar to walk outside, watching as the man hunkered down into his coat and headed for the parking lot.

“Merry Christmas,” the stranger said.

Jackson returned the greeting, wondering what was so merry about it.

He tapped the shovel on the ground and went inside, tucking it out of the way before shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on a hook. The usual suspects sat at the bar and a small group occupied a table near the back, while a couple engaged in a game of pool. Walter dried a glass as he talked to Pete. Someone had selected “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” on the jukebox and decorations hung around the place, but otherwise, it wouldn’t have been obvious it was Christmas Eve.

“Hey, Jackson!” Winston called. “You never did say what you’re doing here on a night like tonight. Don’t you have a nice lady friend you should be wining and dining?”

Pete stage elbowed him. “Don’t you remember? He’s got them problems…”

Winston looked shocked, then looked around. “And there aren’t even any ladies around to help solve ’em.”

They cackled in laughter as Chuck Thomas offered Jackson a sympathetic eye roll. “Lighten up, guys. It is Christmas Eve. And as far as I’m concerned, having Jackson back is the best gift this guy has got all year.”

“I’d rather have that hot new waitress,” Winston said.

Pete raised his mug. “Or at least another one of these.”

None of the waitresses were working tonight, which meant if Jackson hadn’t shown up to ask for his old job back, Chuck would have been on his own. Not that he couldn’t have handled it…but he’d already asked if Jackson could hang out through closing so he could go home and at least surprise his wife at midnight with her gift. Jackson had readily agreed.

A short time later, Chuck left and he was on his own. Midnight came and went and as much as he hated himself for it, he kept checking his cell phone for messages.

Nothing.

Of course not. Why would she try to contact him after the way he’d treated her? Hell, he’d be lucky if she offered him a glass of water, even if he was dying of thirst.

Problem was, it wasn’t water he wanted. It was her.

Damn.

The quickest way through any situation was straight. Gram had taught him andf Jason that when they’d been old enough to face mowing the massive front lawn. There was no sense complaining or bellyaching. It wasn’t going to get done itself.

Only now, he wasn’t sure which end of this mess was up, much less how to get through it.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He was so anxious to answer it, he nearly dropped it in the sink.

“Hello?” he answered without looking at the display.

“Where the hell are you?”

His brother.

Shit.

He had no choice but to tell Jason he was working that night.

His brother didn’t say a word. He merely hung up.

Great.

Jackson put the cell phone back in his pocket. Those at the back table were getting ready to leave. Good. Of course, the regulars at the bar wouldn’t budge until he pushed them. But that was fine. He didn’t have anything else to do anyway.

The front door opened. He glanced up from where he was pulling another draught for Pete to see his brother stalking inside. He put the beer on the bar a moment before Jason reached across the bar and grabbed the front of his shirt, dragging him across to the other side…

22

JACKSON STOOD STARING at his brother, expecting him to deck him after hauling him over the bar. Instead he merely stood staring at him, then his rough face broke out into a grin.

“Merry Christmas, little bro,” he said, giving him a hug.

Jackson blinked, too surprised to do anything for a moment. Then he returned the unexpected affection.

“How are you doing?” Jason asked. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Gram.”

Jason chuckled. “You going to get this old woman a beer?”

Jackson stepped around to the other side of the bar.

The regulars watched with interest but quickly turned back to their own brews once the show was over.

Jackson popped the cap on an import and slid it over to his brother, then opened one for himself.

Often had been the time when the two of them would kick back and enjoy a beer, just shooting the breeze. But that was before Jackson had indicated a desire for involvement in Lazarus and Jason had thrown up a grease-covered wall he couldn’t scale.

He squinted at Jason now. Obviously he didn’t know what had gone down in Africa, or the lifesaving hand Lincoln had extended. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so easygoing now.

Not that he’d expected him to find out. Lincoln was a man of his word: if he said he wouldn’t tell Jason, he wouldn’t.

Still, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t find out through other channels.

“Bet Gram had a fit when you left the house, considering it’s Christmas Eve and all,” Jackson said.

Jason grinned. “Nah…?.”

Jackson looked at his brother a little closer. Was it him, or did he appear to be… He searched for the accurate word.

“She and Jordan are enjoying some quality girl time together. I doubt they even know I’m gone.”

Happy. That was the word.

Jackson grimaced and took a long pull from his own bottle.

Happy wasn’t a word he usually associated with Jason. Jokingly sarcastic, yeah. Driven, definitely. But happy…?

Of course, it wasn’t long ago that love and his brother didn’t mix, either. Then came an assignment that put Jason directly in Jordan Cosby’s path, and his womanizing days were packed away in an old trunk. A very large old trunk.

Funny, Jackson thought, neither of them had considered themselves relationship material. They were both more career focused, the thought of being tied down enough to give them hives.

But now Jason was still grinning in a goofy way that made him look different.

“Okay, what gives?” Jackson asked.

“Huh? What?” He spun his bottle around, but didn’t drink from it.

“I know it can’t be sex. Gram wouldn’t allow it unless you two were married.”

“Oh, yeah? Try again.”

Jackson raised a brow.

“Yeah, funny thing, that. Her only request? We not get anything on the rug.”

They both chuckled loudly.

Jackson checked to make sure the remaining patrons were taken care of, then rounded the bar to sit next to his brother.

“So what’s up then? While Gram might not have a problem with premarital sex—something I don’t even want to think about at any time, but especially not tonight—what’s the cause for the silly grin?”

It got even bigger, if that were possible.

“Well, you’re not going to believe this…”

“After what’s happened this past week? It’s a pretty good bet I’ll believe anything.”

Jason looked at him. “You’re going to be an uncle.”

Jackson sat back. Jason looked as stunned as he was by the news, although Jackson was guessing his brother had had more time to digest the information.

“That’s right. Jordan’s pregnant.”

“Wow!”

The usual asinine questions bolted through his head: How? Why? When? But he didn’t ask any of them. Partly because he was too shocked to do much more than stare. But mostly because the shift of the floor under him made him take a fresh look at his own life.

“I know, right?” Jason said, finally taking a slug of beer. “You could have shot me point blank in the chest and I wouldn’t have been more floored.” He shook his head.

“What did you say? You know, when she told you?”

“Say? Not much. All I could do was grin.”

Given the loss of their own parents at such a young age, both of them had always said they’d never get tied down, never have kids. Yet here was his big brother, about to be a father.