A Christmas to Believe In (2 page)

mentioned something about the Saurs moving. Did that mean

Jesse still lived in that old house on the hill?

His spirits brightened at the thought. If Jesse were around,

things would be like old times. Too bad they were all too old

for car-hood sledding—she'd been the best driver out of the

whole gang. They weren't, however, too old for a good, old-

fashioned snowball fight. And if his memory served, he still

owed her for an ice-ball in the nose.

A grin quirked the corner of his mouth. That girl knew how

to throw. His nose had bled for almost an hour.

Man, if he had to have a sister, why couldn't it have been

her? Instead, he had to deal with some stranger. Keeley

Jacobs might be his father's daughter, but Clint was pretty

damn certain she didn't know how to cheat at arm wrestling

like Jesse did. He was also pretty certain neither of his

brothers would put up with a strategically placed toe in the

ribs from her either.

Guess he'd find out. As much as he didn't care to meet his

new half-sibling, Mom made it clear she intended to welcome

the woman with open arms. Which meant this family get-

together would come with strangers.

He shifted into second to climb the steep driveway. The

trailer skidded, threatening to pull him back onto the road.

Scowling, Clint dropped the truck into four-wheel drive, and

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gave it a bit more gas. The rig jumped as the trailer bounced

forward. Slowly, he inched up the gravel drive.

At the top, he pulled straight into the yard. He still had to

find stabling for his horse, and turning around up here

wouldn't be easy. Mom could deal with the tread marks. She'd

wanted him to come. Insisted on it. She could deal with the

fact his prize mare was due to foal any day. If he were lucky,

the trailer ride hadn't stressed her, and she wouldn't choose

tonight.

He opened the door to her sharp whinny. Jumping down

into the snow, he tromped to the rear of the trailer and threw

open the top half of the loading doors. She twisted her

elegant neck around to give him an expectant look.

"Not yet, Angel."

Clint closed the door and made his way around to the

escape door. The hinges creaked as he pulled it open. He

stepped inside, kicked his way through the loose bedding, and

moved up to her head to give her an affectionate pat. She

rode free, not tied to anything, in the event sudden labor set

in. Not familiar with her foaling habits, he didn't dare take the

risk she might try to lie down, despite the unlikelihood.

"Eat your hay while I run inside. We'll get you settled in

soon." He scratched her behind the ears, ran his hand down

her mane, and patted her shoulder. "No foals, Angel. You

gotta cook that one until January."

She answered his order with a lazy blink.

Satisfied they were in agreement, Clint climbed out of the

trailer and secured the door. He crossed behind his bumper,

stepped over the hitch. His gaze fell on the house. Bright

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lights flooded the snow-covered porch with a warm yellow

glow. The Christmas tree twinkled behind the front window.

Through the frosty panes, he glimpsed Alex seated on the

couch. Alex laughed at something, and though the sound

didn't filter outside, Clint could hear the rumble of his voice.

Maybe coming home wouldn't turn out so bad after all. He

hadn't seen his brothers in years.

He made his way to the porch, stopped in front of the door

to stomp the snow off his boots. Bells jangled as he opened

the door.

A chorus of laughter greeted his ears. Alex looked up with

a broad grin. But what caught Clint's immediate attention was

the flash of movement near the hearth. He glanced over in

time to see a woman punch Heath in the arm. She tumbled

back into her chair, giggling, then turned bright blue eyes on

him.

Jesse.

"Clint!" Her excited greeting blended with his brothers'

hellos.

Her smile, however, made his breath catch. Something

deep in his gut tripped as he took another step inside and

Jesse eased to her feet. Long black hair tumbled to her waist,

just as she'd always worn it. He'd seen those raven locks a

thousand times, but they'd never shone quite like they did as

she crossed the room.

To his shame, his gaze skipped down to her toes, taking in

curves he'd never noticed, and a waist so tiny he could span

his hands around it. She wore jeans that hugged thighs he

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knew were muscular. Only, five years ago, they'd just been

Jesse's legs. Now, they belonged to a...

He caught the sweet scent of lilacs as she slipped her arms

around his neck and hugged him tight. Soft curves melted

against his chest.

A woman.

When in the hell had Jesse grown up? She'd been thirty

when they'd last spent any time together. Even as an adult,

he'd still seen the tomboy she'd always been. His little sister.

But damn... She felt good. All feminine.

He collected himself enough to return her hug. "I'll be

damned, Jesse. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Is that Clint?" his mother called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, Mom. I'm here."

Jesse pulled out of his embrace, leaving his skin tingling

where they'd touched. Good grief, what was the matter with

him? He'd
wrestled
with her, for God's sake, and hadn't ever

been affected by touching her. For that matter, they'd all

skinny dipped in Longview Lake one summer. And those

breasts hadn't been anywhere near as compelling as they

were beneath her light blue sweater right now.

Shoot, he hadn't even known she'd had breasts back then.

Well, he'd
known
, but there was a distinct difference.

"Clinton, come give your mother a kiss." His mother's call

jarred him back to sense.

Thankfully, it also offered a means of escape. He glanced

about the room, offered a short nod and said, "Be right back."

Avoiding eye contact with those disturbingly unsettling blue

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eyes, he followed the aroma of apples and cinnamon into the

kitchen.

Stunned, Jesse curled into her chair with her feet tucked

beneath her and trained a smile to her face. Though she

pretended interest in Heath and Alex's conversation, her gaze

followed Clint's retreat. Loose blue jeans pulled around firm

buttocks, tapered down thick thighs to bunch at the neck of

his tan hiking boots. He ducked his head as he stepped under

the doorframe, and thick dark waves touched the neck of his

beige sweater. Wide shoulders hunched to shorten his long

frame.

She could not be staring at the same Clint who she'd

grown up with.
That
Clint's one-dimple grin made her want to

poke her finger in his cheek.
This
Clint's lazy grin had

temporarily stopped her heart.

Where had this one come from?

"Dontcha think, Jesse?" Alex gestured her way, his look

expectant.

She blinked. Not knowing what to say, she stammered,

"Oh. Ah, yeah."

"See, little brother?" Alex tossed a rolled up paper at

Heath. "No way can Arizona beat K-State. Don't you know

Jesse's never wrong about football?"

Once upon a time, maybe. But until right now, she hadn't

even known her Alma Mater had made it to the bowl. Or

which one for that matter. However, now wasn't the time to

clue the King brothers in on the fact she'd given up her

tomboy ways years ago. That would require conversation.

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Until her heart stopped this ridiculous hammering, she didn't

dare brave her voice.

Clint's deep laughter rumbled from the kitchen. Her gaze

pulled back to the open doorway. A strange tingling sensation

tripped down her spine. Somehow, he'd changed his laugh

too. It no longer made her want to join in. Instead, the urge

to giggle set in.
Giggle
, for heaven's sake.

How come that hadn't happened when he came back

earlier this year for his father's funeral?

Because he wasn't laughing, dummy.

Well that logically explained the prickling of her skin. Yet,

it didn't reason why she hadn't noticed the
man
in July. He'd

worn a suit and tie, but even all dressed up, she hadn't really

seen him. What did jeans and a cable-knit sweater have over

formal wear?

Why in the world did she care? This was Clint. Clint, who

lived in Kentucky. Clint, who liked horses, and she didn't

know the first thing about them. Clint who knew the

embarrassing secret that at sixteen, she'd let Mark

Hammond, the school nerd, put his hands up her shirt in

exchange for the right to copy off his Algebra quizzes.

Of course, she hadn't told Clint. He'd found out when Mark

asked if Clint could barter up a better payment for answers.

Still. Clint knew things about her no man should.

His heavy heel squeaked the board just inside the kitchen

doorway. He stepped through carrying four small plates of

homemade apple pie. His gaze flicked to her, and to Jesse's

shame, her stomach clamped into an anxious ball.

Lord, he was handsome.

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A Christmas to Believe In

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Amelia King hobbled to her chair beside the twinkling

Christmas tree, her recently broken ankle slowing her usually

quick pace. She bent over to set her plate and a coffee cup

down on the end table and paused. With a tip of her head,

she peeked out the front window. "Sweetheart, is that a horse

trailer in my front yard?"

His arm half-extended to offer Jesse her plate, Clint froze.

His amber eyes locked with hers. A touch of color flushed his

cheeks as he answered, "Ah, yeah."

Amelia sat down and frowned at her oldest son. "Why?"

"Well..." Clint handed Jesse the plate. Their fingers

brushed, sending a jolt of pleasant energy rippling up Jesse's

arm. Clint's gaze flashed with something she couldn't define.

He pulled his hand away so fast he nearly dropped the pie in

her lap. She caught it at the last moment, then dropped her

gaze to stare at the sugar-dusted crust.

He eased himself into the couch cushion closest to her and

fixed his stare on his mother. "I was going to ask you if old

man Jameson still ran that boarding stable on the north end

of town. I had to bring my mare along. She's due to foal any

day."

Jesse let her gaze stray sideways to his knee. It rested

close enough that if she unwound her legs they'd touch. Solid,

sturdy—she could almost feel the way his leg would lean into

hers in a silent expression of affection.

She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking?

Clint would never do something like that. At least not with

her. She had no business even letting the thought register.

He might be handsome, but he was still Clint, and she was

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still his little sister. The way he'd jerked his hand away said

more about his thoughts on touching her than anything.

Blinking, she pushed aside the thoughts that clouded her

mind and focused on the conversation. All three raptly

discussed who might have a boarding stable, who might be

willing to take on a pregnant mare on short notice, and how

far Clint would have to drive to tend to his horse.

"Clint," she began with a slight frown. His gaze pulled to

hers so quickly she stumbled over her immediate thoughts.

Swallowing, she willed her voice not to shake. "Why don't you

use Mom and Dad's old barn? I put a new roof on it last year,

so it should be watertight. I use half for storage but there's a

stall we could fix up. You'd be close to your mother and your

horse."

"Hey good idea. I can help you fix it up tomorrow, Clint,"

Alex offered.

Clint's gaze held Jesse's, spreading unfamiliar warmth

through her veins. The urge to move, to somehow extract

herself from that rich, amber intensity, gripped fierce. A

woman could get lost in those expressive eyes. Dangerously

lost.

Many had too, she reminded herself. He'd always drawn

the girls. All three had, frankly. And she'd gained more

enemies for being close to them, than she'd ever gained

friends.

"I might stop by and help you two out. I've got some

things to do in town first thing in the morning though," Heath

interjected.

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Jesse struggled to find her usual flippant humor. With a

forced grin, she gave Clint a teasing wink. "Gee. Brotherly

bonding. In my barn. Remind me to stay away. I get enough

testosterone with Ethan in the house."