Any Given Christmas (7 page)

She laughed. “Hardly. How about ten plus years of scandalous tabloid headlines and breaking news reports of sensational partying.”

“Oh. That.” Damn, he couldn’t control what the press put out there any more than he could control the universe. He could tell this woman that half of what she saw was absolute bullshit. But then he’d have to own up to the other half. During his first year in the NFL he’d been schooled by some of the most well-known players in the league. All of them had preached to him the importance of making a name both on the field and off. So he’d created his persona. Unfortunately now it appeared Bad Boy Dean’s lifestyle was about to bite him in the ass.

“So back to my question.” She folded her arms, erecting a
don’t look and don’t even think about touching
barricade. “Exactly why did you come over here tonight?”

His boots thunked against the wood floor as he walked to the front door, opened it wide, and stepped onto the small front porch. “Just curious.”

T
he roads were icy as Dean made his way home and snow flurries fell onto the windshield of his mother’s beast of a car. Beneath him the tires bumped along as though they were water balloons. The traction was deplorable and he couldn’t understand why his father had allowed his mother to drive such a death wagon.

But that wasn’t what was really on his mind.

As many years as he’d played football he’d been judged—by his pass completions, interceptions, strength of schedule, the command of his players on the field. He’d been compared to Joe Montana, Ken Stabler, and other noteworthy quarterbacks. He didn’t mind any of that. But when it came down to a woman judging him based on inaccurate information? That bothered him. Then again, he had no one to blame but himself.

He couldn’t wait to get back home to Texas. To slip behind the wheel of his Mercedes for a smooth ride out to the stadium and the state-of-the-art workout facility. He planned to make good use of that facility upon his return. The harder he worked, the faster he’d heal and the quicker he’d be back on the line of scrimmage. Back to where he didn’t have to prove himself anymore. Back to the life he’d created—right, wrong, or indifferent.

He punched the buttons on the radio and was met with static until he turned the corner of Spotted Fawn and Reindeer Avenue, and Tom Jones began to sing
It’s Not Unusual
.

“Nice visit?”

Dean’s gaze jerked up to the rearview mirror. Sure enough, a golden glow hovered over the backseat. Shit. Since he’d learned his lesson last time, he pulled the car to the curb and twisted around in his seat.

In her red plaid shirt and overalls, his mother leaned against the rear cushion as though she were merely along for a Sunday drive.

“I’m hallucinating. Right?”

Letty Silverthorne laughed. “Not quite, sugarplum. But I’ll give you an A for effort.”

“Mom?”

“Hooo-boy.” She rolled her eyes. “Are we going to go through this again?”

“There’s an explanation for everything,” he said. “The play of light bouncing off the snow. Or shadows. Or any number of reasons I think I’m seeing my dead mother.”

“Only got one reason, Son. You need my help.”

“I need your help?”

“Thank you! I thought you’d never ask.”

Dean closed his eyes against the headache sandblasting the front of his skull. When he opened his eyes, his mother had disappeared.

E
mma parked her car near the front entrance of the Sunny Bridge Nursing Home and gathered the stack of tabloids on the passenger seat. Judging by the colorful covers, John Travolta had encountered aliens while flying his private jet to Bermuda and Whoopi Goldberg had been abducted by aliens on a recent trip to Paris. Obviously it hadn’t been a good week to be in the air without a tinfoil hat.

She stood at the glass entry doors and pushed the intercom button. Moments later an attendant buzzed her in. The facility took care of many dementia patients and often they’d wander right out the door. The locked facility was just one of the safety precautions that had impressed Emma when she’d been searching for just the right place for her Memaw.

With a wave to the attendants at the nurses’ station, Emma headed down the Calla Lily Court corridor to the last door on the right. She gave a gentle knock, then opened the door to find her grandmother sitting in her wheelchair looking out the window. Emma’s heart stuttered. The woman who’d raised her looked lost and fragile. Her white hair was curled from a tight perm. The muumuu she wore was purple with big red and yellow hibiscus. Emma came up beside her wheelchair. With faded blue eyes, her grandmother looked up and Emma waited for recognition to set in.

“Oh. Hello, dear.” Her Memaw reached out a knobby hand. “I was just thinking about you.”

Emma took her hand and kissed her paper-thin cheek. “I brought you your favorite papers.” She set the tabloids on the bed, then pulled up a seat next to her grandmother’s wheelchair. “How are you feeling today?”

Slim shoulders lifted beneath the loud muumuu. “Can’t complain.”

Emma brushed a curl from her grandmother’s forehead. “You look good.”

“I do?”

“Mmm-hmmm. I thought maybe you might feel good enough to come home for Christmas morning.” The thought of having her grandmother home for even a few hours sounded wonderful. The house felt empty since Emma had had to put her in a full-time facility. She’d hated to put her there, but the incidents with her dementia had become more frequent and more dangerous. When her grandmother had fallen and broken her hip, Emma knew it was time. She missed having her grandmother to talk to. To hug every day. She missed seeing her crooked smile each night when she’d come in the door after work. Her Memaw was the one person to whom she had a real connection, and she missed having her there in her everyday life.

“Oh, I don’t know,” her Memaw said. “I don’t like to leave. What would they do without me here? I’ve got to keep things running smooth. There’s no one else who knows how to restock the embroidery thread. And that wall of yarn is just a mess.”

Emma gave her grandmother’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Memaw, you sold the knitting shop five years ago.”

Her grandmother looked up. “I did?”

Emma nodded. “But you sure took good care of that place. I remember the time you had a sale on fuzzy yarn and everyone in town started showing up with so many winter scarves you had to put a place in the store for them to sell on consignment.”

“Oh, that was a good idea.”

Emma chuckled. “Yes, it was. You had a lot of good ideas.”

There had been a time when her grandmother had put knitting and crocheting back in fashion. She’d bought fuzzy yarn and baby yarn and all kinds of odd varieties. Then she’d made samples of items and hung them in the front window to entice patrons not only to buy the yarn but to take lessons, too.

“I miss you, Meems.” Emma wrapped her arms around the woman who’d held her through her nightmares and cheered her through her victories.

Her grandmother’s fragile hand came up to pat her arm. Then she leaned her head back and looked up into Emma’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. Who did you say you were?”

As it did on every visit, Emma’s heart shattered for the loss of the wonderful, witty spirit that used to be Sadie Hart.

S
portsman’s Locker was a closet-sized version of the sporting goods warehouse Dean frequented in Houston. It had the basics—some free weights, a few choices in treadmills, and a pathetic selection of athletic wear and shoes. Dean looked through a small rack of exercise shorts, then back up to James Harley, whom he’d come across at the Gas and Grub. They’d got to talking, and since James had the day off he’d offered his help to carry whatever Dean purchased.

“The red ones are definitely you,” James said with a smirk.

Dean held up the shorts—or what there was of them—and frowned. “I think I saw Richard Simmons wearing these when we were both on
Houston Live
right after I signed with the Stallions.”

“Yeah, I thought short shorts went out with disco and roller skates.”

Dean laughed. “Apparently not.”

“So what’s with the big purchase of all the weights and stuff? I thought you were headed back to Texas ASAFP.”

“I promised my dad and Kate I’d stay through Christmas.”

James leaned his forearms on a rack of jerseys. “That’s just a few days away.”

“I put a call in to the team PT. If he says to get the shoulder moving more, I need to be ready. So as long as I’m here I need some tools to get the job done. I figure I can donate them to the high school when I head back home.”

“That hit you took? Pretty devastating to even watch,” James said.

“No shit,” Dean admitted. “First time in my life I actually saw stars.”

“You feel pretty good about getting back to a hundred percent?”

Dean looked up and considered the question. And when he found genuine compassion and not doubt on James Harley’s face, he answered, “I’m not ready to walk away from what I’ve worked for all my life. I love playing football. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.” Without it he had nothing but an extravagant condo and a really nice car.

James flashed a grin that probably had women peeling off their panties as fast as they could. “Then let’s get this pile of workout shit home so you can get back to kicking those Steelers’ asses.”

Dean laughed. “Not your team, huh?”

“Not a fan of that douche-bag QB.”

You had to like a man who despised the opposition. But even as Dean watched the deputy set the dumbbells on the checkout counter, he still wondered about the man’s disappearing act with his sister Kelly at the wedding reception.

He might like James Harley, but if the man messed with his sister, he’d have to die.

O
n Friday afternoon, Emma slipped out the doors of the school and hurried to her car before anyone could stop her and ask what she planned to bring to the teachers’ association potluck at the Grange.

School was out for two full weeks. No kindergarten. No online classes. No classes at the university. And best of all, no homework.

She had exactly fourteen days of stay-up-late, sleep-till-noon freedom. The last thing she wanted to do was sit among the people she worked with, talking shop and eating mac and cheese casseroles and platters of cold cuts.

She had fun on her mind, and it came in the form of a girls’ night out with Kate, her sister Kelly—who’d just flown in for Christmas from Chicago—and Maggie, the good friend and owner-slash-cocktail-waitress of the bar they’d chosen to invade for the occasion.

Emma needed a distraction. One that would take her mind off the fact that she was thirty-two years old and spending yet another Christmas alone. Her last
real
date had, oddly enough, been with Kate’s now-husband. Matt Ryan had been the nicest man Emma had gone out with in a long time. They’d gotten along well. But she couldn’t begrudge him for ending up with Kate. That destiny had started way back in high school. Matt might have tried to forget the woman he’d loved since forever ago, but once Kate had come back to town, he’d been toast. Just the way those two looked into each other’s eyes made it clear who they belonged to and with.

Emma wanted that.

She wanted love from a man who couldn’t live without her. A man who would look at her every day like she was the most important person in his world. She wanted a man she could trust with her heart and never fear he would stomp it into dust.

She wanted the dream.

She wanted forever.

On the way home she stopped at the Gas and Grub to fill her tank and grab a bottle of wine, just in case the party flowed over to her house. She topped off at the pump, then ran through the snow and inside the store. Down the potato chip and beer-nut aisle she chose a bottle of zinfandel, then grabbed a large bag of the kettle corn Mrs. Patterson cooked up daily to supply to local businesses. Further down the aisle, packages of Hershey’s and mini Reese’s stopped her in her tracks. The G & G’s glass doors swung open and icy air whooshed down the aisle. Deep in her chocolate selections, she shivered when the atmosphere behind her shifted and a tingle slinked down her spine.

“Party planning?”

Emma’s head jerked up. She turned to find six feet-plus of trouble behind her. So close she could smell the snow on his parka. His warmth. His aftershave. And a good dose of virile male. “Maybe.”

He flashed his Mr. Perfect smile. “Am I invited?”

“I don’t think so.” She swung her attention back to her choice between peanut butter cups and chocolate kisses, with a hope and a prayer he’d just go away. She should have known better.

“Aw, come on. I thought we were friends,” he said.

She looked up. “Seriously?”

“I helped you trim your tree.”

“And I thanked you for that.”

“You could thank me again by inviting me to your party.”

“I don’t think you’d be interested.”

“Are you kidding? I was looking for something to do. I came in here for—”

“Dirty magazines?”

He laughed with three deep
huh-huh-huh
s. “No, but that’s not a bad idea. So where’s the party?”

Smart enough to know he’d never leave unless she gave him some kind of response, Emma relented. “I’m meeting a few friends for a girls’ night out. I just needed a few supplies in case they all come over after we close down the bars. There. Are you satisfied?”

“I could be if you tell me your
girls’ night
includes a sleepover in see-through nighties.”

“Your sisters are coming.”

“Oh. Damn.” He whacked himself in the forehead. “I’ll have to burn that image out of my head.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it.

He reached past her and the bags of Hershey’s, grabbed a bag of Reese’s and tossed it on her pile. “No kisses unless I’m included.” He snatched a pack of beef jerky from the shelf, then turned. His cowboy boots thudded on the tile floor as he strolled away. Emma watched until his wide shoulders and lean Levi’s butt disappeared around the end cap before she took a deep breath.

Much as she hated to admit it, Dean Silverthorne was one fine-looking man.

The trouble was he knew it.

“S
hut up! You did not!” Maggie squealed.

Emma laughed at Kate’s flabbergasted expression.

The Naughty Irish was hip-to-hip deep with holiday revelers and those who’d come in to catch the cover band from Missoula currently tearing it up with a tasty version of Skynyrd’s
Freebird
. The place was loud and rowdy and Emma immersed herself in the fun.

“I did,” Kelly, a lawyer and in general a quite subdued person, admitted. “At least I think I did.”

“Lester Crabtree might be old but he does hold a certain outdoorsy appeal.” Kate wrinkled her nose at her sister over the rim of her glass. “Guess that’s one of those times you can thank God for the alcohol.”

“I’m sure Mr. Crabtree enjoyed your flirtatiousness.” Emma patted Kelly on the hand. “Although Edna Price put in her two cents’ worth as well. I noticed a lot of flirting at that reception.”

“Yeah. When you weren’t dodging our brother’s not-so-subtle passes,” Kate chimed in.

Emma flinched. Many things had happened that night. But Dean Silverthorne making passes at her? Not one of them.

“I noticed Kelly didn’t leave the reception alone.” Unaware that she’d just rescued Emma, Maggie leaned further into the scratched-up table. “So give us the down and dirty details on the hunky James Harley.”

Kelly’s big eyes widened. “I… ummm.”

Emma’s ears perked up. Was it vulgar to live vicariously? And when had been the last time
she’d
had sex? Hmmm. When one couldn’t remember the last time, then no, it wasn’t vulgar. Pathetic? Without a doubt.

“Was he as good as he looks?” Maggie asked eagerly. When all eyes turned on her, she threw her hands up and said, “Hey, three kids, married ten years, too tired to have sex. I get to ask. So was he?”

Kelly took the Fifth. The rest of the women at the table took her silence as verification, with a big red check next to
hell yeah
.

“Well then, ladies.” Maggie raised her glass. ”To good sex.”

They all raised their glasses.

“No. How about… to
great
sex,” Kate amended, and the glasses clinked.

At that moment Deputy Matt Ryan and Deputy-in-question James Harley strolled toward their table. It could have been coincidence. But in a town the size of a peanut shell, happenstance did not exist.

“Speaking of great sex.” Kate’s inebriated cheeks flushed with pleasure at the sight of her new husband.

Kelly’s gaze darted around the bar for a place to hide. But men in uniforms who carried guns were much quicker on their feet. Much to Kelly’s dismay. Kate’s sister suddenly became very interested in the red straw dipped into her rum and coke.

“You ladies having a good time?” James asked.

“It depends on whether my husband lets me use the handcuffs later,” Kate said.

Matt leaned down and said against her ear, “Uh-uh. My turn tonight, beautiful.”

“Even better.” Kate raised her hand to cup Matt’s cheek and he kissed her fingers.

Emma smiled at the familiarity in the couple’s touch, the effortlessness in which they could tease. Someday, she hoped, she would know that, too.

“Good evening, counselor,” James leaned his handsome face down over Kelly’s shoulder. “You need a personal escort home tonight?”
Preferably to my house.

Okay, so maybe James hadn’t said those words, but Emma heard them all the same.

Kelly looked up, and though a blush brushed her cheeks, desire darkened her green eyes. “No. Thanks. I’m good.”

James gave her a smile that said he agreed.

Good Lord.
Emma felt like a complete voyeur. The air thickened with sexual tension till she thought she’d explode. She wanted to grab Kelly and tell her to take that man with the gorgeous brown eyes home and give him what he practically begged for. Then again, it looked like maybe she already had and he’d come back for a second taste.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” James rose to his full height and told Matt, “I’ll take a look around. Meet you outside.”

Emma didn’t want to be envious. She really didn’t. It didn’t mean there weren’t still a few decent-looking single guys left in Deer Lick. There were. Looks didn’t mean a lot in the full spectrum of life. But she’d yet to find one that looked at her in that adoring way Matt looked at Kate. Or even the hungry way James had looked at Kelly. Did she need to move to a bigger town just to find a man?

Great. Now she sounded envious
and
desperate.

“You ladies about ready for your DD to give you a ride home?” Matt asked.

“Oh, is it that time already?” Kate whined.

Matt shrugged. “I can come back later. But I’ll only be able to transport two of you at a time.”

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t need to go through all that trouble,” Kate said. “Ollie has Mags covered and Emma is going home with—”

“Me.”

Emma looked up and about lost her socks when she found Mr. Perfect looking right back.

D
ean had stood in the pool room while Boyd Palmer and Jason Ward battled it out on the green felt. His hands had twitched to grab a stick and join them. But in the scheme of things, a perfect spiral into the end zone held more importance than knocking the number-six ball into the corner pocket.

Good thing he hadn’t played anyway. His attention had been completely distracted by the table-for-four across the bar.

Emma and company—drinking and giggling and discussing god-knew-what that had made feminine eyebrows lift and dip. Dean had been raised with two sisters who gossiped, sparred, and cried on each other’s shoulders. He should be used to girl chatter. But that had been as a boy. As a man, he saw them in a whole different light.

As girls they’d been careful what they said in front of anyone, for fear of being judged. As women they weren’t afraid. Others could feel free to judge if they snorted soda through their nose when they laughed, if their hair was out of place, or if they had to unbutton the top of their jeans (thank you, Maggie) when they’d consumed too much beer.

These women were beautiful and animated and having a great time. They were in their element. Dean felt as though he were watching a silent TV sitcom. More than once they’d made him laugh out loud. But it was the curvy blond in the tight jeans straddling the chair backward who had held him captive. It was the way her smile broke all the way across her face until it reached those amazing blue eyes. Or even the way she tilted her head and her straight hair tumbled like a ripple of water across the shoulder of her snug pink sweater. Before he could stop himself, he’d headed in her direction without a clue about what to say. His brilliant baby sister had offered up the perfect opportunity.

“Are you stalking me?” Emma looked up at him and asked.

“Just having a beer with the boys. Overheard my brother-in-law’s dilemma.” His gaze slipped down to those snug jeans. No muffin top for the schoolmarm. “Thought I’d help out.”

“That’s really nice of you, Dean,” Maggie said. “See, girls, he’s not the big arrogant ass you all thought.”

“Mags!” Both Kate’s and Kelly’s eyes widened even as they giggled.

Dean laughed. He leaned down and bussed Maggie’s chubby cheek with a kiss. “And it’s thanks to down-to-earth people like you who keep me humble.” The band launched into James Otto’s slow and sexy
Just Got Started Lovin’ You
and the appeal of holding Emma in his arms was too much to ignore. He held out his hand. “How about a dance first?”

She didn’t need words to convey her displeasure at his suggestion or his out-of-the-blue offer for a ride home. Emma’s eyes had a way of turning almost purple when she wasn’t quite pleased. Which only made him wonder what color her eyes would turn when she
was
pleased.

She took a sip of her girly drink and set the empty glass down. “I don’t think so.”

“Aw, come on. You turned me down once. Do you really want to bruise my ego a second time?”

“Don’t buy into that, Em,” Kate said. “His ego is made of solid steel.”

“Indestructible,” Kelly added.

“But it does look good in a pair of jeans,” Maggie tossed in and everyone laughed.

Emma looked up at him again. “Fine. This is my favorite song anyway.”

“Excuse us,” he said to the five pairs of eyes glued to them. He set his beer down on the table and took Emma by the hand, lifting her from her chair and pulling her out onto the crowded dance floor. He drew her against himself and had to find his footing in the rhythm of the song. She felt amazing in his arms. Soft and warm and… damn.