Christmas Getaway (10 page)

“She's going to be all right, Sam.”

“Let's just worry about you, New England, and these cookies you wanted, okay?”

She looked over his shoulder. “What did you bring me?”

“Chocolate-chip rolls and Frank Sinatra.”

“Rolls?”

“Well, yeah. The cut-and-bake things. That's what you wanted, right?”

She laughed. “Sure, Sam. They'll be great.”

He looked at her to judge her sincerity. “Besides Sinatra, the only other choice was the Dixie Chicks.”

“
Sinatra sings Christmas
will be perfect.” She wandered off to put the CD into his player, and the soft sounds of “White Christmas” began filling the air as she returned. “Now, we just preheat the oven and—”

He surprised her and himself by taking her in his arms. “I'm hoping it's just the holiday spirit screwing me up, but I've been thinking about kissing you since I met you. I'm only able to withstand so much temptation, so call this a warning.”

“A warning?”

He nodded. “I even brought mistletoe.” He held a sprig above their heads. “Martha insisted on it, although I'm pretty sure it's just a parasite.” Slowly he touched his lips to Jean's, and to his surprise, he could have sworn he felt a spark of Christmas magic.

But he didn't believe in that and he didn't want Jean to be uncomfortable, so he pulled away from her and tossed the mistletoe in the trash. “Definitely not a healthy plant to have around, in any case.”

Jean's expression turned stoic. She handed him a knife and a roll of cookie dough, clearly ignoring his attempt to quash the romance and the holiday spirit. “Cut and bake, Scrooge.”

“Y
OU'RE GOING
to have to give me a break here,” Sam said, putting the knife down. “I'm trying to do the Christmas thing, like you would have had back home. I'm well aware it's going to fall a bit short, but I'm not Ranger Claus, you know.”

“Your pants are buzzing,” she said, changing the subject.

He took out his cell phone. “Hello?”

Jean shook her head. His kiss had been a lot more gentle than she would have imagined. She had wanted to kiss him back, which was not a great sign. All she needed to further complicate her life—really goof it up—was to fall into some type of relationship with Molly's brother.

Talk about getting lumps of coal in your stocking.

“Are you sure?” he demanded of the caller. “One hundred percent positive?”

After listening a moment more, he hung up and stared at Jean.

“What? Is Molly all right?”

“Molly's better than all right. She's going far away to a safe place, and the Texas Rangers are pretty sure Morrissey and O'Bannion have both left the state. The Boston police are on the alert—they figure the two will head back home to the Boston area. So—” he shrugged “—I can take you home.”

“Take me home?” Her heart jumped wildly.

He nodded, but she caught a slight hesitation.

“Wait, why do you have to
take
me?”

“You're Molly's best friend and I owe it to her to get you safely out of here. The immediate threat seems to have passed, so there's no reason for you to be stuck here.”

“Oh,” she said, suddenly realizing she hadn't felt that “stuck” after all. “That's great.”

“Yeah. It's great.” He nodded. “You'll want to call your folks and let them know you're on your way home.”

“My cell phone has no charge left on it.” She could barely look at Sam. Her thoughts were in such a snarl. She was happy to be leaving Texas, wasn't she? And Sam?

He silently handed her his phone. Taking it from him, she thought about how she'd just found herself in his arms—quite willingly—and knew the best thing she could do was leave temptation behind. Especially since he seemed to be eager for her to go.

She dialed her mother, averting her gaze from Sam. “Hi, Mom. It's Jean.”

“Jean!” her mother caroled in her ear. “How was the wedding?”

“The wedding?” For some reason, it seemed like a long time since she'd been wearing the dreadful purple pouffy gown. “Oh, Mom, Molly decided not to get married after all.”

“Oh?” Her mother's voice fell, but then she perkily said, “Well, that's good news. Molly's such a practical girl! If she's decided to take some more time to think things through, I'm sure it's for the best.”

“I'm sure that's true,” Jean said, electing not to burst her mother's bubble at this moment.

“Where are you?”

“I'm…in Dallas, with Molly's brother, Sam.”

“Molly's brother? That's lovely! I'm sure he's every bit
as nice as Molly!” her mother exclaimed with abundant enthusiasm.

She glanced at Sam, who was clearly enjoying the conversation since he could hear her mother's less-than-dulcet voice. “He is nice,” she said reluctantly, knowing what was coming.

“Is he good-looking?” her mother asked.

She wanted to groan. “In a dark sense, I suppose.”

“Oh, I hope he looks like Patrick Dempsey on
Grey's Anatomy!
” her mother exclaimed.

Sam nodded enthusiastically. Jean raised a brow, thinking he was awfully sure of himself. Perhaps he did look a bit like the handsome actor, but when did Sam have time to watch TV anyway, she wondered crossly.

“What's Sam doing for Christmas?”

“I'm not sure, Mom.” She worked to keep the edge from her voice. Her mother was way too interested in the Ranger—and Jean didn't need well-meaning motherly interference right now.

“Does he want to come home with you? Since there's not going to be a wedding? I'm sure that's upset his holiday plans.”

“I don't think so, Mom. He's not quite like Molly.” Sam was looking altogether too confident. “Not as outgoing.”

“Oh, good, then he can keep your father company and watch football. They can keep Gigi from pulling the bows off the packages.”

Sam grinned. “Love to.”

She put a hand over the phone. “You'll be bored stiff.”

“Doesn't sound like it. I have to protect the Christmas presents from the lovable family pet. And help your father eat all the good food you were telling me about.” He rubbed his stomach, which, Jean couldn't help but notice, was extremely flat and no doubt washboardlike. A misty craving rose inside her, which she sternly told herself to ignore. “This is not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because you just kissed me.”

“So?”

She wrinkled her nose. There was practically a tripped alarm system the size of Fort Knox's going off inside her, though why, she wasn't exactly certain. Neither she nor Sam was the type to fall blindly into a relationship. But a kiss was a kiss, and it wasn't exactly something she'd say no to if it happened again—

Yes, I would. I could make sure Mom understands that there can be no mistletoe in the house. Who am I kidding? She'll have that parasitic plant in every nook, cranny and doorway
.

“Jean?” her mother said.

“Just a moment, Mom.” She covered the phone with her hand again. “Sam, you're Scrooge in jeans. My family's more like a Hallmark card.”

“Maybe I could use that in my life right now.”

He was being obstinate. “You're going to get my mother's hopes up,” she warned him. “She's not very subtle about wanting me married. Like every other mom, I suppose, she'd like grandchildren one day.”

“I've had women try to catch me before.”

“I'm not trying to catch you! Just the opposite!”

“I'd feel better if I was with you,” Sam said, very serious now, reminding her without saying so that the coast wasn't exactly clear. Not until O'Bannion and Morrissey were caught. “And your family.”

Great. He'd been playing at Romeo, and she'd been guarding her heart. “Mom expects everyone to help with the dishes,” she warned, her last attempt to discourage him from what she just knew was a very bad idea. But with a mischievous grin he put the cut-and-bake cookie roll into the refrigerator next to the lonely beer, clearly not worried in the least.

 

S
AM WATCHED
Jean walk out of the kitchen, presumably going to pack up her things. Or maybe to kick something. He couldn't fail to notice that she wasn't exactly thrilled about him coming to her family's house.

The thing was, he really wanted to go. Sam didn't have to protect Jean anymore. Someone else could do the job.

He wanted to be with her, plain and simple.

Oh, yeah, honesty required him to acknowledge that he wanted to spend more time with the Christmas-loving, bossy little Miss New England, even if it meant stepping into a Hallmark-card existence as she'd warned. It wouldn't kill him—and it just might kick his Scrooge-butt into the holiday spirit.

She poked her head into the kitchen. “I'm sure this is an obvious question, but are we driving or flying?”

Whatever gets me alone with you
. She was right about the kiss—something had gotten started there, although he wasn't quite sure what. Now that he knew how soft she was—and yet a bit on the spicy side with her temperament—he craved more. “Driving,” he said, “definitely driving.”

“It'll be about a twenty-eight-hour haul,” she told him, “and the road conditions may not be entirely favorable.”

“At this point, getting plane tickets would be difficult and expensive, and let's not forget the waits in the airports. The weather's bad, already meaning passenger pileup. I think our best bet is the open road.”

She nodded. “We could likely drive in the amount of time we could wind up sitting in uncomfortable chairs in an airport. And I bet the drive north will be really pretty at this time of year. I just hope you're good with a map.” She fixed deep blue eyes on him, her gaze hopeful.

“I have a GPS system. I'll have you home in plenty of time for Christmas,” he said, feeling every inch the big bad wolf.

 

S
AM PACKED
Jean's things into his car and handed her his keys. “You drive.”

“Me?”

“Aren't you a good driver?” He grinned at her and got into the passenger seat.

She slid into the driver's seat. “I've been told I drive like a grandma.”

“Would never have guessed that. Start the engine, Granny.”

She did, giving him one last wary glance. “Are you planning to nap or something?”

“Not quite yet. Drive to the end of the driveway.”

“Thank you, I think I could figure that much out.”

He couldn't help a smirk. “Just making sure you don't head to Mexico.”

She slowly went down the drive, getting used to the feel of his car. “I just want to get home before you change your mind.”

It would be best not to tell her that he was going to play lookout. Ranger-caution was second nature. From here, he could keep one eye out for danger and one eye on Jean.

The eye he had on Jean would definitely be the happiest. He'd never seen a woman look so gorgeous with so little makeup. She seemed completely comfortable in sweatpants, a sweater and boots, with her hair up in a ponytail. It started to snow, and fat wet flakes splatted against the windshield.

“We're not leaving a moment too soon,” he said. “I heard on the radio that there's a major storm blowing in.”

“Let's get out of here, then. I don't want any delays.”

She wanted to get home. It was also clear she didn't want to spend any more time alone with him. “Hey, if it upset you
that I kissed you, I'm… Well, I'm not sorry, but I'll be respectful of your wishes not to duplicate the action.”

She glanced at him. “Thank you.”

“Just wanted to get that straight in case we get stuck in a cabin somewhere due to the weather.”

She came to a complete stop at the end of the street. “We're not getting stuck
anywhere.
”

“I agree, it wouldn't be much fun,” he said, picking at her just a little to keep things friendly between them. He thought he detected a motion reflected in the passenger-side mirror, but when he turned and looked, the street was empty. He was overly cautious, he decided.

What am I doing here?
he asked himself. Why not just put Jean on a plane, say goodbye and tell her she was now the problem of the Boston police?

The only answer he had, and it wasn't really a good one, was that the whole Christmas thing was sneaking into his heart. He'd been shocked by his emotions when he'd come home and found his den decorated with holiday spirit—he'd never expected the rush of warmth and good cheer and all that utter nonsense. The tide of sentiment had taken his breath away. It was as if by opening those boxes and dragging out the contents Molly had so lovingly packed, Jean had shown him all the things he'd been missing in his life. She'd shone a light in his very lonely existence, and frankly, it had felt good to clean out the ol' emotional closet just a bit.

So now he was intrigued. Was it ingrained cop instincts that wouldn't let her go until he knew she was delivered safely into her family's arms?

Or was it just plain selfishness and curiosity about how much Christmas spirit she could bring into his life?

The adventure wouldn't kill him. And he had no other plans.

 

T
HREE HOURS LATER
they were at the Texarkana border. Snow was falling more heavily here than it had in Dallas. “I didn't know Texas got this much snow,” Jean remarked.

“White Christmases are rare except in the panhandle.”

She looked at him as she passed into Arkansas. “Did you enjoy your nap?”

“I wasn't napping. I was thinking.”

“About?” She turned on the windshield wipers, making sure the defroster was on, as well. No amount of snow was going to keep her from getting home.

“The diamonds.”

“Really? Did your Ranger friend have anything more to share about that?”

“It seems Boston's Internal Affairs Department is investigating the possibility that O'Bannion and Morrissey and a few other bad cops got wind of a diamond theft and in the takedown killed the real thief and kept the stones for themselves. The reason for all the drama at Molly's wedding, best as the Boston police can figure, is that no one's quite sure who's got them. So you have bad cops suspicious they're being double-crossed.” He shifted in the seat, eyeing the passenger-side mirror, which made her nervous, though she didn't say so. He'd been monitoring it regularly, almost as if he expected O'Bannion and his baddies to show up behind them at any second.

The very thought of the possibility sent shivers over her skin that had nothing to do with the cold. Still, she turned the heat in the truck up a notch. “I feel so sorry for Molly.”

He shrugged. “I'm not worried about Molly at this point because she wasn't the one they were aiming for.”

“Who was?” Jean still found it hard to believe there had been guns at a wedding.

“The target was you,” Sam said, “which is why I'm sitting
in this car going to New England. Where in New England are we headed, anyway? Some quaint-sounding little—”

“What are you talking about?” Jean demanded. “What do you mean,
I
was the target?” Her heart sped up nervously. She wanted to stop the car and wring Sam's neck for not telling her sooner. “I don't know anything about any diamonds except the one Molly was wearing.”