Christmas on My Mind (14 page)

“It's past Ethan's bedtime,” Ben said. “We need to be going.”

Jess gave him the empty roll pan to take home. “Please thank your mother,” she said, meeting his warm, sarsaparilla eyes. “And thanks to you both. You saved my life tonight.”

“Our pleasure,” Ben said. “Call you later. Come on, Ethan.”

As they were going out the door, Ethan gave Francine a wave. “Thanks for making it fun,” he said.

“Anytime, sweetie.” Francine watched the door close, making sure the cat was in. “What a little gentleman! He's going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up, just like his daddy!” She turned to Jess, frowning slightly. “You look like you just fell off the back of a wagon, girl. Run along to bed and get some sleep. I'll be staying up awhile to sort out my room, but don't worry. I'll turn the music way down so it won't bother you.”

With a muttered “thanks,” Jess stumbled off to shower and get ready for bed. She was still sleeping on Ben's camp cot with the air mattress, but tonight she was so tired she could've slept on a bed of rocks. She'd had a long day. There was still so much to do, and she'd already learned she couldn't count on her mother for much. But at least Ben had shown up to help, and he'd said he would call her. Dared she hope that he meant it? Or was he just getting ready to cut her loose?

She had yet to meet a man who didn't end up hurting her. And Ben was almost too good to be true. Would he turn out to be the one who didn't let her down? Or was she just making one more trek along that winding road to heartache?

Only time would answer that question.

* * *

“I'm proud of you,” Ben told his son as they drove home. “You did a great job tonight.”

“Thanks. It was fun for a while. But I got pretty tired.” Ethan yawned. “Jess is nice. Maybe you ought to marry her.”

Startled, Ben stomped the clutch to keep from killing the engine. “What put that idea into your head?”

“Well, if Mom can get married again, so can you. And I like Jess a lot better than I like Nigel.”

“That's not saying much. Anyway, what if Jess doesn't want to get married? She just bought a house and moved into it with her mother. Does that sound like a woman who wants to get married?”

“It sounds like you've thought about it—maybe a lot.”

“No, it doesn't. I'm just talking.”

“Okay.” Ethan yawned again and lapsed into silence. When Ben glanced over at him a minute later, he saw that Ethan had fallen asleep.

Looking at the boy, Ben ached with love and dread. That afternoon he'd phoned a lawyer friend to ask about his chances in court. The news hadn't been good. “Unless you can prove Cheryl's an unfit mother—which, I gather, she isn't—you'd just be wasting time and money,” his friend had told him. “If she won't agree to a change for the boy's sake, I'm afraid you're out of luck.”

Heartsick, he imagined his son in Boston, with a cold, authoritarian stepfather and a mother busy with her social life and a new baby. He imagined Ethan in boarding school, lonely, regimented, possibly bullied or even abused. He couldn't let that happen. But how could he convince Cheryl to change her mind?

Ben hadn't prayed or gone to church in years. Maybe that had been a mistake, because what he needed now was a damned miracle.

How was he going to tell Ethan? He hated to spoil his son's Christmas. But the boy would need time to prepare. Time might even give Ethan a chance to talk his mother into leaving him here. If there was any chance at all....

He swung the truck into the driveway, climbed out and walked around to the passenger side. Ethan was still asleep, his head drooping to one side like a tired puppy's. Ben unfastened the seat belt, eased his son into his arms and carried him into the house. He would wait a day or two longer, let the boy relax and enjoy the holiday before breaking the news, he resolved. In the meantime, he would hope for that miracle.

Right now, hope was all he had.

* * *

Jess woke to the wafting aromas of fresh coffee and frying bacon. She blinked, sat up and took a deep breath. Was she dreaming?

Raising her arms and arching her back, she stretched. Her muscles ached from last night's painting marathon. If the pain was real, that mouth-watering smell could be real too. Standing, she opened the bedroom door and padded into the kitchen.

Wrapped in an old chenille bathrobe, her face bare of makeup, Francine stood at the stove. She'd unpacked the cast iron cookware set and was using one of the skillets to fry a half-dozen strips of thick-sliced bacon. Fresh coffee dripped into the glass carafe on the coffeemaker.

“Hi, honey,” she said, giving Jess a grin. “Have a chair. I was about to scramble you some eggs.”

Still groggy, Jess stared around the kitchen. “Chair?”

“In the other room! Your place is all set! Go on, girl!”

Jess wandered into the living room and stopped short. The table had been uncovered and wiped clean, the chairs set up around it. Two places were set at one end—mismatched plates, cups and cutlery, freshly washed, with folded paper towels for napkins. A carton of milk, a jar of raspberry jam and a cube of butter sat on the table. Jess had just taken a seat when Francine waltzed in with the coffee and a plate of buttered toast.

“The rest is coming right up. This morning I wanted to treat my girl to a good, old-fashioned breakfast!”

Jess had never been a big breakfast eater, but Francine had gone to a lot of effort, and everything did smell wonderful. She poured a cup of coffee, added milk and spread jam on a slice of the warm toast. She was beginning to feel hungry.

Minutes later, Francine came out of the kitchen again. This time she balanced a plate piled high with golden scrambled eggs and strips of bacon. Taking the empty chair, she pushed the plate toward Jess. “Eat up, honey. We've got a long day ahead of us.”

Jess took two strips of bacon and a few modest scoops of scrambled eggs. The eggs were light and tender, almost airy. She tried a forkful. At the first taste, they almost melted on her tongue. The bacon was perfectly cooked—crisp but not overdone. She took a second bite, then a third.

“My heavens, Francine, this food is wonderful!” she muttered between bites. “Where did you learn to cook?”

Francine smiled. “Oh, here and there. I'm not much on lunches and dinners, but I do love to cook breakfast. I wasn't sure I'd remember how. It's been way too long since I had anybody to cook for. But it all came back once I got in that kitchen. Wait till you taste my flapjacks, and my hash browns.”

Jess was heaping more eggs on her plate when the idea struck her like a thunderbolt. She stared at her mother. “Francine, I've been worried about getting this bed-and-breakfast up and making money. What if we started with just breakfast? The bed part could come later, when we're ready.”

“Hmmm.” Francine looked thoughtful. “I don't know if—”

“Think about it,” Jess said. “The only place in town to sit down and eat is Buckaroo's. And they don't open till lunchtime. I'll bet a lot of people would enjoy a good breakfast and a cup of coffee to start the day. Just breakfast—we could close at ten or eleven and not be competing with Buckaroo's at all. You could cook. I could serve, help clean up, and handle the management. What do you think?”

Francine was silent for a moment; then she brightened. “You know, it just might work! I can see it now—” Her hands framed an imaginary sign. “Branding Iron Breakfast! We could add the bed part later.”

“That's perfect!” Jess said. “So, are you in?”

“All the way!” Francine reached over and clasped her hand. “Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

* * *

While Francine cleaned up after breakfast, Jess sat down with a notebook and made a list of things that needed to be done before they could open for business. They'd need to finish the living and dining rooms and buy more furniture. The big table would do for those who wanted to eat family style and visit. But she'd also need a couple of small tables, with chairs. They were going to need a business license, as well as TV and Internet service. A wall-mounted TV would be nice for people who liked to watch the morning news.

For now they could make do with the dishes they had—the mismatched plates and cups would add a homey touch. But sooner or later they'd need to upgrade. And they'd need something on the tables—maybe a spill-proof cloth with colorful place mats. And she'd need a couple of high chairs and booster seats for the little ones. The list was getting longer and longer.

“What about advertising?” Francine asked. “If you'll get me some supplies, I can make posters. I'll bet Hank would let us put one up in his store.”

“I could talk to the woman who owns Merle's Craft and Yarn,” Jess said. “Since it's right around the corner on Main Street, that would be the perfect place to advertise. I could offer to pay her, or maybe advertise her shop here.”

“We'll need menus with prices,” Francine said.

“I could buy a printer and do them on my laptop.” Jess was beginning to feel overwhelmed.

“How about if, for now, we just get a chalkboard and write our menu on it,” Francine suggested. “That should work fine, and we can change it anytime we need to.”

“Perfect.” Jess added a chalkboard to the list. And she'd need a way to run credit cards. At least she knew how from her waitressing days.

The idea had seemed so simple at first. But nothing was simple these days. Never mind, they had the basics. Now it was time to get going on the rest.

Chapter Fourteen

B
en was almost always on call for emergencies. But at least Sunday, a regular day off, gave him a rare chance to sleep late. This morning he was taking full advantage, drifting in and out of slumber, remembering how Jess had felt in his arms and plotting to get her back. Three days had passed since he'd helped her with the painting. Maybe today he'd have time to drop by the house and see how the project was coming along. They'd played phone tag a couple of times but hadn't managed to connect. He'd been busy, and he knew that she'd been busy too.

He'd just rolled over for a few more winks when he felt a light touch on his shoulder.

“Wake up, Dad.” Ethan's voice quivered with distress. Ben opened his eyes and sat up. His son's eyes were red and swollen from crying.

“What is it?” Ben reached out and pulled him close. From the kitchen downstairs, he could hear the muted rattle of pans and dishes and smell the faint aroma of bacon, a sign that his mother, at least, was all right.

Ethan quivered in his arms. “Mom called me this morning,” he blurted between sobs. “She and Nigel got married yesterday. She says I have to come to Boston after Christmas. They already signed me up for boarding school. Dad, I don't want to go! I want to stay with you!”

He flung his arms around Ben's neck and held on with all his strength. Ben's heart broke for his child. He'd meant to tell Ethan when the time was right, but Cheryl, in her brusque, no-nonsense way, had beaten him to it. “Did you tell her you want to stay here?”

He nodded. “I begged her. But she said they'd already paid the money. She said I'd thank them for it later on because it would give me advantages.” His wiry little body quivered. “I don't even know what that word means.”

Ben held his son tight, silently cursing Cheryl for her unfeeling decision, and himself for his inability to change things. Where was that miracle when he needed it?

“Can you talk to her?” Ethan asked. “Maybe Mom will listen to you.”

“I already tried. She wouldn't budge. I even talked to a lawyer, but he didn't give me any hope. Unless your mother changes her mind, there's nothing we can do. I'm sorry, son. I hadn't told you yet because I didn't want to spoil our Christmas.”

Ethan unwound his arms from Ben's neck and drew back. His nose made a snuffling sound as he sucked back his tears. “It's okay, Dad,” he said. “We can have a good Christmas anyway. Maybe Mom will change her mind.”

Ben had never been more proud of his son. But Cheryl had a mile-wide stubborn streak. Once she made up her mind about something, an army of Supreme Court justices would be hard put to change her thinking.

Breaking the mood, he rumpled Ethan's cowlicked hair. “Hey, didn't you promise your grandma you'd go to church with her this morning?” he asked. “You'd better wash up and get ready.”

“You could come too,” Ethan said.

Ben had stopped going to church in college and had never taken up the habit again. Since moving back in with his mother, his contribution to the Sabbath had been preparing an easy Sunday dinner for her. “If I walked into church, people would think I was there to arrest somebody, and they'd all be nervous,” he said. “That's my excuse and I'm sticking with it. We can do something fun this afternoon.”

“Like what? We can't go sledding, because there isn't any snow.”

“That's true.” Ben thought fast. “But I'll bet you've never tied fishing flies. Your grandpa taught me how years ago, and I've still got his old kit, feathers and all. It isn't easy to do a good job, but if you can make a few flies, we'll use them to catch fish next summer.”

With so many changes in the wind, would they still have next summer together?
Ben willed the question away. All he could do was hope.

“I'd like that,” Ethan said.

“Great. I'll find the kit and set it up.”

Ethan started for the door, then turned back. “I've seen my grandpa's picture, the one next to Grandma's bed. What was he like when he was alive?”

“He was gentle and brave and funny—the best father ever. You and he would have been great pals.”

The thought raised a lump in Ben's throat. He suppressed the rush of emotion. “Now run along and get ready to go with your grandma,” he said.

As Ethan scampered down the hall, Ben thought about going back to sleep. But he was wide awake now and, after his son's news, aching with the need to hear a certain sweet, sexy voice.

He found his cell on the nightstand and punched in Jess's number.

“Hi.” She sounded warm and sleepy. Ben felt the tension in his body begin to ease.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. I've turned up the heat, and I'm waiting for the place to get warm. Are you at work?”

“I'm in bed. How's it going with the house? Do you need any help today?” Jess had called him yesterday, bubbling over with her plan for a breakfast café.

“Thanks for the offer, but the muscle work is pretty much done. It's the details that are giving me fits now—the final decorating, the paperwork, the supplies, the promotion . . .” She gave a wry chuckle. “We plan to open this coming Saturday, with free coffee for bait. I hope this works, Ben. I don't know what I'll do if it doesn't.”

“A breakfast place is a great idea. You should do fine.” He wished he could give her an ironclad promise. Damn it, he'd give her the moon and stars if he could. After the bad breaks she'd had, Jess deserved some happiness.

“How's Francine doing?” he asked.

“All right, I think. She's not much for cleaning or painting or hauling. But she seems excited about the business. And wait till you taste her flapjacks and scrambled eggs!”

“Changing the subject,” he said, “could you use a break tonight? Maybe take a drive somewhere, get something light? With all this craziness Cheryl is causing, I need some time alone with you, just to talk if nothing else, and maybe take up where we left off the other night.”

There was silence on the other end of the call. Ben's heart dropped. Had he assumed too much?

After a moment's hesitation, she spoke. “That would be wonderful. I mean it. But we'll have to take a rain check. Tonight is Francine's first AA meeting in the basement of the church. I need to drive her there and make sure she stays.”

Ben sighed. “Yes, you'd be wise to do that. You're learning fast. But will you promise me some time for another night—soon?”

“I promise. If you don't call me, I'll call you.”

“I'm holding you to that,” he said, wishing he could hold her in a more intimate way. “I need you, lady.”

He heard the subtle intake of her breath. “I need you too,” she said.

Ending the call, Ben lay back and allowed himself a moment of sprawling contentment. At least something in his life was going well. Jess Ramsey made him feel as giddy as a teenager with a crush on the girl next door. Dared he hope that this beginning would lead to something good? Or was he headed down the familiar road to disappointment?

The voice of hard experience cautioned him to be wary. Ben tossed the warning aside like a piece of junk mail. For however long it lasted, he was enjoying the ride—and so far it felt damned good.

* * *

Jess had spent most of Sunday afternoon making posters to advertise her new business. Since she couldn't afford a commercial printer, she was making do with colored poster board, markers, glue and pictures cut from Francine's old magazines.

Hank had agreed to their putting up a poster in his store. So had the elderly woman who owned Merle's Craft and Yarn, in return for Jess's advertising her shop in the restaurant. Silas at the garage and Roxanne at the beauty parlor had accepted the same arrangement. Clara had donated a discarded bulletin board from her days at the library. It would go on one wall to serve as a community center for ads, public notices and messages.

Francine had helped with the posters early on, finding pictures and adding details in her surprisingly elegant hand. But after a couple of hours she'd tired of it and gone into her room to lie down. Left to finish alone, Jess lost track of time until she realized it was getting dark outside. She glanced at the clock. It was almost seven, time to get ready for Francine's seven-thirty AA meeting.

Leaving the poster supplies on the table, she stood, stretched the kinks out of her back and hurried down the hall to the closed door of her mother's room.

When a light rap got no response, Jess opened the door and stepped inside. Francine lay sprawled on her bed, fast asleep.

Leaning over her, Jess gave her shoulder a gentle shake. “Wake up, Francine,” she said. “We need to leave in a few minutes.”

“Huh?” Francine's false eyelashes fluttered as her eyes opened. “Leave for where?”

“Your AA meeting. You've known about it all week. We've got twenty minutes to get there.”

“Lemme sleep.” Closing her eyes again, she rolled toward the wall.

Jess shook her more firmly. “Come on,” she said. “You have to go. It's one of the terms of your probation.”

Francine rolled onto her back again and opened her eyes. “Listen, honey, I don't need that crap anymore. I've been cold sober for a month, ever since your boyfriend threw me in jail. Let's just say I went to the meeting, and we'll both be happy.”

It was definitely tough-love time. Jess folded her arms. “Do you want to end up back in jail?” she demanded. “You're coming with me now, or I'm phoning your probation officer first thing tomorrow.”

Francine didn't even twitch. “You wouldn't do that to your mother, honey. I know you better than that. Besides, you'll need me in that kitchen when we open.”

“Don't bet on that. If you aren't around, I can always hire somebody else—even if they can't cook like you do. Come on, we're wasting time.”

Francine's lower lip thrust outward in a childish pout. “If you're so all-fired determined, why don't you just go to that meeting yourself? Tell them I'm sick.”

“No you don't!” Jess could feel the frustration boiling inside her. “You owe me this, Francine! I've found you, taken you in, given you a home and a job! The least you can do is behave yourself!”

“I owe
you?
” Francine sat up. “Listen, girl, when I got pregnant with you, I could've had an abortion and been done with it. Instead I chose to have you and give you up so my little girl could have two parents and a good life.”

“A good life?”
Jess's seething temper boiled over. “Lord, is that what you think I've had?”

The whole story came spilling out of her—the absent father; the depressed mother; the motel rooms; the dreary, grinding jobs; the miserable marriage. “I might've been better off if you'd kept me!” She hurled the bitter words at her mother. “And you might have been better off too! Now you know!”

Francine didn't reply. Her face, through too-heavy makeup, looked drawn and weary, as if she'd just aged ten years. Jess had never planned to tell her mother the truth. Even now, she was sorry for the pain she'd caused. But the story was out, and it was too late to take it back.

For the space of a long breath, Francine sat in rigid silence. Then her shoulders sagged. She raked a hand through her Dolly Parton curls. “All right, you win,” she muttered. “I'll go to the meeting with you. Just give me a minute to check on the Sergeant. I want to make sure he's got food.”

She stood, picked up the fleece jacket she'd tossed over the dresser bench and slid her arms into the sleeves. “Go on and finish getting ready. I'll only be a minute,” she said, heading through the kitchen toward the basement stairs.

Jess ducked into the bathroom for a few minutes. When she came out, Sergeant Pepper was in the hall. Rubbing against her leg, he gave a rusty
mrowr,
his usual signal that he was hungry
.

“What are you doing here, boy?” she asked. “You're supposed to be getting food downstairs.”

As she spoke, realization slammed her.

“Francine!” She raced back through the kitchen and down the basement stairs, but there was no sign of her mother. Only the unlocked back door told Jess which way she'd gone out.

“Francine, come back!” Calling, she rushed out into the yard. But Francine, who would know every shortcut and back alleyway in town, had already disappeared.

* * *

Ben was tucking his son into bed after a Sunday afternoon of tying flies, watching videos and feasting on popcorn and root beer floats. “So, did you have a good day?” he asked.

“You bet.” Ethan's eyelids were already drooping.

“How was church with Grandma? Did you learn anything?”

“Uh-huh. The preacher said that if you want something, and it's something good, you should pray about it. I'm going to pray that Mom will change her mind and let me stay with you.”

Good luck with that.
Ben was moved by his son's childlike faith, but knowing Cheryl, Ben knew even God would have a hard time persuading her.

“Do you think that might help, Dad?”

“Couldn't hurt. We need all the help we can get.” Ben leaned over and skimmed a kiss on the boy's forehead. “Go to sleep, now. We'll talk more tomorrow, when we go to buy your new cowboy boots for the Christmas Ball.”