Christmas on My Mind (16 page)

“I've got friends. They've kept track of you for me. No way you could run far enough or fast enough to get lost.”

“What is it you want, Gil? If it's money, forget it.”

“I know you aren't rich, baby. And I know I won't be gettin' any of what I really want—not from you, at least. I just called to let you know I was free and still thinking about you.”

His words made her skin crawl. She wanted to fling the phone against the wall and smash it to pieces. But no, Jess reminded herself, the more she could learn from her ex, the less likely she was to be caught off guard.

“So, do you have plans? What are you going to do?” She willed herself to stay calm.

“Don't rightly know yet. Guess I could always go back to selling insurance.” He laughed at his own bitter joke. “For now I'm just checking in with old friends to say hello. Maybe I'll drop by and pay you a visit one of these days.”

Dread ran an icy finger down Jess's back. She'd changed her phone number early on, but he'd had no trouble finding the new one. Did he know where she lived as well, or was he waiting for her to give him a clue?

“Don't bother to come by,” she said. “I wish you well, but I don't have anything to say to you.”

His laugh was razor-edged. “Well, maybe I have a few things to say to you. And maybe you need to hear them. See you around, baby.”

He ended the call. Jess was left sitting up in bed, her body quivering as she clutched the phone. Until now, she'd put Gil behind her, like a bad dream. She hadn't given much thought to his getting out of prison, or what he might do to her given the chance. But she had to think about it now.

It didn't make sense that he would harm her physically. Gil was a white-collar criminal. He was mean, but he wasn't stupid. An assault charge would land him right back in prison. As for murder . . . Jess choked back a wave of nausea. If he was crazy enough to have her killed, or do it himself, he would be the number one suspect. He had to know he'd never get away with it.

In any case, Jess reminded herself, he'd be on parole. If he got caught leaving Missouri, he could be locked up again. Surely he wouldn't take that risk.

Gil was playing a mind game, she surmised—not unlike the control games he'd played when they were married. He wanted to reach out and make her uncomfortable, to unsettle her, even to terrorize her.

Should she tell Ben?

Not yet, she decided. Between his job and his son, Ben had enough worries. Besides, as sheriff, what could he do? Gil had paid his debt to society. Unless he began stalking her or threatening her, the man wasn't doing anything illegal.

She wouldn't tell Francine either. Her mother was liable to fly into a protective panic and go running to Ben with the story. For now, Jess decided, silence was the best option. Gil would do his best to push her buttons. No doubt he would call her again, maybe even show up if he knew where she lived. But he could rattle her only if she let him. And that wasn't going to happen.

She was no longer the submissive little wife he'd browbeaten and bullied for years. She could stand up for herself—and she would.

* * *

The following Saturday morning, at 7:30
AM
, Branding Iron Breakfast opened its doors for business. The tables were set. The tree was glowing. Christmas music drifted from Francine's boom box. A bayberry candle scented the room. The first batch of coffee was brewed, the bacon fried and warming in the oven, the eggs ready for whisking, the pancake batter mixed, and the bread ready for popping into the toaster.

But now it was nearly eight. Where were the customers?

Jess and Francine stood at the newly installed storm door, their breaths clouding the frigid glass. The morning was overcast. An icy wind whistled through the bare trees. It wasn't the best of days, but the empty chairs and tables could hardly be blamed on the weather.

Jess tried to ignore her gnawing worry. “I thought for sure the free coffee would bring people in,” she said. “Maybe we should've paid for an ad on the radio.”

Francine sighed. “Maybe we shouldn't have opened so early. It's Saturday, you know. Some folks like to sleep late.”

“You're probably right. For now, all we can do is wait and hope.” Jess was nursing a headache. She'd been too nervous about the opening to sleep last night. To make matters worse, Gil had called her again at two
AM
, just to pull her strings. Refusing to play his game, she'd hung up on him and turned off her phone; but the call had left her with a knot in her stomach. If her ex-husband could find a way to ruin her life, he'd do it in a New York minute, laughing all the way.

Why did this have to happen now, right when she had so much to lose?

“Look!” Francine nudged her, snapping her attention back to the present. Three figures, bundled against the cold, were coming up the walk. Only when they got to the door and began to peel off their wraps did Jess recognize Connie, Silas and Katie.

While Francine dashed back to the kitchen, Jess welcomed them in. “My goodness!” Connie unwound her scarf and hung it on the coat rack. “Are we the first ones here? I thought the place would be packed by now.”

“It's early yet.” Jess's words came out breathless. “Have a seat. The menu's on the chalkboard. Do you want to sit at the big table or one of the small ones?”

“The big one,” Connie said. “Maybe we'll get some nice company.”

Jess took their coats, then darted into the kitchen for fresh coffee and toast. She came out again just as Ben, Clara and Ethan walked in the door. As Ben took his mother's coat and helped her to a chair at the big table, he caught Jess's eye. His secret smile buoyed her spirit. But she had no time to savor the feeling. More customers were coming up the front steps.

* * *

Ben sipped his coffee and watched Jess flit from table to table, taking orders, chatting with guests, serving meals and clearing away dishes. He couldn't have been more proud of her. She'd taken on this old house, and her alcoholic mother, and created something good.

Branding Iron Breakfast was a hit. True, some customers, like Silas's family and Hank, who'd wandered into the kitchen, had come here out of friendship. But there were plenty of strangers here too. Everybody seemed to be enjoying the cozy atmosphere and tasty food. Who would've guessed that Francine was such a terrific cook?

Ben's gaze followed Jess as she stacked dishes on a tray and carried them to the kitchen. She'd mentioned having worked as a waitress, and the lady was a pro. But as he watched her, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Some stress over the new business would be natural, but this was more. Her smile seemed forced, her beautiful eyes slightly averted, as if focused on some dark inner secret. Something was bothering her. If he could find out what it was, maybe he could help, or at least offer some understanding.

Shane Taggart had just come in with his family and taken a seat at one of the tables. Last year Ben's best friend had been ready to sell the family ranch and tour the country on his motorcycle. Then spunky, widowed Kylie, with her two children, had shown up, and Shane had fallen like a ton of bricks. Now, with Kylie expecting, Shane had never looked happier.

Was the same thing possible for him, Ben wondered. He'd met a wonderful woman, and he'd caught himself imagining what it would be like waking up to her sweet, sexy face every morning. But no, he wasn't Shane. He was still saddled with baggage from one unhappy marriage. Add the weight of concern for his mother and son, and he wouldn't have the time or energy to satisfy a wife. The last thing he wanted was another disaster like his first marriage.

Ben glanced at his watch. Today was a workday for him. Ethan and his mother had finished their plates. It was time he took them home and reported in. But first he needed to pay.

Catching Jess's eye, he flashed his credit card. She shook her head emphatically and mouthed the words,
Not on your life!

Since arguing with her would create a scene, Ben let it go. Pocketing the card, he mouthed
Thanks
, then helped his mother up and got her coat. He would settle with Jess later. Maybe that would give him a chance to find out what was bothering her.

At the door, he turned to say good-bye and thank her again. But Jess had vanished into the kitchen.

* * *

It was 10:35 when Jess shooed the last customer out the door and sank onto the overstuffed couch she'd picked up at an estate sale. Her feet ached and her arms were sore from carrying heavy trays and plates, but the satisfaction she felt was worth the pain. Branding Iron Breakfast was off to a great start.

Francine walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. She looked exhausted, but her face wore a grin. Arriving at the couch, she gave Jess a resounding high-five. “By glory, we did it, girl! We're in business!”

“Sit down,” Jess said. “I'll get us some coffee if there's any left.”

“There should be.” Francine collapsed on a chair. “I made enough to fill a bathtub.”

Jess filled two cups, added cream and brought them back to the coffee table, along with a saucer of leftover toast. “I'm glad I agreed to be on the Christmas Ball committee,” she said. “The ladies supported me by showing up and bringing their families—all except Maybelle, that is. I wonder why she didn't come.”

“Maybelle Ferguson?” Francine laughed. “Honey, Maybelle wouldn't be caught within a country mile of this place. She's never forgiven me for stealing her boyfriend.”

Jess's hand splattered coffee on the table. She stared at her mother. “Her boyfriend? Are you talking about—?”

“About your father?” Francine grinned. “That's right. Maybelle was older than I was, and she was a looker in her day. She thought she had that handsome redheaded cowboy roped and tied. But she was wrong. If Maybelle had had her way, you wouldn't be here.”

“And maybe you would've wed Hank.” Jess spoke to mask a surge of emotion. She had Clara's story, but until now Francine had revealed next to nothing about the man she'd loved.

“Maybe,” Francine said. “Maybe not. But Maybelle hung on to her anger for years. She let it turn her into a sour old maid.”

“Poor Maybelle.” Jess had believed the woman was just a natural snob. So much for snap judgments. In view of what she'd just learned, Maybelle's goodwill in inviting her to help with the tickets was an act of true generosity. And that night in the Christmas tree lot, when she'd caught Maybelle eyeing her—maybe she was just thinking of how her own daughter might have looked.

“I'm glad we decided not to open on Sundays,” Jess said, changing the subject. “I'll be needing tomorrow just to recover.”

“The weekdays are liable to be slower, with folks stopping by for a quick coffee,” Francine said. “But next Saturday could be the biggest day yet. The Christmas parade starts at eleven. People will be in town for that, and for the Cowboy Christmas Ball that night. Too bad we don't have bedrooms ready.”

“That was the plan. But now, looking at how much work we have left to do, we would never have made it.”

“I've got an idea for Saturdays that could save us both,” Francine said. “Why not get some warming pans and set up a buffet table. We could charge a flat price for one time through with a plate. No menu. No order taking. Just keeping the table stocked, refills on coffee and cleanup when folks are done.”

“Great idea. The setup would take some work, but it would save everybody time. And speaking of cleanup—” Jess cast her gaze around the dining room. “This place isn't going to get spick-and-span by itself.” She pushed to her feet and had begun to wipe the tables when a sudden question struck her.

“Francine, I never thought to ask you. Are you going to the Christmas Ball?”

Francine was headed for the kitchen. She paused in the doorway. “You bet I am,” she said. “I go every year. My costume's packed away in one of those boxes we brought over from the trailer. Wait till you see me in it!”

While Francine cleaned up the kitchen, Jess polished the tables and swept the floor. Maybe by next weekend they could hire a teen to wash the dishes and help with the cleanup. That would make everything easier.

Where had the time gone? It seemed like only yesterday when her car had broken down on the way to Branding Iron. Now she had a business with her mother as a partner. She had friends, and she'd met a man who made her heart sing. Once a stranger, she was beginning to feel as if she belonged here.

The Cowboy Christmas Ball was just a week away. It was only a party, Jess told herself. But she couldn't help feeling as if the night would mark a turning point in her life, when everything would fall into place—or shatter into dust.

Chapter Sixteen

A
s usual, Saturday morning had kept Ben busy. He'd done follow-up interviews with the husband and wife on a domestic call, checked evidence on a break-in at the local convenience store, and pacified the farmer who'd caught a pair of teenage lovers in his barn last night—not exactly the stuff of TV crime drama, but it was all part of keeping this small community a safe place to live.

Every case required a written report, which Ben liked to fill in while his memory was fresh. By the time he found a moment to rest at his desk and have a fresh cup of coffee, it was almost two in the afternoon.

Jess had been on his mind all morning. Her nervous look had stayed with him since breakfast—especially after a sudden hunch had struck him like a thunderbolt. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he'd become that his hunch was right.

Now, alone in his quiet office, he finally had a chance to check it out.

Bringing up the NICS site on his computer, he found the link to the file on Gilbert McConnell. His jaw tightened as he read down the page to the most recent entry.

Ten days ago, McConnell had been granted early release and was on parole.

Ben swore under his breath. He would bet ten years of his life the bastard had already tracked down Jess, contacted her and was out to settle the score. His parole would require that he stay in Missouri. But if McConnell was obsessed with revenge, that might not be enough to keep him there.

The protective urge that rose in Ben was as overpowering as an earthquake. His woman was in danger, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her from harm. Somehow, over the past weeks, she'd become precious to him—so precious that he could no longer imagine a future without her in it.

It didn't matter that she had a dysfunctional mother, a criminal ex-husband and a scandalous past. It didn't matter that he was already burdened with as much responsibility as he could handle. He hadn't chosen to fall in love. But love had chosen him, and there it was.

Ben had never been one for relationship games. Now that he was sure of his feelings, the next step would be to make sure Jess felt the same way about him. If the answer was yes, he would do whatever it took to make her his, he hoped, with an engagement ring on her finger. Once they made it that far, they could figure out the complications of family and housing over the next few months.

There were bound to be some rough patches ahead. But with both of them trying, they just might be able to make this crazy thing work.

She would be at the Christmas Ball. So would he. That could be a good time to lay his heart on the line.

Right now, however, his first priority was keeping her safe.

Unless he'd misread her signals, Jess knew her husband was out of prison. It troubled Ben that she hadn't told him. But she was a proud little thing. Maybe she didn't want him to worry. Maybe she thought she could handle McConnell herself. But she was wrong. Ben had seen people murdered for less than what she'd done to that man.

His call to her phone went immediately to voice mail. He was waiting to try her again when a call came in about a biker gang threatening folks at Rowdy's Roost. With Jess still on his mind, Ben grabbed a deputy and headed for his SUV. He was liable to be tied up most of the afternoon. But maybe Jess's problem would be best handled in person. After work, he would drop by the house, tell her what he'd learned and let her know he was looking out for her.

He could only guess how much she'd told her mother, but Francine needed to be kept in the loop. For Jess's protection, and for her own, she needed to know everything.

Toward the end of his shift, he called his mother to check on Ethan and see if they needed anything. Ethan, he learned, was at the neighbors' playing video games. Meanwhile, his mother had unpacked Ellie's Christmas Ball gown, pressed it and basted up the hem. If he wouldn't mind dropping it off to Jess, then she could try it on to make sure it would fit.

Welcoming the added excuse to see Jess, Ben picked up the dress after work and drove to her house. He found Jess in a paint-spattered sweatshirt and rubber gloves, polishing the table and chairs.

“Don't you ever relax?” he asked, laying the gown over the back of the couch.

“That'll have to wait till I'm rich,” she said, giving him a smile.

“Where's Francine?”

“Taking it easy. Fixing all those breakfasts wore her out.” She gave him a knowing look. “That was our deal. She cooks, I do the grunge work. Now that you've tasted her cooking, you'll have to admit it was a good idea.”

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Francine appeared in the hallway, wearing black stretch pants, a baggy red sweater and a muzzy look, as if she'd been napping. Her gaze fell on the gown. “Oh, that's lovely! That deep green will be gorgeous with your red hair, honey.”

“My mother sent me here with orders to have you try it on, Jess,” Ben said. “She's already ironed it and taken up the hem. If it doesn't fit, she wants it back so she can alter it.”

“Oh dear, I could've done all that and saved her the work.” Leaving the polish and the rag on the table, Jess stripped off her gloves and crossed the room to the couch. Her fingertips brushed the soft cotton velveteen. “It really is beautiful—almost too beautiful to wear.”

“Go put it on,” Francine said. “I want to see you in it.”

Jess hesitated, then, picking up the gown as if it were a priceless treasure, she carried it down the hall, leaving Ben alone with her mother.

“Sit down, Francine. We need to talk.” Ben motioned her to the couch. “I didn't just come to bring the dress.”

“What is it?” she asked as he joined her. “You look as gloomy as an undertaker's hound.”

Ben got right to the point. “How much has Jess told you about her ex-husband?”

“Just that she had a lousy marriage. If I ever run into that jerk, I'll black both his eyes.”

“So she didn't tell you he'd gone to prison—mostly on her testimony?”

Seeing Francine's surprised look, Ben gave her a quick recap. “He just got out on parole. And I'm afraid he may be contacting Jess. He may even be planning to show up here.”

“But why wouldn't she have told me?”

“Probably because she didn't want to worry you, or involve you in her problems. But I'm telling you now because I need your help.”

“You got it. I'd fight man-eating tigers barehanded for that girl.”

“Not quite that.” Ben suppressed a smile. This was serious business. “I need you to help me convince her she's in real danger. And I need you to keep your eyes open. If you notice somebody strange hanging around, or even a change in Jess's behavior, I want you to let me know.”

“You're saying you want my mother to spy on me?” Jess stood in the entrance to the hallway, her eyes blazing.

Ben stifled a groan, knowing he was in trouble. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough. I needed help with the zipper.” She stood rigid as a poker, the dark green, lace-trimmed gown hanging off one shoulder. Francine had been right about the color. Even mad enough to spit lead, Jess looked ravishing.

“I'll get it.” Francine rose and hurried to step behind her and pull up the zipper tab. “There, honey. Oh my, it fits like it was made for you.”

Quivering with outrage, Jess flung her words at him. “I appreciate what you've done for me, Ben. But this time you've crossed the line. Checking up on me, managing me behind my back, asking my mother to report to you—I won't have it! I'm not a child! I can take care of my own problems—and that includes my ex-husband!”

Ben stood and took a step toward her. “All I want is to keep you safe, Jess. You think you know your ex, but you don't know how prison can change a man. He could hurt you. Damn it, he could kill you!”

She drew herself up. Her gaze was icy. “Please thank your mother for the dress. Tell her it's perfect, and that I'll have it cleaned before I give it back. Now please leave before I say something I'll regret.”

Ben turned away and walked toward the door. He knew better than to hope Jess would crumble and call him back. She was a tough woman, scarred by past hurts. Trust didn't come easy to her. And once that trust was broken, she would be hard-pressed to forgive.

His intentions had been the best. But he tended to be overprotective of those he loved, and this time he'd gone too far. Now he could only walk away, give her time and hope to God he hadn't lost her for good.

* * *

The days of the week had crawled past—leaden days for Ben, without Jess in his life. Every day, he'd checked McConnell's parole record on line. So far, Jess's ex seemed to be behaving himself. He'd reported to his P.O. when required. He'd even applied for a sales job. Everything looked good. Too good. Ben could feel it in his bones—the bastard was up to something.

On Wednesday he'd stopped by Branding Iron Breakfast for a cup of coffee, hoping Jess would have something to say to him. She'd been outwardly pleasant, but he could feel the chill in her manner as she filled his cup and hurried away to serve other customers. Knowing better than to push her, he'd finished his coffee, laid a bill under the saucer and left.

At least she was all right, and her new business was doing well. Still, he worried about her safety. He could only hope Francine would warn him at the first sign of danger.

But Jess was far from the only worry on his mind. His time with Ethan was draining away like the sand in an hourglass. Boston and boarding school loomed closer every day, the prospect as ominous as a prison sentence. Ethan was doing his best to keep up a brave face, but he was so young, so scared of what lay ahead. Cheryl had already sent his airline ticket. Ben had bought himself a ticket for the same flight, so the boy wouldn't have to travel alone. Cheryl wouldn't be happy about his showing up and demanding to see the boarding school for himself, but it was the least he could do for his son.

Now it was Friday, the night before Branding Iron's Christmas celebration. Ben had taken Ethan to a movie, where they'd stuffed themselves with popcorn and hooted with laughter at the cartoon antics. Returning home, he'd shooed Ethan off to get ready for bed, then gone to his room to tuck him in.

“Sleep tight,” he said. “Tomorrow's the parade and the Cowboy Christmas Ball. It'll be a big day.”

“I know.” Ethan lay back on the pillow, tousled and sleepy. “Dad, I'm still praying,” he said.

“You do that.” Ben rumpled his son's hair and left the room. Not that praying would do any good, he told himself. Boarding school in Boston was pretty much a done deal.

Ben rested fitfully that night, tossing and turning between the tangled sheets, his mind churning with unresolved worries. It was after midnight before he sank into a deep sleep—a sleep that was shattered a few hours later by the ringing of his cell phone.

His heart slammed. He was used to emergency calls at all hours, but what if this one was about Jess? What if her ex had shown up?

He grabbed the phone. “Hullo?”

“Ben . . . it's Cheryl.” She sounded as if she'd been crying.

“What is it? Are you all right—you and the baby?”

There was a pause. “Yes. I'm—we're—fine. It's nothing like that.”

“Then what's wrong?”

“Ethan—” The name ended in a sob.

“He's fine. He's asleep. What's the matter?”

“It's Nigel. . . . I overheard him, talking to his father on the phone. The things he said—”

“Slow down. Just tell me.”

Ben could hear her anguished breaths as she tried to compose herself. “He said that raising his own child was one thing. But he didn't want anything to do with . . . with another man's brat. That's what he called Ethan—a
brat!
”

“Go on.” Ben felt his pulse quicken.

“He said he didn't want Ethan around at all—that he planned to keep him in boarding school till he was old enough to be on his own. And he's already filed papers to make sure Ethan won't get a cent of the family money. Ben, it killed me. I had no idea Nigel could be so . . . so hard-hearted. And now I've married him. I'm having his baby!”

“Why are you calling me, Cheryl?” Ben's heart was racing. He knew what he wanted to hear, but the words had to come from her.

Her breath sounded drawn through tears. “I love my son too much to raise him here, with a stepfather who can't stand the sight of him. Ethan has begged me to let him stay with you and go to school. Could you keep him, for now at least? We can work out the details later.”

Ben wanted to shout for joy, but he kept his voice calm, his words measured. “I guess I could do that. Do you want me to tell Ethan, or would you rather break the news yourself? It's early here. You might want to wait.”

“Yes. I should be the one to tell him. I'll call him in an hour. Thank you, Ben.” She ended the call.

Too elated to go back to sleep, Ben stretched out in the bed and watched the first rays of dawn steal through the curtains. The reality was still sinking in. He had his Christmas miracle. Against all odds, Cheryl had changed her mind. Maybe Ethan's prayers had been answered after all.

* * *

Jess carried a fresh pan of scrambled eggs to the table and scooped them into the warmer, then raced back to the kitchen for more flapjacks. The Saturday breakfast buffet had turned out to be a great idea. People were streaming in, anxious to eat and get a spot to watch the Christmas parade. Instead of waiting to be served, they could pay, help themselves to whatever they liked at the table, eat and head out for Main Street.