I'm Your Santa (13 page)

Her heart began to break for the poor little boy. “No one adopted…”

He shook his head. “I had a speech problem. I stuttered. I was passed over. No one seemed to want a child who wasn't perfect.”

She bit her bottom lip, crying on the inside for the child he used to be.

“It wasn't so bad,” he told her. “The woman who ran the place told me there was a higher power who would always love me. To Him I was perfect.”

She stood and knelt beside the bed, bringing his hand to her chest. “I'm so, so sorry.” She couldn't help herself, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, but immediately felt the heat.

She was momentarily blinded by what she was feeling and forgot that she'd initially set out to offer comfort as she lost herself in a kiss that deepened into more than just a brushing of her lips against his.

The world around her ceased to exist. All she could think about was the way he tasted, the way it felt pressed against him, his arms pulling her closer—no wait, that wasn't quite right. He wasn't pulling her nearer to him, but gently moving her back.

Her stomach began to churn. She'd practically forced herself on him. What did that make her? She didn't even want to think about it.

“I'm so sorry,” she said as she stood and rushed from the guesthouse.

She didn't stop until she was inside her home, leaning against the backdoor. Her ragged breathing a testament to the riot he'd caused inside her. What had she done? But then, she knew. She'd thrown herself at a preacher.

Oh great, he was probably a virgin.

The next morning Trey still hadn't shaken the guilt he'd felt last night. He eased to the side of the bed, careful of his sprained ankle.

Shake it off, man.
Guilt wasn't part of his vocabulary.

What the hell was he supposed to do when Bailey kissed him? When her lips had touched his, all rational thought fled. He'd gotten lost in the sweet taste of her mouth, and the kiss had quickly turned to heated passion.

And his body had reacted. The last thing he'd wanted was her to see the condition she'd caused and get confused. Hell, she would've been mortified.

Oh, he'd done exactly what he was supposed to do and played the part of Trey Jones, preacher. He knew the role well and exactly what had happened to the character as a child. He'd studied the script—every line. Including the fact that the character had been raised in an orphanage, never chosen for adoption.

Apparently, he'd given her his best performance because Bailey had bought every lie that fell from his lips. He hadn't expected the tears of pity to well in her eyes. For just a second, he might have felt a little remorse, but only for a second. Why should he feel any at all?

It's a role. A character in a movie for Pete's sake.

But he hadn't expected her to kiss him. That had taken him by surprise and he'd responded.

If she knew the truth, that he wasn't a preacher, she'd kill him. He wasn't even a poor orphan—not by a long shot. His acting had given him more money than one man could possibly spend in a lifetime.

He ran a hand through his hair.

His father was still alive and living in California. Orphanage—no. He'd been an only child; his mother had died when he was eight. His stomach knotted. No, he wouldn't feel guilt about that, either. It had been her choice.

He drew in a deep breath, staring out the window. There was a light on in one of the rooms. Bedroom? Was she just getting up? They were from two different worlds. She could never understand his.

Growing up hadn't been easy. His dad had worked hard to scrape by. A hard man who'd taught his son hard lessons, but it made him who he was. So his father had knocked him around a few times. It toughened him up. Made him realize nothing came easy in life. You had to claw your way to the top. Trey had proven it could be done. This role would measure his worth and he wouldn't let it slip through his fingers.

He stretched until he reached his suitcase, then dragged it to where he sat. A shower and clean clothes had never sounded so good. He needed to wash away the past.

He hobbled his way to the closet-size bathroom. As long as he didn't put weight on his foot, he was pretty much pain free…and bored. There was no way he would be able to stay holed up in the guesthouse for a week.

Not that he planned to. Interacting with people would give his acting more depth. That and the fact that Bailey intrigued him despite his knowing he was walking in dangerous territory when she was around.

Her brother was another matter. A cop. The sheriff of Two Creeks. He really knew how to pick them. It was a good thing Monty arranged for him to have everything he needed to pass himself off as Trey Jones, preacher. Made him wonder what his agent did before he became an agent. Shady past? He wouldn't doubt it. Everyone had their secrets.

Trey carefully removed the fake scar that ran down the side of his face and laid it to the side. Except for the darker hair, Jeremy Hunter stared back at him. He was surprised that he'd pulled off the transformation with only a couple of changes: fake scar, green contacts, and hair dyed black.

Why wouldn't he succeed? These people were honest. They didn't expect him to be anything less than what he told them. Correction, Bailey didn't. And he was a damn good actor.

He shaved first, then tested the water in the shower stall before stepping inside, leaving his wrapped foot on the outside of the plastic curtain so that it would stay marginally dry.

He was finished and drying off when he heard a knock. Bailey? Heat swept over him. He couldn't have stopped it even if he'd wanted to…and he didn't. He liked the way she made him feel.

“Come in,” he called, and then when he heard the door open and close, continued. “I'll only be a few more minutes. I was taking a shower.”

“Take your time. I thought you might want some breakfast.”

“You shouldn't have gone to any trouble.”

Her laughter was a little nervous. Probably because of last night.

“I didn't go to any trouble,” she told him. “I hate cooking. If I can't microwave it or use a toaster oven then I don't buy it.”

He'd pictured her in a frilly apron cooking up a storm. So, he was wrong on that account.

“For your dining pleasure I have microwaved sausage and biscuits. Name brand. Nothing but the best.”

He chuckled as he finished dressing. Before he left the bathroom, he made sure his scar was in place as well as his contacts. He opened the door before adjusting the crutches and stepping out. Maneuvering in the small area was a feat in itself but he managed.

And then he was looking at her. His gaze slowly drifting over her. She'd pulled her hair away from her face and wore a red turtleneck, jeans, and tennis shoes. She was beautiful, sexy, and the very essence of purity. And all she saw was a preacher. A shame.

Bailey could barely swallow. Her throat had gone dry the minute he'd stepped from the bathroom. When she'd gotten up this morning, she'd almost convinced herself that she'd only imagined how great Trey had looked.

Nope, he looked even better today.

“How's your foot?” she finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Still attached.” He grinned. Her heart flip-flopped. “I'll live.”

“Good. I mean, who wants a dead body in their guesthouse?” Open mouth, insert foot. She was doing that a lot. Maybe she should just change the subject. “Would you like to see some of the town? It's not much but if you want to get out, I'll be happy to chauffeur you around.”

When he turned the full power of his gorgeous green eyes on her, it was all her legs could do to hold her up.

“You read my mind.”

She only prayed he couldn't read hers. Mind out of gutter, she silently ordered. “You might need your jacket. It's not that bad today but a little chilly. But food first.”

“Keep me company,” he said, as he eased to the side of the bed.

Not a hardship at all. She sat in a nearby chair and looked pointedly at his bandaged foot. “I hope you didn't have to be somewhere.”

He shook his head and bit into the biscuit. “I travel to the people. I like it that way.” He raised the biscuit. “The best I've ever tasted. Better than a five-star restaurant.”

“Have you eaten in a lot of five-star restaurants?” Her smile wobbled when she saw his startled expression. There went her other foot. Of course he probably hadn't eaten in a five-star restaurant. He'd grown up in an orphanage, and he was a traveling preacher and probably as poor as a church mouse.

“I've never eaten in a five-star restaurant, either, if it makes you feel any better.” She laughed. “I'd be scared I wouldn't know which fork to use.”

Rather than answer her, he drained the glass of milk and was left with a milk mustache. “Ready.”

She laughed and grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the counter. When she went to dab the mustache away, his gaze met hers. She trembled from the heat of that one look. He reached up, his hand encircling hers. She drew in a shaky breath. He gave new meaning to the “got milk” phrase.

“Do I have a milk mustache?” he asked, breaking the spell.

She stepped back trying to think of something clever to say so he wouldn't guess what he did to her. “Yes, you do.” Oh, yeah, she'd really outdone herself with that one.

“Ready?”

She nodded as she stood.

He slipped on his coat, then reached for his crutches. At the last minute, he turned and scooped up his bible. “Never leave home without it.” He smiled.

He was so godly, and she was such a sinner. And a liar to boot. She'd wanted to be in his company. Who wouldn't? The guy could be a centerfold for
Playgirl
.

And he was an orphan. Poor man. Her heart had nearly broken when he told his story last night.

Then she'd thrown herself at him. How pathetic. How could she have kissed him? “About last night…”

“I've been meaning to mention that.”

Here it comes. He was going to have her do penance or something. Pray for forgiveness. Go without chocolate for a month…No, surely he wouldn't go to that extreme. It was just a kiss. A very heated kiss. Her body tingled to awareness.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” he said.

Thank you? She'd been told she was a good kisser. Somehow coming from Trey it meant more. Then again, how much experience could he have?

“I listen to a lot of people in my profession,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “It was nice having someone listen to me.”

Oh, not the kiss after all. Her ego quickly deflated. So much for getting a compliment about her kissing abilities. She had to keep remembering he was a preacher. If he were embarrassed to talk about it then she wouldn't mention it, either.

At least he'd saved her embarrassment by not bringing up the kiss. She wasn't about to push her luck and hurried out the door, holding it open for him as he slowly made his way down the steps, then a little faster to her car.

She opened the passenger door for him and waited while he eased inside before she shut the door, then hurried to her side and got in. He didn't say anything as she turned the key, then backed out of the driveway, and headed toward town.

The silence was unnerving. She finally broke it.

“The town was established in 1870. It sits between two rivers. The early Indians said that it would never be hit by a tornado because of that.” She glanced at him. He didn't look that enthused with her history lesson.

“And they believed it?” he asked.

She relaxed. Maybe he was a little interested. She continued, “Apparently not since most everyone has a storm cellar.” She slowly drove around the square. The Christmas decorations were a little frayed, but festive. Colored lights were strung from each business and there were red bows on the doors. Santa Claus sat in a big white chair handing out candy canes by the old matinee turned community theater.

“It's small,” he pointed out the obvious. “Uh…quaint.”

She chuckled. “I know what you mean. When I graduated from high school all I could think about was getting out of Two Creeks and going to college. Freedom at last.”

“Did the city live up to your expectations?”

“Not really. I missed everything I thought I wanted to escape. The people, the places.”

“And what places did you go to in Two Creeks?”

She arched an eyebrow. “We have a park. I walked there every day during the summer. It's a very nice park.” She drove a couple of blocks and pulled into the parking area. “Isn't this the best playground you've ever seen?”

“The absolute best.” He grinned.

He had a very nice smile. She faced front. Much safer to look at the playground equipment. “I used to swing in the middle one.” She pointed toward a group of three swings. “My friend Amy was on one side and Maggie on the other.” She sighed, remembering as if it were yesterday.

“And where are they now?”

“Amy is a model and Maggie a lawyer. They moved to the big city and stayed, but we get together when they come home. We all meet at the park and catch up with what's going on.”

“And you got your teaching degree and came home.”

She shrugged. “What can I say, I love Two Creeks. We're down to earth, and we have very little crime.” Well, except when John Cavenaugh blew into town and attempted to kill Wade and Fallon. Other than that minor incident, it was fairly quiet. Hardly even worth mentioning. “What more could you ask for?”

“Big city, excitement, restaurants, shows…a little variety?”

She studied him. Why would a preacher be interested in material things? He met her gaze and cleared his throat.

“That is, for regular people. I'm perfectly content no matter where I'm at.”

Of course. They'd been talking about small town versus big city and nothing specific. For a second there she had begun to question Trey and if he was actually telling the truth about his background. She was getting as paranoid as Wade. She wasn't suspicious by nature and she didn't want to start now. Or maybe it had been wishful thinking on her part.

She started the car. “How do you feel about the theater?”

He choked.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Uh, exactly what do you mean?” he finally asked after his coughing spell ended.

“My sister-in-law is in charge of the community theater.” She grinned. “I have the lead in the Christmas play and rehearsal is in twenty minutes. How would you like to sit in the audience and check us for accuracy?”