A Texas Christmas Reunion Read online

  “You made a stocking for my dog?”

  His dark eyebrows arched, causing small furrows to crease his forehead while he came down the stairs.

  “Poor sweet girl, I just thought she ought to have one.”

  “You are an exceptional woman, Juliette Lindor.” He set the pup on the floor then stepped closer to her than he ought to. “In every way.”

  His gaze on her seemed appreciative—and...and was he going to thank her with a kiss?

  It seemed so. He lowered his head, inch by slow inch. The appreciation in his brown-sugar gaze flared, turned hotter. To pure desire—a quickening in the blood.

  She knew because she recognized the answering heat thrumming under the surface of her skin.

  Nothing would be as sweet as leaning into that kiss, forgetting every caution that she had just ticked off in her head.

  Would it be so horrible to indulge in what she had long dreamed of?

  A tinkle of water softly tapped the floor near her feet.

  Trea grunted then, stepped back.

  Apparently she was saved from taking an ill-advised step by a puppy’s full bladder.

  “We were on our way outside.” He frowned and shook his head, causing a wave of rich, dark brown hair to dip rakishly across one eye. “I’m sorry. I will not let that happen again.”

  “I wouldn’t take it to heart if it does,” she answered with a wink. “Don’t forget I’ve got two babies who spring leaks all day long.”

  “Juliette, I meant—”

  “She’s squatting again,” she said quickly, because she knew what it was he meant. She just did not know how to feel about it.

  To be honest, it was not an apology she wanted.

  It was a kiss.

  A kiss that would not happen. For the sake of so many, it could not.

  * * *

  Trea carried Dixie to a leafless bush a short distance beyond the hotel kitchen and set her on the dirt.

  “Good girl. You wouldn’t know it but you rescued me from behaving like my old self. Juliette will never believe I’m changed if I pounce upon her like an undisciplined heathen. Be quick about this, won’t you? It’s freezing out here.” He stared up at the stars while he waited. If it was this cold down here, what must it be like way up there? “Shouldn’t have been staring at her like that, either. But you saw her, she was just so damn pretty. I may be a changed man, dog, but still, I’m a man.”

  And she was temptation in a buttoned-to-the-chin blue-checkered dress.

  Dixie scratched the dirt, apparently finished. He scooped her up and tucked her under his jacket.

  “I forgot how good it is to have a dog to talk to. Let’s go back in and admire your stocking.”

  Opening the front door, he saw Juliette with her arms raised over her head, tapping a nail into the rustic mantel. The stocking was not the only thing he admired.

  Right there was the proof that it was going to take more than five minutes in the frigid air to cool off his yearning for her.

  “Ouch!” She dropped the hammer and sucked on her thumb.

  “Let me do it.” He set Dixie down, hurried over and snatched her hand.

  She blinked and her blue eyes shot wide, startled. He shouldn’t do it but he laughed. “I’ll pound the nail, is all I meant. Although—?”

  He turned her hand this way and that, checking for injury—all the while admiring the long, slender fingers, the delicate knuckles and the smooth texture of her fair skin, slightly reddened by hard work.

  “You can’t not do that, can you?”

  “Hammer nails? I’ve done it all my life.”

  “Flirt. It’s something you can’t help—like some folks tell jokes and others—” Her voice trailed off. “I’d better check on my father-in-law. He’s been quiet for longer than he usually is.”

  The thing was, even though she said that, she made no attempt to pull her fingers from his touch.

  “I came here to teach school because I owe this town a debt. But flirting with you—”

  The front door opened with a crash.

  “Hate to interrupt this tender scene, but I reckon this belongs to you, Mrs. Lindor.”

  Trea’s father spotted a chair, a new one that no one had used yet. He dumped Warren Lindor upon it. Given the scent of alcohol on him, he’d no doubt been dragged from The Fickle Dog.

  “Father Lindor!” Julia rushed to him, knelt down beside the chair. “What have you done?”

  “He’s peed himself.”

  In Trea’s opinion, his father didn’t look much cleaner.

  “You don’t look well, yourself, Pa.” Trea crossed the room, touched the old man’s forehead with the backs of his fingers. His skin felt feverish.

  His father slapped his hand away. The only thing surprising about the rebuff was the way it made Trea feel. As a kid, he’d always felt crushed by his father’s rejection.

  Tonight, he didn’t. The man was who he was. Trea was under no illusion that his father would ever welcome him with open arms.

  Which did not lessen Trea’s responsibility to take care of him.

  “Father Lindor, you mustn’t leave the house by yourself.” Juliette skimmed her fingers over the line of his jaw, then his shoulder, as though searching for hidden injury. “It isn’t safe.”

  “I know how to walk next door on my own, girl.”

  While Warren Lindor did know how to walk, he had lost the ability to care for himself.

  “Can you stand? I’ll clean you up and get you in bed.”

  “Don’t forget my dinner.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t forget that.”

  Juliette turned to Trea with a smile and a wink—he adored that wink. When she might have been angry or resentful, she was cheerful.

  “Trea, if you’ll watch the babies, I’ll run over to the café and bring back dinner for us all. Can you stay, Mr. Culverson?”

  If he’d ever seen his father so stunned, he could not recall the occasion.

  It took a few seconds but the old man gathered himself. “Why would I want to do that?”

  He spun, cussing as he marched toward the still-open door.

  The odd thing was, his father cursed under his breath instead of at the top of his lungs, and he didn’t slam the door but closed it with a quiet click.

  Yes, Christmas was coming closer each day and bringing with it the spirit of love and goodwill. The thing was, Trea had never known his father to be touched by yuletide goodwill before.

  This had been an interesting evening, so far. Watching Juliette lead her father-in-law to their living quarters, he wondered what else the night might bring.

  Chapter Eight

  Trea watched Warren Lindor take a bite of his meal then grunt over it, shake his head. “See what happens when a woman stays home like she ought to? Meals get served on time.”

  “And,” Juliette said, patting the man’s blue-veined hand, “bedtimes are predictable.”

  “I’m not sleepy. Don’t think you can tell me what to do and when to do it.”

  “The thing is, Father Lindor, you are still a bit drunk and someone needs to look out for you. I don’t imagine you feel very well.”

  “That might be true, Juliette. Food isn’t setting right in my belly.”

  “As long as you insist on sneaking over to The Fickle Dog, it won’t.”

  “Who’s that stranger eating with us?”

  “Trea Culverson,” Trea explained. “I’m the schoolteacher. I live here in the hotel.”

  “My boys went to school.” Warren Lindor set his fork on his plate. “Put me to bed. I’ve got a headache.”

  Juliette helped him up from his chair, which he did seem to resent, but he did not fight her when she led him away to his room.

  While she was gone, Trea cleared up the dinner di
shes, washing them and setting them on the counter to dry. While he worked, he glanced about at what her hard work had accomplished.

  He’d seen this room before she moved in. It must have been an exhausting task to transform the bleak place it had been into the cozy kitchen it was now. The table at the window might have been one of the most welcoming places he’d ever eaten a meal.

  The thing was, Juliette did not look exhausted. She never looked anything but fresh and engaging.

  “I hope he didn’t say anything to ruin your meal. I don’t think he understands things the way he used to,” Juliette said, coming back into the kitchen.

  “You are good to him.” She set a whole pie on the table along with a couple of plates, so he plunked himself down with a grin. “He’s a lucky man.”

  With a return smile, she cut a large slice of pie and set it in front of him.

  “I don’t know. He lost his sons and a daughter-in-law. With his mind as it is, he doesn’t always understand.”

  “Still, I say he’s a lucky man in spite of what he’s lost, which is unbearable. But you did bear it, Juliette, and so he has you and his grandchildren.” The sweet-tart flavor of cherry exploded on his tongue. “Heaven on a fork! This is dang good pie!”

  “Well, I’ve made hundreds of them.” She shrugged away his praise. “As I see it, it’s your father who is the lucky one. Truly, Trea, I remember how he was with you. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness—and from all I can see, it’s what he has.”

  “Never thought about it as forgiveness so much as me doing my duty. Can I have another slice of that pie?” She cut one. He shook his head. “Bigger.”

  She laughed, scattering issues of forgiveness and duty, and leaving behind a glow. It beat in his heart as warm as anything he could remember.

  And he did remember.

  “Juliette, do you recall the time you brought me dinner in the shed?”

  “The time you were hiding from the store clerk?”

  “One of the times.” He felt his smile tic up on one side, saw hers widen in response. “I just want you to know how I appreciated it.”

  “We laughed for hours that night, just talking about silly things. It was raining, wasn’t it?”

  “Pouring down so hard I thought the roof would leak. It was late when you finally went home. I always felt bad that you might have gotten in trouble.”

  “I imagine I would have if Papa hadn’t been caught up in a grieving spell.” She must have noticed his empty plate because she filled it once again. “The truth is, Trea, it was the anniversary of Mama’s death. If I hadn’t been laughing with you, I’d have been home crying with Papa. I dearly needed the company of a friend.”

  For a moment they simply looked at each other. Affection—no, that was a lie—love, pure and simple, was blooming in his heart so fast that for the moment he could not speak.

  This was not the fanciful, she-is-so-beautiful, makes-my-heart-skip-and-my-palms-sweat kind of ardor.

  No, he’d always felt that for Juliette. This was more your soul has touched mine, danced, melded, and life will never be the same again kind of love.

  “What is it you want, Juliette?”

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, bit down on her bottom lip. He saw a shiver run through her when she let it out, then she slowly opened her eyes.

  “A piece of pie, but you’ve eaten it all.”

  He glanced at the tin. Hell, he had done that!

  “From life. What do you want from life?”

  “I want this town to flourish. I’ve invested all my money in it so it has to.” She dabbed the pie tin with her finger, caught up a crumb and licked it. “And a dozen Christmas trees for the lobby.”

  “That’s a lot of trees.” It was clear that she did not want to discuss the feelings he thought were ripe and aching between them. Not now, at least.

  Not that he could blame her for it. She carried a lot of responsibility. And, damn it, he had run away once.

  He doubted that she thought he would do it again, but it wasn’t only herself she had to consider in the decisions she made.

  “As long as I’m dreaming, why not a dozen?”

  “Why not?”

  And as long as they were dreaming, why not stare at her lips and wonder...

  * * *

  Walking through the woods the next afternoon, huddling into his coast against the wind, Trea thought about the previous night.

  He hadn’t touched Juliette, hadn’t so much as held her hand. They had simply shared a meal while sitting at the kitchen table, eaten pie and fallen in love. At least, he had.

  And they had talked, the same as on that rainy night in the shed—laughed the same way, too.

  They had spoken of Steven, of Thomas and his wife. But mostly they had discussed the babies. He enjoyed watching her when she talked about them. The love she felt for those children shone out of her eyes. And when she touched them? It was with utter devotion.

  Speaking with Juliette was as easy as breathing.

  Yet there was one thing he did not admit to her.

  He did not confide that while she fed her babies by the fire’s glow, cuddled and cooed to them, he’d imagined she would one day love his babies that way.

  That was a notion too intense to consider for a man who had never pictured himself as a father.

  The trouble was, once he did consider it, the idea would not go away.

  A rock on the path caught the toe of his boot, brought him neatly back to the here and now, the issues of the day.

  Charlie had not attended school—again.

  A visit to Mrs. Gumm was in order. Signs of the boy being in trouble were all there, and Trea was not about to let him slip away.

  As it turned out, the Gumm residence was well outside of town. The road to get there wound through woods grown thick with brush. He didn’t see the run-down dwelling at first. Not until a dog burst out of the growth, barking an alarm.

  “Who’s there?” A thin woman stood on the porch, craning her neck to see what had distressed the animal. “Show yourself!”

  “It’s Mr. Culverson,” he called in answer as he stepped into the open. “Charlie’s teacher.”

  “Well, he ain’t here.” Mrs. Gumm fidgeted with the collar of her faded dress while she fixed a stern glare on him.

  His first impression of her was that she had a cold soul and an icy temper. For all that her son was a mischief-maker, Trea would bet a month’s pay that Charlie did not take after her.

  “I’m here to see you, actually.”

  “Wha’d that boy do now to set the teacher on me? I’ll take him to task, don’t you worry.”

  “He hasn’t been in school for a few days. I want to make sure he’s not ill.”

  “Not so far as I know, he ain’t.” Mrs. Gumm scratched her head, then her neck.

  “He’s a bright boy, ma’am. I’d like to see him in class on a daily basis.”

  “A daily basis! Imagine a Culverson using such fine language. Reckon you don’t take after your pa overmuch. Old Culverson, he’s a purveyor of sin, is what he is, with his saloons full of alcohol and gambling. Dens of iniquity is all I have to say about those places.”

  “As I said, I’m here because I’m concerned about your son.”

  “Oh, that boy does take after his pa. Curse his dirty soul. Made sure I lost everything I had and left me with a hellion to raise.”

  “Raising a child on your own can’t be an easy thing to do.”

  Unless you were Juliette Lindor. She faced the challenges of raising two babies alone, along with caring for her declining father-in-law, and she made it look pleasurable.

  No doubt it had been a long time since Charlie received so much as a smile from his mother.

  “I get it done. Me and my switch.” She inclined her head toward w
hat appeared to be a branch more than a switch.

  “Mrs. Gumm. I’ll agree that Charlie can be a handful, but I believe he is a good boy at heart. Without help, I’m afraid he’ll go wrong.”

  “Don’t know what kind of help you’re talking about. But don’t fret. He always lands on his feet.”

  One thing was clear. When Mrs. Gumm looked at her child she didn’t see him. She saw his father.

  An old ache threatened to rise from the grave Trea had buried it in.

  “Did you know that your son has a beautiful singing voice?”

  “For all the good that’ll ever do him. Rather see him be good at cleaning the chicken coop.”

  “We’re having a Christmas pageant. Won’t you come? I know you’ll be proud of him. He’s singing ‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,’ solo.”

  “Rather see him cleaning up after the chickens.”

  Apparently that was all she had to say. She spun and went back into the house.

  The door slammed closed. A snowflake drifted out of the sky. He watched a half-hearted wisp of smoke twirl out of the chimney.

  Judging by the short stack of wood on the porch, it was going to be a cold night inside that house.

  A hundred or so feet from the porch under low-hung tree branches, he spotted a stack of logs with an ax leaning against it.

  He strode over, snatched it up and began to split wood.

  A curtain stirred then fell back into place.

  Still, he felt eyes watching him, but not coming from the house. Unless he missed his guess, a boy in a brown plaid coat was hidden in the trees, observing him work.

  Trea prayed that Charlie would understand that someone cared that he was worthy of a warm place to sleep.

  * * *

  “I want to go home,” Father Lindor announced.

  Juliette set the garland that she had been about to hang on the mantel across the back of a chair. She turned to see him standing in the middle of the lobby, his gaze shifting from object to object.

  “We are home, Father Lindor,” she assured him.

  “You sure, girl?” The poor man looked confused and a bit afraid.

  The alcohol he’d had far too much of last night must still be having an effect on him. In the past he had been forgetful, but never of where he was.